II.

Everything is comparative in this world, and there is for man no

situation so utterly bad that nothing could be worse.

On a bright day, toward the end of September, Captain Aristíd Kuválda

was sitting, as was his wont, in his arm-chair at the door of the night

lodging-house, and as he gazed at the stone[1] building erected by

merchant Petúnnikoff, next door to Vavíloff's tavern, he meditated.

The building, which was still surrounded by scaffolding, was intended

for a candle-factory, and had long been an eye-sore to the captain,

with the empty and dark hollows of its long row of windows, and that

spider's web of wood, which surrounded it, from foundation to roof.

Red, as though it were smeared with blood, it resembled some cruel

machine, which was not yet in working-order, but which had already

opened a row of deep, yawning maws, and was ready to engulf, masticate,

and devour. Vavíloff's gray wooden tavern, with its crooked roof,

overgrown with moss, leaned against one of the brick walls of the

factory, and looked like some huge parasite, which was driving its

suckers into it.

[1] "A stone building" does not mean literally stone in Russia, as it

does elsewhere. "Stone," in this connection, means brick, rubble, or

any other substance, with an external dressing of mastic, washed with

white or any gay hue. Briefly, not of wood.--Translator.

The captain reflected, that they would soon begin to build on the

site of the old house also. They would tear down the lodging-house,

too. He would be compelled to seek other quarters, and no others, so

convenient and so cheap, could be found. It was a pity, it was rather

sad, to move away from a place where he had been so long. But move he

must, merely because a certain merchant had taken it into his head

to manufacture candles and soap. And the captain felt, that if any

opportunity should present itself to him, of ruining the life of that

enemy, even temporarily--oh! with what delight would he ruin it!

On the previous evening, merchant Iván Andréevitch Petúnnikoff had been

in the courtyard of the night lodging-house with the architect and his

son. They had measured the courtyard, and had stuck little sticks

everywhere in the ground, which, after Petúnnikoff had departed, the

captain ordered The Meteor to pull out of the ground and throw away.

Before the captain's eyes stood that merchant--small, gaunt, in a

long garment which simultaneously resembled both an overcoat and an

undercoat, in a velvet cap, and tall, brilliantly-polished boots. His

bony face, with high cheek-bones, with its gray, wedge-shaped beard,

with a lofty brow furrowed with wrinkles, from beneath which sparkled

small, narrow, gray eyes, which always appeared to be on the watch for

something.... A pointed, cartilaginous nose, a small mouth, with thin

lips.... Altogether, the merchant's aspect was piously-rapacious, and

respectably-evil.

"A damned mixture of fox and hog!"--swore the captain to himself, and

recalled to mind Petúnnikoff's first phrase with regard to himself.

The merchant had come with a member of the town court to purchase the

house, and, catching sight of the captain, he had asked of his guide,

in alert Kostromá dialect:

"Isn't he a candle-end himself ... that lodger of yours?"

And from that day forth--now eighteen months gone by--they had vied

with one another in their cleverness at insulting man.

And on the preceding evening, a little "drill in vituperation," as the

captain designated his conversation with the merchant, had taken place

between them. After he had seen the architect off, the merchant had

stepped up to the captain.

"You're sitting?"--he asked, tugging with his hand at the visor of his

cap so that it was not possible to understand whether he was adjusting

it or intended to express a salutation.

"You're trotting about?"--said the captain, imitating his tone, and

made a movement with his lower jaw, which caused his beard to waggle,

and which a person who was not exacting might take for a bow, or for a

desire on the part of the captain to shift his pipe from one corner of

his mouth to the other.

"I have a great deal of money--so I trot about. Money demands that

it shall be put out in life, so I'm giving it circulation...." the

merchant mocked the captain a little, cunningly narrowing his little

eyes.

"The ruble doesn't serve you, that is to say, but you serve the

ruble,"--commented Kuválda, contending with a desire to give the

merchant a kick in the belly.

"Isn't it all the same thing? With it, with money, everything is

agreeable.... But if you haven't any...."

And the merchant eyed the captain over, with shamelessly-counterfeit

compassion. The captain's upper lip twitched, disclosing his large,

wolfish teeth.

"A man who has brains and conscience can get along without it ... It

generally makes its appearance precisely at the time when a man's

conscience begins to dry up ... The less conscience, the more money....

"That's true....? But, on the other hand, there are people who have

neither money, nor conscience...."

"Were you just the same when you were young?"--inquired Kuválda

innocently. It was now the turn of Petúnnikoff's nose to twitch. Iván

Andréevitch sighed, screwed up his little eyes, and said:

"In my youth, o-okh! I was forced to raise great weights!"

"I think...."

"I worked, okh, how I worked!"

"And you worked up a good many people!"

"Such as you? Noblemen? Never mind ... they learned plenty of prayers

to Christ from me...."

"You didn't murder, you merely stole?"--said the captain sharply.

Petúnnikoff turned green, and found it expedient to change the subject.

"You're a bad host, you sit, while your guest stands."

"Let him sit down, too," Kuválda gave permission.

"But there's nothing to sit on, you see...."

"Sit on the earth ... the earth accepts all sorts of rubbish...."

"I see that, from you.... But I shall leave you, you scold," said

Petúnnikoff, in a calm, equable voice, but his eyes poured forth cold

poison on the captain.

And he took his departure, leaving Kuválda with the pleasing

consciousness that the merchant was afraid of him. If he had not

been afraid of him, he would long ago have driven him out of the

night lodging-house. He would not have refrained from expelling him

for those five rubles a month! And the captain found it pleasant to

stare at Petúnnikoff's back, as he slowly left the courtyard. Then

the captain watched the merchant walk around his factory, walk over

the scaffoldings, upstairs and down. And he longed greatly to have

the merchant fall and break his bones. How many clever combinations

he had made of the fall, and the injuries, as he gazed at Petúnnikoff

climbing over the scaffoldings of his factory, like a spider over his

web! On the preceding evening, it had even seemed to him that one plank

trembled under the merchant's feet, and the captain sprang from his

seat in excitement.... But nothing happened.

And to-day, as always, before the eyes of Aristíd Kuválda rose aloft

that red building, so well-built, and solid, which had laid as firm a

hold upon the earth as though it were already sucking the juices out of

it. And it seemed to be laughing coldly and gloomily at the captain,

with the yawning holes of its walls. The sun poured its autumnal rays

upon it as lavishly as upon the wretched hovels of Vyézhaya Street.

"Is it really going to happen!"--exclaimed the captain mentally, as he

measured the wall of the factory with his eye.--"Akh, you rascal, devil

take you! If ..." and all startled and excited by his thought, Aristíd

Kuválda sprang up, and went hastily into Vavíloff's tavern, smiling and

muttering something to himself.

Vavíloff met him at the lunch-counter, with the friendly exclamation:

"We wish health to Your Well-Born!"

Of medium height, with a bald head surrounded by a wreath of curly

gray hair, with smoothly-shaven cheeks, and a mustache which bristled

straight up, clad in a greasy leather jacket, by his every movement he

permitted one to discern in him the former non-commissioned officer.

"Egór! Have you the deed of sale and the plan of the house?" inquired

Kuválda hastily.

"I have."

Vavíloff suspiciously narrowed his knavish eyes, and rivetted them

intently on the face of the captain, in which he perceived something

particular.

"Show them to me!"--cried the captain, banging the counter with his

fist, and dropping upon a stool alongside it.

"Why?"--asked Vavíloff, who had made up his mind, on beholding

Kuválda's excitement, that he would be on his guard.

"Bring them here quick, you blockhead!"

Vavíloff wrinkled up his brow, and raised his eyes scrutinizingly to

the ceiling.

"Where have I put them, those same papers?"

He found on the ceiling no information on that point; then the

non-commissioned officer fixed his eyes on his stomach, and with an

aspect of anxious meditation, began to drum on the bar with his fingers.

"Stop making faces!" shouted the captain at him, for he did not like

the man, considering the former soldier to be more adapted for a thief

than for a tavern-keeper. "Well, I've just called it to mind,'Ristíd

Fómitch. It appears that they were left in the district court. When I

entered into possession....

"Drop that, Egórka![2] In view of your own profit, show me immediately

the plan, the deed of purchase, and everything there is! Perhaps

you'll make several hundred rubles out of this--do you understand?"

[2] Diminutive of Egór (George).--Translator.

Vavíloff understood nothing, but the captain spoke so impressively,

with such a serious mien, that the underofficer's eyes began to blaze

with burning curiosity, and, saying that he would look and see whether

he had not the documents packed away in the house, he went out of the

door behind the lunch-counter. Two minutes later, he returned with the

documents in his hands, and with an expression of extreme amazement on

his face.

"On the contrary, the cursed things were in the house!"

"Ekh, you ... clown from a show-booth! And yet he used to be a soldier

... Kuválda did not let slip the opportunity to reproach him, as he

snatched from his hands a calico-covered pasteboard box, with the

blue title-deed. Then, unfolding the papers in front of him and still

further exciting the curiosity of Vavíloff, the captain began to read,

scrutinize, and at the same time to bellow in a very significant

manner. At last he rose with decision, and went to the door, leaving

the documents on the bar, and nodded to Vavíloff.

"Hold on ... don't put them away...."

Vavíloff gathered up the documents, laid them in the drawer of the

counter, locked it and gave it a jerk with his hand,--to make sure that

it was locked. Then, thoughtfully rubbing his bald spot, he emerged on

the porch of the tavern. There he beheld the captain, after pacing off

the front of the building, snap his fingers and again begin to measure

off the same line, anxious but not satisfied.

