Vladimir Borovikovsky, Maria Lopukhina, 1797
Fifteen years ago--began H.--official duties compelled me to spend a fewdays in the principal town of the province of T----. I stopped at a veryfair hotel, which had been established six months before my arrival by aJewish tailor, who had grown rich. I am told that it did not flourishlong, which is often the case with us; but I found it still in its fullsplendour: the new furniture emitted cracks like pistol-shots at night;the bed-linen, table-cloths, and napkins smelt of soap, and the paintedfloors reeked of olive oil, which, however, in the opinion of thewaiter, an exceedingly elegant but not very clean individual, tended toprevent the spread of insects. This waiter, a former valet of PrinceG.'s, was conspicuous for his free-and-easy manners and hisself-assurance. He invariably wore a second-hand frockcoat and slipperstrodden down at heel, carried a table-napkin under his arm, and had amultitude of pimples on his cheeks. With a free sweeping movement of hismoist hands he gave utterance to brief but pregnant observations. Heshowed a patronising interest in me, as a person capable of appreciatinghis culture and knowledge of the world; but he regarded his own lot inlife with a rather disillusioned eye. 'No doubt about it,' he said to meone day; 'ours is a poor sort of position nowadays. May be sent flyingany day!' His name was Ardalion.I had to make a few visits to official persons in the town. Ardalionprocured me a coach and groom, both alike shabby and loose in thejoints; but the groom wore livery, the carriage was adorned with anheraldic crest. After making all my official calls, I drove to see acountry gentleman, an old friend of my father's, who had been a longtime settled in the town.... I had not met him for twenty years; he hadhad time to get married, to bring up a good-sized family, to be left awidower and to make his fortune. His business was with governmentmonopolies, that is to say, he lent contractors for monopolies loans atheavy interest.... 'There is always honour in risk,' they say, thoughindeed the risk was small.In the course of our conversation there came into the room withhesitating steps, but as lightly as though on tiptoe, a young girl ofabout seventeen, delicate-looking and thin. 'Here,' said myacquaintance, 'is my eldest daughter Sophia; let me introduce you. Shetakes my poor wife's place, looks after the house, and takes care of herbrothers and sisters.' I bowed a second time to the girl who had come in(she meanwhile dropped into a chair without speaking), and thought tomyself that she did not look much like housekeeping or looking afterchildren. Her face was quite childish, round, with small, pleasing, butimmobile features; the blue eyes, under high, also immobile andirregular eyebrows, had an intent, almost astonished look, as thoughthey had just observed something unexpected; the full little mouth withthe lifted upper lip, not only did not smile, but seemed as thoughaltogether innocent of such a practice; the rosy flush under the tenderskin stood in soft, diffused patches on the cheeks, and neither palednor deepened. The fluffy, fair hair hung in light clusters each side ofthe little head. Her bosom breathed softly, and her arms were pressedsomehow awkwardly and severely against her narrow waist. Her blue gownfell without folds--like a child's--to her little feet. The generalimpression this girl made upon me was not one of morbidity, but ofsomething enigmatical. I saw before me not simply a shy, provincialmiss, but a creature of a special type--that I could not make out. Thistype neither attracted nor repelled me; I did not fully understand it,and only felt that I had never come across a nature more sincere. Pity... yes! pity was the feeling that rose up within me at the sight ofthis young, serious, keenly alert life--God knows why! 'Not of thisearth,' was my thought, though there was nothing exactly 'ideal' in theexpression of the face, and though Mademoiselle Sophie had obviouslycome into the drawing-room in fulfilment of those duties of lady of thehouse to which her father had referred.He began to talk of life in the town of T----, of the social amusementsand advantages it offered. 'We're very quiet here,' he observed; 'thegovernor's a melancholy fellow; the marshal of the province is abachelor. But there'll be a big ball in the Hall of the Nobility the dayafter to-morrow. I advise you to go; there are some pretty girls here.And you'll see all our _intelligentsi_ too.'My acquaintance, as a man of university education, was fond of usinglearned expressions. He pronounced them with irony, but also withrespect. Besides, we all know that moneylending, together withrespectability, developes a certain thoughtfulness in men.'Allow me to ask, will you be at the ball?' I said, turning to myfriend's daughter. I wanted to hear the sound of her voice.'Papa intends to go,' she answered, 'and I with him.'Her voice turned out to be soft and deliberate, and she articulatedevery syllable fully, as though she were puzzled.'In that case, allow me to ask you for the first quadrille.'She bent her head in token of assent, and even then did not smile.I soon withdrew, and I remember the expression in her eyes, fixedsteadily upon me, struck me as so strange that I involuntarily lookedover my shoulder to see whether there were not some one or some thingshe was looking at behind my back.I returned to the hotel, and after dining on the never-varied'soupe-julienne,' cutlets, and green peas, and grouse cooked to a dry,black chip, I sat down on the sofa and gave myself up to reflection. Thesubject of my meditations was Sophia, this enigmatical daughter of myold acquaintance; but Ardalion, who was clearing the table, explained mythoughtfulness in his own way; he set it down to boredom.'There is very little in the way of entertainment for visitors in ourtown,' he began with his usual easy condescension, while he went on atthe same time flapping the backs of the chairs with a dirtydinner-napkin--a practice peculiar, as you're doubtless aware, toservants of superior education. 