VI

Pavel Semenovich thought for a moment and then asked Petr Petrovich:

“Did Rogov ever study with you?”

“Rogov ... I don’t remember ... I’ve had so many....”

“He was remarkable and our council often discussed him.... His fate was

peculiar.... You see, the boy’s father was a rascal of the old school,

a slanderer, drunkard and a quarrelsome fellow, and as much bothered by

modern times as a wolf is by hunters. He came too late. Rough manners

unfitted for the present times. He spent his last days in trouble,

poverty, and drunkenness. He always thought that fate did not treat

him fairly; people got along well, but he, as he thought,—a model of

activity,—was dirty, hungry and oppressed.... And imagine,—this man had a

family ... a wife and son....

“The wife was irresponsible; her whole being had been crushed in the

full sense of the word, except one corner of her soul. When anything

concerned her son, a door seemed to open into her completely stupefied

soul, which was like a citadel uncaptured in the midst of a fallen city,

and so much wifely heroism came out through this gate that at times the

old ruffian and drunkard put his tail between his legs. God knows what

this cost her, but she succeeded just the same in giving her son an

education. When I went to teach in Tikhodol, I found this fellow in the

last class. He was a bashful, apparently modest boy and behaved quietly;

but his eyes had such an expression, strange, restrained; I confess it

made you uneasy: a curious fire, like the flame of a restless, internal

conflagration. His thin, drawn face was always pale and a crop of brown

hair fell over his rough forehead. He learned easily, made few friends

among his schoolmates, seemed to hate his father and loved his mother

almost abnormally.

“Now ... excuse me.... I must say a few words about myself. Otherwise

you won’t understand a lot of what’s coming.... I’d only been teaching

a very few years and had the usual idea.... I looked at my calling as

noble, so to speak, from the ideal point of view. My companions seemed

a holy regiment, yes ... the gymnasium almost a temple.... You know,

young people feel that way and value it highly.... You run to this light

with every trouble and every question.... It’s the living soul of our

business.... What shall I say, when he comes to you, a fellow with his

young soul under his uniform with all its buttons sewed on.... I, the

teacher, need him with his questions and errors.... And he needs me to

search and study.... Honestly you want to guide them....”

The narrator paused and continued in a low voice:

“That’s the way it was with me.... I got intimate with several boys from

my classes, among them Rogov.... Gave them books, and they visited me.

You understand, over a samovar, simply, heart to heart. I remember this

as the finest time of my life.... Every time you open a new journal,

you find conversation, discussion, argument. I listened, without

interfering at first, to the way they wandered and argued, and then I

explained,—carefully but pleasantly. You see, you get one thought and

then another, and again it comes so sharp that it scratches you.... And

you feel how you need to restrain yourself and think and study. And you

grow with them.... And live....

“It didn’t last long. One day my director called me in for a confidential

conversation.... Well, you know the rest.... This ‘extracurricular’

influence of the leaders of youth does not enjoy protection. Journals

already!... The director, you know him,—Nikolay Platonovich Popov,—is a

fastidious man.... He merely hinted and afterwards acted as if he really

knew nothing.... I almost got angry; at first I even refused to obey,

and appealed to the highest understanding of my obligations. Then ... I

saw that it was no use. The main point was that I wasn’t the only one

getting talked about: the boys were getting a bad reputation.... That was

hard and difficult enough but what could I say to my young disputants?

How could I explain it? I obeyed the evidently senseless and humiliating

order! This was the first blow that life had dealt me and I did not

notice at the time that I had received a mortal wound.

“I obeyed and stopped my evening discussions. I can conscientiously say

that I thought even more about them. But youths, you know, don’t obey so

easily and can’t understand the whole meaning. One evening this Rogov

came to me with a companion. Secretly. Flushed faces, blazing eyes, and

a peculiar look.... I stopped this kind of fellowship. ‘No,’ I said,

‘gentlemen, we’d better stop it.’ I saw that both boys were getting

worked up. Rogov began to say something, but he had a convulsion of the

throat and his eyes suddenly took on an evil expression.... I found a

way to justify myself: I was afraid for them, especially for Rogov and

his mother.... You see, if our conspiracies were discovered, his whole

career—and his mother’s heroism—would have gone for nothing. So I yielded

... for the first time....