Vavíloff's face assumed a rather strained expression, then relaxed,

then suddenly beamed with joy.

"'Ristíd Fómitch! Is it possible?"--he exclaimed, when the captain came

opposite him.

"There's no 'is it possible' about it! More than an arshín[3] has been

cut off. That's on the front line, and as to the depth, I'll find that

out directly...."

[3] An _arshín_ (the Russian equivalent of the yard) is twenty-eight

inches.--Translator.

"The depth?... ten fathoms, twenty-eight inches!"

"So you've caught the idea, you shaven-face?"

"Certainly,' Ristíd Fómitch! Well, what an eye you have--you can see

three arshíns into the earth!" cried Vavíloff in ecstasy.

A few minutes later, they were sitting opposite each other in

Vavíloff's room, and the captain, as he annihilated beer in huge gulps,

said to the tavern-keeper:

"So, all the walls of the factory stand on your land. Act without any

mercy. The teacher will come, and we'll draw up a petition in haste

to the district judge. In order not to waste money on stamped paper,

we'll fix the value of the suit at the most modest figure, and we'll

ask to have the building tom down. This, you fool, is infringing on

the boundaries of another man's property ... a very pleasant event

for you! Tear away! And to tear down and remove such a huge thing is

an expensive job. Effect a compromise! You just squeeze Judas! We'll

reckon up, in the most accurate manner, how much it will cost to tear

it down--with the pressed brick, and the pit under the new foundation

... we'll reckon it all up! We'll even take our time into account!

And--please to hand over two tho-ou-sand rubles, pious Judas!"

"He won't give it!"--said Vavíloff slowly, anxiously, winking his eyes,

which were sparkling with greedy fire.

"You're mistaken! He will give it! Stir up your brains--what can he

do? Tear it down? But--see here, Egórka, don't you lower your price!

They'll buy you--don't sell yourself cheap! They'll try to frighten

you--don't be afraid! Trust in us...."

The captain's eyes blazed with savage joy, and his face, crimson with

excitement, twitched convulsively. He had kindled the tavern-keeper's

greed, and exhorting him to act as promptly as possible, he went away,

triumphant and implacably-ferocious.

*

In the evening, all the men with pasts learned of the captain's

discovery, and, as they hotly discussed the future actions of

Petúnnikoff, they depicted, in vivid colors, his amazement and wrath on

the day when the messenger of the court should hand him a copy of the

complaint. The captain felt himself a hero. He was happy, and everyone

around him was contented. The big throng of dark figures, clad in rags,

lay in the courtyard, and buzzed, and exulted, being enlivened by the

event. They all knew merchant Petúnnikoff, who had passed before them

many a time. Scornfully screwing up his eyes, he bestowed upon them the

same sort of attention that he did on any other sort of rubbish, strewn

about the courtyard. He reeked with good living, which irritated them,

and even his boots shone with scorn for them all. And now, one of them

was about to deal this merchant a severe blow in his pocket and his

self-conceit. Wasn't that good?

Mischief, in the eyes of these people, had much that was attractive

about it. It was the sole weapon which fitted their hand and their

strength. Each one of them had long ago reared up within him a

half-conscious, confused sentiment of keen hostility toward all people

who were well-fed and were not clad in rags, and in each one of them

this sentiment was in a different stage of its development. This it

was, which evoked in all the men with pasts a burning interest in the

war that Kuválda had declared against merchant Petúnnikoff.

For two weeks the night lodging-house lived in expectation of fresh

occurrences, and during that whole period Petúnnikoff never once made

his appearance at the new building. They found out that he was not in

town, and that the copy of the petition had not yet been served on him.

Kuválda battered away at the practice of the town court procedure. It

is not probable that that merchant has been ever, or by anyone awaited

with such strained impatience as that with which the vagrants awaited

him.

"He cometh not, he cometh not, my da-ar-ling...."

"Ekh, it means that he lo-o-oves me not!"--sang Deacon Tarás, thrusting

out his cheek in humorously-afflicted fashion, as he gazed up the hill.

And lo! one day, toward evening, Petúnnikoff made his appearance.

He arrived in a well-built little cart, with his son in the rôle of

coachman--a rosy-cheeked young fellow, in a long, checked overcoat, and

dark glasses. They tied their horse to the scaffolding;--the son took

from his pocket a tape-measure in a case, gave the end to his father,

and they began to measure off the land, both silent and anxious.

"Aha-a!" ejaculated the captain triumphantly.

All who were present in the lodging-house poured out to the gate, and

looked on, audibly expressing their opinions as to what was taking

place.

"That's the result of being in the habit of stealing--a man steals even

by mistake, without any desire to steal, at the risk of losing more

than he steals.. condoled the captain, calling forth laughter and a

series of similar remarks from his staff.

"Oï, young fellow!"--exclaimed Petúnnikoff, at last, irritated by the

sneers,--" look out that I don't drag you before the judge of the peace

for your words!"

"Nothing will come of that without witnesses ... your own son can't

testify on behalf of his father...." said the captain warningly.

"Well, look out, all the same! You're a gallant bandit-chief, but we'll

manage to get satisfaction from you, nevertheless!"

And Petúnnikoff made a menacing gesture with his finger.... His son,

composed and absorbed in his calculations, paid no heed to this pack

of shady individuals, who were maliciously amusing themselves at his

father's expense. He did not so much as once glance in their direction.

"The young spider has had good training,"--remarked The Gnawed Bone,

who was minutely watching all the actions and movements of the younger

Petúnnikoff. After taking the measurements of everything that was

required, Iván Andréevitch scowled, seated himself in silence in

his cart, and drove off, but his son went, with firm tread, toward

Vavíloff's tavern, and disappeared inside it.

"Oho! He's a resolute young thief ... yes! Come now, what will happen

next?" asked Kuválda.

"The next thing is, that Petúnnikoff junior will buy Egór Vavíloff...."

said The Gnawed Bone confidently, and he smacked his lips delicately,

expressing complete satisfaction on his sharp face.

"You're glad of that, are you?"--inquired Kuválda harshly.

"It pleases me to see how folks are deceived in their reckoning,"

explained The Gnawed Bone with delight, screwing up his eyes and

rubbing his hands.

The captain spat angrily, and made no reply. And all of them, as they

stood at the gateway of the half-ruined house, maintained silence,

and stared at the door of the tavern. An hour and more passed in this

expectant silence. Then the door of the tavern opened, and Petúnnikoff

emerged from it, as calm as when he had entered it. He halted for a

minute, coughed, turned up his coat-collar, glanced at the men who were

watching him, and went up the street toward the town.

The captain followed him with his eyes, and, turning to The Gnawed

Bone, he grinned.

"I guess you were right, you son of a scorpion and a wood-louse....

You have a good nose for everything rascally ... that you have....

It's evident, from the ugly phiz of that young sharper alone, that

he has got his own way.... How much did Egórka get out of them? He

got something.... He's a bird of the same feather as they. He took

something, may I he thrice damned if he didn't! I arranged things for

him.' Tis bitter for me to realize my stupidity. Yes, life is all

against us, my brethren, scoundrels! And even when you spit in your

neighbor's eye, the spittle flies back into your own eyes."

Comforting himself with this sentiment, the worthy captain inspected

his staff. All were disenchanted, for all felt that what had taken

place between Vavíloff and Petúnnikoff had not been what they had

anticipated. And all were incensed at this. The consciousness

of inability to cause evil is more offensive to a man than the

consciousness of the impossibility to do good, because it is so easy

and simple to do evil.

"So,--what are we staying here for? There's nothing more for us to

expect ... except the bargain-treat, which I'm going to get out of

Egórka ..." said the captain, staring at the tavern with a scowl...."

The end has come to our prosperous and peaceful life[4] under the

roof of Judas. Judas will trample us under foot.... Of which. I make

announcement to the department of the unclad vagabonds entrusted to my

care...."

[4] "Prosperous and peaceful life" is a (sarcastic) quotation from the

"Many Years" (Long Life), which is proclaimed in church, at the end of

the service, on special occasions, in honor of royal or distinguished

persons.--Translator.

The End laughed gloomily.

"What are you laughing at, you jail-warden?"--inquired Kuválda.

"Where am I to go?"

"That's a big question, my dear soul.... Your fate will answer it for

you, don't be uneasy,"--said the captain thoughtfully, as he went

toward the lodging-house. The men with pasts moved slowly after him.

"We will await the critical moment," said the captain, as he walked

along among them.--"When they pitch us out of this, we'll hunt up

another den for ourselves. But, in the meanwhile, it doesn't pay to

spoil life with such thoughts.... At critical moments, a man becomes

more energetic ... and if life, with all its combinations, would make

the critical moment more frequent, if a man were forced every second to

tremble for the safety of his sound pate ... by God, life would be more

lively, and people would be more interesting!"

"That is to say, they would gnaw at one another's throats with more

fury,"--explained The Gnawed Bone, with a smile.

"Well, and what if they did?"--angrily exclaimed the captain, who was

not fond of having his ideas explained.

"Why, nothing ... that's good. When people want to get anywhere more

quickly, they lash the horses with the whip, and exasperate machines

with fire."

"Well, that's it! Let everything gallop to the devil far away! It would

please me if the earth were suddenly to blaze up, and bum to ashes, or

explode into fragments ... on condition that I was the last to perish,

and might look on at the others first...."

"That's savage!" grinned The Gnawed Bone.

