the glasses with his handkerchief. Vaviloff, sick at heart, looked
at him, experiencing every moment towards him a feeling of greater
respect. In the quiet face of young Petounnikoff, in his large grey
eyes and prominent cheek-bones, and in his whole coarse, robust
figure, there was so much self-reliant force, sure of itself, and
well disciplined by the mind. Besides, Vaviloff liked the way that
Petounnikoff spoke to him; his voice possessed simple friendly
intonations, and there was no striving after effect, just as if he
were speaking to an equal; though Vaviloff well understood that he, a
soldier, was not the equal of this man.
Watching him almost with admiration, the soldier felt within himself a
rush of eager curiosity, which for a moment checked all other feeling,
so that he could not help asking Petounnikoff in a respectful voice--
"Where did you study?"
"At the Technological Institution. But why do you ask?" replied the
other, smiling.
"Oh, nothing; I beg your pardon."
The soldier dropped his head, and suddenly exclaimed in a voice that
was almost inspired, so full was it of admiration and of envy, "Yes!
that's what education can do! Knowledge is indeed enlightenment, and
that means everything! And we others, we are like owls looking at the
sun. Bad luck to us! Well, sir, let us settle up this affair."
And with a decided gesture he stretched out his hand to Petounnikoff,
and said in a half choking voice--
"Let's say five hundred!"
"Not more than a hundred roubles, Jegor Terentievitch!"
Petounnikoff shrugged his shoulders, as if regretting not being able to
give more, and patted the soldier's hairy hand with his large white one.
They soon clinched the bargain now, for the soldier suddenly started
with long strides to meet the terms of Petounnikoff, who remained
implacably firm. When Vaviloff had received the hundred roubles, and
signed the paper, he dashed the pen on the table, exclaiming, "That's
done! Now I'll have to settle up with that band of tramps. They'll
bother the life out of me, the devils!"
"You can tell them that I paid you all that you demanded in the
summons," suggested Petounnikoff, puffing out thin rings of smoke, and
watching them rise and vanish.
"They'll never believe that! They are clever rogues; as sharp as"--
Vaviloff stopped just in time, confused at the thought of the
comparison which almost escaped from his lips, and glanced nervously at
the merchant's son. But this latter went on smoking, and seemed wholly
engrossed with that occupation. He left soon after, promising Vaviloff,
as he bade him good-bye, to destroy ere long this nest of noxious
beings. Vaviloff watched him, sighing, and feeling a keen desire to
shout something malicious and offensive at the man who walked with firm
steps up the steep road, striding over the ruts and heaps of rubbish.
That same evening the captain appeared at the vodka shop; his brows
were knit severely, and his right hand was firmly clenched. Vaviloff
glanced at him deprecatingly.
"Well, you worthy descendant of Cain and of Judas! tell us all about
it!"
"It's all settled!" said Vaviloff, sighing and dropping his eyes.
"I don't doubt it. How many shekels did you get?"
"Four hundred roubles down!"
"A lie! as sure as I live! Well, so much the better for me. Without
any more talking, Jegorka, hand me over 10 per cent, for my discovery;
twenty-five roubles for the schoolmaster for writing out the summons,
and a gallon of vodka for the company, with grub to match. Hand the
money over at once, and the vodka with the rest must be ready by eight
o'clock!"
Vaviloff turned green, and stared at Kouvalda with wide-open eyes.
"Don't you wish you may get it! That's downright robbery! I'm not going
to give it. Are you in your senses to suggest such a thing, Aristide
Fomitch? You'll have to keep your appetite till the next holiday comes
round; things have changed, and I'm in a position not to be afraid of
you now, I am!"
Kouvalda glanced at the clock.
"I give you, Jegor, ten minutes for your fool's chatter! Then stop
wagging your tongue and give me what I demand! If you don't--then
look out for yourself! Do you remember reading in the paper about
that robbery at Bassoff's? Well, 'The End' has been selling things to
you--you understand? You shan't have time to hide anything; we'll see
to that; and this very night, you understand?"
"'Ristide Fomitch! Why are you so hard on me?" wailed the old soldier.
"No more cackle! Have you understood? Yes or no?"
