Kalinin
Whistling from off the sea, the wind was charged with moist, saltspray, and dashing foaming billows ashore with their white manesfull of snakelike, gleaming black ribands of seaweed, and causingthe rocks to rumble angrily in response, and the trees to rustlewith a dry, agitated sound as their tops swayed to and fro, andtheir trunks bent earthwards as though they would fain reeve uptheir roots, and betake them whither the mountains stood veiledin a toga of heavy, dark mist.Over the sea the clouds were hurrying towards the land as everand anon they rent themselves into strips, and revealedfathomless abysses of blue wherein the autumn sun burneduneasily, and sent cloud-shadows gliding over the puckered wasteof waters, until, the shore reached, the wind further harried themasses of vapour towards the sharp flanks of the mountains, and,after drawing them up and down the slopes, relegated them toclefts, and left them steaming there.There was about the whole scene a louring appearance, anappearance as though everything were contending with everything,as now all things turned sullenly dark, and now all thingsemitted a dull sheen which almost blinded the eyes. Along thenarrow road, a road protected from the sea by a line of wave-washed dykes, some withered leaves of oak and wild cherry werescudding in mutual chase of one another; with the general resultthat the combined sounds of splashing and rustling and howlingcame to merge themselves into a single din which issued as a songwith a rhythm marked by the measured blows of the waves as theystruck the rocks."Zmiulan, the King of the Ocean, is abroad!" shouted my fellowtraveller in my ear. He was a tall, round-shouldered man ofchildishly chubby features and boyishly bright, transparent eyes."WHO do you say is abroad?" I queried."King Zmiulan."Never having heard of the monarch, I made no reply.The extent to which the wind buffeted us might have led one tosuppose that its primary objective was to deflect our steps, andturn them in the direction of the mountains. Indeed, at times itspressure was so strong that we had no choice but to halt, to turnour backs to the sea, and, with feet planted apart, to priseourselves against our sticks, and so remain, poised on threelegs, until we were past any risk of being overwhelmed with thesoft incubus of the tempest, and having our coats torn from ourshoulders.At intervals such gasps would come from my companion that hemight well have been standing on the drying-board of a bath. Nor,as they did so, was his appearance aught but comical, seeing thathis ears, appendages large and shaggy like a dog's, andindifferently shielded with a shabby old cap, kept being pushedforward by the wind until his small head bore an absurdresemblance to a china bowl. And that, to complete theresemblance, his long and massive nose, a feature grosslydisproportionate to the rest of his diminutive face, mightequally well have passed for the spout of the receptacleindicated.Yet a face out of the common it was, like the whole of hispersonality. And this was the fact which had captivated me fromthe moment when I had beheld him participating in a vigil serviceheld in the neighbouring church of the monastery of New Athos.There, spare, but with his withered form erect, and his headslightly tilted, he had been gazing at the Crucifix with aradiant smile, and moving his thin lips in a sort of whispered,confidential, friendly conversation with the Saviour. Indeed, somuch had the man's smooth, round features (features as beardlessas those of a Skopetz [A member of the Skoptzi, a non-Orthodoxsect the members of which "do make of themselves eunuchs for theLord's sake."], save for two bright tufts at the corners of themouth) been instinct with intimacy, with a consciousness ofactually being in the presence of the Son of God, that thespectacle, transcending anything of the kind that my eyes hadbefore beheld, had led me, with its total absence of thecustomary laboured, servile, pusillanimous attitude towards theAlmighty which I had generally found to be the rule, to accordthe man my whole interest, and, as long as the service hadlasted, to keep an eye upon one who could thus converse with Godwithout rendering Him constant obeisance, or again and againmaking the sign of the cross, or invariably making it to theaccompaniment of groans and tears which had always hithertoobtruded itself upon my notice.Again had I encountered the man when I had had supper at theworkmen's barraque, and then proceeded to the monastery's guest-chamber. Seated at a table under a circle of light falling from alamp suspended from the ceiling, he had gathered around him aknot of pilgrims and their women, and was holding forth in low,cheerful tones that yet had in them the telling, incisive note ofthe preacher, of the man who frequently converses with his fellowmen."One thing it may be best always to disclose," he was saying,"and another thing to conceal. If aught in ourselves seems harmfulor senseless, let us put to ourselves the question: 'Why is thisso?' Contrariwise ought a prudent man never to thrust himselfforward and say: 'How discreet am I!' while he who makes a paradeof his hard lot, and says, 'Good folk, see ye and hear how bittermy life is,' also does wrong."Here a pilgrim with a black beard, a brigand's dark eyes, and thewasted features of an ascetic rose from the further side of thetable, straightened his virile frame, and said in a dull voice:"My wife and one of my children were burnt to death through thefalling of an oil lamp. On THAT ought I to keep silence?"No answer followed. Only someone muttered to himself:"What? Again?": until the first speaker, the speaker seatednear the corner of the table, launched into the oppressive lullthe unhesitating reply:"That of which you speak may be taken to have been a punishmentby God for sin.""What? For a sin committed by one three years of age (for,indeed, my little son was no more)? The accident happened of hispulling down a lamp upon himself, and of my wife seizing him, andherself being burnt to death. She was weak, too, for but elevendays had passed since her confinement.""No. What I mean is that in that accident you see a punishmentfor sins committed by the child's father and mother."This reply from the corner came with perfect confidence. Theblack-bearded man, however, pretended not to hear it, but spreadout his hands as though parting the air before him, and proceededhurriedly, breathlessly to detail the manner in which his wifeand little one had met their deaths. And all the time that he wasdoing so one had an inkling that often before had he recountedhis narrative of horror, and that often again would he repeat it.His shaggy black eyebrows, as he delivered his speech, met in asingle strip, while the whites of his eyesgrew bloodshot, and their dull, black pupils never ceased theirnervous twitching.Presently the gloomy recital was once more roughly,unceremoniously broken in upon by the cheerful voice of theChrist-loving pilgrim."It is not right, brother," the voice said, "to blame God foruntoward accidents, or for mistakes and follies committed byourselves.""But if God be God, He is responsible for all things.""Not so. Concede to yourself the faculty of reason.""Pah! What avails reason if it cannot make me understand?""Cannot make you understand WHAT?""The main point, the point why MY wife had to be burnt ratherthan my neighbour's?"Somewhere an old woman commented in spitefully distinct tones:"Oh ho, ho! This man comes to a monastery, and starts railing assoon as he gets there!"Flashing his eyes angrily, the black-bearded man lowered his headlike a bull. Then, thinking better of his position, andcontenting himself with a gesture, he strode swiftly, heavilytowards the door. Upon this the Christ-loving pilgrim rose with aswaying motion, bowed to everyone present, and set aboutfollowing his late interlocutor."It has all come of a broken heart," he said with a smile as hepassed me. Yet somehow the smile seemed to lack sympathy.With a disapproving air someone else remarked:"That fellow's one thought is to enlarge