"What of it? I'm a man who has seen better days ... isn't that so?

I'm an outcast--which means, that I'm free from all beaten paths and

fetters.... It means, that I don't care a fig for anything! By the

manner of my life, I'm bound to fling aside everything old ... all

manners and modes of relations to folks who exist well-fed, and finely

dressed, and who despise me because I've fallen behind them in the

matter of enough food and of costume ... and I'm bound to breed within

me something new--understand? The sort of thing, you know, which will

make the lords of life, after the pattern of Judas Petúnnikoff, who

pass me, feel a cold chill in their livers at the sight of my imposing

form!"

"What a brave tongue you've got!"--laughed The Gnawed Bone.

"Ekh, you ... paltry creature...." Kuválda eyed him over disdainfully.

"What do you understand? What do you know? Do you know how to think?

But I have thought ... and I've read books, in which you wouldn't be

able to understand a single word."

"I should think so! I couldn't sup cabbage-soup with a bast-slipper....

But though you have read books and thought, and I haven't done either,

we've come out pretty close together...."

"Go to the devil!"--shouted Kuválda.

His conversations with The Gnawed Bone always wound up in this

manner. On the whole, without the teacher--and he was aware of this

himself--his speeches only spoiled the air, and were dispersed on it

without bringing him either appreciation or attention; but he could

not refrain from talking. And now, after swearing at his interlocutor,

he felt himself alone among his own people. But he wanted to talk, and

therefore he turned to Símtzoff with the question:

"Well, and you, Alexéi Maxímovitch--where shall you lay your gray head?"

The old man smiled good-naturedly, rubbed his nose with his hand, and

said:

"I don't know ... I'll see about it! I'm of no great importance: I've

had a good time, and I shall again!"

"A worthy, though simple problem,"--the captain lauded him.

Símtzoff added, after a pause, that he would get settled more

promptly than the rest, because the women were very fond of him.

This was true: the old man always had two or three mistresses among

the women of the town, who supported him, for two or three days at a

stretch, on their scanty earnings. They frequently beat him, but he

bore it stoically; for some reason or other, they could not hurt him

much--perhaps, because they were sorry for him. He was a passionate

lover of women, and was wont to relate, that women were the cause of

all his misfortunes in life. The intimacy of his relations to women,

and the character of their relations to him were confirmed, both by

his frequent illnesses, and by his clothing, which was always well

mended, and cleaner than the clothing of his comrades. And now, as he

sat on the ground, at the door of the lodging-house, in a circle of his

comrades, he began boastfully to relate, that he had long since been

invited by The Radish to live with her, but he would not go to her, he

did not wish to desert the company.

He was listened to with interest, and not without envy. They all knew

The Radish--she lived not far away, under the hill, and only a short

time before this had spent several months in prison for her second case

of theft. She was a wet-nurse, who "had seen better days," a tall,

plump country woman, with a pock-marked face, and very handsome, though

always drunken, eyes.

"You don't say so, you old devil!"--swore The Gnawed Bone, as he gazed

at Símtzoff, who was smiling conceitedly.

"And why do they love me? Because I know what their souls delight

in...."

"We-ell?"--exclaimed Kuválda, interrogatively.

"I know how to make them feel sorry for me.... And when a woman feels

compassion--she'll even go so far as to cut a throat out of compassion.

Weep before her, beg her to kill you, she'll take compassion on you and

kill you...."

"I'll kill!" declared Martyánoff, resolutely, grinning in his gloomy

style.

"Whom?"--inquired The Gnawed Bone, moving away from him.

"It doesn't matter ... Petúnnikoff ... Egórka ... even you'd do!"

"Why?"--queried Kuválda, with great interest.

"I want to go to Siberia ... I'm tired of this ... mean life.... But

there a fellow will find out how he ought to live...."

"Ye-es, they'll show you there, in detail,"--assented the captain in a

melancholy way.

Nothing more was said about Petúnnikoff, and their approaching

expulsion from the night lodging-house. All of them were already

convinced that this expulsion was near at hand--at a distance of two

or three days, perhaps, and they regarded it as superfluous to bother

themselves with discussions on that subject. Discussing the matter

would not improve the situation, and, in conclusion, the weather was

not cold yet, although the rains were beginning--it was still possible

to sleep on any clod of earth, outside the town.

Arranging themselves in a circle on the grass, these men idly conducted

a long conversation on various subjects, passing freely from one theme

to another, and wasting just so much attention on the other man's

words as was required to keep up the conversation without a break.

It was tiresome to remain silent, but it was also tiresome to listen

attentively. This company of men with pasts had one great merit: in it

no one put any constraint upon himself, in the effort to appear better

than he was, and no one incited the others to exercise such constraint

over himself.

The August sun assiduously warmed the rags of these men, who had turned

to it their backs and their uncombed heads--a chaotic combination of

the vegetable kingdom with the mineral and the animal. In the corners

of the courtyard the grass grew luxuriantly,--tall burdocks sown with

clinging burs, and some other plants, which were of no use to anybody,

delighted the eyes of the men who were of no use to anybody.

*

But in Vavíloff's tavern the following scene had been enacted.

Petúnnikoff junior had entered it, in a leisurely manner, had looked

about him, frowned fastidiously, and slowly removing from his head his

gray hat, he had inquired of the tavern-keeper, who greeted him with a

respectful bow, and an amiable grin:

"Egór Teréntievitch Vavíloff--are you he?"

"Exactly so!"[5] replied the non-commissioned officer, resting both

hands on the counter, as though preparing to leap over it.

[5] The regulation reply, in the army, to a superior, is not plain

"da" (yes), but "tótchno tak!" The negative is correspondingly

regulated.--Translator.

"I have some business with you,"--announced Petúnnikoff.

"Perfectly delighted.... Please come to my rooms!"

They entered his rooms, and seated themselves--the visitor on the

waxed-cloth divan in front of the round table, the host on a chair

facing him. In one corner of the room burned a shrine-lamp in front of

a huge, treble-panelled image-case, around which, on the wall, more

holy pictures were also suspended. Their vestments were brilliantly

polished, and shone like new ones. In the room, closely set with

trunks, and ancient furniture of various sorts, there was an odor of

olive oil, tobacco, and sour cabbage. Petúnnikoff surveyed things,

and again made a grimace. Vavíloff, with a sigh, glanced at the holy

pictures, and then they fixedly regarded each other, and both made

a mutually good impression. Vavíloff's frankly-knavish eyes pleased

Petúnnikoff. Petúnnikoff's open, cold, resolute face, with its broad,

strong cheek-bones, and closely set white teeth, pleased Vavíloff.

"Well, sir, you know me, of course, and you can guess what I am going

to talk to you about!" began Petúnnikoff.

"About the suit ... I assume,"--said the non-commissioned officer

deferentially.

"Precisely. It is pleasant to see that you make no pretences,

but go straight to the point, like a man with a straight-forward

soul,"--Petúnnikoff encouraged his interlocutor.

"I'm a soldier, sir...." said the latter, modestly.

"That's evident. So, we will conduct the business in a simple,

straight-forward manner, in order to get through with it the more

promptly."

"Just so...."

"Very good.... Your suit is entirely legal, and, as a matter of course,

you will win it--that is the first thing which I consider it necessary

to state to you."

"I thank you sincerely,"--said the non-commissioned officer, winking

his eyes, in order to conceal the smile in them.

"But, tell me, why was it necessary for you to make acquaintance with

us, your future neighbors, in so harsh a manner ... straight from the

courts?..."

Vavíloff shrugged his shoulders, and made no reply.

"It would have been simpler to come to us, and arrange everything

peaceably ... wouldn't it? What do you think about it?"

"Of course, that would be more agreeable. But, you see ... there's one

hitch about it.... I did not act of my own free will ... but I was

instigated to do it.... Afterward, when I understood what would have

been the better way, it was already too late."

"Just so.... I assume that some lawyer or other put you up to it?"

"Something of that sort...."

"Aha! Well, sir, and so you wish to conclude the affair peaceably?"

"With the greatest pleasure!" exclaimed the soldier. Petúnnikoff

paused, looked at him, and then inquired, coldly and dryly:

"And why do you wish that?"

Vavíloff had not expected such a question, and could not reply at once.

In his opinion, it was an absurd question, and the soldier, with a

consciousness of his superiority, laughed in Petúnnikoff's face.

"It's plain enough why ... one must try to live at peace with people."

"Come,"--Petúnnikoff interrupted him,--"that's not precisely the fact.

I perceive that you do not clearly understand why you wished to make

peace with us.... I will tell you why."

The soldier was somewhat astonished. This young fellow, all clad in

checked material, and presenting a rather ridiculous figure in it,

talked just as company commander Rakshín had been wont to talk, after

he had, with angry hand, knocked out the soldiers' teeth, three at a

time.

"You want to make peace with us, because our vicinity is very

profitable to you! And it is profitable because we shall have not less

than one hundred and fifty workmen in our factory,--in course of time,

more. If one hundred of them drink a glass apiece after each weekly

pay-day, you will sell, in the course of a month, four hundred glasses

more than you are selling now. I have put it at the lowest figure.

Moreover, you have your eating-house. Apparently, you are anything but

stupid, and you are a man of experience; consider for yourself the

advantages of our proximity."

"That's true, sir...." Vavíloff nodded assent,--"I knew that."

"And what then?"--the merchant inquired loudly.

"Nothing, sir ... Let's make peace."

"I am very glad that you make up your mind so promptly. Here, I have

furnished myself with a notification to the courts of the withdrawal of

your claims against my father. Read it over, and sign it."

