yards into the ground!" exclaimed the delighted Vaviloff. A few minutes
later they were seated opposite each other in Vaviloff's room, and the
captain was swallowing great gulps of beer, and saying to the landlord--
"You see, therefore, all the factory wall stands on your ground. Act
without mercy. When the schoolmaster comes we will draw up a report for
the law-courts. We will reckon the damages at a moderate figure, so
that the revenue stamps shan't cost us too much, but we will ask that
the wall shall be pulled down. This sort of thing, you fool, is called
a violation of boundaries, and it's a stroke of luck for you! To pull a
great wall like that down and move it farther back is not such an easy
business, and costs no end of money. Now's your chance for squeezing
Judah! We will make a calculation of what the pulling down will cost,
taking into consideration the value of the broken bricks and the cost
of digging out the new foundations. We will calculate everything, even
the value of the time, and then, O just Judah, what do you say to two
thousand roubles?"
"He won't give it!" exclaimed Vaviloff anxiously, blinking his eyes,
which were sparkling with greedy fire.
"Let him try and get out of it! Just look, what can he do? There will
be nothing for him but to pull it down. But look out, Jegor! Don't let
yourself be worsted in the bargain. They will try and buy you off! Mind
you don't let them off too easily! They will try and frighten you;
don't you be afraid; rely on us to back you up!"
The captain's eyes burnt with wild delight, and his face, purple with
excitement, twitched nervously. He had succeeded in arousing the greed
of the gin-shop keeper, and after having persuaded him to commence
proceedings as soon as possible, went off triumphant, and implacably
revengeful.
That evening all the outcasts learnt the discovery that the captain had
made, and discussed eagerly the future proceedings of Petounnikoff,
representing to themselves vividly his astonishment and anger the
day when he should have the copy of the lawsuit presented to him.
The captain was the hero of the day. He was happy, and all around
were pleased. A heap of dark tattered figures lay about in the yard,
talking noisily and eagerly, animated by the important event. All
knew Petounnikoff, who often passed near them, blinking his eyes
disdainfully, and paying as little attention to them as he did to
the rest of the rubbish lying about in the yard. He was a picture of
self-satisfaction, and this irritated them; even his boots seemed to
shine disdainfully at them. But now the shopkeeper's pocket and his
self-esteem were going to be hurt by one of themselves! Wasn't that an
excellent joke?
Evil had a singular attraction for these people; it was the only
weapon which came easily to their hands, and which was within their
reach. For a long time now, each of them had cultivated within himself
dim half-conscious feelings of keen hatred against all who, unlike
themselves, were neither hungry nor ragged. This was why all the
outcasts felt such an intense interest in the war declared by Kouvalda
against the shopkeeper Petounnikoff. Two whole weeks the dwellers in
the doss-house had been living on the expectation of new developments,
and during all that time Petounnikoff did not once come to visit the
almost completed building. They assured each other that he was out of
town, and that the summons had not therefore yet been served upon him.
Kouvalda raged against the delays of civil procedure. It is doubtful if
anyone ever awaited the arrival of the shopkeeper so impatiently as did
these tramps.
"He comes not, he comes not!
Alas! he loves me not!"
sang the Deacon Tarass, leaning his chin on his hand, and gazing with a
comically sad expression up the hill.
But one fine day, towards evening, Petounnikoff appeared. He arrived in
a strong light cart, driven by his son, a young man with red cheeks
and wearing a long checked overcoat, and smoked blue spectacles. They
tied up the horse; the son drew from his pocket a tape measure, gave
one end of it to his father, and both of them silently, and with
anxious expressions, began measuring the ground.
"Ah!" exclaimed triumphantly the captain.
All who were about the doss-house went and stood outside the gate
watching the proceedings and expressing aloud their opinions on what
was going forward.
"See what it is to have the habit of stealing! A man steals
unconsciously, not intending to steal, and thereby risks more than
he can gain," said the captain, with mock sympathy; thereby arousing
laughter among his bodyguard, and provoking a whole string of remarks
in the same strain.
"Look out, you rogue!" at length exclaimed Petounnikoff, exasperated by
these jibes. "If you don't mind I'll have you up before the magistrate."
"It's of no use without witnesses, and a son can't give evidence for a
father," the captain reminded him.
