For all his cunning, he had to speak out at last. Yes, I am soon, very
soon, to die. To the ocean too. Well, well, since one must die, one may as well die in the spring. Ah, I have it, I will write the story of
all my life for myself. My father had a passion for gambling; my mother was a woman of
character ... a very virtuous woman. I was brought up badly and not happily. My father and mother both loved
me; but that made things no better for me. My father was not, even in
his own house, of the slightest authority or consequence, being a man
openly abandoned to a shameful and ruinous vice; he was conscious of
his degradation, and not having the strength of will to give up his
darling passion, he tried at least, by his invariably amiable and
humble demeanour and his unswerving submissiveness, to win the
condescending consideration of his exemplary wife. My mother's behaviour to me, on the contrary, was always the same,
kind, but cold. She loved me, but I did not love her. But enough for to-day. Sweetly and terribly, too, the moist air frets my sick chest. Spring,
spring is coming! Let us get back to my story. I was brought up, as I have said, very badly and not happily. We lived for the most part in the country,
and sometimes went to Moscow. My father died in the night from a stroke. 'What is it?' 'Come
along, come along, Alexey Mihalitch is dying.' ... A sleepy, unkempt doctor, smelling strongly of spirits, was brought. I had not a single
idea in my head; I was utterly numb, but I felt something terrible was
happening to me.... Death looked me in the face that day and took note
of me. On parting with life, to
you alone I stretch out my hands. Ah,
what's the good of all this? And so, we moved
to Moscow.... No, it certainly is not.... My life has not been different in any
respect from the lives of numbers of other people. What manner of man am I?... Superfluous,
superfluous.... That's a capital word I have hit on. Superfluous--that's just it. A supernumerary, and
that's all. I was apprehensive, reserved, and irritable,
like all sickly people. I not only seemed, I
positively became unnatural and affected. But,
thank goodness, the station is not far off. Superfluous.... how are you, Tchulkaturin!' It's
marvellous, really, when you think of it. And I was still. I proceed to my promised narrative. In short,
existence in the town of O---- is truly delightful. I was staying in
the town of O---- on official business. Oh--oh, my good sir! it's bad for you, keeping all on writing. I. But I'm dull, Terentyevna. SHE. Oh, you take a cup of tea now and lie down. I. But I'm not sleepy. SHE. Ah, sir! Come, lie
down, lie down; it's better for you. I. I shall die any way, Terentyevna! SHE. Well, do you want a little tea? I. I shan't live through the week, Terentyevna! SHE. Eh, eh! good sir, why do you talk so?... Am I really, even in your
eyes, not a man? Why, you spell
the word cork with two _k_'s in it.... She did not dress
very stylishly, only plain dresses suited her. I did not make friends
quickly as a rule, and if I were at ease with any one from the
first--which, however, scarcely ever occurred--it said, I must own, a
great deal for my new acquaintance. I did not know at all how to behave
with women, and in their presence I either scowled and put on a morose
air, or grinned in the most idiotic way, and in my embarrassment turned
my tongue round and round in my mouth. I was, as my way was, somewhat taken aback; however, I showed no
sign of it, but merely coughed, for good manners. 'I prefer siskins,' I answered, not without some effort. 'I
like siskins, too; but look at him, isn't he pretty? Look, he's not
afraid.' His name's Popka.' I went up, and bent down. I promptly went up to him, and
began talking to him very unconstrainedly. When a man is very happy, his brain, as is well known, is not very
active. Bizmyonkov
walked with Madame Ozhogin on his arm, I with Liza on mine. We walked side by side, stepping slowly over the green
grass. She walked arm in arm with me, as she
would with a brother. oh, superfluous man! We walked rather a long while, till evening, and talked little. We came out, stood still, and involuntarily we
both half shut our eyes; directly facing us, across a lurid mist, the
vast, purple sun was setting. We stood,
bathed in the blazing brilliance. She was
overwhelmed, deeply moved. She was confused, and did not raise her eyes. 'I don't know,' she answered, after a short silence. 'You are very fond, I see, of nature,' I pursued. I
waited for a confiding glance, a question.... But Liza looked at the
ground, and kept silent. and received no reply. I felt supremely happy,
and was already making all sorts of plans in my head. She did
not know ... while I ... I, as I have said above, was delighted at this
change.... Yes, by God, I was ready to expire, as they say, with
rapture. Falsehood is
just as living as truth, if not more so. And, besides, is love a natural
feeling? I asked Ozhogin. I inquired. 'Arrived yesterday evening, I'm told. I offered him a room here, but he
refused. 'About an hour. I was silent for a space. 'Has he come here for long, do you know?' 'Yes, I believe he has to be here for a fortnight.' 'The
prince,' I mused, 'is an upstart from the capital; he'll look down upon
us....' I had not seen him for more than an instant, but I had had time
to perceive that he was good-looking, clever, and at his ease. I don't
know why I did not stir, and kept the same expression on my face. '...Don't you think that's rather good, that