Vavíloff stared, with round eyes, at his interlocutor, and trembled,

foreseeing something very bad indeed.

"Excuse me ... I am to sign it? What does that mean?"

"Simply, you are to write your baptismal name and your surname, and

nothing more,"--explained Petúnnikoff, obligingly pointing out with his

finger the place where he was to sign.

"No--what's the meaning of tha-at! I wasn't talking about that.... I

meant to say--what compensation are you going to give me for my land?"

"But the land is of no use to you!" said Petúnnikoff, soothingly.

"Nevertheless, it's mine!" exclaimed the soldier.

"Of course.... How much do you want?"

"Why ... what is stated in the complaint...."

"What is written there,"--said Vavíloff timidly.

"Six hundred?"--Petúnnikoff laughed softly.--"Akh, you comical fellow!"

"I have the right ... I might even demand two thousand ... I can insist

on your tearing down.... That's what I will do.... For the value of

the suit is so small. I demand--that you shall tear the building down!"

"Go ahead.... Perhaps we will tear it down ... three years

hence, after having involved you in great expense for the suit.

And after we have paid, we'll open our own little dram-shop and

eating-house,--better ones than yours--and you'll be ruined, like the

Swede at Poltáva.[6] You shall be ruined, my good man, we'll take care

of that. We might begin to take steps about the dram-shop now, only it's

a bother, and time is valuable to us. And we're sorry for you--why take

the bread away from a man, for no cause whatever?"

[6] Charles XII of Sweden, defeated at Poltáva by Peter the

Great.--Translator.

Egór Teréntievitch set his teeth firmly, stared at his visitor, and

felt conscious that the visitor was the master of his fate. Vavíloff

commiserated himself, in the presence of this coldly-composed,

implacable figure in the ridiculous checked costume.

"Being in such close vicinity to us, and living in peace with us, my

old soldier, you might do a fine business. We would take care of that,

also. For example, I will even recommend you on the spot, to open a

little shop ... you know--cheap tobacco, matches, bread, cucumbers, and

so on.... All that would have a ready sale."

Vavíloff listened, and being anything but a stupid young fellow, he

comprehended that the very best thing he could do would be to yield to

his magnanimous enemy. He ought, properly, to have begun with that.

And, not knowing how to get rid of his wrath and sense of injury, he

swore aloud at Kuválda:

"You drunkard, an-athema, may the devil give it to you!"

"You're swearing at the lawyer who drew up your petition?"--calmly

inquired Petúnnikoff, and added, with a sigh:--"as a matter of fact, he

might have played you a sorry trick ... if we had not taken pity on

you."

"Ekh!" and the mortified soldier waved his hand in despair. "There

are two of them.... One planned, the other wrote.... The damned

correspondent!"

"And why do you call him a correspondent?"

"He writes in the newspapers.... They're your lodgers.... Nice people,

truly! Get rid of them, drive them away, for Christ's sake! Robbers!

They stir up everybody here in this street, they urge them on. There's

no living for them ... they're desperate men--the first you know,

they'll rob you or set fire to your house!"

"And that correspondent--who is he?" Petúnnikoff asked with interest.

"He? A drunkard! He used to be a teacher--they turned him out. He drank

up all he owned,... and now he writes for the papers, and composes

petitions. He's a very mean man!"

"Hm! And so he wrote your petition for you? Exactly so! Evidently, it

was he, also, who wrote about the disorders in construction--he found

that the scaffolding was not properly placed, or something of that

sort."

"It was he! I know it, it was he, the dog! He read it here, himself,

and bragged--'Here, I've caused Petúnnikoff a loss,' says he."

"We-ell.... Come, sir, so we intend to make peace?"

"I make peace?"

The soldier hung his head and meditated.

"Ekh, thou gloomy life of ours!"--he exclaimed, in an injured tone, as

he scratched the nape of his neck.

"You must get some education," Petúnnikoff advised him, as he lighted a

cigarette.

"Get some education? That's not the point, my good sir! There's no

liberty, that's what's the trouble! No, look here, what sort of a life

do I lead? I live in trepidation,... continually looking around me ...

completely deprived of freedom in the movements I wish to make! And

why? I'm afraid ... that spectre of a teacher writes about me in the

newspapers ... he brings the sanitary inspectors down on me, I have

to pay fines.... The first you know, those lodgers of yours will bum

down, murder, rob.... What can I do against them? They're not afraid

of the police.... If the police locked them up, they'd even be glad of

it--they'd get their bread for nothing...."

"We'll get rid of them ... if we unite with you," promised Petúnnikoff.

"How are we to unite?" asked Vavíloff sadly and sullenly.

"Name your terms."

"But why? Give ... six hundred, as stated in the claim...."

"Won't you take one hundred?"--inquired the merchant calmly, carefully

scrutinizing his interlocutor, and smiling gently, he added:--"I won't

give a ruble more."

After that, he removed his glasses, and began slowly to wipe them,

with a handkerchief which he took from his pocket. Vavíloff gazed at

him with grief in his heart, and, at the same time, was impressed with

respect for him. In the calm countenance of young Petúnnikoff, in his

gray eyes, in his broad cheek-bones, in the whole of his well-built

figure, there was a great deal of strength, self-reliant and well

disciplined by his brain. The way Petúnnikoff had talked to him also

pleased Vavíloff: simply with friendly tones in his voice, without any

pretensions to superiority, as though with his own brother, although

Vavíloff understood that he, a soldier, was not the peer of that man.

As he scrutinized him, almost admired him, the soldier, at last, could

not hold out, and feeling within him an impulse of curiosity, which,

for the moment, smothered all his sentiments, he deferentially asked

Petúnnikoff:

"Where were you pleased to be educated?"

"In the technological institute. Why?" and the latter turned smiling

eyes upon him.

"Nothing, sir, I only ... excuse me!"--The soldier dropped his

head, and suddenly, with ecstasy, envy, and even inspiration,

he exclaimed:--"We-ell! Here's education for you! In one

word--science--light! But people of my sort are like owls in the

sunlight in this world.... Ekh-ma! Your Well-Born! Come on, let's

finish that business!"

With a resolute gesture, he offered his hand to Petúnnikoff, and said

in a suppressed way:

"Well ... five hundred?"

"Not more than one hundred, Egór Teréntievitch,"--as though regretting

that he could not give more. Petúnnikoff shrugged his shoulders, as he

slapped his large, white hand into the hairy hand of the soldier.

They soon concluded the business, for the soldier suddenly advanced to

meet Petúnnikoff's wishes in great leaps, and the latter was immovably

firm. And when Vavíloff had received one hundred rubles, and had signed

the document, he flung the pen on the table, in exasperation, and

exclaimed:

"Well, now it remains for me to deal with that golden horde! They'll

ridicule me, and put me to shame, the devils!"

"Tell them that I have paid you the full sum mentioned in the

suit,"--suggested Petúnnikoff, calmly emitting from his mouth slender

streams of smoke and watching them.

"But will they believe that? They're clever scoundrels, also, just as

bad as ..." Vavíloff halted in time, disconcerted by the comparison

which he had almost uttered, and glanced in alarm at the merchant's

son. The latter smoked on, and was entirely absorbed in that

occupation. He soon took his departure, after promising Vavíloff, as he

said farewell, that he would destroy the nest of those restless people.

Vavíloff looked after him, and sighed, feeling strongly inclined to

shout something spiteful and insulting at the back of this man, who,

with firm steps, was mounting the hill along the road filled with pits

and obstructed with rubbish.

*

In the evening, the captain presented himself in the tavern. His brows

were severely contracted, and his right hand was energetically clenched

into a fist. Vavíloff smiled apologetically as he greeted him.

"We-ell, you worthy descendant of Cain and Judas, tell me...."

"We've come to a settlement...." said Vavíloff, sighing and lowering

his eyes.

"I don't doubt it. How many rubles did you get?" "Four hundred...."

"You're certainly lying.... But that's all the better for me....

Without further words, Egórka, pay me ten per cent for the discovery,

four rubles to the teacher for writing your petition, a bucket of vódka

to all of us, and a decent amount of luncheon. Hand over the money

instantly, the vódka and the rest at eight o'clock."

Vavíloff turned green, and stared at Kuválda with widely-opened eyes.

"That's nonsense! That's robbery! I won't give it.... What are you

thinking of, Aristíd Fómitch! No, you'd better restrain your appetite

until the next feast-day! What a man you are! No, now I'm in a position

not to fear you. Now I'm...."

Kuválda looked at his watch.

"I'll give you, Egórka, ten minutes for your dirty conversation. Put

an end to the wanderings of your tongue in that time, and give what I

demand. If you don't give it--I'll eat you alive! Did The End sell you

something? Did you read in the newspaper about the robbery at Básoff's?

You understand? You won't succeed in hiding anything--we'll prevent

that. And this very night.... Do you understand?"

"Aristíd Fómitch! What is this for?"--wailed the retired

non-commissioned officer.

"No words! Do you understand or not?"

Tall, gray-haired Kuválda, with his brows impressively knit, spoke

in an undertone, and his hoarse bass hummed ominously in the empty

tavern. Vavíloff had always been a little afraid of him, both as a

former military man and as a man who had nothing to lose. But now

Kuválda presented himself in a new light to him: he did not talk much

and hurriedly, as usual, and in what he did say in the tone of a

commander, who is confident that he will be obeyed, there resounded a

threat not uttered in jest. And Vavíloff felt that the captain would

ruin him, if he chose, would ruin him with pleasure. He must yield to

force. But, with a fierce trepidation in his heart, the soldier made

one more effort to escape punishment. He heaved a deep sigh, and began

submissively:

"Evidently, the saying is true: 'The peasant woman beats herself if

she doesn't reap clean....' I told you a lie about myself, Aristíd

Fómitch.... I wanted to appear cleverer than I am.... I received only

one hundred rubles...."