"All right; we shall see! Though you seem such a bold leader, you may
find your match some day."
And Petounnikoff shook his forefinger at him. The son, quiet and deeply
interested in his calculations, paid no heed to this group of squalid
figures, who were cruelly mocking his father. He never looked once
towards them.
"The young spider is well trained!" remarked "Scraps," who was
following the actions and the movements of the younger Petounnikoff.
Having taken all the necessary measurements, Ivan Andreevitch frowned,
climbed silently into his cart, and drove off, whilst his son, with
firm, decided steps, entered Vaviloff's vodka shop, and disappeared.
"He's a precious young thief! that he is. We shall see what comes of
it!" said Kouvalda.
"What will come of it? Why, Petounnikoff junior will square Jegor
Vaviloff!" remarked "Scraps," with great assurance, smacking his lips,
and with a look of keen satisfaction on his cunning face.
"That would please you, perhaps?" asked Kouvalda severely.
"It pleases me to see human calculations go wrong!" explained "Scraps,"
blinking his eyes and rubbing his hands.
The captain spat angrily, and kept silence. The rest of them, standing
at the gate of the tumbledown house, watched silently the door of
the vodka shop. An hour and more passed in this silent expectation.
At length the door opened, and young Petounnikoff appeared, looking
as calm as when he had entered. He paused for a moment, cleared his
throat, raised his coat collar, glanced at those who were watching his
movements, and turned up the street towards the town.
The captain watched him till he was out of sight, and, turning towards
"Scraps," smiled ironically and said--
"It seems, after all, as if you might be right, you son of a scorpion
and of a centipede! You smell out everything that's evil. One can
see by the dirty mug of the young rogue that he has got his own way!
I wonder how much Jegor has screwed out of him? He's got something,
that's sure! They're birds of a feather. I'm damned if I haven't
arranged it all for them. It's cursed hard to think what a fool I've
been. You see, mates, life is dead against us. One can't even spit into
one's neighbour's face--the spittle flies back into one's own eyes."
Consoling himself with this speech, the venerable captain glanced at
his bodyguard. All were disappointed, for all felt that what had taken
place between Vaviloff and Petounnikoff had turned out differently
from what they had expected, and all felt annoyed. The consciousness
of being unable to cause evil is more obnoxious to men than the
consciousness of being unable to do good; it is so simple and so easy
to do evil!
"Well! what's the use of sticking here? We have nothing to wait for
except for Jegorka to stand us treat," said the captain, glowering
angrily at the vodka shop. "It's all up with our peaceful and happy
life under Judah's roof. He'll send us packing now; so I give you all
notice, my brigade of _sans-culottes!_"
"The End" laughed morosely.
"Now then, gaoler, what's the matter with you?" asked Kouvalda.
"Where the devil am I to go?"
"That indeed is a serious question, my friend. But never fear, your
fate will decide it for you," said the captain, turning towards the
doss-house.
The outcasts followed him idly.
"We shall await the critical moment," said the captain, walking along
with them. "When we get the sack there will be time enough to look
out for another shelter. Meanwhile, what's the use of spoiling life
with troubles like that? It is at critical moments that man rises to
the occasion, and if life as a whole were to consist of nothing but
critical moments, if one had to tremble every minute of one's life for
the safety of one's carcass, I'll be hanged if life wouldn't be more
lively, and people more interesting!"
"Which would mean that people would fly at each other's throats more
savagely than they do now," explained "Scraps," smiling.
"Well, what of that?" struck in the captain, who did not care to have
his ideas enlarged on.
"Nothing! nothing! It's all right--when one wants to get to one's
destination quickly, one thrashes the horse, or one stokes up one's
machine."
"Yes, that's it; let everything go full speed to the devil. I should
be only too glad if the earth would suddenly take fire, burst up, and
go to pieces, only I should like to be the last man left, to see the
others."
"You're a nice one!" sneered "Scraps."
"What of that? I'm an outcast, am I not? I'm freed from all chains
and fetters; therefore I can spit at everything. By the very nature
of the life I lead now, I am bound to drop everything to do with the
past--all fine manners and conventional ideas of people who are well
fed, and well dressed, and who despise me because I am not equally
well fed and dressed. So I have to cultivate in myself something fresh
and new--don't you see--something you know which will make people like
Judah Petounnikoff, when they pass by me, feel a cold shudder run down
their backs!"