'is it possible?' I asked myself. 'But,' I went on, 'the walk in the wood, I
think ... Fie on me! my God, what a wretched creature I am!' I said at
last, out loud. I had not anticipated it. Liza, in the most innocent way,
paid no attention to me. I will say straight out without
further delay that Liza fell passionately in love with the prince from
the first day she saw him, and the prince fell in love with her
too--partly from having nothing to do, and partly from a propensity for
turning women's heads, and also owing to the fact that Liza really was
a very charming creature. That first evening.... Oh, that first evening! He talked not to Liza alone, but all he said was of
course really for her. No, she was not angry with
me!... Alas, it was quite the contrary! My position was
excessively absurd. I was, as I have said already, never
distinguished for eloquence; but now everything I had in my mind took
flight, as it were, in the presence of the prince, and I was left bare
and bereft. In short, I know no idea that I did not worry
myself with at that time. Why it did not occur to me I don't know.... Possibly, even then,
I had a presentiment I should not have long to live in any case. Bizmyonkov, always polite and ready to
do services, avoided me. I fancied even at that time that I had in him
a companion in misfortune--that he too loved Liza. Tremendous
preparations were, of course, put in hand. Besides, I felt that my presence would be felt as a
constraint by Liza. Bizmyonkov took my place. And all this little world was
revolving round its sun--round the prince. She was apparently conscious that she was the queen of the ball,
and that she was loved. I went up
to her, and, with a perfunctory scrape of my heels, invited her to the
dance. Happily I felt full of wrath, and my partner did not
make me shy. They were continually invited; but I
suffered less when they were both dancing; and even when they were
sitting side by side, and smiling as they talked to each other that
sweet smile which hardly leaves the faces of happy lovers, even then I
was not in such torture; but when Liza flitted across the room with
some desperate dandy of an hussar, while the prince with her blue gauze
scarf on his knees followed her dreamily with his eyes, as though
delighting in his conquest;--then, oh! They were beginning the
figure called _la confidente_. 'Yes, you!' Bizmyonkov led Liza back
to her place. 'Ah, yes!' he said, turning to me
with a smile, 'by the way, I have a little matter to talk to you
about.' 'Sh ... quietly,' he observed; 'decent people don't bawl. You would
like, perhaps, to fight me?' he observed, with an ironical smile. Good-bye till we meet, Mr.... Mr. Shtukaturin.' Mr. Shtukaturin!... My name is Tchulkaturin.... He, of course, promptly
consented, and I went home. I am
not a coward. 'But she will not survive such a blow,'
I went on. 'No, better let him kill me!' In silence I bent my head,
in token of my agreement. Bizmyonkov at once took leave of us, and
departed. 'Go up to the barrier, if you please!' I obeyed. Bizmyonkov made him no answer. 'The duel is at an end,' and fired into the air. I was on the
point of making objections, on the point of demanding that he should
fire at me. But he came up to me, and held out his hand. 'Why, what's the matter with you?' He'll be able to dance by
to-morrow, if you like. 'Oh, so that's it!' I kept repeating, as I strode up and down my room. 'The
prince, wounded by me, and forgiving me... Yes, Liza is now his. My
few acquaintances shunned me as if I were a leper. In
reality, he, of all people, had no reason to be angry with me. This could not, as a fact, have
been quite to his liking. But I!... For myself, for my future, I renounced all hopes, at that
time. ... and so on. But to
get back to my story. pitiful race, indeed! ... But, away with philosophical reflections.... Of course, I was not
impudent enough to approach her, and only watched her from a distance. In the carriage with the prince, Liza
was ... I had not time to get a good
look at his face--the carriage galloped by too quickly,--but I fancied
that he too was deeply touched. At Petersburg, he was reported to be ill. The evening service had
only just begun, there were very few people; I looked round me, and
suddenly, near a window, caught sight of a familiar profile. I trembled all over, was about to go up to her, but stopped
short. I cried, when I had got into my room. I would not admit this for
anything in the world, if I were not writing only for myself.... 'Walk in,' he said; 'you are begged
to go in.' _March 30. I pressed the hands of both, sighed, turned my eyes
heavenward, and withdrew. I did not doubt that Liza still loved, and would
long love, the prince ... but as one reconciled to the inevitable, and
anxious myself to conciliate, I did not even dream of her love. In any case, I resolved to
have an explanation and to escape, at last, from suspense. Liza was sitting on
one of the benches, with her head drooping. she added, raising her eyes dejectedly. Bizmyonkov made her no answer. She was silent. 'And after all, why should he write? I always fancy I see on that man's hands ... his blood.' 'Tchulkaturin loves you,' observed Bizmyonkov. She stopped and
added slowly, 'Except yours. Yes, my friend, your love is necessary to
me; except for you, I should be lost. what is one to do, Lizaveta
Kirillovna!' But forgive me; it must be hard
for you....'
