CORNELL 
 UNIVERSITY 
 
 LIBRARY 
 
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 Library 
 
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 tine Cornell University Library. 
 
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 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924027514870 
 
TALES OF THEUE CENTURIES. 
 
 BY 
 
 MICHAEL ZAGOSKIN. 
 
 TRANSLATED FEOM THE RUSSIAN 
 
 JEREMIAH CURTIN. 
 
 BOSTON: 
 LITTLE, BROWN, AND COMPANY. 
 
 1891. 
 
 Cornell University Library 
 PG 3447.Z2A23 1891 
 
 Tales of three centuries. 
 
 3 1924 027 514 870 
 
HARVAKO COLLEGE LIBRARt 
 
 SKELDON FUND 
 
 JULY 10. 1940 
 
 Copyright, 1891, 
 By Jeebmiah Cdetin. 
 
 / 
 
 Umiversitt Pkess: ' 
 John Wilson and Son, Cambkidge. 
 
THIS VOLUME 
 
 13 DEDICATED TO MY DEAR YOUNG FRIEND, 
 
 HERBERT HUXLEY FISKE, 
 
 WHOSE CAREER WILL, I TRUST, ADD NEW LUSTRE TO THE 
 
 NAME WHICH HE INHERITS AND TO THE NAMES 
 
 THAT WERE GIVEN HIM. 
 
 JEREMIAH CUETIN. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Page 
 An Evening on the Hopyor 1 
 
 The Three Suitors 145 
 
 KuzMA RoscHiN 242 
 
INTRODUCTION. 
 
 npHE few explanations which may be of use in this 
 , •*- , volume will be arranged best, no doubt, in the 
 same sequence as the divisions of the book itself. 
 I may begin, therefore, by stating that the town of 
 Serdobsk can be found on any good map of Russia 
 in the part devoted to the government of Samara, in 
 which is indicated also the river Hopyor, which falls 
 into the Don. 
 
 Kolchugin's adventures in the first tale were caused 
 by Suvoroff and the colonel's wife on the one hand, 
 and by Pan Dubitski and the magician Tvardovski 
 on the other. Whatever the positions may have 
 been which they held during life, the Russian lady 
 who so clung to her husband, whether from fondness 
 or love of rule, and the unwilling host at Byali 
 Folvark are very obscure persons now, and need no 
 comment. With the other two characters the case 
 is far different. Suvoroff's fame is increasing ; even 
 the present year has seen a new and elaborate biog- 
 raphy of him by an English officer. Tvardovski, 
 though little known bej'ond Poland and Russia, will 
 receive justice outside the Slav world whenever his 
 story is fittingly told. 
 
Vlll INTRODUCTION. 
 
 Suvoroff's career, one of the most striking in mili- 
 tary history, and of great interest to the student of 
 human affairs, was varied by a multitude of curious 
 and remarkable events. The Russian general was a 
 man of genius, a great original, who did everything 
 in his own fashion, a wit with laconic speech, a hero 
 in conquering men and things. 
 
 Among many reminiscences of the great field- 
 marshal still current in Russia I will give in brief 
 form one which was told me by his grandson, Prince 
 Alexander Arkadievich Suvoroff, governor-general 
 of St. Petersburg within recent years. 
 
 After his Italian campaign Suvoroff, with an army 
 reduced and weakened from fighting and march- 
 ing as well as scant rations, had to turn north- 
 ward, and begin his celebrated and difficult passage 
 of the Alps. On a certain day the men were so 
 exhausted that they refused to go farther. The}- 
 declared that thej' could not advance, and asked to 
 be led back. 
 
 Suvoroff drew them up in line, and gave command 
 to dig a grave in front of the army. When it was 
 dug he stood on the brink and said, "You wish to 
 retreat ; bury me before you go. I cannot go with 
 you." With that he sprang into the grave and com- 
 manded, "Now cover me!" There was a mightj-^ 
 outcry in the ranks, and great wonder. No eartli 
 was put in the grave; there was no more talk of 
 retreat, and that Russian army crossed the Alps. 
 
 The storming of Ismail, at that time a Turkish 
 fortress on what is now the Russian bank of the 
 Danube, is the most terrible and magnificent action 
 of its kind on record or in memory, and an action 
 
INTRODUCTION. IX 
 
 which bears on eveiy trait of it the stamp of Suvo- 
 roff' s character and mind. A Russian army was en- 
 camped before Ismail, — a strong, roomy fortress, 
 well provisioned and occupied by an army larger 
 than that outside its walls. On the rear of the for- 
 tress was the river by which relief and provisions 
 could be brought. The place could not be taken by 
 siege without a long and tedious investment by water 
 as well as land : and winter was then drawing near, 
 — a timely warning to take Ismail or withdraw. The 
 Russians were in doubt, discontent, and low spirits, 
 when earlj' one morning a small, slender man with 
 one Cossack attendant was seen to ride out of the 
 mist, and come slowly over the steppe toward the 
 camp. "When the two had drawn near, it was seen 
 that the small, slender man was Suvoroff. All knew 
 that he had come to command the Russians and take 
 Ismail. 
 
 The attack and the plan of it were soon deter- 
 mined. The Russian soldiers, roused to the highest 
 enthusiasm, were confident in themselves and sure 
 of Suvoroff. 
 
 One morning before daybreak the Russians were 
 under the walls, and the storm began. Resolution on 
 the Turkish side was not inferior to that on the Rus- 
 sian. The day before Suvoroff summoned the Turk- 
 ish Pasha to surrender. The answer was : " Sooner 
 will the sky touch the earth than the Russians enter 
 Ismail." To which Suvoroff replied : "To-morrow 
 before sunset the Russian flag will be waving on the 
 square of Ismail." On the Turkish side every mis- 
 sile that could be hurled was hurled, every weapon 
 that could be raised was raised, against the Russians 
 
X INTRODUCTION. 
 
 while before the walls and climbing the walls. On 
 the walls, inside the walls, everywhere the Russians 
 were met face to face, foot to foot, hand to hand, 
 with a furious, a raging resistance. When Kutuzoff,-' 
 who led one of the storming divisions, reached the 
 top of the wall and held it amidst desperate fighting, 
 he doubted of success, and sent word to that effecti 
 "Tell Kutuzoff that I make him commandant of 
 Ismail," was the answer sent back by SuvoroflT. With 
 the supreme eifort Kutuzoff and his men entered 
 Ismail ; the other divisions entered as well. On 
 the streets, on the bazaar, in the houses, wherever 
 men could fight the Turks fought ; and it was only 
 when resistance had become phj'sically impossible 
 that it ceased. 
 
 At four o'clock in the afternoon the Russian flag 
 was raised over Ismail. 
 
 N(iver had a fortress been more gallantly defended, 
 and never has there been an attack which deserved 
 the name " storm" more completely. So perfect in 
 this case was the union between brain ^nd muscle, 
 between head and members of that complex bod_y, 
 an army, that the onset of the Russians was like the 
 action of an elemental force ; and if there was waver- 
 ing, or rather a halt, caused by balanping forces, as 
 when Kutuzoff was on the wall, the scale was soon 
 turned by the impelling power in the rear of the 
 storm, in the brain of Suvoroff. When his work 
 was done at Ismail, Suvoroff, the small, slender man, 
 mounted his horse, and rode away over the steppe 
 with his one Cossack attendant. 
 
 1 Kutuzoff was commander-in-chief of the Russians against 
 Napoleon in 1812. Ismail was taken in 1790. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XI 
 
 Pan Tvardovski is much mentionefl in Poland, and 
 because of the great variety of incidents connected 
 with the legend of his life is an interesting character, 
 whether considered as a figure on which so much 
 mythology has been fastened or as a subject for 
 the poet or the composer. The following is a brief 
 sketch of the magician's career. 
 
 Pan Tvardovski lived during the reign of Sigis- 
 mund Augustus, the last of the Yagellon kings. He 
 was ardently devoted to science from his youth ; in 
 manhood his fame spread rapidly throughout the 
 Commonwealth, and he was soon held to be the first 
 doctor in Poland. His reputation for learning was 
 onlj' surpassed by popular belief in his knowledge of 
 the supernatural. This belief was increased by his 
 method of life. No one was permitted to enter his 
 study except a devoted disciple, who never appeared 
 in the streets without a folio volume and a number 
 of dusky parchments. 
 
 The most famous instrument in Tvardovski's pos- 
 session was a metallic mirror, with which, as was 
 believed, he could burn houses at a distance, and in 
 which when lecturing on Homer he showed the stu- 
 dents of the Yagellon University images of the heroes 
 of the Iliad and Odyssey. 
 
 Very often he studied and made experiments till 
 the morning sunlight came in upon him. At such 
 times he would rest an hour or so in an arm-chair, 
 and occasionally hum a few words from a hymn-book 
 which his mother had left him on her death-bed, with 
 the injunction to read it and remember that he too 
 must die. After long labor and thinking Tvardovski 
 
XII INTRODUCTION. 
 
 discovered the formula by which he could summon 
 the devil. 
 
 On a dark night late in autumn he went to Kre- 
 menki, a mountain near Cracow ; there he repeated 
 the mysterious and mighty words. A terrible storm 
 came, great rocks were hurled about, trees torn from 
 their roots ; the mountain opened, a sheet of flame 
 rose, and with it the evil one in a red coat and a 
 pointed hat with a cock's feather. 
 
 " Why am I called?" asked the devil. 
 
 " I have called j'ou because I have power, because 
 I have secret wisdom, and wish you to serve me." 
 
 " What are your needs? " asked the demon. 
 
 " I must have wealth without stint, all enjoyments, 
 fame and honor." 
 
 "You may have them," was the answer, "but 
 your soul must be mine at the end of seven years." 
 
 Tvardovski hesitated a time, but at last agreed in 
 case his soul should be yielded up only in Rome, 
 ;where he promised to be before the end of seven 
 years. On these conditions Tvardovski signed a 
 pact with his blood, which the devil took and 
 disappeared. 
 
 On the return road to Cracow the magician was 
 surprised to hear all the church bells tolling ; this 
 tolling continued till he reached his own house. On 
 inquiry he found that he alone had heard it. Then 
 he grew wonderfully sad, for it seemed to him that 
 what he had heard was the death-knell of his own 
 soul. The bright sun of the following day, however, 
 brought to him cheerfulness, and he set about using 
 the power at his command. The first service he de- 
 manded was to collect all the silver of Poland into 
 
INTRODUCTION. XIU 
 
 one place, and hide it under a thick layer of sand. 
 This was done on that day, and according to popular 
 belief is the origin of the silver mine of Olkuts in the 
 province of Craco^. 
 
 Tvardovski was a hard taskmaster, and gave the 
 devil short and few resting-spells ; there was no end 
 to his caprices, which had to be gratified immediately. 
 "Wishing one day to make a trip up the Vistula with 
 a lady, he forced the devil to spring into the water 
 and push the boat ; the boat went on with the speed 
 of a modern steam-launch. At another time when 
 passing the Golden Horse Inn, which had an enor- 
 mous sign with a golden horse painted on it, he gave 
 command to have the beast taken from the sign and 
 saddled ; straightway a golden horse was on the 
 street, living, saddled, and ready for use. 
 
 When Tvardovski's fame was at its highest in 
 Poland he made the round of Europe, visited univer- 
 sities, delivered discourses at some, held disputes at 
 others, was entertained by scholars and men of dis- 
 tinction, paid homage to beautiful ladies, and for the 
 moment had all that his heart could desire. He 
 visited Rome, where he remained some time, and 
 returned to Cracow before the end of seven years. 
 
 One day while the magician was strolling through 
 a forest, the devil stood before him and said, " The 
 seven years have passed ; you must go to Eome 
 and give me your soul." 
 
 Tvardovski laughed and replied : "I have been 
 in Eome already according to contract, but care not 
 to go there a second time. I agreed to visit Rome 
 before the end of seven j-ears ; I did not promise to 
 stay there. Our contract provides that you may 
 
XIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 take me at the end of seven years, and only in 
 Rome ; it does not bind me to be in Rome at the 
 end of seven j-ears, but only before seven years 
 are over. My promise has been kept, and the con- 
 tract, though still binding on you, can affect me only 
 in case I go to Rome a second time, which I have 
 no thought of doing, and you have no means of 
 compelling me." 
 
 The devil, finding himself tricked and baffled, fell 
 into great anger, and crying out, " Miserable quib- 
 bler ! " tore up a tree by the roots, and hurled it at 
 the wizard, who had only partial success in dodg- 
 ing it ; his foot was injured so that he was lame. 
 Tvardovski at last drove the devil away by magic 
 words ; the fiend, howling with rage and disappoint- 
 ment, rushed through the forest like a whirlwind, 
 overturning everj-thing he met. 
 
 Tvardovski, in revenge for the injurj' to his foot, 
 procured a large tub of holy water, and forced the 
 devil to bathe in it a score of times. The devil 
 shudders at the sight of holy water ; the contact of 
 one drop is enough to make him scream with pain. 
 Tvardovski stood by and enjoyed the sight of his 
 enemy writhing and shrieking. At last, on receiving 
 promises of obedience for the future, he relented ; 
 but Tvardovski's demands were increased, the devil 
 was kept on the wing day and night, and had, in the 
 full sense of the word, a hell upon earth. Among 
 tasks now imposed on him was one to cover all the 
 walls of Tvardovski's great mansion with poppj^-seeds, 
 fastening each seed with three slender spikes, and 
 then thatch the whole building with beards of Jews. 
 
 After years of close study and enjoyment of the 
 
INTRODUCTION. XV 
 
 pleasures of life, Tvardovski felt that his strength 
 was decreasing and old age creeping on. Among 
 his many achievements was the discovery of a means 
 of renewing life. Having resolved to use this on 
 his own person, he called his disciple, and gave him 
 perfect instructions, oral and written. He was to 
 plunge a dagger into the breast of his master and 
 end his life, then prepare his body for burial. It 
 was to be anointed with various mixtui'es, placed 
 in a coffin, and packed closely' with decoctions and 
 magic herbs, then put in a grave, to remain there 
 seven years, seven months, seven days, and seven 
 hours. 
 
 The disciple shuddered at the thought of ending 
 the life of his master ; but since Tvardovski com- 
 manded he was obedient, and carried out every 
 instruction with scrupulous care. FaithfuUj' he 
 watched, counting the years, months, days, and 
 hours. It was a dark November night when the 
 last hour had passed. The disciple was in the lonely 
 graveyard with pickaxe and shovel. He removed 
 the earth and opened the coffin ; instead of the body 
 of his master he found a new-born infant, which he 
 took up and carried home ; next day it was as large 
 as if a year old, and in a couple of weeks at- 
 tained manhood, being the exact reproduction of 
 the magician. 
 
 Thanks to himself and his faithful disciple, Tvar- 
 dovski was young a second time. He had all the 
 wisdom and experience of his previous life ; the devil 
 was still bound by the contract, and could neither re- 
 fuse service nor claim reward for his labors unless he 
 found his taskmaster at Rome. 
 
XVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 A suspicion now entered Tvardovski's mind that 
 his disciple might divulge the secrets in his posses- 
 sion; to prevent this he turned him into a spider. 
 The magician continued his learned ^labors, and 
 when resting from them feasted and caroused with 
 young men of Cracow. His life was a strange mix- 
 ture ; with the wisdom and experience of an old man, 
 he had all the impulses and desires of j-outh. At 
 one time he toiled during the long hours of night, 
 seeking to penetrate Nature's remotest secrets, and 
 at another he entertained men with rich feasting and 
 the choicest of wines. 
 
 So j-ears passed and passed on till he felt that age 
 was coming, though slowly, still surely, upon him a 
 second time ; then he began to be troubled about his 
 covenant with Satan, who, outwitted for the moment, 
 might discover some method of winning his case. 
 Therefore he wished to recover the contract, and for 
 that purpose he went down to the infernal archives. 
 On the way he met the most awful sights and sounds ; 
 nothing but his magic could have saved him. The 
 contract could not be found, the journej' was vain, 
 and Tvardovski came back to the upper world. Soon 
 after his return from this journey he gave a feast to 
 his friends ; when dinner was over and healths were 
 going round, he was interrupted by some one wlio 
 begged him to visit a man verj' ill in the neighbor- 
 hood. Tvardovski consented to go. On the way 
 a suspicion rose in him that all was not right. He 
 passed through a barren heath ; a number of owls 
 hooted. Though the night was bright, there was 
 something uncanny in the air; still he determined 
 to go forward. At last he reached the house where 
 
INTRODUCTION. xvii 
 
 the sick man was lying. He entered quickly, without 
 looking at the building. Inside was a cradle, and in 
 it a weeping infant, which he took in his arms, paci- 
 fied, and then covered with his cloak. The devil 
 soon appeared. ■» 
 
 "You must come this time," said he to Tvardovski. 
 
 " You cannot take me here," retorted Tvardovski. 
 
 " Why not?" asked the devil. 
 
 "You must remember, of course, that you can 
 take me only in Rome." 
 
 " Oh," said the devil with a grin, " you have not 
 looked, it seems, at the sign of this inn ; if you had 
 you would have seen that you are in Rome." 
 
 Tvardovski's heart sank for a moment ; the devil 
 was advancing to take him. The magician threw 
 open his mantle, and uncovered the infant ; the devil 
 recoiled, unable to stand near a child without sin. 
 Having no other resource, he spoke of the honor of 
 a Polish nobleman, quoting the Latin phrase Verbtim 
 nobile debet esse stabile. The quotatibn so roused 
 the Polish pride of Tvardovski that he placed the 
 infant in the cradle and surrendered. 
 
 The devil took the magician and vanished through 
 the chimney. As they reached open space and rose 
 high in the air, owls hooted and unclean birds whirled 
 about in attendance. Tvardovski was borne swiftly 
 forward. Far beneath he saw the Carpathian Moun- 
 tains, and in the distance Cracow appeared as a 
 small spot on the earth ; around and above him 
 were the stars and the moon ; far below the places 
 where he had spent so much time, and which he was 
 never again to revisit. It seemed to him a dream. 
 All at once he fell to humming some words from his 
 h 
 
XVlll . INTRODUCTION. 
 
 mother's hymn-book. After a while he turned and 
 saw that the devil had gone ; he was alone and mo- 
 tionless, suspended in the air ; the holy words of the 
 hj'mn had released him. Suddenly a voice sounded 
 in the ears of Tvardovski, saying, "Here shalt thou 
 stay till the Day of Judgment." And there Tvar- 
 . dovski will hang till God judges all men. He is not 
 alone, however, for the faithful disciple whom he 
 turned into a spider hung to his cloak, and went 
 through the air with his master ; from time to time 
 the spider lets himself down on a web, learns what 
 is passing on earth, returns and tells all to Tvar- 
 dovski. On bright days the shepherds of the Car- 
 pathians think the}' see the great magician as a small 
 spot in the blue sky, and in the spider-webs floating 
 in the air and clinging to the bushes in the after- 
 noons, pieces of the ropes hj which the faithful but 
 ill-paid disciple travels up and down on his journej's. 
 
 In Kolchugin's second tale, " The Unexpected 
 Guests," the third of the series, there is a reference 
 to Holy Isaac of Kiefl". In the discussion which 
 follows the telling of the tale Zarutski, Asanoff's 
 nephew, contends that Kolchugin, the father, had no 
 guests at all, but merely' dreamed of the lawyer and 
 the Cossacks after he had read an account of Isaac's 
 experience with the devils in KieflF. The following 
 biography of Holy Isaac, taken by me from the Rus- 
 sian Lives of Saints, is the same, in substance, as that 
 which proved a stumbling-block to the elder Kolchu- 
 gin, caused him to fall into doubt, and to be visited 
 by devils either in a dream, as Zarutski insisted, or 
 in his waking hours, as he himself thought. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XIX 
 
 It is impossible to avoid temptation ; but lilfe gold 
 tried in the furnace a man who has overcome the 
 arch enemy's temptations becomes purified by strug- 
 gling. This is exemplified in the life of Holy Isaac, 
 the hermit of Kieff. He was a native of Toropets, 
 and had been a trader by occupation. When the 
 pious idea of becoming a hermit took possession of 
 his mind, he distributed all his goods to the poor, 
 and withdrew to the hermitage of Kieff, under direc- 
 tion of Antony and Theodosius. The great Antony-, 
 seeing the lofty virtues of the man, invested him with 
 the monastic habit at once. The new monk led a life 
 of extreme mortification, — ordinary ascetic practice 
 could not suffice him. He shut himself up in a nar- 
 row cell in one of the underground passages of the 
 catacombs of Kieff, where he wept and prayed to 
 God. He ate but once in two days, and then took 
 only a small unleavened loaf with a little water. 
 Antony himself brought the food, and passed it to 
 the hermit' through a window just large enough to 
 admit a hand. Wearing a hair shirt and one gar- 
 ment of goat-skin, he remained in his cell seven years 
 without leaving it once. He slept but little, and 
 then without lying down. Once upon a time after 
 he had prayed and sung psalms from dusk until mid- 
 night, Isaac, being greatly wearied, put out the taper 
 so as to obtain a little rest. Suddenly a bright light 
 shone in the cell, dazzling the eye, and two devils 
 appeared before him in the form of beautiful youths 
 with faces shining like the sun. " Isaac," said they, 
 " behold Christ cometh with the angelic hosts ! " 
 
 The laborer in the vineyard of the Lord sprang up 
 and beheld a multitude of heavenly warriors, and one 
 
XX INTRODUCTION. 
 
 in the midst who outshone them all ; from his coun- 
 tenance went forth bright rays, and a voice was 
 heard sajdng, "This is Christ; fall down ye and 
 worship him ! " 
 
 Not understanding the hellish trick, and forgetting 
 to guard himself with the sign of the cross, Isaac 
 worshipped the devil as Christ. Then the hellish 
 legion raised a fearful crj'' and tumult, howling out, 
 " You are ours, Isaac ! " Not only the cell, but the 
 whole passage was filled with them. The false Christ 
 ordered them to strike up music with pipes and 
 drums, so that Isaac might dance with the unclean 
 pack. The devils seized hold of the hermit, gal- 
 loped about, and danced with him till they left him 
 half dead in the cell. Having thus insulted the holy 
 man, they departed. 
 
 Next day Isaac was found apparently dead ; but 
 when he had been removed to the air and light 
 and placed on a bed, he revived, and after a long 
 illness recovered. Again the devils attacked him ; 
 again he heard a voice which said, "You are ours, 
 Isaac, for you did homage to our prince." He an- 
 swered bravely, " I fear neither Beelzebub nor his 
 servants. If ye deceived me before, it was because 
 I knew not j'our perfidy. But now by the power of 
 Christ, my master, and the prayers of Antony and 
 Theodosius, I am able to overcome you." In fact, 
 he drove away with the sign of the cross legions of 
 devils like so many insignificant flies. Then they 
 afflicted him with fearful visions. At night it seemed 
 to him that crowds of people had surrounded his 
 cell ; some having pickaxes and shovels, cried out, 
 " Let us fill in the cell and bury him here ! " Others, 
 
INTRODUCTION. rxi 
 
 feigning compassion, called out, "Go hence, Isaac; 
 they wish to bury thee alive." But making the sign 
 of the cross, he answered, " If ye were men j-e would 
 walk in the liglit ; but inasmuch as ye are darkness 
 yourselves, ye walk in darkness." The devils disap- 
 peared. At other times they tried to frighten him 
 by taking the forms of wild beasts and vile reptiles 
 advancing upon him, but were unable to injure him. 
 At last these devils cried out, " Oh, Isaac, thou hast 
 conquered ! " " Ye," answered he, " once conquered 
 me by taking on falselj' the forms of angels, now ye 
 appear in your true forms as wild beasts and filthy 
 reptiles." 
 
 After this the devils left him, and he remained ia 
 peace, fasting and praying till death. 
 
 In the discussion following the fifth tale, "The 
 Sisters-in-Law," Zarutski asserts that we may while 
 awake see things as wonderful as anything in dreams, 
 and mentions the case of couriers who travel night 
 and day without sleeping for several days and nights 
 in succession ; he gives his own experience during 
 such journeys, and states that while awake he saw 
 great palaces and castles on the common highway. 
 
 Some years ago I made a long journey in Russia, 
 and as it included an experience similar to those 
 mentioned by Zarutski I will describe a part of it 
 here. 
 
 The journej'- was from Tiflis in the Trans-Caucasus 
 to Western and Northern Russia. I had a courier's 
 podor6jnaya or order, and consequently travelled at 
 the highest rate of speed attainable with horses. 
 
 On the chief post-routes of Russia, now greatly 
 
XXU INTRODUCTION, 
 
 diminished by railroads, tliere are three categories 
 of horses, — those for people travelling on their own 
 affairs, those for officials in the ordinary service of 
 the State, and courier horses, for couriers or for per- 
 sons having orders for courier horses, and men trav- 
 elling by special direction of the Emperor. For the 
 first two categories there is a specified rate of driv- 
 ing ; but courier horses may be driven at any pace 
 this side of what the Magyars term " horse-death 
 speed." 
 
 The Russian post-wagon, the perekladn6i, so called 
 because a fresh one must be taken with each change 
 of horses, is famous for inconvenience. It is a short, 
 narrow vehicle, with a body Ij'ing immediately on the 
 axles, without springs or contrivance to weaken the 
 infinite series of thumps which are given its occu- 
 pant as he is swept along the surface of a road- 
 less land drawn by three horses on a keen run. 
 At the end of forty-eight hours of such riding a 
 man's nerves will be roused greatly ; if his journey 
 is longer, they will be roused still more ; and if he 
 can hold a firm seat in the perekladndi, that is, 
 keep himself from being hurled out by the jolting 
 and pounding, he will surely have short sleeps, — 
 say from two to five minutes' duration. At these 
 times, to judge from my own experience, he may see 
 wonderful visions. 
 
 ' From Tiflis to the Don I travelled in an easy 
 spring wagon, at high speed in the daj'time, and 
 rested at night ; hence the journey, however interest- 
 ing in other respects, was of no value in the matter 
 of visions on the road. At the Don I had to leave 
 my spring wagon and take to the pereldadnoi. 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXIU 
 
 Between the Don and the first railroad station on 
 my route the distance was five hundred miles, the 
 road simply wagon-tracks, over the country or the 
 face of the country itself whenever escape from the 
 tracks could be had. That whole region of Southern 
 Russia is exceedingly fertile, a land of deep and 
 black loam, with clay mixed in varying measure. In 
 spring there are oceans of mud, dried in due time by 
 the heat ; and in autumn other oceans, which are 
 hardened by frost as the season advances, and then 
 covered with snow. 
 
 M}' journey was in the first days of December. In 
 Novo-Cherkask, where I halted, the streets were one 
 mass of mud ; outside the town the roads were al- 
 most impassable, even for empty vehicles. I waited 
 a few days for frost, which came on a Tuesday night. 
 On Wednesday I started at noon in a perekladn6i, 
 and resolved to pass over the five hundred miles in 
 the shortest time possible, resting neither day nor 
 night. 1 did this partly for the sensation, but mainly 
 because an acquaintance of mine, an adjutant of the 
 Emperor, was to start from Novo-Cherkask on Thurs- 
 day noon to make the same journey with courier 
 horses. He seemed to think that no man but a Eus- 
 sian could make such a journey in c post-wagon 
 drawn at the highest rate of horse speed. Though a 
 day later in starting, he promised to outstrip my slow 
 progress and reach the railroad first. The road sur- 
 face was rough ; the mud, not frozen to the bottom, 
 yielded a little as the wagon shot over it, and this in 
 a small degree lessened the jolting. 
 
 During the afternoon it grew cloudy, snow fell ; at 
 dusk there was more than an inch of it on the ground. 
 
XXIV INTRODUCTION. 
 
 At one station I had the fortune to find a new sleigh 
 made on two poles, which served both as runners 
 and shafts ; stripped of bark thej' were quite smooth, 
 and slipped along admirably. 'By a payment of 
 monej' I was enabled to retain the new vehicle while 
 snow lasted. The sleigh was very long, and went 
 over the road like a swan over water. 
 
 My new sleigh left the station where it was made 
 at six in the evening. At eight of the following 
 morning the ground was bare, and I was in a post- 
 wagon again,- but in that night I had put one 
 hundred and twenty-six miles behind. It was a 
 night half in storm, half in moonlight, thick clouds 
 and snow flurries, darkness and wind followed bj' 
 clear light and sweet air in a region covered with 
 freshly fallen snow. The drivers were skilful, the 
 horses strong. I urged the drivers, the drivers the 
 horses; the beasts galloped on in the darkness 
 and raced in the moonlight. Over the country and 
 through sleeping villages we hastened and hurried 
 all night. Through one place we swept in the dark- 
 ness all were asleep, and no sounds to be heard ex- 
 cept those from the rush of the horses and sleigh ; 
 at another a legion of dogs made a dash at us, but 
 no dog could keep pace with that sleigh in the moon- 
 light as we tore out at full speed into open plains. 
 
 At noon of Thursday, twenty-four hours after 
 starting, I had gone one hundred and ninety-six 
 miles. It had thawed during the night and fore- 
 noon ; the road was injured ; we advanced more 
 slowly. The night of Thursday was cold and dark 
 the mud frozen, the road rough, the journey fatiguing 
 and dreary. I took no rest at any station, and did 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXV 
 
 not doze, urgea drivers and station-masters all night, 
 pressed forward all Friday and the following night. 
 I was tired, but more excited than sleepy, my mind 
 being fiercely intent on the journey. 
 
 It was only just before daybreak on Saturday 
 morning that I began to be drowsy ; drowsy to pain- 
 fulness, I resolved to sleep a little, crouched on the 
 bottom of the wagon, balancing mj-self, and holding 
 to a rope which I had tied across the box. I was 
 asleep the instant I gave myself permission. I had 
 slept a couple of minutes when I was roused by a 
 jolt ; slept three or four times perhaps in this way, 
 when I saw a glorious citj' on summits and sloping 
 heights resembling the city of Constantino, but more 
 splendid by far than that Constantinople which, twenty 
 months later, I saw at its best in an afternoon haze 
 from the deck of an Austrian steamer sailing in from 
 the Euxine, the Black Sea of Russia. But my dream 
 city came down to the roadside. Crowds of people 
 were there, some standing near, others walking 
 slowly ; some seemed not two feet distant, looked 
 at me greetingly, their features as real and living as 
 those of near friends ; then music began to swell, 
 and distant singing came to my ears. I woke ; the 
 city and all that was in it melted and vanished ; I 
 tried to settle into the same sleep again and bring 
 back the beautiful citj', but it was gone to eternity, 
 gone beyond power of recall. The day was just 
 breaking; I had slept about five minutes the last 
 time. Soon we came to a station ; I drank good, 
 hot tea, and the drowsiness ended. 
 
 That morning at nine o'clock I arrived at the rail- 
 road ; the five hundred miles were passed in two days 
 
XXVI INTRODUCTION. 
 
 and twenty-one hours. "With better roads it might 
 have been made in somewhat less time, but under the 
 circumstances it was a very quick journey. The 
 Emperor's adjutant left Novo-Chevkask on Thursday 
 noon, as he had promised, but did not arrive at the 
 railroad till Tuesday of the following week. A thaw 
 came ; he had to make through mud and on wheels 
 the first two hundred miles that I made on frozen 
 ground, and mostly in a sleigh. 
 
 There is no doubt that I was asleep when I saw 
 the city. I think that such visions on the road in 
 moments of excessive weariness and nervous excite- 
 ment are seen during snatches of sleep, — sometimes 
 light, but still sleep. 
 
 It is interesting to observe the changes of robber 
 character in the present volume. In the first of the 
 three centuries, the seventeenth, we find during the 
 reign of Michael EomanoflT, grandfather of Peter the 
 Great, the robber in the person of Glinski, a landed 
 proprietor whose assistants are his own servants and 
 retainers. 
 
 In the eighteenth century landholders do not take 
 to the highway. The robber is Kuzma Roschin, a 
 peasant or nondescript person disguised as a mer- 
 chant, whose assistants are outlaws and desperadoes, 
 and whose secret ally, Zarubkin, is the son of a 
 manumitted dog-keeper, greedy of wealth for himself, 
 and advancement and wealth for his son. 
 
 When we come to the nineteenth centurj' i-obberj' 
 assumes a new guise. Instead of physical violence 
 in robbing there is shrewd calculation of the weak- 
 nesses and passions of men ; instead of the servants 
 
INTRODUCTION. XXVll 
 
 and retainers of the seventeenth and the desperadoes 
 of the eighteenth century, persons in society, officers 
 of the law, all kinds of people become the robber's 
 assistants, either wittingly or unwittingly. Instead 
 of being a strong man armed, the robber is a person 
 with a scheming brain coupled with the morals of a 
 footpad. Such a person may be a woman as well as 
 a man, and Anna Stepanovna Slukin represents the 
 new type of robber. She, the " helpless widow," 
 steeped in hypocrisy, robs, by the " help of God and 
 good people," her own brother, robs orphans, gets a 
 pension, forces men to feign friendship, to let her 
 cheat them at cards, to serve her. She takes more 
 from others than the robbers of old times took from 
 their neighbors, and enjoys it under protection of the 
 law ; for even after Holmin outwits her she retains 
 one thousand serfs till her death. 
 
 Human society progresses from the physical to the 
 mental, from the material to the spiritual, and its 
 enemies use the weapons of the period in which they 
 act. The weapons wielded by hands in former times 
 are abandoned in our day for weapons used by the 
 brain. 
 
 The more advanced a society, the more are its 
 struggles transferred to the field of the mind, and 
 the more powerful and skilled are the devils whom 
 it must conquer or die ; hence the great interest of 
 this nineteenth and most civilized century, in which 
 devildom is so mighty. 
 
 JEREMIAH CURTIIT. 
 
 Smithsonian Institution, Bukeau of Ethnology, 
 Washington, D. C, March 3, 1891. 
 
TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 
 
 THE uncle of my friend Zarutski, Ivan Alex- 
 aievich Asanoff (God grant him the king- 
 dom of heaven !), was a most kindly old gentleman. 
 I shall never forget the few days spent by me un- 
 der his roof on the banks of the Hopyor, in the 
 government of Saratoff, toward the end of the 
 autumn of 1806, as I remember. I see as if at 
 this moment a couple of tens of peasant cottages 
 scattered along the lofty bank of the river. Asa/- 
 noffs immense brick house, to the wonder of the 
 whole district of Serdobsk, was two stories high, 
 with walls so thick that an eight-pound cannon- 
 ball would have bounded from them. 
 
 I was not acquainted with Ivan Alexaievich 
 when I came to Serdobsk on business. Having a 
 letter of introduction to the mayor, I stopped at 
 his house ; and there it was that I first heard of 
 the rich landowner Ivan Alexaievich AsanoflF. 
 His caprices and strange actions were the daily 
 topics of conversation in the upper society of Ser- 
 dobsk. The mayor, the circuit judge, the district- 
 attorney, — in one word, all the powers that be 
 1 
 
2 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 and the first dignitaries of the town considered 
 him from a very unfavorable point of view. Some 
 said that he was misanthropic and proud ; others 
 called him half crazy ; there were even people who 
 declared that he never went to Mass, and had not 
 a single holy image in his house. It is true that 
 the ispravnik ^ always fought against this calumny ; 
 but as he was the only person in Serdobsk who 
 ate bread and salt with AsanofF, no one put faith 
 in his words. 
 
 " Say what you please, Dmitry Ivanovich," was 
 the mayor's frequent reply, " there must be some- 
 thing in it. A man who will not live with people has 
 not a clear conscience. It would be understanda- 
 ble if he were a miser ; but he is not. Just think 
 how he spends money ! When there was a fire 
 last year, and a subscription was opened for those 
 who were burned out, he gave more than all our 
 nobles in the district. Now be so gracious as to 
 judge for yourselves, gentlemen. Is it for the sake 
 of economy that he lives in this peasant village of 
 Hopyor, in which the owner has not, I think, fifty 
 acres of cultivated land altogether ? He is a rich 
 man; in the government of Penza he has more 
 than a thousand souls. Even take his property 
 beyond the Sura : there is something there to put 
 hands to, — irrigated meadows, forests of building 
 timber, a mill with eight run of stones, a genuine 
 gold-mine ! He did not like to live in the country 
 there, though Penza was at his side. Of course," 
 
 1 Chief of the district police. 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 3 
 
 the mayor would add usually, arranging his cravat 
 with an air of importance, " we have a most select 
 circle of nobles here. But Penza, you must know, 
 is also a city ; and besides, such a city ! The Pe- 
 trovski fair alone, — how much does that mean ! 
 Society excellent, enlightened people, clubs of 
 nobles, a theatre, music-halls, the English club 
 (though they say this last has failed), balls, — in 
 a word, whatever you wish you have only to call 
 for ; and what is best, the governor lives always 
 in harmony with the lieutenant-governor, the ladies 
 never quarrel with one another, and no matter 
 where you show your face they just chop French, 
 What is the use in talking ? Penza is a corner 
 of Moscow ! " 
 
 Though these brilliant praises of Penza always 
 seemed to me somewhat overdrawn, still I shared 
 at first the opinion of the mayor unconditionally, 
 and thought, " Why, in very truth, should a rich 
 man live like a hermit in a poor little peasant vil- 
 lage thirty versts from town and at least twenty 
 from his nearest neighbor, and live in a kind of en- 
 chanted castle ? " — for such was the name given 
 to the stone mansion of Ivan Alexaievich by the 
 mayor's sister, a maiden of ripe years, with a 
 somewhat faded face, but a youthful soul and a 
 decidedly romantic heart ; she alone had ordered 
 from Moscow all the novels of the celebrated Mrs. 
 Radcliff, and was the first to inform the town of 
 the existence of Madame de Genlis. 
 
 "You cannot imagine," said she to me once, 
 
4 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " what terror that old building brings upon all. It 
 lacks only towers and a drawbridge to resemble 
 exactly the castle of Udolpho or the Abbey of 
 Grassville. If you only knew how many terrible and 
 wonderful tales they tell about it. They say that a 
 hundred years ago the former owner had a retreat 
 there for robbers ; that the deep cellars under the 
 house are filled with men's bones ; that at night 
 uncommon things happen there, — loud groans are 
 heard ; and though the ispravnik declares that it 
 is the howling of the wind through the corridors 
 aud passages, of which there is a great number in 
 the house, he does so because he lives in harmony 
 with AsanofF. My late mother used to tell me a 
 most dreadful tale about this house ; strange, how- 
 ever, that I have forgotten it almost entirely ; still 
 it seems not so long ago. True, I was then a 
 mere child ; but I was so terrified that I lay 
 awake all night. In this tale were robbers, ghosts, 
 and some sort of midnight procession. Mamma 
 declared that it was not a fable, but reality ; and 
 that in all this district there was no old man who 
 did not know the narrative in all its details. They 
 say, too, that from time to time the same things 
 that took place formerly are repeated even now in 
 this unclean and bewitched house, and especially 
 since its occupation by the present owner." 
 
 " But previous to Ivan Alexaievich did no one 
 live in the house ? " asked I of the mayor's maiden 
 sister, who, though forty years old, was such a 
 little while ago an infant ! 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 5 
 
 " No one ; for twenty years in succession all the 
 doors and windows were nailed up." 
 