and to enlarge upon histale.""Yes, and to no purpose does he do so," added the Christ-lovingpilgrim as he halted in the doorway. "All that he accomplishes byit is to weary himself and others alike. Such experiences are farbetter put behind one."Presently I followed the pair into the forecourt, and near theentrance-gates heard a voice say quietly:"Do not disturb yourself, good father.""Nevertheless" (the second voice was that of the porter of themonastery, Father Seraphim, a strapping Vetlugan) "a spectrewalks here nightly.""Never mind if it does. As regards myself, no spectre wouldtouch me."Here I moved in the direction of the gates."Who comes there?" Seraphim inquired as he thrust a hairy anduncouth, but infinitely kindly, face close to mine. "Oh, it isthe young fellow from Nizhni Novgorod! You are wasting your time,my good sir, for the women have all gone to bed."With which he laughed and chuckled like a bear.Beyond the wall of the forecourt the stillness of the autumnnight was the languid inertia of a world exhausted by summer, andthe withered grass and other objects of the season were exhalinga sweet and bracing odour, and the trees looking like fragmentsof cloud where motionless they hung in the moist, sultry air.Also, in the darkness the half-slumbering sea could be heardsoughing as it crept towards the shore while over the sky lay acanopy of mist, save at the point where the moon's opal-like blurcould be descried over the spot where that blur's counterfeitimage glittered and rocked on the surface of the dark waters.Under the trees there was set a bench whereon I could discernthere to be resting a human figure. Approaching the figure, Iseated myself beside it."Whence, comrade?" was my inquiry."From Voronezh. And you?"A Russian is never adverse to talking about himself. It would seemas though he is never sure of his personality, as though he isever yearning to have that personality confirmed from some sourceother than, extraneous to, his own ego. The reason for this mustbe that we Russians live diffused over a land of such vastnessthat, the more we grasp the immensity of the same, the smaller dowe come to appear in our own eyes; wherefore, traversing, as wedo, roads of a length of a thousand versts, and constantly losingour way, we come to let slip no opportunity of restatingourselves, and setting forth all that we have seen and thoughtand done.Hence, too, must it be that in conversations one seems to hearless of the note of "I am I" than of the note of "Am I reallyand truly myself?""What may be your name?" next I inquired of the figure on thebench."A name of absolute simplicity--the name of Alexei Kalinin.""You are a namesake of mine, then.""Indeed? Is that so?"With which, tapping me on the knee, the figure added:"Come, then, namesake. 'I have mortar, and you have water, sotogether let us paint the town.'"Murmuring amid the silence could be heard small, light waves thatwere no more than ripples. Behind us the busy clamour of themonastery had died down, and even Kalinin's cheery voice seemedsubdued by the influence of the night--it seemed to have in itless of the note of self-confidence."My mother was a wet-nurse," he went on to volunteer, and I heronly child. When I was twelve years of age I was, owing to myheight, converted into a footman. It happened thus. One day, onGeneral Stepan (my mother's then employer) happening to catchsight of me, he exclaimed: 'Evgenia, go and tell Fedor' (theex-soldier who was then serving the General as footman) 'that heis to teach your son to wait at table! The boy is at least tallenough for the work.' And for nine years I served the General inthis capacity. And then, and then--oh, THEN I was seized with anillness. . . . Next, I obtained a post under a merchant who wasthen mayor of our town, and stayed with him twenty-one months.And next I obtained a situation in an hotel at Kharkov, and heldit for a year. And after that I kept changing my places, for,steady and sober though I was, I was beginning to lack taste formy profession, and to develop a spirit of the kind which deemedall work to be beneath me, and considered that I had been createdto serve only myself, not others."Along the high road to Sukhum which lay behind us there wereproceeding some invisible travellers whose scraping of feet asthey walked proclaimed the fact that they were not over-used tojourneying on foot. Just as the party drew level with us, amusical voice hummed out softly the line "Alone will I set forthupon the road," with the word "alone" plaintively stressed.Next, a resonant bass voice said with a sort of indolentincisiveness:"Aphon or aphonia means loss of speech to the extent of, to theextent of--oh, to WHAT extent, most learned Vera Vasilievna?""To the extent of total loss of power of articulation," replieda voice feminine and youthful of timbre.Just at that moment we saw two dark, blurred figures, with apaler figure between them, come gliding into view."Strange indeed is it that, that--""That what?""That so many names proper to these parts should also be sosuggestive. Take, for instance, Mount Nakopioba. Certainly folkhereabouts seem to have " amassed " things, and to have known howto do so." [The verb nakopit means to amass, to heap up.]"For my part, I always fail to remember the name of Simon theCanaanite. Constantly I find myself calling him 'the Cainite.'""Look here," interrupted the musical voice in a tone ofchastened enthusiasm. "As I contemplate all this beauty, andinhale this restfulness, I find myself reflecting: 'How would itbe if I were to let everything go to the devil, and take up myabode here for ever?'"At this point all further speech became drowned by the sound ofthe monastery's bell as it struck the hour. The only utterancethat came borne to my ears was the mournful fragment:Oh, if into a single wordI could pour my inmost thoughts!To the foregoing dialogue my companion had listened with his headtilted to one side, much as though the dialogue had deflected itin that direction: and now, as the voices died away into thedistance, he sighed, straightened himself, and said:"Clearly those people were educated folk. And see too how, asthey talked of one thing and another, there cropped up the oldand ever-persistent point.""To what point are you referring?"My companion paused a moment before he replied. Then he said:"Can it be that you did not hear it? Did you not hear one ofthose people remark: 'I have a mind to surrender everything '?"Whereafter, bending forward, and peering at me as a blind manwould do, Kalinin added in a half-whisper:"More and more are folk coming to think to themselves: 'Now mustI forsake everything.' In the end I myself came to think it. Formany a year did I increasingly reflect: 'Why should I be aservant? What will it ever profit me? Even if I should earntwelve, or twenty, or fifty roubles a month, to what will suchearnings lead, and where will the man in me come in? Surely itwould be better to do nothing at all, but just to gaze into space(as I am doing now), and let my eyes stare straight before me?'""By the way, what were you talking to those people about?""Which people do you mean?""The bearded man and the rest, the company in the guest-chamber?""Ah, THAT man I did not like--I have no fancy at all for fellowswho strew their grief about the world, and leave it to betrampled upon by every chance-comer. For how can the tears of myneighbour benefit me? True, every man has his troubles; but alsohas every man such a predilection for his particular woe that heends by deeming it the most bitter and remarkable grief in theuniverse--you may take my word for that."Suddenly the speaker rose to his feet, a tall, lean figure."Now I must seek my bed," he remarked. "You see, I shall haveto leave here very early tomorrow.""And for what point?""For Novorossisk."Now, the day being a Saturday, I had drawn my week's earningsfrom the monastery's pay-office just before the vigil service.Also, Novorossisk did not really lie in my direction. Thirdly, Ihad no particular wish to exchange the monastery for any otherlodging. Nevertheless, despite all this, the man interested me tosuch an extent (of persons who genuinely interest one there neverexist but two, and, of them, oneself is always one) thatstraightway I observed:"I too shall be leaving here tomorrow.""Then let us travel together."