'Go on, go on! Bizmyonkov interrupted her. She pressed his hand. 'You are very good, Bizmyonkov,' she went on;' you are good as an
angel. I have
forgiven him, I am grateful to him. Bizmyonkov raised her hand to his lips. no!... He never deceived me, he never told me I should be his
wife; I never dreamed of it myself. They got up. Bizmyonkov and Liza were coming back along the same path. Both were
greatly agitated, especially Bizmyonkov. I fancied he was crying. I will be your wife.' Bizmyonkov kissed her hand: she smiled at him mournfully and moved away
towards the house. Bizmyonkov rushed into the thicket, and I went my
way. Now, tell me, am I not a superfluous man? Ah, it's bitter, bitter for
me!... I'm in a bad way. To-day is hot,
almost a summer day. I am very ill, I feel that I am
breaking up. I gossiped on, slumbering
reminiscences were awakened and drew me away. And here now,
there's no time to go on. Death, death is coming. The time is come ... the time is come!... And indeed, what does it matter? I have grown calm--certainly, and at
the same time ... Yes, I'm full of dread. Take your fill for the last time, my
eyes. Why do you fawn on me, poor dog? I
know these reminiscences are dismal and of no importance, but I have no
other. 'The emptiness, the fearful emptiness!' as Liza said. O my God, my God! it's impossible,
impossible, I know.... But to die stupidly,
stupidly.... Farewell, life! farewell, my garden! and you, my lime-trees! Farewell, farewell! Farewell, everything
and for ever! Farewell, Liza! It is over.... Life is over. The curtain is
falling. I am dying.... Live, you who are living,
'And about the grave
May youthful life rejoice,
And nature heedless
Glow with eternal beauty. 'Now, now, now, lads,' he said, 'no--ow.' They all
walked in silence, in a sort of solemn hush. I fed my horses, and I too was ferried over. I asked one of them. 'No, not far.' This was Svyatoe. I drove
into its outskirts. I stopped at the house of the village elder, a crafty and clever
'forester,' one of those foresters of whom they say he can see two
yards into the ground. Between
them stood in single file others, rather younger. I inquired. Yegor only rarely looked upwards, and walked on serenely and
confidently. I inquired. He went away; I was left alone. Oh, what have I done! Like
a dream, I repeated disconsolately. Are you greeting me, or bidding me farewell? Oh, can it be
there is no hope, no turning back? I got up. 'Let's go on; lead the way,' I said eagerly. We set off and wandered a
long while, till evening. We came out, but it was some time before we could find Kondrat. We
shouted, called to him, but he did not answer. We got
into the cart, and drove home. 'Why, have they let you off?' inquired Kondrat. replied the peasant, and he grinned. 'Filippov, is it? Oh, he's all right.' 'On account of Piotr Filippov, hey? 'Yes.' 'And whereabouts, now?' 'To the Charred Wood,' said Kondrat. His little blue eyes positively danced, like little imps. He
stood in a free-and-easy pose, his arms akimbo, and did not touch his
cap. 'Going home for a visit, eh?' It's not the weather for that, my lad; it's set
fair. 'Wo,' said Efrem. You mind; he'll be angry.' 'Get on with you, sea-drake! You see, he'll give me something to drink. Hey,
master, give a poor scoundrel a dram! he added,
shrugging his shoulder up to his ear, and grating his teeth. I questioned Kondrat, who, sitting in the
front, kept shaking his head, as though deliberating with himself. replied Kondrat, and he looked down. he
repeated. 'Yes. 'Yes, he's a Svyatoe man. Another man's property simply, as it were, takes
his eye. Yes, he's not afraid of any one. there he is back again, yes, back again, upon my soul! There's not a hive
he hasn't plundered.' 'I expect he doesn't spare the wild bees either?' 'To be sure. And he has a son. And won't he be a thief too, the son! Yes, he's a smart chap, that Efrem. We've to look out for mischief. 'Is he a sorcerer, then?' Well, he caught him, and in the dark he gave him a good
hiding. The deacon, when he knew him by his voice, was
fairly dumfoundered. The deacon fell down at his feet. "Take," says he, "what you
please." "No," says he. 'That deacon must be a fool,' I observed. Well, but what do you say to this? We had a police commissary then, a
sharp man. They look, and there he is coming to meet them.... One of them shouts,