'Very little!'He paused, and the huge clock on the wall, with a lilac rose on itswhite face, seemed in its monotonous, sleepy tick, to repeat his words:'Ve-ry! ve-ry!' it ticked. 'No concerts, nor theatres,' pursued Ardalion(he had travelled abroad with his master, and had all but stayed inParis; he knew much better than to mispronounce this last word, as thepeasants do)--'nor dances, for example; nor evening receptions among thenobility and gentry--there is nothing of the kind whatever.' (He pauseda moment, probably to allow me to observe the choiceness of hisdiction.) 'They positively visit each other but seldom. Every one sitslike a pigeon on its perch. And so it comes to pass that visitors havesimply nowhere to go.'Ardalion stole a sidelong glance at me.'But there is one thing,' he went on, speaking with a drawl, 'in caseyou should feel that way inclined....'He glanced at me a second time and positively leered, but I suppose didnot observe signs of the requisite inclination in me.The polished waiter moved towards the door, pondered a moment, cameback, and after fidgeting about uneasily a little, bent down to my ear,and with a playful smile said:'Would you not like to behold the dead?'I stared at him in perplexity.'Yes,' he went on, speaking in a whisper; 'there is a man like thathere. He's a simple artisan, and can't even read and write, but he doesmarvellous things. If you, for example, go to him and desire to see anyone of your departed friends, he will be sure to show him you.''How does he do it?''That's his secret. For though he's an uneducated man--to speak bluntly,illiterate--he's very great in godliness! Greatly respected he is amongthe merchant gentry!''And does every one in the town know about this?''Those who need to know; but, there, of course--there's danger from thepolice to be guarded against. Because, say what you will, such doingsare forbidden anyway, and for the common people are a temptation; thecommon people--the mob, we all know, quickly come to blows.''Has he shown you the dead?' I asked Ardalion.Ardalion nodded. 'He has; my father he brought before me as if living.'I stared at Ardalion. He laughed and played with his dinner-napkin, andcondescendingly, but unflinchingly, looked at me.'But this is very curious!' I cried at last. 'Couldn't I make theacquaintance of this artisan?''You can't go straight to him; but one can act through his mother. She'sa respectable old woman; she sells pickled apples on the bridge. If youwish it, I will ask her.''Please do.'Ardalion coughed behind his hand. 'And a gratuity, whatever you thinkfit, nothing much, of course, should also be handed to her--the oldlady. And I on my side will make her understand that she has nothing tofear from you, as you are a visitor here, a gentleman--and of course youcan understand that this is a secret, and will not in any case get herinto any unpleasantness.'Ardalion took the tray in one hand, and with a graceful swing of thetray and his own person, turned towards the door.'So I may reckon upon you!' I shouted after him.'You may trust me!' I heard his self-satisfied voice say: 'We'll talk tothe old woman and transmit you her answer exactly.'- - - - - - I will not enlarge on the train of thought aroused in me by theextraordinary fact Ardalion had related; but I am prepared to admit thatI awaited the promised reply with impatience. Late in the eveningArdalion came to me and announced that to his annoyance he could notfind the old woman. I handed him, however, by way of encouragement, athree-rouble note. The next morning he appeared again in my room with abeaming countenance; the old woman had consented to see me.'Hi! boy!' shouted Ardalion in the corridor; 'Hi! apprentice! Comehere!' A boy of six came up, grimed all over with soot like a kitten,with a shaved head, perfectly bald in places, in a torn, striped smock,and huge goloshes on his bare feet. 'You take the gentleman, you knowwhere,' said Ardalion, addressing the 'apprentice,' and pointing to me.'And you, sir, when you arrive, ask for Mastridia Karpovna.'The boy uttered a hoarse grunt, and we set off.- - - - - - We walked rather a long while about the unpaved streets of the town ofT----; at last in one of them, almost the most deserted and desolate ofall, my guide stopped before an old two-story wooden house, and wipinghis nose all over his smock-sleeve, said: 'Here; go to the right.' Ipassed through the porch into the outer passage, stumbled towards myright, a low door creaked on rusty hinges, and I saw before me a stoutold woman in a brown jacket lined with hare-skin, with a parti-colouredkerchief on her head.'Mastridia Karpovna?' I inquired.'The same, at your service,' the old woman replied in a piping voice.'Please walk in. Won't you take a chair?'The room into which the old woman conducted me was so littered up withevery sort of rubbish, rags, pillows, feather-beds, sacks, that onecould hardly turn round in it. The sunlight barely struggled in throughtwo dusty little windows; in one corner, from behind a heap of boxespiled on one another, there came a feeble whimpering and wailing.... Icould not tell from what; perhaps a sick baby, or perhaps a puppy. I satdown on a chair, and the old woman stood up directly facing me. Her facewas yellow, half-transparent like wax; her lips were so fallen in thatthey formed a single straight line in the midst of a multitude ofwrinkles; a tuft of white hair stuck out from below the kerchief on herhead, but the sunken grey eyes peered out alertly and cleverly fromunder the bony overhanging brow; and the sharp nose fairly stuck outlike a spindle, fairly sniffed the air as if it would say: I'm a smartone! 