Gubin
The place where I first saw him was a tavern wherein, ensconcedin the chimney-corner, and facing a table, he was exclaimingstutteringly, "Oh, I know the truth about you all! Yes, I knowthe truth about you!" while standing in a semicircle in frontof him, and unconsciously rendering him more and more excitedwith their sarcastic interpolations, were some tradesmen of thesuperior sort--five in number. One of them remarked indifferently:"How should you NOT know the truth about us, seeing that you donothing but slander us?"Shabby, in fact in rags, Gubin at that moment reminded me of ahomeless dog which, having strayed into a strange street, hasfound itself held up by a band of dogs of superior strength,and, seized with nervousness, is sitting back on its haunchesand sweeping the dust with its tail; and, with growls, andoccasional barings of its fangs, and sundry barkings, attemptingnow to intimidate its adversaries, and now to conciliate them.Meanwhile, having perceived the stranger's helplessness andinsignificance, the native pack is beginning to moderate itsattitude, in the conviction that, though continued maintenanceof dignity is imperative, it is not worthwhile to pick aquarrel so long as an occasional yelp be vented in thestranger's face."To whom are you of any use?" one of the tradesmen at lengthinquired."Not a man of us but may be of use.""To whom, then?" . . .I had long since grown familiar with tavern disputes concerningverities, and not infrequently seen those disputes develop intoopen brawls; but never had I permitted myself to be drawn intotheir toils, or to be set wandering amid their tangles like ablind man negotiating a number of hillocks. Moreover, justbefore this encounter with Gubin, I had arrived at a dim surmisethat when such differences were carried to the point of madnessand bloodshed. Really,they constituted an expression of theunmeaning, hopeless, melancholy life that is lived in the wilderand more remote districts of Russia--of the life that is lived onswampy banks of dingy rivers, and in our smaller and moreGod-forgotten towns. For it would seem that in such places menhave nothing to look for, nor any knowledge of how to look foranything; wherefore, they brawl and shout in vain attempts todissipate despondency. . . .I myself was sitting near Gubin, but on the other side of thetable. Yet, this was not because his outbursts and thetradesmen's retorts thereto were a pleasure to listen to, sinceto me both the one and the other seemed about as futile asbeating the air."To whom are YOU of use?""To himself every man can be useful.""But what good can one do oneself?" . . .The windows of the tavern were open, while in the pendent,undulating cloud of blue smoke that the flames of the lampsemitted, those lamps looked like so many yellow pitchers floatingamid the waters of a stagnant pond. Out of doors there wasbrooding the quiet of an August night, and not a rustle, not awhisper was there to be heard. Hence, as numbed with melancholy,I gazed at the inky heavens and limpid stars I thought to myself:"Surely, never were the sky and the stars meant to look downupon a life like this, a life like this?"Suddenly someone said with the subdued assurance of a personreading aloud from a written document:"Unless the peasants of Kubarovo keep a watch upon their timberlands, the sun will fire them tomorrow, and then the Birkins'forest also will catch alight."For a moment the dispute died down. Then, as it were cleavingthe silence, a voice said stutteringly:"Who cares about the significance of the word 'truth'?"And the words-- heavy, jumbled, and clumsy-- filled me withdespondent reflections. Then again the voices rose--this time inlouder and more venomous accents, and with their din recalled tome, by some accident, the foolish lines:The gods did give men waterTo wash in, and to drink;Yet man has made it but a poolIn which his woes to sink.Presently I moved outside and, seating myself on the steps ofthe veranda, fell to contemplating the dull, blurred windows ofthe Archpriest's house on the other side of the square, and towatching how black shadows kept flitting to and fro behind theirpanes as the faint, lugubrious notes of a guitar made themselvesheard. And a high-pitched, irritable voice kept repeating atintervals: "Allow me. Pray, permit me to speak," and beinganswered by a voice which intermittently shot into the silence,as into a bottomless sack, the words: "No, do you wait amoment, do you wait a moment."Surrounded by the darkness, the houses looked stunted likegravestones, with a line of black trees above their roofs thatloomed shadowy and cloud-like. Only in the furthest corner ofthe expanse was the light of a solitary street lamp bearing aresemblance to the disk of a stationary, resplendent dandelion.Over everything was melancholy. Far from inviting was thegeneral outlook. So much was this the case that, had, at thatmoment, anyone stolen upon me from behind the bushes and dealtme a sudden blow on the head, I should merely have sunk to earthwithout attempting to see who my assailant had been.Often, in those days, was I in this mood, for it clave to me asfaithfully as a dog--never did it wholly leave me."It was for men like THOSE that this fair earth of ours wasbestowed upon us!" I thought to myself.Suddenly, with a clatter, someone ran out of the door of thetavern, slid down the steps, fell headlong at their foot,quickly regained his equilibrium, and disappeared in thedarkness after exclaiming in a threatening voice:"Oh, I'LL pay you out! I'LL skin you, you damned... !"Whereafter two figures that also appeared in the doorway said asthey stood talking to one another:"You heard him threaten to fire the place, did you not?""Yes, I did. But why should he want to fire it? ""Because he is a dangerous rascal."Presently, slinging my wallet upon my back, I pursued my onwardway along a street that was fenced on either side with a tallpalisade. As I proceeded, long grasses kept catching at my feetand rustling drily. And so warm was the night as to render thepayment of a lodging fee superfluous; and the more so since inthe neighbourhood of the cemetery, where an advanced guard ofyoung pines had pushed forward to the cemetery wall and litteredthe sandy ground, with a carpet of red, dry cones, there weresleeping-places prepared in advance.Suddenly from the darkness there emerged, to recoil again, aman's tall figure."Who is that? Who is it?" asked the hoarse, nervous voice ofGubin in dissipation of the deathlike stillness.Which said, he and I fell into step with one another. As weproceeded he inquired whence I had come, and why I was stillabroad. Whereafter he extended to me, as to an old acquaintance,the invitation:"Will you come and sleep at my place? My house is near here,and as for work, I will find you a job tomorrow. In fact, as ithappens, I am needing a man to help me clean out a well at theBirkins' place. Will the job suit you? Very well, then. Always Ilike to settle things overnight, as it is at night that I canbest see through people."The "house" turned out to be nothing more than an oldone-eyed, hunchbacked washhouse or shanty which, bulging ofwall, stood wedged against the clayey slope of a ravine asthough it would fain bury itself amid the boughs of theneighbouring arbutus trees and elders.Without striking a light, Gubin flung himself upon some mouldyhay that littered a threshold as narrow as the threshold of adog-kennel, and said to me with an air of authority as he did so:"I will sleep with my head towards the door, for the atmospherehere is a trifle confined."And, true