"Go on...." Kuválda flung at him.

"And not four hundred, as I told you.... Which signifies...."

"Which signifies nothing. I don't know when you were lying--a while

ago, or now. I get sixty-five rubles from you. That's moderate....

Well?..."

"Ekh, oh Lord my God! Aristíd Fómitch! I have always shown regard for

Your Well-Born, as far as was in my power."

"Well? Drop your talk, Egórka, grandson of Judas!"

"Very well.... I'll give it....? Only, God will punish you for this."

"Hold your tongue, you rotten pimple on the face of the earth!"--bawled

the captain, rolling his eyes ferociously.--"I am chastised by God....

He has placed me under the necessity of seeing you, of talking with

you.... I'll mash you on the spot, like a fly!" He shook his fist

under Vavíloff's nose, and gnashed his teeth, displaying them in a

snarl.

When he went away, Vavíloff began to grin awry, and wink his eyes at

frequent intervals. Then, down his cheeks trickled two big tears. They

were of a grayish hue, and when they disappeared in his mustache, two

others made their appearance to replace them. Then Vavíloff went off to

his own room, took up his stand there in front of the holy pictures,

and there he stood for a long time, without moving or wiping away the

tears from his wrinkled, cinnamon-brown cheeks.

Deacon Tarás, who was always drawn to the forests and fields, proposed

to the men with pasts that they should go out on the plain, to a

certain ravine, and there, in the lap of Nature, drink up Vavíloff's

vódka. But the captain and all the others unanimously cursed the deacon

and Nature, and decided to drink it at home, in their own courtyard.

"One, two, three ..." counted Aristíd Fómitch,--"our sum total is

thirteen; the teacher isn't here ... well, and several jolly dogs will

join us. We'll reckon it at twenty persons. At two cucumbers and a half

per brother, and a pound of bread and meat apiece--it won't be so bad!

We must have a bottle of vódka apiece ... there's sour cabbage, and

apples, and three watermelons. The question is, what the devil more do

we need, my fellow-scoundrels? So we'll make ready to devour Egórka

Vavíloff, for all this is his flesh and blood!"

They spread out the remains of some garments or other on the ground,

on them laid out the viands and liquor, and seated themselves around

them,--seated themselves sedately and in silence, with difficulty

restraining their greedy desire to drink which beamed in their eyes.

Evening drew near, its shadows descended upon the ground in the

courtyard of the lodging-house, disfigured with scraps, and the last

rays of the sun lighted up the roof of the half-ruined edifice. It was

cool and still.

"Let's start in, brothers!"--the captain gave the word of

command.--"How many cups have we? Six ... and there are thirteen of

us.... Alexéi Maxímovitch! Pour! Ready? Co-ome on, first platoon ...

fire!"

They drank, grunted, and began to eat.

"And the teacher isn't here ... this is the third day that I haven't

seen him. Has anybody seen him?"--inquired Kuválda.

"Nobody...."

"That's not like him! Well, no matter. Let's have another drink!...

Let's drink to the health of Aristíd Kuválda, my only friend, who, all

my life long, has never left me alone for a minute. Although, devil

take him, I should have been the gainer if he had deprived me of his

society for a while!"

"That's witty,"--said The Gnawed Bone, and coughed.

The captain, with a consciousness of his superiority, gazed at his

comrade, but said nothing, for he was eating.

After taking two drinks, the company grew lively all of a sudden--the

portions were inspiring. Tarás-and-a-Half expressed a desire to listen

to a story, but the deacon had got into a dispute with The Peg-top

about the advantages of thin women over fat ones, and paid no attention

to the other man's words, but demonstrated his views to The Peg-top

with the obduracy and heat of a man who is profoundly convinced of the

justice of his views. The ingenuous face of The Meteor, who was lying

on his stomach beside him, expressed emotion, as he relished the heady

little words of the deacon. Martyánoff, clasping his knees with his

huge hands, overgrown with black hair, stared silently and gloomily at

a bottle of vódka, and fished for his mustache with his tongue, in the

endeavor to bite it with his teeth. The Gnawed Bone was teasing Tyápa.

"I've already observed, you sorcerer, where you hide your money!"

"You're lucky...." said Tyápa hoarsely.

"I'm going to snatch it away ..."

"Take it...."

These people bored Kuválda: there was not among them a single companion

worthy to listen to his eloquence and capable of comprehending him.

"Where can the teacher be?"--he meditated aloud.

Martyánoff looked at him, and said:

"He'll come ..."

"I'm convinced that he'll come--but he won't drive up in a carriage.

Future convict, let's drink to your future. If you murder a man with

money, share it with me.... Then, my dear fellow, I'll go to America,

to those ... what's their name? Lampas?... Pampas! I'll go there, and

I'll wind up as president of the states. Then I'll declare war on all

Europe, and give it a sound drubbing. I'll buy an army ... in Europe,

also ... I'll invite the French, the Germans, the Turks, and so forth,

and with them I'll beat their own relatives ... as Ilyá of Muróm beat

the Tatár with a Tatár.... With money, one can be an Ilyá also ... and

annihilate Europe, and hire Judas Petúnnikoff as a lackey.... He'll do

it ... give him a hundred rubles a month, and he'll do it! But he'll

make a bad lackey, for he'll begin to steal...."

"And a thin woman is better than a fat one in this respect also, she

comes cheaper,"--said the deacon argumentatively. "My first wife used

to buy twelve arshíns for a dress, the second bought ten.... And so it

was with the food, also...."

Tarás-and-a-Half laughed apologetically, turned his head toward the

deacon, fixed his eyes on the latter's face, and said, in confusion:

"I, also, had a wife...."

"That may happen to anybody,"--remarked Kuválda.--"Continue your

lies...."

"She was thin, but she ate a great deal.... And she even died of

that...."

"You poisoned her, cock-eye!"--said The Gnawed Bone, with conviction.

"No, by God I didn't! She overate herself on sturgeon,"--said

Tarás-and-a-Half.

"And I tell you--that you poisoned her!"--reiterated The Gnawed Bone,

decisively.

It often happened thus with him: when he had once uttered some

piece of folly, he began to reiterate it, without quoting any

grounds in confirmation, and though he talked, at first, in a

capriciously-childish tone, he gradually worked up almost to a state of

frenzy.

The deacon stood up for his friend.

"No, he is incapable of poisoning ... there was no cause...."

"And I say that he did poison her!"--squealed The Gnawed Bone.

"Hold your tongues!"--shouted the captain menacingly. His ill-humor

had been converted into morose wrath. He stared at his friends with

savage eyes, and not descrying in their ugly physiognomies, already

half-drunk, anything which could supply further food for his wrath, he

hung his head on his breast, sat thus for a few minutes, and then lay

down on the ground, face upward. The Meteor was nibbling at a cucumber.

He had taken the cucumber into his hand, without looking at it, thrust

it up to the middle in his mouth, and immediately began to chew it with

his large, yellow teeth, so that the brine from the cucumber spattered

in all directions, bedewing his cheeks. Evidently, he was not hungry,

but this process of eating diverted him. Martyánoff sat motionless as

a statue, in the same attitude in which he had seated himself on the

ground, and he, also, was staring in a concentrated, gloomy way, at

a six-quart bottle of vódka, which was already half empty. Tyápa was

staring at the ground, and noisily chewing meat, which did not yield

to his aged teeth. The Gnawed Bone lay on his stomach, and coughed,

with his whole tiny body curled up in a ball. The rest--all taciturn,

obscure figures--were sitting and lying in various attitudes, and all

these men together, clad in their rags and the evening twilight, were

hardly distinguishable from the heaps of rubbish scattered over the

courtyard and overgrown with tall grass. Their ungainly attitudes and

their rags made them resemble deformed animals, created by a rough,

fantastic power, as a travesty on man.

"There lived and dwelt in Súzdal town

A gentlewoman of no account.

And she was seized with a fit of cramps,

Of mo-st unpleasant cramps!"

the deacon began to hum, in an undertone, as he embraced Alexéi

Maxímovitch, smiling beatifically into the latter's face.

Tarás-and-a-Half giggled voluptuously.

Night was at hand. In the sky, the stars were quietly kindling--up on

the hill, in the town, the lights in the street-lamps. The mournful

whistles of the steamers were wafted from the river, the door of

Vavíloff's tavern opened with a creaking and crashing of glass. Two

dark figures entered the courtyard, approached the group of men

gathered round the bottle, and one of them asked, hoarsely:

"Are you drinking?"

And the other, in an undertone, with envy and joy, said:

"Oh, what devils!"

Then a hand was extended across the head of the deacon, and grasped the

bottle, and the characteristic gurgling of vódka became audible, as it

was poured from the bottle into a cup. Then there was a loud grunting

noise ...

"Well, this is melancholy!"--ejaculated the deacon.--"Cock-eye! Let's

call to mind days of yore, let's sing 'By the rivers of Babylon!'"

"Does he know how?" inquired Símtzoff.

"He? He used to be a soloist in the Bishop's choir, my good fellow....

Come on, Cock-eye.... O-on-the-e-ri-i-iv-ers ...."