"You have a bold tongue!" sneered "Scraps."
"You miserable wretch!" Kouvalda scanned him disdainfully. "What do
you understand, what do you know? You don't even know how to think!
But I have thought much, I have read books of which you would not have
understood a word."
"Oh, I know I'm not fit to black the boots of such a learned man! But
though you have read and thought so much, and I have done neither the
one nor the other, yet we are not after all so far apart."
"Go to the devil!" exclaimed Kouvalda.
His conversations with "Scraps" always finished in this way. When
the schoolmaster was not about, the captain knew well that his
speeches were only wasted, and were lost for want of understanding and
appreciation. But for all that, he couldn't help talking, and now,
having snubbed his interlocutor, he felt himself lonely amongst the
others. His desire for conversation was not, however, satisfied, and he
turned therefore to Simtzoff with a question.
"And you, Alexai Maximovitch, where will you lay your old head?"
The old man smiled good-naturedly, rubbed his nose with his hand, and
explained--
"Don't know! Shall see by and by. I'm not of much account. A glass of
vodka, that's all I want."
"A very praiseworthy ambition, and very simple," said the captain.
After a short silence Simtzoff added that he would find shelter more
easily than the rest, because the women liked him.
This was true, for the old man had always two or three mistresses among
the prostitutes, who would keep him sometimes for two or three days at
a time on their scant earnings. They often beat him, but he took it
stoically. For some reason or other they never hurt him much; perhaps
they pitied him. He was a great admirer of women, but added that they
were the cause of all his misfortunes in life. The close terms on which
he lived with women, and the character of their relations towards him,
were shown by the fact that his clothes were always neatly mended, and
cleaner than the clothes of his companions. Seated now on the ground
at the door of the doss-house amidst his mates, he boastfully related
that he had for some time been asked by Riedka to go and live with her,
but that he had till now refused, not wanting to give up the present
company.
He was listened to with interest, mingled with envy. All knew Riedka;
she lived not far down the hill, and only a few months ago she came out
of prison after serving a second term for theft. She had formerly been
a wet nurse; a tall, stout, strapping countrywoman, with a pock-marked
face, and fine eyes, somewhat dulled by drink.
"The old rogue!" cursed "Scraps," watching Simtzoff, who smiled with
self-satisfaction.
"And do you know why they all like me? Because I understand what their
souls need."
"Indeed?" exclaimed Kouvalda interrogatively.
"I know how to make women pity me. And when a woman's pity is aroused,
she can even kill, out of pure pity! Weep before her, and implore her
to kill; she will have pity on you, and will kill."
"It's I who would kill!" exclaimed Martianoff, in a decided voice, with
a dark scowl.
"Whom do you mean?" asked "Scraps," edging away from him.
"It's all the same to me! Petounnikoff--Jegorka--you if you like!"
"Why?" asked Kouvalda, with aroused interest.
"I want to be sent to Siberia. I'm tired of this stupid life. There one
will know what to do with one's life."
"H'm!" said the captain reflectively. "You will indeed know what to do
with your life there!"
Nothing more was spoken about Petounnikoff, nor of their impending
expulsion from the doss-house. All were sure that this expulsion was
imminent, was perhaps a matter of a few days only; and they therefore
considered it useless to discuss the point further. Discussion wouldn't
make it easier; besides, it was not cold yet, though the rainy season
had begun. One could sleep on the ground anywhere outside the town.
Seated in a circle on the grass, they chatted idly and aimlessly,
changing easily from one topic to another, and paying only just as
much attention to the words of their companions as was absolutely
necessary to prevent the conversation from dropping. It was a nuisance
to have to be silent, but it was equally a nuisance to have to listen
with attention. This society of the outcasts had one great virtue: no
one ever made an effort to appear better than he was, nor forced others
to try and appear better than they were.
The August sun was shedding its warmth impartially on the rags that
covered theirs back and on their uncombed heads--a chaotic blending
of animal, vegetable, and mineral matter. In the corners of the yard,
weeds grew luxuriantly--tall agrimony, all covered with prickles, and
other useless plants, whose growth rejoiced the eyes of none but these
equally useless people.
In Vaviloff's vodka shop the following scene had--been going forward.