enough, the place reeked of elderberries, soap, burntstuff, and decayed leaves. I could not conceive why I had cometo such a spot.The twisted branches of the neighbouring trees hung motionlessathwart the sky, and concealed from view the golden dust of theMilky Way, while across the Oka an owl kept screeching, and thestrange, arresting remarks of my companion pelted me likeshowers of peas."Do not be surprised that I should live in a remote ravine," hesaid. "I, whose hand is against every man, can at least feellord of what I survey here."Too dark was it for me to see my host's face, but my memoryrecalled his bald cranium, and the yellow light of the lampsfalling upon a nose as long as a woodpecker's beak, a pair ofgrey and stubbly cheeks, a pair of thin lips covered by abristling moustache, a mouth sharp-cut as with a knife, and fullof black, evil-looking stumps, a pair of pointed, sensitive,mouse-like ears, and a clean-shaven chin. The last feature in noway consorted with his visage, or with his whole appearance; butat least it rendered him worthy of remark, and enabled one torealise that one had to deal with neither a peasant nor asoldier nor a tradesman, but with a man peculiar to himself.Also, his frame was lanky, with long arms and legs, and pointedknees and elbows. In fact, so like a piece of string was hisbody that to twist it round and round, or even to tie it into aknot, would, seemingly, have been easy enough.For awhile I found his speech difficult to follow; wherefore,silently I gazed at the sky, where the stars appeared to beplaying at follow-my-leader."Are you asleep?" at length he inquired."No, I am not. Why do you shave your beard?""Why do you ask?""Because, if you will pardon me, I think your face would lookbetter bearded."With a short laugh he exclaimed:"Bearded? Ah, sloven! Bearded, indeed!"To which he added more gravely:"Both Peter the Great and Nicholas I were wiser than you, forthey ordained that whosoever should be bearded should have hisnose slit, and be fined a hundred roubles. Did you ever hear ofthat? ""No.""And from the same source, from the beard, arose also the GreatSchism."His manner of speaking was too rapid to be articulate, and, inleaving his mouth, his words caused his lips to bare stumps andgums amid which they lost their way, became disintegrated, andissued, as it were, in an incomplete state."Everyone," he continued, "knows that life is lived moreeasily with a beard than without one, since with a beard liesare more easily told--they can be told, and then hidden in themasses of hair. Hence we ought to go through life with our facesnaked, since such faces render untruthfulness more difficult,and prevent their owners from prevaricating without the factbecoming plain to all.""But what about women?""What about women? Well, women can always lie to their husbandssuccessfully, but not to all the town, to all the world, to folkin general. Moreover, since a woman's real business in life isthe same as that of the hen, to rear young, what can it matterif she DOES cackle a few falsehoods, provided that she beneither a priest nor a mayor nor a tchinovnik, and does notpossess any authority, and cannot establish laws? For the reallyimportant point is that the law itself should not lie, but everuphold truth pure and simple. Long has the prevalent illegalitydisgusted me."The door of the shanty was standing open, and amid the outerdarkness, as in a church, the trees looked like pillars, and thewhite stems of the birches like silver candelabra tipped with athousand lights, or dimly-seen choristers with faces showingpale above sacramental vestments of black. All my soul was fullof a sort of painful restlessness. It was a feeling as though Ishould live to rise and go forth into the darkness, and offerbattle to the terrors of the night; yet ever, as my companion'storrential speech caught and held my attention, it detained mewhere I was."My father was a man of no little originality and character," hewent on. "Wherefore, none of the townsfolk liked him. By the ageof twenty he had risen to be an alderman, yet never to the endcould get the better of folk's stubbornness and stupidity, eventhough he made it his custom to treat all and sundry to food anddrink, and to reason with them. No, not even at the last did heattain his due. People feared him because he revolutionisedeverything, revolutionised it down to the very roots; the truthbeing that he had grasped the one essential fact that law andorder must be driven, like nails, into the people's very vitals."Mice squeaked under the floor, and on the further side of theOka an owl screeched, while amid the pitch-black heavens I couldsee a number of blotches intermittently lightening to an elusivered and blurring the faint glitter of the stars."It was one o'clock in the morning when my father died," Gubincontinued." And upon myself, who was seventeen and had justfinished my course at the municipal school of Riazan, theredevolved, naturally enough, all the enmity that my father hadincurred during his lifetime. 'He is just like his sire,' folksaid. Also, I was alone, absolutely alone, in the world, sincemy mother had lost her reason two years before my father'sdeath, and passed away in a frenzy. However, I had an uncle, aretired unter-officier who was both a sluggard, a tippler, and ahero (a hero because he had had his eyes shot out at Plevna, andhis left arm injured in a manner which had induced paralysis,and his breast adorned with the military cross and a set ofmedals). And sometimes, this uncle of mine would rally me on mylearning. For instance, 'Scholar,' he would say, 'what does"tiversia " mean?' 'No such word exists,' would be my reply,and thereupon he would seize me by the hair, for he was ratheran awkward person to deal with. Another factor as concernedmaking me ashamed of my scholarship was the ignorance of thetownspeople in general, and in the end I became the common butt,a sort of 'holy idiot.'"So greatly did these recollections move Gubin that he rose andtransferred his position to the door of the hut, where, a darkblur against the square of blue, he lit a gurgling pipe, andpuffed thereat until his long, conical nose glowed. Presentlythe surging stream of words began again:"At twenty I married an orphan, and when she fell ill and diedchildless I found myself alone once more, and without an adviseror a friend. However, still I continued both to live and to lookabout me. And in time, I perceived that life is not lived whollyas it should be.""What in life is 'not lived wholly as it should be'?""Everything in life. For life is mere folly, mere fatuousnonsense. The truth is that our dogs do not bark always at theright moment. For instance, when I said to folk, 'How would itbe if we were to open a technical school for girls?' Theymerely laughed and replied, 'Trade workers are hopelessdrunkards. Already have we enough of them. Besides, hithertowomen have contrived to get on WITHOUT education.' And when nextI conceived a scheme for instituting a match factory, it befellthat the factory was burnt down during its first year ofexistence, and I found myself once more at a loose end. Next acertain woman got hold of me, and I flitted about her like amartin around a belfry, and so lost my head as to live life asthough I were not on earth at all--for three years I did not knoweven what I was doing, and only when I recovered my senses did Iperceive myself to be a pauper, and my all, every single thingthat I had possessed, to have passed into HER white hands. Yes,at twenty-eight I found myself a beggar. Yet I have never whollyregretted the fact, for certainly for a time I lived life as fewmen ever live it. 