"Here he is, hold him, tie him!" "But who," says he, "shouted hold him, tie him? You, Seryoga?" 'Why! 'Frightened, yes.... But he looked
at me, and beckoned to me with his hand like this. "Come along," says
he, "Kondrat, don't be afraid. Let me show you how to live in the
forest, and to keep dry in the rain." I went up to him, and he was
sitting under a fir-tree, and he'd made a fire of damp twigs: the smoke
hung about in the fir-tree, and kept the rain from dripping through. He put them to shame, he
did, the chaps.... he commented. 'Eh, mercy upon us!' 'Where, where?' we asked. 'Yonder, see, in front, where we 're going.... A fire it is! Efrem
there, Efrem--why, he foretold it! If it's not his doing, the damned
fellow!...' I glanced in the direction Kondrat was pointing. 'No, we haven't. 'Yes. It galloped off. Kondrat, too, whipped up his pair. 'Overground? With an underground
fire, now, it's a difficult job to deal. There's only one means of
safety--digging ditches,--and do you suppose that's easy? 'But it's fire all the same,' I protested. 'Overground fire,' repeated
Kondrat. said Yegor suddenly, behind my back. 'Let's
go on.' asked Kondrat. 'Take the left, over the dry bog; we shall get through.' 'Well, Yegor!' cried Kondrat all at once. 'Come, sit down. He is dead now, like most of my schoolfellows. It consisted of a father and
mother, two daughters, and a son. They were relations of my mother's. He was very discreet, but severe in his behaviour,
confident in his criticisms and utterances, and dignified in his
silence. 'Oh, I hadn't time.' 'He always does shriek like that,' observed Sophia. asked Sophia. 'There's a beggar,' responded Varvara. 'Ha, ha!' came Varvara's short, abrupt laugh. ....'Popka! Sophia stood still in front of me, and looked me straight in the face. 'And you, what did you say?' I expect I was pretty absurd too. One's sure to be sorry for it afterwards, but then it's too late.' 'Why, did you let out some secret?' asked Sophia. Sophia turned away, and began walking up and down the room again. I
stared at her, raging inwardly. She's made of stone,
simply. Sophia stopped. 'What is it?' By the way, I've something I
want to say to you,' I added, dropping my voice. she inquired. She played rather badly, but with feeling. she rejoined, going on playing, and keeping her eyes
fixed on her fingers. 'Why are you saying
this?' 'Yes, you do.' I asked her in some perplexity. 'You have no
answer to make me?' answered the man. 'Why are you going? Her face was paler than
usual, and her eyelids were a little red. I went away, and I really don't know how I got home. I felt very miserable, wretched and miserable beyond description. What had
taken him to Siberia, God knows. He was very good at lessons too. He was
reading. I glanced at the cover of the book as I passed, and read
_Schiller's Werke_ on the back. I stopped short. I questioned Pasinkov.... 'What is it you are reading of Schiller?' I asked, with the same
haughty insolence. Come and sit here by me on the bench.' I hesitated a little, but I sat down. He spoke, as a rule, little, and with noticeable difficulty. And
afterwards, what mournful conversations passed between us. 'Seek
consolation in art,' I said to him. 'And in friendship,' I added. 'And in friendship,' he
repeated. Oh, happy days!... It was a grief to me to part from Pasinkov. His influence on me was most beneficial. where youth is. Our meeting was most joyful. ... In soul, too, Pasinkov was unchanged. She was walking with
Asanov. After a brief pause, Yakov asked me if I were unwell. Yakov made no reply, and took up a book. I wondered. I demanded. He went away. ... he asked me. I had not the strength to answer, but I nodded in assent. 'Yes.' 'Yes, yes, yes!...' he queried. And he took up his hat. 'To Asanov.' 'But I won't let you. Why, aren't you in fault?' 'You have been at Asanov's?' 'Yes.' 'Well, and he?--made a great to-do, I suppose?' 'No, I can't say that. I expected more ... 'Well, and have you seen any one else besides?' I asked, after a brief
pause. 'I've been at the Zlotnitskys'.' 'Ah!...' I did not dare look Pasinkov in the
face.) 'Well, and she?' Yes, she is a
kind-hearted girl. She felt awkward at first, but she was soon at ease. 'I told her what was necessary.' I pronounced
dejectedly....
