The narrator stopped. The train, which was approaching another station,
began to slow down. Petr Petrovich reached out his hand and said, as he
took his blue cap with a cockade from the hook:
“I’m going again to get something to eat.... I confess, my dear Pavel
Semenovich, I don’t see what you’re driving at.... Excuse me, it’s
not philosophy, and God only knows what you are after. We began with
Budnikov. All right, we know him.... Now the devil knows who this Rogov
is, a worn-out rogue, and now I don’t know whether you’re talking of
Xenophon or Alcibiades.... Cutting off dogs’ tails.... The devil knows
what you mean.... Kindly allow me to ask how all this concerns me....
Just as you wish.... I’d better go and get some more vodka....”
He put on his cap, and, holding on to the wall because of the jolting
of the train, he went out of the compartment. Just at that moment the
fourth passenger on the other upper bench stirred. He had been lying in
the shadow, smoking now and then, and he seemed to be interested in the
story. He got down, took a seat beside us and said:
“Excuse me, I haven’t the honor of being acquainted, but I couldn’t help
hearing your story and it interested me. So, if you have no objections.”
Pavel Semenovich looked at him. He was a cultured man, carefully dressed,
with intelligent eyes which looked steadily through a pair of gold
glasses which he was constantly adjusting.
“Yes?” said Pavel Semenovich. “I see, you heard this....”
“Yes. It interested me.... Your point of view, I confess, I don’t
understand fully....”
“Really, it wasn’t any too clear.... I meant ... that in reality
everything is so related.... And this mutual relationship....”
“Presupposes mutual responsibility?”
Pavel Semenovich’s face suddenly beamed with joy.
“There! You understand it?... Yes, general.... Not before Ivan or
Petr.... Everything is connected, so to speak.... One man carelessly
throws away a brandy cork and another slips on it and breaks his leg.”
The new acquaintance listened attentively. Just then Petr Petrovich came
back. He had been mistaken as to the place and with an ironical glance at
both, he said, as he hung up his cap:
“Well, now,—what do you want with a cork?”
“No, Petr Petrovich,” said Pavel Semenovich seriously, “you’re wrong....
The question is, so to speak——”
“You find questions everywhere in the simplest things,” said Petr
Petrovich. “Don’t bother about me. You’ve got a large enough audience.”
“Go on, please,” said the gentleman with the gold glasses.
“If you wish.... I’ll be more than glad, for I’ve got to get it off my
mind. I stopped——”
“You stopped,” said Petr Petrovich laughingly, “with Alcibiades.... A
story, so to speak, from the Ancient Times. Now for the Middle Ages....”
Pavel Semenovich paid no attention to this sally and turned to the new
member of the group:
“You see how it was. The thing was this way: Gavrilo was married and
living by himself.... In M. Budnikov’s table still lay the ticket with
the two lines.... There were ugly rumors about it and, of course, they
were exaggerated. Gavrilo was the only one who didn’t know of them.
He kept on working as before, did all he could, and tried.... He was
a muscular symphony in performance, with his eyes full of general
satisfaction and good humor....
“And then Rogov suddenly turned up. He was walking along the path by the
yard; he stopped, thought a moment, and called Gavrilo.
“He was a good-hearted Russian.... He had pushed Rogov away a little
while before, but afterwards he thought no more of it. ‘What do you
want?’ he asked. ‘Come here, it’s something that concerns you. You’ll
thank me for it.’
“I’ll confess, something warned me. I felt like calling to Rogov and
stopping him, for I was sure he was up to some mischief. But it was after
the Alcibiades episode ... and I had no hope in my influence. I stayed at
the window. I saw Gavrilo leave his shovel, go up and listen. At first
his face showed that he did not comprehend and almost did not care. Then,
with the same air of uncertainty, he took off his apron, went into the
house, put on his cap and rejoined Rogov. Both walked down the street and
turned down the hill toward the river. A moment later Yelena came out to
the gate, stood and looked after the two men.... Her eyes looked sad and
frightened....
“From that day on Gavrilo’s character changed sharply. He came back
apparently rather drunk.... Perhaps from vodka, perhaps from the weight
of an unbearable burden which Rogov had suddenly put on his shoulders....
In the first place, the amount was absolutely staggering: a mountain of
money more than he could count. Then the source of the wealth reminded
him of Yelena’s past. Finally he couldn’t understand why she had never
mentioned it and this may have given rise to evil suspicions.... You
see it was like an explosion in his mind.... Those two lines which M.
Budnikov had made on the ticket kept sinking deeper and deeper into
Gavrilo’s soul.... The simple-hearted man was absolutely upset. The whole
symphony of directness and labor was suddenly interrupted.... Gavrilo
wandered around in confusion, as if he had been poisoned....
“It began to break him down.... At first he walked about grimly with
his face clouded. His work began to fall from his hands: he threw down
his axe and broke his spade.... Just like a well-built machine into
which some one has hurled a bolt.... When Budnikov in surprise began
to administer mild rebukes, that shovels cost money and he would have
to take it out of Gavrilo’s wages, that easy-going man answered with
unintelligible and unreasonable rudeness.... And Yelena wept more and
more....