“In place of this I tried to make my lessons as interesting as possible.

My evenings were free.... It was boring. I’d begun to get accustomed to

my young circle. And now—nothing. I went for my books. Worked like a

dog and kept thinking: this must be interesting to them; it will be new

and it answers such and such questions.... I read and dug in my books,

collected everything interesting, attractive, that pushed apart the

official walls and the official lessons.... I kept thinking of those

conversations.... And I thought I was getting results.... I remember

the whole class almost died from zeal.... Suddenly the director began

to attend the lessons. He’d come in, sit down, and listen without

saying a word.... You know what happened next. You act as if it were

nothing, but both you and the class feel it’s not a lesson but a sort of

investigation.... Again delicate questions on the side: ‘Really, excuse

me, but where did you get this? Out of what official text book? How do

you think this agrees with the courses of study?’

“I’ll be brief.... In a word, the enthusiasm finally died out of

me.... The class became merely a class: the living people began to

retire further and further; they disappeared in a sort of fog.... I

lost intellectual contact. Remarks ... plan ... the enumeration of the

stylistic beauties of a live work. In this there are twelve beauties.

First ... second ... and so on.... It fitted the program.... That is, you

understand, I didn’t notice how I dried up just like Budnikov.

“Anyway this young fellow finished his course and went to the capital....

He didn’t get into the university right away. It was the time of secret

denunciations.... Perhaps my lectures were suspicious. To sum up,—he lost

a year. He wrote his mother that he had entered and had a fellowship, but

he really beat his way along, was poor and probably got disgusted. Then

he began to tramp. Suddenly he had a great sorrow: his mother died before

he could get home. As soon as her son left home, she began to waste

away.... The guiding star of her life, so to speak, disappeared from the

horizon—and she lost the power of resistance. Died of consumption, you

know, quickly, almost gladly. ‘Vanya doesn’t need me any more,’ she’d

say. ‘I got him on the right track, thank God. He’ll get along now.’

She said the Nunc Dimittis and died. Soon after they found the honored

father in a ditch. And my Rogov was an orphan....

“The old woman was really in too much of a hurry; her son really needed

her more than ever. He learned well and eagerly, so to speak, without

wasting his time, as if he were hurrying somewhere. When he heard of

his mother’s death, something broke in his soul.... In turn she seemed

to have been the only ideal in his life. ‘I’ll finish, get on my feet,

revive my shattered truth: even though she’s ready to die, mother’ll

know that there is divine blessing, love, and gratitude.... For a year,

a month, even a week.... An instant even, for her heart to be filled and

melted with joy.’ Suddenly, in place of everything, the grave.... A crash

... and it’s all over! There’s no need of gratitude, nothing to go back

to, to correct.... You’ve got to have strength to stand such a temptation

without being shattered.... You need faith in the general meaning of

life.... It mustn’t seem to you but blind chance....

“He didn’t hold on. He had no support.... He changed, got rough, and

began to drink in with his wine a poisonous feeling of insult and of the

injustice of fate.... So it went. He threw up his examinations—what was

the use of getting a diploma? He drifted along like an empty boat on a

river.... He came back to our city.... Perhaps he wanted to tie up by his

mother’s grave.... But how could that help him?... If he’d tried to find

some meaning, that would have been another thing.... And so ... he got in

court a certificate, ‘to travel’ on business, and followed his father’s

footsteps. He lived a dissolute life, spent his time in saloons, with

worthless people, and engaged in business of the most shady character.

One year of this life,—and he’d become a drunken, impudent bum, the

enfant terrible of our peaceful city, a menace to the citizens. The devil

knows how, but the bashful boy became insolent and diabolically clever:

every one in the city was afraid of him.... It’s strange, but there isn’t

a city in Russia without its Rogov. A sort of a state character. It was

quiet everywhere, peaceful slumber, idyllic calm, M. Budnikov walking

along the streets, obstinate, conceited, counting his steps.... Evenings,

especially on holidays, these poetic murmurs, and there’s a lot of noise

from some saloon like our ‘On the Crags,’ and some misshapen, sick and

desperate soul carousing.... Satellites around, of course. This is a

natural and necessary detail to fill up the provincial corners, so to

speak....