'Why? No, you can go occasionally. I cried, hardly keeping back my
tears. I tried, as far as possible, to spare her and myself from
such painful sensations. 'Hullo, friend!' I didn't know you.' 'Yes, sir, with him, to be sure ... whom else would I be with?' 'To be sure! This way, please, this way ... we're stopping
here at the tavern.' I asked him. 'Ah, sir, he's in a poor way ... in a poor way, sir! He's not long for this world, I'm afraid. 'Yes, sir. 'Oh no, sir. 'Please come up, sir!' I'm not so bad.' 'Tell me, please, Yasha,' I began; 'what's this Elisei's been telling
me ... you were wounded?' yes, it's quite a history,' he replied. Yes, I was wounded, and only fancy what by?--an arrow.' upon my word!...' Well, I was wounded in an absurd fashion
too. And
not accidentally--observe--not at sports of any sort, but in a battle.' A splendid
country, Siberia! Rich, fertile--every one will tell you the same. I
liked it very much there. Now, here I am going to get completely cured.... I caught cold, I suppose. (And he took my hand. 'What is it, Elisei? Why, he's dying, isn't he?' I questioned the
faithful servant. 'Yes, sir,' he responded at last. 'Do me the favour, Mr. I'd have come anyway,' and he followed
me. 'Tell me, please,' I began, as soon as he had dropped into a chair, 'is
my friend's condition serious? 'Yes,' answered the fat man, tranquilly. 'Yes, it's serious.' 'He may.' It's possible. you might.' 'Why so?' 'Why, is he so bad?' 'Yes, he's run down.' 'He received a wound.... We were both silent for a while. Why, you're an allopath, aren't you?' 'As you please.' 'I asked. 'Yes, I must have a look at him.' And he went out. I did not follow him; to see him at the bedside of my poor, sick friend
was more than I could stand. I questioned him in a whisper. 'I have decided, doctor, to send to the chief town. I went in to Pasinkov. he asked. A doctor ought to be phlegmatic, oughtn't he? I did not, of course, try to controvert this. he
answered. 'If you will, I shall be delighted. Look,
there are my books in the window.'... he asked. 'Lermontov.' 'Ah, Lermontov! But Lermontov's fine too. My father and mother, hardly
Will you find living.... Queer.' I turned red. 'She was married, I suppose?...' 'To Asanov, long, long ago. 'To be sure, to be sure, so you did. Well, and are they supposed to be happy?' 'I don't know, really... I fancy they 're happy. They live in the
country, in ---- province. I've never seen them, though I have been
through their parts.' 'I think so.... By the way, Pasinkov?...' He glanced at me. 'I told her everything, the whole truth.... 'Not very soon, but I got over it. Pasinkov turned over, facing me. 'How I loved her, God only knows. I've never spoken of it to any
one, to any one in the world, and I never meant to ... but there! "On
earth, so they tell me, I have not long to stay." ... What does it
matter?' I could only wonder, 'Is it possible? But it's all no matter. Read me something else, more cheerful.' It's for us, brother, to appreciate, not to create.... All our life's a dream, and the
best thing in it is dreaming too.' I queried. 'Poetry's a dream too, but a dream of paradise.' I did not think he would get
to sleep quickly, but soon his breathing became more even and
prolonged. I went away on tiptoe, turned into my own room, and lay down
on the sofa. 'Come in to my master,' he said. 'He's delirious.' He was not lying down, but sitting up in
bed, his whole body bent forward. His eyes were wandering. I went up to him, called him by his name--he did not answer. Here he is!... Here he is! Must go, look for my papers.... Ah! Cold.... Ah! No, it's an arrow flying.... Ah, how quickly, and straight into
my heart!... You, Sonitchka?' I glanced at
Elisei; he was standing, his hands clasped behind his back, gazing
ruefully at his master. A dreamer I was born, a dreamer! Dreaming, dreaming.... What is dreaming? Ugh!...' I went back into
my room. Worn out by the cruel night, I slept soundly. 'Ah, sir!' He was lying motionless. He recognised me. you are going to live....'
'No, no! I am dying.... Here, take this as a keepsake.' I took
it. she said. 'Sit down, please....'