'Well, you're no fool!' was my thought. At the same time she smeltof spirits.I explained to her the object of my visit, of which, however, as Iobserved, she must be aware. She listened to me, blinked her eyesrapidly, and only lifted her nose till it stuck out still more sharply,as though she were making ready to peck.'To be sure, to be sure,' she said at last; 'Ardalion Matveitch did saysomething, certainly; my son Vassinka's art you were wanting.... But wecan't be sure, my dear sir....''Oh, why so?' I interposed. 'As far as I'm concerned, you may feelperfectly easy.... I'm not an informer.''Oh, mercy on us,' the old woman caught me up hurriedly, 'what do youmean? Could we dare to suppose such a thing of your honour! And on whatground could one inform against us? Do you suppose it's some sinfulcontrivance of ours? No, sir, my son's not the one to lend himself toanything wicked ... or give way to any sort of witchcraft.... God forbidindeed, holy Mother of Heaven! (The old woman crossed herself threetimes.) He's the foremost in prayer and fasting in the whole province;the foremost, your honour, he is! And that's just it: great grace hasbeen vouchsafed to him. Yes, indeed. It's not the work of his hands.It's from on high, my dear; so it is.''So you agree?' I asked: 'when can I see your son?'The old woman blinked again and shifted her rolled up handkerchief fromone sleeve to the other.'Oh, well, sir--well, sir, I can't say.''Allow me, Mastridia Karpovna, to hand you this,' I interrupted, and Igave her a ten-rouble note.The old woman clutched it at once in her fat, crooked fingers, whichrecalled the fleshy claws of an owl, quickly slipped it into her sleeve,pondered a little, and as though she had suddenly reached a decision,slapped her thighs with her open hand.'Come here this evening a little after seven,' she said, not in herprevious voice, but in quite a different one, more solemn and subdued;'only not to this room, but kindly go straight up to the floor above,and you'll find a door to your left, and you open that door; and you'llgo, your honour, into an empty room, and in that room you'll see achair. Sit you down on that chair and wait; and whatever you see, don'tutter a word and don't do anything; and please don't speak to my soneither; for he's but young yet, and he suffers from fits. He's veryeasily scared; he'll tremble and shake like any chicken ... a sadthing it is!'I looked at Mastridia. 'You say he's young, but since he's your son ...''In the spirit, sir, in the spirit. Many's the orphan I have under mycare!' she added, wagging her head in the direction of the corner, fromwhich came the plaintive whimper. 'O--O God Almighty, holy Mother ofGod! And do you, your honour, before you come here, think well which ofyour deceased relations or friends--the kingdom of Heaven tothem!--you're desirous of seeing. Go over your deceased friends, andwhichever you select, keep him in your mind, keep him all the while tillmy son comes!''Why, mustn't I tell your son whom ...''Nay, nay, sir, not one word. He will find out what he needs in yourthoughts himself. You've only to keep your friend thoroughly in mind;and at your dinner drink a drop of wine--just two or three glasses; winenever comes amiss.' The old woman laughed, licked her lips, passed herhand over her mouth, and sighed.'So at half-past seven?' I queried, getting up from my chair.'At half-past seven, your honour, at half-past seven,' MastridiaKarpovna replied reassuringly.- - - - - - I took leave of the old woman and went back to the hotel. I did notdoubt that they were going to make a fool of me, but in what way?--thatwas what excited my curiosity. With Ardalion I did not exchange morethan two or three words. 'Did she see you?' he asked me, knitting hisbrow, and on my affirmative reply, he exclaimed: 'The old woman's asgood as any statesman!' I set to work, in accordance with the'statesman's' counsel, to run over my deceased friends.After rather prolonged hesitation I fixed, at last, on an old man whohad long been dead, a Frenchman, once my tutor. I selected him notbecause he had any special attraction for me; but his whole figure wasso original, so unlike any figure of to-day, that it would be utterlyimpossible to imitate it. He had an enormous head, fluffy white haircombed straight back, thick black eyebrows, a hawk nose, and two largewarts of a pinkish hue in the middle of the forehead; he used to wear agreen frockcoat with smooth brass buttons, a striped waistcoat with astand-up collar, a jabot and lace cuffs. 'If he shows me my oldDessaire,' I thought, 'well, I shall have to admit that he's asorcerer!'At dinner I followed the old dame's behest and drank a bottle ofLafitte, of the first quality, so Ardalion averred, though it had avery strong flavour of burnt cork, and a thick sediment at the bottomof each glass.