“Rogov met me soon after he turned up.... He bowed shyly and went to

one side, especially when he was drunk. One time I met him, spoke to

him, and asked him in.... He came ... sober, serious, even bashful ...

from old habit, of course.... But we didn’t stick together. Memories

parted us: I was a young teacher with a lively faith in my calling,

with lively feelings and words: He was a young man, still pure and

respecting my moral authority.... Now he was Vanka Rogov, a Tikhodol

bum, engaged in shady business.... And I.... In a word, we seemed to be

parted by a solid wall: the main reason of all I won’t mention. I felt

that I had to shatter the barrier, tell him something that would reach

his soul and control it as I used to.... He seemed to be waiting for

this in terror: waiting for the cruel blow.... His eyes showed his pain

and expectation.... I didn’t have the strength. It was gone, ... lost

probably when for the first time we parted in shame....

“I had to watch like a sympathetic witness, so to speak, how this young

fellow degraded himself, grew fast, drank, and defiled himself.... He

got insolent, lost all sense of shame. Then I heard that Rogov was an

extortioner and begging. Business was poor; he was on the border between

the merely offensive and the criminal. He was as clever as an acrobat

and laughed at everything. In two or three years he was absolutely

transformed. He had become a menacing, dirty, and very unpleasant figure.

“Sometimes he’d come when he was drunk.... It’s strange: but I seemed to

feel more at home when he was that way.... It simplified matters, his

fault was evident, and it was easier to draw a moral. I remember after

one of his descents into the loathsome, I said to him:

“‘This and that’s not right, Rogov.’

“He shrugged his shoulders, turned away his eyes, as if he was afraid of

a moral beating; then he shook his hair, looked me straight in the eye,

obviously relying on his impudence:

“‘What’s wrong, Pavel Semenovich?’

“‘It’s disgraceful,’ I said.

“‘You know,’ he said, ‘I’ve changed one quarrelsome goal for another not

less quarrelsome. That was wrong and now it’s disgraceful. My theory

works out all right for me,’ he said. ‘Honor and everything like that

is nothing but dessert. You know it comes after dinner. If there’s no

dinner, what’s the use of dessert?...’

“‘But, remember, Rogov,’ I said, ‘why you have no dinner.... You studied

well, had a good start, and then suddenly went wrong....’

“That moment I thought my statement was not only convincing but

incontrovertible.... And he looked at me, laughed, and said:

“‘You’ve sometimes played billiards a little, haven’t you?’

“‘Yes,’ I said, ‘I play for relaxation....’

“‘You know the downward stroke?’

“‘Yes.’ You know that’s a peculiar and paradoxical shot. The ball first

goes forward and then it suddenly and apparently of its own accord rolls

back.... At first sight it seems incomprehensible and a violation of the

laws of motion, but it’s really simple.

“‘Well, what do you think?’ he asked. ‘Has the ball a will of its own?

No.... It’s merely a contest between two different motions.... One rules

in the beginning, the other later.... Now you see,’ he said, ‘all her

life my mother went straight but father, as you know, spun around like a

top. That’s why I went straight at first, as long as my mother’s impulse

lasted.... I hadn’t gotten my bearings, when I swung round to father’s

pattern.... There’s my whole story....’

“He spoke frankly and hopelessly. He dropped his head, shook his hair

down over his face, and then, when he looked at me again, I felt

uneasy. His eyes showed his pain. Did you ever see a sick animal?... A

dog,—usually an affectionate brute, is willing then to bite its master.

“‘Now,’ he said, ‘whom do you think’s to blame?’

“‘I don’t know, Rogov. I’m not your judge.... It’s not a question of

blame....’

“‘Not of blame, what then? I think he’s to blame who started me off with

that shot.... That means to condemn no one. I’m a case of downward stroke

in life.... I do the will of Him that sent me.... So there you are, my

dear Pavel Semenovich.... Have you got two grivens of silver? I want to

drown my sorrow....’

“This was the first time that he had asked me for two grivens and I

instantly felt that the old barrier between us had been broken. Now he

could insult me as he would any one else.

“I wanted to defend myself.

“‘No, Rogov. I won’t give you two grivens. Come any time you feel

like.... I’m glad to see you.... But this is impossible....’

“He dropped his shaggy head, sat down, and said dully:

“‘Yes, Pavel Semenovich. Excuse me. I’ll come without begging. Yet to sit

down with you, I feel easier and free from my usual load.’