'Take my all--take it!' I used to say to her.And, truly enough, I should never have done much good with myfather's fortune, whereas she--well, so it befell. Somehow Ithink that in those days my opinions must have been differentfrom now--now that I have lost everything. . . . Yet the womanused to say, 'You have NOT lost everything,' and she had witenough to fit out a whole townful of people.""This woman--who was she? ""The wife of a merchant. Whenever she unrobed and said, 'Come!What is this body of mine worth?' I used to make reply, 'A pricethat is beyond compute.' . . . So within three years everythingthat I possessed vanished like smoke. Sometimes, of course, folklaughed at and jibed at me; nor did I ever refute them. But nowthat I have come to have a better understanding of life'saffairs, I see that life is not wholly lived as it should be. Forthat matter, too, I do not hold my tongue on the subject, forthat is not my way--still left to me I have a tongue and my soul.The same reason accounts for the fact that no one likes me, andthat by everyone I am looked upon as a fool.""How, in your opinion, ought life to be lived?"Without answering me at once, Gubin sucked at his pipe untilhis nose made a glowing red blur in the darkness. Then hemuttered slowly:"How life ought to be lived no one could say exactly. And thisthough I have given much thought to the subject, and still amdoing so."I found it no difficult matter to form a mental picture of thedesolate existence which this man must be leading--this man whomall his fellows both derided and shunned. For at that time I toowas bidding fair to fail in life, and had my heart in the gripof ceaseless despondency.The truth is that of futile people Russia is over-full. Manysuch I myself have known, and always they have attracted me asstrongly and mysteriously as a magnet. Always they have struck memore favourably than the provincial-minded majority who live forfood and work alone, and put away from them all that couldconceivably render their bread-winning difficult, or preventthem from snatching bread out of the hands of their weakerneighbours. For most such folk are gloomy and self-contained,with hearts that have turned to wood, and an outlook that everreverts to the past; unless, indeed, they be folk of spuriousgood nature, an addition to talkativeness, and an apparentbonhomie which veils a frigid, grey interior, and conveys animpression of cruelty and greed of all that life contains.Always, in the end, I have detected in such folk somethingwintry, something that makes them seem, as it were, to bespending spring and summer in expectation solely of the winterseason, with its long nights, and its cold of an austerity whichforces one for ever to be consuming food.Yet seldom among this distasteful and wearisome crowd of wintryfolk is there to be encountered a man who has altogether proveda failure. But if he has done so, he will be found to be a manwhose nature is of a more thoughtful, a more truly existent, amore clear-sighted cast than that of his fellows--a man who atleast can look beyond the boundaries of the trite andcommonplace, and whose mentality has a greater capacity forattaining spiritual fulfilment, and is more desirous of doingso, than the mentality of his compeers. That is to say, in sucha man one can always detect a striving for space, as a man who,loving light, carries light in himself.Unfortunately, all too often is that light only the fugitivephosphorescence of putrefaction; wherefore as one contemplateshim one soon begins to realise with bitterness and vexation anddisappointment that he is but a sluggard, but a braggart, butone who is petty and weak and blinded with conceit and distortedwith envy, but one between whose word and whose deed there gapesa disparity even wider and deeper than the disparity whichdivides the word from the deed of the man of winter, of the manwho, though he be as tardy as a snail, at least is making someway in the world, in contradistinction from the failure whorevolves ever in a single spot, like some barren old maid beforethe reflection in her looking-glass.Hence, as I listened to Gubin, there recurred to me more thanone instance of his type."Yes, I have succeeded in observing life throughout," hemuttered drowsily as his head sank slowly upon his breast.And sleep overtook myself with similar suddenness. Apparentlythat slumber was of a few minutes' duration only, yet whataroused me was Gubin pulling at my leg."Get up now," he said. "It is time that we were off."And as his bluish-grey eyes peered into my face, somehow Iderived from their mournful expression a sense ofintellectuality. Beneath the hair on his hollow cheeks werereddish veins, while similar veins, bluish in tint, covered witha network his temples, and his bare arms had the appearance ofbeing made of tanned leather.Dawn had not yet broken when we rose and proceeded through theslumbering streets beneath a sky that was of a dull yellow, andamid an atmosphere that was full of the smell of burning."Five days now has the forest been on fire," observed Gubin."Yet the fools cannot succeed in putting it out."Presently the establishment of the merchants Birkin lay beforeus, an establishment of curious aspect, since it constituted,rather, a conglomeration of appendages to a main building ofground floor and attics, with four windows facing on to thestreet, and a series of underpropping annexes. That seriesextended to the wing, and was solid and permanent, and bade fairto overflow into the courtyard, and through the entrance-gates,and across the street, and to the very kitchen-garden andflower-garden themselves. Also, it seemed to have been stolenpiecemeal from somewhere, and at different periods, and fromdifferent localities, and tacked at haphazard on to the walls ofthe parent erection. Moreover, all the windows of the latterwere small, and in their green panes, as they confronted theworld, there was a timid and suspicious air, while, inparticular, the three windows which faced upon the courtyard hadiron bars to them. Lastly, there were posted, sentinel-like onthe entrance-steps, two water-butts as a precaution against fire."What think you of the place?" Gubin muttered as he peered intothe well. "Isn't it a barbarous hole? The right thing would beto pull it down wholesale, and then rebuild it on larger andless restricted lines. Yet these fools merely go tacking newadditions on to the old."For awhile his lips moved as in an incantation. Then he frowned,glanced shrewdly at the structures in question, and continuedsoftly:"I may say in passing that the place is MINE.""YOURS? ""Yes, mine. At all events, so it used to be."And he pulled a grimace as though he had got the toothachebefore adding with an air of command:"Come! I will pump out the water, and YOU shall carry it to theentrance-steps and fill the water-butts. Here is a pail, andhere a ladder."Whereafter, with a considerable display of strength, he setabout his portion of the task, whilst I myself took pail in handand advanced towards the steps to find that the water-buttswere so rotten that, instead of retaining the water, they let itleak out into the courtyard. Gubin said with an oath:"Fine masters these--masters who grudge one a groat, andsquander a rouble! What if a fire WERE to break out? Oh, theblockheads!"Presently, the proprietors in person issued into the courtyard--the stout, bald Peter Birkin, a man whose face was flushed evento the whites of his shifty eyes, and, close behind him, eke