The deacon's voice was wild, hoarse, cracked, and his friend sang in a

squeaking falsetto.

Enveloped in the gloom, the empty house seemed to have increased in

size, or to have moved its whole mass of half-decayed wood nearer to

these men, who were awaking in it a dull echo by their wild singing. A

cloud, magnificent and dark, was slowly floating across the sky above

it. Some one of the men with pasts was snoring, the rest, still not

sufficiently intoxicated, were either eating and drinking in silence,

or chatting in an undertone, broken with prolonged pauses. None of them

were accustomed to this dejected mood at a banquet, which was rare as

to the abundance of vódka and of viands. For some reason or other, the

boisterous animation characteristic of the lodging-house's inhabitants

over a bottle did not flare up for a long time.

"You're ... dogs! Stop your howling," said the captain to the singers,

raising his head from the ground, and listening.--"Someone is driving

in this direction ... in a drozhky...."

A drozhky at that hour in Vyézhaya Street could not fail to arouse

general attention. Who from the town would run the risk of driving over

the ruts and pit-holes of the street--who was it, and why? All raised

their heads and listened. In the nocturnal silence the rumbling of

the wheels, as they came in contact with the splashers, was plainly

audible. It grew nearer and nearer. A voice rang out, roughly inquiring:

"Well, where is it?"

Someone answered:

"It must be that house, yonder."

"I won't go any further...."

"They're coming here!" exclaimed the captain.

"The police!" a tremulous murmur ran round.

"In a carriage! The fool!"--said Martyánoff in a dull tone.

Kuválda rose, and went to the gate.

The Gnawed Bone, stretching his head after him, began to listen.

"Is this the night lodging-house?" inquired someone, in a shaking voice.

"Yes, Aristíd Kuválda's.. boomed the dissatisfied bass voice of the

captain.

"There, there now ... has Títoff the reporter been living here?"

"Aha! Have you brought him?"

"Yes...."

"Drunk?"

"Ill!"

"That means, that he's very drunk. Hey there, teacher! get up!"

"Wait! I'll help you ... he's very ill. He has been lying ill in my

house for two days. Grasp him under the arm-pits.... The doctor has

been. He's in a very bad way...."

Tyápa rose, and slowly walked to the gate, but The Gnawed Bone grinned

and took a drink.

"Light up, there!" shouted the captain.

The Meteor went into the lodging-house and lighted the lamp. Then

from the door of the house a broad streak of light streamed across

the courtyard, and the captain, in company with a small man, led the

teacher along it to the lodging-house. His head hung flabbily on his

breast, his legs dragged along the ground, and his arms dangled in the

air, as though they were broken. With the aid of Tyápa, they laid him

in a heap on the sleeping-shelf, and he, trembling all over, stretched

himself out on it, with a quiet groan.

"He and I have been working on the same newspaper.... He's very

unfortunate. I said:--'Pray lie at my house, you will not incommode me

...' But he entreated me--'Take me home!' He got excited.... I thought

that was injurious to him, and so I have brought him ... home! He

really belongs here, does he?"

"And, in your opinion, has he a home somewhere else?" asked Kuválda

roughly, as he stared intently at his friend. "Tyápa, go and fetch some

cold water!"

"So now...." hesitated the little man.... "I suppose ... he does not

need me?"

"You?"--and the captain examined him critically.

The little man was dressed in a sack-coat, much the worse for wear, and

carefully buttoned clear up to the chin. There was fringe on the edges

of his trousers, his hat was red with age and crumpled, as was also his

gaunt, hungry face.

"No, he doesn't need you ... there are a great many of your sort

here...." said the captain, turning away from the little man.

"Farewell for the present, then!"--The little man went to the door, and

from that spot he quietly asked:

"If anything should happen ... please give notice at the editorial

office.... My name is Rýzhoff. I should like to write a brief obituary

... for, after all, you know, he was a worker on the press...."

"Hm! An obituary, you say? Twenty lines--twenty kopéks? I'll do better:

when he dies, I'll cut off one of his legs and send it to the editorial

office, addressed to you. That will be more profitable to you than

an obituary, It'll last you for two or three days ... his legs are

thick.... You've all been devouring him alive, surely you will eat him

when he's dead ... also,...."

The man gave a queer sort of snort, and vanished. The captain sat down

on the sleeping-shelf beside the teacher, felt the latter's brow and

breast with his hand, and called him by name:

"Philip!"

The dull sound re-echoed from the dirty walls of the night

lodging-house, and died away.

"This is awkward, brother!"--said the captain, softly smoothing the

dishevelled hair of the teacher with his hand. Then the captain

listened to his breathing, which was hot and spasmodic, scrutinized

his face, which was sunken and earthy in hue, sighed, and frowning

harshly, glanced around. The lamp was a bad one: its flame flickered,

and black shadows danced silently over the walls of the lodging-house.

The captain began to stare stubbornly at their silent play, and to

stroke his beard.

Tyápa arrived with a bucket of water, set it on the sleeping-shelf by

the teacher's head, and, taking his hand, he raised it on his own hand,

as though weighing it.

"The water is not needed," and the captain waved his hand.

"The priest is needed," announced the old rag-picker confidently.

"Nothing is needed," decided the captain.

They fell silent, gazing at the teacher.

"Let's go and have a drink, you old devil!"

"And he?"

"Can you help him?"

Tyápa turned his back on the teacher, and both of them went out into

the courtyard, to their company.

"What's going on there?"--inquired The Gnawed Bone, turning his sharp

face to the captain.

"Nothing in particular.... The man is dying ...." the captain curtly

informed him.

"Have they been beating him?" asked The Gnawed Bone, with interest.

The captain made no reply, for he was drinking vódka at the moment.

"It seems as though he knew that we have something wherewith to hold a

feast in commemoration of him," said The Gnawed Bone, as he lighted a

cigarette.

Someone laughed, someone else sighed deeply. But, on the whole, the

conversation between the captain and The Gnawed Bone did not produce

upon these men any perceptible impression; at all events, it could not

be seen that it had disturbed anyone, interested anyone, or set anyone

to thinking. All of them had treated the teacher as though he were a

remarkable man, but now many were already drunk, while others still

remained calm outwardly. The deacon alone suddenly straightened himself

up, made a noise with his lips, rubbed his forehead, and howled wildly:

"Whe-ere the just re-po-o-ose!"[8]

"Here, you!"--hissed The Gnawed Bone,--"what's that you're roaring?"

"Give him a whack in his ugly face!"--counselled the captain.

[8] A quotation from the Funeral and Requiem Services.--Translator.

"Fool!" rang out Tyápa's hoarse voice. "When a man is dyings one should

hold his tongue ... there should be quiet...."

It was quiet enough: both in heaven, which was covered with

storm-clouds and threatened rain, and on earth, enveloped in the gloomy

darkness of the autumnal night. From time to time the snores of those

who had fallen asleep, the gurgling of the vódka as it was poured out,

and munching were audible. The deacon kept muttering something. The

storm-clouds floated low, as though they were on the point of striking

the roof of the old house and overturning it on top of the group of men.

"Ah ... one's soul feels badly when a man whom he knows is dying,"

remarked the captain, with a hiccough, and bowed his head upon his

breast.

No one answered him.

"He was the best ... among us ... the cleverest,... the most decent....

I'm sorry for him...."

"Gi-i-ive re-est wi-i-ith the Sa-a-aints[9] ... sing, you cock-eyed

rogue!"--blustered the deacon, punching the ribs of his friend who was

slumbering by his side.

"Shut up!... you!"--exclaimed The Gnawed Bone in a whisper, as he

sprang to his feet.

[9] From the Funeral and Requiem Services.--Translator.

"I'll hit him over the noddle,"--suggested Martyánoff, raising his head

from the ground.

"Aren't you asleep?"--said Aristíd Fómitch, with unusual amiability.--"

Did you hear? The teacher's here...."

Martyánoff fidgeted heavily about on the ground, rose, looked at

the strip of light which proceeded from the door and windows of the

lodging-house, waggled his head, and sat down in silence by the

captain's side.

"Shall we take a drink?" suggested the latter.

Having found some glasses by the sense of feeling, they took a drink.

"I'll go and take a look.. said Tyápa; "perhaps he needs something...."

"He needs a coffin...." grinned the captain.

"Don't you talk about that," entreated The Gnawed Bone, in a low voice.

After Tyápa, The Meteor rose from the ground. The deacon, also,

attempted to rise, but rolled over on his side, and swore loudly.

When Tyápa went away the captain slapped Martyánoff on the shoulder,

and said in a low voice:

"So now, Martyánoff.... You ought to feel it more than the others....

You were ... however, devil take it. Are you sorry for Philip?"

"No,"--replied the former jail-warden, after a pause.--"I don't feel

anything of that sort, brother.... I've got out of the habit.... It's

abominable to live so. I'm speaking seriously when I say that I'll

murder somebody...."

"Yes?"--said the captain vaguely. "Well ... what of that? Let's have

another drink!"

"W-we are in-in-sig-ni-fi-cant fo-olks. I've had a drink--but I'll take

ano-therrr!"

Símtzoff now awoke, and began to sing in a blissful voice.

"Brethren! Who's there? Pour out a cupful for the old man!"

They poured it and handed it to him. After drinking it, he again rolled

over in a heap, knocking his head against someone's side.

The silence lasted for a couple of minutes--a silence as gloomy and

painful as the autumnal night. Then someone whispered....

"What?" the question rang out.

"I say, that he was a splendid fellow. Such a quiet head...." they said

in an undertone.