“He sat still. A long, strained silence ensued. Then he said:

“‘There was a time ... when I hoped to receive something from you.... You

don’t know what you meant to me. Even now I sometimes feel I must see

you. You’re waiting for something.... No.... It’s hopeless.... A downward

stroke and it’s all over....’

“‘Excuse me, Rogov,’ I said. ‘You’re really misusing that example from

billiards. You’re not an ivory ball but a living man.’

“‘And for that reason, I feel.... As for a ball,—wherever you send

it,—into a pocket or a hole, that ivory ball doesn’t care.... But a man,

most esteemed Pavel Semenovich, finds it hard to be pocketed.... Do

you think that any one willingly and voluntarily refuses dessert?... I

wouldn’t.... I’m a man with reflexes, as they say. I see and examine my

trajectory clear to the end.... I’ll become a pig of pigs and I can’t

reform. At times I think ... perhaps ... somehow ... somewhere ... there

may be some ... point of support.... Sometimes you get irritated ...

really.... Where is truth ... reality?... Is there such a thing, Pavel

Semenovich?’

“‘Of course there is,’ I answered.

“‘How sincerely you spoke. There must be, of course ... there is....

But where? Excuse me, I don’t want to catch you.... You don’t know

yourself. You looked once and stopped. That’s why I’ll only ask you for

two grivens. Sometimes I may be sitting by a fire.... You’re a man with a

soul.... Another time, perhaps, I’ll be able to get more out of you....’

“‘Listen here,’ I said to him. ‘Think now, can I really help you in any

way?’ I felt that there was something to him.... He was rather touched,

was not insolent.... He became thoughtful and dropped his head.

“‘No,’ he replied, ‘it can’t be done. You’re not to blame, friend.

Because ... I, and every one like me, is very greedy. Like swine we

wallow in the mire, and we want any one who helps us to be whiter than

snow.... You need a lot of strength, friend. You haven’t enough.... A

storm is necessary.... To breathe fire.... There are miracles.... But

you.... You’re not angry at me?...’

“‘Angry? Why?’

“We both stopped talking. I had nothing to say to him, he began again to

walk around, but he gradually recovered his former manner. He came and

sat down and he showed his brandy. The next Saturday he came in the same

condition and sat down beside me on the steps. Just then the bell rang

for vespers. In a short time M. Budnikov came out of the gate. Dandy,

you know how he is, stubborn as ever, perfectly self-satisfied.... He

breathes forth the consciousness of duty well done.

“I remember what an unpleasant effect he produced upon me. Rogov’s face

suddenly changed. He jumped up, adopted a theatrical pose, took off his

cap, and said:

“‘To M. Budnikov, Semen Nikolayevich, on his way to vespers is extended

the most respectful greeting of Vanka Rogov.

“Then with a sweeping wave of his cap, he began to sing—from a well-known

romance:

“‘_I can n-no l-longer pay at all...._

_Remem-mber me, m-my friend beloved...._’

“This buffoonery was too much.... I felt that I disliked Budnikov, but

yet.... He was insulting a man on a point which from every angle and in

any case should have won his respect. Yelena soon came out of the gate

and also started for church. He sang to me:

“‘_Ophelia! Nymph! Remember me_

_In those most sacred prayers of thine._’

“This made me really angry. Yelena quailed before the impudent stare and

insolent, even if unintelligible words. She dropped her head and quickly

walked to church.

“‘Listen, Rogov,’ I said. ‘You ought to be ashamed of yourself! I must

tell you ... if you want to come here, I humbly beg you to act more

decently....’

“He turned and I saw in his eyes a peculiar expression—of evil pain. He

felt like biting me....

“I tried to soften the bitterness of my words and said:

“‘Rogov, you don’t know these people, nor their relations, and yet you

venture to insult them....’

“He smiled at me and replied:

“‘You’re thinking of the idyl? The kindly M. Budnikov made two hearts

happy. Why, here’s Gavryushenka.’

“In truth, Gavrilo had just come out of the gate. Rogov beckoned to him

rather hostilely....

“‘I congratulate you, Gavryushenka, ... on your master’s leavings....