Petounnikoff junior entered, leisurely looked around, made a disdainful
grimace, and slowly removing his grey hat, asked the landlord, who met
him with an amiable bow and a respectful smile--
"Are you Jegor Terentievitch Vaviloff?"
"That's myself!" answered the old soldier, leaning on the counter with
both hands, as if ready with one bound to jump over.
"I have some business to transact with you," said Petounnikoff.
"Delighted! Won't you come into the back room?"
They went into the back part of the house, and sat down before a round
table; the visitor on a sofa covered with oilcloth, and the host on a
chair opposite to him.
In one corner of the room a lamp burnt before a shrine, around which
on the walls hung eikons, the gold backgrounds of which were carefully
burnished, and shone as if new. In the room, piled up with boxes and
old furniture, there was a mingled smell of paraffin oil, of tobacco,
and of sour cabbage. Petounnikoff glanced around, and made another
grimace. Vaviloff with a sigh glanced up at the images, and then they
scrutinised each other attentively, and each produced on the other a
favourable impression. Petounnikoff was pleased with Vaviloff's frankly
thievish eyes, and Vaviloff was satisfied with the cold, decided
countenance of Petounnikoff, with its broad jaw and strong white teeth.
"You know me, of course, and can guess my errand," began Petounnikoff.
"About the summons, I guess," replied the old soldier respectfully.
"Just so! I'm glad to see that you are straightforward, and attack the
matter like an open-hearted man," continued Petounnikoff encouragingly.
"You see I'm a soldier," modestly suggested the other.
"I can see that. Let us tackle this business as quickly and as
straightforwardly as possible, and get it over."
"By all means!"
"Your complaint is quite in order, and there is no doubt but that you
have right on your side. I think it better to tell you that at once."
"Much obliged to you," said the soldier, blinking his eyes to conceal a
smile.
"But I should like to know why you thought it best to begin an
acquaintance with us, your future neighbours, so unpleasantly--with a
lawsuit?" Vaviloff shrugged his shoulders, and was silent.
"It would have been better for you to have come to us, and we could
have arranged matters between us. Don't you think so?"
"That indeed would have been pleasanter. But, don't you see? there was
a little hitch. I didn't act altogether on my own. I was set on by
someone else; afterwards I understood what would have been best, but it
was too late then."
"That's just it. I suppose it was some lawyer who put you up to it!"
"Something of that sort"
"Yes, yes. And now you are willing to settle things out of court?"
"That's my great wish!" exclaimed the soldier. Petounnikoff remained
silent for a moment, then glanced at the landlord and said in an
abrupt, dry voice--
"And why do you wish it now, may I ask?" Vaviloff did not expect this
question, and was not prepared for an immediate answer. He considered
it an idle question, and shrugging his shoulders with a look of
superiority, smiled sneeringly at Petounnikoff:
"Why? Well, it's easy to understand: because one must live with others
in peace."
"Come!" interrupted Petounnikoff, "it isn't altogether that! I see you
don't clearly understand yourself why it is so necessary for you to
live in peace with us. I will explain it to you."
The soldier was slightly surprised. This queerlooking young fellow in
his check suit was holding forth to him just as Commander Rashkin used
to do, who when he got angry would knock out three teeth at a time from
the head of one of his troopers.
"It is necessary for you to live in peace with us because it will be
profitable to you to have us as neighbours. And it will be profitable
because we shall employ at least a hundred and fifty workmen at first,
and more as time goes on. If a hundred of these on each weekly pay-day
drink a glass of vodka, it means that during the month you will sell
four hundred glasses more than you do at present. This is taking it at
the lowest calculation; besides that, there's the catering for them.
You don't seem a fool, and you've had some experience; don't you see
now the advantage that our neighbourhood will be to you?"
"It's true!" said Vaviloff, nodding his head. "I knew it."
"Well then"--
The young merchant raised his voice.
"Oh! nothing. Let's arrange terms."
"I'm delighted you make up your mind so promptly. I have here a
declaration prepared in readiness, declaring that you are willing to
stop proceedings against my father. Read it and sign it."
Vaviloff glanced with round eyes at his interlocutor, with a
presentiment that something exceedingly disagreeable was coming.
"Wait a moment. Sign what? What do you mean?"
"Simply write your name and your family name here," said Petounnikoff,
politely pointing out with his finger the place left for the signature.