- - - - - - Exactly at half-past seven I stood in front of the house where I hadconversed with the worthy Mastridia Karpovna. All the shutters of thewindows were closed, but the door was open. I went into the house,mounted the shaky staircase to the first story, and opening a door onthe left, found myself, as the old woman had said, in a perfectly empty,rather large room; a tallow candle set in the window-sill threw a dimlight over the room; against the wall opposite the door stood awicker-bottomed chair. I snuffed the candle, which had already burntdown enough to form a long smouldering wick, sat down on the chair andbegan to wait.The first ten minutes passed rather quickly; in the room itself therewas absolutely nothing which could distract my attention, but I listenedintently to every rustle, looked intently at the closed door.... Myheart was throbbing. After the first ten minutes followed another tenminutes, then half an hour, three-quarters of an hour, and not a stir ofany kind around! I coughed several times to make my presence known; Ibegan to feel bored and out of temper; to be made a fool of in just thatway had not entered into my calculations. I was on the point of gettingup from my seat, taking the candle from the window, and goingdownstairs.... I looked at it; the wick again wanted snuffing; but as Iturned my eyes from the window to the door, I could not help starting;with his back leaning against the door stood a man. He had entered soquickly and noiselessly that I had heard nothing. He wore a simple bluesmock; he was of middle height and rather thick-set. With his handsbehind his back and his head bent, he was staring at me. In the dimlight of the candle I could not distinctly make out his features. I sawnothing but a shaggy mane of matted hair falling on his forehead, andthick, rather drawn lips and whitish eyes. I was nearly speaking to him,but I recollected Mastridia's injunction, and bit my lips. The man, whohad come in, continued to gaze at me, and, strange to say, at the sametime I felt something like fear, and, as though at the word of command,promptly started thinking of my old tutor. _He_ still stood at the doorand breathed heavily, as though he had been climbing a mountain orlifting a weight, while his eyes seemed to expand, seemed to come closerto me--and I felt uncomfortable under their obstinate, heavy, menacingstare; at times those eyes glowed with a malignant inward fire, a firesuch as I have seen in the eyes of a pointer dog when it 'points' at ahare; and, like a pointer dog, _he_ kept _his_ eyes intently followingmine when I 'tried to double,' that is, tried to turn my eyes away.- - - - - - So passed I do not know how long--perhaps a minute, perhaps a quarter ofan hour. He still gazed at me; I still experienced a certain discomfortand alarm and still thought of the Frenchman. Twice I tried to say tomyself, 'What nonsense! what a farce!' I tried to smile, to shrug myshoulders.... It was no use! All initiative had all at once 'frozen up'within me--I can find no other word for it. I was overcome by a sort ofnumbness. Suddenly I noticed that he had left the door, and was standinga step or two nearer to me; then he gave a slight bound, both feettogether, and stood closer still.... Then again ... and again; while themenacing eyes were simply fastened on my whole face, and the handsremained behind, and the broad chest heaved painfully. These leapsstruck me as ridiculous, but I felt dread too, and what I could notunderstand at all, a drowsiness began suddenly to come upon me. Myeyelids clung together ... the shaggy figure with the whitish eyes inthe blue smock seemed double before me, and suddenly vanishedaltogether! ... I shook myself; he was again standing between the doorand me, but now much nearer.... Then he vanished again--a sort of mistseemed to fall upon him; again he appeared ... vanished again ...appeared again, and always closer, closer ... his hard, almost gaspingbreathing floated across to me now.... Again the mist fell, and all of asudden out of this mist the head of old Dessaire began to take distinctshape, beginning with the white, brushed-back hair! Yes: there were hiswarts, his black eyebrows, his hook nose! There too his green coat withthe brass buttons, the striped waistcoat and jabot.... I shrieked, I gotup.... The old man vanished, and in his place I saw again the man in theblue smock. He moved staggering to the wall, leaned his head and botharms against it, and heaving like an over-loaded horse, in a husky voicesaid, 'Tea!' Mastridia Karpovna--how she came there I can't say--flew tohim and saying: 'Vassinka! Vassinka!' began anxiously wiping away thesweat, which simply trickled from his face and hair. I was on the pointof approaching her, but she, so insistently, in such a heart-rendingvoice cried: 'Your honour! merciful sir! have pity on us, go away, forChrist's sake!' that I obeyed, while she turned again to her son.'Bread-winner, darling,' she murmured soothingly: 'you shall have teadirectly, directly. And you too, sir, had better take a cup of tea athome!' she shouted after me.- - - - - - When I got home I obeyed Mastridia and ordered some tea; I felttired--even weak. 'Well?' Ardalion questioned me, 'have you been? didyou see something?''He did, certainly, show me something ... which, I'll own, I had notanticipated,' I replied.'He's a man of marvellous power,' observed Ardalion, carrying off thesamovar; 'he is held in high esteem among the merchant gentry.' As Iwent to bed, and reflected on the incident that had occurred to me, Ifancied at last that I had reached some explanation of it. The mandoubtless possessed a considerable magnetic power; acting by some means,which I did not understand of course, upon my nerves, he had evokedwithin me so vividly, so definitely, the image of the old man of whom Iwas thinking, that at last I fancied that I saw him before my eyes....Such 'metastases,' such transferences of sensation, are recognised byscience. It was all very well; but the force capable of producing sucheffects still remained, something marvellous and mysterious. 