Wise fellow! You knew where the crabs winter.... In case of necessity,

you may depend upon my legal knowledge....’

“Surprising how these cynics find things out. Evidently Rogov knew the

whole story and suspected Gavrilo of having mercenary motives....

“He walked up and patted him on the shoulder.... Gavrilo got angry and

pushed Rogov away violently. Rogov almost fell down, laughed, and, with

pretended indifference, started along the path. He came up to me, stopped

and said:

“‘Most esteemed Pavel Semenovich.... I want to ask you a question:

haven’t you read ... it’s in Xenophon ... the conversation between

Alcibiades and Pericles?... If you haven’t, I recommend it most highly.

Although it’s in a dead language, it’s instructive.’

“He went off singing an indecent song. A little while after I hunted up

this dialogue. I wondered what he meant....

“You know it’s a hard but a powerful piece. The subject’s about like

this: Young Alcibiades went one day to Pericles.... Remember, Pericles

was already a famous man and enjoyed the confidence of every one ...

because of past services and a certain air of benevolence.... Anyway

his position was secure. Alcibiades was a rascal, worthless, drunkard,

in all sorts of scandals with Athenian girls, cut off dogs’ tails, as

you know ... A man of no reputation for well-doing. Well, one day, this

rogue of a young fellow went up to Pericles and said: ‘Listen, Pericles,

you’re a man chock full of benefactions clear to the top of your head,

you may say. I’m wandering off the road and twisting up everything, for

I have nothing to do. Every one’s angry at me. I want you to explain

everything to me.’ Pericles, of course, was willing and thought it was

a good idea to talk to the young man. He might bring him to his senses.

So he said: ‘Go ahead and ask what you want.’ Then came the question:

‘What is doing well? How do you learn it?’ Pericles, of course, laughed:

‘Honor the gods, obey the laws, and do your duty. To obey the laws is the

first duty of a citizen and a man.’ ‘Fine,’ answered the young fellow.

‘Tell me, please, which laws am I to obey: the bad or the good ones?’

Pericles was almost insulted. ‘If a law’s a law, it’s good. What are you

talking about?’ ‘No,’ said Alcibiades, ‘wait and don’t get angry.’ ...

You know at this time in Athens all these principles were mixed up ...

parties, struggle, some robbing others, ostracism, a sort of banishment

by administrative order ... usurpers ... favorites ... there really

was confusion,—a man jumped forward and drew up his own laws for his

own advantage or for his relatives and friends. Then old gods were all

mixed up, the oracles answered anything, provided it didn’t apply to the

subject. In a word, everything that was clear in life had become unclear:

there was no equilibrium, no generally acknowledged truth.... A new

system was necessary. Clouds covered the sky and there were no stars to

steer by.... That was why Alcibiades asked what laws should be obeyed;

those which prescribe good or bad. Of course, Pericles answered the good.

‘How can I tell which are good? What is the mark, so to speak?’ ‘Obey

all! That’s what laws are for!...’ ‘That means laws passed by the power

of tyrants?’ ‘No, you don’t need to obey those....’ ‘I see, only lawful

laws, so to speak. Fine! But suppose the minority coerces the majority

to its own advantage, don’t I need to obey those laws?’ ‘Of course not.’

‘But if the majority coerce the minority, is that contrary to right?...’

You see what the young fellow was driving at: he didn’t need external

signs, but he showed that he needed to feel in his soul universal truth,

the highest truth, so to speak, the truth of life, sanctity.... Pericles,

you see, hadn’t understood this.... Not merely Pericles, the whole

country rested on slavery, on past wrong.... Religion had dried up, the

old sanctity which had consecrated every step, every motion, the whole

order, all human relationships,—people had ceased to feel it.... But

Pericles argued around.... He didn’t want to confess that their laws had

died.... He patted the dissolute young fellow on the shoulder with a

great deal of condescension and said: ‘Yes, yes.... I see you’ve got a

head on your shoulders. Years ago we used to settle such hard questions.’

... Well, Alcibiades saw that Pericles was, so to speak, a recognized

authority, was quibbling over trifles, didn’t treat these conflicts as

anything alive,—and waved his hand. ‘I’m sorry, my dear sir, that I

didn’t know you then.... Now I’m bored; I’m going to fool along.’

“And that’s what he recommended to me, his former teacher....”