Kouvalda, tall and grey-headed, frowning impressively, spoke in a low
voice, whose hoarse bass resounded threateningly in the empty vodka
shop. At the best of times Vaviloff was afraid of him as a man who
had been once an officer, and as an individual who had now nothing to
lose. But at this moment he beheld Kouvalda in a new light; unlike his
usual manner, the captain spoke little, but his words were those of one
who expected obedience, and in his voice there was an implied threat
Vaviloff felt that the captain could, if he chose, destroy him with
pleasure. He had to give way to force, but choking with rage, he tried
once more to escape his punishment. He sighed deeply and began humbly--
"It would seem the proverb is right which says, 'You reap what you
sow.' 'Ristide Fomitch, I have lied to you! I wanted to make myself out
cleverer than I really am. All I got was a hundred roubles."
"Well! what then?" asked Kouvalda curtly.
"It wasn't four hundred as I told you, and that means"--
"It means nothing! How am I to know whether you were lying then or now?
I mean to have sixty-five roubles out of you. That's only reasonable,
so now."
"Ah, my God! 'Ristide Fomitch. I have always paid you your due!"
"Come! no more words, Jegorka, you descendant of Judas!"
"I will give it to you, then, but God will punish you for this!"
"Silence, you scab!" roared the captain, rolling his eyes savagely. "I
am sufficiently punished by God already. He has placed me in a position
in which I am obliged to see you and talk to you. I'll crush you here
on the spot like a fly."
And he shook his fist under Vaviloff's nose, and gnashed his teeth.
After he had left, Vaviloff smiled cunningly and blinked his eyes
rapidly. Then two large tears rolled down his cheeks. They were hot and
grimy, and as they disappeared into his beard, two others rolled down
in their place. Then Vaviloff retired into the back room, and knelt
in front of the eikons; he remained there for some time motionless,
without wiping the tears from his wrinkled brown cheeks.
Deacon Tarass, who had always a fancy for the open air, proposed to
the outcasts they should go out into the fields, and there in one of
the hollows, in the midst of nature's beauties, and under the open
sky, should drink Vaviloff's vodka. But the captain and the others
unanimously scouted the deacon's ideas of nature, and decided to have
their carouse in their own yard.
"One, two, three," reckoned Aristide Fomitch, "we are thirteen in all;
the schoolmaster is missing, but some other waifs and strays are sure
to turn up, so let's say twenty. Two cucumbers and a half for each, a
pound of bread and of meat--that's not a bad allowance! As to vodka,
there will be about a bottle each. There's some sour cabbage, some
apples, and three melons. What the devil do we want more? What do you
say, mates? Let us therefore prepare to devour Jegor Vaviloff; for all
this is his body and his blood!"
They spread some ragged garments on the ground, on which they laid out
their food and drink, and they crouched round in a circle, restraining
with difficulty the thirst for drink which lurked in the eyes of each
one of them.
Evening was coming on, its shadows fell across the foul, untidy yard,
and the last rays of the sun lit up the roof of the half-ruined house.
The evening was cool and calm.
"Let us fall to, brethren!" commanded the captain. "How many mugs have
we? Only six, and there are thirteen of us. Alexai Maximovitch, pour
out the drink! Make ready! Present! Fire!"
"Ach--h!" They swallowed down great gulps, and then fell to eating.
"But the schoolmaster isn't here I I haven't seen him for three days.
Has anyone else seen him?" said Kouvalda.
"No one."
"That's not like him! Well, never mind, let's have another drink I
Let's drink to the health of Aristide Kouvalda, my only friend, who,
during all my lifetime has never once forsaken me; though, devil take
it, if he had deprived me of his society sometimes I might have been
the gainer."
"That's well said," cried "Scraps," and cleared his throat.
The captain, conscious of his superiority, looked round at his cronies,
but said nothing, for he was eating.
After drinking two glasses the company brightened up; for the measures
were full ones. "Tarass and a half" humbly expressed a wish for a
story, but the deacon was eagerly engaged discussing with "The Top"
the superiority of thin women over fat ones, and took no notice of his
friend's words, defending his point of view with the eagerness and
fervour of a man deeply convinced of the truth of his opinion. The
naïve face of "The Meteor," who was lying beside him on his stomach,
expressed admiration and delight at the suggestive words of the
disputants. Martianoff, hugging his knees with his huge, hairy hands,
glanced gloomily and silently at the vodka bottle, while he constantly
made attempts to catch his moustache with his tongue and gnaw it with
his teeth. "Scraps" was teasing Tiapa.
"I know now where you hide your money, you old ogre!"
"All the better for you!" hissed Tiapa in a hoarse voice.
"I'll manage to get hold of it some day!"
"Do it if you can!"
Kouvalda felt bored amongst this set of people; there was not one
worthy to hear his eloquence, or capable of understanding it.