'Say whatyou will,' I thought, 'I've seen, seen with my own eyes, my dead tutor!'- - - - - - The next day the ball in the Hall of Nobility took place. Sophia'sfather called on me and reminded me of the engagement I had made withhis daughter. At ten o'clock I was standing by her side in the middleof a ballroom lighted up by a number of copper lamps, and was preparingto execute the not very complicated steps of the French quadrille tothe resounding blare of the military band. Crowds of people were there;the ladies were especially numerous and very pretty; but the firstplace among them would certainly have been given to my partner, if ithad not been for the rather strange, even rather wild look in her eyes.I noticed that she hardly ever blinked; the unmistakable expression ofsincerity in her eyes did not make up for what was extraordinary inthem. But she had a charming figure, and moved gracefully, though withconstraint. When she waltzed, and, throwing herself a little back, benther slender neck towards her right shoulder, as though she wanted toget away from her partner, nothing more touchingly youthful and purecould be imagined. She was all in white, with a turquoise cross on ablack ribbon.I asked her for a mazurka, and tried to talk to her. But her answerswere few and reluctant, though she listened attentively, with the sameexpression of dreamy absorption which had struck me when I first mether. Not the slightest trace of desire to please, at her age, with herappearance, and the absence of a smile, and those eyes, continuallyfixed directly upon the eyes of the person speaking to her, though theyseemed at the same time to see something else, to be absorbed withsomething different.... What a strange creature! Not knowing, at last,how to thaw her, I bethought me of telling her of my adventure of theprevious day.- - - - - - She heard me to the end with evident interest, but was not, as I hadexpected, surprised at what I told her, and merely asked whether he wasnot called Vassily. I recollected that the old woman had called him'Vassinka.' 'Yes, his name is Vassily,' I answered; 'do you know him?''There is a saintly man living here called Vassily,' she observed; 'Iwondered whether it was he.''Saintliness has nothing to do with this,' I remarked; 'it's simplythe action of magnetism--a fact of interest for doctors and studentsof science.'I proceeded to expound my views on the peculiar force called magnetism,on the possibility of one man's will being brought under the influenceof another's will, and so on; but my explanations--which were, it istrue, somewhat confused--seemed to make no impression on her. Sophielistened, dropping her clasped hands on her knees with a fan lyingmotionless in them; she did not play with it, she did not move herfingers at all, and I felt that all my words rebounded from her as froma statue of stone. She heard them, but clearly she had her ownconvictions, which nothing could shake or uproot.'You can hardly admit miracles!' I cried.'Of course I admit them,' she answered calmly. 'And how can one helpadmitting them? Are not we told in the gospel that who has but a grainof faith as big as a mustard seed, he can remove mountains? One needonly have faith--there will be miracles!''It seems there is very little faith nowadays,' I observed; 'anyway, onedoesn't hear of miracles.''But yet there are miracles; you have seen one yourself. No; faith isnot dead nowadays; and the beginning of faith ...''The fear of God is the beginning of wisdom,' I interrupted.'The beginning of faith,' pursued Sophie, nothing daunted, 'isself-abasement ... humiliation.''Humiliation even?' I queried.'Yes. The pride of man, haughtiness, presumption--that is what must beutterly rooted up. You spoke of the will--that's what must be broken.'I scanned the whole figure of the young girl who was uttering suchsentences.... 'My word, the child's in earnest, too,' was my thought. Iglanced at our neighbours in the mazurka; they, too, glanced at me, andI fancied that my astonishment amused them; one of them even smiled atme sympathetically, as though he would say: 'Well, what do you think ofour queer young lady? every one here knows what she's like.''Have you tried to break your will?' I said, turning to Sophie again.'Every one is bound to do what he thinks right,' she answered in adogmatic tone. 'Let me ask you,' I began, after a brief silence, 'do youbelieve in the possibility of calling up the dead?'Sophie softly shook her head.'There are no dead.''What?''There are no dead souls; they are undying and can always appear, whenthey like.... They are always about us.''What? Do you suppose, for instance, that an immortal soul may be atthis moment hovering about that garrison major with the red nose?''Why not? The sunlight falls on him and his nose, and is not thesunlight, all light, from God? And what does external appearancematter? To the pure all things are pure! Only to find a teacher, tofind a leader!''But excuse me, excuse me,' I put in, not, I must own, without maliciousintent. 