hisshadow, Jonah Birkin-- a person of sandy, sullen mien, andoverhanging brows, and dull, heavy eyes."Good day, dear sir," said Peter Birkin thinly, as with a puffyhand he raised from his head a cloth cap, while Jonah nodded.And then, with a sidelong glance at myself, asked in a deep bassvoice:"Who is this young man?"Large and important like peacocks, the pair then shuffled acrossthe wet yard, and in so doing, went to much trouble to avoidsoiling their polished shoes. Next Peter said to his brother:"Have you noticed that the water-butts are rotted? Oh, thatfine Yakinika! He ought long ago to have been dismissed.""Who is that young man over there?" Jonah repeated with an airof asperity."The son of his father and mother," Gubin replied quietly, andwithout so much as a glance at the brothers."Well, come along," snuffled Peter with a drawling of hisvowels. "It is high time that we were moving. It doesn't matterwho the young man may be."And with that they slip-slopped across to the entrance gates,while Gubin gazed after them with knitted brows, and as thebrothers were disappearing through the wicket said carelessly:" The old sheep! They live solely by the wits of theirstepmother, and if it were not for her, they would long ago havecome to grief. Yes, she is a woman beyond words clever. Onceupon a time there were three brothers--Peter, Alexis, and Jonah;but, unfortunately, Alexis got killed in a brawl. A fine, tallfellow HE was, whereas these two are a pair of gluttons, likeeveryone else in this town. Not for nothing do three loavesfigure on the municipal arms! Now, to work again! Or shall wetake a rest?"Here there stepped on to the veranda a tall, well-grown youngwoman in an open pink bodice and a blue skirt who, shading blueeyes with her hand, scanned the courtyard and the steps, andsaid with some diffidence:"Good day, Yakov Vasilitch."With a good-humoured glance in response, and his mouth open,Gubin waved a hand in greeting:"Good day to YOU, Nadezhda Ivanovna," he replied. "How are youthis morning? "Somehow this made her blush, and cross her arms upon herample bosom, while her kindly, rounded, eminently Russian faceevinced the ghost of a shy smile. At the same time, it was aface wherein not a single feature was of a kind to remain fixedin the memory, a face as vacant as though nature had forgottento stamp thereon a single wish. Hence, even when the woman smiledthere seemed to remain a doubt whether the smile had reallymaterialised."How is Natalia Vasilievna?" continued Gubin."Much as usual," the woman answered softly.Whereafter hesitantly, and with downcast eyes, she essayed tocross the courtyard. As she passed me I caught a whiff ofraspberries and currants.Disappearing into the grey mist through a small door with ironstaples, she soon reissued thence with a hencoop, and, seatingherself on the steps of the doorway, and setting the coop on herknees, took between her two large palms some fluttering,chirping, downy, golden chicks, and raised them to her ruddylips and cheeks with a murmur of:"0h my little darlings! 0h my little darlings!"And in her voice, somehow, there was a note as of intoxication,of abandonment. Meanwhile dull, reddish sunbeams were beginningto peer through the fence, and to warm the long, pointed stapleswith which it was fastened together. While in a stream of waterthat was dripping from the eaves, and trickling over the floorof the court, and around the woman's feet, a single beam wasbathing and quivering as though it would fain effect an advanceto the woman's lap and the hencoop, and, with the soft, downychicks, enjoy the caresses of the woman's bare white arms."Ah, little things!" again she murmured. "Ah, little childrenof mine!"Upon that Gubin suddenly desisted from his task of hauling upthe bucket, and, as he steadied the rope with his arms raisedabove his head, said quickly:"Nadezhda Ivanovna, you ought indeed to have had somechildren--six at the least! "Yet no reply came, nor did the woman even look at him.The rays of the sun were now spreading, smokelike andgreyish-yellow, over the silver river. Above the river's calmbed a muslin texture of mist was coiling. Against the nebulousheavens the blue of the forest was rearing itself amid thefragrant, pungent fumes from the burning timber.Yet still asleep amid its sheltering half-circle of forest wasthe quiet little town of Miamlin, while behind it, andencompassing it as with a pair of dark wings, the forest inquestion looked as though it were ruffling its feathers inpreparation for further flight beyond the point where, thepeaceful Oka reached, the trees stood darkening, overshadowingthe water's clear depths, and looking at themselves therein.Yet, though the hour was so early, everything seemed to haveabout it an air of sadness, a mien as though the day lackedpromise, as though its face were veiled and mournful, as though,not yet come to birth, it nevertheless were feeling weary inadvance.Seating myself by Gubin on some trampled straw in the hutordinarily used by the watchman of the Birkins' extensiveorchard, I found that, owing to the orchard being set on ahillside, I could see over the tops of the apple and pear andfig trees, where their tops hung bespangled with dew as withquicksilver, and view the whole town and its multicolouredchurches, yellow, newly-painted prison, and yellow-painted bank.And while in the town's lurid, four-square buildings I couldtrace a certain resemblance to the aces of clubs stamped uponconvicts' backs, in the grey strips of the streets I could tracea certain resemblance to a number of rents in an old, ragged,faded, dusty coat. Indeed, that morning all comparisons seemedto take on a tinge of melancholy; the reason being thatthroughout the previous evening there had been moaning in mysoul a mournful dirge on the future life.With nothing, however, were the churches of the town of which Iam speaking exactly comparable, for many of them had attained adegree of beauty the contemplation of which caused the town toassume throughout-- a different, a more pleasing and seductive,aspect. Thought I to myself: "Would that men had fashioned allother buildings in the town as the churches have been fashioned!"One of the latter, an old, squat edifice the blank windows ofwhich were deeply sunken in the stuccoed walls, was known as the"Prince's Church," for the reason that it enshrined the remainsof a local Prince and his wife, persons of whom it stoodrecorded that "they did pass all their lives in kindly,unchanging love." . . .The following night Gubin and I chanced to see Peter Birkin'stall, pale, timid young wife traverse the garden on her way to atryst in the washhouse with her lover, the precentor of thePrince's Church. And as clad in a simple gown, andbarefooted, and having her ample shoulders swathed in anold, gold jacket or shawl of some sort, she crossed the orchardby a path running between two lines of apple trees; she walkedwith the unhasting gait of a cat which is crossing a yard aftera shower of rain, and from time to time, whenever a puddle isencountered, lifts and shakes fastidiously one of its soft paws.Probably, in the woman's case, this came of the fact that thingskept pricking and tickling her soles as she proceeded. Also, herknees, I could see, were trembling, and her step had in it acertain hesitancy, a certain lack of assurance.Meanwhile, bending over the garden from the warm night sky, themoon's kindly visage, though on the wane, was shining brightly;and when the woman emerged from the shadow of the trees I coulddiscern the dark patches of her eyes, her