 " Well, it is a pity Ivan AlexaievicTi is not ac- 
 quainted with me," thought I very often while 
 listening to these tales. I am ashamed to confess, 
 and it is a sin to conceal the fact, that I have al- 
 ways been a great lover of terrible tales, and not 
 only believe in, but have no doubt of the existence 
 of witches, ghosts, and apparitions who leave their 
 graves, as well as of fiery serpents which fly to 
 village widows, and falling on the roofs, appear 
 to them in the forms of the dead for whom they 
 are pining. Sooner shall I doubt that Kiefi" was 
 the capital of Russia in the Grand Duke Vladi- 
 mir's time than believe that witches never lived 
 there ; and I confess that the romantic Dnieper 
 would lose for me most of its charms did I not 
 believe that the rusalki ^ to this day come from 
 their forests to plash and play by the light of the 
 moon in its clear eddies ; that they, as one of our 
 poets says, — 
 
 " In the delight of their young joy 
 Eouse the shore with songs, 
 Or, with the careless laughter of youth, 
 Catch the horns of the moon 
 In the silver whirlpool ; 
 With plashing of quick hands 
 They throw about fiery rainbows, 
 Gambol in the waves, and vanish suddenly, 
 Sinking to their unseen palace." 
 
 I Water-raaidens. 
 
6 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 I cannot describe what inexplicable enjoyment 
 I feel whenever I listen to a story that makes my 
 heart sink, rny hair stand on end, and cold chills 
 creep along my skin. Let learned gentlemen 
 — cold-blooded searchers for truth, doubting 
 Thomases, who believe not that wood-devils block 
 the way to travellers, or that it is possible to spell- 
 bind a man with one word — smile at my credu- 
 lity ; I would not give my fresh but playful and 
 ardent fancies for their dry mathematical deduc- 
 tions, for their frozen common-sense. One thing, 
 however, has always grieved me, — for in spite of 
 the Russian proverb that " the wild beast runs 
 toward the hunter," in all my life I have never 
 been able to see anything supernatural ; and all 
 the wizards I have met, as if to make sport of me, 
 were the most ordinary deceivers and rogues. I 
 know indeed that many persons standing between 
 two mirrors facing each other have seen — God 
 knows what ! I too was in such a position once, 
 and looked till I was faint and it grew green in 
 my eyes. I saw nothing, however, save an endless 
 perspective and some kind of a foggy point, which, 
 as it turned out afterward, was merely a. black spot 
 on the mirror. And have I not tried to experi- 
 ence everything ? Two years ago on Saint John's 
 eve I went into the woods to watch ferns blos- 
 som ; but when the time drew near unto midnight 
 such terror attacked me that I bolted away with- 
 out daring to look back, and though I heard behind 
 an uncommon tumult and whistling, I cannot say 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOE. 7 
 
 certainly whether it was an unclean power playing 
 tricks or simply the wind howling through the trees. 
 
 Another time, when I was living on my land 
 in the steppe, I decided to go to the churchyard 
 at midnight. " Perchance," thought I, " even one 
 ghost will come out of its grave and walk around 
 the enclosure ; and indeed as I approached the 
 churchyard I saw something like a ghost in a 
 white shroud. Oh, how my heart beat from 
 terror and delight ! What a pleasing chill wrapped 
 me from head to foot ! How my knees were fail- 
 ing under me ! And even now I cannot think of 
 this dreadful and enrapturing moment without en- 
 thusiasm. Making the sign of the cross and utter- 
 ing a prayer, I ran home, threw myself on the bed, 
 and all night I shivered as in an ague, or trembled 
 as in a fever. 
 
 " So," thought I, almost breathless from ecstasy, 
 " this unknown world exists in very fact : ghosts 
 wander around their tombs in the night ; spirits 
 of dead men visit the earth ; and all that pedants 
 call superstition, deceit, and raving is true." Well, 
 what do you suppose, my dear readers, was the 
 end of all this? The next day I told my star- 
 shina,^ Fedot, about the apparition. The scoun- 
 drel began to laugh, and said, — 
 
 " You were pleased to be frightened at nothing, 
 sir. That was Tihon wandering among the graves ; 
 he has a fever, and ran into the churchyard last 
 night when all were asleep." 
 
 1 Chief of the village. 
 
8 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " How! 'Usked I ; " that was not a ghost ? " 
 
 " Oh, father, master," answered Fedot, twisting 
 up Ills ugly face, " what ghosts are there now ? In 
 old times, of course, people were stupid and be- 
 lieved everything ; now you cannot frighten even a 
 little child with these old wives' tales." 
 
 Old wives' tales ! All my blood boiled up. 
 I stamped and shouted ; and if that free- 
 thinker Fedot had not fled from my study, 
 surely I should have fastened to his beard. But 
 how help being enraged ? O my God ! Well 
 enough in Moscow or St. Petersburg ; but just 
 think — out in the country they have gone into 
 subtleties ! 
 
 After all I have said, the reader can imagine 
 whether I wished to become acquainted with Ivan 
 Alexaievich AsanofF. No one, however, — not 
 even the ispravnik, — was willing to present me ; 
 and I began to lose all hope, when one morning as 
 I was walking through the market square I saw 
 some one passing in a travelling-carriage. I 
 looked more closely, and knew my old friend and 
 comrade Zarutski. We recognized each other at 
 the same moment ; Zarutski sprang from his car- 
 riage, and inquiries began. 
 
 " Whence does God bring you ? " 
 
 " I am going to my uncle's in the country. But 
 how are you here ? " 
 
 " On business." 
 
 " Come with me ; I will make you acquainted 
 with my uncle ; he is a very kind old man." 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 9 
 
 "No, my dear boy, I must stay here; I have 
 much to do yet on my affair." 
 
 " Oh, come, brother ! It is very near, — only 
 thirty versts on the Hopyor," 
 
 "Thirty versts from here, on the Hopyor? 
 What is your uncle's name?" 
 
 " Ivan Alexaievich — " 
 
 "Asanoff?" 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Oh, in that case I will go, my friend." 
 
 " Are you acquainted with him ? " 
 
 " No ; but I have heard so much about him — 
 Wait a moment ; I will run home, get my bundle, 
 hurry back, and then we can start." 
 
 As said by me, so was it done. In fifteen min- 
 utes I had returned and was sitting beside Zarutski 
 in his Vienna carriage. We sat easily on the yield- 
 ing springs, and shot forward like an arrow from a 
 bow over the lumps and ruts of the country road. 
 At first the restive horses tore on, one past the 
 other ; but after they had gone twenty versts they 
 began to be thoughtful, and at last, after they had 
 struggled up a steep hill, they went at a mild walk. 
 
 Around us the view was agreeable enough. On 
 the left hand were stretched out golden fields, on 
 some of which belated shocks of reaped grain were 
 still standing in rare places ; on the right was a 
 dense forest, through the wide clearings in which 
 from tim6 to time the blue waters of the pic- 
 turesque Hopyor were seen in the distance. 
 
 While the wearied horses, advancing at a walk, 
 
10 TALES OF THREE CENTrRIES. 
 
 were regaining breath, Zarutski told me of his ac- 
 tual life, — his rural labors, the management of his 
 estate, and at last of his ardent passion for a youth- 
 ful widow, his neighbor in the country, " who," 
 said my friend, sighing and lighting his fourth 
 pipe, " has vowed to kill me with sorrow, and not 
 give a definite answer until she has worn out half- 
 a-dozen black garments made of some sort of flan- 
 nel, evidently government cloth, for this is the sec- 
 ond year, and they are not worn out yet ; doubtless 
 they will neither burn in fire nor sink in water. 
 To lighten my sorrow," continued Zarutski, " I re- 
 solved to make my uncle a visit of a couple of 
 weeks ; and very glad am I that I met you." 
 
 " But will your uncle be glad ? I shall be only 
 too happy to make his acquaintance ; but they say 
 he IS misanthropic." 
 
 " He does not make new acquaintances will- 
 ingly, and especially among our provincial nobles, 
 — they are so formal reckoning visits ; and he, an 
 old man, loves quiet, and hates to prepare for a 
 journey. With you it is another affair : you are 
 a stranger ; besides, you are an old friend and 
 comrade of his nephew, whom he loves as a son ; 
 and, to tell the truth, I too love him greatly." 
 
 " Tell me, please, what pleasure is it for him to 
 live in this solitude ? " 
 
 " He has his reasons." 
 
 "For example?" 
 
 " Oh, it is a whole romance, my friend. First 
 of all I must tell you that on a time my uncle 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 11 
 
 Ivan Alexaievich Asanoff was poor ; he could not 
 even dream of the inheritance which came to him 
 afterward ; and in fact, could he think that four 
 cousins, two nephews, and three nieces would die 
 in one week of the plague which visited Moscow 
 in 1771? 
 
 " The estate on which Ivan Alexaievich now 
 lives belonged formerly to a landholder, — Glinski, 
 a miser, and wicked, — who, if we are to believe 
 the traditions of the neighborhood, was a genuine 
 robber. This Glinski had a daughter, beautiful in 
 face, and still more beautiful in soul. I know not 
 when or where my uncle met her, how he became 
 acquainted with her father ; but the upshot of the 
 matter was that he fell up to his ears in love with 
 Sophia Pavlovna, — that was the name of Glinski's 
 daughter ; to complete the tragedy, she loved him 
 too. 
 
 "Once on a distant field, while coursing after 
 hares with the father of his beloved, my uncle de- 
 termined to open his mind to him. Glinski grew 
 frantic, covered him with abuse and curses, called 
 him a beggar, and declared that if my uncle should 
 ever come near his village, he would let out a 
 whole pack of dogs, and hunt him down as he 
 would a wild beast. 
 
 " Ivan Alexaievich joined the army and fought 
 in such fashion that Suvoroff called him the won- 
 der-hero. He was stabbed through the body with 
 a bayonet in the battle vidth Oginski at Stalovichi, 
 but, to the surprise of the whole army, survived. 
 
12 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 He recovered, learned that a rich inheritance had 
 fallen to him as if from the sky, galloped to Ser- 
 dobsk ; but it was late, — Sophia Pavlovna had died 
 of consumption brought on by sorrow, and was at 
 rest in the village churchyard. Two months after 
 her death her father broke his neck hunting a wolf. 
 
 " My uncle resigned from the service, made a vow 
 never to marry, and succeeded at last in buying 
 Glinski's estate and settling down in the house 
 where his beloved had formerly lived. ' The Lord 
 has not permitted me to be the husband of Sophia 
 Pavlovna ; that was his holy will. But if it was 
 not fated me to live with her in this world, I 
 shall at least lie by her side in the earth.' Thus 
 has my uncle always spoken ; and it will soon be 
 ten years that he has lived in this village without 
 leaving it." 
 
 " Oh, but your uncle is a most interesting 
 man ! " said I. " Do you know, my friend, if he 
 were a little younger, I should not advise you to 
 tell this story to every one. There is in it so much 
 of romance that a new Sophia Pavlovna might be 
 found at once ; and if you are his heir — " 
 
 " Yes, my friend ; but God grant me never to 
 enter upon this inheritance ! Even once to bury 
 a father is grievous ; but twice in life to be an 
 orphan, — may God not permit it ! But here, it 
 seems that — yes, only three versts remain, not 
 more. Do you see in the distance the oak grove ? 
 Just beyond is the garden ; and farther, from be- 
 hind the treetops, you may see a gilded cross ; 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOE. 13 
 
 that is the stone church built by my uncle over 
 the grave of Sophia Pavlovna." 
 
 " Ah, God protect us ! " said I, looking forward 
 vpith fright ; " is it possible we are going down 
 this precipice ? " 
 
 " Stop ! " called my friend to the coachman ; 
 "really it is better for us to step out." 
 
 The carriage stopped ; while the driver and 
 Zarutski's servant were locking the wheels, we 
 moved on slowly in advance. The ravine through 
 which the road passed, lined with frequent thick- 
 ets, was really like some precipice or gorge ; at 
 the bottom a small muddy torrent, was rattling 
 along. The lower we went, the higher and more 
 cliff-like seemed the sandy sides. The road, with 
 deep water furrows, going first directly ahead, 
 then turning suddenly to the left and encircling a 
 small eminence, went down to the bridge which 
 crossed the torrent. When I looked back it 
 seemed as though the carriage, which had already 
 begun to descend slowly, was hanging over our 
 heads. 
 
 " Do you know, my friend," said Zarutski, point- 
 ing to the eminence, " though that is not artificial, 
 it is covered with graves, and may be called a 
 burial-mound." 
 
 In fact the greater part of the eminence was 
 covered with slight risings, and here and there 
 were still visible half-decayed wooden crosses. 
 
 " Is it possible that this is your uncle's village 
 graveyard ? " asked I. 
 
14 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " No ; the men buried there were slain by 
 robbers." 
 
 " By robbers ! " exclaimed I, looking around 
 involuntarily. 
 
 " Have no fear ; that was long ago. In our 
 time there is as much to be heard of robbers as of 
 witches, ghosts, house-demons, and all that hellish 
 pack from which in the old time our forefathers 
 had hard work to live." 
 
 " We are not so sure about that," remarked I, 
 with set teeth. "Against robbers we have the 
 district police." 
 
 " And against wizards and ghosts a force called 
 enlightenment," retorted my friend. 
 
 " Oh, I am tired of your enlightenment ! " said 
 I, almost angry ; " but that is not the question. 
 How could robbers live here, — there is no high- 
 way at hand ? On village roads there was no 
 robbing to be done, of course." 
 
 " The highway is only two versts distant. The 
 story told by old men is this : The great-grand 
 uncle of the former owner of the estate to which 
 we are going had a refuge for robbers in his house. 
 That of itself would have been nothing ; there was 
 a time when robbing, especially on the borders, 
 was called valor and heroism. But this was the 
 evil in Glinski's great-grand-uncle : they say that 
 he was in friendship with Satan himself, and, like 
 the celebrated Pan Tvardovski of Poland, had 
 given his soul into slavery for the ages of ages. 
 Of course, he had no need whatever of money, — 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 15 
 
 the devil helped him to find buried treasures, and 
 even sometimes for sport would turn turnips and 
 carrots into silver and gold coin ; but Glinski loved 
 robbing, just as he did hunting, for amusement. 
 There was mercy for no man. Nobles and rich 
 merchants he invited with force to his house, 
 feasted them for days at a time, and then — God 
 knows what became of them ; but it is said that 
 when one of these unwilling guests entered an in- 
 closure of Glinski's, he never went into another. 
 With common people he acted without ceremony ; 
 they were killed on the highway and thrown into 
 this ravine. Later, kind men gathered their bones 
 and buried them on this mound ; and the report is 
 that every year these dead men rise up and cele- 
 brate their own funeral on Saint Thomas's eve; so 
 this place, which was formerly called Wolfs Kavine, 
 is now called Devil's Burden. But all this I have 
 told you in a disconnected way. You should hear 
 my uncle ; if he undertakes to tell these popular 
 fables and traditions, you will have something to 
 listen to." 
 
 " Fables ! " said I, with impatience ; " why 
 fables ? Oh, ye crafty ones ! If a man gives 
 credit to you, he will cease to believe anything." 
 " Can it be that you believe in these ravings ? " 
 " Ah, brother ! But what do we know ? We 
 do not see beyond our noses ; all our lives we play 
 at blindman's-buff, and say positively, ' This is 
 nonsense ; this cannot be ; it is opposed to com- 
 mon-sense.' And what is om- common-sense? 
 
16 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 Faulty conclusions, obscure guesses, — a kind of 
 faint light which glimmers at times in the dark, as 
 if on purpose to make everything darker for us 
 after it has vanished. It is not hard to say, ' I do 
 not believe in that ; ' but I beg you to show me 
 why I should not believe in that which seems in- 
 credible to you ? No, Zarutski, I do not yet know 
 who makes the greater mistake, — he who believes 
 in everything without examination, or he for whom 
 everything is folly that cannot be explained by the 
 physical laws of Nature alone." 
 
 " Well, my friend," interrupted Zarutski, " you 
 are sure to please my uncle. Like you, he is ready 
 to get angry with any one who says that the spirits 
 of the dead do not appear ; and he can tell you 
 twenty cases proving the opposite. But here is 
 our carriage. I do not know how you feel, but 
 I am very tired. Let us take our seats." 
 
 After we had passed the oak grove, the great 
 brick house loomed up in all its grim majesty. It 
 stood in the midst of a broad area overgrown with 
 nettles. The facade, with thirty narrow windows 
 far apart, stretched across the whole court ; the 
 main entrance, with a weighty roof on four col- 
 umns, was in the centre of the house ; in the rear 
 was a large fruit garden, extending down to the 
 banks of the Hopyor ; opposite the gate stood a 
 high tower with a flag and an enormous clock. 
 
 " Oh-ho ! " said Zarutski, as we, accompanied by 
 the loud barking of half-a-dozen Danish and setter 
 dogs, entered the yard, " it is clear that my uncle 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 17 
 
 has guests. There is a dormeuse, a brichka, and 
 it seems — yes, there it is ! — the jaunty carriE^e 
 of the ispravnik of Serdobsk. So much the bet- 
 ter! — it will be pleasant for us.'' 
 
 A couple of dozen servants, not richly but tidily 
 dressed, received us at the carriage. We entered 
 a large hall. On the left was a door leading to 
 the antechamber ; on the right were traces of 
 doors which I suppose in old times led to the 
 maid-servants' apartments, but had long since been 
 walled up (I ask my readers to note this circum- 
 stance). Passing through the billiard and the din- 
 ing rooms, as well as two parlors, — one of which 
 was lined with Chinese tapestry, — we met the 
 master of the house. 
 
 " Welcome, Alexai, my dear boy ! " cried he, 
 embracing his nephew several times. " God save 
 you for visiting an old man ! I had such a yearn- 
 ing to see you that I was ready to send a messen- 
 ger to bring you." 
 
 "Uncle, let me present my dear friend. We 
 had not met for a long time until this morning, 
 though we were together in Moscow at the acad- 
 emy and at St. Petersburg in the mess-room and 
 dancing-school ; in time of war we lived under the 
 same tent. I met him to-day at Serdobsk, and de- 
 termined to seize him and bring him to you." 
 
 " We beg the favor," said Ivan Alexaievich, ex- 
 tending his hand kindly to me ; " whoso was a 
 brother on the battle-field to my dear Alexai will 
 always be a welcome guest under my roof." 
 
 2 
 
18 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 I do not remember what I answered the host ; 
 but it seems to me that I said nothing. I was so 
 struck by his dignified presence that I forgot al- 
 together the set phrases usual on such occasions, 
 and those polite assurances in which nearly always 
 there is not a hair's worth of truth. 
 
 Imagine a man of lofty stature, sixty-five years of 
 age, with a ruddy face, and iron gray hair, in a 
 uniform of the time of Catherine II., a high fore- 
 head somewhat wrinkled, and bright eyes full of 
 welcome and mirth, together with a kindly smile 
 which never left his lips, overshadowed by thick 
 mustaches, — which no doubt in the old time 
 roused more than one conversation among the 
 comely maidens of Poland ; add to this the noble 
 bearing of a regimental commander who was 
 called by Suvoroff the " wonder-hero," and you 
 have Ivan Alexaievich Asanofll I had never met 
 an old man of more engaging exterior ; and I 
 should not be at all surprised if a young beauty 
 would be puzzled had she the choice either to 
 become his wife or call him father. 
 
 " Would it please you to come to my study ? " 
 asked he. "You will find old acquaintances 
 there, Alexai. And I beg you not to lag behind 
 us," said he, turning to me ; " if you do, you may 
 go astray. There are no labyrinths in my house ; 
 but, as in military trenches, there are such zig- 
 zags and approaches that a man is bewildered." 
 
 In fact we went from one room to another, 
 passed through two dark corridors, then ascended 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 19 
 
 several steps, again descended, and at last, after 
 passing by the iron doors of a store-room situated 
 in a round tower, — : which, as is said, belongs 
 neither to the town nor to the village, but was stuck 
 on, as it were, to the left corner of the house, — 
 we entered a corridor, at the end of which we 
 heard voices in conversation. 
 
 " In old times," said Ivan Alexaievich, " this 
 part of the house belonged to the maid-servants ; 
 but as I am a bachelor, I thought it better to 
 close up some of the doors, and turn it into a 
 study. In winter this is the warmest and driest 
 room in the building. We beg the favor ! " 
 
 Judging by the size and original use of the room, 
 it was easy to guess that the former owner had 
 many servants, and probably more women than 
 men. The four windows looking out on the rear 
 occupied one wall ; on the other three were de- 
 picted various scenes from the life of SuvorofF. 
 To tell the truth, the painting was not excellent. 
 On one wall Suvoroff was represented in a forest, 
 sleeping on straw in a Cossack bivouac. He had 
 no neck ; but as a recompense his legs were so 
 long that if he were to walte and stand up, he 
 might surely reach the top of the great oak-tree 
 under which he was sleeping. On the opposite 
 wall he was represented again at the moment of 
 the surrender of the fortress of Cracow. He stood 
 drawn out as thin as a string, looking at a crowd 
 of Poles with enormous mustaches ; a few French 
 officers, sunburned and feeble, were depicted with 
 
20 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 downcast eyes ; and in front of the whole crowi 
 was the powdered, foppish commandant of th 
 castle Choiseul in the act of surrendering his swon 
 to the victor, — with the same setitimental ap 
 pearance with which a theatre shepherd migh 
 give a bouquet of flowers to his painted shep 
 herdess. On the third wall was painted the storm 
 iug of Ismail. Of course, all the dead men weri 
 Turks; and the field of battle was covered witl 
 turbans, among which not a single grenadier's ca] 
 was to be seen. In the place where the doo 
 leading to the hall was walled up stood a book 
 case ; between the windows Turkish pistols an( 
 yategans were hanging, together with Polish sabrei 
 and other trophies of Ivan Alexaievich's militar 
 career. In one corner was a number of clay am 
 cherry pipes with amber mouthpieces ; upon botl 
 sides of a broad chimney were several double anc 
 single barrelled guns, hunting-bags, and powder 
 horns ; around the walls were comfortable sofai 
 covered with Turkish cloth. 
 
 When we entered the study, four gentlemen — 
 one of whom was .the ispravnik of Serdobsl 
 — were toiling in the sweat of their brows anc 
 keeping a solemn silence around a table on whicl 
 a plentiful breakfast was placed. 
 
 After the first greetings and friendly exclama 
 tions, Zarutski made me acquainted with his 
 uncle's guests. The first to whom he introduced 
 me — Anton Feodorovich Kolchugin — seemed a\ 
 first sight to be a man about seventy years ol 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 21 
 
 age ; but upon looking at him more closely I saw- 
 that, notwithstanding his sunken cheeks, protrud- 
 ing chin, and mustaches white as snow, he was 
 younger than our host. The golden cross of 
 Praga which he wore showed that he had been, 
 if not a comrade, at least a contemporary of Ivan 
 Alexaievich. 
 
 The second was Prohoroff Kondratievich Chero- 
 muhin, — a man of perhaps forty-five years, of 
 full habit, with large blond whiskers, small 
 bright eyes, and such a laughing and pleasant 
 face that looking at him even the weeping 
 philosopher Heraclitus — if in good truth he ex- 
 isted, and was not invented as an antithesis to 
 Democritus — could hardly have refrained from 
 smiling. 
 
 With the third guest, the ispravnik of Serdobsk, I 
 was already acquainted. But he is unknown to my 
 readers ; hence I think it well to add a few words 
 touching him also. An educated man, he had 
 served as captain in a hussar regiment ; left the 
 service with wounds, and chosen by the nobility ; 
 from being an excellent commander of a squadron, 
 had shown himself a fearless ispravnik. The land- 
 holders all liked him ; the Crown peasants offered 
 up prayers to God for his safety ; but thieves, 
 rogues, and drunkards feared him as fire. It is 
 said (I repeat what I heard) that he never took 
 even a handful of hay for nothing, and never ate 
 a peasant's chicken without paying the market 
 price for it, that his assessors did not pull the 
 
22 TALES OF THBER CENTURIES. 
 
 beards of peasant elders for amusement, and that 
 even the officials of the inferior land-court only 
 drank during lawsuits when liquor was brought as 
 a free-will offering. 
 
 Having made my readers acquainted with the 
 society in which I passed several days most agree- 
 ably, I may add that with my arrival the weather 
 began to grow bad. Toward evening the heavens 
 were clouded, and poured down, not summer 
 showers with large and frequent drops, but a fine 
 and drizzly rain, which soon turned into that end- 
 less sleet of autumn under which, dear readers, 
 you yourselves at times have been seized by sad- 
 ness, — especially if it fell upon you in the fields 
 when the yellow leaves were dropping from the 
 trees and a fitful wind was sounding and howling 
 through the forest, as the ominous owl hoots down 
 the chimneys of your houses in the country. 
 
 There was nothing to be done ; it was impos- 
 sible to go out with a gun or to sail on the Hopyor 
 in a boat. Of course, one might track hares on 
 bare ground, but it would be necessary to have a 
 passionate love for hunting with dogs ; and of all 
 our society Zarutski was the one man who rode 
 sometimes after hounds, and he preferred to go 
 either in bright autumn weather or after the first 
 snow of winter ; but to chase from morning till 
 evening in the wet and rain after some poor white 
 hare did not seem to him at all entertaining. 
 
 It could not be said, however, that we were 
 without occupation. In the day-time we drank tea, 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 23 
 
 breakfasted, played billiards, and read the news- 
 papers. Ivan Alexaievich subscribed not only for 
 the St. Petersburg papers, but for everything pub- 
 lished in the two capitals at the time. Of course, 
 we preferred reading the Moscow " Messenger," ren- 
 dered famous by its first editor ; but from having 
 nothing better to do, we also turned over the Mos- 
 cow " Courier," yawned over the St. Petersburg 
 " Lover of Literature," were touched by the senti- 
 mental style of the Moscow " Observer," and were 
 astonished at the variety of " The Companion," — 
 which had just appeared in the world with the 
 fanciful title, "Narrator of the Thoughts of 
 Writers laboring at Night in their Studies, giving 
 Tales and Verses, and at times Criticism as well," 
 
 In the evening, after dinner, about seven o'clock, 
 we assembled in the study, sat around a blazing 
 fire, and till supper did nothing but talk. As Ivan 
 Alexaievich led the conversation, almost always 
 it was devoted mainly to stories of remarkable 
 events in life, — apparitions, illusions of the devil, 
 — in a word, to everything that could not be ex- 
 plained in a natural way. 
 
 The attention with which all listened to these 
 stories showed that no one doubted the truth of 
 them. Zarutski alone smiled out of time. This 
 was not noticed, however ; and though the humor- 
 ous Cheromuhin winked at him in secret, and 
 whispered something in his ear, Cheromuhin be- 
 fore us all called God to witness that he believed 
 everything in terrible stories without examination, 
 
24 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES, 
 
 because, as he said, a house-demon had once 
 throttled him all night. 
 
 The stories and tales which I heard during the last 
 evening I passed at the house of Ivan Alexaievich 
 seemed to me so curious that I noted them down 
 with the greatest exactness in my book of travels. 
 Fearing to be considered a superstitious, ignorant, 
 and retrograde man, I have not had the cour- 
 age hitherto to print my memoirs ; but seeing 
 that for some time stories of wizards and spirits 
 have become favorite reading for our society, I 
 have decided at last to give mine to the world, I 
 do not dare to promise my readers that they will 
 peruse these stories with pleasure, or even without 
 tedium ; but I stand fast and unshaken for the 
 truth of them. Yes, honored readers, there is 
 a Russian history founded on facts subject to no 
 doubt whatever, which is more like a fable than 
 these stories are. 
 
 The wind was roaring through the forest ; fine 
 rain, as if coming through a close sieve, was pour- 
 ing down over the land. On the wooden tower 
 it had not yet struck six o'clock ; but out of doors 
 it was so dark that you might strain your eyes 
 out and not see. 
 
 We were assembled in the study. The master 
 of the house, Kolchugin, the ispravnik, and I sat 
 around the blazing fireplace ; Zarutski and Chero- 
 muhin had disposed themselves most comfortably 
 on a broad sofa, and smoking in silence their pipes, 
 pnjoyed in the fullest sense of the word that moral 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 25 
 
 and physical quiescence which the Italians call 
 far niente. 
 
 " Well, darling weather ! " said Kolchugin at 
 last, listening to the howling of the wind. " Grief 
 would seize any man — " 
 
 " Nonsense, brother !" interrupted Ivan Alexaie- 
 vich ; " this is what is pleasant. What can be 
 more delightful than to sit during a stormy autumn 
 evening with good friends in front of a chimney, 
 smoke your pipe quietly, and looking on the well- 
 fastened windows, think, ' Blow away, wind ! pour 
 down, rain ! bluster, bad weather ! — small is my 
 sorrow.' What is the use of disputing ? He was 
 a wise man who first thought of building houses." 
 
 " And he also who built chimneys in them," 
 added the ispravnik, drawing up to the fire. 
 
 "Not all houses are alike," said Kolchugin, 
 shaking the ashes from his meerschaum. " There 
 are houses in which you could not stay even in 
 such weather as this. I decided once myself dur- 
 ing a violent storm and a pouring rain to pass a 
 part of the night in the open air rather than in a 
 room as large and warm as this." 
 
 " How was that ? " asked the ispravnik. " It is 
 clear that the master of the house did not wish to 
 see you." 
 
 "On the contrary, the host himself was hos- 
 pitable enough; but from another I suffered, 
 though he too wished to entertain me. His en- 
 tertainment, however, was not at all to my 
 liking." 
 
26 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " Oh, that is it ! " said Ivan Alexaievich, " It 
 seems — But this is a whole history, brother, I 
 am sure ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dear friend, — such a history," re- 
 plied Kolchugin, filling his pipe again, "that 
 my hair stands on end even now when I think 
 of it." 
 
 "Do you, Anton Feodorovich, say this?" ex- 
 claimed Zarutski, — " do you, a military man who 
 served with Suvoroif, confess that you were afraid? " 
 
 " Well, father, be not angry. I should like to 
 see your valor in that place. No, Alexai Mihai- 
 lovich, that was something peculiar. Put me be- 
 fore the batteries of an enemy to-day, and God 
 sees that I know no fear ; but when there is an 
 unclean power in a place, then, say what you 
 please, even you would not be brave. Satan is 
 not a cannon ; you cannot take him by assault." 
 
 " Oh ! " said Cheromuhin, winking to Zarutski, 
 " has your history a devil in it ? " 
 
 " Laugh, father, laugh ! " continued Kolchugin. 
 " I know that you are a reading man, and do not 
 believe in anything." 
 
 " Who ? — I ? " asked Cheromuhin. " What do 
 you mean, father, Anton Feodorovich ? Make the 
 sign of the cross on yourself! " 
 
 " All right, — pretend ! But we unlearned 
 people believe in what our fathers and grand- 
 fathers believed in." 
 
 " How is it, brother," asked our host, " that 
 you have never told me this story ? " 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 27 
 
 " I have never had occasion to do so. I will 
 tell it now, if you like, Ivan Alexaievich. Give 
 me a light, father. God save you ! " 
 
 All drew nearer to the story-teller ; and even 
 Zarutski and Cheromuhin rose from the sofa and 
 sat near him on chairs. Anton Feodorovich Kol- 
 chugin, having lighted his pipe, blew out a whole 
 cloud of tobacco smoke from under his gray mus- 
 taches, and began : — 
 
 Pan Tvardovski. 
 
 "It was in the year 1772, soon after the cap- 
 ture of the castle of Cracow, — which, I may say 
 in passing, was not at all as painted here," added 
 the narrator, pointing to one of the walls of the 
 study. " But that is not the question. Though 
 SuvorofF at that time was neither count nor 
 prince, men had begun to speak frequently of him 
 in all ranks of the army. His small division had 
 its camp near Cracow, guarding at a distance 
 Tinets and Lantskoron. The Astrachan grenadier 
 regiment in which I had the honor of serving as 
 regimental adjutant formed part of this army of 
 observation. 
 
 " The colonel of our regiment was a kindly man, 
 of distinguished bravery, and a genuine, hospitable 
 Russian. Nearly all the staff and higher officers 
 used to dine with him every day ; and if any man 
 needed money, he went directly to him as though 
 he were the council of guardians. But see where 
 
28 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 the evil was : our colonel was married ; and that 
 of itself would not have been a misfortune ; but his 
 wife was so capricious that — God save us ! " 
 
 "Well, what of it?" interrupted Zanitski. 
 " That might be bad for her husband ; but how 
 did it concern the ofl&cers ? " 
 
 " How ! " repeated Kolchugin. " Oh, my dear 
 sir, one time is not like another. At present the 
 first person after the colonel of the regiment is the 
 senior squadron commander ; but in our day, if 
 the colonel was married, and his wife was a clever 
 woman, and knew the least bit touching military 
 affairs, she managed the whole regiment. So it is, 
 father, you see there is one age now, but there 
 was another at that time. 
 
 " I have told you our colonel was a brave man. 
 He feared neither bullet nor ball ; but in the pres- 
 ence of his wife he was timid. She was a large 
 woman, — lofty, fine-looking, fair-faced, blooming. 
 But what daring, what a voice ! Ah, thou Lord my 
 God ! what 's the use in talking ? — the lady was 
 a city in herself ! I know not whether it was be- 
 cause she loved her husband or was very jealous, 
 but she would never leave him. When we were 
 on the march she was on the march ; when we 
 were in camp at Cracow she lived in the city ; and 
 though she might have seen her husband every 
 day, she decided at last to come and live with us 
 in the camp. This was not at all to the heart of 
 her husband ; but there was no help for it, — 
 though not willing, be ready. We made a parti- 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOK. 29 
 
 tion in the principal tent ; and in that part where 
 we used to sup with our colonel we fitted up a 
 bedroom, and put in a large bed with rose-colored 
 satin curtains. 
 
 " You know, I suppose, gentlemen, that Suvo- 
 roff did not favor ladies greatly, especially when 
 they lived in camp and interfered in affairs not 
 their own ; but at that time he was only major- 
 general, had no connections ; and the wife of our 
 colonel belonged to a noted family, and her rela- 
 tives were in great favor at Court. Another man 
 ia his place would have frowned and frowned, 
 then let the matter drop ; our Alexander Vassilie- 
 vich did not frown, but forced the colonel's wife 
 out of the camp. I cannot think of it now with- 
 out laughing. Oh, what a rogue ! He had wit, 
 — God grant him the kingdom of heaven ! 
 
 " When our camp was formed he issued an order 
 to the whole army to be ready to march if one 
 rocket was sent up as signal ; if a second, to form 
 in line ; if a third, to strike tents ; if a fourth, to 
 march. He did not like to have soldiers napping ; 
 hence he gave frequent alarms, — sometimes in 
 the day, sometimes in the night. There were cases 
 when he sent up one and even two rockets, and 
 went through the whole camp joking with the offi- 
 cers, jesting with the soldiers ; and that was the 
 end of the matter. 
 
 " Well, the weather had been clear for about a 
 week ; but all at once, toward eleven o'clock in 
 the evening, it grew very dark and cloudy. The 
 
30 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 day had been sultry, and a pouring rain burst 
 down, thunder began to peal ; there was such an 
 uproar in the camp that we could not see God's 
 world. 
 
 " I was at the colonel's then, waiting for orders. 
 His wife was afraid of thunder, and to lessen the 
 glare of the lightning she had taken refuge in the 
 bed and drawn the curtains, but was not asleep. 
 I had barely come out of the tent to go home, 
 — behold ! a signal rocket ! I went back and 
 reported to the colonel. 
 
 " ' How ! ' screamed the lady, hearing my words 
 through the cloth partition ; ' but has that half- 
 crazy general of yours lost his wits altogether? 
 To alarm the camp in such a storm ! ' 
 
 " ' Be calm, Varinka,' said the colonel. * This is 
 a false signal ; perhaps there will not be a second. 
 But meanwhile order them to saddle my horse,' 
 added he in a whisper, turning to me. 'Who 
 knows him ? But let the men be ready.' 
 
 " I rushed to carry out his orders ; and, behold ! 
 in ten minutes another rocket was hissing through 
 the air ; the men, fully armed, were rushing out of 
 the tents and taking their places in ranks. Five 
 minutes more, — Chu ! a third rocket ! There you 
 have it. Suvoroff loved to joke, but not with ser- 
 vice ; and we had such trained men that they could 
 not be described. The whole camp was seething. 
 In half a twinkle the ropes and stakes were gone, 
 and not a tent was to be seen throughout the 
 lines. The fourth rocket soared; the vanguard 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 31 
 
 marched, and after it the whole army, toward 
 Lantskoron. 
 
 " I tell you, gentlemen, not to every man is 
 it given to see such a novelty. While servants 
 were running for a carriage and attaching horses 
 to it, about half an hour passed ; and during all 
 this time — I cannot think of it now without 
 laughter ! Picture to yourselves at night, on a 
 clear field, under an open sky, a double bed with 
 rose-colored satin curtains, and the rain just pour- 
 ing and pouring in torrents ! Well, she was 
 tamed, our stern commandress. Oh, my Lord my 
 God, the rain demoralized her, poor woman ! She 
 was as wet, our mother, as a sponge ! Whither 
 did her daring disappear ? They got her off to 
 Cracow in a close carriage the best way they 
 could. 
 
 " The army marched a couple of versts, halted, 
 and pitched its tents. In all my life I have never 
 seen a person so frantic as the colonel's wife when 
 SuvorofF sent his adjutant next day to inquire after 
 her health." 
 
 " Oh, father, Alexander Vassilievich ! " said the 
 master of the house, with loud laughter. " What 's 
 the use in talking ? A hero ! " 
 
 " That is very amusing," observed Cheromuhin. 
 " But permit me, Anton Feodorovich : the tale 
 was, it seems, about Satan." 
 
 " But the colonel's wife ? " interrupted Zarutski. 
 
 " Oh, that is another affair I I speak of an un- 
 clean power." 
 
33 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " Wait, father," continued Kolchugin ; " we shall 
 come to that also in time, A couple of days after 
 the coloners wife had dried her clothing in Cracow, 
 she laid new plans. She was afraid to live again 
 in the camp, and did not wish to remain in Cracow. 
 They discussed and discussed ; then decided to find 
 a suburban house for her near the camp. Who 
 was to take the trouble unless the adjutant ? 
 
 " I started out early one morning to examine all 
 suitable places on the road to Lantskoron and 
 Tinets. It was not easy to choose. Our colonel's 
 capricious wife wanted a large, unoccupied house, 
 and an extensive garden. All day I went from 
 place to place, tired out my horse, and the mountain 
 stallion of the Cossack who accompanied me was 
 barely able to drag his feet along. At one house 
 we breakfasted, at another we dined. When we 
 began to make our way back to camp the day was 
 inclining toward evening ; before twilight was 
 quenched altogether we had passed over five 
 versts. It grew darker, at a distance lightning 
 flashed, and the clouds had so thickened above 
 us that when we were riding through a forest we 
 could see nothing two paces distant. At first we 
 dragged on in some fashion ; but on a sudden the 
 forest-road moved, as it were, from its place. We 
 were slashed now with branches ; and the horses, 
 coming on logs and stumps, stumbled every 
 moment. 
 
 " ' Oh, this is bad, your Well-bornness ! ' mut- 
 tered the Cossack. ' Have n't we lost our way ? ' 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOK. 33 
 
 " ' Evidently we have, Yermiloff/ answered I, 
 reining in my horse, which was falling on its 
 knees for the third time. 
 
 " ' It is beginning to patter,' continued he. * If 
 God would but help us to strike some bouse be- 
 fore the storm — Stop ! it seems that there on 
 the right a dog is barking.' 
 
 " In very truth, not far from us loud barking 
 was heard. We went straight toward it, and in a 
 few moments came out on a broad road flanked by 
 two lines of birch-trees, at the end of which some- 
 thing seemed white, and a light was glimmering. 
 
 " ' There is a house in the distance,' said Yer- 
 miloff. ' Now, glory to thee, Lord ! we have 
 found a refuge.' 
 