*********************************At dawn, therefore, we set forth to foot the road in company. Attimes I mentally soared aloft, and viewed the scene from thatvantage-point. Whenever I did so, I beheld two tall men traversinga narrow track by a seashore--the one clad in a grey militaryovercoat and a hat with a broken crown, and the other in a drabkaftan and a plush cap. At their feet the boundless sea wassplashing white foam, salt-dried ribands of seaweed were strewingthe path, golden leaves were dancing hither and thither, and thewind was howling at, and buffeting, the travellers as cloudssailed over their heads. Also, to their right there lay stretcheda chain of mountains towards which the clouds kept wearily,nervelessly tending, while to their left there lay spread awhite-laced expanse over the surface of which a roaring wind keptceaselessly driving transparent columns of spray.On such stormy days in autumn everything near a seashore looksparticularly cheerful and vigorous, seeing that, despite thesoughing of wind and wave, and the swift onrush of cloud, and thefact that the sun is only occasionally to be seen suspended inabysses of blue, and resembles a drooping flower, one feels thatthe apparent chaos has lurking in it a secret harmony of mundane,but imperishable, forces--so much so that in time even one's punyhuman heart comes to imbibe the prevalent spirit of revolt, and,catching fire, to cry to all the universe: " I love you! "Yes, at such times one desires to taste life to the full, and soto live that the ancient rocks shall smile, and the sea's whitehorses prance the higher, as one's mouth acclaims the earth insuch a paean that, intoxicated with the laudation, it shallunfold its riches with added bountifulness and display more andmore manifest beauty under the spur of the love expressed by oneof its creatures, expressed by a human being who feels for theearth what he would feel for a woman, and yearns to fertilise thesame to ever-increasing splendour.Nevertheless,words are as heavy as stones, and after fellingfancy to the ground, serve but to heap her grey coffin-lid, andcause one, as one stands contemplating the tomb, to laugh insheer self-derision. . . .Suddenly, plunged in dreams as I walked along, I heard throughthe plash of the waves and the sizzle of the foam the unfamiliarwords:"Hymen, Demon, Igamon, and Zmiulan. Good devils are these, notbad.""How does Christ get on with them?" I asked."Christ? He does not enter into the matter.""Is He hostile to them?""Is He HOSTILE to them? How could He be? Devils of that kind aredevils to themselves-devils of a decent sort. Besides, to no oneis Christ hostile" .............................. . . . . . .[In the Russian this hiatus occurs as marked.]As though unable any longer to brave the assault of the billows,the path suddenly swerved towards the bushes on our right, and,in doing so, caused the cloud-wrapped mountains to shiftcorrespondingly to our immediate front, where the masses ofvapour were darkening as though rain were probable.Kalinin's discourse proved instructive as with his stick he fromtime to time knocked the track clear of clinging tendrils."The locality is not without its perils," once he remarked."For hereabouts there lurks malaria. It does so because long agoMaliar of Kostroma banished his evil sister, Fever, to theseparts. Probably he was paid to do so, but the exact circumstancesescape my memory."So thickly was the surface of the sea streaked with cloud-shadowsthat it bore the appearance of being in mourning, of being deckedin the funeral colours of black and white. Afar off, Gudaout laylashed with foam, while constantly objects like snowdrifts keptgliding towards it."Tell me more about those devils," I said at length."Well, if you wish. But what exactly am I to tell you aboutthem?""All that you may happen to know.""Oh, I know EVERYTHING about them."To this my companion added a wink. Then he continued:"I say that I know everything about those devils for the reasonthat for my mother I had a most remarkable woman, a womancognisant of each and every species of proverb, anathema, anditem of hagiology. You must know that, after spreading my bedbeside the kitchen stove each night, and her own bed on the topof the stove (for, after her wet-nursing of three of theGeneral's children, she lived a life of absolute ease, and did nowork at all)--"Here Kalinin halted, and, driving his stick into the ground,glanced back along the path before resuming his way with firm,lengthy strides."I may tell you that the General had a niece named ValentinaIgnatievna. And she too was a most remarkable woman.""Remarkable for what?""Remarkable for EVERYTHING."At this moment there came floating over our heads through thedamp-saturated air a cormorant--one of those voracious birds whichso markedly lack intelligence. And somehow the whistling of itspowerful pinions awoke in me an unpleasant reminiscent thought."Pray continue," I said to my fellow traveller.And each night, as I lay on the floor (I may mention that neverdid I climb on to the stove, and to this day I dislike the heatof one), it was her custom to sit with her legs dangling over theedge of the top, and tell me stories. And though the room wouldbe too dark for me to see her face, I could yet see the things ofwhich she would be speaking. And at times, as these tales camefloating down to me, I would find them so horrible as to beforced to cry out, 'Oh, Mamka, Mamka, DON'T! . . .' To this hourI have no love for the bizarre, and am but a poor hand atremembering it. And as strange as her stories was my mother.Eventually she died of an attack of blood-poisoning and, thoughbut forty, had become grey-headed. Yes, and so terribly did shesmell after her death that everyone in the kitchen wasconstrained to exclaim at the odour.""Yes, but what of the devils?""You must wait a minute or two."Ever as we proceeded, clinging, fantastic branches kept closingin upon the path, so that we appeared to be walking through a seaof murmuring verdure. And from time to time a bough would flickus as though to say: "Speed, speed, or the rain will be uponyou!"If anything, however, my companion slackened his pace as inmeasured, sing-song accents he continued:"When Jesus Christ, God's Son, went forth into the wilderness tocollect His thoughts, Satan sent devils to subject Him totemptation. Christ was then young; and as He sat on the burningsand in the middle of the desert, He pondered upon one thing andanother, and played with a handful of pebbles which He hadcollected. Until presently from afar, there descried Him thedevils Hymen, Demon, Igamon, and Zmiulan--devils of equal age withthe Saviour."Drawing near unto Him, they said, 'Pray suffer us to sport withThee.' Whereupon Christ answered with a smile: 'Pray be seated.'Then all of them did sit down in a circle, and proceed tobusiness, which business was to see whether or not any member ofthe party could so throw a stone into the air as to prevent itfrom falling back upon the burning sand............................... . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .. . . . . . .[In the original Russian this hiatus occurs as given.]"Christ Himself was the first to throw a stone; whereupon Hisstone became changed into a six-winged dove, and fluttered awaytowards the Temple of Jerusalem. And, next, the impotent devilsstrove to do the same; until at length, when they saw that Christcould not in any wise be tempted, Zmiulan, the senior of thedevils, cried:"'0h Lord, we will tempt Thee no more; for of a surety do weavail not, and, though we be devils, never shall do so!'"'Aye, never shall ye!' Christ did agree. 