rounded, half-partedlips, and the thick plait of hair which lay across her bosom.Also, in the moonlight her bodice had assumed a bluish tinge, sothat she looked almost phantasmal; and when soundlessly, movingas though on air, she stepped back into the shadow of the trees,that shadow seemed to lighten.All this happened at midnight, or thereabouts, but neither of uswas yet asleep, owing to the fact that Gubin had been telling mesome interesting stories concerning the town and its familiesand inhabitants. However, as soon as he descried the womanlooming like a ghost, he leapt to his feet in comical terror,thensubsided on to the straw again, contracted his body as though hewere in convulsions, and hurriedly made the sign of the cross."Oh Jesus our Lord!" he gasped. "Tell me what that is, tell mewhat that is!""Keep quiet, you," I urged.Instead, lurching in my direction, he nudged me with his arm,"Is it Nadezhda, think you?" he whispered."It is.""Phew! The scene seems like a dream. Just in the same way, andin the very same place, did her mother-in-law, Petrushka'sstepmother, use to come and walk. Yes, it was just like this."Then, rolling over, face downwards, he broke into subdued,malicious chuckles; whereafter, seizing my hand and sawing it upand down, he whispered amid his exultant pants:"I expect Petrushka is asleep, for probably he has taken toomuch liquor at the Bassanov's smotrini. [A festival at which afiance pays his first visit to the house of the parents of hisbetrothed.] Aye, he will be asleep. And as for Jonah, HE willhave gone to Vaska Klochi. So tonight, until morning, Nadezhdawill be able to kick up her heels to her heart's content."I too had begun to surmise that the woman was come thither forpurposes of her own. Yet the scene was almost dreamlike in itsbeauty. It thrilled me to the soul to watch how the woman's blueeyes gazed about her--gazed as though she were ardently,caressingly whispering to all living creatures, asleep or awake:"0h my darlings! 0h my darlings!"Beside me the uncouth, broken-down Gubin went on in hoarseaccents:"You must know that she is Petrushka's THIRD wife, a woman whomhe took to himself from the family of a merchant of Murom. Yetthe town has it that not only Petrushka, but also Jonah, makesuse of her--that she acts as wife to both brothers, and thereforelacks children. Also has it been said of her that one TrinitySunday she was seen by a party of women to misconduct herself inthis garden with a police sergeant, and then to sit on his lapand weep. Yet this last I do not wholly believe, for thesergeant in question is a veteran scarcely able to put one footbefore the other. Also, Jonah, though a brute, lives in abjectfear of his stepmother."Here a worm-eaten apple fell to the ground, and the womanpaused; whereafter, with head a little raised, she resumed herway with greater speed.As for Gubin, he continued, unchecked, though with a trifle lessanimosity, rather as though he were reading aloud a manuscriptwhich he found wearisome:"See how a man like Peter Birkin may pride himself upon hiswealth, and receive honour during his lifetime, yet all thewhile have the devil grinning over his shoulder!"Then he, Gubin, kept silent awhile, and merely breathedheavily, and twisted his body about. But suddenly, he resumed ina strange whisper:"Fifteen years ago--no, surely it was longer ago than that?--Madame Nadkin, Nadezhda's mother-in-law, made it her practiceto come to this spot to meet her lover. And a fine gallant HEwas!"Somehow, as I watched the woman creeping along, and looking asthough she were intending to commit a theft, or as though shefancied that at any moment she might see the plump brothersBirkin issue from the courtyard into the garden and comeshuffling ponderously over the darkened ground, with ropes andcudgels grasped in coarse, red hands which knew no pity;somehow, as I watched her, I felt saddened, and paid little heedto Gubin's whispered remarks, so intently were my eyes fixedupon the granary wall as, after gliding along it awhile, thewoman bent her head and disappeared through the dark blue of thewashhouse door. As for Gubin, he went to sleep with a lastdrowsy remark of:"Life is all falsity. Husbands, wives, fathers, children--all ofthem practise deceit."In the east, portions of the sky were turning to light purple,and other portions to a darker hue, while from time to time Icould see, looming black against those portions, coils of smokethe density of which kept being stabbed with fiery spikes offlame, so that the vague, towering forest looked like a hill onthe top of which a fiery dragon was crawling about, andwrithing, and intermittently raising tremulous, scarlet wings,and as often relapsing into, becoming submerged in, the bankof vapour. And, in contemplating the spectacle, I seemedactually to be able to hear the cruel, hissing din of combatbetween red and black, and to see pale, frightened rabbitsscudding from underneath the roots of trees amid showers ofsparks, and panting, half-suffocated birds fluttering wildlyamid the branches as further and further afield, and more andmore triumphantly, the scarlet dragon unfurled its wings, andconsumed the darkness, and devoured the rain-soaked timber.Presently from the dark, blurred doorway in the wall of thewashhouse there emerged a dark figure which went flitting awayamong the trees, while after it someone called in a sharp,incisive whisper:"Do not forget. You MUST come.""Oh, I shall be only too glad!""Very well. In the morning the lame woman shall call upon you.Do you hear?"And as the woman disappeared from view the other personsauntered across the garden, and scaled the fence with a clatter.That night I could not sleep, but, until dawn, lay watching theburning forest as gradually the weary moon declined, and thelamp of Venus, cold and green as an emerald, came into view overthe crosses on the Prince's Church. Indeed was the latter afitting place for Venus to illumine if really it had been thecase that the Prince and Princess had "passed their lives inkindly, unchanging love"!Gradually, the dew cleared the trees of the night darkness, andcaused the damp, grey foliage to smile once more with aniseedand red raspberry, and to sparkle with the gold of their mildew.Also, there came hovering about us goldfinches with their littlered-hooded crests, and fussy tomtits in their cravats of yellow,while a nimble,dark, blue woodpecker scaled the stem of anapple tree. And everywhere, yellow leaves fluttered to earth,and, in doing so, so closely resembled birds as to make it notalways easy to distinguish whether a leaf or a tomtit hadglimmered for a moment in the air.Gubin awoke, sighed, and with his gnarled knuckles gave hispuffy eyes a rub. Then he raised himself upon all-fours, and,crawling, much dishevelled with sleep, out of the watchman'shut, snuffed the air (a process in which his movementsapproximated comically to those of a keen-nosed watch-dog).Finally he rose to his feet, and, in the act, shook one of thetrees so violently as to cause a bough to shed its burden ofripe fruit, and disperse the apples hither and thither over thedry surface of the ground, or cause them to bury themselvesamong the long grass. Three of the juiciest apples he dulyrecovered, and, after examination of their exterior, probed withhis teeth, while kicking away from him as many of the remainderas he could descry."Why spoil those apples?" I queried"Oh, so you are NOT asleep?" he countered with a nod of hismelon-shaped cranium. "As a matter of fact, a few apples won'tbe missed, for there are too many of them about. My own fatherit was