We sat down. 'We are both changed,' she began. 'I've been a rolling stone,' I answered. And she's good at her lessons; I must say that
for her.' I asked her. 'I expect they spoil you,' I observed. everyone, I expect; your parents to begin with.' 'Yes, I am here on business.... And are you too?' 'Yes.... Lidia was beginning. 'Quoi, mon enfant?' 'Tell me, please,' Sophia Nikolaevna began again; 'do you remember, you
had a friend ... what was his name? 'Yes, yes, Pasinkov ... where is he now?' 'He is dead.' But, why did you speak of him, may I ask?' 'Lidia,'
she added; 'run away to your nurse.' asked the little girl. 'Yes.' 'Tell me, please, all you know about Pasinkov.' 'Because I know it, know it for a fact.' 'My sister, Varia.' 'Yes.' 'You have surprised me,' I observed at last. she inquired. 'No.' I was silent for a little. 'All
right, you can go,' I said aloud. 'There's a girl ...' he began, 'here to see you.' 'No.... What is it?' So here is this girl,
wants to see you. I said to her,
"Come along; if the master allows it, I'll let you see him." 'Ask her in, ask her in, of course. But ... what is she like?' Russian.' 'Well, yes ... he was fond of her. She's a good sort of girl.' 'Ask her in, ask her in.' Elisei went out and at once came back. Elisei said to her; 'go on, don't be afraid.' I went up to her and took her by the hand. I asked her. She was tidily dressed. I pursued. I asked her to sit down. Elisei went out. 'Yes, in Novgorod,' she answered, clasping her hands under her
kerchief. 'Yes.' 'I have his letters,' she went on. 'Here, look.' 'Read them,' she
added. Look at the others. There's one from Siberia. Here, read this.' They were very affectionate, even tender. I inquired. I did go to Yakov Ivanitch's aunt, but she is very poor
herself. 'Petrovna,' answered Masha, and she cast down her eyes. she asked. I said. I'm not like
a stranger to you, you know.... 'Take it,' I persisted. I will give you my address.' 'I only met him the day before his death, Maria Petrovna. But I'm not
sure ... I
whispered, with a catching in my breath. Every one, as usual, hears his opponent's views, and every one retains
his own convictions. Why, then, do you take so much trouble?' You didn't
understand me, though. We pondered. cried another, 'we don't! Only mind, if we don't care for
your story, we shall hiss you.' 'If you like,' answered the small man. 'To the point, to the point,' we shouted. 'No, gentlemen!' 'I am an ordinary
mortal. And so I lived at my German's, as the saying is, in clover. His name was Bobov. This Bobov got in
the habit of coming to see me, and seemed to like me. I, too ... do you
know, I didn't like him, nor dislike him; I was more or less
indifferent.... Kolosov has arrived." Come, old boy, let's go to him
directly. "An exceptional man, my boy, let me assure you!" "An exceptional man," I answered; "then you go alone. ... "Oh no! Directly facing
the door Kolosov was sitting on a chest of drawers, smoking a pipe. His face... But youth ... youth....'
'Oh, talk not to me of a name great in story! 'By Jove, what a memory he's got! 'In one word, Kolosov was the soul of our set. By the way ... tell me the truth, hasn't it
happened to you to sit smoking a pipe with an air of as weary solemnity
as if you had just resolved on a grand achievement, while you were
simply pondering on what colour to choose for your next pair of
trousers?... he said, and gave me
his hand. I did not know what to say, I was choking....
Kolosov looked at me and softly laughed. It
struck eight. I took his hand. 'Kolosov, truly, truly I
deserve your confidence!' He looked straight into my eyes. 'Gavrilov did not ask me.' I was silent at once. 'Yes.' We went out, took a cab to one of the gates of the town. Kolosov went on in front very quickly; I followed him. inquired Kolosov. 'Gavrilov is dead,' answered Kolosov
mournfully. 'Play, of course he does!' Kolosov looked at me. I shut him up. 'No! you shan't.' 'No! you shan't.' My position was, as you perceive, not
merely an unenviable one: it was positively idiotic. I, you may be sure, was inwardly wishing him at the devil. Varia was
embarrassed; I too was embarrassed. 'In a few days, for certain.' 'Bring him too,' she added, with a very sly smile. This man was Mr.