"Where the devil can the schoolmaster be?" he said, expressing his
thought aloud.
Martianoff looked at him and said--
"He will return."
"I am certain he will come back on foot, and not in a carriage! Let us
drink to your future, you born convict. If you murder a man who has
got some money, go shares with me. Then, old chap, I shall start for
America, make tracks for those lampas--pampas--what do you call them?
I shall go there, and rise at length to be President of the United
States. Then I shall declare war against Europe, and won't I give it
them hot? As to an army, I shall buy mercenaries in Europe itself. I
shall invite the French, the Germans, and the Turks, and the whole lot
of them, and I shall use them to beat their own relations. Just as Ilia
de Mouronetz conquered the Tartars with the Tartars. With money one can
become even an Ilia, and destroy Europe, and hire Judah Petounnikoff
as one's servant. He'd work if one gave him a hundred roubles a month,
that he would, I'm sure. But he'd be a bad servant; he'd begin by
stealing."
"And besides, a thin woman is better than a fat one, because she costs
less," eagerly continued the deacon. "My first deaconess used to buy
twelve yards for a dress, and the second one only ten. It's the same
with food."
"Tarass and a half" smiled deprecatingly, turned his face towards the
deacon, fixed his one eye on him, and shyly suggested in an embarrassed
tone--"I also had a wife once."
"That may happen to anybody," observed Kouvalda. "Go on with your lies!"
"She was thin, but she ate a great deal; it was even the cause of her
death."
"You poisoned her, you one-eyed beggar!" said "Scraps," with conviction.
"No! on my word I didn't; she ate too much pickled herring."
"And I tell you, you did! you poisoned her," "Scraps" repeated, with
further assurance.
It was often his way, after having said some absurdity, to continue to
repeat it, without bringing forward any grounds of confirmation; and
beginning in a pettish, childish tone, he would gradually work himself
up into a rage.
The deacon took up the cudgels for his friend.
"He couldn't have poisoned her, he had no reason to do so."
"And I say he did poison her!" screamed "Scraps."
"Shut up!" shouted the captain in a threatening voice.
His sense of boredom was gradually changing into suppressed anger. With
savage eyes he glanced round at the company, and not finding anything
in their already half-drunken faces that might serve as an excuse for
his fury, he dropped his head on his breast, remained sitting thus for
a few moments, and then stretched himself full length on the ground,
with his face upwards. "The Meteor" was gnawing cucumbers; he would
take one in his hand, without looking at it, thrust half of it into his
mouth, and then suddenly bite it in two with his large yellow teeth,
so that the salt juice oozed out on either side and wetted his cheeks.
He was clearly not hungry, but this proceeding amused him. Martianoff
remained motionless as a statue in the position he had taken, stretched
on the ground and absorbed in gloomily watching the barrel of vodka,
which was by this time more than half empty. Tiapa had his eyes fixed
on the ground, whilst he masticated noisily the meat which would not
yield to his old teeth. "Scraps" lay on his stomach, coughing from time
to time, whilst convulsive movements shook all his small body. The rest
of the silent dark figures sat or lay about in various positions, and
these ragged objects were scarcely distinguishable in the twilight from
the heaps of rubbish half overgrown with weeds which were strewn about
the yard. Their bent, crouching forms, and their tatters gave them the
look of hideous animals, created by some coarse and freakish power, in
mockery of man.
"There lived in Sousdal town
A lady of small renown;
She suffered from cramps and pains,
And very disagreeable they were ..."
sang the deacon in a low voice, embracing Alexai Maximovitch,
who smiled back stupidly in his face. "Tarass and a half" leered
lasciviously.
Night was coming on. Stars glittered in the sky; on the hill towards
the town the lights began to show. The prolonged wail of the steamers'
whistles was heard from the river; the door of Vaviloff's vodka shop
opened with a creaking noise, and a sound of cracking glass. Two dark
figures entered the yard and approached the group of men seated round
the vodka barrel, one of them asking in a hoarse voice--
"You are drinking?"
Whilst the other figure exclaimed in a low tone, envy and delight in
his voice--
"What a set of lucky devils!"
Then over the head of the deacon a hand was stretched out and seized
the bottle; and the peculiar gurgling sound was heard of vodka being
poured from the bottle into a glass. Then someone coughed loudly.
"How dull you all are!" exclaimed the deacon. "Come, you one-eyed
beggar, let's recall old times and have a song! Let us sing _By the
waters of Babylon_."