 " ' But stop, brother,' said I ; ' we must not pay 
 too dearly for our lodging. We are not at home, 
 — not in holy Russia. The Poles, I think, do not 
 favor us much. It is well to halt at their houses 
 with a command, or in the daytime on the high- 
 way ; but in the night, in such a dark place, — is 
 it far to sin ! They might give us our death, and 
 then ends in the water.' ^ 
 
 " ' That might happen,' said the Cossack, scratch- 
 ing his head ; ' and there are only two of us. But 
 where shall we go ? ' 
 
 " ' Wait, Yermiloff, we must turn to some strata- 
 gem. I will tell the master of the house that I 
 
 1 " Ends in the water " means " to hide the beginning and 
 end of a deed so as to leave no trace for discovery." This phrase 
 is much used in Russia. 
 
 3 
 
34 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 am sent to occupy this place as headquarters, and 
 that to-morrow at daybreak the first company of 
 our regiment will be here.' 
 
 " ' That is the very thing,' replied the Cossack. 
 ' Let ' us frighten them ; then all will be right. If 
 they think we have come on purpose, and that to- 
 morrow morning a whole company of grenadiers 
 will descend on them, surely no man will venture 
 to harm us a hair.' 
 
 " Conversing thus wise, we approached the lofty 
 enclosure, behind which stood in the centre of a 
 broad area a large two-story stone building, with 
 round towers at the corners. In one corner a light 
 was shining ; but not a soul was to be seen either 
 out of doors or in the house. All was silent as in 
 deep midnight, save this, — that one chained dog 
 was barking. The gates were not closed ; we rode 
 up to the house. I dismounted, entered, — no 
 one in sight ! Directly in front was a staircase. 
 I began to ascend, my sabre rattling along the 
 stone steps so that I might be heard a whole verst 
 away, as I thought. When I had reached the top 
 I stood for a moment. All was silent. ' What the 
 devil ! ' thought I ; ' is it possible that there is no 
 living creature about this house, save a chained 
 dog ? ' Passing my hand along the wall, I felt a 
 door ; pushed, — it opened. I entered, — again no 
 one ! It was cold, damp ; the wind was howling ; 
 there were no frames in the windows. ' Oh, this 
 part of the house is not finished ; but where is the 
 light shining? To the left, it seems.' I returned 
 
AS EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 35 
 
 to the staircase, went along a wall, found another 
 door, opened it, — ' At last I have hit the inhabited 
 apartments ! ' 
 
 " In a small room, lighted dimly by a tallow 
 candle, I found two servants playing cards, while 
 a third was asleep on a bench. At the very mo- 
 ment that I entered I heard at a distance a con- 
 versation quite audible, as of many people speaking 
 eagerly. But one of the servants who was playing 
 cards had barely seen me, when he went to the 
 inner apartments, and straightway all was silent. 
 
 " ' What is the name of this estate ? ' asked I 
 of the servant who remained outside. 
 
 " ' This estate ? ' repeated he, looking at me with 
 such impudence that involuntarily I was confused, 
 and did not repeat ray question at once. 
 
 " ' It is called Byaly Folvark.' 
 
 " ' And what is the owner's name ? Answer, 
 you scoundrel, when you are asked ! ' said I, raising 
 my voice and going toward him. 
 
 " The servant drew back, and after glancing at 
 his sleeping comrade, grumbled forth, — 
 
 " ' Yan 1 Dubitski. — Hei, Kazimir ! ' 
 
 " ' So it is,' said I. ' We had trouble in finding 
 your place. Conduct me to your master.' 
 
 " ' Wait a moment, sir,' replied he. — ' Hei, 
 Kazimir ! ' 
 
 "The third servant, who was sleeping on the 
 bench, jumped up, and seeing before him a Russian 
 officer, cried out, — 
 
 I " Yan " is the Russian for Ivan or John. 
 
36 TALES or THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " ' What is this ? A Muscovite ! ' 
 
 " ' Go down to the door, brother ; a Cossack is 
 standing there,' said I, trying to appear composed. 
 
 " ' A Cossack ! ' exclaimed the half-sleeping ser- 
 vant ; ' one Cossack ? ' 
 
 " ' There is one now ; but there will be many in 
 a little while. Take his horses, lead them to the 
 stable, and tell him to come here.' 
 
 "The servant made no haste to carry out my 
 command ; he looked at me and at his comrade as 
 if dazed, but did not stir from his place. 
 
 " ' What are you staring at, you blockhead ? ' 
 cried I, in a commanding voice. ' Go on ! and see 
 that the horses are well fed ! ' 
 
 " The fellow muttered something, and went out. 
 The servant who had gone to announce me now 
 threw open the door, and I was invited to the 
 drawing-room. Passing through a medium-sized 
 dining-hall, I entered an apartment comfortably 
 furnished and lighted by two wax candles. In 
 one corner hung a couple of sabres, while half-a- 
 dozen Polish coats were thrown on the chairs and 
 windows of the room. The host — a man fifty 
 years old, in a blue coat and yellow boots, with his 
 hair' shaven behind the temples — received me 
 with all the importance of a Polish magnate. He 
 sat carelessly on a sofa, barely moved his head as 
 I entered, and motioned in silence to a stool about 
 five paces from him. 
 
 " ' Oh, devil take it ! ' All the blood boiled up 
 in me. Forgetting that my position was by no 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 37 
 
 means enviable, I had in my mind at that moment 
 nothing but this, ' I have the honor of wearing the 
 Russian uniform, and am a captain in the Astra- 
 chan grenadier regiment.' Without returning his 
 offensive salute, I pushed the stool away with my 
 foot, sat down by his side on the sofa, and taking a 
 pouch from my pocket, began to fill my pipe without 
 saying a word. It seems that this unceremonious 
 method had its effect on the host ; for after a pause 
 he asked me politely enough whence I had come. 
 
 " ' From the camp,' answered I, continuing to 
 fill my pipe. 
 
 " ' And no doubt you are a lieutenant ? ' 
 
 " ' A captain,' answered I, looking proudly on 
 my host. 
 
 " ' Very glad to see you. You have lost your 
 way, of course, in the forest ? ' 
 
 " ' I came here directly.' 
 
 " ' Directly ? ' repeated he, appearing somewhat 
 disturbed. 
 
 " ' Yes,' continued I, smoking quietly. ' This 
 estate is called Byaly Folvark?' 
 
 " ' It is.' 
 
 " ' And you are Pan Dubitski ? ' 
 
 " ' I am.' 
 
 " ' I am sent here by the quartermaster. The 
 headquarters of the Astrachan grenadier regiment 
 are fixed at your house.' 
 
 " ' Headquarters of the regiment ! ' cried the 
 host, springing from the sofa. 
 
 " ' Yes ; to-morrow at daybreak, and to-night 
 
38 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 perhaps, the first company will be here. But sit 
 down, Pan Dubitski, I beg humbly.' 
 
 " I looked at my host. He had stretched out 
 like a string, and stood before me as leaf before 
 stem. Such evolutions took place on hie coun- 
 tenance that I was ready to burst from laughter. 
 His enormous mustaches were quivering, his eyes 
 were springing from side to side, and the small 
 tuft of hair on the top of his head stood almost 
 on end. 
 
 " ' But, Captain, have mercy ! ' cried he at last. 
 ' Where could I put a whole company ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh, we shall find room for them.' 
 
 " ' But think of it yourself — ' 
 
 " ' Pan Dubitski,' interrupted I, taking off my 
 scarf and laying aside my sabre, 'military men do 
 not discuss. Do what is ordered, — that's the 
 whole question.' 
 
 " ' Jesus, Mary ! How is it possible to quarter 
 a whole company here ? How can it be done ? I 
 with my sick wife live in only three rooms.' 
 
 " ' Ah, but is that true ? ' asked I. ' It appears 
 to me that your house is large.' 
 
 " ' Now, as I love God, are there not many 
 houses larger and better than mine? And to 
 whose head could it have come — ' 
 
 " ' Oh, well, Pan Dubitski,' interrupted I, ' after 
 we have drunk a couple of glasses of your Hun- 
 garian wine I will tell you who thought of coming 
 to your estate.' 
 
 " ' At once, at once ! — Eh, boy ! ' 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 39 
 
 " ' Do not trouble yourself/ said I, approaching 
 the table, where there were two bottles of wine 
 and a number of empty and full glasses. 'This 
 will do. To your health, sir!' 
 
 " My host was in evident confusion. When the 
 servant came he whispered something in his ear, 
 and said, turning to me, — 
 
 " ' I had almost forgotten that I had just been 
 trying this wine with my overseer ; he bought it 
 'yesterday in Cracow. What do you say of it ? ' 
 
 " ' Famous wine, — genuine Hungarian ! Now, 
 Pan Dubitski,' continued I, after drinking another 
 glass, ' I will tell you of the person into whose 
 head it came to occupy your house. The head- 
 quarters of the regiment will be here one day, or 
 two at furthest ; but the wife of our colonel will 
 remain here, — whether for a long time or not, 
 that I cannot tell you. In Cracow they told her 
 so much that was pleasant about this place that 
 she wishes to be your guest without fail ! ' 
 
 " ' Many thanks for the honor,* said Dubitski ; 
 'but I should like to know who praised Byaly 
 Folvark to your colonel's wife. Surely my ene- 
 mies, — either the marshal, or Pan Zamborski, or 
 Pan Klanovich. May the devils take them all ! ' 
 
 " ' But it seems to me that they have told the 
 truth.' 
 
 " ' Oh, be kind. Captain ! Spare me ! ' cried he, 
 witli despairing voice. ' Where can the colonel's 
 wife live? In the whole upper story there are 
 only three fuijnished rooms. In these I myself 
 
40 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 manage to , live after a fashion. To be sure, there 
 are rooms enough in the lower story ; but I know 
 not whether it would be possible even for you to 
 spend a night in them.' 
 , "'But why not?' 
 
 " ' Oh, my benefactor, that is a pimishment 
 of God. As soon as my wife is better, I shall 
 move to Cracow ; and this house will never be 
 finished.' 
 
 " ' Why so ? ' asked I, with involuntary curiosity. 
 
 " ' You are a military man, and perhaps will not 
 believe me.' 
 
 " ' But what is the story ? ' 
 
 " ' Have you ever heard of Pan Tvardovski ? ' 
 
 " ' Of Pan Tvardovski ? ' repeated I, and was 
 about to say no, when I remembered that on a 
 time I had read a Russian story concerning Alyosha 
 Popovich, where, among other persons, mention 
 was made of the Polish wizard Pan Tvardovski, 
 with whom the Russian hero struggled all one 
 night. ' I know ! I know ! ' said I. ' The devils 
 carried off this Pan Tvardovski — ' 
 
 " ' Not only carried him off,' interrupted the 
 host, 'but they dragged him through a stone wall, 
 on which, as the old men say, spots of blood re- 
 mained long after.' 
 
 " ' Well, to a dog a dog's death ! But what 
 is there common between your house and that 
 cursed wizard ? ' 
 
 " ' This, my benefactor, my house is built on 
 the very spot where Tvardovski's castle stood.' 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOK. 41 
 
 " ' Is it possible ? ' exclaimed I, glancing around 
 the room in spite of myself. 
 
 " ' As God lives, it is ; and what is worst of all, 
 the whole lower story of the house is constructed 
 from the ruins of his castle.' 
 
 " ' Is that true ? But, then, was not that long 
 ago?' 
 
 " ' Of course. Captain ; but it is no easier for 
 me on that account. Every Friday, about mid- 
 night, in the lower story of this house there is such 
 an uproar that the walls tremble.' 
 
 "'Every Friday?' 
 
 " ' Yes ; they say that on that day the devils tore 
 Tvardovski through the wall and dragged him to 
 hell. This uproar continues sometimes the whole 
 night. All the windows are lighted, and a ter- 
 rible howling begins ; then again it is dark, and 
 afterward there is such light in the whole lower 
 story that from outside one may see everything 
 that is happening within,' 
 
 " * And what happens there? ' asked I, striving 
 to appear indifferent. 
 
 " ' Once,' replied the host, ' my former bailiff 
 decided to look in, but saw such terrors that his 
 tongue was taken from him, and when he began to 
 speak again it was impossible to understand any- 
 thing from his words.' 
 
 " ' Why was that ? ' 
 
 " ' Because he had a violent fever.' 
 
 " ' But when he recovered ? ' 
 
 " ' He did not recover ; he died on the third day.' 
 
42 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " ' That 's how it was ; ' and something like a 
 feverish tremor ran over my limbs. ' But,' said 
 I, after a short silence, ' you say that this takes 
 place only on Fridays ? ' 
 
 " ' I do ; but to-day is Friday.' 
 
 " ' In very truth it is ! But have you no room 
 in the upper story ? ' 
 
 " * Not one, except my wife's bedroom, this 
 parlor where her attendants sleep, and the dining- 
 room where I sleep. But,' added the Pole, with 
 a derisive smile, ' if you are afraid — ' 
 
 " ' If I am afraid ! ' thought I. ' And a Pole 
 says this to a Russian officer ! ' Uh, fathers ! I 
 was as if scalded ! I, a captain of the Astrachan 
 grenadier regiment, afraid of a wizard ! It might 
 be excusable if he were a Russian one ; but — the 
 devil take it ! — if Satan himself were to appear in 
 a Polish dress, I would rather die than draw back 
 an inch before him. 
 
 " ' Excuse me. Pan Dubitski,' said I, rising. ' I 
 fear neither Pan Tvardovski nor Pan Satan, nor 
 living nor dead people. I will spend the night in 
 your lower rooms.' 
 
 " ' As you like. In every case I have fore- 
 warned you; and if anything happens — ' 
 
 " ' Be not alarmed ! I and my Cossack have 
 each a pair of pistols and a sabre ; we are not 
 afraid of living ghosts, and to make head against 
 an unclean power is not difficult. We do not say 
 our prayers, you know, in Latin. Give orders to 
 have my room shown to me.' 
 
AX EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 43 
 
 (( e 
 
 At once ; but would you not like to eat 
 something ? ' 
 
 " ' Thank you, I never sup. If you permit, how- 
 ever, I will take this bottle of Hungarian wine and 
 drink it to the' repose of your Tvardovski's soul. 
 I don't advise him, tliough, to disturb my sleep ; 
 we Russians do not like uninvited guests.' 
 
 " The master of the house accompanied me to 
 the entrance. There, to my astonishment, I saw 
 my Cossack in great friendship with Dubitski's 
 servants. He was drinking gorailka with them in 
 a most cordial manner ; and judging by the two 
 bottles, — one of which was empty, the other with 
 only a little in the bottom, — it was easy to guess 
 that they had entertained Yermiloff in order. I 
 was the more convinced of this when he sprang 
 from the bench and began to catch at the wall so as 
 not to fall at my feet. 
 
 " ' Well, I shall have a poor companion,' thought 
 I. But there was no help for it. One servant 
 walked in front with a light ; two others led 
 down the Cossack, who notwithstanding my pres- 
 ence kissed his conductors, repeatedly thanking 
 them for their friendship and hospitality. 
 
 " After we had descended the stairs, the servant 
 who went in advance opened a massive door with 
 an enormous key. We entered a spacious cham- 
 ber, with ceiling formed of arches. I noticed in 
 spite of myself that the attendants looked on all 
 sides with evident fear, and listened to the sound 
 of their own footsteps, which echoed under the 
 
44 TALES OF THREE CENTITRIES. 
 
 broad arches of rooms which were as damp and 
 gloomy as burial chambers under a church ; it 
 needed but coffins to make the resemblance 
 perfect. 
 
 " At last we came to a corner room, which 
 looked more inhabitable than the others. There 
 were many family portraits on the wall ; the fur- 
 niture of the room consisted of a couple of dozen 
 chairs covered with black leather, a sofa, a bed with 
 a silk covering, a large clock, and an oaken table, — 
 upon which the servant placed a candle, and I the 
 bottle of Hungarian wine. The servants, having 
 bade me good-night, departed. 
 
 "'Are you not ashamed, Yermiloff?' asked I 
 of the Cossack, who was leaning against the wall 
 in order to appear as sober as possible. ' You 
 might have drunk a glass, a second ; but see how 
 you have filled yourself.' 
 
 " ' Not at all, sir,' muttered he. ' Order me, and 
 I will walk across the room on one plank.' 
 
 " ' Be silent, you beast ! ' 
 
 « ' I obey.' 
 
 " ' Where are my pistols ? ' 
 
 " ' In the holsters.' 
 
 " ' And you left them in the stable ? ' 
 
 " ' That is nothing. The people here are hon- 
 est ; everything will be safe.' 
 
 " ' Give me yours.' 
 
 " The Cossack drew the pistols from his belt, 
 and giving them to me said : ' Be pleased to take 
 care ; they are loaded with bullets. Famous pis- 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOE. 45 
 
 tols ! Ob, but the people here admired them, — 
 admired them ! ' 
 
 " ' Well, go and lie on that sofa, and sleep 
 enough, you drunkard ! ' 
 
 " The Cossack made his way along the wall, 
 dragged himself to the sofa, lay down, and 
 was snoring that minute, I took the candle, 
 and first of all examined the doors of my room. 
 They were closed from the outside, and on the 
 inside there was neither bolt nor hook. This 
 fact displeased me greatly; but what could I 
 do? 
 
 " After I had closed the doors as firmly as I 
 could, I examined, in passing, the portraits, dark- 
 ened from age, which were hanging on the walls. 
 In all my life I had never seen such a collection of 
 brutal and revolting faces. The lower part of the 
 head shaven all around, with a tuft of hair on the 
 crown ; hanging chins ; gloomy, lowering brows ; 
 mustaches like those of Siberian cats, — in one 
 word, each portrait a deformity, and one more 
 repulsive than the other. 
 
 " ' Ah, beauties ! ' thought I. ' If the house de- 
 mons who come here to play tricks are not better 
 looking, I must say they are pretty company.' I 
 was struck most by a portrait of a certain holi- 
 day scarecrow with a gold chain around his neck, 
 in a black coat and a high four-sided cap. His 
 shrivelled, pale face, mustaches brushed down- 
 ward, and crooked eyes peering from under hang- 
 ing brows, were so ugly that I had never seen 
 
46 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 anything worse. Underneath, on a gilded frame, 
 was written ' Pan Tvardovski.' 
 
 " ' So here he is ! ' exclaimed I, involuntarily. 
 ' Well, he is a beauty, — the dove ! And he is the 
 one who comes from the other world to frighten 
 living men. Oh, you devil's scarecrow ! ' And I 
 spat at the portrait. ' I^^ever fear, you shall not 
 frighten me, you cursed heretic ! ' 
 
 " I don't know how it was, but I did not feel 
 any timidity. I thought that in Poland even 
 devils ought to fear a Russian officer, and I felt 
 thus though the story of my host had produced 
 a certain impression ; but I knew that the Poles 
 are fond of telling a fine tale on an occasion, and 
 of making an elephant out of a fly. ' At all events,' 
 thought I, taking up the bottle of Hungarian, ' if 
 in reality an unclean power does play tricks in this 
 house, what of it ? There will be an uproar for 
 a while, and then it will cease ; that will be the 
 end of it. It is in order for a demon to play tricks 
 with a heretic ; but I am orthodox.' 
 
 " Reasoning thus, I removed my upper garments, 
 put my sword and pistols in a convenient place, 
 said my prayers, made the sign of the cross, took 
 another sip of Tokay, and lay on the bed. The 
 light of the wax taper, which I did not extinguish, 
 fell directly on the opposite wall, and lighted — 
 though faintly, still sufficiently — a number of por- 
 traits. Though I was not afraid in the least, the 
 expectation of something uncommon did not let 
 me close my eyes. From time to time it seemed 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOK. 47 
 
 as if all those portraits had started into life. That 
 one winked its eyes, another moved its mustaches, 
 and a third nodded at me ; and though I under- 
 stood that all this happened because it was glim- 
 mering before my eyes, still I could not sleep. 
 
 " Gut of doors it was stormy, — the wind was 
 howling, and rain pouring as if from a pail ; but in 
 my chamber and in the adjoining rooms all was 
 silent and calm. 
 
 " ' Has not my host been jesting with me ? 
 Perhaps he has. These Poles like to amuse them- 
 selves at the expense of our brother the Russian 
 officer. Of course, when they have not power, 
 they must do something to ease their minds. 
 Probably he is thinking now, "That cursed 
 Muscovite won't sleep all night ; my Hungarian 
 will do him no good." But, my benefactor, you 
 are mistaken ; I shall sleep.' 
 
 " I drew the curtain, and fell to thinking of 
 old times, — of white-walled mother Moscow ; of 
 the Praisninski ponds ; of the red cottage with 
 green shutters where lived Avdotia Nicolaevna, 
 to whom I was then betrothed ; of this, of that, 
 — and behold ! little by little my eyes grew hazy, 
 drowsiness overcame me, and I fell asleep. While 
 dreaming that I was walking with my bride over 
 the Daiviche field, and that some one pushed me 
 in the side, I woke. 
 
 " ' Well, well, what 's that ? There seems to be a 
 light in the adjoining room ! ' I pushed aside the 
 curtain and looked, — a light ! Without thinking 
 
48 TALES OF THREE CENTUKIES. 
 
 long, I sprang out of bed, took a pistol, went on 
 tiptoe to the door, and 'opened one side of it. 
 ' Well, that is not terrible ! ' I saw a table, on 
 which was an enormous dish covered with some- 
 thing white ; and around the table were thirty 
 chairs. ' We shall soon learn,' thought I, ' who 
 is coming here to sup.' 
 
 " Five minutes had not passed when I heard at 
 the distance as of a verst mournful singing. Nearer 
 and nearer it came. ' Is not that a funeral dirge ? ' 
 It was funeral music ; but the words could not be 
 distinguished. Then all was silent. Again they 
 began to sing, but very near now. How they 
 roared ! Lord, my God ! One to the forest, the 
 other for fuel,^ — some wailed as over a grave, 
 others whistled for a dance. And such an uproar ! 
 — noise, screams ! Suddenly the door of the 
 room in which the table was set was thrown open 
 as if by a whirlwind, and in came the company, all 
 in shrouds, masks, and white caps. Well, neither 
 to give nor take men on the gallows,^ they came 
 in two by two ; and behind all, four similar scare- 
 crows were bearing a corpse ; and hardly had the 
 four crossed the threshold when all began to howl 
 again. The dead man rose and cast off the sheet 
 with which he was covered. Behold ! he was pre- 
 cisely like the portrait in the black coat, wearing just 
 
 1 This phrase means "each man for his own purpose ; " here 
 it means that each sang as he chose. 
 
 2 This phrase means "exactly like, without either adding 
 to or taking from." 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 49 
 
 such a four-sided hat, and having a gold chain on 
 his neck, a pale face, long, hanging mustaches. 
 ' thou my Lord, that is he ! — the wizard. Pan 
 Tvardovski ! ' 
 
 " Well, gentlemen, — why hide a fault ? — my 
 restive heart shuddered within me. Meanwhile 
 all the rabble took places in the room. Some 
 stood near the wall in a row ; others sat at the 
 table. The dead man was in the seat of honor ; 
 but opposite him one chair remained vacant. I 
 look : the wizard beckons me with his finger. 
 ' What is to be done ? ' thought I. * It is not well 
 to go ; I am ashamed ndt to go ; but what is 
 more important, the devils in Poland will think 
 that I am a coward before them. So be it ! — 
 God holds the daring ! — I will go ! ' 
 
 " Keeping the pistol in hand, I approached the 
 table. The wizard pointed to the vacant seat. 
 * That is it ! So it is clear I was on their list. 
 Very well, very well ; we shall see what will hap- 
 pen.' I sat down. Though from time to time 
 frost tore over my skin, I did not lose my courage 
 yet. Besides, all these holiday scarecrows sat and 
 stood very quietly ; it was possible to hear a fly 
 on the wing. Even the wizard himself, with staring 
 pewter eyes, sat as primly as a stufled skin. 
 
 " Ten minutes passed. All was still ; the devils 
 were silent. The wizard was staring ; and I gazed 
 on the whole precious company, waiting to see 
 how the matter would end. Now the clock in 
 my chamber began to wheeze, the wheels turned, 
 
 4 
 
50 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 the beli sounded, -^ one, two, three ! Chu ! it is 
 midnight. 
 
 "The twelfth blow had not ceased sounding 
 when the wizard moved his mustaches and 
 nodded his head. One of the party rose, and 
 bending forward, stretched forth a long bony hand, 
 bent his hooked fingers, and snatched away the 
 white cloth covering the dish. Uh, fathers ! 
 even now I cannot think of it without terror. I 
 look. On the plate is a human head ; and what 
 a head ! thou Lord, my God ! Swollen clieeks, 
 a nose as big as my two fists, a mouth reaching 
 both ears, eyes as large as tablespoons. How my 
 heart jumped ! What a dish they had ready ! 
 
 " ' Eat ! ' roared the wizard, with hoarse voice. 
 ' Eat ! ' repeated in chorus the whole unclean 
 power. Oi, oi, oi ! this is an evil affair ! I wish 
 to rise, my legs bend under me ; I wish to say a 
 prayer, my tongue does not move. The devils 
 and wizard are just burning me with their hellish 
 eyes. 
 
 " At last I said somehow, ' Avaunt, avaunt ! 
 Let God arise ! ' And what do you think ? the 
 head moved, began to mock me with its tongue, 
 and gnash its teeth. O heavenly powers ! and 
 prayer has no effect, — bad ! I do not remember 
 how it came into my head, whether from fear or 
 not; but I raised my hand holding the pistol, 
 placed the muzzle almost against this devil's head, 
 cocked the pistol, fired ! 
 
 " Nothing ! All the devils roared with laughter ; 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 51 
 
 the head opened its enormous gullet, and in a 
 deep bass voice thundered forth, as if out of a 
 barrel, the Polish mazurka. 
 
 "Well, my hands fell, my sight grew dim, all 
 went around in a whirl, in my ears was an uproar, 
 the table began to jump, the devils spun around 
 like tops, I fell senseless to the floor. 
 
 " How long I lay there I know not, but when I 
 recovered it was dark. The storm was still howl- 
 ing outside, but in the house all had grown silent. 
 The table and lights were gone. In my chamber 
 the wax taper burning to the end was barely 
 gleaming. I did not come at once to my senses ; 
 but the moment I recalled what had happened, 
 whencesoever the impulse came, I dressed in a 
 moment, roused YermilofF, dragged him to the 
 stable, woke the stable-boys, and in half an hour 
 was riding again through the forest. 
 
 "We arrived at the camp toward daylight. 
 When I appeared before the colonel I so frightened 
 him that he sent at once for the regimental doctor. 
 My face was gone from me. Martin Adamich, 
 the doctor, when he had felt my pulse, declared 
 that I had a violent fever, and prescribed some 
 medicine, which I did not take. I slept twenty- 
 four hours, and in two days started off again in 
 search of a hoilse for the colonel's wife." 
 
 " And have you not met Dubitski since ? " asked 
 Zarutski. 
 
 " No, Alexai Mihailovich ; I have simply heard 
 that at his house a whole company of Polish con- 
 
62 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 federates were captured just before the end of the 
 campaign. After a short encounter between these 
 gentlemen and one of our flying squadrons, the 
 Cossacks, having taken Dubitski and his com- 
 panions, burned and destroyed Byaly Folvark." 
 
 " And what do you think, Anton Feodoro- 
 vich ? " interrupted Cheromuhin, with a smile. 
 " Among the captives there was no doubt a num- 
 ber of devils ; and maybe the wizard Tvardovski 
 himself fell into the hands of the Cossacks." 
 
 " Well, of that, father, I know nothing," an- 
 swered Kolchugin, coolly filling his pipe. 
 
 " That is, you wish to hint, Prohor Kondratich, 
 do you not ? " said the host, " that Dubitski 
 and his guests played this midnight comedy with 
 our friend, in order to save his house from becoming 
 the headquarters of the Russians." 
 
 ''■ What do you say ? " exclaimed Cheromuhin ; 
 " that did not even come into my head. I have 
 already explained to you that I believe everything 
 in the world. If the Poles had played a trick, 
 the head would not have sung in a bass voice after 
 Anton- Feodorovich had fired at it from a pistol. 
 True, it would not have been difficult to unload 
 the pistols of a drunken Cossack. However, this is 
 only a guess, not proof ; to my thinking, it is most 
 probable that an unclean power was mixed up 
 in this business." 
 
 " Oh, you are amusing yourself, my kind 
 friend ! " interrupted Zarutski. " I tell you, most 
 worthy Anton Feodorovich, without round-about 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOE. 53 
 
 phrases, that the Poles simply fooled you. It was 
 necessary for them to prevent in some way the 
 occupation of the house by soldiers. But say 
 what you please, to put on a masquerade dress, 
 stick a head through a hole in a table and a plate, 
 and unload the pistols of a drunken Cossack re- 
 quire little cunning. Do you know, in your 
 place I should have amused myself with them in 
 good order. You had only to pretend that you 
 wished to try the dish placed before you ; and if 
 you had taken the nose of this baked head in one 
 hand and the carving-knife in the other, I can as- 
 sure you that it would not have sung the Polish 
 mazurka in a bass voice^ but possibly might have 
 • danced it on the plate. Oh, Anton Feodorovich, 
 is that the way honest men are tricked when the 
 need comes ? Well, I had an adventure once 
 which might have driven any one out of his mind." 
 
 "You ? " asked our host, with curiosity. " When 
 was that?" 
 
 " About seven years ago, when I still wore a 
 hussar's uniform, and was with my regiment in 
 Italy." 
 
 " With Suvoroff? " 
 
 " Yes, uncle. If you wish, I will tell you about 
 it. Listen ! 
 
 The White Apparition. 
 
 " In the battle of Novi, where the French were 
 utterly routed by the Russians and Austrians, 
 
54 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 under the lead of Suvoroff, I was with my 
 squadron in a division commanded by SuvorofF 's 
 favorite, General Miloradovich. When he was 
 leading forward his column in an attack on the 
 enemy's centre, my horse vi^as killed under me by a 
 cannon ball, and I received such a contusion that 
 I lay on the field insensible for many hours. 
 
 " After the battle I was taken to the little town 
 of Aqua, and later to Turin, where I kept my bed 
 for more than two weeks. I speak Italian fairly 
 well, and had an opportunity of conversing occar 
 sionally with the master of the house where I 
 was quartered. Notwithstanding this, I was dying 
 of weariness and tedium. When I had grown 
 better and could walk about my room, I was ad- 
 vised to finish my cure outside the city. 
 
 " It was toward the end of August ; the heat 
 was unendurable, and I felt myself that fresh 
 country air was indispensable to my recovery. The 
 Austrian commandant assigned to me excellent 
 quarters about ten versts from the city, in the 
 house of Signor Leonardo Frazelini, a rich Turin 
 merchant. I sent on in advance my orderly with 
 my quarter ticket, and set out early next morning 
 in a hired carriage. Stopping for a moment to 
 admire the magnificent square of Santo Carlo, I 
 passed out of the city through the environs of 
 Borgo di Po. 
 
 " I have never been in Southern Italy ; but if 
 the climate and nature of the country are better 
 than those of Piedmont, indeed, it may be called 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOE. 55 
 
 an earthly paradise, and the flower-garden of 
 Europe. It is difficult even for a painter to give 
 a clear idea of the bright green of the fields 
 sprinkled with fragrant flowers. Of the deep blue 
 and also transparent skies of Italy, there is no 
 reason to speak here. You have been on the 
 Caucasus, uncle, and in the Crimea ; you will un- 
 derstand better with what enthusiasm I gazed 
 upon this cloudless sky of the South, and the 
 blossoming environs of Turin, covered with mul- 
 berry groves. We, children of the North, reared 
 amid broad fields and dense forests, are accus- 
 tomed from childhood to love room and space. 
 You can imagine how delighted I was when I had 
 gone outside the city and was able to breathe 
 freely this life-giving air of the fields, filled with 
 the fragrance of flowers. 
 
 " I had not gone two miles from the city limits 
 when I felt so changed that I was ready that 
 moment to mount, draw my sword, and gallop to 
 the charge, I felt so light and joyous. Without 
 any doubt contrasts are essential to happiness here 
 below. If I had not been sitting some weeks in 
 a narrow chamber in which everything had the 
 odor of medicine, as in an apothecary's shop ; if 
 the dark and narrow alley into which the sun 
 never looked had not been the only view which I 
 could admire from my windows, — then scarcely 
 would there have been in my life these few hours 
 of felicity not poisoned by anything. 
 
 " After I had passed the pleasure palace called 
 
56 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 the Royal Vineyard, I sprang outof the carriage and 
 went forward on foot. My eager glance surveyed 
 everything freely, — the hilly banks of the river 
 Po, dotted with suburban houses ; the broad val- 
 ley ending at the foot of the high mountain of 
 Piedmont. Near by, on the right, towered the 
 Gothic church of the monastery on the Capucine 
 Hill; farther on, and still higher, through the 
 dark green of the olive-trees appeared the white 
 dented walls of Camaldoli ; and directly in front 
 of me, emerging from the morning mist, floated 
 as if ou clouds the enormous cupola of the Su- 
 perga, the celebrated rival of the colossal dome 
 of St. Peter's, in Rome. With every step in 
 advance the horizon grew. Enchanted by the 
 picturesque views which succeeded one another 
 without interruption, I did not see that I had 
 walked five versts in front of the carriage. It 
 dragged along after me at a horse-walk over the 
 highway. 
 
 " ' Ehe ! Signor OfEciale, Signor Ofificiale ! ' cried 
 my coachman ; ' Maledetto ! Signor Officiale ! ' 
 
 " I stopped, and saw that the carriage had halted 
 at the entrance of a shady avenue of pyramidal 
 poplars, which about two hundred yards from the 
 highway joined a thick grove of chestnut-trees. 
 I turned back, and walking in front of the carriage, 
 reached the grove, through which I passed by a 
 straight road and came out on an open space, the 
 calm and country look of which pleased me so much 
 that I stopped for a moment to admire the place. 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 57 
 
 Imagine a broad valley through which flowed a 
 winding little river, skirting in its course several 
 high hills covered with a dense thicket, and empty- 
 ing into a clear lake with sloping shores which with- 
 out exaggeration might have been called Persian 
 carpets, they were so many-colored from a countless 
 multitude of the brightest and most varied flowers. 
 
 " Directly in front of the chestnut-grove from 
 which I went to the bank of the lake peeped 
 forth, from orange-trees and thick clumps of fra- 
 grant acacias, a one-story house with a flat roof and 
 handsome portico. Around it were planted acacia 
 and pomegranate trees ; flexible grape-vines crept 
 up the pillars of the portico, and in all the win- 
 dows were alabaster vases with flowers. Behind 
 the house was a wing with broad Italian windows, 
 extending along the whole depth of the rear court. 
 The front side of this wing was turned to the court, 
 while the opposite side faced a garden which sur- 
 rounded on three sides the house and all the build- 
 ings connected with it. A broad meadow through 
 which the river flowed began at the chestnut-grove. 
 Five or six peasant cottages were scattered about 
 in picturesque disorder ; a mill stood on the river- 
 bank ; cows and playful goats were grazing near 
 by ; a comely-faced girl was bringing water in an 
 earthen jar on her head, giving animation to this 
 charming picture of country life. 
 
 " 'This is a perfect idyl ; it, is a pity there is not 
 a shepherd and shepherdess — But here they 
 are ! ' cried I, espying beneath a clump of trees a 
 
58 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 young man seated on the grass beside a maiden of 
 about sixteen. They were dressed simply, in coun- 
 try style, but neatly. If the straw hat worn by 
 the young girl were exhibited in Moscow, on Kuz- 
 netski Most, I assure you it would not remain long 
 unbought. The young man was rather good-look- 
 ing; and the maiden had a charming, expressive 
 face, with those flashing black eyes which are to 
 be found in Italy alone. 
 
 " ' Permit me to ask,' said I, approaching those 
 tender doves, who were cooing to each other 
 about something in a low voice. ' This is Signer 
 Frazelini's villa, is it not ? ' 
 
 " The maiden screamed and ran away ; before 
 my question was finished her tracks had grown 
 cold. The young man was confused, but answered 
 very politely, — 
 
 " ' It is, Signor Oflficiale. This estate belongs to 
 Leonardo Frazelini ; and if you wish I will con- 
 duct you to the house.' 
 
 " I followed him along the bank of the river ; 
 the carriage passed over a road which lay directly 
 through the meadow to a broad dam built above 
 the mill. When we had crossed the stream by a 
 handsome Chinese bridge, I asked the young man 
 if he were not Signor Frazelini's son. 
 
 '"I am his nephew,' replied he ; 'my name is 
 Cornelio Anicetti.' 
 
 " ' And the beauty with whom you were sitting 
 just now was your sister, I suppose ? ' 
 
 " Coruelio's dark cheeks colored. 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 59 
 
 (( I ■ 
 tt I 
 
 ' No ; she is my aunt's maid.' 
 ' Ah, indeed ! But she was so well dressed, 
 I thought — But what is the name of this beauti- 
 ful maid?" 
 
 " ' Celestina.' 
 
 " ' She is very pretty.' 
 
 " Cornelio looked at me closely, and I confess 
 that it pleased my self-love to see that this inspec- 
 tion did not quiet him greatly. 
 
 " ' Yes,' said he at last, ' it is true that Celestina 
 is pretty, but she is very wild ; besides, — you will 
 pardon me, Signor OfSciale, — she cannot endure 
 foreigners. But here comes my uncle to meet us,' 
 added he, pointing to a gentleman of advanced 
 years, with a pleasant face and respectable bearing. 
 
 " The master of the house received me as kindly 
 as if I had been a relative ; and his wife, Signora 
 Aurelia, could not for a long time recover from 
 her surprise at the sight of a Russian barbarian 
 who treated her to half-a-dozen compliments in 
 the purest Tuscan. 
 
 " During the day I saw no one but my host and 
 hostess, their nephew, the nimble servant Ubaldo, 
 and a hideous old woman whom they called Petro- 
 nella. Toward evening, when we were all sitting 
 in one room, the windows of which looked on the 
 court, Celestina appeared at last, sat down very 
 quietly on a low stool in one corner of the room, 
 so that I could not even admire her dark eyes, — 
 she never raised them once in conversing with 
 me. 
 
60 TALES OF THREE CENTtTBIES. 
 
 " Signora Aurelia said, among other things, that 
 she did not know whether my room would please 
 me. 
 
 " ' You need quiet,' remarked she, ' and your 
 chamber is next to our bedroom ; we rise early, 
 and may disturb you.' 
 
 " ' Oh, as to that, be not troubled ! I am only 
 afraid lest I disturb you ; but is there not a spare 
 room in that wing ? ' asked I, pointing to the long 
 building with Italian windows. 
 
 " ' All the rooms in it are vacant, and it was 
 built on purpose for guests,' replied my host ; ' but 
 for some time^' And here Signor Frazelini 
 stopped, glancing significantly at his wife. 
 
 " ' For some time, what ? ' asked I. 
 
 " ' No one lives in it.' 
 
 " ' And why is that ? ' 
 
 " ' But how can I tell you ? You military men, 
 it seems, believe in nothing. In this wing unclean 
 spirits have settled.' 
 
 " I laughed. 
 
 " ' Laugh, Signor Officiale, laugh ; but it is just 
 as true as that I have the honor now of address- 
 ing you. Two months ago it was remarked that 
 in this wing a strange sound was heard at 
 night, as well as sad groans. This would still 
 be nothing were it not that every night about 
 twelve o'clock — sometimes a little earlier, some- 
 times a little later — a tall spectre in white passes 
 with a lantern from one end of the wing to the 
 other. I myself have seen from this very room 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 61 
 
 how it walks back and forth, passing all the 
 windows.' 
 