'And, therefore, Iwill now fulfil that which from the first I did conceive. That yebe devils I know right well. And that, while yet afar off, yedid, on beholding me, have compassion upon me I know right well.While also ye did not in any wise seek to conceal from me thetruth as concerning yourselves. Hence shall ye, for the remainderof your lives, be GOOD devils; so that at the last shall mattersbe rendered easier for you. Do thou, Zmiulan, become King of theOcean, and send the winds of the sea to cleanse the land of foulair. And do thou, Demon, see to it that the cattle shall eat ofno poisonous herb, but that all herbs of the sort be covered withprickles. Do thou, Igamon, comfort, by night, all comfortlesswidows who shall be blaming God for the death of their husbands?And do thou, Hymen, as the youngest devil of the band, choose forthyself wherein shall lie thy charge.'"'0h Lord,' replied Hymen, 'I do love but to laugh.'"And the Saviour replied:"'Then cause thou folk to laugh. Only, mark thou, see to itthat they laugh not IN CHURCH.'"'Yet even in church would I laugh, 0h Lord,' the devil objected." 'Jesus Christ Himself laughed." 'God go with you!' at length He said. 'Then let folk laugh evenin church--but QUIETLY.'"In such wise did Christ convert those four evil devils intodevils of goodness."Soaring over the green, bushy sea were a number of old oaks. Onthem the yellow leaves were trembling as though chilled; hereand there a sturdy hazel was doffing its withered garments, andelsewhere a wild cherry was quivering, and elsewhere an almostnaked chestnut was politely rendering obeisance to the earth."Did you find that story of mine a good one?" my companioninquired."I did, for Christ was so good in it.""Always and everywhere He is so," Kalinin proudly rejoined. "Butdo you also know what an old woman of Smolensk used to singconcerning Him?"" I do not."Halting, my strange traveller chanted in a feignedly senile andtremulous voice, as he beat time with his foot:In the heavens a flow'r doth blow,It is the Son of God.From it all our joys do flow,It is the Son of God.In the sun's red rays He dwellsHe, the Son of God.His light our every ill dispels.Praised be the Son of God!Each successive line seemed to inspire Kalinin's voice with addedyouthfulness, until, indeed, the concluding words-- "The One andOnly God"-- issued in a high, agreeable tenor.Suddenly a flash of lightning blazed before us, while dullthunder crashed among the mountains, and sent its hundred-voicedechoes rolling over land and sea. In his consternation, Kalininopened his mouth until a set of fine, even teeth became bared toview. Then, with repeated crossings of himself, he muttered."0h dread God, 0h beneficent God, 0h God who sittest on high, andon a golden throne, and under a gilded canopy, do Thou now punishSatan, lest he overwhelm me in the midst of my sins!"Whereafter, turning a small and terrified face in my direction,and blinking his bright eyes, he added with hurried diction:"Come, brother! Come! Let us run on ahead, for thunderstorms aremy bane. Yes, let us run with all possible speed, run ANYWHERE,for soon the rain will be pouring down, and these parts are fullof lurking fever."Off, therefore, we started, with the wind smiting us behind, andour kettles and teapots jangling, and my wallet, in particular,thumping me about the middle of the body as though it had beenwielding a large, soft fist. Yet a far cry would it be to themountains, nor was any dwelling in sight, while ever and anonbranches caught at our clothes, and stones leapt aloft under ourtread, and the air grew steadily darker, and the mountains seemedto begin gliding towards us.Once more from the black cloud-masses, heaven belched a fiery dartwhich caused the sea to scintillate with blue sapphires inresponse, and, seemingly, to recoil from the shore as the earthshook, and the mountain defiles emitted a gigantic scrunchingsound of their rock-hewn jaws."0h Holy One! 0h Holy One! 0h Holy One!" screamed Kalinin as hedived into the bushes.In the rear, the waves lashed us as though they had a mind toarrest our progress; from the gloom to our front came a sort ofscraping and rasping; long black hands seemed to wave over ourheads; just at the point where the mountain crests lay swathed intheir dense coverlet of cloud ,there rumbled once more thedeafening iron chariot of the thunder-god; more and morefrequently flashed the lightning as the earth rang, and riftscleft by the blue glare disclosed, amid the obscurity, greattrees that were rustling and rocking and, to all appearances,racing headlong before the scourge of a cold, slanting rain.The occasion was a harassing but bracing one, for as the finebands of rain beat upon our faces, our bodies felt filled with aheady vigour of a kind to fit us to run indefinitely--at allevents to run until this storm of rain and thunder should beoutpaced, and clear weather be reached again.Suddenly Kalinin shouted: "Stop! Look!"This was because the fitful illumination of a flash had justshown up in front of us the trunk of an oak tree which had alarge black hollow let into it like a doorway. So into thathollow we crawled as two mice might have done--laughing aloud inour glee as we did so."Here there is room for THREE persons," my companion remarked."Evidently it is a hollow that has been burnt out--though rascalsindeed must the burners have been to kindle a fire in a livingtree!"However, the space within the hollow was both confined andredolent of smoke and dead leaves. Also, heavy drops of rainstill bespattered our heads and shoulders, and at every peal ofthunder the tree quivered and creaked until the strident dinaround us gave one the illusion of being afloat in a narrowcaique. Meanwhile at every flash of the lightning's glare, wecould see slanting ribands of rain cutting the air with a networkof blue, glistening, vitreous lines.Presently, the wind began to whistle less loudly, as though now itfelt satisfied at having driven so much productive rain into theground, and washed clean the mountain tops, and loosened thestony soil."U-oh! U-oh!" hooted a grey mountain owl just over our heads."Why, surely it believes the time to be night!" Kalinincommented in a whisper."U-oh! U-u-u-oh!" hooted the bird again, and in response mycompanion shouted:"You have made a mistake, my brother!"By this time the air was feeling chilly, and a bright grey foghad streamed over us, and wrapped a semi-transparent veil aboutthe gnarled, barrel-like trunks with their outgrowing shoots andthe few remaining leaves still adhering.Far and wide the monotonous din continued to rage--it did so untilconscious thought began almost to be impossible. Yet even as onestrained one's attention, and listened to the rain lashing thefallen leaves, and pounding the stones, and bespattering thetrunks of the trees, and to the murmuring and splashing ofrivulets racing towards the sea, and to the roaring of torrentsas they thundered over the rocks of the mountains, and to thecreaking of trees before the wind, and to the measured thud-thudof the waves; as one listened to all this, the thousand soundsseemed to combine into a single heaviness of hurried clamour, andinvoluntarily one found oneself striving to disunite them, and tospace them even as one spaces the words of a song.Kalinin fidgeted, nudged me, and muttered:"I find this place too close for me. Always I have hatedconfinement."Nevertheless he had taken far more care than I to make himselfcomfortable, for he had edged himself right into the hollow, and,by squatting on his haunches, reduced his frame to the form of aball. Moreover, the rain-drippings scarcely or in no wise touchedhim, while, in general, he appeared to have developed to the fullan aptitude for vagrancy as a permanent condition, and for theallowing of no unpleasant circumstance to debar him frominvariably finding the most convenient vantage-ground at a givenjuncture. Presently, in fact, he continued:"Yes; despite the rain and cold and everything else, I considerlife to be not quite intolerable.""Not quite intolerable in what?""Not quite intolerable in the fact that at least I am bound tothe service of no one save God. For if disagreeablenesses have tobe endured, at all events they come better from Him than fromone's own species.""Then you have no great love for