“Then Gavrilo began to drink and carouse and his usual abode became the
dirty den, the ‘Crags’ on the bank, on the sand near the wharf.... This
was a small wooden house with a second floor, dark, tilting to one side
and propped up with beams. You could see it from the bank; evenings there
were usually two lighted windows and the open door, cymbals clashed, and
there was a lot of fiddling to amuse the guests.... From time to time,
you could hear confused shouts—both songs and quarrels and calls for the
police. It was an eternally restless place and rather threatening. The
very antithesis of the drowsy country life.... Bargemen from our modest
and usually idle wharf, workmen from the brickyards like moles which
had burrowed in the damp clay, professional beggars ... in a word, the
homeless, unfortunate, dissipated, and evil. Even the decent members of
the proletariat shunned this place. And that’s where Rogov took Gavrilo.
And Yelena was the next to learn the road to the ‘Crags’ so as to bring
her husband home....
“She did this surprisingly modestly, quietly, yes, even beautifully. Once
I was coming home from my lessons and as I entered the gate I saw Yelena
running toward me and fastening a kerchief on her head.
“‘Where are you going, Yelena?’
“A moment’s hesitation.
“‘You haven’t seen Gavrilo Stepanich go this way, have you?’ she asked.
“‘He must have.... But you shouldn’t go there, Yelena.’
“I wanted to stop her.... But she swept past me angrily and with some
apparent pride went to look for Gavrilo Stepanich, her husband, and
she was his lawful wife.... In a half-hour I saw her bringing Gavrilo
Stepanich by the arm. He was leaning on her but walking and looking
straight ahead with dull, faded and perplexed eyes. But he was walking.
By the gate he suddenly straightened up, pushed away her hand and stared
at her.... His face was dark, but his faded eye had a decided look....
“‘Who are you? Tell me who you are?... Oh?’
“She stopped and dropped her hand in despair. I thought of that spring
morning and their mutual oaths: ‘Remember God, Gavrilo Stepanich!’ I
was terrified: he’ll forget right now, this very minute, I thought....
Suddenly a spark of knowledge flickered up in his foolish face and he
swallowed hard. He didn’t say a word but went to his rooms silently....
She followed him in terror, respectfully and humbly....
“So it went on: Rogov would beckon to Gavrilo, and he’d go off and
begin to carouse. This man got enormous power over Gavrilo, and Yelena
objected, humbly, respectfully, timidly, but constantly. She probably
looked upon all this as a punishment sent to her as an atonement for
her ‘sin.’ She grew thin, her nice plumpness disappeared, her eyes sank
deeper in her head.... But when I looked at them I never could decide to
call them stupid. Her suffering was always wonderfully intelligent like
that of a bird.... She’d go to the saloons after her drunken husband,
every one would laugh at her on the street, and make rough jokes about
her.... She felt no shame for herself.... Only once she whispered:
‘That’s not right, Gavrilo Stepanich, people are looking at you....’
“One time when she was taking him back from the ‘Crags,’ he broke away
from her, ran up to Budnikov’s door and began to kick it wildly. Yelena
almost dropped, and, as if she did not have the strength to go after
him, she watched him like a man with the nightmare, who sees coming at
him something terrible which he has been expecting but he can’t struggle
against it.... The door suddenly opened and M. Budnikov appeared.... Calm
and haughty with an air of absolute superiority. To tell you the truth, I
was somewhat surprised.... Anyway, it was a delicate situation. I didn’t
know the details at the time, but I felt there was something wrong and
mistaken.... Suddenly clearness of vision, quiet, calm. And it wasn’t put
on. No,—that was easy to see.... It was merely absolute imperturbability.
“‘What do you want, Gavrilo?’ he said. ‘What are you kicking for? Don’t
you know how to ring?... You see, here’s the bell....’
“He pointed to the bell handle. Gavrilo looked at it and became confused.
Yes, there was a knob and there was really no reason to kick.... M.
Budnikov continued from the top step:
“‘Anyway, what are you thinking about and what do you want of me, you
r-rascal? Have I insulted you, dealt unjustly with you, held up your pay
for even one day? Yet you kicked.... All right, here I am.... What do you
want?’
“Gavrilo didn’t say a word....
“‘Well, then, I’ll tell you a thing or two myself: the shovel’s broken
again, the walk isn’t swept, the horse hasn’t been watered.... The horse
is a dumb animal and can’t talk ... but just the same it’s alive and
feels.... Hear it whinney?...’
“This argument so overwhelmed Gavrilo that he turned, thoroughly and
definitely crushed, and went straight to the stable. In a minute, just as
if he were sober, he took the horse to the trough.... M. Budnikov quietly
locked his door and came out. As he came past my wall he guessed that I
had seen the whole affair, stopped, and with a sad shake of his head,
remarked:
“‘Yes, every one’s talking of the people, the people.... How do they fall
in love with them?...’”