 " ' Has it never occurred to you that this might 
 be the trick of some mischievous person ? ' 
 
 " ' Of course it has ; but there is one circum- 
 stance which destroys all my conjectures. I must 
 tell you that the rooms in the wing are arranged 
 precisely as cells in a monastery ; along the whole 
 length runs a corridor with ten doors opening into 
 as many chambers, divided from one another by 
 regular walls, and to go from room to room it is 
 unavoidably necessary to go first to the corridor. 
 You can satisfy yourself of all this to-morrow. 
 Now, I beg you to explain how an ordinary mor- 
 tal, not a spirit or some apparition, could go 
 through the wholp length of the wing, pass all 
 the windows, not stopping for a minute, but con- 
 tinuing with even step, — in short, walking back 
 and forth through the ten rooms as if they formed 
 merely one long gallery, without any interruption. 
 There is no ground, it seems to me, for lengthy 
 reasoning ; either there is communication between 
 the rooms or no obstacle exists for this apparition, 
 which passes through a stone wall just as we do 
 through an open door. There is no communica- 
 tion, nor are there doors between the rooms. To- 
 morrow, I repeat, you may satisfy yourself of this. 
 Consequently, this nightly visitor is not some 
 mischievous fellow, but simply either an unclean 
 spirit, or some one who has died -without the 
 benefit of the clergy; or what is more likely, 
 
62 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 some Christian soul suffering in purgatory, and 
 needing our prayers. Here all are convinced that 
 it is the soul of poor Paolo, my former gar- 
 dener, who committed suicide last winter in that 
 wing.' 
 
 " ' At first we were greatly disturbed, but now 
 have grown used to it ; besides, no one, till this 
 moment, save my nephew, has offered to spend a 
 night in that part of the house. It is true he did 
 not escape either ; the apparition as usual walked 
 through the rooms, and was so terrible that Cor- 
 nelio lay all night without memory.' 
 
 " During this recital I noted two things, — first, 
 the nephew was out of countenance when the 
 story touched him ; and second, although Signor 
 Frazelini and Signora Aurelia were fully con- 
 vinced that inhabitants of another world had 
 taken lodgings in their house, there were others 
 in the room besides myself who did not lend 
 much belief to the story. I sat opposite a large 
 mirror which reflected all that took place be- 
 hind me, — that is, the opposite wall and the door 
 near which stood Ubaldo, and the corner in which 
 sat the pretty Celestina. Twice I remarked that 
 their glances met, and in consequence of this 
 meeting a significant smile appeared, the meaning 
 of which it was not difficult to guess. 'Now,' 
 thought I, ' I will bet that rogue Celestina knows 
 more about this mystery of ghosts passing through 
 stone walls than does her master or mistress.' 
 
 " After we had talked somewhat more of this 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOB. 63 
 
 frightful case, I bade good-night to my host and 
 hostess and retired. 
 
 "From change of residence, or some other 
 cause, I was unable to sleep. From my room the 
 whole wing was visible. A little after midnight 
 one window of the wing was lighted up. I sprang 
 out of bed, and saw that an apparition in a white 
 winding-sheet, with a lantern in its hands, passed 
 three times through all the rooms, not stopping 
 for a moment. That it was deceit, I did not 
 doubt ; that the causes were of the most mundane 
 character, I was also convinced ; but how it took 
 place, and in what this optical illusion consisted, I 
 of course could not tell. I thought and thought ; 
 and though the apparition did not frighten me, 
 still, owing to it, I was unable to sleep the whole 
 night. Not finding any benefit in turning from 
 side to side, I rose at the first dawn, dressed, and 
 took a stroll in the garden. The morning light 
 was only just beginning to fill the world ; every 
 one in the house was sleeping save your humble 
 servant, and some little early bird which flitted 
 past at the moment that I approached the garden 
 side of the wing. 
 
 " ' Ah, ha ! ' thought I, ' here it is. If these 
 rooms were not occupied by unclean spirits, then 
 ordinary mortals would occupy them. Now, Mr. 
 Cornelio, you are tricking your uncle in good 
 style.' 
 
 " I passed the day, as the preceding one, with 
 my kind, amiable host and hostess. I thought 
 
64 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 of my morning walk and the white apparition, 
 and at last struck, as it were, the right road. 
 It remained to me to convince myself whether 
 my conjectures were just or not, and while 
 harming no one, rid my hospitable host of these 
 nightly visits. 
 
 " After supper I retired to my room, and about 
 midnight, being wrapped from head to foot in 
 a white sheet, I stole out to the garden and 
 approached the wing. The exhibition had be- 
 gun already, although I entered not from that 
 side, but guessed it had, for the doors were 
 open, and in the courtyard the sleepy night- 
 watch had begun to pray in a loud voice. 
 
 " 1 made my way quietly up-stairs and hid in a 
 dark corner of the corridor. In a moment all my 
 conjectures were justified. ' Well, gentle artists,' 
 thought I, ' it is necessary to frighten you so that 
 you will not think of playing this comedy again.' 
 
 " There was a small wooden bench in the cor- 
 ridor; on this I fixed myself, dropped the sheet 
 till the end touched the floor, and began to 
 groan in such a sepulchral and unearthly voice 
 that I was almost frightened myself. 
 
 " Suddenly from two rooms two white ghosts 
 rushed forth. And, oh horror ! a third ghost 
 was standing before them, but of immensely 
 greater stature, giving forth deep sepulchral 
 groans. 
 
 " ' Who art thou ? ' asked a trembling and 
 to me very well known voice. 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 65 
 
 " ' Pray for me,' answered I, in a voice long 
 drawn out. ' I am a suicide ; I am the sinful 
 Paolo.' 
 
 " Oh, my fathers ! how those two unfortunate 
 ghosts rushed from me ! They rolled down-stairs 
 like a couple of bundles, losing their white mantles 
 on the way. 
 
 "When my host told me next day that his 
 servant Ubaldo and his nephew Cornelio both 
 fell ill during the night and were now in bed, 
 I moved into the wing and lived there quietly 
 for two months ; and I assure you, my dear uncle, 
 that during that time the white apparition never 
 visited me once." 
 
 " Well, brother, you are a hero," said Ivan 
 Alexaievich ; " only, I am not able to understand 
 perfectly. You say there were two of them ; how 
 was that ? " 
 
 " Well, this is how it was, uncle. They were 
 dressed alike, and each had a hidden lantern. 
 When the one who started to cross the first 
 room arrived at the partition dividing it from 
 the second, at that moment he hid his lantern, 
 and striking with his fist on the wall, ran out 
 into the corridor, and entering the third room, 
 stood up close to the wall ; the second appa- 
 rition, hearing the signal, took his lantern and 
 walked across to the wall of the third chamber, 
 and so by turns, till they came to the end of 
 the wing. They had this so arranged that it 
 appeared as if one and the same figure were 
 
 5 
 
66 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 passing through the whole wing. It was im- 
 possible to detect the trick from the yard." 
 ' " Well, cunningly invented ! That there is 
 much deceit in the world, cannot be denied. 
 Of course we must doubt at times, and medi- 
 tate ; every man has his Tsar in his head ; but 
 to believe in nothing and doubt everything — " 
 
 " God sees that is a sin," interrupted Kol- 
 chugin, opening anew his silent lips. " My late 
 father — God grant him the kingdom of heaven ! 
 — tried once to be a sceptic, but succeeded so 
 badly that he made a vow afterward to doubt 
 nothing and to believe in all things on earth." 
 
 " What happened to him ? " asked Asanoff. 
 
 " Oh, it was such an event ! My father told 
 me about it many times." 
 
 "And you, my dear man, tell us." 
 
 " It is not difficult to tell ; but the story is 
 such a strange one that if you are not careful, 
 these gentlemen will banter me " (motioning to 
 Zarutski and Cheromuhin), "and maybe they will 
 not let my dead father off free." 
 
 " But, my dear sir," said I, moving up to 
 Kolchugin, "what do you care for them? Tell 
 us the story." 
 
 " Well, if such be your wish, I will do so. Now 
 listen! 
 
 The Unexpected Guests. 
 
 " My father was a man of the old time," thus 
 began Anton Feodorovich Kolchugin, "though 
 
AS EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 67 
 
 thanks, first to God, and second to his par- 
 ents, he had the wealth of a noble, and 
 might have lived no worse than his neighbors, 
 — that is, he might have built a stone man- 
 sion ninety feet long, kept houndi, had an or- 
 chestra of his own, a conservatory, and every 
 other lordly contrivance ; but he gave no thought 
 to this, all his life he lived in a small house, 
 kept not more than ten servants, hunted some- 
 times with falcons, and in an hour of good 
 feeling he would amuse himself listening to 
 Va^ka, the guitarist, who, let it not be men- 
 tioned, could drink his share, and was a splen- 
 did musician, the rascal ! When he played 
 and sang, ' The Morning Dawn has come ' or 
 ' On the Shore at the Dam,' you quite forgot 
 yourself. 
 
 " But if my father made no display with his 
 house or servants, he held fast to the old 
 proverb, 'A house is beautiful, not by its cor- 
 ners, but by its cakes.' Even in the old time 
 I think such hospitable men were a wonder. 
 My father's house was built on the high-road 
 itself. If any one stopped in the village by day 
 or in the evening, people ran to inform my 
 father ; and if the travellers were, even by a 
 little, not altogether simple people, — nobles, mer- 
 chants, or even small towns-people, — then it was : 
 ' We beg as a favor ' to the master's court.' If 
 they showed any resistance, the whole neighbor- 
 hood was barred; and though they howled, at 
 
68 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 no house would any one sell a pound of hay 
 or a grain of oats. 
 
 " No use in denying, — the old gentleman liked 
 a social glass. When he brought guests to his 
 house, such drinking began that it was just keep 
 on your feet. You '11 see a swelling ocean ; what 
 you wish for, demand. Of foreign drinks as many 
 as ten were never exhausted in his cellar, and of 
 berry wines no reckoning was made. 
 
 " One time, in winter, just six months after 
 my mother's death, my father was sitting alone 
 in his favorite room, on the sofa. I was .not 
 with him at the time ; I was my third year in 
 the service of the Tsar, and was fighting against 
 the Swedes. It was toward evening ; a snow- 
 storm was raging, and the frost was so fierce 
 that the walls were cracking. In such Weather 
 guests were not to be looked for. What was 
 to be done ? My father, to pass the time till 
 supper, ■ — and he never supped before eleven, — 
 began to read the ' Lives of the Saints.' He 
 opened the book at random, and came upon 
 the life of Isaac,^ the hermit of Kieff. When 
 he had read to the place where it is stated that 
 devils appearing before the holy man in the 
 guise of angels, deceived him, and crying out, 
 ' You are ours, Isaac,' forced him to dance with 
 them, my father felt a doubt rising in his soul, 
 was tempted, and closing the book, began to 
 philosophize and reason with himself. The more 
 
 1 See Introduction. 
 
AK EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 69 
 
 he thought, the more incredible it seemed to 
 him that God should permit such a thing. 
 
 "While brooding over these questions drowsi- 
 ness came on him, his eyes began to close, his 
 head grew heavy; and he told me that he did 
 not remember himself how he dropped on the sofa 
 and fell asleep soundly. 
 
 " Suddenly something sounded in his ears ; he 
 woke, — ■ heard the clock striking ten in his cham- 
 ber. Just as he was going to order supper, his 
 favorite servant, Andrei, entered the room and 
 put two lighted candles on the table. 
 
 " ' Well, brother, what is it ? ' asked my father. 
 
 "'I have come, sir,' said the servant, 'to tell 
 you that a lawyer from the city and Cossacks 
 from the Don have stopped in the village.' 
 
 " ' Well, run as quickly as you can to the vil- 
 lage, ask them to come, and take no excuses.' 
 
 "'I have invited them already, and they will 
 be here at once,' muttered Andrei. 
 
 " ' Tell the cook to add something to the supper; 
 bring a bottle of vodka from the cellar, two of 
 cherry brandy, two of serviceberry cordial, and 
 half-a-dozen bottles of wine. Now go ! ' 
 
 "The servant went out. Five minutes later 
 three Cossacks entered the room with an elderly 
 man in a long coat. 
 
 " ' We beg the favor, dear guests,' said my 
 father, advancing to meet them. 
 
 "Knowing that the God-fearing Cossacks al- 
 ways pray first before the holy images, and after- 
 
70 TALES OF THREE OENTUBIES. 
 
 ward pay their respects to the master of the house, 
 he said, pointing to the image of our Saviour, 
 which it was difficult to see in the dark corner, 
 'There it isl' but to his amazement the Cos- 
 sacks not only failed to make the sign of the cross, 
 but they did not even look at the image. The 
 lawyer followed their example. 
 
 " ' It is not strange,' thought my father, ' that 
 this nettle-seed knows not God ; but the Cos- 
 sacks are reverent people. It is clear that the 
 journey has dazed them.' 
 
 "Meanwhile the unexpected guests saluted the 
 host ; the Cossacks thanked him very politely for 
 his kindness, — the lawyer bending into a ring be- 
 fore him let off such a speech that my father, 
 though fluent and not obliged to look in his 
 pocket for a word, was quite at a loss what to 
 say, and instead of an answer to this flowery 
 greeting, cried out to the servant, — 
 
 " ' Give us some vodka ! ' 
 
 " Andrei entered and placed on the table a plate 
 of tidbits, a quart of vodka, and silver cups from my 
 great-grandfather, each the size of a good goblet. 
 
 " ' Well, now, friends,' said my father, filling each 
 cup to the brim, ' warm up your dear souls. You 
 are chilled through, I think, I beg humbly ! ' 
 
 " The guests bowed in due fashion to the host, 
 drank one cup, and without waiting for an invi- 
 tation took a second, and then drank a third time. 
 Look, look again, even walk through the bottle, — 
 not a drop. 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 71 
 
 " ' Ton my word, mighty drinkers ! ' thought my 
 father. 
 
 " Well, heroes, — no disputing that ! But what 
 faces ! In very truth it was impossible to call 
 these sudden guests beauties. One of the Cos- 
 sacks had a head broader than his body ; the im- 
 mense stomach of the second reached almost to 
 the floor ; the third had green eyes, and a nose 
 like that of an owl ; all of them had red hair, and 
 cheeks the color of bricks burning in a kiln. But 
 strangest of all seemed to my father the lawyer in 
 the long coat; su'ch a twisted up and shameful 
 face he had never seen in his life. The head, bald 
 and round as a billiard-ball, was pressed down 
 between a pair of narrow shoulders, one of which 
 was higher than the other ; his double chin clasped 
 the lower part of his face like a collar stufied 
 with down; his beard, unshaven for weeks, was 
 sticking out like bristles around his blue lips, 
 which extended almost to the back of his neck ; 
 his thick, upturned nose was so red that it might 
 have been mistaken in the dark for a firebrand ; 
 his small, half-closed eyes played and glittered like 
 the eyes of a wild-cat, when stealing at night on 
 some little beast or a sleeping bird. He smiled 
 continually ; but this smile, so my father declared 
 more than once, was just like the snarl of a dog 
 when he sees an enemy, or wishes to snap a bone 
 from some other dog. 
 
 " Well, as the guests had emptied the quart 
 bottle, and had nothing else to do, my father, 
 
72 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 wishing to occupy them with something till supper- 
 time, entered into conversation. 
 
 " ' My friends,' said he, turning to the Cossacks, 
 ' what are you doing on the Don ? ' 
 
 " ' Oh, nothing ! ' answered the Cossack with the 
 big stomach ; ' everything goes on in old fashion. 
 We eat, drink, frolic, sing songs.' 
 
 " ' Sing, my good friends,' said my father, ' but 
 forget not God.' 
 
 " The Cossacks burst into laughter ; and the 
 lawyer, baring his teeth like a hungiy wolf, said, — 
 
 " ' Oh, no need to speak of that, sir ! We don't 
 think of Him, let Him forget us too ; if only we 
 have wine and money, the rest is all trash ! ' 
 
 " My father frowned. He was fond of good 
 living, a glass, and a pleasant time ; but he was a 
 pious man, and remembered God. He remained 
 silent awhile, and then asked the lawyer where he 
 practised. 
 
 " ' In the criminal court, sir,' answered the law- 
 yer, with a low bow. 
 
 " ' What is your chief-justice doing ? ' continued 
 my father. 
 
 " And here I must say to you, gentlemen, that 
 the chief-justice of the criminal court was a down- 
 right robber. 
 
 " ' What is he doing ? ' answered the lawyer ; 
 ' what he has been doing hitherto, sir, — serving 
 with truth and justice.' 
 
 " ' Yes, yes ! with truth and justice,' repeated 
 with one voice all the Cossacks. 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 73 
 
 " ' But do you know him, then ? ' asked my 
 father of the Cossacks. 
 
 " ' Of course,' answered the owl-nosed Cossack. 
 ' We are his friends, every one, and are waiting 
 eagerly for the pleasure of his visit to us.' 
 
 " ' Oh, does he want to visit you ? ' 
 
 " ' He does not,' said the big-headed Cossack; 
 ' but he will come, will he not, my friends ? ' 
 
 " All the guests roared again ; and the lawyer, 
 half closing his cat-like eyes, added with a cunning 
 leer, — 
 
 " ' As to coming, he will come ; it is not to be 
 denied, though, that 't is hard to get him started. 
 A month ago he was ready to sit in the wagon, 
 but he changed his mind.' 
 
 " ' How ? ' cried my father ; ' why, a month ago 
 he was sick unto death ! ' 
 
 " ' So it was, sir ; and for that very reason he 
 was getting ready for the road.' 
 
 " ' Oh, I understand,' broke in my father ; ' the 
 doctors advised him to go to a warmer place.' 
 
 " ' Of course,' said all the Cossacks, with a 
 loud laugh. 'With us, you know, there is no 
 lack of heat ; you can warm up as much as you 
 like.' 
 
 "This continuous and wanton laughter of the 
 guests, their repulsive faces, and more than all, 
 their double-meaning speeches in which tliere was 
 something foul and cunning, displeased my father 
 greatly ; but there was no help for it : he had 
 invited them, now let him give entertainment. 
 
74 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 "Wishing to be rid of such visitors at the 
 earliest, he ordered that supper be brought in at 
 once. 
 
 " Half an hour had not passed when the table 
 was covered with food and wine. Andrei served 
 alone, and did everything. A number of times 
 my father wished to ask him where the other 
 servants were; but some one of the guests, as if 
 by design, always drew off his attention with 
 conversation which became more amusing each 
 moment. 
 
 " The Cossacks told of their gallantry and dar- 
 ing; the lawyer of the roguery of his compan- 
 ions and the crooked cases of the criminal court. 
 By degrees they succeeded so well in occupying 
 my father that when sitting down with them at 
 table, he forgot even to pray to God. At supper 
 he ate nothing; but not wishing to hang back from 
 his guests, he drank four bottles of wine and two 
 of nalivka, — that was no wonder, my father was 
 a sound drinker ; half-a-dozen bottles of wine 
 could not get him off his chair. But behold 
 where the wonder was,- — the guests seemed to 
 drink twice as much as he, and of the six bottles 
 of wine and four of nalivka, only six were empty ; 
 that was precisely the amount my father bad 
 drunk himself; he saw that the guests poured 
 out full glasses of wine and kept the bottle 
 moving, but it always came around nearly full. 
 There was something here to wonder at, and he 
 did wonder at it next day, but at supper it seemed 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOE. 75 
 
 to him natural enough. I have said already that 
 my father was a sound drinker ; but four bottles 
 of wine and two of nalivka are quite sufficient to 
 redden any man's face. Toward the end of sup- 
 per he grew to feeling so well that the hideous 
 faces of his guests seemed to him comely, so that 
 he embraced the lawyer twice, and kissed all the 
 Cossacks. From time to time their conversation 
 became more objectionable and shameless ; they 
 began to tell about various love adventures ; made 
 sport of priests, and even — terrible to mention ! 
 -^forgetting that they were at table, began, like 
 real heretics and renegades from God, to sing 
 scandalous songs and keep time with their feet. 
 
 " On any other occasion my father would not 
 have endured such disorder in his house ; but now 
 he seemed bewitched to such a degree that he 
 began to join in the chorus himself and to sing, 
 ' Brave Boy, do not pass my Garden,' and fell 
 into such humor that he was ready to dance the 
 prisyadka. 
 
 " Meanwhile the Cossacks, tired of roaring 
 their loudest, began to play tricks. One spoke 
 with his stomach ; another swallowed a large 
 plate with pastry; the third took hold of his 
 own nose, pulled his head off, and began play- 
 ing with it as with a ball. 
 
 " What do you think, was ray father frightened? 
 Not a bit of it ! All this seemed very amusing to 
 him, and his sides were aching from laughter. 
 
 " ' Aha ! ' cried the lawyer, ' there on the farther 
 
7& TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 window is a reserve bottle of cherry brandy ; can 
 we not order it this way? But don't rise, oui* 
 host ! ' said he, stretching his arm across the whole 
 room. 
 
 " ' Oho ! what an arm you have, my friend ! ' 
 cried my father, with a loud laugh, — 'a dozen 
 feet long ! It is not for nothing that lawyers are 
 said to have long fingers — ' 
 
 " ' Yes, but short memories,' said one of the 
 Cossacks. 
 
 " ' You will see,' answered the lawyer, putting 
 the bottle in the middle of the table. ' Perhaps 
 you have forgotten whose health we must drink, 
 but I remember. Let us begin with the youngest. 
 Let us drink a cup to all the law-court sharpers, 
 to the chancery secretaries, to the tricky attorneys, 
 hoping they will have to drink ink and eat paper 
 all their lives ; that more of them will die, and 
 fewer repent — ' 
 
 "'What do you mean, what do you mean?' 
 asked my father, almost bursting from laughter ; 
 ' why, in that way our courts will soon be empty.' 
 
 " ' Oh, our host, why are you troubled ? If 
 there is a swamp, there will be devils enough for 
 it. Now after me — hurrah ! ' 
 
 " ' We have drunk ! ' cried the hooked-nose Cos- 
 sack ; ' now let us drink to the health of our elder. 
 Who will drink with us is ours, and who is ours 
 is his.' 
 
 " ' What is the name of your elder? ' asked my 
 father, taking up a glass. i 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 11 
 
 " ' Oh, what is his name to you ? ' answered 
 the Cossack. ' Say after us : " Here is to him 
 who, when a slave, strove to make himself master, 
 and who, though he sat in high places and has 
 fallen low, does not repine." ' 
 
 "'But who is he?' 
 
 " ' Who is our father and commander ? ' re- 
 peated the Cossack. ' Is it little that men say of 
 him ! They say that he loves darkness and calls 
 it light ; what if he does ? For the wise even 
 darkness is light. They assert too that he favored 
 Sodom and Gomorrah and every confusion, so as 
 to fish in muddy water ; bilt this is old women's 
 gossip. Our master is a most kindly person, and 
 't is easy to serve him ; sit down at the table with- 
 out the sign of the cross, go to bed without say- 
 ing your prayers ; drink, frolic, amuse yourself, and 
 believe not what is printed under titles, — that 's 
 the whole service. Now, what do you think ? 
 This is not life, but a holiday, — is it not?' 
 
 " No matter how wine might have touched my 
 father, he grew serious. ' Somehow I don't un- 
 derstand this,' said he. 
 
 " ' Well,' broke in the lawyer, ' after you drink 
 you will understand. Now, brothers, all together ! 
 Good health to our father and commander ! ' 
 
 " All drained their glasses except my father. 
 
 " ' Ba, ba, ba ! Host,' cried the lawyer, ' why 
 don't you drink ? ' 
 
 "'No, good man,' said my father; 'I have 
 drunk enough already. I wish for no more.' 
 
78 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " ' But what has happened to you ? ' asked the 
 thick Cossack ; ' why have you grown so serious ? 
 Ei, comrades, we must amuse our host. Shall we 
 dance ? ' 
 
 " ' In good truth,' said the lawyer, ' we have sat 
 long enough. It would not be a bad move to shake 
 our legs ; if not, we may lose the use of them.' 
 
 " ' Then if we are to dance, let us be at it,' 
 cried all the guests. 
 
 " ' Wait a moment, good men,' said my father ; 
 ' I will send for my musician.' 
 
 " ' Why, ' said the lawyer, ' we have our own 
 music. Hei, ye ! strike up there 1 ' 
 
 " On a sudden, from behind the stove was heard 
 a terrible tumult : all sorts of instruments tooted, — 
 bagpipes, horns, cymbals, voices ; a whole chorus 
 of singers whistled and screamed ; when they got 
 to dancing tunes, the hurly-burly began. 
 
 " ' Now, host,' said the red-nosed Cossack, fas- 
 tening his green eyes on my father, ' we shall see 
 your valor.' 
 
 " ' No,' replied my father, beginning to under- 
 stand as through a dream that the affair was far 
 from right. ' Amuse yourselves as much as you 
 like ; I shall not dance.' 
 
 " ' You will not dance ? ' roared the thick Cos- 
 sack. ' Well, we shall see.' 
 
 " All the guests sprang from their places. 
 
 " A fever shook my father, and there was rea- 
 son : instead of four guests, who though not beau- 
 ties were men, there now stood around him four 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 79 
 
 frights of such enormous stature that when they 
 straightened themselves out, the ceiling above 
 their heads cracked. Their faces had become still 
 more hideous. 
 
 " ' You will not dance,' said the lawyer, smiling 
 ironically. ' A truce to ceremony, better men than 
 you have danced with us ; and what is more, they 
 were outsiders ; but you are ours, you know.' 
 
 " ' How yours ? ' asked my father, 
 
 " ' Whose, then, should you be ? You know how 
 to read : you have no doubt read that it is impos- 
 sible to serve two masters ; and you serve ours.' 
 
 " ' But of what master do you speak ? ' asked 
 my father, trembling like an aspen-leaf. 
 
 " ' Of what master ? ' said the Cossack with the 
 large head, ' Of course, of him of whom I told 
 you at supper. Why, of him whose servants lie 
 down to sleep without praying, go to Jthe table 
 without making the sign of the cross, drink, are 
 merry, and believe not what is written under titles.' 
 
 " ' What "master is he of mine ? ' asked my fa- 
 ther, still not understanding the question properly. 
 
 " ' Oh, my friend,' asked the lawyer, ' are you 
 withdrawing and denying ? No, most amiable host, 
 you will not escape us in that style ! If you do the 
 will of our master, of course you are his servant. 
 Think over the matter well. Did you pray to-day 
 when you lay down to sleep ? Did you pray when 
 you took your place at the supper-table ? Did you 
 not drink and frolic with us to your heart's content ? 
 And an hour and a half ago, when you read in 
 
80 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 that book lying there, " You are ours, Isaac, and 
 will dance with us ! " well, did you believe ? ' 
 
 " The blood grew cold in my father's veins. A 
 bandage fell, as it were, from his eyes ; the fumes 
 of wine were gone, and all became clear to him. 
 ' Lord, my God ! ' cried he, trying to defend 
 himself with the sign of the cross. His hand 
 would not rise, his fingers would not come to- 
 gether, but his feet rushed to dance with figures 
 and variations impossible to describe. Then the 
 guests caught him and amused themselves. In 
 describing this he told me often that he wondered 
 how the soul remained in his body. He only re- 
 membered that the room was filled with fire and 
 smoke, that ±hey threw him from hand to hand, 
 played pile with him, and whirled him like a top ; 
 that he bounded through the air, struck the ceil- 
 ing, spun around on his crown like a teetotum, 
 danced the Kazachok ^ on his head, and then lost 
 consciousness. 
 
 " When he recovered he saw that he was lying 
 on the sofa ; the servants were standing and 
 moving about him. 
 
 "'Well,' asked he, looking around quickly, 
 ' have they gone ? ' 
 
 " ' Who ? ' asked one of the servants. 
 
 " ' Who ! ' repeated my father, with an involun- 
 tary trembling, — ' who ! Why, the Cossacks and 
 the lawyer.' 
 
 1 The chief and characteristic dance of the Cossacks, cele- 
 brated for energetic movement. 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 81 
 
 " ' What Cossacks and lawyer ? ' asked Foma. 
 ' There were no guests to-day, and you have not 
 had supper. When I came in I found you lying 
 on the floor ; you were in a cold sweat, and your 
 , clothes were as much ruffled as though some dark 
 power had been pulling you around.' 
 
 " ' And there were no guests to-day ? ' asked 
 my father, rising with difficulty. 
 
 "'No, sir.' 
 
 " ' Is it possible that I was only dreaming ? It 
 cannot be ! ' continued my father, feeling of his 
 sides ; ' my bones are half broken. And these two 
 candles, — ; who put them on the table ? ' 
 
 " ' I don't know,' answered Foma ; ' it must be 
 that you lighted them yourself, and have forgotten 
 it in your sleep.' 
 
 " ' Not true ! ' cried my father. ' I remember 
 Andrei brought them; he also spread the cloth 
 and brought the supper.' 
 
 " The servants looked at one another with evi- 
 dent terror. Vanka wished to speak, but could not. 
 
 " ' Why do you stand there with open mouths, 
 you dunces ! ' demanded my father. ' I tell you 
 there were guests, and that Andrei served the 
 supper.' 
 
 " ' Pardon,' said Foma, ' but have you forgotten 
 that Andrei has been lying ill of the fever about 
 a week ? ' 
 
 " ' Then clearly he is better, for he was here at 
 just ten o'clock. But what is the use of discuss- 
 ing ? Call Andrei.' 
 
 6 
 
82 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " ' Were you pleased to ask for Andrei ? ' asked 
 Vanka. 
 
 " * Yes, of course ! Where is he ? ' 
 
 " ' In the chamber, laid out on a table.' 
 
 " ' What do you tell me ? ' cried my father ; 
 ' Andrei Stepanoff ? ' 
 
 " ' He wished you a long life before he died/ 
 said the butler, coming in. 
 
 "'He is dead?' 
 
 " ' Yes, he died at ten o'clock precisely.' " 
 
 Kolchugin was silent. 
 
 " Really a marvellous incident," said Ivan Alex- 
 aievich Asanoff. "Well, your father didn't like 
 to tell big stories." 
 
 " He could not endure them ; he had such a repu- 
 tation for veracity that hunters in his presence did 
 not dare to say a word of their coursing and dogs." 
 
 " But what is there strange in all this ? " asked 
 Zarutski ; " your father fell asleep and forgot that 
 he lighted two candles, and he simply dreamed 
 about that of which he had just read." 
 
 " So, so," said Kolchugin ; " but I have this to 
 tell you : a short time after, they discovered 
 that that very night three Cossacks from the Don 
 and a lawyer did really pass through the village, 
 but stopped nowhere ; and in that same year, 
 when they counted the bottles in the wine-cellar, 
 it was found that four bottles of wine and two of 
 cherry brandy were missing." 
 
 "A strange combination ! "remarked the ispravnik. 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 83 
 
 " And all were astonished at it, father," added 
 Kolchugin. 
 
 " That is, the journey of the Cossacks and the 
 lawyer," interrupted Zarutski ; " but that some bot- 
 tles of wine were missing only shows that the ser- 
 vant who had the keys to the cellar was fond of 
 trying the quality of his master's wine, and put all 
 the blame on the poor devil who could not an- 
 swer for himself." 
 
 " Oh, see, that is what he is after ! " said 
 Cheromuhin, frowning at my friend. " You are a 
 regular doubting Thomas. What is there wonder- 
 ful in the story ? There are strange circumstances 
 in life. If I were to tell you what I heard with 
 . my own ears from an acquaintance of mine — " 
 
 " Who got it from his friend, who heard it 
 from his gossip, who heard it from her grand- 
 father ; and her grandfather — " 
 
 " No, pardon me," interrupted Cheromuhin, 
 " the friend who informed me was not only an 
 eyewitness, but an actor in this uncommon 
 occuiTence." 
 
 " Uncommon ? " repeated Asanoff, with curiosity. 
 
 " Yes, Ivan Alexaievich ; in truth, marvellous, — 
 so much so that I don't like to tell it to you, and all 
 the more since I can have no doubt of its truth." 
 
 " Oh, father ! " cried the ispravnik, " but this is 
 becoming very interesting. Do a kindness, Prohor 
 Kondratievich ; do not weary us, tell it at once." 
 
 " Oh, he will trick you 1 " said Asanoff, shaking 
 his head. 
 
84 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " No, I shall not," answered Cheromuhin ; " I 
 ask your attention. And do you listen," continued 
 he, turning to Zarutski. " You try to bring every- 
 thing under the universal laws of Nature ; let us 
 see how you will explain to me in an ordinaiy way 
 that which happened to my friend. 
 
 The Ghostly Concert. 
 
 " If any of you gentlemen have lived continually 
 in Moscow," began Cheromuhin, laying his pipe 
 aside, " you have noticed surely that a periodical 
 invasion of white-walled mother Moscow by our 
 provincial brethren begins usually before Christ- 
 mas. Almost at the same time with the appear- 
 ance of frozen meat and turkeys in the Game 
 Market, there stretch in through all the barriers 
 endless caravans of kibitkas and all kinds of 
 winter equipages containing whole families of 
 landholders hastening to have a good time in 
 the capital, examine male candidates for mar- 
 riage, show their daughters in society, and spend 
 in a few weeks all they have saved during the 
 year. 
 
 " But in 1796 this increase of temporary resi- 
 dents began with the first snow ; and, according to 
 the oldest inhabitants, the ancient capital had not 
 been so crowded, or rather crammed, for many a 
 year. The managers of the Nobles' Club shrugged 
 their shoulders whenever they had less than two 
 thousand guests at a ball, and laid the blame on 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 85 
 
 the Italian, Medoxi, who gave masquerades in the 
 halls and rotunda of the Petrovski Theatre. 
 
 "Indeed, public masquerades — 'at which peo- 
 ple did not dance, but stifled and crushed one 
 another — were during that winter the favorite 
 amusement of the people of Moscow. 
 
 " Among constant visitors at these masquerades 
 was a certain young man, but not ;from the inte- 
 rior. Ivan Nikolaievich Zorin was 'his name. He 
 had just returned from foreign parts, had lived 
 long in Italy, loved music passionately, and always 
 spoke of the Italian opera with transport which 
 turned almost into madness whenever conversation 
 touched a certain prima donna of the Neapolitan 
 Theatre. In conversation he called her Lauretta, 
 but would not discover to any of his acquaintances 
 the name by which she was known 'in the musical 
 world. It was evident in every way that not en- 
 thusiasm for art alone had roused his admira- 
 tion ; and though Zorin did not confide his heart 
 secret to any man, all his friends, ^nd I in that 
 number, could guess why he seenjed always sad 
 and dull, and grew animated oply when con- 
 versation touched the Italian opera. His un- 
 broken sadness, with pining and a certain gloomy 
 despondency which the English woyld call spleen, 
 we simply called hypochondria, and laughed at 
 the doctor when he shook his head over the men- 
 tal disease of our friend. ' Oh, stop, Fomich ! ' we 
 would say ; ' what pleasure do you iSnd in stuffing 
 him with pills ! Prescribe a couple of bottles of 
 
86 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 champagne a day, five or six balls a week with a 
 dose of masquerade and theatres ; that will be bet- 
 ter than your depressing and exciting medicines.' 
 
 " No matter how Foma Fomich resisted at first ; 
 he decided at last to listen to our counsel and 
 advise Zorin to go to every ball and not miss 
 a masquerade. 
 
 " In real truth, through taking part in all the 
 amusements of the city, our patient seemed to 
 grow calmer and more cheerful. Sometimes he 
 failed to visit the theatre and refused an invita- 
 tion to a ball, but he always came first to a 
 masquerade and went away last. 
 
 " I was serving at that time in the guards ; my 
 leave of absence ended with the first week in Lent, 
 and to avoid trouble I was obliged to start for 
 St. Petersburg on Monday of that week. Wishing 
 to take advantage of the last days of my leave 
 and rejoice in full measure, I passed the whole 
 carnival in boundless fashion. In the daytime 
 breakfasts with pancakes, sleigh-rides, formal din- 
 ners ; in the evening, theatres ; and at night, 
 balls and private masquerades till morning dawn. 
 This round of amusement gave me no time to col- 
 lect my senses. I was in a sort of walking dream, 
 and lost sight of my friend Zorin completely. 
 
 " On Sunday — that is the last day of the carni- 
 val — I went to the public masquerade earlier than 
 usual. There was a throng of people ; every door 
 had to be taken by assault, and by force alone was 
 I able to reach the rotunda in a quarter of an 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 87 
 
 hour. Music, loud conversation, and the assumed 
 tones of masks who, although suffocating from 
 heat, ceased not to be amiable and talk nonsense ; 
 the blinding light of crystal lustres ; the many- 
 colored dresses, and that sound of the unintelligi- 
 ble but deafening talk of a multitudinous mass of 
 persons resolved to be amused at any sacrifice, con- 
 fused me at first to such a degree that for some 
 minutes I neither heard nor saw anything. Wishing 
 to draw breath, I began to seek a place where I 
 might look around a little. While pushing along 
 the wall, I heard some one calling me by name. 
 I turned and looked ; a tall man in a red domino 
 and a mask beckoned to me. The moment I 
 approached, his companion left him. 
 
 " ' Sit down near me. It is with difficidty that 
 we have met,' said he. ' But why do you look at 
 me so ? Is it possible that you do not recognize 
 my voice ? ' 
 
 " ' There is something familiar in it,' thought I, 
 * but still it is strange and unusual.' 
 
 " ' Well, if you do not know me, then look,' con- 
 tinued he, raising his mask. 
 
 "I started back involuntarily; my heart sank 
 from fright. 'My God! thisisZorin! these are his 
 features — oh, certainly this is he ; but as he will 
 be when lying on the table, when the last service 
 is sung over his body. But now — no, no ! a liv- 
 ing man cannot have such a face ! ' thought I. 
 
 " ' Well,' asked he, with a certain strange 
 smile, ' do you not find that I have changed ? ' 
 
88 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " ' Oh, very much 1 ' 
 
 " ' Then why do they say that grief changes a 
 man ? Not grief, but possibly joy.' 
 
 " ' Joy ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, my friend. If you knew how happy I 
 am ! Listen,' continued he, in an underi;one and 
 looking around timidly ; ' but for God's sake, let 
 no one know of this. She is here.' 
 
 "'She? Who?" 
 
 " ' Lauretta.' 
 
 " ' Is it possible ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, my friend, she is here ; and oh, how she 
 loves me ! She left her dear birthplace ; she 
 exchanged an ever blue sky for our cloudy and 
 gloomy one. There, in the circle of her relatives, 
 warmed by the sun of happy Italy, she bloomed 
 like a beautiful rose ; but here, among people as 
 cold and lifeless as our eternal snows, if she her- 
 self does not fade, she will ruin her gift, she 
 will outlive her glory. She, accustomed to breathe 
 the warm air of the South, was not afraid of our 
 splitting frosts, of our wintry tempests ; she forgot 
 everything, left everything, and has lain down 
 alive in this broad cold tomb which we call our 
 country, and all this for me — ' 
 
 " ' Do you not glorify this act overmuch ? ' asked 
 I, interrupting my friend. ' It is not so warm here 
 as in Italy; but we have spring and summer as 
 well as there. Perhaps it is pleasanter in Naples 
 than here ; I must say, however, that Moscow 
 does not look like a tomb ; your Lauretta is not 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 89 
 
 the first Italian artiste whom we have seen here, 
 and if she will give concerts — ' 
 
 " ' Yes, one and the last. I have consented to 
 this. Let her enchant all Moscow, warm up for 
 a moment even your icy souls, and then die for all 
 men but me.' 
 