your own species?""One loves one's neighbour as the dog loves the stick." Towhich, after a pause, the speaker added:For WHY should I love him?"It puzzled me to cite a reason off-hand, but, fortunately,Kalinin did not wait for an answer--rather, he went on to ask:"Have you ever been a footman?""No," I replied."Then let me tell you that it is peculiarly difficult for afootman to love his neighbour.""Wherefore?""Go and be a footman; THEN you will know. In fact, it is neverthe case that, if one serves a man, one can love that man. . . .How steadily the rain persists!"Indeed, on every hand there was in progress a trickling and asplashing sound as though the weeping earth were venting soft,sorrowful sobs over the departure of summer before winter and itsstorms should arrive."How come you to be travelling the Caucasus?" I asked atlength."Merely through the fact that my walking and walking has broughtme hither," was the reply. "For that matter, everyone ends byheading for the Caucasus.""Why so?""Why NOT, seeing that from one's earliest years one hears ofnothing but the Caucasus, the Caucasus? Why, even our old Generalused to harp upon the name, with his moustache bristling, and hiseyes protruding, as he did so. And the same as regards my mother,who had visited the country in the days when, as yet, the Generalwas in command but of a company. Yes, everyone tends hither. Andanother reason is the fact that the country is an easy one to livein, a country which enjoys much sunshine, and produces much food,and has a winter less long and severe than our own winter, andtherefore presents pleasanter conditions of life.""And what of the country's people?""What of the country's people? Oh, so long as you keep yourselfto yourself they will not interfere with you.""And why will they not?"Kalinin paused, stared at me, smiled condescendingly, and,finally, said:"What a dullard you are to ask about such simple things! Wereyou never given any sort of an education? Surely by this time youought to be able to understand something?"Then, with a change of subject, and subduing his tone to one ofsnuffling supplication, he added in the sing-song chant of aperson reciting a prayer:"'0h Lord, suffer me not to become bound unto the clergy thepriesthood, the diaconate, the tchinovstvo, [The official class]or the intelligentsia!' This was a petition which my mother usedoften to repeat."The raindrops now were falling more gently, and in finer linesand more transparent network, so that one could once more descrythe great trunks of the blackened oaks, with the green and goldof their leaves. Also, our own hollow had grown less dark, andthere could be discerned its smoky, satin-bright walls. Fromthose walls Kalinin picked a bit of charcoal with finger andthumb, saying:"It was shepherds that fired the place. See where they draggedin hay and dead leaves! A shepherd's fife hereabouts must be atruly glorious one!"Lastly, clasping his head as though he were about to fall asleep,he sank his chin between his knees, and relapsed into silence.Presently a brilliant, sinuous little rivulet which had long beenlaving the bare roots of our tree brought floating past us a redand fawn leaf."How pretty," I thought, "that leaf will look from a distancewhen reposing on the surface of the sea! For, like the sun whenhe is in solitary possession of the heavens, that leaf will standout against the blue, silky expanse like a lonely red star."After awhile my companion began, catlike, to purr to himself asong. Its melody, the melody of "the moon withdrew behind acloud," was familiar enough, but not so the words, which ran:0h Valentina, wondrous maid,More comely thou than e'er a flow'r!The nurse's son doth pine for thee,And yearn to serve thee every hour!"What does that ditty mean?" I inquired.Kalinin straightened himself, gave a wriggle to a form that wasas lithe as a lizard's, and passed one hand over his face."It is a certain composition," he replied presently. "It is acomposition that was composed by a military clerk who afterwardsdied of consumption. He was my friend his life long, and my onlyfriend, and a true one, besides being a man out of the common.""And who was Valentina?""My one-time mistress," Kalinin spoke unwillingly."And he, the clerk--was he in love with her?""Oh dear no!"Evidently Kalinin had no particular wish to discuss the subject,for he hugged himself together, buried his face in his hands, andmuttered:"I should like to kindle a fire, were it not that everything inthe place is too damp for the purpose."The wind shook the trees, and whistled despondently, while thefine, persistent rain still whipped the earth."I but humble am, and poor,Nor fated to be otherwise,"sang Kalinin softly as, flinging up his head with an unexpectedmovement, he added meaningly:"Yes, it is a mournful song, a song which could move to tears.Only to two persons has it ever been known; to my friend theclerk and to myself. Yes, and to HER, though I need hardly addthat at once she forgot it."And Kalinin's eyes flashed into a smile as he added:"I think that, as a young man, you had better learn forthwithwhere the greatest danger lurks in life. Let me tell you astory."And upon that a very human tale filtered through the silkenmonotonous swish of the downpour, with, for listeners to it, onlythe rain and myself."Lukianov was NEVER in love with her," he narrated. "Only I wasthat. All that Lukianov did in the matter was to write, at myrequest, some verses. When she first appeared on the scene (Imean Valentina Ignatievna) I was just turned nineteen years ofage; and the instant that my eyes fell upon her form I realisedthat in her alone lay my fate, and my heart almost stoppedbeating, and my vitality stretched out towards her as a speck ofdust flies towards a fire. Yet all this I had to conceal as bestI might; with the result that in the company's presence I feltlike a sentry doing guard duty in the presence of his commandingofficer. But at last, though I strove to pull myself together, tosteady myself against the ferment that was raging in my breast,something happened. Valentina Ignatievna was then aged abouttwenty-five, and very beautiful--marvellous, in fact! Also, shewas an orphan, since her father had been killed by theChechentzes, and her mother had died of smallpox at Samarkand. Asregards her kinship with the General, she stood to him in therelation of niece by marriage. Golden-locked, and as skin-fair asenamelled porcelain, she had eyes like emeralds, and a figurewholly symmetrical, though as slim as a wafer. For bedroom shehad a little corner apartment situated next to the kitchen (theGeneral possessed his own house, of course), while, in addition,they allotted her a bright little boudoir in which she disposedher curios and knickknacks, from cut-glass bottles and goblets toa copper pipe and a glass ring mounted on copper. This ring, whenturned, used to emit showers of glittering sparks, though she wasin no way afraid of them, but would sing as she made them dance:"Not for me the spring will dawn!Not for me the Bug will spate!Not for me love's smile will wait!Not for me, ah, not for me!"Constantly would she warble this."Also, once she flashed an appeal at me with her eyes, and said:"'Alexei, please never touch anything in my room, for my thingsare too fragile.'"Sure enough, in HER presence ANYTHING might have fallen from myhands!"Meanwhile her song about 'Not for me' used to make me feelsorry for her. 'Not for you? ' I used to say to myself. 