that planted the trees which have grown them."Then, turning upon me a keen, good-humoured eye, and chuckling,he added:"What about that Nadezhda? Ah, she is a clever woman indeed!Yet I have a surprise in store for her and her lover.""Why should you have?""Because I desire to benefit mankind at large" (this was saiddidactically, and with a frown). "For, no matter where I detectevil or underhandedness, it is my duty-- I feel it to be my duty--to expose that evil, and to lay it bare. There exist people whoneed to be taught a lesson, and to whom I long to cry: 'Sinnersthat you are, do you lead more righteous lives!'"From behind some clouds the sun was rising with a disk as murkyand mournful as the face of an ailing child. It was as though hewere feeling conscious that he had done amiss in so longdelaying to shed light upon the world, in so long dallying onhis bed of soft clouds amid the smoke of the forest fire. Butgradually the cheering beams suffused the garden throughout, andevoked from the ripening fruit an intoxicating wave of scent inwhich there could be distinguished also the bracing breath ofautumn.Simultaneously there rose into the sky, in the wake of the sun,a dense stratum of cloud which, blue and snow-white in colour,lay with its soft hummocks reflected in the calm Oka, and sowrought therein a secondary firmament as profound and impalpableas its original."Now then, Makar!" was Gubin's command, and once more I postedmyself at the bottom of the well. About three sazheni in depth,and lined with cold, damp mud to above the level of my middle,the orifice was charged with a stifling odour both of rottenwood and of something more intolerable still. Also, whenever Ihad filled the pail with mud, and then emptied it into thebucket and shouted "Right away!" the bucket would startswinging against my person and bumping it, as unwillingly itwent aloft, and thereafter discharge upon my head and shouldersclots of filth and drippings of water--meanwhile screening, withits circular bottom, the glowing sun and now scarce visiblestars. In passing, the spectacle of those stars' waning bothpained and cheered me, for it meant that for a companion in thefirmament they now had the sun. Hence it was until my neck feltalmost fractured, and my spine and the nape of my neck wereaching as though clamped in a cast of plaster of paris, that Ikept my eyes turned aloft. Yes, anything to gain a sight of thestars! From them I could not remove my vision, for they seemedto exhibit the heavens in a new guise, and to convey to me thejoyful tidings that in the sky there was present also the sun.Yet though, meanwhile, I tried to ponder on something great, Inever failed to find myself cherishing the absurd, obstinateapprehension that soon the Birkins would leave their beds, enterthe courtyard, and have Nadezhda betrayed to them by Gubin.And throughout there kept descending to me from above thelatter's inarticulate, as it were damp-sodden, observations."Another rat!" I heard him exclaim. "To think that those twofellows, men of money, should neglect for two whole years toclean out their well! Why, what can the brutes have beendrinking meanwhile? Look out below, you!"And once more, with a creaking of the pulley, the bucket woulddescend--bumping and thudding against the lining of the well asit did so, and bespattering afresh my head and shoulders withits filth. Rightly speaking, the Birkins ought to have clearedout the well themselves!"Let us exchange places," I cried at length."What is wrong?" inquired Gubin in response"Down here it is cold--I can't stand it any longer.""Gee up!" exclaimed Gubin to the old horse which supplied theleverage power for the bucket; whereupon I seated myself uponthe edge of the receptacle and went aloft, where everything waslooking so bright and warm as to bear a new and unwontedlypleasing appearance.So now it was Gubin's turn to stand at the bottom of the well.And soon, in addition to the odour of decay, and a subdued soundof splashing, and the rumblings and bumpings of the iron bucketagainst its chain, there began to come up from the damp, blackcavity a perfect stream of curses."The infernal skinflints!" I heard my companion exclaim."Hullo, here is something! A dog or a baby, eh? The damned oldbarbarians!"And the bucket ascended with, among its contents, a sodden andmost ancient hat. With the passage of time Gubin's temper grewworse and worse."If I SHOULD find a baby here," next he exclaimed, "I shallreport the matter to the police, and get those blessed oldbrothers into trouble."Each movement of the leathern-hided, wall-eyed steed which didour bidding was accompanied by a swishing of a sandy tail whichhad for its object the brushing away of autumn's harbingers, thebluebottles. Almost with the tranquil gait of a religious didthe animal accomplish its periodical journeys from the wall tothe entrance gates and back again; after which it always heaveda profound sigh, and stood with its bony crest lowered.Presently, from a corner of the yard that lay screened behindsome rank, pale, withered, trampled herbage a door screeched.Into the yard there issued Nadezhda Birkin, carrying a bunchof keys, and followed by a lady who, elderly and rotund offigure, had a few dark hairs growing on her full and ratherhaughty upper lip. As the two walked towards the cellar(Nadezhda being clad only in an under-petticoat, with a chemisehalf-covering her shoulders, and slippers thrust on to barefeet), I perceived from the languor of the younger woman's gaitthat she was feeling weary indeed."Why do you look at us like that?" her senior inquired of meas she drew level. And as she did so the eyes that peered at mefrom above the full and, somehow, displaced-looking cheeks bidin them a dim, misty, half-blind expression."That must be Peter Birkin's mother-in-law," was my unspokenreflection.At the door of the cellar Nadezhda handed the keys to hercompanion, and with a slow step which set her ample bosomswaying, and increased the disarray of the bodice on her round,but broad, shoulders, approached myself, and said quietly:"Please open the gutter-sluice and let out the water into thestreet, or the yard will soon be flooded. Oh, the smell of it!What is that thing there? A rat? Oh batinshka, what a horriblemess!"Her face had about it a drawn look, and under her eyes therewere a pair of dark patches, and in their depths the dry glitterof a person who has spent a night of waking. True, it was a facestill fresh of hue; yet beads of sweat were standing on theforehead, and her shoulders looked grey and heavy--as grey andheavy as unleavened bread which the fire has coated with a thincrust, yet failed to bake throughout."Please, also, open the wicket," she continued. "And, in casea lame old beggar-woman should call, come and tell me. I am theNadezhda Ivanovna for whom she will inquire. Do you understand?"From the well, at this point, there issued the words:"Who is that speaking?""It is the mistress," I replied."What? Nadezhda? With her I have a bone to pick.""What did he say?" the woman asked tensely as she raised herdark, thinly pencilled brows, and made as though to go and leanover the well. Independently of my own volition I forestalledwhat Gubin might next have been going to say by remarking:"I must tell you that last night he saw you walking in thegarden here.""Indeed? " she ejaculated, and drew herself to her full height.Yet in doing so she blushed to her shoulders, and, clappingplump hands to her bosom, and opening dark eyes to theirfullest, said in a hasty and confused whisper as, again palingand shrinking in