 " ' So she intends to remain here ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes ; now do you see how she loves me ? 
 But in return, I also — Oh, my love is not a 
 feeling, not a passion, — no, my friend, no ! I 
 cannot tell whether you will comprehend my hap- 
 piness or understand me. I belong wholly to her. 
 She asked this of me ; she wished this.' Here 
 Zorin bent forward and whispered in my ear : ' I 
 gave her my soul ; now I am entirely hers, — do 
 you understand, my friend ? — entirely.' 
 
 " Well, it has happened to me often to give 
 away my soul in words ; and what young man 
 would hesitate a moment to tell a woman he 
 loved that his soul belonged to her, that she 
 possessed it; this is an ordinary, every- day 
 phrase in the language of love. But still I can- 
 not tell you with what terror and repulsion I 
 heard the confession of my friend. The mys- 
 terious voice in which he spoke ; the wild fire of 
 his gleaming eyes; this uncontrolled, mad enthu- 
 siasm ; these words of joy ; the pale, withered face 
 of a corpse! 
 
 " ' Oh, brother ! ' said I, with vexation, ' how 
 can you talk such nonsense ? The soul does not 
 belong to us, and cannot be given away. Love 
 
90 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES, 
 
 your Italian artiste ; marry her if you like ; give 
 her your heart — ' 
 
 " ' Heart ! ' repeated my friend, in a tone of 
 ridicule. ' But what is the heart ? Is the heart 
 immortal like the soul? Will it not rot in the 
 grave ? A splendid gift, a ' handful of dust ! 
 Whoso gives his heart, promises to love only while 
 it beats, and it may grow cold, if not to-day, to- 
 morrow; but whoever parts with his soul, gives 
 not one life, not a hundred lives, but all his end- 
 less eternity. Yes, my friend, if you give a gift, 
 let it be a real one. Lauretta has nothing to fear 
 now ; the soul is not like the heart, it cannot be 
 buried in the grave.' 
 
 " ' Show me this enchantress, this Armida,' said 
 I, ' this seductive demon who is filching away 
 your soul.' 
 
 " ' I do not know myself where she lives.' 
 
 " ' Oh, you are trifling.' 
 
 " ' No, my friend, I meet her only here. For 
 the moment she does not wish to show herself; 
 this will soon be over. After her concert we shall 
 marry and go to live in the country,' 
 
 " ' When will she give her concert ? ' 
 
 " ' Next Friday.' 
 
 " ' Next Friday ? Impossible ! You must have 
 forgotten that concerts are never given during the 
 first week in Lent,' 
 
 , " ' How can that be ? Lauretta must know ; 
 she even said that she would give it in this 
 rotunda.' 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 91 
 
 " ' Then she must be mistaken herself. Have 
 you seen her to-day ? ' 
 
 " ' Not yet. She never comes earlier than twelve 
 o'clock, precisely at midnight. No matter how- 
 crowded the masquerade is, no matter where I 
 am sitting, she finds me at once.' 
 
 " ' Precisely at midnight,' said I, looking at my 
 watch ; ' that is, in two minutes. We shall see if 
 she is as punctual as you say.' 
 
 " Gentlemen, if you have never met Lent at a 
 masquerade, you have heard at least that, by ac- 
 cepted usage, at twelve o'clock the music ceases ; 
 this means that Lent has begun and all amuse- 
 ments are at an end. The moment I looked at 
 my watch — which very likely was slow — the pier- 
 cing noise of the trumpets sounded the signal for 
 closing the masquerade, and so suddenly that I 
 trembled involuntarily and raised my eyes. 
 
 " ' Tfu ! how they startled me ! ' exclaimed I, 
 turning to my friend ; but at my side was an 
 empty seat. I looked around. At a distance in 
 the crowd I saw a red domino walking with a tall 
 stately woman in a dark Venetian dress. I hur- 
 ried after them ; but at the same time three masks 
 met me. Around these there was such a crush 
 that I could not break through in any way, and 
 lost sight of Zorin's red domino. These three 
 masks had just appeared in the rotunda ; one was 
 dressed as a sort of tall and lank apparition in a 
 great paper cap on which was written in large 
 letters, * Dryeating.' On each side of this mask 
 
92 TALES OF THREE CENTUKIES. 
 
 went two others, one of which was dressed as a 
 mushroom, the other as a cabbage. The tall 
 scarecrow congratulated all on Lent, adding jests 
 and sayings from which all who stood near were 
 just dying from laughter. I alone was not laugh- 
 ing, and labored earnestly with hands and feet to 
 break through the crowd. At last I succeeded in 
 tearing myself free into space. I searched the 
 rotunda through, went around the side galleries, 
 but met nowhere the red domino or the dark 
 Venetian dress. 
 
 "Next morning I went to take farewell of 
 Zorin, but did not find him at home ; in the 
 evening I was galloping along the St. Petersburg 
 highway. 
 
 " More than three months had passed since I 
 left Moscow. Occupied with continual service, 
 and a lawsuit which began in the lifetime of my 
 grandfather, and which may possibly be brought to 
 an end by some one of my grandchildren, I forgot 
 altogether my last meeting and conversation with 
 Zorin. 
 
 " One evening as I sat reading in the club, I 
 came by chance on an article in which it was 
 announced that the prima donna of the Neapolitan 
 Theatre, Lauretta Baldusi, to the great grief of all 
 lovers of music, had died at her villa near Portici. 
 
 " ' Lauretta ! ' repeated I. ' A prima donna of 
 the Neapolitan Theatre I Oh, but that is the 
 same Italian artiste with whom poor Zorin was in 
 love to madness ! How could she have died near 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 93 
 
 Naples toward the end of February, when she 
 was almost at the same time in Moscow at the 
 masquerade ? ' 
 
 " That very evening I wrote to one of my friends 
 in Moscow, to let me know whether Zorin was 
 well or not, and if he knew anything about his 
 marriage. I received an answer informing me 
 that on the first week of Lent, early Saturday 
 morning, Zorin was found senseless on the Petrov- 
 ski square near the theatre ; that afterward he 
 was sick unto death, and that a couple of weeks 
 before my letter was written they took him to 
 St. Petersburg to be cured. 
 
 " I searched for him everywhere, searched the 
 whole city through, but all my efforts were fruit- 
 less. At last I saw him quite unexpectedly in a 
 house where I had not the least thought or wish 
 to find him. He was very glad to meet me, and 
 told me of his strange adventure which began 
 in the rotunda of the Petrovski Theatre. The 
 following is the story, word for word, as I heard 
 it from my poor friend : — 
 
 " ' Surely you have not forgotten,' said he, * that 
 I saw you last on the evening before Lent, at a 
 masquerade in the rotunda of the Petrovski Thea- 
 tre. At the moment when they were trumpeting 
 midnight I remarked in the crowd the mask of 
 Lauretta, who, in passing, beckoned to me. You 
 were occupied at the time with something else, 
 and it seems you did not observe how I sprang 
 from my chair and went to her. 
 
94 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " ' " Go home this moment," said she, as I took 
 her hand ; " I demand also that for four days you 
 neither leave your rooms nor receive any one. Dur- 
 ing this time we shall not meet once. On Friday 
 come here on foot alone, at midnight. Here in 
 the rotunda there will be a rehearsal of the con- 
 cert which I shall give on Saturday." 
 
 " ' " But why so late ? " asked I. " Will they 
 admit me ? " 
 
 " ' " Be not disturbed," said Lauretta ; " for you 
 the doors will be open. I have arranged the re- 
 hearsal for midnight, so that only a few artistes 
 and lovers of music should know of it. Now go 
 home at once, and if you do everything I demand 
 I shall be yours forever, but if you disobey me, 
 and especially if you receive the friend with whom 
 you have just now been sitting and to whom you 
 told that touching which you should have held 
 silence, we shall never meet either in this world 
 or in another ; and,' added she, in a low tone, 
 ' though, my dear friend, the worlds are countless, 
 if you do not follow my advice we shall not meet 
 in one of them." 
 
 " ' In the course of two years spent in Naples, 
 I had become acquainted with all the whims and 
 uncommon caprices of Lauretta. She was a won- 
 derful and fascinating woman, — now as gentle and 
 obedient as a timid child, now as proud and 
 untamable as a fallen angel. She combined in 
 herself all possible extremes. At times she was 
 ready to fight against heaven itself, believed in 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOK. 95 
 
 nothing, sneered at all tilings ; then on a sudden, 
 without cause, she grew most superstitious, saw 
 evil spirits in all places, took counsel of wizards, 
 and if she loved not, at least she feared God. 
 At times she called herself my slave, which for 
 the moment she really was; but when that mo- 
 ment of obedience had passed she became such 
 a power-loving woman that she endured not the 
 least contradiction ; hence no matter how strange 
 her demands seemed (in Moscow), I said nothing, 
 and promised to carry out her will, especially 
 since she gave me her word that this was the 
 last trial of my love. 
 
 " ' You can imagine with wha,t feelings I waited 
 for Friday. I ordered the servants to tell every 
 one that I was not at home, and to exclude even 
 you. I walked back and forth in my rooms ; I 
 could begin no work, and was burning as if in 
 fire. And the nights ! Oh my friend, even crimi- 
 nals on the eve of execution do not pass such 
 hellish night hours as did I. People were not 
 so tormented even when torture was a calcu- 
 lated art aud a science. I know not how I lived 
 till Friday. I remember only that on that last 
 day of my trial I was not only unable to eat, but 
 I could not drink even so much as a cup of tea. 
 My head was burning ; my blood was not flowing 
 but boiling in my veins. I remember, too, that it 
 was not a holiday ; but it seemed to me that from 
 morning till night the bells ceased not to ring in 
 Moscow. A clock was before me ; when the 
 
96 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 hands were approaching midnight, my patience 
 was turned to a species of madness. I was suf- 
 focating ; a malignant fever struck me, and cold 
 sweat came out on my face. At half-past eleven I 
 put on a light overcoat and started for the theatre. 
 All the streets were empty. Though my rooms 
 were a couple of versts from the theatre, fifteen 
 minutes had not passed before I had run over the 
 whole Prechistenka, the Mohovaya, and had come 
 out on the square of the Game Market. Two 
 hundred yards distant rose the colossal roof of the 
 Petrovski Theatre. It was a moonless night, but 
 the stars seemed more numerous and brighter 
 than usual ; many of them fell directly on the 
 roof of the theatre, were scattered in sparks, and 
 then vanished. I approached the principal en- 
 trance. One door was partly open, and near it 
 stood some decrepit old doorkeeper with a lan- 
 tern ; he beckoned to me and went ahead through 
 the dark corridors. 
 
 " ' I know not whether it was because I had 
 reached the appointed place, or for some other 
 reason, but I grew notably calmer, and remember, 
 too, that when I had looked carefully at my guide 
 I saw that he moved without putting one foot 
 before the other, and that his eyes were as dim 
 and immovable as the glass eyes in wax figures. 
 Having passed through a long gallery, we entered 
 at last the rotunda. It was lighted up, all the 
 chandeliers were filled with burning tapers, but 
 still it was dark ; the flames from them seemed 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOE. 97 
 
 as if painted, and gave out no light whatever. 
 But four candles, on high funereal candlesticks, 
 cast an uncertain glimmer on the first seats and 
 the platform in front of them. This wooden plat- 
 form was covered with music-stands, instrument- 
 cases, notes ; in one word, everything was pre- 
 pared for a concert, but the musicians had not 
 yet come. In the front row of seats sat thirty 
 or forty gentlemen, some of whom were in em- 
 broidered French coats, and had their hair pow- 
 dered ; others were in simple evening dress. I sat 
 near one of the latter. 
 
 " ' " Allow me to ask," said I to my neighbor, 
 " are these all friends and connoisseurs of music 
 whom Madame Baldusi has invited ? " • 
 
 " ' " Precisely so." 
 
 " ' " I make bold to ask who that young gentle- 
 tleman with the expressive face is ; he wears a 
 German dress." 
 
 " ' " That is Mozart." 
 
 " ' " Mozart ! " repeated I ; " what Mozart ? " 
 
 " ' " What Mozart ? that 's a strange question. 
 Why, of course, Mozart, the author of ' Don Gio- 
 vanni,' the ' Magic Flute ' — " , 
 
 " ' " What do you tell me ! Why, he died four 
 years ago." 
 
 " ' " I beg your pardon 1 He died in September, 
 1791 ; that is five years ago. Near him are Cima. 
 rosa and Handel, and behind them Rameau and 
 Gluck." 
 
 " ' " Rameau and Gluck ? " 
 
 7 
 
98 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " ' " On our left stands the director of the or- 
 chestra, Araya, whose opera ' Bellerophon ' was 
 given in St, Petersburg — " 
 
 " ' " In 1750, during the reign of Elizabeth 
 Petrovna ? " 
 
 " ' " Just so ; he is talking with Lulli now." 
 
 " ' " The chief of the orchestra of Louis XIV. ? " 
 
 " ' " The very same. But do you notice in 
 the dark corner — Oh, you will see him from 
 here : Jean Jacques Rousseau is sitting there. 
 He is invited, not as an artist, but as a judge 
 and lover of music. Of course, his ' Village 
 Wizard ' is a pretty opera ; but you must confess 
 yourself — " 
 
 • " '" But what does this mean ? " interrupted 
 I, looking fixedly at my neighbor. " ' I was about 
 to ask him how he dared to jest with me in 
 such insolent fashion, when I saw that he was the 
 old man Volgin who had been my friend for 
 years, a passionate lover of music, and a great 
 humorist. 
 
 " ' " Ba, ba, ba ! " cried I, " so it is you who are 
 pleased to amuse yourself over me. Is it possible? 
 Is this you, Stepan Alexaievich ? " 
 
 " ' " Yes, it is," answered he, very cooUy. 
 
 " ' " And you have come here aho to listen to 
 the rehearsal of to-morrow's concert ? " 
 
 " ' My neighbor nodded. 
 
 " ' " But permit me," said I, while my hair was 
 rising on end, " what does this mean ? It seems 
 to me that you died six years ago." 
 
AS EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 99 
 
 " ' " Pardon me," replied my neighbor, " it is 
 not six, but just seven." 
 
 "'"I recollect now that I was at your funeral," 
 said I. 
 
 " * " Quite possible. But wh^n were you pleased 
 to die ? " 
 
 " ' " Who ? I ? Have mercy on us ! I am 
 alive." 
 
 " ' " You alive ? Ah, that is strange, very 
 strange ! " said the dead man, shrugging his 
 shoulders. 
 
 " * I wished to spring up, wished to escape. 
 My legs would not stir; but I, as if nailed down 
 with spikes, remained motionless in my place. 
 All at once loud clapping of hands was heard 
 through the hall, and -Lauretta in a mask and 
 dark Venetian dress appeared on the stage. 
 
 " * After her stretched a long file of musicians, 
 and such musicians I Oh, my Lord God ! what 
 figures ! Necks of storks with faces of dogs, 
 bodies of oxen with heads of swallows, cocks 
 with goats' feet, goats with men's hands, — in 
 one word, no wild imagination, no mad fancy 
 could create such repulsive and deformed won- 
 ders ; it could not even represent them to itself 
 after a description. Especially disgusting seemed 
 to me those who had human faces, — if faces might 
 thus be called in which all the features were so 
 distorted that except the chief human traits all 
 the rest had no likeness to anything. When all 
 this band rushed out after Lauretta to the plat- 
 
100 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 form, the leader of the orchestra, with the owl's 
 face and powdered head, sat down in the cliair 
 made ready for him ; then began the tuning of the 
 instruments. Many of the musicians were dissat- 
 isfied ; most of all, the contra-bass with the bear's 
 face. 
 
 " ' " What sort of a bark box is this ? " roared he, 
 turning in every direction. " Have mercy on me ! 
 Is it possible, Signora Baldusi, that I am to play 
 on such an instrument as this ? " 
 
 " ' Lauretta, in silence, pointed to my neighbor. 
 The contra-bass sprang from his seat, seized poor 
 Volgin by the neck, dragged him to the stage, and 
 placing him head downward, caught both his legs 
 with one hand, and with the other began to draw 
 the bow across his legs, and the fullest and deep- 
 est bass sounds thundered beneath the rotunda. 
 At last all the instruments were tuned. The 
 leader of the orchestra gave the signal by raising 
 a gnawed ox-bone which served as a baton. They 
 played the overture of the " Magic Flute." 
 
 " ' There were wild and discordant passages, it 
 must be confessed, and the clarinet who blew with 
 his nose played frequently false ; still the overture 
 was not badly rendered. 
 
 " 'After rather hearty applause Lauretta came 
 forward, and without removing her mask, sang 
 what for me was an entirely new aria. The words 
 were surpassingly strange, — a dying woman, a 
 denier of God, was taking farewell of her lover. 
 She sang that in boundless space and forever, with 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 101 
 
 each passing instant, the distance between them 
 would widen, that her torments would be end- 
 less as eternity, and that their souls, like light 
 and darkness, would never be mingled the one 
 with the other. 
 
 " ' All this was told in beautiful verses ; but the 
 music ! Oh, my friend, where can I find words to 
 describe to you that inexplicable sadness which 
 pressed my poor heart as that entrancing but 
 hellish music shook the air. There was noth- 
 ing of earth in it, but neither was there an echo 
 from heaven in that voice, filled with tears and 
 sobs. I heard the groans of men doomed to tor- 
 ments eternal ; the gnashing of teeth, the screams 
 of hopeless despair, and deep sighs, coming from 
 a breast worn with sufferings. When in the midst 
 of a thundering crescendo composed of the very 
 wildest and most discordant sounds, Lauretta 
 stopped on a sudden; a general and reverber- 
 ating bravo was heard through the hall, and a 
 number of voices called out, — 
 
 " ' " Signora Baldusi, Signora Baldusi ! Show 
 yourself to us ; remove your mask." 
 
 " ' Lauretta obeyed. The mask fell to her feet ; 
 and what did I see ? Merciful God ! Instead of 
 the young and blooming face of my Lauretta, I 
 saw a dead and dried skull. I was dumb from 
 amazement and horror ; but the other spectators 
 spoke all at once, and raised a great cry. 
 
 " ' " Ah, what charms ! " exclaimed they, with en- 
 thusiasm; "look, what a skull, — just like ivory 1 
 
102 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 But the mouth, the mouth ! A wonder, — it ex- 
 tends to her ears ! What perfection ! Ah, how 
 charmingly she gnashes her teeth at us! What 
 nice round cavities she has for eyes ! Oh, she 
 is beautiful ! " 
 
 " '"Signora Baldusi," said Mozart, rising, " grant 
 us a favor, — sing ' Biondina ' in ' Gondoletta.' " 
 
 " ' " But that is impossible," said the director of 
 the orchestra. " Signora Baldusi sings the cavatina 
 ' Biondina ' in ' Gondoletta ' only with a guitar, and 
 there is no such instrument here," 
 
 " ' " You are mistaken. Maestro di capella," an- 
 swered Lauretta, pointing to me. " There is a 
 guitar before you." 
 
 " ' The leader of the orchestra cast a quick glance 
 at me, opened his owl's beak, and laughed so ma- 
 lignly that the blood grew cold in my veins. 
 
 " ' " But, really," said he, " pass him this way ; 
 we can make a good guitar out pf him." 
 
 " ' Three of the spectators seized me, and from 
 hand to hand passed me to the leader of the 
 orchestra. In half a minute he wrenched my 
 right leg off, tore the flesh away, leaving nothing 
 but bone and dry sinews ; the latter he began to 
 stretch out like strings. 
 
 " ' I cannot describe to you the unendurable pain 
 which this preliminary operation caused me ; and 
 although my right leg was torn off, still, when the 
 villanous leader began to tune the instrument, all 
 the nerves in my body were straining and ready to 
 snap. But when Lauretta took from his hands 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 103 
 
 my poor leg, and her bony fingers ran along the 
 stretched sinews, I forgot all pain, so beautifiil 
 and sweetly sounding were the tone and music of 
 this uncommon guitar. 
 
 " ' After a brief ritomello Lauretta sang her 
 cavatina in a low voice. Often had I heard her 
 before, but never had she produced on me such a 
 wondrous effect. I seemed to myself to have be- 
 come all hearing ; and what was more strange, not 
 only my soul, but all parts of my body enjoyed 
 the enchanting music, independently of each other. 
 But my remaining leg was the most delighted of 
 all ; its enthusiasm reached such a degree of ec- 
 stasy, each sound of the guitar produced such 
 inexplicably pleasant sensations, that it could not 
 stay still for one instant. Every movement, too, of 
 the leg answered to the time of the music. At 
 one moment its movements were slow and serious, 
 at another it jumped quickly; then it trembled 
 slowly. 
 
 " ' All at once Lauretta blundered. Oh, my 
 friend, all previous pain was nothing compared 
 with what I felt then. It seemed that my skull 
 was breaking in pieces, that they were tearing all 
 my nerves out at once ; sawing me with a wooden 
 saw, and hacking me with a dull knife. This 
 hellish torture could not endure long, I lost con- 
 sciousness, and remember only as in a dream that 
 at the moment when all seemed to grow dark in 
 my eyes, some one called out, — 
 
 " ' " Throw that broken instrument into the street." 
 
104 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " ' Laughter and loud applause were the answer 
 tg this. I recovered consciousness next day. It 
 is said I was found lying on the square near the 
 theatre ; you have long since heard the rest, I 
 suppose, — they talked about the matter in Mos- 
 cow for a whole month. 
 
 " ' Now it is clear to my mind that Lauretta ap- 
 peared to me after death. She died in Naples ; 
 and I, as you see, am still living,' added my 
 poor friend with a deep sigh, as he finished his 
 story." 
 
 " What do you think of that story ? " asked our 
 host, looking around with a smile. " Well, father, 
 Alexander Ivanovich, glory to you ! You are a 
 master at telling stories." 
 
 " How can you say that, Jvan Alexaievich ? 
 It is no story, but the truth." 
 
 "Indeed?" 
 
 " I assure you my friend had no idea of telling 
 a fiction when he related this strange adventure 
 to me." 
 
 . " Now stop, brother. It is enough to make a 
 hen laugh. No matter how cunning the devil is, 
 I don't think he could ever get it into his head to 
 make a contra-bass out of one man and a guitar 
 out of another." 
 
 " If you do not believe me, I can refer you to 
 "Zorin. He is not dead, but still lives in St. 
 Petersburg, near the Obuhoff bridge." 
 
 " In the yellow house ? " asked the ispravnik. 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 105 
 
 "I cannot say," replied Cheromuhin; "maybe 
 they have painted it another color long ago." 
 
 " Oh, you rogue," said our host, " to tell us a 
 story you heard from a madman ! " 
 
 *' From a madman. That is more than I can 
 tell you. Zorin never confessed to me that he 
 was mad ; on the contrary, he assured me that if 
 the doctors and superintendents of the yellow 
 house were not mad, then it was out of pure stub- 
 bornness and wickedness that they did not want 
 to see that instead of his right leg there was a 
 splendid guitar." 
 
 " Listen, if you please," said our host, " what 
 stuff he is telling ; and when he is talking he 
 never smiles. But this must be said," added he, 
 after a short silence, — " your friend Zorin must 
 have gone mad from one cause or another. Now, 
 really, if that heathen woman visited him from 
 the other world to disturb his brain — " 
 
 " What do you think ? " asked I. " What others 
 may think I know not, hut I believe we may show 
 ourselves after death to those whom we loved 
 upon earth." 
 
 " Enough, brother," said Zarutski ; " if that 
 were the case, there would be no end to the num- 
 ber of visitors from the other world." 
 
 " On the contrary," continued I, " these cases 
 must be very rare. I am sure that after death we 
 can show ourselves only to those of our friends 
 or relatives to whom we are attached not from 
 habit alone, whom we loved not according to 
 
106 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 judgment nor from duty, — not because it was 
 pleasant to be with them, but from a certain inex- 
 plicable sympathy, a certain relationship of soul." 
 
 " Relationship of soul ? What do you mean 
 by that ? " 
 
 " What do I mean ? I do not know whether I 
 can make my meaning clear to you by an illustra- 
 tion or not. Hear me ! Every musical instru- 
 ment contains within itself the possibility of giving 
 forth sounds, just as our bodies contain the power 
 of living and acting; and like a body without 
 a soul, an instrument without the co-operation 
 of a musician who gives it life, is dead, and 
 cannot or should not exhibit this capacity. Do 
 you not wish to make an experiment now ? Place 
 upon a piano any musical instrument you like, 
 for instance a guitar, and put a small piece of 
 paper upon one of its strings, then touch the 
 keys of the piano, one after the other. The paper 
 will lie quietly in its place till you touch the key 
 which answers to the string of the guitar; the 
 moment you do this the guitar will sound and 
 the paper fly off; consequently a lifeless instru- 
 ment by an inexplicable sympathy answers to 
 the voice of a living one. Try to explain to 
 me, my friend, this very common and to all ap- 
 pearances physical phenomenon, and perhaps I 
 may explain to you what I mean by the words 
 ' sympathy ' and 'relationship of souls.' " 
 
 " Ba, ba, ba ! my dear friend," said Zarutski, 
 smiling, " you are a tremendous metaphysician and 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 107 
 
 psychologist. I did not know that of you. Now 
 I understand ; the soul of a dead man may com- 
 municate with that of a living one when they are 
 attuned to the same motive." 
 
 " You are joking, Zarutski," said the ispravnik. 
 " It appears to me that Mihail Nikolaevich is talk- 
 ing sense. I know a case which proves his posi- 
 tion decidedly ; and as we are telling stories I will, 
 if you like, relate to you something which did 
 really take place. You will not believe it per- 
 haps, but I give you my word of honor that it is 
 true. 
 
 The Two Sisters-in-Law. 
 
 "In the beginning of the year 1792 the hussar 
 regiment in which I served as cornet was sta- 
 tioned in White Russia. My squadron was quar- 
 tered in a small town belonging to two brothers, 
 
 the Princes L . They were both married, and 
 
 lived together in a splendid ancestral castle. 
 Their hospitable manners with Russian officers, 
 and especially their agreeable style of living, 
 which recalled the splendid hospitality of the 
 former magnates of Poland, became proverbial 
 
 among us. ' Even the Princes L might give 
 
 such a feast,' we used to say when wishing to 
 praise any entertainment. 
 
 " Of all the officers I was best received, and in 
 three or four weeks became perfectly at home in 
 the family. Both princesses were exceptionally 
 
108 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 amiable, and might have been called beauties. 
 Had they been sisters it would have been im- 
 possible not to wonder at their uncommon friend- 
 ship ; but two sisters-in-law, two mistresses in 
 one house, living soul to soul, is such a wonder 
 that it is not every man who sees it, even in a 
 lifetime. It could not be said that their tempera- 
 ments were perfectly alike; on the contrary, Jo- 
 sephine, the wife of the elder brother, was very 
 mild in character and somewhat cold in manner, 
 while Kazimira was very lively and of a hasty 
 temperament. Notwithstanding this difference, 
 which moreover was only to be remarked in their 
 intercourse with strangers, never did the slightest 
 vexation trouble their family harmony. 
 
 " Josephine spoke to me often of this friend- 
 ship. ' You cannot imagine,* said she once, ' what 
 a strange, and even to us incomprehensible feel- 
 ing we cherish toward each other. It is said we 
 live together like sisters, but that does not de- 
 scribe our position. I had three sisters whom I 
 loved, but in an entirely different way. When 
 I saw Kazimira first, it seemed to me that she 
 was just the person needed to complete my hap- 
 piness ; that sometimes in moments of sadness 
 I had longed for her, and although I could not 
 have seen her before, I could have given every 
 assurance that her features, voice, and even 
 certain habits peculiar to her were long since 
 familiar to me ; that we, I know not when nor 
 where, must have lived together and loved each 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOH. 109 
 
 other. Very strange, is it not? And what is 
 still stranger, Kazimira had the same feeling when 
 she first saw me. After this, how is it possible 
 not to believe in sympathies ? How many times 
 has it happened that while I was planning some 
 new amusement, some surprise for her, the same 
 idea would come into her head with regard to me, 
 and on asking her advice about details, I would 
 find that she was arranging just such a festival for 
 me as I for her. We have never yet parted, and I 
 think that separation would be a great misfortune 
 for us. Something may happen. One of us may 
 die without seeing and bidding the other farewell. 
 Oh, you do not know how that thought frightens 
 us ! It is true we have taken precautions against 
 this,' concluded Josephine, smiling, but without 
 the least trace of levity, 'We have bound our- 
 selves by an oath.' 
 
 "'By an oath?' 
 
 " ' Yes, we have sworn to each other that if 
 fate brings one of us to die before the other, at a 
 time of separation, the dead shall surely appear to 
 the living one before quitting the earth.' 
 
 " ' But have you thought,' asked I, also quite 
 seriously, ' that the fulfilment of this oath does 
 not depend upon you ? ' 
 
 " ' Of course ; on that point we have also taken 
 our precautions. It is said that an oath given and 
 not carried out in this world will in the next 
 burden the soul, — that is, prevent it from enjoying 
 happiness completely ; on this account we have 
 given our oaths with a condition.' 
 
110 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " ' With a conditioD ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes ; our oaths are to be bhiding only within 
 the limits of the possible. "Nous avons jur6 
 jusqu'aux bornes de possible." ' 
 
 " When she uttered this French phrase, which I 
 repeat word for word, 1 could not refrain from 
 laughing, so amusing did this childish simplicity 
 of the charming Josephine seem to me. 
 
 " ' Oh, Princess,' said I, ' you understand ju- 
 dicial forms, and have taken all legal precautions ; 
 now, if one of you keeps the promise it will not 
 be wonderful, for it will be within the limits of 
 the possible.' 
 
 " ' Oh, laugh, laugh! ' replied Josephine ; ' but I 
 am certain that should one of us not die in the 
 arms of the other, then we shall either die at one 
 time, that is, in the same hour and minute, or 
 we shall surely see each other before parting on 
 earth.' 
 
 " Princess Kazimira's husband had been suflFering 
 for a number of years from a chronic disease, 
 which, notwithstanding the advice of the best 
 physicians of the place, was going from bad to 
 worse, and threatening to- become incurable. At 
 a consultation of doctors it was decided that he 
 should resort to the last remedy; that is, go 
 abroad and try foreign skill, especially that of the 
 celebrated Dr. Frank, who was then in Paris. 
 
 " No matter how grievous long absence was 
 to the princess, necessity demanded this sacrifice. 
 In parting, the two sisters-in-law repeated their 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOK. Ill 
 
 oath, and promised to write to each other with- 
 out missing a mail. 
 
 " A couple of months had passed, when in one 
 of her letters Kazimira informed her sister-in-law 
 that she was starting with her husband for Paris. 
 
 " This disturbed Josephine greatly. The French 
 Revolution was becoming more terrible every hour; 
 and although blood had not begun to flow yet in 
 rivers, still everything induced the belief that the 
 predictions and guesses of European journalists, 
 like the cries of ill-omened birds, portended noth- 
 ing good. 
 
 " In vain did Kazimira try to pacify her friend. 
 ' You should not be alarmed on our account,' 
 wrote she. ' We are foreigners ; we shall live 
 quietly, without meddling with political affairs, 
 and shall not be noticed in Paris.' 
 
 "All this seemed to Josephine an insufficient 
 guaranty for their safety. 
 
 " Meanwhile time flew by. Robespierre, Marat, 
 Danton, and hundreds of other tigers, representing 
 in their persons the great nation, began by degrees 
 to accustom the volatile French to banquets of 
 blood, at which the despotism of executioners was 
 glorified as freedom, the butchery of human be- 
 ings was called justice, a band of robbers and 
 murderers were dignified with the name of ' the 
 people of France.' So that equality, a word with- 
 out moral sense, should have at least a material 
 realization, they proposed to cut off the heads of 
 all who had had the misfortune to be born a 
 
112 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 little higher in the social scale than others. At the 
 same time, like real fathers of their country, they 
 announced to their fellow-citizens that with pa- 
 rental solicitude they had sought every means of 
 alleviating the sufferings of those who had to die on 
 the scaffold ; therefore to cut off heads more quickly 
 and neatly, they had invented a philanthropic in- 
 strument called the guillotine. Josephine read all 
 this in the papers ; hence could find no peace. 
 
 " Noticing the sadness of his wife. Prince L 
 
 gave an unbroken round of banquets, balls, con- 
 certs ; in one word, he used all means to dissipate 
 her grief. 
 
 " At one of these balls where two hundred 
 guests were present, I observed that Josephine 
 was more low-spirited than usual. 
 
 " ' Are you well ? ' inquired I, taking a seat by 
 her side in the dancing-hall. 
 
 " ' Why ? ' asked the princess ; ' do I look ill ? ' 
 
 " ' If you are well, and will permit me to express 
 an opinion, you are not at all like a lady who 
 gives such a brilliant ball. Everything is full of 
 life in the hall, ■— three mazurkas at once ! Even 
 the old men are on their feet. Be more cheerful ; 
 with your present looks it will be thought that 
 you are not glad to see your guests.' 
 
 " ' Well, let them think what they please ; and in 
 truth I have no thought for dancing.' 
 
 " ' You frighten me. Princess. Have you un- 
 pleasant news from Paris, or is it long since you 
 received letters from there ? ' 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 113 
 
 " ' I received a letter to-day and an agreeable 
 one. Kazimira writes that it is very pleasant 
 in Paris ; that the journalists exaggerate every- 
 thing ; that notwithstanding the threats of the 
 republicans, the king is beloved, and if he only 
 wished to silence the shriekers, all would go on 
 as before ; but he is too kind, and does not like 
 to use violence, especially as the excitement of 
 minds cannot endure long, — such persistence is 
 not in the French character. Besides, the Queen 
 of France, who is very gracious to Kazimira and 
 invites her to all the petites soirees at the palace, 
 told her as a secret, that Mirabeau, the head or 
 rather the heart of the revolution, has gone over 
 to the government. As regards the other ring- 
 leaders, they are not merely insignificant, but 
 disgusting and repulsive in the eyes of all Paris. 
 One would think this sufficient to set me at rest ; 
 on the contrary, it is not, and never have I been 
 so disturbed as to-day.' 
 
 " ' But how do you feel ? ' 
 
 " ' I myself know not. But here at my heart 
 't is so heavy ! I am so despondent ! You may 
 call it cowardice or childishness, perhaps. What 
 is to be done when we feel within us something 
 incomparably more powerful than the clearest 
 judgment ? Of course I can pretend to be gay ; 
 but it will be only pretence.' 
 
 " ' And you hate pretence. Princess. Never mind ! 
 pretend. I have heard that actors are sometimes 
 carried away by their parts ; who knows, perhaps 
 8 
 
114 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 you will forget your sorrow. Dance the first 
 mazurka, even unwillingly ; the second will amuse 
 you. Favor me.' 
 
 " The princess gave me her hand in silence ; we 
 formed the fourth mazurka, and began dancing in 
 emulation of the others. In truth, there was not 
 even a trace of agitation or sadness on the beau- 
 tiful face of the princess toward the end of the 
 ball. 
 
 "After supper the guests began to disperse. 
 The nearest neighbors went home, those from a 
 distance, remained at the castle; among the latter 
 was a number of young ladies. The princess 
 assigned them a large chamber, where she herself 
 passed the night. 
 
 "I retired, and no doubt should have slept 
 soundly till dinner-time of the next day if I had 
 not been roused early in the morning by a cer- 
 tain unusual alarm throughout the whole house ; 
 doors were slammed everywhere, and in all the 
 corridors there was such a bustle and running 
 about that had there been only a slight odor 
 of smoke I should have thought the building was 
 on fire. I sprang out of bed, dressed with 
 quick hand, and hastened to find out the cause 
 of this uproar. The favorite companion of Prin- 
 cess Josephine, the dark-eyed Julia, upon whom I 
 had for some time been casting an attentive eye, 
 met me first in the corridor, and informed me 
 in passing that the princess was ill ; that she 
 had become faint in the night, and either in a 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOK. 115 
 
 dream or while awake — she did not know to a 
 certainty which — had seen something terrible, 
 and at that moment was lying unconscious. 
 
 " Two hours had not passed before all the other 
 guests had departed. About ten o'clock I was 
 informed that the princess wished to see me. 
 
 " I found her in perfectly sound mind, dressed, 
 and sitting on a sofa. In answer to my questions 
 about her health, she said that she was well. And 
 indeed, with the exception of an unusual pallor, 
 there was no trace of illness on her face, but it 
 was easy to see by her dimmed and swollen eyes 
 that she had wept much. 
 
 " ' Sit down here on the sofa near me,' said she, 
 in a low voice. 
 
 " ' What has happened. Princess ? ' asked I, tak- 
 ing a seat on the sofa. 
 
 " ' Nothing. I knew it before. My heart felt 
 it ; my heart never deceives me.' 
 
 "'What was it?' 
 
 " ' I have seen her.' 
 
 " ' You have seen her ? Whom ? ' 
 
 " ' Her. She came to bid me farewell.' 
 
 "'Of whom are you speaking?' 
 
 " * Of my sister-in-law.' 
 
 " ' Of your sister-in-law ? ' 
 
 "'Yes.' 
 
 " ' Oh, Princess, that was merely a disordered 
 imagination. You danced a good deal, your blood 
 was excited, — a dream.' 
 
 " * Dream,' said Josephine, with a smile of 
 
116 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES, 
 
 sadness, ■ — ' dream ! No ; I was not sleeping. 
 Listen ! I will tell you all.' 
 
 "During the recital of this wonderful story I 
 looked at her, expecting to detect in her eyes 
 some sign of mental wandering or fever. With 
 the exception of a calm, quiet sadness, I could 
 find nothing on her pale and wearied face. What 
 she told me was so strange and at the same 
 time bore such a stamp of truth that every word 
 cut deeply into my memory, and I tell you her 
 story without omission or change, just as though 
 I had heard it yesterday. 
 
 " Josephine, after attending her guests to rest, 
 fell into a deep sleep herself about two o'clock 
 in the morning. Before sleeping, she had (con- 
 trary to her wont) not thought once of Kazi- 
 mira. She had, as she supposed, slept spmewhat 
 more than half an hour when suddenly she heard 
 a slight rustling and a pleasant breath, as it were, 
 of cool spring air. She woke. At her pillow 
 stood a woman in white with hair cut short. 
 She wore no ornaments except a red necklace 
 and a black belt with a steel clasp. Though 
 there was only the light of the night-lamp, Jose- 
 phine saw all at a glance. The woman's face was 
 covered, or rather a short white veil was thrown 
 over it ; she stood motionless, with hands crossed 
 on her breast. 
 
 " During the first moment of fear Josephine was 
 unable to utter a word, and afterward, when she 
 wished to call her maids and rouse the guests, the 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOE. 117 
 
 woman in white raised her veil and said in a low 
 voice, — 
 
 " ' Fear not, ray friend, it is I.' 
 
 " ' Oh, my God ! ' cried Josephine. ' Is it you, 
 Kazimira ? Is it possible ? When did you come ? ' 
 
 " She sat up to embrace her sister-in-law ; but 
 Kazimira moved back and whispered in a scarcely 
 audible voice, — 
 
 " ' Do not touch me, Josephine ; the time has 
 not come yet when you may embrace me and 
 feel that you embrace. I have come to bid you 
 farewell.' 
 
 "'To bid me farewell?' 
 
 " ' Yes ; have you forgotten our oath ? ' 
 
 " When Josephine remembered all, you think, 
 perhaps, that she was frightened, fell into despair, 
 or at least burst into tears. No, she felt neither 
 sadness nor fear ; both feelings took possession of 
 her later, but that motaient she was perfectly 
 calm. 
 