'Oughtnot EVERYTHING to be for you? ' And this reflection would causemy heart to yearn and stretch towards her. Next, I bought aguitar, an instrument which I could not play, and took it forinstruction to Lukianov, the clerk of the Divisional Staff, whichhad its headquarters in our street. In passing I may say thatLukianov was a little Jewish convert with dark hair, sallowfeatures, and gimlet-sharp eyes, but beyond all things a fellowwith brains, and one who could play the guitar unforgettably."Once he said: 'In life all things are attainable--nothing needwe lose for want of trying. For whence does everything come? Fromthe plainest of mankind. A man may not be BORN in the rank of ageneral, but at least he may attain to that position. Also, thebeginning and ending of all things is woman. All that sherequires for her captivation is poetry. Hence, let me write yousome verses, that you may tender them to her as an offering.'"These, mind you, were the words of a man in whom the heart wasabsolutely single, absolutely dispassionate."Until then Kalinin had told his story swiftly, with animation;but thereafter he seemed, as it were, to become extinguished.After a pause of a few seconds he continued--continued in slower,to all appearances more unwilling, accents--"At the time I believed what Lukianov said, but subsequently Icame to see that things were not altogether as he hadrepresented--that woman is merely a delusion, and poetry merelyfiddle-faddle; and that a man cannot escape his fate, and that,though good in war, boldness is, in peace affairs, but nakedeffrontery. In this, brother, lies the chief, the fundamental lawof life. For the world contains certain people of high station,and certain people of low; and so long as these two categoriesretain their respective positions, all goes well; but as soon asever a man seeks to pass from the upper category to the inferiorcategory, or from the inferior to the upper, the fat falls intothe fire, and that man finds himself stuck midway, stuck neitherhere nor there, and bound to abide there for the remainder of hislife, for the remainder of his life. . . . Always keep to yourown position, to the position assigned you by fate.. . . . Willthe rain NEVER cease, think you?"By this time, as a matter of fact, the raindrops. were fallingless heavily and densely than hitherto, and the wet clouds werebeginning to reveal bright patches in the moisture-soakedfirmament, as evidence that the sun was still in existence."Continue," I said.Kalinin laughed."Then you find the story an interesting one," he remarked.Presently he resumed:"As I have said, I trusted Lukianov implicitly, and begged ofhim to write the verses. And write them he did--he wrote them thevery next day. True, at this distance of time I have forgottenthe words in their entirety, but at least I remember that thereoccurred in them a phrase to the effect that 'for days and weekshave your eyes been consuming my heart in the fire of love, sopity me, I pray.' I then proceeded to copy out the poem, andtremblingly to leave it on her table."The next morning, when I was tidying her boudoir, she made anunexpected entry, and, clad in a loose, red dressing-gown, andholding a cigarette between her lips, said to me with a kindlysmile as she produced my precious paper of verses:"'Alexei, did YOU write these?'"'Yes,' was my reply. 'And for Christ's sake pardon me for thesame.'"'What a pity that such a fancy should have entered your head!For, you see, I am engaged already--my uncle is intending to marryme to Doctor Kliachka, and I am powerless in the matter.'"The very fact that she could address me with so much sympathyand kindness struck me dumb. As regards Doctor Kliachka, I maymention that he was a good-looking, blotchy-faced, heavy-jowledfellow with a moustache that reached to his shoulders, and lipsthat were for ever laughing and vociferating. 'Nothing haseither a beginning or an end. The only thing really existent ispleasure.'"Nay, even the General could, at times, make sport of thefellow, and say as he shook with merriment:"'A doctor-comedian is the sort of man that you are.'"Now, at the period of which I am speaking I was as straight asa dart, and had a shock of luxuriant hair over a set of ruddyfeatures. Also, I was living a life clean in every way, andmaintaining a cautious attitude towards womenfolk, and holdingprostitutes in a contempt born of the fact that I had higherviews with regard to my life's destiny. Lastly, I never indulgedin liquor, for I actually disliked it, and gave way to itsinfluence only in days subsequent to the episode which I amnarrating. Yes, and, last of all, I was in the habit of taking abath every Saturday."The same evening Kliachka and the rest of the party went out tothe theatre (for, naturally, the General had horses and acarriage of his own), and I, for my part, went to inform Lukianovof what had happened."He said: 'I must congratulate you, and am ready to wager youtwo bottles of beer that your affair is as good as settled. In afew seconds a fresh lot of verses shall be turned out, for poetryconstitutes a species of talisman or charm.'"And, sure enough, he then and there composed the piece about'the wondrous Valentina.' What a tender thing it is, and how fullof understanding! My God, my God!"And, with a thoughtful shake of his bead, Kalinin raised hisboyish eyes towards the blue patches in the rain-washed sky."Duly she found the verses," he continued after a while, andwith a vehemence that seemed wholly independent of his will. "Andthereupon she summoned me to her room."'What are we to do about it all?' she inquired."She was but half-dressed, and practically the whole of herbosom was visible to my sight. Also, her naked feet had on themonly slippers, and as she sat in her chair she kept rocking onefoot to and fro in a maddening way."'What are we to do about it all?' she repeated."'What am I to say about it, at length I replied, 'save that Ifeel as though I were not really existing on earth?'"'Are you one who can hold your tongue?' was her next question."I nodded--nothing else could I compass, for further speech hadbecome impossible. Whereupon, rising with brows puckered, shefetched a couple of small phials, and, with the aid ofingredients thence, mixed a powder which she wrapped in paper,and handed me with the words:"'Only one way of escape offers from the Plagues of Egypt. HereI have a certain powder. Tonight the doctor is to dine with us.Place the powder in his soup, and within a few days I shall befree!--yes, free for you!'"I crossed myself, and duly took from her the paper, whilst amist rose, and swam before my eyes, as I did so, and my legsbecame perfectly numb. What I next did I hardly know, forinwardly I was swooning. Indeed, until Kliachka's arrival thesame evening I remained practically in a state of coma."Here Kalinin shuddered--then glanced at me with drawn features andchattering teeth, and stirred uneasily."Suppose we light a fire?" he ventured. "I am growing shiveryall over. But first we must move outside."The torn clouds were casting their shadows wearily athwart thesodden earth and glittering stones and silver-dusted herbage.Only on a single mountain top had a blur of mist settled like anarrested avalanche, and was resting there with its edgessteaming. The sea too had grown calmer under the rain, and wassplashing with more gentle mournfulness, even as the blue patchesin the firmament had taken on a softer, warmer look, and straysunbeams were touching upon land and sea in turn, and, where theychanced to fall upon herbage, causing pearls and emeralds tosparkle on every leaf, and kaleidoscopic tints to glow where thedark-blue sea reflected their generous radiance. Indeed, sogoodly, so full of promise, was the scene that one might havesupposed autumn to have fled away for ever before the wind andthe rain, and beneficent summer to have been restored.Presently through the moist, squelching sound of our footsteps,and the cheerful patter of the rain-drippings, Kalinin'snarrative resumed its languid, querulous course:"When, that evening, I opened the door to the doctor I could notbring myself to look him in the face--I could merely hang my head;whereupon, taking me by the chin, and raising it, he inquired:"Why is your face so yellow? What is the matter with you?'"Yes, a kind-hearted man was he, and one who had never failed totip me well, and to speak to me with as much consideration asthough I had not been a footman at all."'I am not in very good health,' I replied. 'I, I--'"'Come, come!' was his interjection. 