"That's not what I mean--that is, I mean, what compensation will you
give me for the land?"
"The land is of no use to you," said Petounnikoff soothingly.
"Still it's mine!" exclaimed the soldier.
"To be sure. But how much would you claim?"
"Well, let's say the sum named in the summons. The amount is stated
there," suggested Vaviloff hesitatingly.
"Six hundred?" Petounnikoff laughed as if highly amused. "That's a good
joke!"
"I have a right to it! I can even claim two thousand! I can insist on
your pulling down the wall; and that is what I want. That's why the sum
claimed is so small. I demand that you should pull it down!"
"Go on with it then! We shall perhaps have to pull it down, but not
for two or three years--not till you have been involved in heavy law
expenses. After that we shall open a vodka shop of our own, which will
be better than yours, and you will go to the wall! You'll be ruined, my
friend; we'll take care of that. We might be taking steps to start the
vodka shop at once, but we are busy just now, have got our hands full;
besides, we are sorry for you. Why should one take the bread out of a
man's mouth without a reason?"
Jegor Terentievitch clenched his teeth, feeling that his visitor held
his fate in his hands. Vaviloff felt pity for himself, brought face
to face as he was with this cold, mercenary, implacable person in his
ridiculous check suit.
"And living so near us, and being on friendly terms with us, you,
my friend, might have turned a pretty penny. We might have helped
you also; for instance, I should advise you at once to open a little
shop--tobacco, matches, bread, cucumbers, and so on. You'd find plenty
of customers."
Vaviloff listened, and not being a fool, understood that the best for
him at present was to trust to the generosity of his enemy. In fact, he
ought to have begun by that; and not being able any longer to conceal
his anger and his humiliation, he burst out into loud imprecations
against Kouvalda.
"Drunkard! Cursed swine--may the devil take him!"
"That's meant for the lawyer who worded your report?" asked
Petounnikoff quietly, and added with a sigh: "Indeed he might have
served you a bad turn, if we hadn't taken pity on you!"
"Ah!" sighed the distressed soldier, letting his hands fall in despair.
"There were two of them--one started the business, and the other did
the writing, the cursed scribbler!"
"How, a newspaper scribbler?"
"Well, he writes for the newspapers. They are both of them tenants of
yours. Nice sort of people they are! Get rid of them; send them off for
God's sake! They are robbers; they set everyone in the street against
each other; there is no peace with them; they have no respect for law
or order. One has always to be on one's guard with them against robbery
or arson."
"But this newspaper scribbler, who is he?" asked Petounnikoff in an
interested tone.
"He? He's a drunkard. He was a schoolteacher, and got turned away. He
has drunk all he had, and now he writes for the newspapers, and invents
petitions. He's a real bad 'un!"
"H'm-m! And it was he, then, who wrote your petition? Just so!
Evidently it was he who wrote about the construction of the
scaffolding. He seemed to suggest that the scaffolding was not built
according to the by-laws."
"That's he! That's just like him, the dog! He read it here, and was
boasting that he would run Petounnikoff into expense!"
"H'm-m! Well, how about coming to terms?" "To terms?" The soldier
dropped his head and grew thoughtful. "Ah! what a miserable dark
existence ours is!" he exclaimed sadly, scratching the back of his head.
"You must begin to improve it!" said Petounnikoff, lighting a cigarette.
"Improve it? That's easy to say, sir! But we have no liberty! that's
what is the matter. Just look at my life, sir. I'm always in terror,
always on my guard, and have no freedom of action. And why is that?
Fear! This wretch of a schoolmaster may write to the newspapers about
me, he sets the sanitary authorities at me, and I have to pay fines.
One has always to be on one's guard against these lodgers of yours,
lest they burn, murder, or rob one! How can I stop them? They don't
fear the police! If they do get clapped into prison, they are only
glad; because it means free rations!"
"Well, we'll get rid of them if we come to terms with you,"
Petounnikoff promised.
"And what shall the terms be?" asked Vaviloff, anxiously and gloomily.
"State your own terms."
"Well, then, let it be the six hundred mentioned in the summons!"
"Wouldn't a hundred be enough?" said the trader, in a calm voice.
He watched the landlord narrowly, and smiling gently, added, "I won't
give a rouble more!"