 " ' And so, my dear, you are dead ? ' 
 
 " ' Yes, I am dead. They beheaded me.' 
 
 " ' For what ? ' 
 
 " * For my attachment to the Queen of France.' 
 
 " ' The wretches ! ' 
 
 " ' Do not curse, but bless them, Josephine ; 
 they opened the gates of my prison-house.' 
 
 " ' Of your prison-house ? What prison-house ? ' 
 
 "The apparition smiled quietly, but gave no 
 answer. 
 
 " ' Tell me, is it terrible to die ? ' 
 
118 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " ' Yes, 't is as terrible as for one blind from 
 birth to look for the first time on the bright sun 
 and clear heavens.' 
 
 " ' Oh, the last moment must be terrible ! ' 
 
 " ' Yes,- the last moment is awful ; but the first 
 moment ! ' 
 
 " The motionless glance of the vision became 
 full of life. ' And oh, what I read in it ! ' said 
 Josephine, sobbing. ' How insignificant these 
 pleasures which we visitors on earth for a mo- 
 ment call happiness and joy ! ' 
 
 " ' But we must part,' said the apparition. 
 ' Farewell, Josephine, till w^e meet in our native 
 home.' 
 
 " ' Stop ! ' cried Josephine. ' Tell me, are you 
 sure that we shall meet again ? ' 
 
 " ' I have no doubt of it. I see your soul ; it 
 does not love slavery. Listen ! ' 
 
 " Here the shade of Kazimira bent over and 
 whispered a few words into the ear of her sister- 
 in-law. 
 
 " ' Afterward,' continued Josephine, ' my eyes 
 closed. In the heights far above I heard sounds 
 of wonderful music ; and either I fell asleep again 
 or lost consciousness, I do not know which, but 
 all disappeared.' 
 
 " ' What did she whisper in your ear ? ' inquired 
 I, with curiosity. 
 
 " ' Do not ask that,' said Josephine, ' those words 
 will die with me ; they should die with me.' 
 
 " No matter how I tried to induce her to reveal 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 119 
 
 the secret, it was in vain. I observed that when- 
 ever I spoke on the subject she wept ; her tears 
 were not tears of sorrow. 
 
 "Three weeks later we read in the Parisian 
 journal, ' Friend of the People,' that shortly after 
 the murder of Countess Lamballe, a foreign lady 
 was put to death ; and no matter how the name 
 of the unfortunate was deformed, according to the 
 habit of French writers, it was not difficult for us 
 to discover in it the family name of the Princess 
 L ." 
 
 The ispravnik stopped. I had listened with 
 great attention to his story, but this did not hinder 
 me from remarking that Zarutski and Cheromuhin 
 were talking about something in a low voice. The 
 latter looked at his watch, and while our attention 
 was entirely occupied, rose and went out of the 
 room. 
 
 " Now, nephew, what can you say to that ? " 
 asked AsanoflF. 
 
 " If Alexai Dmitrievich had not been present, I 
 should say that it was a fable." 
 
 " But as it is, what will you say ? " 
 
 " Now I shall say that it is a strange combina- 
 tion of circumstances. An ordinary event and 
 nothing more." 
 
 " How nothing more ? " 
 
 " Of course nothing more ! Josephine's dream 
 was simply a repetition of that of which she had 
 been thinking continually in her waking hours. 
 If Kazimira had returned safe and sound from her 
 
120 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 journey, the dream would have been forgotten, 
 like thousands of others which did not come true 
 and are never mentioned." 
 
 " But what a man you are, brother ! Have you 
 not heard that it all took place ? " 
 
 " But what is there wonderful in this, that out 
 of a million foolish dreams one by chance proves 
 true ? For example, if the wife of a naval officer 
 absent on a journey around the world should 
 grieve greatly about her husband, then likely she 
 would often dream that he was drowning ; and 
 if in reality he should perish at sea, you would 
 say that it was foretold in a dream." 
 
 " Ah, but you repeat, nephew ; in a dream, in a 
 dream," said Asanoff. " You have heard that she 
 saw that while awake." 
 
 " That is, it seemed to her that she was not 
 asleep. Well, grant she was awake, what then ? 
 Do we not see in our waking hours objects which 
 can exist only in the most disordered imagina- 
 tion ? Abstain from sleep a number of nights in 
 succession, and you will see things stranger than 
 have ever appeared to you in dreams. Talk on 
 this subject with couriers who have travelled night 
 and day without sleeping one moment. I myself 
 once saw on a high-road bordered by linden-trees 
 only, whole streets of immense palaces and castles, 
 and I was not sleeping. To keep awake I sat on 
 the bottom of the wagon, sang songs, and talked 
 with the driver. Do you know how far a dis- 
 ordered imagination, prepared for wonders, can 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOB. 121 
 
 deceive all our faculties ? For example, it is now 
 a dark autumn evening, the wind is howling, it is 
 nearly midnight, and for three hours we have been 
 telling wonderful tales. I am convinced that we 
 are, not excepting myself, very much more disposed 
 to be frightened and incomparably more credulous 
 than at any other time. An unexpected knock, the 
 unlocked for appearance of some new guest, the 
 creaking of a door, — in one word, anything might 
 disturb us and seem supernatural. If at this mo- 
 ment some one rising up from the courtyard should 
 look in at the window, the most ordinary face 
 would doubtless seem ghost-like." 
 
 " Ah, do you see with what stuff he is trying 
 to frighten us ? " asked Asanoff, looking around 
 timidly. 
 
 " What nonsense ! " exclaimed I, glancing invol- 
 untarily toward the window, 
 
 "No, it is not nonsense," continued Zarutski. 
 " We all have a certain inborn inclination to believe 
 in the marvellous ; and though fear is a feeling by 
 no means pleasant, still we love that hysterical 
 pressing of the heart, that cold tremor which em- 
 braces us from head to foot when we tliink that 
 we see something supernatural. Immediately we 
 give reins to our imagination, and it gets the better 
 of our judgment ; we are ready to believe every- 
 thing, to be frightened at everything, and just as 
 in the fever, although we preserve our physical 
 power, we see, feel, and hear everything inverted. 
 Well, midnight, it seems ! Chu ! " 
 
122 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES, 
 
 The clock on the tower began to strike. 
 
 " How terribly that bell groans!" said Zarutski, 
 counting the strokes, — " five, six, — is it not 
 true that there is something of the grave and of 
 evil omen in that sound? — eight, nine, — how 
 sad and prolonged it is ! — ' The voice of time, the 
 metal's sound ! ' — eleven, twelve ! Oh, my God ! 
 Look, look ! What is that ? " 
 
 " Ai ! " screamed Kolchugin, dropping his pipe 
 on the floor. The ispravnik and Asanoff sprang 
 from their chairs ; and every eye followed the hand 
 of Zarutski, who pointed to one of the windows 
 in the room. 
 
 " But what does he see ? " cried Asanoff. " I 
 know not what you see, but I see nothing." 
 
 " Neither do I," said Kolchugin, picking up his 
 
 pipe- 
 
 "Oh, he is playing a trick on us," said the 
 ispravnik, with a loud laugh. " See how he sur- 
 prised us all ! Oh, brother, you are a splendid 
 actor," continued he, turning to Zarutski. " But 
 you need not pose longer, amiable friend; you 
 will not deceive any one." 
 
 I looked at Zarutski. No, that is not a com- 
 edy! His almost mad and fixed glance was 
 directed to the middle window of the room ; his 
 limbs were trembling, his hair was erect, and on 
 his livid face was depicted inexpressible terror. 
 
 " What is the matter, my friend ? " asked I, ap- 
 proaching him. " What has happened to you ? " 
 
 Zarutski did not answer. 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 123 
 
 " Do not touch him," said the ispravnik. " He 
 is on the stage now, and is in his r61e to such a 
 degree that he cannot free himself." 
 
 All at once steps were heard in the corridor ; 
 the door opened, and Cheromuhin entered. 
 
 " Oh, brother ! how you frightened me ! " said 
 Zarutski, sitting down on the sofa. " I can scarcely 
 breathe." 
 
 "I — frightened you ? " asked Cheromuhin. 
 
 " Yes, you." 
 
 "How, if I may ask?" 
 
 " How ? I told you, when the clock struck 
 twelve, to look in at the window ; but nobody 
 asked you to dress yourself in a winding-sheet 
 and a woman's cap." 
 
 "A woman's cap? Are you in your right 
 mind ? " 
 
 " You still deny ? " 
 
 " But, brother, I did not leave the balcony." 
 
 " What do you tell me ? " 
 
 " When I went out on the balcony I saw that 
 rain was pouring as if from a bucket. It did not 
 seem good to me to wet myself to the skin to per- 
 form for your pleasure a little trick for which they 
 punish even children*" 
 
 "And you did not look at us through the 
 window ? " 
 
 " Ko." 
 
 "Now, Prohor Kondratievich ! " cried Zarut- 
 ski, growing pale again, " that sort of jest is 
 unseemly." 
 
124 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " What joke ? Ah, father, what has happened 
 to you"? " 
 
 "Tell the truth, I demand !" answered Zarutski. 
 
 "Tfu! If you do not believe me, go to the 
 anteroom and ask the servants. I tell you, I not 
 only did not look in at the window, but I did not 
 leave the balcony. Do you hear what a rain there 
 is ? If I had gone out, there would not have been 
 a dry thread on me. Now feel of my clothes." 
 
 My friend was silent. 
 
 " But have you indeed seen something ? " asked 
 I of him, in an undertone. 
 
 " He pressed my hand firmly, and whispered in a 
 broken voice, — 
 
 " Yes, my friend — I saw — oh, what have 
 I seen?" 
 
 "But what was it?" 
 
 Zarutski, not answering my question and as if 
 talking with himself, said, — 
 
 " It seems to-day is Saturday — precisely ! — 
 Saturday." ^ 
 
 "And really Sunday; for it is already past 
 twelve o'clock. But tell me — " 
 
 " No, my friend. Maybe it was an error of my 
 senses, — it may have seemed so to me ; but it 
 was so clear," said he, looking at the middle win- 
 dow of the room. " Right there, opposite ! " 
 
 " What are you talking about, gentlemen ? " 
 inquired AsanofF. 
 
 " Nothing, uncle," replied Zarutski, trying to 
 smile. 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 125 
 
 " Another conspiracy to frighten us," said the 
 ispravnik. "Do not try. I cannot answer for 
 others ; but as for myself, I know that you will 
 not frighten me twice in succession." 
 
 " Do not guarantee that, amiable friend," said 
 AsanofF. " If you knew the history of my house, 
 and what happened on a time in this very room 
 where now we are talking, you would not be so 
 confident. I have lived here many years, and 
 thanks be to God have seen no terrors ; but 
 when I call to mind this awful history, even in 
 midsummer, the frost runs over my skin." 
 
 " By the way, Ivan Alexaievich," said the is- 
 pravnik, "tell us this tradition. I have long 
 wished to hear more particularly about this midr 
 night procession, of whick they talk so much 
 throughout the whole district." 
 
 "And surely each has his own version," re- 
 marked the host. 
 
 " Yes, each tells his own tale ; but all agree on 
 one point, that it is founded on a real event." 
 
 " Why do you call it a tradition ? " asked I of 
 the ispravnik. 
 
 " Because it is like a folk-tale from beginning 
 to end—" 
 
 "And is that which you told us awhile ago," 
 interrupted Cheromuhin, with a smile, " a true nar- 
 rative, then, according to your thinking ? " 
 
 " That is another affair," said I. " The appari- 
 tion of dead people, this communion of the im- 
 material with the material world, this harmonious 
 
126 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 sympathy of souls proving our heavenly origin, and 
 the power of appearing in visible forms, possessed 
 by beings subject to no physical laws, may be more 
 or less justified by our ideas of organization, — 
 that is, of the internal power of a disembodied 
 being, which in its relations to external objects, 
 that is, to the visible, or, to speak more correctly, 
 to the material world — But perhaps you do not 
 understand me ? " 
 
 " Have mercy on us ! " < exclaimed Cheromuhin, 
 most gravely. " Of course I do ; what you say is 
 transparent ! " 
 
 " Oh, laugh, laugh as much as you like ! " replied 
 the ispravnik. " You are an out-and-out materia 
 alist ; you understand and believe only that twice 
 two are four." 
 
 " And you would like to have twice two five." 
 
 " Oh, what is the use in talking with you ! Tell 
 us, rather, Ivan Alexaievich, that terrible history 
 which, as you say yourself, makes the frost run 
 over your skin at times." 
 
 " But is it not late, gentlemen ? " inquired our 
 host. 
 
 " Not at all," cried I ; " to-morrow I must take 
 farewell of you, and perhaps I may never hear 
 it if not now." 
 
 " Well, let it be so ; but if you yawn, gentle- 
 men, I beg you to remember that it is after mid- 
 night, and that, thank God, we do not all suffer 
 from sleeplessness. Now listen ! 
 
an evening on the hoptob. 127 
 
 The Midnight Procession. 
 
 "Long, long ago, in the time of Tsar Alexai 
 Mihailovich — no ! in the time of his father, 
 Mihail Feodorovich — this estate on the Hopyor 
 belonged to Varnava Glinski, the great-great-grand- 
 father of Pavel Glinski, the father of Sophia Pav- 
 lovna, after whose death it was bought by me, — it 
 is said for a high price, but I think it cheap," con- 
 tinued Ivan Alexaievich, looking at the window 
 through which in the daytime the village church 
 and burial-ground were seen. 
 
 " This Glinski was famous in his time, not 
 for hospitality and mother wit, not for bravery 
 and daring, which are in the blood of every Rus- 
 sian, but for turbulence, dissoluteness, and robbery, 
 by day and by night ; and worst of all, he was an 
 inveterate student of the black art, and a con- 
 federate of Satan himself. 
 
 " Ten years in succession he lived on the Hopyor 
 like a wild beast, at the cross-roads. Whenever 
 he set out with his attendants and serviants to 
 amuse himself with hunting, or went down the 
 river in his curved boat with white sails, all the 
 small noblemen and peasants of the country trem- 
 bled with terror and hid themselves in the forests, 
 as before a Tartar invasion, driving their cattle 
 twenty versts away. Now, why do you look at 
 me so, Alexai Dmitrievich ? You are thinking, I 
 suppose, ' What a big story he is telling, but what 
 are ispravniks for and the rural police — ' Eh, 
 
128 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 amiable friend ! It was not then as now ; that 
 was a troubled period, — at one time the Poles 
 were attacking Moscow, at another Lissofski with 
 his troopers was raiding over mother holy Kussia, 
 The Poles, the Tartars, and every kind of heresy, 
 and revolts of the Strelitz — But what is the use 
 in talking I It was a sweet time for robbers, — 
 they had their sport, their enjoyment ; and whoso 
 had no fear of God, over him hung no human law. 
 
 " It is not to be wondered at that Glinski, the 
 denier of God, did what he wished, — plundered 
 on the highway, hanged the local police, and 
 drowned them in the Hopyor; blackmailed his 
 neighbors, and held an iron hand over the voevoda 
 of Serdobsk, who did not dare to show his nose 
 outside the town. Instead of his old wooden 
 house Glinski put up this stone castle, surrounded 
 it with a strong oaken palisade, built white houses 
 and cottages for all his attendants, — in one word, 
 made of his place such a beautiful settlement that 
 Serdobsk itself would not have served as suburbs 
 to it. But the greater part of his peasants lived 
 in underground huts. The walls of the village 
 church were crumbling ; and the bell-tower, when- 
 ever there was a high wind, creaked and swayed 
 like an old dove-cot. 
 
 " This Glinski had only one daughter, who in 
 infancy lost her mother. Glinski hated his wife 
 because she had borne him a daughter instead 
 of a son ; covered her with abuse and curses, and 
 when he was drunk beat her with whatever was 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 129 
 
 at hand. And as he drank wine, even on Good 
 Friday, there was scarcely a day that his wife did 
 not suffer. She, poor woman, about six months 
 after the birth of her daughter, fell into consump- 
 tion and died from abuse. 
 
 " Fifteen years passed ; the poor motherless 
 girl grew up, though her life was hard and she 
 was almost without care ; still, like the flower of 
 the field, which the God of heaven alone cares for 
 and cherishes, she became so comely and fair that 
 even her father, wild beast as he was, could not 
 help admiring her sometimes. 
 
 " The surrounding nobility and the voevoda of 
 Serdobsk tried time after time to put a stop to 
 the robberies of Glinski ; but each time he made 
 such resistance that for a long period he knocked 
 out of them every desire to attack him. Once 
 they were able to muster five hundred men, — 
 armed peasants and soldiers, — thinking that with 
 this force it would be easy not only to take Glinski 
 alive with all his troop, but to scatter his build- 
 ings brick after brick. It turned out otherwise, 
 however. Glinski met them on the highway with 
 his heroes, who were not more than fifty in all, 
 though to the country force they seemed a host 
 beyond number. The peasants trembled and fled, 
 the soldiers stood their ground ; but when they 
 saw that bullets bounded from Glinski, and battle- 
 axes were broken on his person, such terror fell on 
 them that they too turned to run without looking 
 behind. Glinski pursued them to the borders of 
 
130 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 the town, trampled in the mud and killed more 
 than half, and returned to his robber's den without 
 losing a man. 
 
 " After such a terrible warning the nobles hung 
 their noses, and the voevoda of Serdobsk followed 
 their example. There was nothing to be done but 
 to yield for a while and wait for fair weatlier at 
 the seaside.^ In Moscow no thought could be 
 given to the condition of Serdobsk ; the Poles 
 were approaching the capital. 
 
 " Glinski feared neither the wrath of the Tsar, 
 nor letters of outlawry. One thing alone brought 
 fear .and terror on him. Glinski — this robber who 
 could be frightened by nothing, this criminal and 
 professor of the black art — was afraid of — what 
 do you think ? He was mortally afraid of vultures. 
 From morning till evening people with loaded 
 guns patrolled his house ; and whoever was for- 
 tunate enough to kill a vulture received a reward 
 in money and a quart of Romanee." 
 
 " Romance ? " interrupted Zarutski. " I beg 
 your pardon, uncle, but I do not think that in old 
 times common people drank Burgundy wine." 
 
 " Who told you Burgundy wine ? In old times 
 our forefathers made a liquor of berries which 
 they called Romanee." 
 
 "Still Romanee is a well-known Burgundy 
 wine — " 
 
 1 " Wait for fair weather at the seaside " is a Russian say- 
 ing much in use, and means " wait for better times, — a better 
 opportunity to carry out work in hand." 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 131 
 
 " It has the same name ; but what of that ? 
 There it is, nephew ! If you knew less of French 
 names and more of Russian words, you would not 
 make such errors as an illiterate man would avoid, 
 and you would not interrupt my story." 
 
 " I am at fault, uncle ; but I read in a criti- 
 cism — " 
 
 " You must like to read every kind of absurdity. 
 Well, where did I stop? Ah, — where Glinski 
 was mortally afraid of vultures. The reason of 
 this strange fear was long a puzzle to all ; but 
 as at last everything in the world is discovered, 
 this is what has come down to us by tradition on 
 the subject. 
 
 " Glinski used the black art, and managed Satan 
 as one of his own peasants. But the cunning one, 
 of course, does not work for nothing. He served 
 Glinski, but on condition that he would give him 
 a deed of his soul, in which it was stated that in 
 this world the demon should obey him in every- 
 thing, — protect him from water, fire, the sword, 
 and every other weapon, — and should not have 
 any authority over him till the black vulture took 
 refuge under his roof and built a nest so as to 
 mate with the white dove. 
 
 " Now it will not be difficult to understand why 
 Glinski did not favor vultures, but grew pale and 
 trembled whenever one of these birds of prey flew 
 over his roof 
 
 "Among all his followers Glinski favored es- 
 pecially a young man named Sokol. Certainly he 
 
132 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 was a brave fellow, and would have been a fit 
 lieutenant for the famous Stenka Razin. Every- 
 thing about him pleased Glinski, — his manner, his 
 black shining mustache and full beard, his stature, 
 his gigantic strength. No one knew his origin. 
 Once on a stormy autumn night this Sokol rode 
 up to the great brick house on a swift Persian 
 horse. He was alone, and appearing before Glinski 
 unannounced, declared that he was Andrei Sokol, 
 from Moscow ; that he had grown weary of serv- 
 ing the Tsar, and bowing to his girdle before 
 boyars of the council; that hearing of the free 
 life under Glinski, he had come on purpose to 
 offer his services. 
 
 " Glinski received Sokol into the circle of his 
 favorites, and soon became so attached to him 
 that he resolved to give the young man his only 
 daughter in marriage. 
 
 " Well, about three weeks before the wedding, 
 while out coursing, a desire rose in Glinski to visit 
 his old friend beyond the Sura, the landholder 
 Sitski, — just such a disturber and robber as he was 
 himself. Sitski had wandered through the white 
 world ten years of his life in succession, had joined 
 all sorts of seditious people, had spent a couple 
 of years with Lissofski, and only three months 
 before had returned to his paternal estate. 
 
 " Glinski did not like to put off anything ; so, 
 sending to tell Andrei Sokol, who had not come 
 to this hunt, that he confided to him the care of 
 the house for a short time, and informing no one 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOR. 133 
 
 whither he was going, he set out directly from the 
 field, with only two or three servants, to visit his 
 friend beyond the Sura. 
 
 " This unexpected visit delighted Sitski greatly. 
 Festivities and rejoicings began ; they ate, drank, 
 and frolicked from morning till night; singers 
 shouted from full throats ; peasant women and 
 maidens, moved in choral dances before the win- 
 dows ; and all the first day such uproar and disor- 
 der were in the house that when the church bells 
 rang in the evening for prayers no one thought of 
 making the sign of the cross. 
 
 " At supper Sitski began to boast of his exploits, 
 and to relate how he had stopped a whole convoy 
 on the highway and taken from the wagons the 
 best six horses ; how in open daylight he had 
 cut timber in his neighbor's reserved forest, and 
 all summer had pastured his herds on other men's 
 fields. 
 
 " ' Well, that is ' something to boast of ! ' said 
 Glinski, putting his hand on his hip. ' Oh, you 
 sad hero ! It is clear that on the Sura brave men 
 have died out. You were able to unharness six 
 old crow-baits from wagons, to cut a bit of wood 
 in another man's forest, to nip a few blades of 
 grass on your neighbor's land. You have not had 
 to lay down your head for it, — and think that 
 heroism! Oh, ceremonious, ceremonious youth! 
 No, my dear; we on the Hopyor do not amuse 
 ourselves in that fashion when we go out to have 
 sport. When our brave blood begins to play and 
 
134 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 our hero hands to work, yoii might roll a ball over 
 the country behind us, — it is as smooth as the 
 palm of your hand. We take everything that 
 comes ; kill every man we meet. We don't act, of 
 course, in your style, — we do not stop to argue 
 with clerks, or chaffer with a merchant. If we 
 take a whole family, — in one moment judgment 
 and execution. The mother goes into the Hopyor, 
 the brother gets a slug shot in the forehead, the 
 father is hung on the nearest tree, and the daughter 
 we take home : that is what we call daring. But 
 wait a bit, my dear ! In two weeks precisely, on 
 St. Thomas's Day^ there will be a great feast and 
 banquet at my house for all men. I shall give my 
 daughter in marriage. We beg the favor of your 
 presence at the wedding to give away my Varvara. 
 Afterward you and I will go to hunt on the high- 
 way ; you shall see with your own eyes and tell 
 your neighbors beyond the Sura how good heroes 
 amuse themselves on the Hopyor.' 
 
 " The host gave his word, and Glinski after a 
 visit of three days took the return road and reached 
 home in safety. 
 
 " Time passed, and at last only one day re- 
 mained before the wedding ; the maiden's evening 
 was celebrated. The defenceless Varvara shed 
 bitter tears, — she was a mild, religious girl, and 
 could not think without horror of becoming the 
 wife of that robber Sokol. Three nights in suc- 
 cession the poor orphan sobbed and prayed before 
 the holy images ; in the daytime she neither dared 
 
AN EVElSriNG ON THE HOPYOR. 135 
 
 to weep nor pray, — the wicked Glinsti threatened 
 to kill her with his own hand if she should be sad 
 or even wrinkle her brow when the priest led her 
 around the pulpit. 
 
 " St. Thomas's Day came ; morning services 
 were finished. Sitski had not arrived ; Mass was 
 over, and still he was absent. 
 
 " I have told you already that Glinski did not 
 like to put off anything ; when the hour for ves- 
 pers came he shouted like a madman, and declared 
 that he would not wait for Sitski to give his 
 daughter away. 
 
 " ' Go to the church ! ' cried he. 
 
 " The long procession moved from the house to 
 the church. Vespers were over, and the marriage 
 service began. - Standing before the altar at the 
 side of her future husband and master, the half- 
 dead orphan swallowed her tears, tried to smile, 
 and with a low but firm voice answered the ques- 
 tions of the priest. All was in order, but still the 
 old people shook their heads. 
 
 " ' Eh, it is not for good ! Eh, not for good ! ' 
 whispered the women and the young girls. 
 
 " And in truth there was reason to be frightened : 
 the taper held by the bride burned with a bright 
 and clear fire ; that in Sokol's hand burned dimly, 
 smoked like a funeral torch, and without cause 
 went out three times in succession. 
 
 " When the crowning ^ was over, Glinski, like a 
 renegade as he was, without giving the young 
 
 1 Marriage ceremony. 
 
136 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 couple a chance of kissing the holy images of the 
 place, led them out of the church, and the pro- 
 cession moved back to the house. 
 
 " ' What is that noise in the distance ? ' inquired 
 Glinski, as he was mounting his horse. ' Is it our 
 belated guest ? ' 
 
 " ' No,' replied one of the servants. ' Guests 
 are not to be expected from that side. The noise 
 comes from Wolf's Ravine.' 
 
 " You, gentlemen, all know this ravine," con- 
 tinued Ivan Alexaievich, turning to his guests. 
 " Now it is called Devil's Burden. In old times it 
 was the meeting-place of Glinski and his band, 
 and the burial-ground of wayfarers slain by those 
 robbers on the highroad," 
 
 " It is about two versts from your house," 
 said I. 
 
 " No, it is not more than a verst and a half," 
 replied our host. 
 
 " Well," continued he, " the young people took 
 their seats at the wedding-table, the feast began, 
 the health-cup passed from hand to hand ; all had 
 begun to drink and be merry. Glinski alone sat 
 with lowering brows, and was listening anxiously 
 to the distant noise, which grew louder and louder. 
 
 " It was after midnight when the door was 
 thrown open and the long-expected guest, his 
 friend Sitski, entered. 
 
 " ' Well done ! ' cried the host, rising from the 
 table and going to meet him. 'We waited and 
 waited for you, and then we stopped waiting.' 
 
AX EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 137 
 
 " ' I am at fault, amiable friend, replied Sitski ; 
 ' I was a little late in leaving home, arid we strug- 
 gled almost an hour in your neighborhood. But 
 what kind of marvel was there ! The horses under 
 me and my servants were as if they had eaten mad- 
 wort ; they snorted and reared. We urged and 
 urged, but if you were to kill them they would not 
 move forward. I had to leave my men in the field 
 and come alone to your house on foot. But what 
 is the matter ? Or are other guests coming ? On 
 the right, beyond the forest, there is an uproar with 
 tumult and whistling that baffles description.' 
 
 " ' I hear it,' replied Glinski, looking timidly 
 around, ' but I do not expect other guests.' " 
 
 " Stop, uncle ! " interrupted Zarutski, " is your 
 story to be a reality ? Listen ! what a noise there 
 is beyond the oak grove ! " 
 
 " It is evident that the wind has grown active," 
 replied Ivan Alexaievich, looking out of the win- 
 dow. "AVhen the wind blows up the ravine and 
 along the woods, there is such a howl that, God 
 save us ! — But don't interrupt me, nephew. 
 You have made me lose my place again. 
 
 " ' Well,' said Sitski, ' what are we standing at 
 the door for ? Lead me to the young people.' 
 
 " ' Here they are. I beg you to love and favor 
 them,' said Glinski, coming with his guest to the 
 table at which the newly married couple were 
 sitting. 
 
 " ' Ba, ba, ba ! ' cried Sitski, stepping back with 
 amazement. ' What do I see ? Or is it an illu- 
 
138 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 sion? No — So this is your son-in-law ! ' pointing 
 to Sokol, who at once grew as pale as a corpse. 
 
 " ' What are you wondering at ? ' 
 
 " ' But have you given him your daughter ? ' 
 
 " ' Why not ? He is of noble origin, served in 
 Moscow, and though not of high — ' 
 
 " ' Yes, brother, yes ! He is indeed not of 
 high birth,' replied Sitski, with a loud laugh. 
 * His mother was a gypsy, and his father a Tartar.' 
 
 " * You lie ! ' cried Glinski. 
 
 " ' If I lie, why does your dear son-in-law not 
 say a word? Or has he lost the use of his 
 tongue ? ' 
 
 " And indeed Sokol sat like one condemned to 
 death ; and not only was he unable to speak, but 
 he did not dare to raise his eyes to look at his 
 father-in-law. 
 
 " ' I don't know whether he served in Moscow or 
 not,' continued Sitski ; ' but I know to a certainty 
 that among all the camp followers of Lissofski and 
 Sapyeha, there was not a lazier horse-doctor or a 
 more active horse-thief than your dear son-in-law.' 
 
 " For about a minute Glinski looked at his son- 
 in-law in silence ; suddenly his eyes flashed, and 
 he said with a threatening voice, — 
 
 " ' No matter ! He is my son-in-law now ; and 
 if any man dares to say a word against Andrei 
 Sokol — ' 
 
 "'Ah, is he called Sokol?' 
 
 " ' But why not ? He is a hero of heroes, and 
 is rightly called the Bright Sokol.' 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPTOB. 139 
 
 " ' Oh, if that is the case, I beg pardon ! ' said 
 Sitski. ' If he has gnawed himself into rank, 
 then indeed he must have been in the service of 
 the Tsar. It is no joke, when you think of it, 
 from a korshun to become straightway a SokoL' 
 
 " ' From a korshun ? ' screamed Glinski. 
 
 " ' Of course ! He is now called Sokol,^ but 
 in our time he was called Chorni Korshun.' ^ 
 
 " ' The Black Vulture ! ' repeated Glinski, in a 
 terrible voice. 
 
 " The eyes of all present were turned to the host ; 
 they were waiting in terror for something awful. 
 
 " Suddenly the wind began to howl ; all the 
 tapers went out before the holy images; on the 
 chimney of the house a crow cawed, and cried 
 out in a human voice, — 
 
 " ' Glinski ! the Black Vulture has taken refuge 
 under your roof — ' 
 
 " ' And has built a nest so as to mate with the 
 white dove,' miaued a long-haired cat, looking 
 from behind the stove. 
 
 " ' Stook, stook ! ' was heard ; and under the 
 window a repulsive, hoarse voice called, — 
 
 " ' Glinski ! come out on the balcony and re- 
 ceive your guests.' 
 
 " A broad knife gleamed in Glinski's hand, and 
 Sokol fell dead on the floor. The murderer rushed 
 from the dining-hall like a madman, and hastened 
 to the room where we are now sitting, and into 
 which no one was ever allowed to enter but him- 
 
 1 Falcon. ^ Black Vultiye. 
 
140 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 self. He seized his book of magic in black letter 
 and black binding ; but could do nothing, — the 
 clasps seemed to have melted together. Behind 
 the sofa and in the corners of the room was 
 heard such an unearthly laughter that the magic 
 book fell from his powerless hands. Meanwhile 
 the heavens grew red, as from a conflagration ; 
 and then began that midnight procession, which, 
 if we are to believe old men, is repeated every 
 twenty-five years up to the present time in this 
 house on the same day and hour. Along the road 
 from Wolf's Ravine came the uninvited guests ; 
 round about them roared a tempest, the broad 
 fields trembled like a floating morass, from the 
 tramping of horses. 
 
 "In front of all, on the skeleton of a horse, 
 rode a merchant wrapped in a white shroud. He 
 had been strangled the evening before the mar- 
 riage. After him stretched a long line of ghosts, 
 some with their throats cut, others with their 
 skulls crushed in, and by the light of the bloody 
 sky no end could be seen to this dreadful proces- 
 sion. It approached the house, and with a loud 
 noise the gates were thrown open." 
 
 Ivan Alexaievich stopped. 
 
 " But why do you stop, uncle ? " asked Zarutski. 
 
 " Hush, Alexai ! what is that ? Listen ! " 
 
 " Yes," said Kolchugin, " that is not the 
 wind." 
 
 We all listened ; and indeed something like 
 whistling, singing, and the loud talk of men was 
 
AN EVENING ON THE HOPYOR. 141 
 
 intermingled with the wind. At times even the 
 rumbling of wheels along a rough road, and the 
 strong stamping of horses might be distinguished. 
 
 " Who should be travelling so late at night ? " 
 asked our host, with evident anxiety. " The high- 
 way is far from here, and I am not expecting any 
 one. Is not my bailiff carousing? Perhaps he 
 is going to give his guests a ride through the 
 village. To-day is his name's day." 
 
 " And what is his name ? " inquired I. 
 
 " Thomas." 
 
 " Thomas ! " repeated we, all in one voice, look- 
 ing at one another. " And to-day is St. Thomas's 
 Day ; the same one in which — " 
 
 " Oh ! " cried the ispravnik. " Do you hear ? 
 They are opening the gate." 
 
 Suddenly it seemed as if a whole company of 
 drunken men had rushed into the yard ; shouting 
 madly, they hurried to the entrance ; the stesps of 
 a numerous and noisy crowd echoed along the 
 wing of the house. It was as still in the room 
 as in a graveyard. Kolchugin seemed more col- 
 lected than the rest, but the host and the others 
 were altogether out of countenance. 
 
 "0 Lord, my God!" whispered Cheromuhin. 
 " What is that ? Do you hear ? They are already 
 in the hall ! If they are guests, why do they not 
 go to the left? They are coming directly to our 
 
 wall." 
 
 With a rattle and crash the bricks and broken 
 
 plaster fell to the floor. 
 
142 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " Lord, have mercy on us, sinners ! " cried 
 our host. " Do you hear ? They are opening the 
 walled up doors ! They want to break into this 
 room ! Exactly ! Gentlemen, this is the midnight 
 procession ! " 
 
 We all sprang from our places. The knocking 
 increased. Only one row of bricks remained. We 
 heard clearly a. kind of strange speaking, and cries, 
 and wild laughter. 'Now the last bricks were fall- 
 ing, — the carpet covering the closed doors alone 
 remained. At once a cold fresh air came into the 
 warm room ; the carpet began to tremble, — we 
 rushed forth from the room head-foremost. 
 
 " Quiet, gentlemen, quiet ! " cried Kolchugin. 
 " You will bruise yourselves to death. It is so 
 dark that you cannot see your fingers." 
 
 In truth, we ran like men half demented along 
 the corridor, stumbled, fell, and bruised one an- 
 other. At last we reached a place where there 
 was more room ; still all was dark. In the dining- 
 hall there was one candle ; we hurried toward it. 
 Ivan Alexaievich's servants were collected there, 
 standing huddled together in the middle of the 
 room. There was no one at the entrance ; still 
 the noise increased every moment. 
 
 " But why, in good truth, are we frightened ? " 
 asked Kolchugin. " Are there not twenty of us ? 
 What do we fear? I, alone, unattended, supped 
 once with a dozen of devils, and still no harm 
 came to me. Eh, gentlemen ! the more frightened 
 you are, the worse. Give me a candle ! " 
 
A*N EVENING ON THE HOPYOB. 143 
 
 Then turning to the servants he said, — 
 
 " Now, children, make the sign of the cross 
 and follow me with prayers." 
 
 The whole crowd moved after our leader ; the 
 host walking nearly abreast of him. Last of all, 
 barely able to put one foot before the other, came) 
 the scoffer Cheromuhin. 
 
 We entered the anteroom. Kolchugin stopped 
 and made the sign of the cross. We all prayed, — 
 some aloud, others in silence ; loudest of all prayed 
 our rear guard, Cheromuhin. 
 
 Kolchugin pushed the doors ; they opened. 
 Our Christ-loving legion fled in the direction of 
 the rear guard, who had already taken measures 
 for retreat. 
 
 " God leads the bold," said Kolchugin, passing 
 the threshold. 
 
 Wonderful to relate, silence reigned everywhere ; 
 the knocking, the tumult, and the crying had 
 ceased. Our host entered immediately after Kol- 
 chugin ; the ispravnik, Zarutski, and I followed ; 
 then came the servants ; but our rear guard, Chero- 
 muhin remained in the servants' room, and was 
 content with thrusting his head out at the door 
 from time to time. Our bold leader held up the 
 candle. There was nothing to be seen, — no in- 
 truders. We examined the walled up doors, — 
 not a brick had been touched ; everything was quiet, 
 — a floor-brush placed against the wall, and a few 
 broken chairs were all that we found ; the door 
 leading to the wing was closed. All was in order. 
 
144 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 Early next morning I took leave of the good 
 and worthy Ivan Alexaievich, alas ! forever. It 
 had been my intention to spend several days in 
 Serdobsk, for business reasons ; but instead of that 
 I was obliged to remain a whole month with Za- 
 rutski at his estate. My poor friend almost died 
 of despair ; he had left his betrothed in good 
 health, and found her in the coffin. She fell ill on 
 Saturday morning, and died at midnight. 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 
 
 I. 
 
 NOT more than two or three years ago, to be 
 exact — But before giving this narrative I 
 would inquire if you have ever lived in the prov- 
 inces ; not on an estate, nor in a little district 
 town, but in a provincial capital, — among people- 
 who speak with pride, and almost always in 
 French, of their great world, and of its low and 
 high tone, and even of the different circles into 
 which their society is divided. If you have never 
 lived in these places, which at times are rather' 
 amusing repetitions of our white-walled mother! 
 Moscow, and wish to have even a superficial 
 knowledge of provincial life, — - not twenty years 
 ago, but in our time, — then listen. 
 
 Far from here, in the capital of one of the lower 
 provinces of the Volga, on Nobility Street, — and 
 here I may add that in almost every such town 
 there is a Nobility Street, — stands a two-story 
 brick house, on the very same spot where two 
 years ago a wooden mansion was sinking into the 
 earth. This mansion, built, as old men assure us, 
 before the time of Pugatchoff, was ninety feet 
 long, not counting two entrances, and a wing in 
 which there was a Russian bath. The mansion 
 
 10 
 
146 TALES OF THREE CENTUKIES. 
 
 occupied the entire depth of the broad courtyard, 
 the sides of which were built in with servants' 
 rooms and kitchens. In front a picket-fence 
 stretched aloug the street, and touching the back 
 of the building was a large fruit-garden overgrown 
 with tall grass, and almost impassable from the 
 countless thorny gooseberry, barberry, and currant 
 bushes. Of course the old pile was neither 
 painted nor corniced. On the plank roof silky 
 grass grew in great safety, while here and there 
 blue flowers peeped forth stealthily. 
 
 One evening in the beginning of May, — a month 
 which, despite the enthusiasm of our poets, is 
 almost always worse than April, — the weather was 
 very autumnal; rain was falling as if from a 
 bucket, and though it was not yet eight o'clock, 
 it was so gloomy outside that a light was shining 
 in a window of the tumble-down pile just de- 
 scribed. It was burning in a parlor in which the 
 lady of the house, Anna Stepanovna Slukin, an 
 elderly woman, the widow of a deceased coun- 
 sellor of state, was seated at a card-table playing 
 grande patience ; opposite her, sitting quietly in a 
 broad armchair, taking snufl" from an enormous 
 silver snufi"-box, was a man about sixty years old, 
 wearing a long coffee-colored coat, and on his 
 breast a bronze medal. At a window, with her 
 back toward him, stood a comely-faced maiden of 
 seventeen, in a simple white dress. A broad belt 
 fastened with a steel clasp encircled her waist ; her 
 light chestnut hair dressed a I'enfant, dropped in 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 147 
 
 thick tresses upon her shoulders, which were white 
 and swelling as the first snow of winter. 
 