Sidorenko. hi,
sister!' Kolosov went in. 'Kolosov,' answered Andrei. The summer came on; he would sometimes take his gun, put on
his knapsack, and set off as if he were going shooting. Besides,
whom should I be left with?' Such was the retired lieutenant, Ivan
Semyonitch. Varia was an ordinary girl, and yet there are very few such girls in
holy Russia. They were happy.... ... He looked coldly at me, and
answered quietly, 'No, we're not going.' ... 'Kolosov has not come,' I muttered with
an effort. she repeated. I glanced at her: she turned away her head; two
big tears rolled slowly down her cheeks. he asked me, with a queer twitch of
his left eyelid. 'Yes, I've come alone,' I stammered. I wondered. I began talking to her. Varia came downstairs, pale and sorrowful. I glanced at him in perplexity. I did not say a word in reply.... 'I must speak to you,' she whispered. I pressed her hand without a word, and
we parted. It was a grey autumn day, but soft and warm. We were both silent. I don't sleep at nights, I
keep weeping.... What am I to do! I arrived at Kolosov's. Kolosov looked at me in perplexity, tore open the note, ran his eyes
over it, said nothing, but smiled composedly. 'Oh, ho!' 'Yes, I was there yesterday, alone,' I answered abruptly and
resolutely. 'Ah!...' observed Kolosov ironically, and he lighted his pipe. 'Andrei,' I said to him, 'aren't you sorry for her?... I was genuinely moved. Kolosov did not speak, and smoked his pipe. why?' I interrupted him. I fired up. 'Stop,' I said to him; 'stop! 'Why?' Kolosov looked at me, and responded serenely,
'Perhaps so.' 'You are angry with me?' 'No,' he answered, smiling his sweet smile, and holding out his hand to
me. ... he asked me, pulling his cap over his
eyes. 'Very, very much!...' Console her, Nikolai; you love her, you know.' On reaching home, I was in a perfect fever. He had not been jealous of me, he told me to console
her.... But is Varia such an ordinary girl, is she not even worthy of
sympathy?... But afterwards...who knows, my devotion will
touch her. I will give myself up to her
wholly, irrevocably.... Varia! I
wept... I felt faint... 'You are alone again,' Varia whispered to me. 'Yes.' 'Well?'... I glanced at her.... of Kolosov, nothing but Kolosov! Marry her.... Varia was sitting alone in the
drawing-room reading Karamzin. I asked her at
last. 'Karamzin.' 'What, are you taking up Russian literature?...' 'Tell me, haven't you come from Andrei?' I fancied she meant to get up, to
go away, to refuse me. I have long loved you. 'Take the apple, it's a nice apple, really!' ... 'Yes, she will certainly refuse me.... And why was I
in such a hurry!'... Speaking of myself,
I used the expression 'your son.' On going out of my room, I stood
still in the doorway. 'Oh, heavens!' I fancied that she tried to avoid my eyes.... 'Speak to papa,' she articulated at last. ... 'Yes.'... I made vows of love, of
constancy to Varia. ... It's clear
she's glad to marry any one.... Well, what of it? all the better for
me.'... Possibly, gentlemen, my story does not strike you
as sounding true. I waked up, and, reflecting on the previous day, I felt a
certain discomfort.... I was, as it were, ashamed of all my own
actions. ... I come back to my story. The evening was
cheerful, but not reassuring. Varia was neither one thing nor the
other, neither cordial nor melancholy ... neither pretty nor plain. Varia said to me, as soon as we were
left alone. I said to Varia. said she. At a certain age, to be
natural is to be extraordinary.... It is time to finish, though. asked some one. 'I don't know,' answered the story-teller. 1864. I was staying at an hotel. The same night Alexey was worse, and the
next day he died. I did not know what to say to him, and sat in silence by his
bed. I
can fancy his face.'... This packet contained letters--a girl's letters to Alexey, and copies
of his letters to her. Alexey Petrovitch
S---- had known Marya Alexandrovna B---- long before, in their
childhood, I fancy. Alexey Petrovitch had a cousin, Marya Alexandrovna
had a sister. The summer had passed by, the
autumn came; they parted. In short, I was surprised. If you do not care to
listen to me, fling this letter forthwith into the fire. And so, this is how it has all worked out.... If
you're angry, you'll be sure to read my missive to the end. He
realises that he has come at an unlucky moment, but there's no help for
it.... I do not ascribe to you any bad motives ... on the contrary, I'm
grateful for your sympathy ... but we are strangers to each other, and
I, just now at least, feel not the slightest inclination for greater
intimacy with any one whatever.--With sincere esteem, I remain, etc.,
MARYA B.