'After dinner I must lookyou over, and in the meanwhile, do keep up your spirits.'"Then I realised that poison him I could not, but that thepowder must be swallowed by myself--yes, by myself! Aye, over myheart a flash of lightning had gleamed, and shown me that now Iwas no longer following the road properly assigned me by fate."Rushing away to my room, I poured out a glass of water, andemptied into it the powder; whereupon the water thickened,fizzed, and became topped with foam. Oh, a terrible moment itwas! . . . Then I drank the mixture. Yet no burning sensationensued, and though I listened to my vitals, nothing was to beheard in that quarter, but, on the contrary, my head began tolighten, and I found myself losing the sense of self-pity whichhad brought me almost to the point of tears. . . . Shall wesettle ourselves here?"Before us a large stone, capped with green moss and climbingplants, was good-humouredly thrusting upwards a broad, flat facebeneath which the body had, like that of the hero Sviatogov,sunken into the earth through its own weight until only the face,a visage worn with aeons of meditation, was now visible. On everyside, also, had oak-trees overgrown and encompassed the bulk ofthe projection, as though they too had been made of stone, withtheir branches drooping sufficiently low to brush the wrinkles ofthe ancient monolith. Kalinin seated himself on his haunchesunder the overhanging rim of the stone, and said as he snappedsome twigs in half:"This is where we ought to have been sitting whilst the rain wascoming down.""And so say I," I rejoined. "But pray continue your story.""Yes, when you have put a match to the fire."Whereafter, further withdrawing his spare frame under the stone,so that he might stretch himself at full length, Kalinincontinued:"I walked to the pantry quietly enough, though my legs weretottering beneath me, and I had a cold sensation in my breast.Suddenly I heard the dining-room echo to a merry peal oflaughter from Valentina Ignatievna, and the General reply to thatoutburst:"'Ah, that man! Ah, these servants of ours! Why, the fellow woulddo ANYTHING for a piatak '[A silver five-kopeck piece, equal invalue to 2 1/4 pence.]"To this my beloved one retorted:"'Oh, uncle, uncle! Is it only a piatak that I am worth?And then I heard the doctor put in:"'What was it you gave him?'"'Merely some soda and tartaric acid. To think of the fun that weshall have!'"Here, closing his eyes, Kalinin remained silent for a moment,whilst the moist breeze sighed as it drove dense, wet mistagainst the black branches of the trees."At first my feeling was one of overwhelming joy at the thoughtthat at least not DEATH was to be my fate. For I may tell youthat, so far from being harmful, soda and tartaric acid arefrequently taken as a remedy against drunken headache. Then thethought occurred to me: 'But, since I am not a tippler, whyshould such a joke have been played upon ME?' However, from thatmoment I began to feel easier, and when the company had sat downto dinner, and, amid a general silence, I was handing round thesoup, the doctor tasted his portion, and, raising his head with afrown, inquired:"'Forgive me, but what soup is this? '"' Ah!' I inwardly reflected. 'Soon, good gentlefolk, you willsee how your jest has miscarried.'"Aloud I replied--replied with complete boldness:"'Do not fear, sir. I have taken the powder myself.'Upon this the General and his wife, who were still in ignorancethat the jest had gone amiss, began to titter, but the otherssaid nothing, though Valentina Ignatievna's eyes grew rounder androunder, until in an undertone she murmured:"'Did you KNOW that the stuff was harmless?'"'I did not,' I replied. 'At least, not at the moment of mydrinking it.'"Whereafter falling headlong to the floor, I lostconsciousness."Kalinin's small face had become painfully contracted, and grownold and haggard-looking. Rolling over on to his breast before thelanguishing fire, he waved a hand to dissipate the smoke whichwas lazily drifting slant-wise."For seventeen days did I remain stretched on a sick-bed, andwas attended by the doctor in person. One day, when sitting by myside, he inquired:"'I presume your intention was to poison yourself, you foolishfellow?'"Yes, merely THAT was what he called me--a 'foolish fellow.' Yetindeed, what was I to him? Only an entity which might become foodfor dogs, for all he cared. Nor did Valentina Ignatievna herselfpay me a single visit, and my eyes never again beheld her. Beforelong she and Dr. Kliachka were duly married, and departed toKharkov, where he was assigned a post in the Tchuguerski Camp.Thus only the General remained. Rough and ready, he was,nevertheless, old and sensible, and for that reason, did notmatter; wherefore I retained my situation as before. On myrecovery, he sent for me, and said in a tone of reproof:"'Look here. You are not wholly an idiot. What has happened isthat those vile books of yours have corrupted your mind' (as amatter of fact, I had never read a book in my life, since forreading I have no love or inclination). 'Hence you must have seenfor yourself that only in tales do clowns marry princesses. Youknow, life is like a game of chess. Every piece has its propermove on the board, or the game could not be played at all.'"Kalinin rubbed his hands over the fire (slender, non-workmanlikehands they were), and winked and smiled."I took the General's words very seriously, and proceeded to askmyself: 'To what do those words amount? To this: that though Imay not care actually to take part in the game, I need not wastemy whole existence through a disinclination to learn the best useto which that existence can be put.'With a triumphant uplift of tone, Kalinin continued:"So, brother, I set myself to WATCH the game in question; withthe result that soon I discovered that the majority of men livesurrounded with a host of superfluous commodities which do butburden them, and have in themselves no real value. What I referto is books, pictures, china, and rubbish of the same sort.Thought I to myself: 'Why should I devote my life to tending anddusting such commodities while risking, all the time, theirbreakage? No more of it for me! Was it for the tending of sucharticles that my mother bore me amid the agonies of childbirth?Is it an existence of THIS kind that must be passed until thetomb be reached? No, no--a thousand times no! Rather will I, withyour good leave, reject altogether the game of life, and subsistas may be best for me, and as may happen to be my pleasure.'"Now, as Kalinin spoke, his eyes emitted green sparks, and as hewaved his hands over the fire, as though to lop off the redtongues of flame, his fingers twisted convulsively."Of course, not all at a stroke did I arrive at this conclusion;I did so but gradually. The person who finally confirmed me in myopinion was a friar of Baku, a sage of pre-eminent wisdom,through his saying to me: 'With nothing at all ought a man tofetter his soul. Neither with bond-service, nor with property,nor with womankind, nor with any other concession to thetemptations of this world ought he to constrain its action.Rather ought he to live alone, and to love none but Christ. Onlythis is true. Only this will be for ever lasting.'"And," added Kalinin with animation and inflated cheeks andflushed, suppressed enthusiasm, "many lands and many peopleshave I seen, and always have I found (particularly in Russia)that many folk already have reached an understanding ofthemselves, and, consequently, refused any longer to renderobeisance to absurdities. 