"Does he know it?" asked Simtzoff.
"He? Why he was the soloist in the archbishop's choir. Come now, begin!
_By_--_the_--_waters_--_of_--_Babylon_."
The voice of the deacon was wild, hoarse, and broken, whilst his friend
sang with a whining falsetto. The doss-house, shrouded in darkness,
seemed either to have grown larger or to have moved its half-rotten
mass nearer towards these people, who with their wild howlings had
aroused its dull echoes. A thick, heavy cloud slowly moved across the
sky over the house. One of the outcasts was already snoring; the rest,
not yet quite drunk, were either eating or drinking, or talking in low
voices with long pauses. All felt a strange sense of oppression after
this unusually abundant feast of vodka and of food. For some reason or
another it took longer than usual to arouse to-day the wild gaiety
of the company, which generally came so easily when the dossers were
engaged round the bottle.
"Stop your howling for a minute, you dogs!" said the captain to the
singers, raising his head from the ground, and listening. "Someone is
coming, in a carriage!"
A carriage in those parts at this time of night could not fail to
arouse general attention. Who would risk leaving the town, to encounter
the ruts and holes of such a street? Who? and for what purpose?
All raised their heads and listened. In the silence of the night could
be heard the grating of the wheels against the splashboards.
The carriage drew nearer. A coarse voice was heard asking--
"Well, where is it then?"
Another voice answered--
"It must be the house over there."
"I'm not going any farther!"
"They must be coming here!" exclaimed the captain.
An anxious murmur was heard: "The Police!" "In a carriage? You fools!"
said Martianoff in a low voice.
Kouvalda rose and went towards the entrance gates.
"Scraps," stretching his neck in the direction the captain had taken,
was listening attentively.
"Is this the doss-house?" asked someone in a cracked voice.
"Yes, it is the house of Aristide Kouvalda," replied the uninviting
bass voice of the captain.
"That's it, that's it! It's here that the reporter Titoff lived, is it
not?"
"Ah! You have brought him back?"
"Yes."
"Drunk?"
"Ill."
"That means he's very drunk. Now then, schoolmaster, out with you!"
"Wait a minute. I'll help you; he's very bad. He's been two nights at
my house; take him under the arms. We've had the doctor, but he's very
bad."
Tiapa rose and went slowly towards the gates. "Scraps" sneered, and
drank another glass.
"Light up there!" ordered the captain.
"The Meteor" went into the doss-house and lit a lamp, from which a
long stream of light fell across the yard, and the captain, with the
assistance of the stranger, led the schoolmaster into the doss-house.
His head hung loose on his breast, and his feet dragged along the
ground; his arms hung in the air as if they were broken. With Tiapa's
help they huddled him on to one of the bunks, where he stretched out
his limbs, uttering suppressed groans, whilst shudders ran through his
body.
"We worked together on the same newspaper; he's been very unlucky. I
told him, 'Stay at my house if you like; you won't disturb me'; but
he begged and implored me to take him home, got quite excited about
it. I feared that worrying would do him more harm, so I have brought
him--home; for this is where he meant, isn't it?"
"Perhaps you think he's got some other home?" asked Kouvalda in a
coarse voice, watching his friend closely all the time. "Go, Tiapa, and
fetch some cold water."
"Well now," said the little man, fidgeting about shyly, "I suppose I
can't be of any further use to him."
"Who? You?"
The captain scanned him contemptuously.
The little man was dressed in a well-worn coat, carefully buttoned
to the chin. His trousers were frayed out at the bottom. His hat was
discoloured with age, and was as crooked and wrinkled as was his thin,
starved face.
"No, you can't be of any further use. There are many like you here,"
said the captain, turning away from the little man.
"Well, good-bye then!"
The little man went towards the door, and standing there said softly--
"If anything happens let us know at the office; my name is Rijoff.
I would write a short obituary notice. After all, you see, he was a
journalist."
"H--m--m! an obituary notice, do you say? Twenty lines, forty kopecks.
I'll do something better, when he dies; I will cut off one of his legs,
and send it to the office, addressed to you. That will be worth more to
you than an obituary notice. It will last you at least three or four
days; he has nice fat legs. I know all of you down there lived on him
when he was alive, so you may as well live on him when he is dead."
The little man uttered a strange sound, and disappeared; the captain
seated himself on the bunk, by the side of the schoolmaster, felt his
forehead and his chest, and called him by name--
"Philippe!"