stature, she subsided like a piece of pastrythat is turning heavy:"Good Lord! WHAT did he see? . . . If the lame woman shouldcall, you must not admit her. No, tell her that she will not bewanted, that I cannot, that I must not--But see here. Here is arouble for you. Oh, good Lord!"By this time even louder and more angry exclamations had begunto ascend from Gubin. Yet the only sound to reach my ears wasthe woman's muttered whispering, and as I glanced into her faceI perceived that its hitherto high-coloured and rounded contourshad fallen in, and turned grey, and that her flushed lips weretrembling to such an extent as almost to prevent thearticulation of her words. Lastly, her eyes were frozen into anexpression of pitiful, doglike terror.Suddenly she shrugged her shoulders, straightened her form, putaway from her the expression of terror, and said quietly, butincisively:"You will not need to say anything about this. Allow me."And with a swaying step she departed--a step so short as almostto convey the impression that her legs were bound together. Yetwhile the gait was the gait of a person full of suppressed fury,it was also the gait of a person who can scarcely see an inch inadvance."Haul away, you!" shouted Gubin.I hauled him up in a state of cold and wet; whereafter he fellto stamping around the coping of the well, cursing, and wavinghis arms."What have you been thinking of all this time?" hevociferated. "Why, for ever so long I shouted and shouted toyou!""I have been telling Nadezhda that last night you saw herwalking in the garden."He sprang towards me with a vicious scowl."Who gave you leave to do so?" he exclaimed."Wait a moment. I said that it was only in a dream, that yousaw her crossing the garden to the washhouse.""Indeed? And why did you do that? "Somehow, as, barelegged and dripping with mud, he stoodblinking his eyes at me with a most disagreeable expression, helooked extremely comical."See here," I remarked, "you have only to go and tell herhusband about her for me to go and tell him the same story aboutyour having seen the whole thing in a dream.""Why?" cried Gubin, now almost beside himself. Presently, however, herecovered sufficient self-possession to grin and ask in anundertone:"HOW MUCH DID SHE GIVE YOU?"I explained to him that my sole reason for what I had done hadbeen that I pitied the woman, and feared lest the brothersBirkin should do an injury to one who at least ought not to bebetrayed. Gubin began by declining to believe me, buteventually, after the matter had been thought out, said:"Acceptance of money for doing what is right is certainlyirregular; but at least is it better than acceptance of moneyfor conniving at sin. Well, you have spoilt my scheme, youngfellow. Hired only to clean out the well, I would neverthelesshave cleaned out the establishment as a whole, and takenpleasure in doing so."Then once more he relapsed into fury, and muttered as hescurried round and round the well:"How DARED you poke your nose into other people's affairs? Whoare YOU in this establishment?"The air was hot and arid, yet still the sky was as dull asthough coated throughout with the dust of summer, and, as yet,one could gaze at the sun's purple, rayless orb withoutblinking, and as easily as one could have gazed at the glowingembers of a wood fire.Seated on the fence, a number of rooks were directingintelligent black eyes upon the heaps of mud which lay aroundthe coping of the well. And from time to time they flutteredtheir wings impatiently, and cawed."I got you some work," Gubin continued in a grumbling tone,"and put heart into you with the prospect of employment. And nowyou have gone and treated me like --"At this point I caught the sound of a horse trotting towards theentrance-gates, and heard someone shout, as the animal drewlevel with the house:"YOUR timber too has caught alight!"Instantly, frightened by the shout, the rooks took to theirwings and flew away. Also, a window sash squeaked, and thecourtyard resounded with sudden bustle--the culinary regionsvomiting the elderly lady and the tousled, half-clad Jonah; andan open window the upper half of the red-headed Peter."Men, harness up as quickly as possible!" the latter cried,his voice charged with a plaintive note.And, indeed, he had hardly spoken before Gubin led out a fatroan pony, and Jonah pulled from a shelter a light buggy orbritchka. Meanwhile Nadezhda called from the veranda to Jonah:"Do you first go in and dress yourself! "The elderly lady then unfastened the gates; whereupon a stunted,oldish muzhik in a red shirt limped into the yard with afoam-flecked steed, and exclaimed:"It is caught in two places--at the Savelkin clearing and nearthe cemetery!"Immediately the company pressed around him with groans andejaculations, and Gubin alone continued to harness the pony withswift and dexterous hands--saying to me through his teeth as hedid so, and without looking at anyone:"That is how those wretched folk ALWAYS defer things until toolate."The next person to present herself at the entrance gates was abeggar-woman. Screwing up her eyes in a furtive manner, shedroned:"For the sake of Lord Je-e-esus!""God will give you alms! God will give you alms!" wasNadezhda's reply as, turning pale, she flung out her arms in theold woman's direction. "You see, a terrible thing has happened--our timber lands have caught fire. You must come again later."Upon that Peter's bulky form (which had entirely filled thewindow from which it had been leaning), disappeared with a jerk,and in its stead there came into view the figure of a woman.Said she contemptuously:"See the visitation with which God has tried us, you men offaint hearts and indolent hands!"The woman's hair was grey at the temples, and had resting uponit a silken cap which so kept changing colour in the sunlight asto convey to one. the impression that her head was bonneted withsteel, while in her face, picturesque but dark (seeminglyblackened with smoke), there gleamed two pupil-less blue eyes ofa kind which I had never before beheld."Fools," she continued, "how often have I not pointed out toyou the necessity of cutting a wider space between the timberand the cemetery?"From a furrow above the woman's small but prominent nose, apair of heavy brows extended to temples that were silvered over.As she spoke there fell a strange silence amid which save forthe pony's pawing of the mire no sound mingled with thesarcastic reproaches of the deep, almost masculine voice."That again is the mother-in-law," was my inward reflection.Gubin finished the harnessing--then said to Jonah in the tone ofa superior addressing a servant:"Go in and dress yourself, you object!"Nevertheless, the Birkins drove out of the yard precisely as theywere, while the peasant mounted his belathered steed andfollowed them at a trot; and the elderly lady disappeared fromthe window, leaving its panes even darker and blacker than theyhad previously been. Gubin, slip-slopping through the puddleswith bare feet, said to me with a sharp glance as he moved toshut the entrance gates:"I presume that I can now take in hand the little affair ofwhich you know.""Yakov!" at this juncture someone shouted from the house.Gubin straightened himself a la militaire."Yes, I am coming," he replied.Whereafter, padding on bare soles, he ascended the steps.Nadezhda, standing at their top, turned away with a frown ofrepulsion at his approach, and nodded and beckoned to myself,"What has Yakov said to you? " she inquired"He has been reproaching me.""Reproaching you for what?""For having spoken to you."She heaved a sigh."Ah, the