'You want a leader ... but what is your priest for?'Sophie looked coldly at me.'You mean to laugh at me, I suppose. My priestly father tells me what Iought to do; but what I want is a leader who would show me himself inaction how to sacrifice one's self!'She raised her eyes towards the ceiling. With her childlike face, andthat expression of immobile absorption, of secret, continual perplexity,she reminded me of the pre-raphaelite Madonnas....'I have read somewhere,' she went on, not turning to me, and hardlymoving her lips, 'of a grand person who directed that he should beburied under a church porch so that all the people who came in shouldtread him under foot and trample on him.... That is what one ought todo in life.'Boom! boom! tra-ra-ra! thundered the drums from the band.... I must ownsuch a conversation at a ball struck me as eccentric in the extreme; theideas involuntarily kindled within me were of a nature anything butreligious. I took advantage of my partner's being invited to one of thefigures of the mazurka to avoid renewing our quasi-theologicaldiscussion.A quarter of an hour later I conducted Mademoiselle Sophie to herfather, and two days after I left the town of T----, and the image ofthe girl with the childlike face and the soul impenetrable as stoneslipped quickly out of my memory.Two years passed, and it chanced that that image was recalled again tome. It was like this: I was talking to a colleague who had justreturned from a tour in South Russia. He had spent some time in thetown of T----, and told me various items of news about theneighbourhood. 'By the way!' he exclaimed, 'you knew V. G. B. verywell, I fancy, didn't you?''Of course I know him.''And his daughter Sophia, do you know her?''I've seen her twice.''Only fancy, she's run away!''How's that?''Well, I don't know. Three months ago she disappeared, and nothing'sbeen heard of her. And the astonishing thing is no one can make out whomshe's run off with. Fancy, they've not the slightest idea, not thesmallest suspicion! She'd refused all the offers made her, and she wasmost proper in her behaviour. Ah, these quiet, religious girls are theones! It's made an awful scandal all over the province! B.'s indespair.... And whatever need had she to run away? Her father carriedout her wishes in everything. And what's so unaccountable, all theLovelaces of the province are there all right, not one's missing.''And they've not found her up till now?''I tell you she might as well be at the bottom of the sea! It's one richheiress less in the world, that's the worst of it.'This piece of news greatly astonished me. It did not seem at all inkeeping with the recollection I had of Sophia B. But there! anythingmay happen.- - - - - - In the autumn of the same year fate brought me--again on officialbusiness--into the S---- province, which is, as every one knows, next tothe province of T----. It was cold and rainy weather; the worn-outposting-horses could scarcely drag my light trap through the black slushof the highroad. One day, I remember, was particularly unlucky: threetimes we got 'stuck' in the mud up to the axles of the wheels; my driverwas continually giving up one rut and with moans and grunts trudgingacross to the other, and finding things no better with that. In fact,towards evening I was so exhausted that on reaching the posting-stationI decided to spend the night at the inn. I was given a room with abroken-down wooden sofa, a sloping floor, and torn paper on the walls;there was a smell in it of kvas, bast-mats, onions, and eventurpentine, and swarms of flies were on everything; but at any rate Icould find shelter there from the weather, and the rain had set in, asthey say, for the whole day. I ordered a samovar to be brought, and,sitting on the sofa, settled down to those cheerless wayside reflectionsso familiar to travellers in Russia.They were broken in upon by a heavy knocking that came from the commonroom, from which my room was separated by a deal partition. This soundwas accompanied by an intermittent metallic jingle, like the clank ofchains, and a coarse male voice boomed out suddenly: 'The blessing ofGod on all within this house. The blessing of God! the blessing of God!Amen, amen! Scatter His enemies!' repeated the voice, with a sort ofincongruous and savage drawl on the last syllable of each word.... Anoisy sigh was heard, and a ponderous body sank on to the bench with thesame jingling sound. 'Akulina! servant of God, come here!' the voicebegan again: 'Behold! Clothed in rags and blessed! ... Ha-ha-ha! Tfoo!Merciful God, merciful God, merciful God!' the voice droned like adeacon in the choir. 'Merciful God, Creator of my body, behold myiniquity.... O-ho-ho! Ha-ha! ... Tfoo! And all abundance be to this housein the seventh hour!''Who's that?' I asked the hospitable landlady, who came in withthe samovar.'That, your honour,' she answered me in a hurried whisper, 'is ablessed, holy man. He's not long come into our parts; and here he'sgraciously pleased to visit us. In such weather! The wet's simplytrickling from him, poor dear man, in streams! And you should see thechains on him--such a lot!''The blessing of God! the blessing of God!' the voice was heard again.'Akulina! Hey, Akulina! Akulinushka--friend! where is our paradise? Ourfair paradise of bliss? In the wilderness is our paradise, ...para-dise.... And to this house, from beginning of time, greathappiness, ... o ... o ... o ...' The voice muttered somethinginarticulate, and again, after a protracted yawn, there came the hoarselaugh. This laugh broke out every time, as it were, involuntarily, andevery time it was followed by vigorous spitting.'Ah, me! Stepanitch isn't here! That's the worst of it!' the landladysaid, as it were to herself, as she stood with every sign of theprofoundest attention at the door. 