The sound echoed along the dirty walls of the doss-house, and died away.
"Come, old chap! this is absurd!" said the captain, smoothing with
his hand the disordered hair of the motionless schoolmaster. Then the
captain listened to the hot gasping breath, noted the death-like,
haggard face, sighed, and wrinkling his brows severely, glanced around.
The lamp gave a sickly light; its flame flickered, and on the walls of
the doss-house dark shadows danced silently.
The captain sat watching them and stroking his beard.
Tiapa came in with a bucket of water, placed it on the floor beside the
schoolmaster's head, and taking hold of his arm held it in his hand, as
if to feel its weight.
"The water is of no use!" said the captain in a hopeless voice.
"It's the priest he wants," said the old rag-picker.
"Nothing's of any use," replied the captain.
They remained a few moments silent, watching the schoolmaster.
"Come and have a drink, old boy!"
"And what about him?"
"Can you do anything for him?"
Tiapa turned his back on the schoolmaster, and both returned to the
yard, and rejoined the company.
"Well, what's going on?" asked "Scraps," turning his shrewd face round
to the captain.
"Nothing out of the common. The man's dying," the captain replied
abruptly.
"Has he been knocked about?" asked "Scraps," with curiosity.
The captain did not answer, for at that moment he was drinking vodka.
"It's just as if he knew that we had something extra for his funeral
feast," said "Scraps," lighting a cigarette.
One of them laughed, and another sighed heavily, but on the whole
the conversation of "Scraps" and the captain did not produce much
impression on the company; at least there were no apparent signs
of trouble, of interest, or of thought. All had looked upon the
schoolmaster as a man rather out of the common, but now most of them
were drunk, and the rest remained calm and outwardly detached from what
was going forward. Only the deacon evinced signs of violent agitation;
his lips moved, he rubbed his forehead, and wildly howled--
"_Peace be to the dead!_..."
"Stop it!" hissed "Scraps." "What are you howling about?"
"Smash his jaw!" said the captain.
"You fool!" hissed Tiapa. "When a soul is passing, you should keep
quiet, and not break the silence."
It was quiet enough; in the cloud-covered sky, which threatened rain,
and on the earth, shrouded in the still silence of an autumn night. At
intervals the silence was broken by the snoring of those who had fallen
asleep; by the gurgle of vodka being poured from the bottle, or the
noisy munching of food. The deacon was muttering something. The clouds
hung so low that it almost seemed as if they would catch the roof of
the old house, and overturn it on to the outcasts.
"Ah! how one suffers when a dear friend is passing away!" stammered the
captain, dropping his head on his chest.
No one answered him.
"He was the best among you all--the cleverest, the most honest. I am
sorry for him."
"_May_--_the_--_sa-i-nts_--_receive--him!_ ... Sing, you one-eyed
devil!" muttered the deacon, nudging his friend, who lay by his side
half asleep.
"Will you be quiet!" exclaimed "Scraps" in an angry whisper, jumping to
his feet.
"I'll go and give him a knock over the head," proposed Martianoff.
"What! are you not asleep?" exclaimed Aristide Fomitch in an
extraordinarily gentle voice. "Have you heard? Our schoolmaster is"--
Martianoff turned over heavily on his side, stood up, and glanced at
the streams of light which issued from the door and windows of the
doss-house, shrugged his shoulders, and without a word came and sat
down by the side of the captain.
"Let's have another drop," suggested Kouvalda.
They groped for the glasses, and drank.
"I shall go and see," said Tiapa. "He may want something."
"Nothing but a coffin!" hiccoughed the captain.
"Don't talk about it!" implored "Scraps" in a dull voice.
After Tiapa, "The Meteor" got up. The deacon wanted to rise as well;
but he fell down again, cursing loudly.
When Tiapa had gone, the captain slapped Martianoff's shoulder, and
began to talk in a low voice.
"That's how the matter stands, Martianoff; you ought to feel it more
than the rest. You were--but it's better to drop it. Are you sorry for
Philippe?"
"No!" answered the former gaoler, after a short silence. "I don't feel
anything of that sort. I have lost the habit of it; I am so disgusted
with life. I'm quite in earnest when I say I shall kill someone."
"Yes?" replied the captain indifferently. "Well, what then?... let's
have another drop!"
"We are of no account; we can drink, that's all we can do," muttered
Simtzoff, who had just woke in a happy frame of mind. "Who's there,
mates? Pour out a glass for the old man!"
The vodka was poured out and handed to him.