"And he had money, too,... and he didn't spare it for the fellows...."

and again silence reigned.

"He's dying!" Tyápa's shout resounded over the captain's head.

Aristíd Fómitch rose, and moving his feet with forced steadiness, he

went to the lodging-house.

"What are you going for?" Tyápa stopped

him.--"Don't go. For you're drunk ... and it isn't a good thing...."

The captain halted and meditated.

"What is good on this earth? Go to the devil!" And he gave Tyápa a

shove.

The shadows were still leaping along the walls of the night

lodging-house, as though engaged in mute conflict with one another. On

the sleeping-shelf, stretched out at full length[10] lay the teacher,

rattling in the throat. His eyes were wide open, his bare chest heaved

violently, froth was oozing from the corners of his mouth, and on his

face there was a strained expression, as though he were making an

effort to say something great, difficult--and was not able, and was

suffering inexpressibly in consequence.

The captain stood in front of him, with his hands clasped behind his

back, and stared at him for about a minute. Then he began to speak,

painfully contracting his brows:

"Philip! Say something to me ... throw a word of comfort to your

friend!... I love you, brother.... All men are beasts, but you were

for me--a man ... although you were a drunkard. Akh, how you did drink

vódka! Philip! It was exactly that which has ruined you.... And why?

You ought to have known how to control yourself ... and listen to me.

D-didn't I use to tell you...."

The mysterious, all-annihilating power called Death, as though insulted

by the presence of this intoxicated man at the gloomy and solemn scene

of its conflict with life, decided to make as speedy an end as possible

of its business, and the teacher, heaving a deep sigh, moaned softly,

shuddered, stretched himself out, and died.

The captain reeled on his legs, as he continued his speech.

"What's the matter with you? Do you want me to bring you some vódka?

But better not drink it, Philip.... Restrain yourself, conquer

yourself.... If you can't--drink! Why restrain yourself, to speak

plainly.... For whose sake, Philip? Isn't that so? For whose sake?..."

He grasped his foot, and drew him toward him.

"Ah, you are asleep, Philip? Well ... sleep on.... A quiet night to

you ... to-morrow I'll explain it all to you, and you'll be convinced

that it isn't necessary to deny yourself anything.... But now--sleep

... if you are not dead...."

He went out, accompanied by silence, and when he came to his men he

announced:

"He's asleep ... or dead ... I don't know ... I'm a l-lit-tle drunk...."

Tyápa bent over still further, making the sign of the cross on his

breast. Martyánoff writhed quietly, and lay down on the ground. The

Meteor, that stupid lad, began to whimper, softly and plaintively, like

an affronted woman. The Gnawed Bone began to wriggle swiftly over the

ground, saying in a low, spiteful, and sorrowful tone:

"The devil take the whole lot of you! Tormentors.... Well, he's dead!

Come, what of that? I ... why need I know that? Why must I be told

about that? The time will come ... when I shall die myself ... just as

much as he ... I, as much as the rest."

"That's true!" said the captain loudly, dropping heavily to the

ground.--"The time will come, and we shall all die, like the rest ...

ha-ha! How we pass our lives ... is a trifling matter! But we shall

die--like everybody. Therein lies the goal of life, believe my words.

For a man lives in order that he may die.... And he dies.... And if

that is so, what difference does it make why and how he dies, and how

he has lived? Am I right, Martyánoff? Let's have another drink ... and

another, as long as we are alive...."

The rain began to fall. Dense, stifling gloom covered the forms of

the men, as they wallowed on the earth, curled up in slumber or

intoxication. The streak of light proceeding from the lodging-house

paled, flickered, and suddenly vanished. Evidently, the wind had blown

out the lamp or the kerosene in it had burned down. The raindrops

tapped timidly, irresolutely, as they fell upon the iron roof of the

lodging-house. From the town, at the top of the hill, melancholy,

occasional strokes of a bell were wafted--it was the churches being

guarded.

The brazen sound, floating from the belfry, floated softly through the

darkness, and slowly died away in it, but before the darkness could

engulf its last, tremulously-sobbing note, another stroke began, and

again, through the silence of the night, the melancholy sigh of the

metal was borne forth.

*

Tyápa was the first to awaken in the morning.

Turning over on his back, he stared at the sky--only in this posture

did his deformed neck permit him to see the heaven overhead.

On that morning the sky was uniformly gray. There, on high, the dark,

cold gloom had thickened, it had extinguished the sun, and covering the

blue infinity, poured forth melancholy upon the earth. Tyápa crossed

himself, and raised himself on his elbow, in order to see whether any

of the vódka anywhere remained. The bottle was there, but it was empty.

Crawling across his comrades, Tyápa began to inspect the cups from

which they had drunk. He found one of them almost full, drank it down,

wiped his lips with his sleeve, and began to shake the captain by the

shoulder.

"Get up ... hey there! Do you hear?"

The captain raised his head, gazing at him with dim eyes.

"We must inform the police ... come, then, get up!"

"What's the matter?"--asked the captain, sleepily and angrily.

"The matter is, that he's dead...."

"Who's dead?"

"The learned man...."

"Philip? Ye-es!"

"And you've forgotten--ekhma!"--grunted Tyápa reproachfully.

The captain rose to his feet, yawned with a whizzing noise, and

stretched himself so hard that his bones creaked.

"Then, you go and report...."

"I won't go ... I don't like them,"--said Tyápa in a surly tone.

"Well, then, wake up the deacon yonder.... And I'll go and see about

things...."

"All right ... get up, deacon!"

The captain went into the lodging-house, and stood at the teacher's

feet. The dead man was lying stretched out at full length: his left

hand was on his breast, his right was flung back in such a manner as

though he had been flourishing it preparatory to dealing someone a

blow. The captain reflected, that if the teacher were to rise now, he

would be as tall as Tarás-and-a-Half. Then he seated himself on the

sleeping-shelf, at the feet of his friend, and calling to mind that

they had lived together for three years, he sighed. Tyápa entered,

holding his head, as a goat does, when he is about to butt. He sat down

on the other side of the teacher's feet, gazed at the latter's dark,

calm, serious face, with its tightly closed eyes, and said hoarsely:

"Yes ... there he is dead.... I shall die soon...."

"It's time you did,"--said the captain morosely.

"It is time!"--assented Tyápa.--"And you must die also.... Anyhow, it's

better than...."

"Perhaps it's worse? How do you know?"

"It can't be worse. You'll die, you'll have to deal with God.... But

with the people here.... But what do people signify?"

"Well, all right, don't rattle in your throat like that ..." Kuválda

angrily interrupted him.

And in the gloom which filled the night lodging-house an impressive

silence reigned.

For a long time they sat there in silence, at the feet of their dead

comrade, and glanced at him, now and then, both absorbed in thought.

Then Tyápa inquired:

"Shall you bury him?"

"I? No! Let the police bury him."

"Well! You'd better bury him, I think ... you know, you took his money

from Vavíloff for writing that petition.... I'll contribute, if there

isn't enough...."

"I have his money ... but I won't bury him."

"That's not well. You're robbing a corpse. I'll just tell everybody

that you want to devour his money...." menaced Tyápa.

"You're stupid, you old devil!"--said Kuválda scornfully.

"I'm not stupid.... Only, that isn't good, I say, not a friendly thing

to do."

"Well, it's all right, anyway. Get away with you!"

"You don't say so! And how much money is there?"

"Four rubles...." said Kuválda abstractedly.

"There, now! You might give me five rubles...."

"What a rascally old fellow you are ..." and the captain swore at

Tyápa, looking him indifferently in the face.

"What of that? Really, now, give it...."

"Go to the devil!... I'm going to build him a monument with the money."

"What's the good of that to him?"

"I'll buy a mill-stone and an anchor. I'll put the millstone on the

grave, and I'll fasten the anchor to it with a chain.... It will be

very heavy...."

"What for? You're getting whimsical...."

"Well ... it's no business of yours."

"I'll tell, see if I don't...." threatened Tyápa again.

Aristíd Fómitch gazed dully at him and made no reply. And again, for a

long time, they sat in silence, which always assumes an impressive and

mysterious coloring in the presence of the dead.

"Hark, there ... somebody's driving up!"--said Tyápa, as he rose, and

left the lodging-house.

The police captain of the district, the coroner, and the doctor soon

made their appearance at the door. All three, one after the other,

approached the teacher, and after taking a look at him went out,

rewarding Kuválda with sidelong and suspicious glances. He sat there,

paying no attention to them, until the police captain asked him,

nodding toward the teacher:

"What did he die of?"

"Ask him ... I think, from lack of practice...."

"What's that you say?"--inquired the police captain.

"I say--he died, in my opinion, from lack of practice, because he

wasn't used to the illness that seized upon him...."

"Hm ... yes! And was he ill long?"

"We might drag him out here, we can't see anything in there," suggested

the doctor, in a bored tone.--"Perhaps there are traces...."

"Here, you, there, call someone to carry him out,"--the police captain

ordered Kuválda.

"Call them yourself.... He doesn't bother me where he is...." retorted

Kuválda indifferently.

"Get along, there!"--shouted the policeman, with a savage face.

"Whoa!" parried Kuválda, not stirring from the spot and calmly

disclosing his teeth in a vicious snarl.

"I'll give it to you, devil take you!"--shouted the police captain,

enraged to such a degree that his face became suffused with blood.--"I

won't overlook this!..."

"A very good-morning, honored sirs!"--said merchant Petúnnikoff, in a

sweet voice, as he made his appearance in the doorway.