 I will try my success at describing the lady of 
 the house. Her face, not quite faded yet, indi- 
 cated not more than forty-five years. Large black 
 eyes, rather regular features, and a splendid com- 
 plexion would have caused any one to think that 
 on a time she had been very attractive ; but here 
 was the drawback, — the great black eyes were like 
 beautiful lamps without light ; her healthful ex- 
 pressionless face was simply 
 
 "... red and white, 
 Like a cherub on a wax pabn-branch." 
 
 I am mistaken, however, in saying that her face 
 was expressionless ; on the contrary, there was in 
 it a continual effort to seem a sad, defenceless 
 widow, — a certain contemptible and counterfeit 
 humility which hardly concealed the ignorant 
 pride and insolence of the provincial lady of the 
 fifth class. 
 
 This defenceless widow had succeeded, " by the 
 help of God and kind people," as she phrased 
 it, in securing for herself two thousand souls, the 
 property of her late husband ; in winning three 
 lawsuits ; in beggaring a number of orphans, and 
 ruining her own brother. She had also obtained 
 for herself, through tearful entreaty, a life pension 
 of six hundred rubles from the government. 
 
 Nothing could present a more striking contrast 
 with the almost ugly face of the elderly man in 
 
148 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES, 
 
 the coffee-colored coat, than the regular features 
 of the lady of the house. The enormous nose of 
 Nikolai Ivanovich Holmin, — such was the name 
 of the guest, — his purple cheeks marked with 
 small-pox, his narrow eyes, straight forehead cov- 
 ered with wrinkles, and at the same time the wit 
 and humor which gleamed in his small gray eyes, 
 the smile, sometimes sarcastic but always kind, the 
 pleasant tone of his voice, and that nameless 
 something which captivates at the first glance, 
 altogether composed one of those problematic 
 faces which please in defiance of all laws of 
 beauty or ugliness. 
 
 " Again unsuccessful ! " exclaimed Anna Stepa- 
 novna, throwing down the cards with vexation. 
 " It is all owing to this miserable knave. Failure 
 and failure ! — Ei, girl ! Dashka ! Come here, 
 pick up my handkerchief. Take the cards to the 
 bureau, put them in the third drawer — But what 
 is this, my mother ? Why, she is in corsets ! Look, 
 if you please, even they (the servants) have gone 
 to pinching themselves ! — Ei, boy ! Come here, 
 snuff the candle. Blockhead ! You have almost 
 put it out ! — Varinka ! " 
 
 The maiden in the white dress trembled, and 
 turned quickly to her step-mother. 
 
 " Well, my dear," continued Anna Stepanovna, 
 " has the rain stopped ? " 
 
 " It has, mamma." 
 
 " Has the weather cleared up, then ?"* 
 
 " It has, mamma." 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 149 
 
 At this moment the rain began again more 
 violently than before. There was a leak in the 
 roof ; the water, making its way through the ceil- 
 ing of the adjoining room, began to fall noisily on 
 the floor. 
 
 " Have mercy on us ! " cried Anna Stepanovna. 
 " The rain is pouring in torrents, and you say — 
 But have you grown blind ? — Ei, boy ! An- 
 drushka ! Why do you stand there ? Take a 
 pail to the drawing-room and put it under the 
 leak ! Of course there are no pails in the garret 
 under the leak. I '11 pay you, you robbers ! This 
 is a widow's fate, — be pleased to think of every- 
 thing yourself. What do you mean, Varinka ? You 
 say it has cleared up ; there is no rain ! But why 
 are you looking through the window, madam ? " 
 
 Varinka's face flushed, but she answered not a 
 word. The guest, as if by accident, turned and 
 looked at the window where the maiden was 
 standing. 
 
 Directly opposite, in the window of a small 
 house, gleamed a candle, which, though shining 
 dimly, still showed completely a hussar's cap lying 
 near it. Nikolai Ivanovich smiled. 
 
 " What is this, Anna Stepanovna ? " asked he 
 of the lady of the house. " Is there a military 
 quartering opposite ? " 
 
 " Yes, Nikolai Ivanovich. Out in that little 
 house quarters were assigned five days ago to a 
 hussar officer. What is his name ? — God give 
 me memory ! Ah, now I have it ! Tonski." 
 
150 TALES OF THREE CENTDRIES. 
 
 " Alexander Mihailovich ? An excellent young 
 man." 
 
 " But, father, what is there excellent about him? 
 Of course he is a very proper person. They say 
 he neither drinks nor plays cards ; but to tell the 
 truth, what has the young fellow to lose ? He 
 has uot a single soul/ 1 suppose, — as poor as a 
 crow ; but to look at him — Good Lord, he is 
 all covered with gold ! At least three pounds of 
 tinsel ! And very likely he has nothing to eat at 
 home. That 's where the trouble is. He might 
 have served in the infantry. No, all are trying to 
 be hussars." 
 
 " He is not so poor as you think. His uncle 
 Alexander Alexaievich Tonski left him, not a 
 large, but a very well ordered estate." 
 
 " Indeed ? But how many souls, father ? " 
 
 " Of course, not many. Thirty." 
 
 " Thirty ! And you call that an estate, Nikolai 
 Ivanovich ? " 
 
 " They give about two thousand a year in- 
 come." 
 
 " Two thousand ? Well, father, that is indeed 
 untold wealth." 
 
 " But, Anna Stepanovna, it is impossible for 
 every one to have fifty thousand a year. Tonski 
 is, of course, poor in comparison with you ; but 
 then he is so well educated and well bred." 
 
 " Yes, Nikolai Ivanovich. What is true, is 
 true ; he is well bred, knows himself, and under- 
 stands others. Toward, me, for example, he acts 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 151 
 
 always with due consideration ; and it cannot be 
 denied that he is obliging. Had it not been for 
 him last Sunday, I do not know what would 
 have happened, — he almost carried me out of 
 the church." 
 
 " What was the trouble ? " 
 
 " This, Father Nikolai Ivanovich. Last Sun- 
 day I was at Mass in the cathedral, as every 
 Christian woman should be. The bishop himself 
 officiated ; and although at the altar there was 
 room enough, in the body of the church, and 
 especially around the pulpit, it is impossible to 
 tell how terrible the crush was. I, the wife of a 
 councillor of state, could not stand behind God 
 knows whom ; so I pushed forward, now with my 
 sides and now with my elbows. It was crowded, 
 father, and suffocating ; but no help for it. Toward 
 the end of Mass my head began to whirl and my 
 eyes to see green ; still I continued to stand. 
 When the bishop came out with the cross, I al- 
 lowed the governor's wife to pass, intending to 
 follow her according to my rank, when all at 
 once, from some corner or another, the wife of the 
 Marshal of the Nobility shot out and ahead of mel 
 to the cross. She, the wife of a college assessor | 
 Now, father, although I am a lone widow, and 
 there is no one to defend me, the orphan, I would 
 not have endured such an affront from any one ; 
 had it not been in the cathedral I should have 
 made myself heard, I can assure you. There, 
 nothing could be done, — I was silent ; but how 
 
152 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 I suffered ! I trembled, the blood rushed to my 
 heart ; I was choking, and if that Tonski had not 
 appeared, — God grant him health ! — I should 
 have tumbled off my feet to the floor." 
 
 " Do you know, Anna Stepanovna, that if 
 Tonski were richer, one would have to search to 
 find such a match." 
 
 " Yes, if he had thirty thousand a year 
 income." 
 
 " Wait, he will have more. He is an excellent 
 officer, serves with pleasure, and will rise high." 
 
 " It may be, father. But that is all nothing yet." 
 
 " I am sure that even now any young lady in 
 town would marry him." 
 
 " Some would, no doubt ; there are fools enough 
 of both sexes everywhere, Nikolai Ivanovich. No 
 need to plough or sow for them, — they spring up 
 themselves." 
 
 " Do you know what," said Holmin, in a low 
 voice, " I sometimes think that if your Varvara 
 Nikolaevna were to marry him — " 
 
 " What -s that, what 's that, father ? " 
 
 " They would be a splendid couple ! " 
 
 " Oh, Nikolai Ivanovich, why talk such non- 
 sense ? " 
 
 " Why is it nonsense ? He is not rich, but he 
 has an excellent property." 
 
 " What are you saying, what are you saying ? 
 Cross yourself, father ! Thirty souls ! Why, in 
 that fashion any cottager might be a suitor for my 
 step-daughter." 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 153 
 
 "True, Anna Stepanovna, true, he is not a 
 match for Varinka, if we consider his property 
 only ; but if he has pleased her — " 
 
 " What ! Pleased her ? Without my knowl- 
 edge ? If she dared to think of such a thing, or 
 of hinting at it ! The Lord protect her ! Can 
 she leave my control ? Am I not her guardian ? 
 Even if all her relatives were to take her part, 
 even if her father himself were to rise from the 
 grave — " 
 
 " Oh, enough, enough ' I was only joking." 
 
 " It would not be so bad if he had rank of the 
 fourth or fifth class ; but a simple officer, poor — 
 But why are you laughing, father ? " 
 
 " Because I have been able to make you so 
 angry, mother. Well, Anna Stepanovna, how did 
 you suppose for a moment that I could think seri- 
 ously of asking of you Varinka, my goddaughter, 
 in marriage for a poor hussar officer, simply because 
 he is clever, brave, and true-hearted ? " 
 
 " Sure enough, father. But you frightened me 
 almost to death. Foolish woman ! just as if I do 
 not know that you are always joking. I need, 
 however, to speak with you in earnest ; but you 
 will go to trifling again. — Varinka! what are 
 you doing, my dear, or have you forgotten that 
 we have visits to make this evening? Go and 
 dress. Why do you wait ? — Now, Nikolai Ivan- 
 ovich, let us talk business.'' 
 
 " Let us, Anna Stepanovna." 
 
 " Oh, children, children, " continued she, look- 
 
154 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 ing after Varinka, — " how much sorrow and 
 trouble they bring ! People say that step-mothers 
 are not affectionate. Not true, father. God sees 
 that my only thought is how to settle Varinka. 
 I You are a wise man, advise me; what you say 
 shall be done." 
 
 " Even if my advice is opposed to your will ? " 
 " How you talk, father ! But have I any will ? 
 Whatever good people advise, that I do. But you 
 will please notice that your godchild is already a 
 young lady." 
 
 " But do you wish her to marry ? " 
 " It is time. You know she will soon be 
 seventeen." 
 
 " That is very young, Anna Stepanovna." 
 " Do not say that, Nikolai Ivanovich. I married 
 my first husband when I was fourteen. There is 
 nothing to be said on this subject. It is not 
 under consideration." 
 
 " Has some one asked for her hand ? " 
 " Some one ? " repeated Anna Stepanovna, with 
 a proud smile, arranging her cap. " No, father, not 
 some one. Suitors are circling around us this 
 long while. If it had been in the old time I could 
 not have freed myself from professional match- 
 makers, — that office has now been taken by women 
 of noble birth. But is this for the better ? For- 
 merly you could find out every secret from the 
 match-maker, estimate all the property of the suitor 
 to the last copeck ; and if you saw that the old 
 woman was playing the fox, you could show the 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 155 
 
 door to her, the dove, in a moment. "Now all is^ 
 changed ! The governor's wife comes herself as 
 match-maker ; you cannot discuss much with her. 
 You must take her word of honor ; she says the' 
 suitor has such a number of souls, so much yearly 
 income, and so on, and so on. Just try to ask, 
 ' Can we not see the documents, your Excellency ? ' 
 There would be gossip and offences, enmity ; and 
 what could a poor defenceless widow like me 
 do against the governor's wife and all her hang- 
 ers-on ? " 
 
 " Has the governor's wife made a proposal ? " 
 " She has, father. She spoke of her nephew." 
 " What ! of Ivan Stepanovich Vailski ? " 
 " Yes, Nikolai Ivanovich. I observed long ago 
 that that late gentleman of his Majesty's chamber 
 had designs on my Varinka. Of course he is a 
 nice man, has more than a thousand souls, splendid 
 house, excellent servants, music, — all these are 
 well enough ; but on one point his aunt did not 
 see fit to touch, — he has five hundred thousand 
 rubles' debt, it is said, which is about the same 
 as if he had no property at all." 
 " Have you refused him, then ? " 
 " Why refuse at once ? Wait till they ask in 
 due order. His aunt only hinted at the matter in 
 round-about fashion. Let him make a formal pro- 
 posal ; and when the whole town knows that he is 
 a suitor, I shall have time to act. It will be no 
 great misery if people begin to say that Varinka 
 has many suitors." 
 
156 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " What advice, then, are you asking of me ? " 
 
 " But stop, father ! there is another man." 
 
 "Who is he?" 
 
 " Alexai Aiidreevich Zorin." 
 
 " The Judge of the Civil Court? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " A widower, advanced in years ? " 
 
 " Yes." 
 
 " With a large family ? " 
 
 "Well, what of that?" 
 
 " Is it proper that he should ask for Varinka ? 
 Why, she might be one of his' younger daughters." 
 
 " That is nothing, Nikolai Ivanovich. My late 
 husband was twice as old as I. The trouble is 
 not there. The real drawback is that he has no 
 inherited estate ; all he owns he has acquired, 
 bought in the name of his late wife ; so that he 
 can have only the seventh part according to law, — 
 that at the most would be only a hundred souls. 
 Of course he is a clever man, and may gain prop- 
 erty yet ; but times are not as they have been, — 
 people find fault with everything. If a judge re- 
 ceives some trifling present in friendship, he is called 
 a bribe-taker ; and if he takes nothing in money or 
 presents, it will soon be impossible to serve." 
 
 " Now, Anna Stepanovna, why rouse the anger 
 of God ? Even in our time people acquire villages 
 and houses to admiration." 
 
 "But what have you gained? Six years you 
 were marshal of the nobility, and how often have 
 you been on the recruiting committee ? " 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 157 
 
 " So far an honorable name, Anna Stepanovna." 
 
 " An honorable name ! But an honorable name, 
 my dear sir, does not give an income ; you can 
 neither sell nor mortgage it, it will not take you 
 very far in the world. Besides, all you honor- 
 able people are proud, and God is opposed to the 
 proud. . Now what are you smiling at? " 
 
 "I am delighted, Anna Stepanovna, to find 
 you so adroit in interpreting the Holy Scriptures." 
 
 " Oh, why talk of that ? Every hero after his 
 own pattern. You would much better tell nie 
 what to do. I see myself that Zorin is not a fit 
 husband for Varinka." 
 
 " Then refuse him." 
 
 " It seems that you have forgotten my lawsuit, 
 father." 
 
 " No ; I remember. What about it ? " 
 
 " Well, there is this about it, — if it is spoiled in 
 this court, God knows whether it can be corrected 
 in Moscow. No, my father, I shall find time to 
 refuse him when the case is decided in my favor." 
 
 " Well, then, two suitors are rejected. Is there 
 not a third ? " 
 
 " There is, Nikolai Ivanovich, — there is a 
 darling one, and the aifair is as good as settled." 
 
 " Is it possible ? But how is it that Varinka 
 has not given me a hint of it ? " 
 
 " She does not know of it herself." 
 
 " Indeed ? But are you sure that the man will 
 please her ? " 
 
 " Why should he not please her, father ? Do 
 
158 TALES OF THREE CENTUKIES. 
 
 you know that he has— and it is no trifling thing 
 to say — four thousand souls ? " 
 
 " Four thousand ? Who is he ? " 
 
 " Prince Vassily Ivanovich Verhoglyadofi". 
 Well,, father, that 's a bridegroom ! " 
 
 " But do you know this man well ? " 
 
 " I know, father, to a "certainty, that he has 
 four thousand souls and not a copeck of debt." 
 
 " Of course, after that there is nothing to be 
 said. But if he had not a hundred thousand a 
 year income — " 
 
 " He has a hundred and fifty thousand, father." 
 
 " Has he ? But be pleased to think over this. 
 It is said that he is one of the emptiest men 
 on earth, has no rules of life ; that in conversa- 
 tion he is a mad liberal, but in practice a pasha 
 of three tails ; that he talks continually of the 
 demands of the age, of lofty views and the rights 
 of man, but ruins his peasants ; in fact, that with 
 him sense and reason have long since slipped, 
 and sooner or later he will have to be put under 
 guardianship." 
 
 "What do you say, father? Why, my good 
 friend, do you think they ever put any man under 
 guardianship who has a hundred and fifty thousand 
 income and no debts ? " 
 
 " That may be. It is said also that he has such 
 an eccentric and disagreeable character that it is 
 impossible to live with him." 
 
 " Nonsense, father, nonsense ! They said the 
 same of my late husband ; but you know that we 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 159 
 
 managed to live on in a fashion. Of course, not 
 without scenes. We would make an uproar and 
 gnaw each other ; but he — God grant him the 
 kingdom of heaven ! — always did what I wanted 
 in the end. There is no great trouble with a capri- 
 cious husband, if you don't yield to him ; scream 
 louder than he, and all will be well." 
 
 " True, Anna Stepanovna, true ; that is the best 
 way to live in harmony with a husband. You 
 frighten a fool and worry a wise man, so that both 
 one and the other will be obliged to do whatever 
 you wish. But Varinka, it seems, has not such 
 a character as you ; she is of a mild and yielding 
 temper." 
 
 " Oh, she will change, father, she will change. 
 Necessity — what does it not teach?" 
 
 " True, Anna Stepanovna, true ; and your 
 motherly counsels might also have their influence. 
 So it is all over with the Governor's nephew, 
 Vailski?" 
 
 " I have said nothing decisive ; I confess, how- 
 ever, that I held out hopes." 
 
 "And what of Zorin?" 
 
 " Well, from necessity, I fondle him, father ; from 
 time to time I hint and beat about the bushes." 
 
 "And what have you said to Prince Vassily 
 Ivanovich Verhoglyadoff ? " 
 
 " I have not yet given him a formal promise." 
 
 " That is, you have given hopes to three men 
 at once ? " 
 
 " Oh, father, when should I be politic, if not 
 
160 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 now ? While my decision is not given I have a 
 glorious life. Just think, at the club, at balls, 
 who has such honor as I ? One runs for a servant, 
 another brings my cloak, a third attends me down- 
 stairs ; so many kindnesses that one could not re- 
 turn bows for them all. And when I sit down to 
 play whist, it is bliss, pure bliss. I make a re- 
 nounce, — no one sees it ; I count four honors 
 when I have only two, — they are silent. Even 
 that miser Zorin does not dare to hint that I 
 have made a mistake. Of course I say nothing of 
 the countless small fry of suitors who run over 
 one another in mad efforts to serve me." 
 
 " I do not dispute, Anna Stepanovna, that you 
 have a joyous life now ; but will it be joyous when 
 the suitors discover that you have been trifling 
 with them ? " 
 
 " Well, what of it, father ? They will be angry 
 for a time, and that will be the end of it. Alexai 
 Andreevich Zorin is the only man who might make 
 trouble if he should discover ; but happily, my case 
 will be brought up next week, and afterward, as you 
 know, it will be impossible to change the decision. 
 What is to hinder me then from giving Varinka to 
 Prince Vassily Ivanovich VerhoglyadofF? " 
 
 " Well calculated, Anna Stepanovna ; but you 
 have forgotten one thing, — the reputation of your 
 daughter may suffer from this." 
 
 " How so ? " 
 
 " In this way : people may say that Varinka 
 trifled with all her suitors, that she coquetted with 
 
THE THREE SUITORS, 161 
 
 them, and in conspiracy with you deceired them. 
 Malice may invent many things." 
 
 " Have mercy on us ! What makes you think so? " 
 
 " I know, Anna Stepanovna, that there will not 
 be a word of truth in this. But why give occa- 
 sion for evil talk ? Calumny, as you know, is like 
 coal, — though it burn not, it soils." 
 
 " Oh, father, enough of this ! Am I going 
 to be afraid of people's talk ? Is it little that 
 they have said of me, sinful woman, already ? I 
 robbed my late husband, I beggared my own 
 brother, — God knows what I did not do ! You 
 could not listen to it all — But here is Varinka. 
 Well, are you dressed, my dear? Stay here a 
 moment with your godfather, and I will go my- 
 self and dress. It is time to make visits." 
 
 Varinka, left alone with her godfather, sat down 
 by his side without speaking or daring to raise her 
 eyes, and began to pass the ends of her scarf through 
 her fingers. Her cheeks flushed at one moment, 
 grew pale the next. Holmin was silent too. He 
 looked with tenderness and evident compassion on 
 the poor girl, who tried several times to begin con- 
 versation, but each time felt such a sinking of the 
 heart that the words vanished from her lips. 
 
 " Poor child ! " said Holmin, at last, putting his 
 hand on her shoulder. 
 
 Varinka raised her eyes, looked timidly at her 
 godfather, then threw herself on his neck. 
 
 " Well, godfather," whispered she, in a scarcely 
 audible voice, " have you spoken with her ? " 
 11 
 
162 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " About what, my dear ? " 
 
 "About him." 
 
 " About him ? " repeated Holmin, with a smile. 
 " No, my angel, I have not spoken about him." 
 
 " Not true ! You said something. I heard you 
 call him by name myself." 
 
 " But of whom are you thinking, Varinka ? — 
 Now stop, stop ! Be not angry ! Well, my dear, 
 I have spoken of Tonski," 
 
 " What did mother say ? " 
 
 " She will not even listen to it." 
 
 " O God, help me ! " 
 
 " She has decided to give you in marriage to 
 Prince Vassily Ivanovich." 
 
 " It cannot be ! " cried Varinka, in terror. 
 
 " Why are you frightened, my dear ? Fear not ! 
 In Russia they cannot force any one to marry. 
 Listen to me, my soul, — you are no longer a child, 
 and should sometimes think of the future. You 
 love Tonski, and he is worthy of that happiness. 
 But the prince has a hundred and fifty thousand 
 a year income, and Tonski has almost nothing. 
 You also, my friend, are without property, or — 
 which amounts to nearly the same thing — what 
 you have is entirely at the disposal of your step- 
 mother. Your father was a genuinely good man, 
 but ill his old age he became so weak in mind and 
 body that positively he had no will of his own. 
 You know, Varinka, that Anna Stepanovna owns 
 all his property for life ; and although according to 
 the will you have a right to demand a thousand 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 163 
 
 souls, you can only do so in case you marry the 
 man she designates ; otherwise only her applica- 
 tion can give you that right. Now you under- 
 stand that you have nothing. Anna Stepanovna 
 will never permit you to marry Tonski, and will 
 never forgive you if you do so against her will." 
 
 " Ah, my God ! But how will it benefit her if 
 I marry this prince ? " 
 
 " Greatly, my dear. She cannot make an old 
 maid of you ; that would be too evident and too 
 revolting a proof of her greediness. You are an 
 orphan, and Government might take you under its 
 protection. Besides that, even people the most 
 devoid of conscience fear public opinion. Prince 
 Vassily Ivanovich is ready to marry you without a 
 dowry ; that I know, although the worthy Anna 
 Stepanovna has seen fit to be silent on this point 
 when she talked with me — " 
 
 " What of that ? " interrupted Varinka, quickly. 
 "Of course you are convinced that Tonski will 
 resign my dowry also." 
 
 " Oh, I have no doubt of that." 
 
 " But can riches make us happy ? " 
 
 " Riches are not the question, my dear. A hun- 
 dred and fifty thousand a year will not make you 
 one bit happier ; but poverty — Ah, Varinka, we 
 are not living in Arcadia ! A clump of roses, a 
 cottage, and a loved one are all very beautiful in 
 a song, at the piano ; but in a cottage it is cold 
 and narrow, — the roses bloom only in spring ; the 
 loved one cannot always coo around you ; he will, 
 
164 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 want to eat ; you too, and then a family. No, 
 my angel, if our happiness is not the result of 
 prosperity, at least prosperity helps us to endure 
 more patiently the bitterness and difficulties of 
 life, which poverty renders unendurable. Think 
 the matter over carefully. If you marry the prince, 
 all your desires and caprices will be gratified. 
 You are very young, my dear, and doubtless may 
 still be captivated with a showy equipage, fashion- 
 able robes, and a thousand other glittering trifles, 
 which cost so much, though they serve no purpose. 
 A time will come when all this will weary you, — 
 I do not dispute that ; but meanwhile, till years 
 and bitter experience have taught you to cease 
 from amusing yourself with these playthings of 
 grown up people, you will yearn for them. How 
 many times will you weep from envy and vexation, 
 when you compare your simple gown with the rich 
 robe or Turkish shawl of a former friend ! Meet- 
 ing at every step acquaintances who will overwhelm 
 you with their wealth and luxury, you will become 
 suspicious without knowing it ; the friendship of 
 rich people will seem to you oflFensive patronage, 
 and a kind word charity shown you from a feeling 
 of compassion. What if then your excited self-love 
 and that bitter necessity of denying yourself almost 
 everything should cause your love to grow cold? 
 What if you should begin to grieve that you had 
 not married the rich prince, and at length your 
 poor husband should discover the reason of your 
 grief—" 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. ' 165 
 
 " My husband ! " exclaimed with warmth the 
 offended maiden, — " he whom my heart has 
 chosen ! And you can have such a poor opinion 
 of your goddaughter ? A rich carriage, a Turkish 
 shawl ! — My God ! I might cry about a Turkish 
 shawl if I could appear dearer to my husband in 
 it, and I might envy the possession of a fine 
 carriage if it would add to my husband's pleasure ; 
 but to desire all this for myself, to grieve because 
 a rich husband does not wrap me up in Turkish 
 shawls, like a doll, — to grieve because I do not 
 belong to this prince, whom I hate, yes, hate ! " — 
 
 "But why, Varinka?" 
 
 " Because he wants to be my husband. And 
 could you advise that ? " 
 
 " I give no advice. When it is the question of 
 a whole lifetime, it is difficult to give advice. 
 However, if your love for Tonski is not a mere 
 momentary preference, a romantic unaccountable 
 fancy, but a real soul-felt attachment, then, with- 
 out any doubt, even poverty with him would be 
 happiness for you. But before you decided to 
 refuse a marriage which the world would call 
 brilliant, it was my duty to describe to you all the 
 trouble of marriage with a man who is not 
 wealthy. It never would have entered your head 
 to think of your future domestic life, the unavoid- 
 able expense, the outgo and income, — in one word, 
 all that which the poets call earthly and prosaic, 
 but without which poetry itself becomes some- 
 times very dull prose. Now I have done my 
 
166 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 duty ; and if the prospect of continual deprivatiou 
 and poverty does not frighten you, if love can 
 take the place of everything, here is my hand, — 
 you shall be Tonski's wife. I am not rich, Va- 
 rinka, but all I have will be yours. Do not thank 
 me, my dear. I was a sincere friend of your 
 father, and I love you as my own daughter. Your 
 father, when dying in my arms, seemed to repent 
 of his thoughtless act; but it was too late to 
 change the will. A few moments before he 
 breathed his last he pressed my hand firmly, and 
 turned his dying look to your portrait hanging 
 over his pillow. He could not speak, but I under- 
 stood him ; and my poor, deceived friend died in 
 peace. He knew that his daughter would not be 
 altogether an orphan." 
 
 Varinka dropped her head on her godfather's 
 shoulder, and wept bitterly. 
 
 " Enough, enough, my dear ! " said Holmin. 
 " You have grieved enough already. Ba, ba, ba ! 
 But am I not crying myself? " said he, wiping his 
 eyes. " How it must become me ! Now listen, 
 Varinka ! A good general never owns himself 
 defeated till he has exhausted all means of snatch- 
 ing victory from the foe. You shall marry Tonski, 
 — that is settled ; but if at the same time we can 
 save your property I think it will be no harm." 
 
 " But you say Anna Stepanovna will never 
 consent ? " 
 
 " There can be no doubt of that ; consent she 
 will not. It is Hot necessary, however, that she 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 167 
 
 give you in marriage, but only that she forgive you 
 after the marriage. There is something wander- 
 ing in my head at this moment. If it should suc- 
 ceed — But why not ? What sport it would 
 be ! " added Holmin ; and his eyes, a moment be- 
 fore filled with deep tenderness, were then gleam- 
 ing, with mirth. " But Anna St'epanovna, it seems, 
 has finished her toilet. You are going to make 
 some visits this evening ; to-morrow I shall make 
 a few also, and perhaps — But there is no use in 
 talking beforehand. Good-by, Varinka; good-by, 
 my dear 1 " 
 
 n. 
 
 About ten o'clock next morning Nikolai Ivano- 
 vich Holmin put on his snufF-colored coat, covered 
 his head with a white beaver hat, and leaning on 
 a large undressed stick with a bone top, set out 
 on foot, first to the house of the Judge of the 
 Civil Court, Alexai Andreevich Zorin. 
 
 But before I disclose to the reader the reason 
 of his visit, I must forewarn him that instead of 
 a narrative I intend to present a number of sepa- 
 rate scenes from that comedy which we call 
 " society life," which, according to the point from 
 which it is observed, is amusing, dull, ridiculous, 
 sad, and sometimes — I beg you not to be angry — 
 not at all comforting, but foul and revolting to the 
 souL I m£ty err; but it seems to me that this 
 chapter will be less tedious if I give it a dramatic 
 
168 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 form. Therefore, interrupting my narrative, I beg 
 my respected readers to become spectators, and to 
 imagine that there is a stage before them on which 
 the following takes place : — ■ 
 
 SCENE FIRST. 
 
 A neat room, with green paper. On the walls are hanging 
 engravings in gill frames dimmed hy time, and a sword and 
 a hat with white plumes. Between two windows a table 
 covered with green cloth, and piled high with documents. 
 In one corner a number of shelves filled with thick books. 
 Before the table a broad armchair covered with leather, fast- 
 ened along the edges with brass-headed nails. In the chair 
 sits Alexai Andreevich Zorin in a Bukharian dress- 
 ing-gown; he has a green shade over his eyes, and wears on 
 his feet red morocco boots embroidered with gold, instead of 
 slippers. At his side stands his Secretary, with papers. 
 
 ZoRiN, signing a paper. 
 
 Well, Andrei Pahomieli, what do they say in the 
 court about Anna Stepanovna's lawsuit ? It comes 
 up next week, I think. 
 
 Secretary. 
 
 Oh, your high-bornness, the counsellor still opposes. 
 He listens, but accepts no argument. ' Wtien I began 
 to show him that in virtue of a special ukaz of 1781, 
 a resolution might be given in favor of the petitioner, 
 Madame Slukin, he went on giving a mass of ob- 
 jections impossible to describe ; saying that new 
 ukazes destroy the value of previous ones, and that 
 a special modification of law, not for the use of all, 
 but for the benefit of one person, cannot form the 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 169 
 
 basis of a legal decision. And when I hinted to him 
 that there was no danger of being fined, first, be- 
 cause the court in every case could state that it 
 judged the affair according to the best of its under- 
 standing, and secondly, that in case of a fine all 
 would be taken care of by the petitioner, he became 
 so angry at once that if you will believe it, I knew 
 not whither to escape. 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 A peculiar man ! I '11 speak to him myself about 
 this aflair. (2%e door from the servants^ room 
 opens quietly.) Who is there ? 
 
 Secretary. 
 Andryushka, the bootmaker. 
 
 Andetdshka, in a blue coat and leather apron ; in 
 one hand a needle, in the other a boot-leg. 
 
 Nikolai Ivanovich Holmin is here. 
 
 ZOEIN. 
 
 Ask him to come in. And do you, Andrei Paho- 
 mich, wait, meanwhile, in the dining-room. We may 
 have serious conversation, — he is the godfather of 
 Varvara Nikolaevna, j'ou know. 
 
 [Secretary boios, and goes out by a side door. 
 
 HoLMiN, entering the room. 
 Good-morning, Alexai Andreevich. 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 Most respected Nikolai Ivanovich, j'ou are wel- 
 come. What fates have brought j-ou, I beg humbly ? 
 {pushing a chair toward him.) 
 
170 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 HoLMiN, sitting down. 
 
 I have been wishing this long time to make you a 
 visit. Well, how do you get on ? 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 Badly, father, badly, Nikolai Ivanovich ! What 
 sort of life can there be without a lady in the 
 house ? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Well, Alexai Andreevich, you are not yet in the 
 years to remain a widower. I don't suppose you 
 are flftj'. 
 
 ZOBIN. 
 
 Yes, I am, and a little more. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Well, what stops the affair? Not the want of a 
 bride, of course. 
 
 ZoRiN, smiling. 
 
 She could be found, perhaps. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 I congratulate you. And who is she, if I may be 
 bold enough to ask? 
 
 ZOKIN. 
 
 Now stop joking, please ! Just as if you did not 
 know long ago ! 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 In truth, I do not. 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. , 171 
 
 ZORIX. 
 
 Oh, stop ! Why should you not know ? You are 
 at home in their house. 
 
 J 
 
 HOLMIV. 
 
 In whose house, Alexai Andreevich? 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 In Anna Stepanovna's, for example. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Slukin? So you want to marry her? 
 
 ZOEIN. 
 
 No, father. Anna Stepanovna would not marry 
 any man. Why should she? But a girl without 
 father or mother, — that is a different thing. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 How? So it is a question of my goddaughter? 
 
 ZOEIN. 
 
 Why do you wonder so, Nikolai Ivanovich? Cer- 
 tainly we are not equals in age — 
 
 HoLMisr. 
 
 Oh, why talk about that? We are not speaking of 
 age. According to my mind, the older a husband, 
 the better. What could be expected if a child like 
 Varinka were to marry some stripling ? 
 
172 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 ZOEIN. 
 
 Nothing, nothing! 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 When a young girl, because she is an orphan or 
 for some other reason, marries before twenty, she 
 needs a husband who is not wild and giddy, but a 
 person of ripe years, with experience and good 
 sense. 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 Perfectly true. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 A fine sight, — husband and wife still playing with 
 dolls ! Passion, Alexai Andreevich, is an empty 
 thing ; a woman grows fond of her husband, be he 
 young or old. Love vanishes, but friendship and 
 respect remain. 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 True, perfectly true. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 No, I know what sort of a husband Varinka needs. 
 A wise, solid man (Zorin bows), — one not obliged 
 to learn, but able to teach others how to manage a 
 house (ZoRiN bows), who will not waste her dowrj^ 
 and will not spend his own property (Zorin smiles), 
 thanks to whom his wife will not occupy the last 
 place in the province (Zorin casts a glance of satis- 
 faction at his hat with white plumage), who at the 
 same time might be her husband and her teacher, — 
 in one word, a man like you. 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 173 
 
 ZoRiN, bowing and grasping the hand of Holmin. 
 
 Have mercy on us ! I am quite overcome. So 
 you are not opposed ? 
 
 Holmin. 
 
 Who, T? If it depended upon me I should not 
 hesitate what to do ; but you know her step- 
 mother. 
 
 ZoRiN, smiling. 
 
 Oh, we shall arrange with her somehow. 
 
 Holmin. 
 Indeed ! Have you spoken with her already ? 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 Of course. At first we talked around the subject, 
 made hints to each other ; but the day before yester- 
 day I spoke unreservedly. 
 
 Holmin. 
 And what did she say ? 
 
 ZOEIN. 
 
 She as good as gave her word ; but she begged me 
 to wait a little, and for the moment not to mention 
 the matter to any one. 
 
 Holmin. 
 Ah, that is it ! Oh, Anna Stepanovna ! Well ! 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 What do you say? 
 
174 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Nothing. Why should I mix up in their affairs? 
 If they keep secrets from me, I stand aside. 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 But what do you know ? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 What do I know? {Memaining silent a moment 
 or tioo.) Listen, Alexai Andreevich! It is not 
 for me to instruct you ; but were I in j'our place I 
 should know how to act. All these secrets and de- 
 lays lead to nothing. I should demand positively 
 a betrothal, not in the family, but publicly, so that 
 the whole town may know that j'ou are to marry 
 Varinka. Even for a young fellow of twenty to be 
 led around by the nose is by no means amusing ; but 
 for a man of ripe years to be duped would be, I must 
 confess, a most — 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 So you think it is Anna Stepanovna's good pleasure 
 to amuse herself with me ? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 I do not say that ; and when one thinks of it, the 
 question rises, Why should she? Ah, but if I mis- 
 take not, she has a lawsuit before you, and if her 
 case must soon come up — 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 Not j-et awhile. It must wait its turn. But has 
 she other candidates in view? 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 175 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Oh, there are candidates enough in our town, it 
 would appear. Let us take, for example, Ivan 
 Stepanovich Vailski. 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 Ah, ha ! The governor's nephew ! 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 They will reject him too. (^Looking around, and 
 in a low voice) What do you think of Prince Vassily 
 Ivanovich ? 
 
 ZOKIN. 
 
 Oh, ho ! That is it? And he is also making pro- 
 posals for Varvara Nikolaevna ! 
 
 HoLMiN, smiling significantly. 
 I do not know. 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 If that is the case, then permit me, Nikolai Ivano- 
 vich ; the affair must, indeed, be cleared up at once. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Be careful, however, that you do not betray me. 
 
 ZORIN. 
 
 Oh, have no fear ! 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Please let it remain between us. 
 
176 TALES or THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 ZOEIN. 
 
 It is buried here (^pointing to his breast), 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 To tell the truth, I ought not to mix up in this 
 matter. And how did it come into my head to do 
 so ? There it is, my tongue is my enem}'. {Rising) 
 Now I must go. Good-by, Alexai Andreevich. Be 
 careful ! 
 
 ZOEIN. 
 
 Fear not ! We men of the law know how to be 
 silent. But whj- so hurried? Will j'ou not lunch 
 with me? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 No, I never lunch. 
 
 ZOEIN. 
 
 But take a glass of Don wine, or Madeira. 
 
 HoLMiN, going out. 
 No, I thank j'ou most humbly. 
 
 ZoRiN, after conducting his guest to the anteroom. 
 
 H'm, h'm ! So you. Mother Anna Stepanovna, 
 are pleased to trj' your tricks with me? No, my 
 benefactress ! I beg j'ou not to be angrj*, but we '11 
 bring you into clear water meanwhile. Andrei Pa- 
 homich ! This way, please ! (Secretary enters.) 
 So you say the Counsellor does not agree with j'our 
 opinion ? 
 
 Secretary. 
 
 Relative to the afi'air of Madame Slukin ? 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 177 
 
 , ZORIN. 
 
 Yes. 
 
 Seceetaky. 
 
 He will not listen to ine. 
 
 ZOEIN. 
 
 And what do j'oii think ? It 's really — 
 
 Secretaet. 
 
 "What is the use of hiding a sin ? It is rather a 
 bad case. 
 
 ZOEIN. 
 
 That is the position ! It would not be amiss to 
 look the matter over again with attention? But the 
 time is short. We are to hear it next week, are we 
 not? 
 
 Seceetaey. 
 
 It can be adjourned. 
 
 ZOEIN. 
 
 Are there no verifications to be made? 
 
 Secretaet. 
 Of course there are ! And if you order me, I — 
 
 ZOEIN. 
 
 Yes, j-es ! It would be no harm ; attend to it. 
 
 Seceetaey. 
 
 All right. (Bows, and goes out.) 
 12 
 
178 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 SCENE SECOND. 
 