III
FROM ALEXEY PETROVITCH TO MARYA ALEXANDROVNA
ST. PETERSBURG, _March_ 30. Thank you, Marya Alexandrovna, thank you for your note, brief as it
was. But don't be uneasy; I want to talk to you, not
of you, but of myself. Save me. I do not ask of you any sort of confessions--oh
mercy, no! I will entertain you, I will really. Well, perhaps you are right too. That is why I
am writing to you.... Marya
Alexandrovna, are you willing to listen to me? Very well, then.--Yes! Thanks, Marya Alexandrovna, thanks! You understand me. Mine, anyway,
felt a sick pang. Yes, my youth is gone, gone never to return!... Here it lies before me,
as it were in the palm of my hand. I will confess to you, Marya Alexandrovna, I am very
sorry for myself. Now I have come to my senses, but it's too late. And, at the same time, I cannot greatly blame myself. Or, to put it better,
we are all to blame, and yet we can't be blamed. Wait a bit, wait a bit! Nature, benign and stately, took us to
her bosom. We plunged, swooning, into a flood of bliss. oh, think of me!' But enough, enough! Besides, it is all over
and done with. What was good in our past moved me, and on that good I
will take leave of you for a while. I am going out for a breath here of the May air, in which
spring is breaking through the dry fastness of winter with a sort of
damp, keen warmth. But
you will, I hope, come to my aid. You must try, on your side, to
understand me, if only to find out why I am indignant with you. No
matter, though. Now,
consider what you do to us. Besides, I don't know anything of others and cannot judge of
them. Picture to yourself such a girl. She demands much from life, she reads, and dreams ...
of love. you will say.... But
there are no heroes in our times.... Anyway, he directs her as he
pleases. And so, the parting comes.... It is less disturbing for you to deceive us.... I will say more. It is only then,
when she is left alone, that she finds out the sweetness of
solitude--not fruitless, but filled with memories and ideas. It is only
then that she finds out herself, comes to her true self, grows
strong.... Well, what then? Why, it's all a thing of the
past for him. But, mercy on us! My hands are trembling, and I am quite in a fever.... My face burns. It
is time to stop.... I beg you earnestly, go on with your confession. I fancy
you, too, will be the better for it, and it will do me great good. Once more, I beseech you, Marya Alexandrovna, go on
writing to me.... ... But
I have no wish now to speak, I want to listen to you. She is, he will say, such an impassioned old person, and so
on, and so on. Of course, all this comes straight to me. This surprises
you, perhaps. And all that, too, is no
consequence. And she's right; I envy her....
And yet, I feel I should not care to change with her, all the same. to an ideal, or what? Yes, to
my ideal. Tell me, is he
right? I hasten to answer your letter, dear Marya Alexandrovna. I will confess
to you that if it were not ... But, I
repeat, you women are better than we.... besides, you have no need of it. You are, I know, already twenty-six. There's no
help for it. You will say that that makes it no
better for you; but I am of opinion that suffering in company with
thousands is quite a different matter from suffering alone. It is not a
matter of egoism, but a sense of a general inevitability which comes
in. But I fancy I have gone off too
much into abstractions. I trust you. Here is
the question. There is one of the
neighbours here ... he was not here when you were, and you have not
seen him. He ... I say, _was_ ... as though it were over! By the way, do
you know I feel very sorry for you? I should like to write more to you, but it's impossible. Yours
devotedly, M. B. But he is positively too old. Besides,
why be in a hurry? But
confess, it was agreeable to see the old scoffer at your feet.... I am
enclosing a copy of it to you. I always felt drawn to you,
my dear boy--on my honour I did. My dear boy, I am more
happy than I can possibly tell you. But
there, you can't understand it; you 're a philosopher and always were a
philosopher. Her name is Nina, Ninetta, as you like; she's the daughter
of a rich merchant here. I fancied the door
creaked.... No, she's not coming yet, the heartless wretch! I know nothing about it, my
boy, and I don't want to. ... she's running up
the staircase, singing.... She is here. Well, my boy, good-bye.... I've
no time for you now, I'm so sorry. Well, good-bye. ... We are
going, going. ... Ah, what is it to be young! ... ... He is living ... while I ... I am not living.... Why am I staying on
here, in Petersburg? I am going, going to-morrow, if I can. Why, after all, grow stale here! Good-bye
till we meet, Marya Alexandrovna. _July_ 9. By the way, your sister is still
staying at your aunt's, isn't she? M.B. If that's so, I wish you all
happiness. If you do not even now answer me, I will not trouble you
further. By the way, we are now hemmed
in all round by deadly drifts of snow. If I am wrong, prove it to me. But I fancy I am not
wrong. In any case, good-bye. In brief, I fell in love with a dancing-girl. But, I fancy, no one but I fell in
love with her,--at least, no one was in love with her as I was. But I ... You will suppose, perhaps, that she had brains. In fact, I never for one instant deceived myself about her. I, at least, never anticipated it. And all this for nothing, in the fullest sense of the
word, for nothing. Love, indeed, is not a feeling at all,
it's a malady, a certain condition of soul and body. One cannot doubt about it, one cannot outwit it,
though it does not always come in the same way. Yes, love is a fetter, and the heaviest to
bear. They, too, have not far to go.