'He will say some word of salvation,and I, foolish woman, may not catch it!'She went out quickly.- - - - - - In the partition there was a chink; I applied my eye to it. The crazypilgrim was sitting on a bench with his back to me; I saw nothing buthis shaggy head, as huge as a beer-can, and a broad bent back in apatched and soaking shirt. Before him, on the earth floor, knelt afrail-looking woman in a jacket, such as are worn by women of theartisan class--old and wet through--and with a dark kerchief pulled downalmost over her eyes. She was trying to pull the holy man's boots off;her fingers slid off the greasy, slippery leather. The landlady wasstanding near her, with her arms folded across her bosom, gazingreverently at the 'man of God.' He was, as before, mumbling someinarticulate words.At last the woman succeeded in tugging off the boots. She almost fellbackwards, but recovered herself, and began unwinding the strips of ragwhich were wrapped round the vagrant's legs. On the sole of his footthere was a wound.... I turned away.'A cup of tea wouldn't you bid me get you, my dear?' I heard the hostesssaying in an obsequious voice.'What a notion!' responded the holy man. 'To indulge the sinful body....O-ho-ho! Break all the bones in it ... but she talks of tea! Oh, oh,worthy old woman, Satan is strong within us.... Fight him with hunger,fight him with cold, with the sluice-gates of heaven, the pouring,penetrating rain, and he takes no harm--he is alive still! Remember theday of the Intercession of the Mother of God! You will receive, you willreceive in abundance!'The landlady could not resist uttering a faint groan of admiration.'Only listen to me! Give all thou hast, give thy head, give thy shirt!If they ask not of thee, yet give! For God is all-seeing! Is it hard forHim to destroy your roof? He has given thee bread in His mercy, and dothou bake it in the oven! He seeth all! Se ... e ... eth! Whose eye isin the triangle? Say, whose?'The landlady stealthily crossed herself under her neckerchief.'The old enemy is adamant! A ... da ... mant! A ... da ... mant!' thereligious maniac repeated several times, gnashing his teeth. 'The oldserpent! But God will arise! Yes, God will arise and scatter Hisenemies! I will call up all the dead! I will go against His enemy....Ha-ha-ha! Tfoo!''Have you any oil?' said another voice, hardly audible; 'let me put someon the wound.... I have got a clean rag.'I peeped through the chink again; the woman in the jacket was stillbusied with the vagrant's sore foot.... 'A Magdalen!' I thought.'I'll get it directly, my dear,' said the woman, and, coming into myroom, she took a spoonful of oil from the lamp burning before theholy picture.'Who's that waiting on him?' I asked.'We don't know, sir, who it is; she too, I suppose, is seekingsalvation, atoning for her sins. But what a saintly man he is!''Akulinushka, my sweet child, my dear daughter,' the crazy pilgrim wasrepeating meanwhile, and he suddenly burst into tears.The woman kneeling before him lifted her eyes to him.... Heavens! wherehad I seen those eyes?The landlady went up to her with the spoonful of oil. She finished heroperation, and, getting up from the floor, asked if there were a cleanloft and a little hay.... 'Vassily Nikititch likes to sleep on hay,'she added.'To be sure there is, come this way,' answered the woman; 'come thisway, my dear,' she turned to the holy man, 'and dry yourself and rest.'The man coughed, slowly got up from the bench--his chains clankedagain--and turning round with his face to me, looked for the holypictures, and began crossing himself with a wide movement.I recognised him instantly: it was the very artisan Vassily, who hadonce shown me my dead tutor!His features were little changed; only their expression had become stillmore unusual, still more terrible.... The lower part of his swollen facewas overgrown with unkempt beard. Tattered, filthy, wild-looking, heinspired in me more repugnance than horror. He left off crossinghimself, but still his eyes wandered senselessly about the corners ofthe room, about the floor, as though he were waiting for something....'Vassily Nikititch, please come,' said the woman in the jacket with abow. He suddenly threw up his head and turned round, but stumbled andtottered.... His companion flew to him at once, and supported him underthe arm. Judging by her voice and figure, she seemed still young; herface it was almost impossible to see.'Akulinushka, friend!' the vagrant repeated once more in a shakingvoice, and opening his mouth wide, and smiting himself on the breastwith his fist, he uttered a deep groan, that seemed to come from thebottom of his heart. Both followed the landlady out of the room.I lay down on my hard sofa and mused a long while on what I had seen. Mymesmeriser had become a regular religious maniac. This was what he hadbeen brought to by the power which one could not but recognise in him!- - - - - - The next morning I was preparing to go on my way. The rain was fallingas fast as the day before, but I could not delay any longer. Myservant, as he gave me water to wash, wore a special smile on hisface, a smile of restrained irony. I knew that smile well; itindicated that my servant had heard something discreditable or evenshocking about gentlefolks. He was obviously burning with impatienceto communicate it to me.'Well, what is it?' I asked at last.'Did your honour see the crazy pilgrim yesterday?' my man began at once.'Yes; what then?''And did you see his companion too?''Yes, I saw her.''She's a young lady, of noble family.''What?''It's the truth I'm telling you; some merchants arrived here thismorning from T----; they recognised her. They did tell me her name, butI've forgotten it.'It was like a flash of enlightenment. 