'Shun evil, and you will evolve good.'That is what the friar said to me as a parting word--though longbefore our encounter had I grasped the meaning of the axiom. Andthat axiom I myself have since passed on to other folk, as I hopeto do yet many times in the future."At this point the speaker's tone reverted to one of querulousanxiety."Look how low the sun has sunk!" he exclaimed.True enough, that luminary, large and round, was declining into--rather, towards--the sea, while suspended between him and thewater were low, dark, white-topped cumuli."Soon nightfall will be overtaking us," continued Kalinin as hefumbled in his kaftan. "And in these parts jackals howl whendarkness is come."In particular did I notice three clouds that looked like Turks inwhite turbans and robes of a dusky red colour. And as these cloudTurks bent their heads together in private converse, suddenlythere swelled up on the back of one of the figures a hump, whileon the turban of a second there sprouted forth a pale pinkfeather which, becoming detached from its base, went floatingupwards towards the zenith and the now rayless, despondent,moonlike sun. Lastly the third Turk stooped forward over the seato screen his companions, and as he did so, developed a huge rednose which comically seemed to dip towards, and sniff at, thewaters."Sometimes," continued Kalinin's even voice through thecrackling and hissing of the wood fire, "a man who is old andblind may cobble a shoe better than cleverer men than he, canorder their whole lives."But no longer did I desire to listen to Kalinin, for the threadswhich had drawn me, bound me, to his personality had now parted.All that I desired to do was to contemplate in silence the sea,while thinking of some of those subjects which at eventide neverfail to stir the soul to gentle, kindly emotion. Bombers,Kalinin's words continued dripping into my ear like belatedraindrops."Nowadays everybody is a busybody. Nowadays everyone inquires ofhis fellow-man, 'How is your life ordered?' To which alwaysthere is added didactically, 'But you ought not to live as youare doing. Let me show you the way.' As though anyone can tell mehow best my life may attain full development, seeing that no onecan possibly have such a matter within his knowledge! Nay, letevery man live as best he pleases, without compulsion. Forinstance, I have no need of you. In return, it is not yourbusiness either to require or to expect aught of me. And this Isay though Father Vitali says the contrary, and avers thatthroughout should man war with the evils of the world."In the vague, wide firmament a blood-red cluster of clouds washanging, and as I contemplated it there occurred to me thethought, "May not those clouds be erstwhile righteous world-folkwho are following an unseen path across that expanse, and dyeingit red with their good blood as they go, in order that the earthmay be fertilised?"To right and left of that strip of living flame the sea was of acurious wine tint, while further off, rather, it was as soft andblack as velvet, and in the remote east sheet-lightning wasflashing even as though some giant hand were fruitlesslyendeavouring to strike a match against the sodden firmament.Meanwhile Kalinin continued to discourse with enthusiasm on thesubject of Father Vitali, the Labour Superintendent of themonastery of New Athos, while describing in detail the monk'sjovial, clever features with their pearly teeth and contrastingblack and silver beard. In particular he related howonce Vitali had knitted his fine, almost womanlike eyes, and saidin a bass which stressed its "o's":"On our first arrival here, we found in possession onlyprehistoric chaos and demoniacal influence. Everywhere hadclinging weeds grown to rankness; everywhere one found one's feetentangled among bindweed and other vegetation of the sort. Andnow see what beauty and joy and comfort the hand of man haswrought!"And, having thus spoken, the monk had traced a great circle withhis eye and doughty hand, a circle which had embraced as in aframe the mount, and the gardens fashioned and developed byridgings of the rock, and the downy soil which had been beateninto those ridgings, and the silver streak of waterfall playingalmost at Vitali's feet, and the stone-hewn staircase leading tothe cave of Simeon the Canaanite, and the gilded cupolas of thenew church where they had stood flashing in the noontide sun, andthe snow-white, shimmering blocks of the guesthouse and theservants' quarters, and the glittering fishponds, and the treesof uniform trimness, yet a uniformly regal dignity."Brethren," the monk had said in triumphant conclusion,"wheresoever man may be, he will, as he so desires, be given powerto overcome the desolation of the wilds.""And then I pressed him further," Kalinin added. " Yes, I saidto him: 'Nevertheless Christ, our Lord, was not like you, for Hewas homeless and a wanderer. He was one who utterly rejected yourlife of intensive cultivation of the soil'" (as he related theincident Kalinin gave his head sundry jerks from side to sidewhich made his ears flap, to and fro). "'Also neither for thelowly alone nor for the exalted alone did Christ exist. Rather,He, like all great benefactors, was one who had no particularleaning. Nay, even when He was roaming the Russian Land incompany with Saints Yuri and Nikolai, He always forbore tointrude Himself into the villages' affairs, just as, whenever Hiscompanions engaged in disputes concerning mankind, He neverfailed to maintain silence on the subject.' Yes, thus I plaguedVitali until he shouted at my head, 'Ah, impudence, you are aheretic!'"By this time, the air under the lee of the stone was growing smokyand oppressive, for the fire, with its flames looking like abouquet compounded of red poppies or azaleas and blooms of anaureate tint, had begun fairly to live its beautiful existence,and was blazing, and diffusing warmth, and laughing its bright,cheerful, intelligent laugh. Yet from the mountains and thecloud-masses evening was descending, as the earth emittedprofound gasps of humidity, and the sea intoned its vague,thoughtful, resonant song."I presume we are going to pass the night here?" Kalinin atlength queried."No, for my intention is, rather, to continue my journey.""Then let us make an immediate start.""But my direction will not be the same as yours, I think?"Previously to this, Kalinin had squatted down upon his haunches,and taken some bread and a few pears from his wallet; but now, onhearing my decision, he replaced the viands in his receptacle,snapped--to the lid of it with an air of vexation-- and asked:"Why did you come with me at all?""Because I wanted to have a talk with you--I had found you aninteresting character.""Yes. At least I am THAT; many like me do not exist.""Pardon me; I have met several.""Perhaps you have." After which utterance, doubtfully drawled,the speaker added more sticks to the fire.Eventide was falling with tardy languor, but, as yet, the sun,though become a gigantic, dull, red lentil in appearance, was nothidden, and the waves were still powerless to besprinkle hisdownward road of fire. Presently, however, he subsided into acloud bank; whereupon darkness flooded the earth like waterpoured from an empty basin, and the great kindly stars shoneforth, and the nocturnal profundity, enveloping the world, seemedto soften it even as a human heart may be rendered gentle."Good-bye!" I said as I pressed my companion's small, yieldinghand: whereupon he looked me in the eyes in his open, boyish way,and replied:"I wish I were going with you!""Well, come with me as far as Gudaout.""Yes, I will."So we set forth once more to traverse the land which I, so aliento its inhabitants, yet so at one with all that it contained,loved so dearly, and of which I yearned to fertilise the life inreturn for the vitality with which it had filled my ownexistence.For daily, the threads with which my heart was bound to the worldat large were growing more numerous; daily my heart was storingup something which had at its root a sense of love for life, ofinterest in my fellow-man.And that evening,as we proceeded on our way, the sea wassinging its vespertinal hymn, the rocks were rumbling as thewater caressed them, and on the furthermost edge of the dark voidthere were floating dim white patches where the sunset's glow hadnot yet faded-- though already stars were glowing in the zenith.Meanwhile every slumbering treetop was aquiver, and as Istepped across the scattered rain-pools, their water gurgleddreamily, timidly under my feet.Yes, that night I was a torch unto myself, for in my breast a redflame was smouldering like a living beacon, and leading me tolong that some frightened, belated wayfarer should, as it were,sight my little speck of radiancy amid the darkness.
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