mischief-maker!" she exclaimed. "And what is it thathe wants?"As she pouted her displeasure her round and vacant face lookedalmost childlike."Good Lord!" she added. "What DO such men as he want?"Meanwhile the heavens were becoming overspread with dark greyclouds, and presaging a flood of autumn rain, while from thewindow near the steps the voice of Peter's mother-in-law wasissuing in a steady stream. At first, however, nothing wasdistinguishable save a sound like the humming of a spindle."It is my mother that is speaking," Nadezhda explained softly."She'll give it him! Yes, SHE will protect me!"Yet I scarcely heard Nadezhda's words, so greatly was I feelingstruck with the quiet forcefulness, the absolute assurance, ofwhat was being said within the window."Enough, enough! " said the voice. "Only through lack ofoccupation have you joined the company of the righteous."Upon this I made a move to approach closer to the window;whereupon Nadezhda whispered:"Whither are you going? You must not listen."While she was yet speaking I heard come from the window:"Similarly your revolt against mankind has come of idleness, oflack of an interest in life. To you the world has beenwearisome, so, while devising this revolt as a resource, youhave excused it on the ground of service of God and love ofequity, while in reality constituting yourself the devil'sworkman."Here Nadezhda plucked at my sleeve, and tried to pull me away,but I remarked:"I MUST learn what Gubin has got to say in answer."This made Nadezhda smile, and then whisper with a confidingglance at my face:"You see, I have made a full confession to her. I went and saidto her: 'Mamenka, I have had a misfortune.' And her only replyas she stroked my hair was, 'Ah, little fool! ' Thus you seethat she pities me. And what makes her care the less that Ishould stray in that direction is that she yearns for me to bearher a child, a grandchild, as an heir to her property."Next, Gubin was heard saying within the room:"Whensoever an offence is done against the law I..."At once a stream of impressive words from the other drowned hisutterance:"An offence is not always an offence of moment, since sometimesa person outgrows the law, and finds it too restrictive. No oneperson ought to be rated against another. For whom alone oughtwe to fear? Only the God in whose sight all of us have erred!"And though in the elderly lady's voice there was weariness anddistaste, the words were spoken slowly and incisively. Upon thisGubin tried to murmur something or another, but again hisutterance failed to edge its way into his interlocutor'smeasured periods:"No great achievement is it," she said, "to condemn a fellowcreature. For always it is easy to sit in judgment upon ourfellows. And even if a fellow creature be allowed to pursue anevil course unchecked, his offence may yet prove productive ofgood. Remember how in every case the Saints reached God. Yet howtruly sanctified, by the time that they did so reach Him, werethey? Let this ever be borne in mind, for we are over-apt tocondemn and punish!""In former days, Natalia Vassilievna, you took away from me mysubstance, you took my all. Also, let me recount to you how wefell into disagreement.""No; there is no need for that.""Thereafter, I ceased to be able to bear the contemplation ofmyself; I ceased to consider myself as of any value.""Let the past remain the past. That which must be is not to beavoided.""Through you, I say, I lost my peace of mind."Nadezhda nudged me, and whispered with gay malice:"That is probably true, for they say that once he was one ofher lovers."Then she recollected herself and, clapping her hands to herface, cried through her fingers:"Oh good Lord! What have I said? No, no, you must not believethese tales. They are only slanders, for she is the best ofwomen.""When evil has been done," continued the quiet voice within thewindow, "it can never be set right by recounting it to others.He upon whom a burden has been laid should try to bear it. And,should he fail to bear it, the fact will mean that the burdenhas been beyond his strength.""It was through you that I lost everything. It was you thatstripped me bare.""But to that which you lost I added movement. Nothing in lifeis ever lost; it merely passes from one hand to another--fromthe unskilled hand to the experienced-- so that even the bonepicked of a dog may ultimately become of value.""Yes, a bone--that is what I am.""Why should you say that? You are still a man.""Yes, a man, but a man useful for what?""Useful, even though the use may not yet be fully apparent."To this, after a pause, the speaker added:"Now, depart in peace, and make no further attempt against thiswoman. Nay, do not even speak ill of her if you can help it, butconsider everything that you saw to have been seen in a dream.""Ah!" was Gubin's contrite cry. "It shall be as you say. Yet,though I should hate, I could not bear, to grieve you, I mustconfess that the height whereon you stand is--""Is what, 0h friend of mine?""Nothing; save that of all souls in this world you are, withoutexception, the best.""Yakov Petrovitch, in this world you and I might have ended ourlives together in honourable partnership. And even now, if Godbe willing, we might do so.""No. Rather must farewell be said."All became quiet within the window, except that after aprolonged silence there came from the woman a deep sigh, andthen a whisper of, "0h Lord!"Treading softly, like a cat, Nadezhda darted away towards thesteps; whereas I, less fortunate, was caught by the departingGubin in the very act of leaving the neighbourhood of thewindow. Upon that he inflated his cheeks, ruffled up his sandyhair, turned red in the face like a man who has been through afight, and cried in strange, querulous, high-pitched accents:"Hi! What were you doing just now? Long-legged devil that youare, I have no further use for you--I do not intend to work withyou any more. So you can go."At the same moment the dim face, with its great blue eyes,showed itself at the window, and the stem voice inquired:"What does the noise mean?""What does it mean? It means that I do not intend--""You must not, if you wish to create a disturbance, do itanywhere but in the street. It must not be created here.""What is all this? " Nadezhda put in with a stamp of her foot."What--"At this point, the cook rushed out with a toasting-fork andmilitantly ranged herself by Nadezhda's side, exclaiming:"See what comes of not having a single muzhik in the house!"I now prepared to withdraw, but, in doing so, glanced once moreat the features of the elderly lady, and saw that the bluepupils were dilated so as almost to fill the eyes in theirentirety, and to leave only a bluish margin. And strange andpainful were those eyes--eyes fixed blindly, eyes which seemed tohave strayed from their orbits through yielding to emotion and aconsequent overstrain-- while the apple of the throat had swelledlike the crop of a bird, and the sheen of the silken head-dressbecome as the sheen of metal. Involuntarily, I thought to myself:"It is a head that must be made of iron."By this time Gubin had penitently subsided, and was exchangingharmless remarks with the cook, while carefully avoiding myglance."Good day to you, madame," at length I said as I passed thewindow.Not at once did she reply, but when she did so she said kindly:"And good day to YOU, my friend. Yes, I wish you good day."To which she added an inclination of the head which resemblednothing so much as a hammer which much percussion upon an anvilhas wrought to a fine polish.
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