'Is the pilgrim stillhere?' I asked.'I fancy he's not gone yet. He's been ever so long at the gate, andmaking such a wonderful wise to-do, that there's no getting by. He'samusing himself with this tomfoolery; he finds it pay, no doubt.'My man belonged to the same class of educated servants as Ardalion.'And is the lady with him?''Yes. She's in attendance on him.'- - - - - - I went out on to the steps, and got a view of the crazy pilgrim. He wassitting on a bench at the gate, and, bent down with both his open handspressed on it, he was shaking his drooping head from right to left, forall the world like a wild beast in a cage. The thick mane of curly haircovered his eyes, and shook from side to side, and so did his pendulouslips.... A strange, almost unhuman muttering came from them. Hiscompanion had only just finished washing from a pitcher that was hangingon a pole, and without having yet replaced her kerchief on her head, wasmaking her way back to the gate along a narrow plank laid across thedark puddles of the filthy yard. I glanced at her head, which was nowentirely uncovered, and positively threw up my hands with astonishment:before me stood Sophie B.!She turned quickly round and fixed upon me her blue eyes, immovable asever. She was much thinner, her skin looked coarser and had theyellowish-ruddy tinge of sunburn, her nose was sharper, and her lipswere harder in their lines. But she was not less good-looking; onlybesides her old expression of dreamy amazement there was now a differentlook--resolute, almost bold, intense and exalted. There was not a traceof childishness left in the face now.I went up to her. 'Sophia Vladimirovna,' I cried, 'can it be you? Insuch a dress ... in such company....'She started, looked still more intently at me, as though anxious to findout who was speaking to her, and, without saying a word to me, fairlyrushed to her companion.'Akulinushka,' he faltered, with a heavy sigh, 'our sins, sins ...''Vassily Nikititch, let us go at once! Do you hear, at once, at once,'she said, pulling her kerchief on to her forehead with one hand, whilewith the other she supported the pilgrim under the elbow; 'let us go,Vassily Nikititch: there is danger here.''I'm coming, my good girl, I'm coming,' the crazy pilgrim respondedobediently, and, bending his whole body forward, he got up from theseat. 'Here's only this chain to fasten....'I once more approached Sophia, and told her my name. I began beseechingher to listen to me, to say one word to me. I pointed to the rain,which was coming down in bucketsful. I begged her to have some care forher health, the health of her companion. I mentioned her father.... Butshe seemed possessed by a sort of wrathful, a sort of vindictiveexcitement: without paying the slightest attention to me, setting herteeth and breathing hard, she urged on the distracted vagrant in anundertone, in soft insistent words, girt him up, fastened on hischains, pulled on to his hair a child's cloth cap with a broken peak,stuck his staff in his hand, slung a wallet on her own shoulder, andwent with him out at the gate into the street.... To stop her actuallyI had not the right, and it would have been of no use; and at my lastdespairing call she did not even turn round. Supporting the 'man ofGod' under his arm, she stepped rapidly over the black mud of thestreet; and in a few moments, across the dim dusk of the foggy morning,through the thick network of falling raindrops, I saw the last glimpseof the two figures, the crazy pilgrim and Sophie.... They turned thecorner of a projecting hut, and vanished for ever.- - - - - - I went back to my room. I fell to pondering. I could not understand it;I could not understand how such a girl, well brought up, young, andwealthy, could throw up everything and every one, her own home, herfamily, her friends, break with all her habits, with all the comforts oflife, and for what? To follow a half-insane vagrant, to become hisservant! I could not for an instant entertain the idea that theexplanation of such a step was to be found in any prompting, howeverdepraved, of the heart, in love or passion.... One had but to glance atthe repulsive figure of the 'man of God' to dismiss such a notionentirely! No, Sophie had remained pure; and to her all things were pure;I could not understand what Sophie had done; but I did not blame her,as, later on, I have not blamed other girls who too have sacrificedeverything for what they thought the truth, for what they held to betheir vocation. I could not help regretting that Sophie had chosen just_that_ path; but also I could not refuse her admiration, respect even.In good earnest she had talked of self-sacrifice, of abasement ... in_her_, words were not opposed to acts. She had sought a leader, a guide,and had found him, ... and, my God, what a guide!Yes, she had lain down to be trampled, trodden under foot.... In theprocess of time, a rumour reached me that her family had succeeded atlast in finding out the lost sheep, and bringing her home. But at homeshe did not live long, and died, like a 'Sister of Silence,' withouthaving spoken a word to any one.Peace to your heart, poor, enigmatic creature! Vassily Nikititch isprobably on his crazy wanderings still; the iron health of suchpeople is truly marvellous. Perhaps, though, his epilepsy may havedone for him.BADEN-BADEN, 1869.
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