Taking them all in with one sharp glance, he shuddered, retreated a

pace, and removing his cap, began to cross himself vehemently. Then a

smile of malevolent triumph flitted across his countenance, and staring

point-blank at Kuválda he inquired respectfully:

"What's this here?--Can they have murdered the man?"

"Why, something of that sort," the coroner replied.

Petúnnikoff heaved a deep sigh, then crossed himself again, and said,

in a tone of distress:

"Ah, Lord my God! This is just what I was afraid of! Every time I

dropped in here to take a look ... áï, áï, áï! And when I got home,

I kept having such visions--God preserve everyone from such an

experience!--Many a time I have felt like turning that gentleman yonder

... the commander-in-chief of the golden horde, out of his quarters,

but I was always afraid to ... you know ... it's better to yield to

that sort of people ... I said to myself,... otherwise...."

He made an easy gesture with his hand in the air, then drew it across

his face, gathered his beard in his fist, and sighed again.

"Dangerous people. And that gentleman there is a sort of commander over

them ... a regular bandit chieftain."

"And we're going to examine him," said the police captain in an

extremely significant tone, as he gazed at the cavalry captain with

revengeful eyes. "He is well known to me!..."

"Yes, brother, you and I are old acquaintances...." assented Kuválda,

in a familiar tone.--"What a lot of bribes I've paid to you and to

your sprouts of under-officials to hold your tongues!"

"Gentlemen!"--cried the police captain,--"you hear him? I request that

you will bear this in mind! I won't overlook this.... Ah ... ah! So

that's it? Well, I'll give you cause to remember me! I'll ... put an

end to you, my friend!"

"Don't brag when you set out for the wars ... my friend,"--said Aristíd

Fómitch coolly.

The doctor, a young man in spectacles, stared at him with curiosity,

the coroner with ominous attention, Petúnnikoff with triumph, but the

police captain shouted and dashed about, as he flung himself on him.

The sinister form of Martyánoff made its appearance in the doorway of

the lodging-house. He stepped up quietly and stood behind Petúnnikoff,

so that his chin was just over the merchant's crown. On one side, from

behind him, peered the deacon, his small, swollen, red eyes opened to

their fullest extent.

"Come on, let's do something, gentlemen," suggested the doctor.

Martyánoff made a terrible grimace, and suddenly sneezed straight on

Petúnnikoff's head. Hie latter shrieked, squatted down, and sprang

to one side, almost knocking the police captain off his feet, as the

latter supported him, having opened his arms wide to receive him.

"You see?"--said the merchant, pointing at Martyánoff. "That's the sort

of people they are! Hey?"

Kuválda broke out into a roar of laughter. The doctor and the coroner

laughed, and new forms kept constantly approaching the door of the

night lodging-house. The half-awake, bloated physiognomies, with red,

swollen eyes, with dishevelled heads, unceremoniously scrutinized the

doctor, the coroner, and the police captain.

"Where are you crawling to!"--the policeman exhorted them, tugging at

their rags and pushing them away from the door. But he was one, and

they were many, and paying no heed to him, silent and threatening they

continued to advance, exhaling an odor of stale vódka. Kuválda looked

at them, then at the authorities, who were somewhat disconcerted by

the size of this ugly audience, and, with a grin, he remarked to the

authorities:

"Gentlemen! Perhaps you would like to make the acquaintance of my

lodgers and friends? You would? Never mind ... sooner or later, you'll

be forced to make acquaintance with them, in the discharge of your

duties...."

The doctor laughed in an embarrassed way. The coroner pressed his lips

tightly together, and the police captain saw what it was necessary to

do, and shouted outside:

"Sídoroff! Whistle ... when the men arrive, tell them to get a cart ..."

"Well, I must be going!"--said Petúnnikoff, moving forward from

somewhere in the corner.--"You will vacate my quarters to-day, sir....

I'm going to have this old shanty torn down.... Look out, or I'll apply

to the police ..."

The shrill whistle of the policeman rang out in the courtyard. At the

door of the night lodging-house its denizens stood in a dense mass,

yawning and scratching their heads.

"So, you don't want to make acquaintance?... That's impolite!..."

laughed Aristíd Kuválda.

Petúnnikoff took his purse out of his pocket, fumbled in it, pulled

out two five-kopék pieces, and, crossing himself, laid them at the feet

of the corpse.

"Bless, oh Lord ... for the burial of the sinner's dust...."

"Wha-at!" bawled the cavalry captain.--"You? For his burial? Take

it away! Take it away, I tell you ... you scou-oundrel! You dare to

contribute your stolen pennies to the burial of an honest man.... I'll

tear you to bits!"

"Your Well-Born!" shouted the merchant in alarm, seizing the police

captain by the elbow. The doctor and the coroner rushed out, the police

captain shouted loudly:

"Sídoroff, come here!"

The men with pasts formed a wall across the door, and with interest

lighting up their rumpled faces they watched and listened.

Kuválda shook his fist over Petúnnikoff's head, and roared, rolling his

blood-shot eyes ferociously. "Scoundrel and thief! Take your money!

You dirty creature ... take it, I say ... if you don't, I'll ram those

five-kopék pieces into your eyeballs--take it!"

Petúnnikoff stretched out a trembling hand toward his mite, and fending

off Kuválda's fist with the other hand, he said:

"Bear witness, Mr. Police Captain, and you, my good people."

"We're bad people, merchant," rang out The Gnawed Bone's trembling

voice.

The police captain, puffing out his face like a bladder, whistled

desperately, and held his other hand in the air over the head of

Petúnnikoff, who was wriggling about in front of him exactly as though

he were about to jump upon his body.

"If you like, Ill make you kiss the feet of this corpse, you base

viper? D-do you want to?"

And grasping Petúnnikoff by the collar, Kuválda hurled him to the door,

as though he had been a kitten. The men with pasts hastily stepped

aside, to make room for Petúnnikoff to fall. And he sprawled at their

feet, howling in rage and terror:

"Murder! Police ... I'm killed!"

Martyánoff slowly raised his foot, and took aim with it at the

merchant's head. The Gnawed Bone, with a voluptuous expression on

his countenance, spat in Petúnnikoff's face. The merchant contracted

himself into a small ball, and rolled, on all fours, into the

courtyard, encouraged by a roar of laughter. But two policemen had

already made their appearance in the courtyard, and the police captain,

pointing at Kuválda, shouted triumphantly:

"Arrest him! Bind him!"

"Bind him, my dear men!"--entreated Petúnnikoff.

"Don't you dare! I won't run away ... I'll go of myself, wherever it's

necessary...." said Kuválda, waving aside the policemen, who had run up

to him.

The men with pasts vanished, one by one. A cart drove into the

courtyard. Several dejected tatterdemalions had already carried the

teacher out of the lodging-house.

"I'll g-give it to you, my dear fellow ... just wait!"--the police

captain menaced Kuválda.

"Well, you bandit chief!"--inquired Petúnnikoff venomously, excited and

happy at the sight of his enemy, whose hands had been bound.

"Lead him off!" said the police captain, pointing at the cavalry

captain.

Kuválda, making no protest, silent and with knitted brows, moved from

the yard, and as he passed the teacher he bowed his head, but did not

look at him. Martyánoff, with his stony face, followed him. Merchant

Petúnnikoff's courtyard was speedily emptied.

"Go on, now!" and the cab-driver shook his reins over his horse's

crupper.

The cart moved off, jolting over the uneven ground of the courtyard.

The teacher, covered with some rag or other, lay stretched out in

it, face upward, and his belly quivered. It seemed as though the

teacher were laughing, in a quiet, satisfied way, delighted that, at

last, he was to leave the night lodging-house, never to return there

again.... Petúnnikoff, as he accompanied him with a glance, crossed

himself piously, and then began with his cap to beat off the dust and

rubbish which had clung to his clothing. And, in proportion as the

dust disappeared from his coat, a calm expression of satisfaction

with himself and confidence in himself made its appearance on his

countenance. From the courtyard he could see Aristíd Fómitch Kuválda

walking along the street, up the hill, with his hands bound behind him,

tall, gray-haired, in a cap with a red band, which resembled a streak

of blood.

Petúnnikoff smiled the smile of the conqueror, and went into the night

lodging-house, but suddenly halted, shuddering. In the door, facing

him, with a stick in his hand and a huge sack on his shoulder, stood a

terrible old man, bristling like a hedgehog with the rags which covered

his long body, bent beneath the weight of his burden, and with his head

bowed upon his breast exactly as though he were about to hurl himself

at the merchant.

"What do you want?" shouted Petúnnikoff.--"Who are you?"

"A man..." rang out a dull, hoarse voice.

This hoarse rattle rejoiced and reassured Petúnnikoff. He even smiled.

"A man! Akh, you queer fellow ... do such men exist?"

And stepping aside, he let the old man pass him, as the latter marched

straight at him, and muttered dully: "There are various sorts of men

... as God wills.... There are worse men than I ... worse than I ...

yes!"

The overcast sky gazed silently into the dirty courtyard, and at the

clean man, with the small, pointed, gray beard, who was walking over

the ground, measuring something with his footsteps and with his sharp

little eyes. On the roof of the old house a crow sat and croaked

triumphantly, as it stretched out its neck, and rocked to and fro. In

the stern, gray storm-clouds, which thickly covered the sky, there was

something strained and implacable, as though they, in preparing to

discharge a downpour of rain, were firmly resolved to wash away all the

filth from this unhappy, tortured, melancholy earth.