 A rich study in Gothic style. It is lighted hy two windows, 
 one of which, with an ornamented frame, has stained glass. 
 The floor is covered with a single piece of carpet. On a 
 long table with turned legs, a multitude of bronze orna- 
 ments, a collection of opera and eye glasses in gold and 
 pearl, brushes and combs, a whole set of instruments for 
 cleaning and trimming nails, u, number of inkstands, — 
 gothic, Chinese and fantastic, of bronze, crystal, and ala- 
 baster, all without ink. Walls hung with French tapestry.- 
 Instead of paintings or engravings, miniatures on ebony of 
 many celebrated artistes. In one corner shelves with half-a- 
 dozen albums, keepsakes, and almanacs in silk and velvet 
 bindings. In another corner a transparent alabaster vase 
 on a marble column, etc. Vailski, in a dressing-gown, 
 almost lying in a large carved armchair. Opposite him, 
 HoLMiN, sitting on a Gothic chair with a high back. 
 
 Vailski, yawning. 
 
 I beg your pardon. I dared not refuse to see you. 
 But if you knew how wearied I am ! ( Yawns.) Yes- 
 terdaj' I was foolish enough to sit down to whist 
 after supper, and play with that unendurable Volgin 
 at fifty rubles a point. What a wretch ! he hesitates 
 half an hour, holds to a card another half-hour, and 
 changes his mind two or three times. Can you be- 
 lieve it, we finished playing without lights ? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 What was the result? 
 
 Vailski. 
 I lost. 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 179 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Not much? 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 So, a trifle, — three or four hundred rubles, I don't 
 remember which. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 It seems you always lose. 
 
 Vailski. 
 Almost always. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Why do you play, then? 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 To kill time in some way. I had to come here to 
 put my estate in order, and I have been occupied 
 with it now about two years. I do not deny that it 
 is very amusing before dinner to dispute with my 
 superintendents ; praise one, scold another, and at 
 last drive them out of my study. I dine, take a nap 
 after dinner, and so it would seem the day is done, — 
 thanks be to God ! But what am I to do with my 
 evenings ? Can I go to the theatre here, which is, if 
 you will believe it, still worse than that in Moscow ? 
 
 HoLMiN, smiling. 
 
 Oh, you are joking. 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 Not a bit of it. I beg your pardon. Here I laugh 
 sometimes at a tragedy, and there — my God ! In 
 
180 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 Moscow, however, there is a French spectacle, and 
 even society. But here, if they do not seat j'ou at 
 cards, I make bold to ask how you are to pass the 
 evening ? Talking ? — about what ? with whom ? 
 With Madame Hoproff, and hear that her waiting- 
 maid has formed a love-intrigue with the vice-gov- 
 ernor's lacky? With Yeletski about his dog that 
 has run mad and bitten the whole pack ? With the 
 provincial doctor, who tells you that he makes excel- 
 lent snuff out of tobacco of his own cultivation? 
 With Veldyuzeff, that they have enticed away her 
 third governess ? Of course all this has its amusing 
 side for the first three days ; but for two years ! No, 
 Nikolai Ivanovich, for a single man who seeks dis- 
 traction in society it is impossible to live in the 
 provinces ; but if he is obliged bj' circumstances to 
 bury himself alive in some provincial town, then he 
 ought without fail — 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 To marry. Is it not so ? 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 Of course. The surest calculation. With a good 
 wife it will be pleasant for him at home, and with a 
 bad one he will be at sword's points all the time ; in 
 every case he will not die of this cursed monotony 
 ■(yawns) which oppresses me from morning till 
 night. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Well, Ivan Stepanovich, you have the remedy at 
 hand, it seems. 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 181 
 
 Vailski, smiling significantly. 
 Do you think so ? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Are the marriageable young ladies of our society 
 few in number? For example, Katerina Feodorovna 
 Radugin, fair-faced, good property, well educated — 
 
 Vailski, interrupting. 
 
 Splendid ! Cannot say two words, and dresses 
 like a washwoman. One would be ashamed ,to show 
 her in society. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 I think you will not sa}' that of Katinka Lidin. 
 She was educated at the Smolny Institute, is grace- 
 ful, charming, delightful. 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 That is, she is young. She is presentable enough, 
 however ; and if I had any feeling toward her I should 
 not be stopped by the fact that she is without prop- 
 erty. I do not run after wealth ; still — 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 I understand. You ought, then, to marry the only 
 daughter of our principal distiller, who it is said has 
 half a million in the bank. To be sure, Stepanida 
 Alexaievna Salkovski is not a beauty. 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 Salkovski! What have you in mind? Do you 
 take my house for a curiosity-shop? Salkovski! 
 
182 TALES OF THKEE CENTURIES. 
 
 Have the fear of God before your eyes ! Why, you 
 could take her to the fairs and exhibit her for money. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 There is the trouble, it is impossible to' please 
 you. 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 But you mention God knows whom. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 How God knows whom? I mentioned the first 
 young ladies in the place. 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 And why have you not said a word about your 
 goddaughter? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Varinka ? 
 
 Vailski. 
 Yes, Varvara Nikolaevna. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Because, to my mind, one and the same young 
 woman cannot be the bride of two men. 
 
 Vailski. 
 Of two men ! What do you wish to sa}' by that ? 
 
 HoLMIN. 
 
 Be not angry. It is for the present a family 
 secret. Eeallj', I ought not to hint at it. 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 183 
 
 Vailski. 
 Oh, do me a kindness ! 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Listen, Ivan Stepanovich ! I can tell you only 
 one thing, and that as a great secret : do not pro- 
 pose for my godchild ; she is almost betrothed. 
 
 Vailski. 
 To whom? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Excuse me, I cannot tell that. 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 You astonish me. The day before yesterday my 
 aunt spoke of me to Anna Stepanovna, who not only 
 did not refuse, but gave her great hopes, 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Is it possible? 
 
 Vailski. 
 I assure you it is true. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Ah, that is not right. Oh, Anna Stepanovna! 
 committing follies eternally. 
 
 Vailski. 
 So you are convinced. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 At present I myself know not what to think, nor 
 whom she is fooling, — 3'ou or me. 
 
184 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 Vailski, rising involuntarily from his chair. 
 Me ! But no, that is impossible. {Sits down again.) 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 With me she has no evident reason to trifle. 
 Think what you please. But I think that she is 
 fooling you. 
 
 Vailski, with evident vexation. 
 
 Me? Oh, ceci est trop fort! I do not like to 
 be fooled by women, even if j^ounger than Anna 
 Stepanovna. But in every case I am thankful that 
 j'ou told me this. Now I know how to act. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Stop, stop! What do you wish to do? 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 Be not disturbed, I shall not compromise you ; 
 but this very day that Counselloress of State shall 
 declare positively whether she accepts my proposal 
 or not. I know that the marriage of Varvara Niko- 
 laevna depends upon her ; but if, under various pre- 
 texts, she avoids a definite answer, for the purpose 
 of continuing to plunder her step-daughter, my uncle, 
 as chief of the province, and doubtless the marshal 
 of the nobility, will take the part of this unfortunate 
 orphan, especially since it is evident that my suit is 
 not disagreeable to Varvara Nikolaevna. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Indeed ? 
 
THE THREE BUITOES. 185 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 But just listen ! Three weeks ago my uncle gave 
 a ball. I came late because I was obliged, to drop 
 in at Alexander Mihailovich Tonski's, that hussar 
 oflaeer's, — you are acquainted with him, I think. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Yes, slightly. 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 He was invited to the ball too, and asked me to 
 come for him with my carriage. My aunt told me 
 all about this afterward. Till my arrival at the ball 
 Varvara Nikolaevna was sad, thoughtful, listless, 
 looked at the door continually, as if waiting for some 
 one ; but as soon as I arrived she became gay, talk- 
 ative, — in one word, she changed entirelj'. Now, 
 what do you say to that? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 That was not without a cause. 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 Last Saturday at the dejeuner dansant at Princess 
 Landysheff's, when in the cotillon they brought 
 Tonski and me to her twice, whom do j-ou think she 
 chose each time ? Do not forget that this took place 
 under the very ej'es of her step-mother ; do not for- 
 get also that Tonski dances better than I, and as it 
 seems, tries very bard to play the agreeable to her. 
 Me, Nikolai Ivanovich ! Both times me ! Now I 
 ask, what does this mean? 
 
186 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 An evident preference. 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 When T began to speak with her the first time 
 of my love, she grew pale and confused and could 
 not answer a word. Of course not every one could 
 understand the reason of this alarm ; but whoever 
 has had experience, whoever has succeeded already 
 in sounding the female heart, will understand easUy 
 what this unusual timidity means. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Bravo, bravo, Ivan Stepanovich! I see you are 
 a real master of this art. 
 
 Vailski, smiling. 
 
 Experience, Nikolai Ivanovich, experience ! Wo- 
 men always have had a powerful influence on my 
 fate. There have been many strange events in my 
 life. But surelj^ j-ou know the French proverb : " A 
 force de forger." 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Of course I do ! However, I have kept you talk- 
 ing too long. I have other visits to make, and it is 
 now, I believe, past twelve o'clock. 
 
 Vailski. 
 
 Scarcely'. But stop ; drink a cup of chocolate 
 with me. 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 187 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 I never drink chocolate. (Rising) Good-morn- 
 ing ! But take care, if you have any explanations 
 ■with Anna Stepanovna, pray leave me out of the 
 conversation. 
 
 Vailski, conducting his guest toward the door. 
 
 Be not alarmed. I am no lover of gossip, espe- 
 cially s\nce I have lived in the province. Everything 
 too common becomes annoying. Adieu till we meet 
 again ! 
 
 SCENE THIRD. 
 
 A large room. Around the walls cases filled with books. In 
 one corner, on a table, models of various machines, an air- 
 pump, and a galvanic battery. In another corner a col- 
 lection of medals and specimens of different minerals. 
 On the walls engravings from the paintings of Vernet, 
 portraits of Lafayette, Manuel, Victor Hugo, Mirabeau, 
 Lord Byron, and Lady Morgan. On bookcases and stands 
 busts of Voltaire, Rousseau, Diderot, and other philosophers 
 of the past century. On the windows, niches, and tables 
 busts and statues of Napoleon I. , great, and small, made of 
 bronze, alabaster, and ivory, in all possible forms and posi- 
 tions. In the middle of the room an enormous table, on 
 the table a box of cigars, a number of folio volumes, one 
 volume of the Conversations Lexicon, novels of Jules Janin, 
 Eugene Sue, and George Sand, Journal des Debats, and 
 Revue de Deux Mondes. Under the table a few numbers 
 of the Frankfort Zeitung and a whole package of Russian 
 periodicals. Tied to the leg of the table a ragged boy, 
 twelve years old. Prince Vbrhoglyadofp sitting in a 
 reclining-chair, holding in one hand a sheet of paper cov- 
 
188 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 ered with writing, in the other a thick whip. Holmin 
 stands in the door. 
 
 Prince, not remarking Holmin and turning to 
 the boy. 
 
 Stupid creature ! he understands nothing, remem- 
 bers nothing ! But I 'II thrash enhghtenment into 
 thee. How many times have I explained the dignity 
 of man to thee, thou beast ! Now, what is man ? 
 
 Boy, tied to the kg of the table, 
 Man is a creature having a free will. 
 
 Prince. 
 Therefore no one has the right — Go on ! 
 
 BOT. 
 
 No one has the right — 
 
 Prince. 
 To attack his personality, and should — Now I 
 
 BoT. 
 And should — and should — 
 
 Prince, striking him with the whip. 
 Should treat him mildly and compassionately ! 
 
 BoT, screaming and crying. 
 At, ai! Mildly and compassionately-^ 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 What are you doing. Prince Vassily Ivanovieh? 
 What science are you teaching? 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 189 
 
 Prince, rising. 
 Is that you, Nikolai Ivanovich? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 I beg your pardon for entering unannounced ; there 
 was no servant at the door. 
 
 Prince. 
 
 No one at the door? Is it possible? (Hastens to- 
 ward the door, but halls on the way.) Yes, j'es ! I 
 forgot. You know that I hate this Asiatic luxury, 
 and never keep more than four servants. Yesterday 
 I had to send two of them to the army. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 And the third I met just now ; it seems that he 
 was leading the fourth to the police-station. 
 
 Prince. 
 
 The good-for-nothing ! — a rooted ignoramus ! Can 
 you imagine? — -he not only did not believe me, but 
 even made bold to argue when I undertook to show 
 him that the sun was larger than the earth, — the 
 barbarian ! ( Unties the boy.) Go now to the ser- 
 vants' room, and see that thou leave not the yard. 
 {The boy goes out.) Sit down, please. Have you 
 heard anything new ? Is it true that artesian wells 
 are becoming extensively used in St. Petersburg? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 1 have not heard that. Why should they? 
 
190 tales op three centuries. 
 
 Phince. 
 
 What a question, Nikolai Ivanovlch ! Why ! Shall 
 we ever be Europeans? 
 
 HoLMiN, smiling. 
 
 But must a European drink water surely from an 
 artesian well? 
 
 Prince. 
 
 Oh, holy Russia f Do you not understand that to 
 reject all improvements and cling to old-time usages 
 in everything, while all Europe moves forward, is the 
 surest sign of unenlightenment? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 No, Prince. I understand that there is no shame 
 in adopting what is useful ; but here is the trouble, — 
 good things are not equally good for all persons. 
 To adopt, without thinking whether the new inven- 
 tion will be beneficial for us specially ; to vie with 
 foreigners merely so as to be able to say, " I move 
 with the age, I am a European," say what you like^ 
 is, to my thinking merely throwing dust in men's 
 eyes, and permitting yourself to be carried away by 
 empty phrases and high-sounding words, which may 
 be well enough after a solid dinner and a glass 
 of champagne, but good for nothing on an empty 
 stomach. 
 
 Prince. 
 
 But why do you think, for instance, that the intro- 
 duction of artesian wells — 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 191 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 They will be very useful in the steppes and in dry 
 places. No one, I think, would dispute that ; but in 
 Petersburg, where sometimes there is so much water 
 that no one knows whither to escape from it. I ven-, 
 tare to ask you what profit artesian weUs might bring. 
 
 Prince. 
 
 Profit, profit ! You think only of profit. Do yon 
 know, sir, that these mercantile calculations are the 
 death of everything in the world ? How is one to 
 talk of enlightenment and exalted views with people 
 who count copecks? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 ; 
 What is to be done. Prince? Every man has his 
 own views. To my thinking, a new contrivance in- 
 tended to better the condition of people deserves to 
 be introduced when it confers real benefit, not on 
 one man alone, but on a whole society. Whatever 
 does not lighten the labor of working-people, does 
 not better the condition of the common man, does 
 not give life to commerce, does not decrease the cost 
 of the first and indispensable necessaries of life, does 
 not, in one word, give positive and national benefit, 
 can hardly merit general introduction. I admire the 
 genius of him who invented artesian wells. I should 
 admire still more the man who could find means to 
 distil pure flowing water from the air ; but surely I 
 should not lose time and money in obtaining water 
 by a chemical process for every-day use, when I can 
 draw it directly from the river. I understand well 
 
192 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 the great benefit of tbe canal which they are digging 
 near our ancient capital, to unite Moscow River witli 
 ' the Volga. When it is finished men will not have 
 to take barges with merchandise by Nijni Novgorod 
 to reach Petersburg. Here it is easy to understand 
 why the government is making this water highway. 
 
 Peince. 
 
 Water highway, Nikolai Ivanovich ! Who would 
 trouble himself in our time with water communica- 
 tion? Do j'ou not know that railroads have long 
 since put an end to canals? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Maybe ; but until we have railroads ! 
 Prince. 
 
 What have we? Steppes, forests, swamps. We 
 must learn much yet from foreigners, and borrow 
 much. No, Nikolai Ivanovich ; I am entirely agreed 
 with one of our thinkers, that we shall not grow wise 
 until we assume not only all the customs, but the 
 dress of foreigners. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Oh, indeed ! I suppose. Prince, that refers to the 
 common people, for you and I wear frock coats ; 
 and do j'ou think that a Enssian mujik, instead of 
 his warm sheepskin coat, should put on, especially 
 in winter, a cold German jacket or the linen blouse 
 of a French peasant. And to tell the truth, I do not 
 see that our clever common people are inferior to the 
 French. When I was in France in 1814 — 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 193 
 
 Peince, interrupting with vexation. 
 
 Yes ; j'ou were in Paris, just as whole generations 
 of Bashkirs were. But what benefit was that to jou, 
 when you look at everything through the prism of 
 your — pardon me for saying so ! — kvass patriot- 
 ism, which my soul cannot endure ? No, respected 
 Nikolai Ivanovich, j'Ou are a clever man, not without 
 information, — you have read much ; still, confess 
 that you are far behind the age. 
 
 HoLMiN, smiling. 
 
 It may be, Prince. I am somewhat advanced in 
 years, I am not a master at running ; and I do not 
 like to stumble. 
 
 Prince. 
 
 We are not afraid of that ! 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Well, Prince ! Just as if you never make a mistake 
 in anything ! In spite of the wisdom, profundity, 
 and liberalism of our age, we are, as we have ever 
 been, slaves of our own passions. Therefore we make 
 mistakes, commit follies, and always revolt against 
 common-sense when it contradicts our way of think- 
 ing. Formerly, incorrigible ignoramuses called a sen- 
 sible man a free-thinker. Now perhaps the very same 
 people call the same man an old believer, behind the 
 age, and a barbarian. No, Vladimir Ivanovich, men 
 will always be men. How much folly has love alone 
 caused' us to commit, not only in our youth but in 
 riper years ; and. Prince, if ever you have loved — 
 13 
 
194 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 Prince. 
 
 I? If I have loved? And you ask such a ques- 
 tion of me ! 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Ah, that is it ! And it seems you love stiU. 
 
 Prince. 
 
 With madness, without bounds. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Ai, ai! 
 
 Prince. 
 
 As Romeo loved his Juliet, as Dumas's Antonio 
 loved his — his — 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 His bride ? 
 
 Prince. 
 No ; the wife of another. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Oh, father ! is it possible that you too are — 
 
 Prince, almost with grief. 
 No ; she is free. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 God be praised ! But who is this beauty who to 
 your great disappointment, as it seems, can be yours 
 according to the law of the land ? 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 195 
 
 Pkincb. 
 
 She is a fantastic creation of the ardent South ; 
 she is a half-ethereal Peri, a Sylph — Oh, how 
 beautiful she is ! What bliss streams from beneath 
 her voluptuously drooping e3-elids ! She — Is it 
 possible you do not guess of whom I speak? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 I cannot say that I do, Prince ; this fantastic de- 
 scription puts me altogether at fault. 
 
 Phincb. 
 
 I beg your pardon. I forgot that your ideal of 
 beauty can never agree with mine. According to 
 you, if a woman is only fair and plump, and her 
 cheeks all rosy, that is enough. But as your god- 
 daughter is pale and slender — 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Oh ! is it of Varinka you are saj-ing all this? 
 
 Prince. 
 
 Of whom besides, Nikolai Ivanovich? Whom 
 could I call a s^'lph but her? 
 
 HoLMIN. 
 
 Indeed ! Most likely. Prince, jou also please 
 her? 
 
 Prince. 
 
 Oh, we understand each other this long time. 
 About a month ago I went in the morning to Anna 
 Stepanovna's. There was no one in the drawing- 
 
196 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 room, but on the table lay needlework and a white 
 handkerchief ; it was moist, — washed with tears. 
 That handkerchief was hers ! I pressed it to my 
 bosom involuntarily, and a feeling at once sweet and 
 bitter, a feeling hitlierto unknown to me, seized my 
 heart like a wild beast. Oh, how much poetrj' there 
 was in that east-aside handkerchief ! That handker- 
 chief was a whole poem. She entered the drawing- 
 room, our glances met, and all was over. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 So you did not even speak to her on the subject ? 
 
 Prince. 
 
 No ; one glance told me all. I read in it the 
 present hell of her condition and the future Eden of 
 my bliss. T had only to speak with her step-mother. 
 There an earthly language was indispensable. I 
 closed with her, and perhaps in a couple of weeks 
 j'ou will congratulate me as a bridegroom. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 With all my heart. But why in two weeks ? Why 
 not earlier? 
 
 Prince. 
 
 About that do not ask me ! Anna Stepanovna 
 would not listen to my prayers, and even demanded 
 that I should hide it from all, as a state secret. 
 
 HoLMiN, in a significant tone. 
 
 Indeed ! Listen, Prince ! Do as you please ; but 
 to my thinking, the sooner you are betrothed to 
 Varinka the better. 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 197 
 
 Peince. 
 
 You think so? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Yes, and I have full reason to think so. Answer 
 me sincerely. In giving her step-daughter to you, 
 what do you suppose Anna Stepanovna has in view, 
 — Varinka's happiness or her own benefit? Speak 
 freely, tell me what you think. 
 
 Prince. 
 
 To be plain, I think that the question is not at all 
 of the happiness of your godchild. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Well, there it is : you have now come to terms 
 with Anna Stepanovna ; but if some one should give 
 her terms still more favorable, — you understand 
 me? 
 
 Princb. 
 
 I understand. But have j'ou any reason to suspect 
 that any one else — 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 I shall tell you nothing. I merely advise you not 
 to agree to any delaj' whatever. Strike the iron 
 while it is hot ! You don't know Anna Stepanovna ; 
 she is ready to sell her step-daughter at public 
 auction to the highest bidder. 
 
 Prince. 
 What do j'ou say ? 
 
198 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 That which I am forced to say by a sincere desire 
 to see Varinka marry a man worthy of her and with 
 whom she would surely be happy. 
 
 Pkince. 
 
 It is very pleasant for me to hear that, Nikolai 
 Ivanovich ; I am very much obliged to j-ou. 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 Do not put yourself out of the way, Prince. You 
 have, indeed, nothing to thank me for. 
 
 Prince. 
 Then you think that I ought — 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 To insist on an immediate decision, as in your 
 case is to be expected. You say you love Varinka 
 madly ; and love is always impatient, — every one 
 knows that. Anna Stepanovna herself will under- 
 stand it ; we have all loved, you know, at least once 
 in our lives. 
 
 Prince. 
 
 Loved? But do they know here what love is! 
 Can cold hearts nourished on kvass understand this 
 feeling full of life and energy? Read the descrip- 
 tions of this untamed passion in all the productions 
 of the early literature of Europe, and if j'our breath 
 is not stopped in j'our bosom, if 3'our hair does not 
 stand on end, if you do not comprehend all the charm, 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 199 
 
 the hysterical enthusiasm of these tempestuous hursts 
 of passion, of the infernal torment and heavenly de- 
 light, then do a kindness, Nikolai Ivanovich, — eat 
 your salted cucumbers, live two thirds of the 3'ear 
 up to your ears in snow, find a houselieeper if you 
 like I but for God's sake, say nothing of love ! 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 I obey, your Excellencj' ! However, if the Lord 
 in punishment for my sins should send the spotted 
 fever on me, perhaps I might — 
 
 Prince, almost with contempt. 
 
 Let us speak no more of this ! Tell me, rather, 
 shall I meet you to-night at Princess Landysheflf s ? 
 
 HOLMIN. 
 
 I think not. 
 
 Prince. 
 
 I shall try to go early ; that is a woman with 
 whom one can pass a few hours without being 
 bored. Is it not true she is not at all like our 
 Russian ladies? 
 
 HoLMiN, smiling. 
 
 It seems to me that she is just like them. Good-by, 
 Prince ; it is time to go. 
 
 Prince, conducting him several steps. 
 I am very much obliged. Till our next meeting. 
 
200 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 III. • 
 
 At the beginning of this narrative I informed 
 my readers, I believe, that in almost every chief 
 town of a province the nobility are divided, from 
 a social point of view, into n)any circles. I must 
 add that in neither capital of the Empire is this 
 division observed so strictly as in the provinces, 
 where different circles might be compared with 
 the castes in India were it not that they all meet 
 at the governor's official dinners and at balls at 
 the nobles' club, where they do not blend into one 
 society. On these rare occasions the highest cir- 
 cle is generally distinguished from the others by 
 toilets and the use of the French language, but 
 more than all by a freedom of manner and a sar^ 
 castic smile, which like a costly treasure cannot be 
 acquired by the daughters of small landholders 
 or inferior officials. Princess Landysheff, a young 
 widow, occupied the first place in this brilliant 
 galaxy of the town society. Her house was the 
 place of meeting for the upper circle, and for the 
 young and fashionable people of the whole prov- 
 ince. Princess Landysheff had a very good for- 
 tune, an agreeable exterior, and wit enough not 
 to seem dull at first sight ; she knew by rote a 
 multitude of elegant phrases in which there was 
 not a grain of sense ; whatever she did not under- 
 stand she called trivial ; she spoke French very 
 well, was free of dangerous love-affairs, and had 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 201 
 
 the purest accent. This was not all. She had 
 visited Carlsbad twice, spent a whole summer in 
 Dresden, and besides — Lord forgive us sinners ! 
 — had lived two months in Paris. The animosity 
 with which she attacked everything Russian would 
 have been very amusing if she had not had re- 
 course to them so often in order to show her 
 European enlightenment. To tell the truth, how- 
 ever, she was not in advance of her friends in 
 this respect. Of course even our Moscow young 
 ladies — God grant them good health ! — would 
 not miss an occasion to make a comparison be- 
 tween a foreign country and their own to the 
 disadvantage of the latter; but they have their 
 moments of mercy and justice, and sometimes are 
 ready to praise a native artist, to read a Russian 
 book with pleasure, and even to the horror of their 
 respectable mothers to call a Frenchman a fool 
 when in reality he is one. But our fashionable 
 ladies of the provinces are cruel creatures, without 
 compassion. 
 
 The small circle, the leader of which was Prin- 
 cess Landysheff, called itself the society of High- 
 fliers, — excuse me, but I cannot better translate 
 the French de la haute voUe. Among the high- 
 flying gentlemen the first places were occupied 
 by Prince Vladimir Ivanovich and Vailski; and 
 among the ladies especially distinguished were 
 Anna Ivanovna Zlatopolski and Glafira Feodorovna 
 Goreglyadofl^. The first was a very sentimental 
 woman of about thirty-five, with languishing eyes 
 
202 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 of deep feeling, and an enormous nose which her 
 friends called Grecian. For the greater part of the 
 year she lived in her town house, went to balls to 
 keep up her acquaintance, had evening reunions at 
 her own residence for her daughters, whom she had 
 not yet brought out, and did not disturb her hus- 
 band in the management of his affairs. He lived 
 almost continuously on his estate, ploughed his 
 land, distilled vodka, and followed the hounds. 
 The second, Glafira Feodorovna GoreglyadofF, wfis 
 twenty-two years old, of very agreeable exterior, 
 — a graceful, elegant woman, who on entering a 
 room bowed so greetingly, and advanced to kiss the 
 lady of the house in such a heartfelt manner, that 
 all the young ladies and married women of the 
 next lower circle looked at her almost with devo- 
 tion, and admired her with fear and trembling. 
 The old man, her husband, who was rich but 
 miserly, and fastened for about ten months in the 
 year to his armchair with the gout, married her so 
 as not to sit at home alone. She married him so 
 as to make visits from morning till evening. At 
 first he scolded, and then, as was proper, stopped 
 scolding. Not to die from ennui, he amused him- 
 self with a fly-trap, reared canary-birds, and played 
 cards with his butler. The whole town wondered 
 at the harmony of the GoreglyadofFs, and every 
 one called the old man happy. 
 
 About seven o'clock in the evenhig of the same 
 day in which Nikolai Ivanovich Holmin had made 
 the three visits described in our preceding chapter, 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 203 
 
 f 
 
 Princess Landysheff in expectation of guests, who in 
 the provinces do not come earlier than nine o'clock, 
 was sitting in the drawing-room with her friends 
 Zlatopolski and Goreglyadoff. On the table before 
 them lay two French books in handsome blue 
 bindings, entitled " Scenes from Private Life," by 
 Balzac. 
 
 " ' Scenes from Private Life,' " said Goreglyadoff 
 (of course speaking in French), turning over the 
 leaves of the first volume ; " that title does not 
 promise much." 
 
 " I received them to-day," replied the princess. 
 " It is said that they are very interesting." 
 
 " But surely not so interesting as the novels of 
 my dear D'Arlencour," said Zlatopolski, turning up 
 her sentimental eyes. 
 
 " I have my doubts about that," replied the 
 princess. "Who wrote 'The Unknown,' 'The 
 Renegade,' ' Ipsiboe ' — " 
 
 " But ' The Hermit,' " cried Zlatopolski, — " but 
 ' The Hermit ' ! — ' Fuis, fleur de la valine ! ' — Oh, 
 D'Arlencour ! " 
 
 "I have read," continued the princess, "in a 
 Russian journal that this Balzac — " 
 
 " Oh, stop, ma chfere," said Zlatopolski, " what 
 can compare with D'Arlencour ? — ' Fuis, fleur de 
 la valine ! ' " 
 
 " That is true," added Goreglyadoff; " whoever 
 has read ' Ipsiboe ' and ' The Renegade ' — " 
 
 " And knows ' The Hermit ' by heart," inter- 
 rupted Zlatopolski, "will not soon be pleased 
 
204 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 by a Balzac. But he is an old writer ; in my child- 
 hood I heard of him from my French teacher — " 
 
 " Olga Feodorovna Zaraitski ! " announced the 
 servant in a loud voice, opening the door of the 
 drawing-room. 
 
 " Olga Feodorovna ! " cried the princess, rising 
 from the sofa ; " so she has come from Moscow ? 
 Ah, ch^re amie, how glad I am that you are with 
 us again ! " continued she, going to meet an elderly 
 lady dressed in the latest fashion. After the 
 usual kissing and fragmentary exclamations, which 
 must of course always express sincere joy, the 
 mistress of the house and her guests seated them- 
 selves at the table, and began the following 
 conversation : — 
 
 Princess. Ah, ma chfere, what magnificent 
 sleeves you have ! Comme c'est jolie ! 
 
 Zaraitski. Yes, this is the latest fashion. 
 Madame Le Bour assures me that this is the first 
 dress of the style made in Moscow. 
 
 Zlatopolski. How charming it is ! 
 
 GoKEGLTADOFF. Beautiful ! And the collar — 
 look at that ! 
 
 Zaraitski. Just brought from Paris ; and this 
 shawl. 
 
 Princess. Yes, the shawl ; I know. C'est 
 d^licieux. 
 
 Goregltadoff (in a whisper to Zlatopolski). 
 Look at that hat ! What bad taste ! Just think, 
 at her time of life, — fifty yeara old ! She is 
 supremely ridiculous. 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 205 
 
 Princess. Of course you had a gay visit ia 
 Moscow ? 
 
 Zaraitski. Oh, do not mention Moscow to 
 me ! I was dying of ennui all the time. 
 
 Princess. Is it possible ? 
 
 Zaraitski. What society, what a tone ! I 
 could not imagine that in a city called a capital 
 there could be so little enlightenment. The names 
 of the streets alone are enough to make one 
 lose patience. I stopped at the house of a 
 relative. Where do you think she lives ? On the 
 Plyushchiha ! 
 
 Zlatopolski. On the Plyushchiha? Dieu, 
 comme c'est vulgaire ! 
 
 Zaraitski. And the style of living ! Once I 
 was invited to a ball, as I remember, beyond the 
 Moscow River, on the Zatsepa. 
 
 GoREGLYADOPF. What trivial names ! 
 
 Princess. You will agree that this could take 
 place only in Russia. 
 
 Zaraitski. Yes, and only in Moscow. We 
 rode through gardens and the " Crimean Ford," — 
 terrible travelling. What do you suppose we 
 found at the ball ? — a lady of the house who ad- 
 dressed us in Russian, wooden walls, and tallow 
 candles with soiled lustres. 
 
 Princess. You are jesting. 
 
 Zaraitski. I assure you it is true ; from this 
 
 you gain an idea of Moscow life. I was at the 
 
 nobles' club only once, and that was during the 
 
 , Carnival. The hall is not a bad one ; but what 
 
206 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 manners ! Young men walk up and down ; not 
 one of them pays the least attention to you, or 
 thinks of offering a chair. This I know from 
 personal experience. 
 
 Princess. But the theatre ? 
 
 Zaraitski. The French theatre is charming ; 
 but the Russian, — you cannot imagine what the 
 style of actors is ; and such names as they have, — 
 ' Schepkin, Raipin,' — it is quite sickening to hear 
 them. I was induced once to go to an opera, — the 
 ' Freischutz,' I think, — and I confess I was ashamed 
 of being a Russian. In a box next to mine was a 
 man whom they called Count, who began to talk 
 with some ladies : he praised the actors, the 
 scenery, the costumes, — in one word, everything ; 
 said that he had heard this opera in Paris, where 
 it was no better presented than in Moscow. 
 Would you believe it, these ladies, who were well 
 dressed and to all appearance belonged to good 
 society, listened to him as to an oracle. I lost all 
 patience at this exhibition of ignorance; and to 
 show the gentleman how disagreeable his impu- 
 dent lying was to me, I sprang up, put on my 
 shawl, and left the theatre. 
 
 Princess. I confess that in your place I 
 should not have sat quietly. 
 
 GoREGLTADOFF. You astonish me, Olga Feo- 
 dorovna ! 
 
 Princess. What is there to be astonished at? 
 Had we not last year a couple of visitors from 
 Moscow ? You remember that Prince Branski and 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 207 
 
 some professor who was with him, — those men, 
 you know, whom we laughed at so much when they 
 declared with great importance that they were 
 travelling in Russia. They did not care to know 
 our circle, but with whom did they make acquaint- 
 ance ? With Volgin, with Dubrovin, with Zakan- 
 ski, and with that clown Holmin. You remember 
 they said these are the respectable people, these 
 are the true Russian nobility, these are the really 
 enlightened country gentlemen. To begin with, 
 Dubrovin speaks French so that you cannot listen 
 to him without laughing. 
 
 Zaraitski. Well, my dear, in Moscow I saw 
 two English travellers who tortured the poor 
 French language even worse than Dubrovin. 
 
 Princess. Yes, my good friend, but then you 
 know they speak English beautifully. 
 
 Zaraitski. True, I had forgotten that. But 
 who is this Prince Branski ? I have never heard 
 of him, as I remember. What is he ? 
 
 Princess. He belongs to the best society of 
 Moscow ; I know that. 
 
 GoREGLTADOFF. In that case we have noth- 
 ing to borrow from Moscow. 
 
 Zlatopolski. Borrow, — we borrow ? No, it 
 is not for us to borrow from Moscow ; Moscow 
 should borrow from us. , 
 
 Princess. Yes, yes ! It would not injure 
 Moscow to take a lesson here in good manners, 
 and to ask us what a developed taste means. 
 
 Zaraitski {who meanwhile has taken up one 
 of the books). Oh, here we have Balzac. 
 
208 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES, 
 
 Princess. Ah, you know him then ? 
 
 Zaraitski. What a question to ask ! Why, 
 he has turned the heads of half Moscow. 
 
 GoREGLYADOFP. Is it possible ? 
 
 Zlatopolski. But no doubt D'Arlencour — 
 
 Zaraitski. Of whom do you speak ? Why, no 
 one reads him ; every one laughs at the mention of 
 his name. But in Moscow there is not a woman 
 of fashion who does not know Balzac by heart. 
 
 Princess. Is it possible ? 
 
 Zaraitski. Yes. When I was at the ball in 
 the nobles' club, some one said Balzac was in Mos- 
 cow, afterward that he was at the ball. How excited 
 all the ladies were, — what a noise and what ques- 
 tioning ! And one young man who looked like a 
 Frenchman came near being crushed. Happily for 
 him he began to talk Russian ; that saved him. 
 
 Zlatopolski {to the Princess). You will 
 give me these books to read, will you not, my 
 dear ? 
 
 GoREGLYADOFF. And to me also, my dear 
 friend ? 
 
 Princess. With great pleasure, after I have 
 read them myself. 
 
 A servant opens the door and announces : "Anna 
 Stepanovna Slukin ! " 
 
 Princess. Well, here she is, always first ! 
 How that woman worries me ! {goes to meet her) 
 It is so kind of you, Anna Stepanovna ; you act 
 like a real friend. The earlier the better — Ah, 
 Varvara Nikolaevna ! Bon soir, mon enfant ! 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 209 
 
 Half an hour later in the drawing-room of 
 Princess Landysheff they were playing whist at 
 three tables, and in the dancing-hall the musicians 
 were tuning their instruments. Ivan Stepanovich 
 Vailski and Alexai Andreevich Zorin were present ; 
 but Anna Stepanovna would not play before the 
 arrival of Prince Vladimir Ivanovich; a fourth 
 player could easily be found, but most likely he 
 would not permit Anna Stepanovna to make re- 
 nounces or to count more honors than belonged to 
 her. It was becoming crowded in the drawing- 
 room. The music began ; some polite and elderly 
 cavaliers offered their arms to half-a-dozen of 
 the most impprtant ladies of the company, and 
 opened the ball with the inevitable polonaise. 
 Vailski and Anna Stepanovna were the third 
 couple. 
 
 " How is it that our Prince Vladimir Ivanovich 
 does not come ? " asked she, looking around with 
 evident impatience. "Why does he lose golden 
 time so ? Let us play a three-handed game." 
 
 "The prince will soon be here," said Vailski, 
 dryly ; " meanwhile I will take advantage of his 
 absence to ask if you have heard what is talked 
 of in the town ? " 
 
 "What ?" 
 
 "Of course you have not forgotten the object 
 of my aunt's visit the day before yesterday. You 
 as good as gave her your word ; still, it is said that 
 you have other views for Varvara Mkolaevna. I 
 cannot believe it ; but you must confess that such 
 
 14 
 
210 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 reports are very unpleasant, especially to a man 
 who I assure you is not accustomed to play the 
 part of a universal bridegroom. Pardon me, then, 
 Anna Stepanovna, if I request you not to postpone 
 my happiness, and to declare decidedly that you 
 accept my proposal." 
 
 " Think of what you are saying, Ivan Stepano- 
 vich ! Is this the place for such a conversation ? " 
 
 " I do not ask you to declare the betrothal 
 here at the ball ; but if you allow me I will come 
 the day after t,o-morrow with my aunt," 
 
 " The day after to-morrow ? That will be Fri- 
 day ? What reason is there for hurrying so ? " 
 
 " At least to put an end to these absurd reports, 
 which are as offensive to you as to me. However, 
 I do not wish to annoy you ; if you like, I will come 
 on Saturday. Then I shall ask permission of you 
 to inform all my friends and relatives of my be- 
 trothal. After what you have told my aunt I have 
 no doubt — " 
 
 " What did I say ? " interrupted, with great con- 
 fusion, Anna Stepanovna. " Of course I told her 
 Excellency that it was very agreeable to me, and 
 that I should be very glad — - " 
 
 " Consequently you agreed. And allow me to 
 say, Anna Stepanovna, that after what you have 
 said every difficulty on your part will be a clear 
 proof that you wish to trifle with us, and cast ridi- 
 cule upon me and my aunt and all my family. But 
 I beg your pardon. I see this is an offensive sup- 
 position, that it is disagreeable to you. So on 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 211 
 
 Saturday — The polonaise is finished. Now I 
 am at your service, and if you wish we can play a 
 three-handed game of whist." 
 
 Slukin, who had something now on her mind 
 besides whist, excused herself, and took her seat 
 among the mothers, aunts, and elder sisters. 
 
 Having played for a few moments after the 
 polonaise was over, the music stopped. From out 
 the crowd of gentlemen eager for the dance, among 
 whom were five officers, was heard the long wished 
 for exclamation of " Waltz ! " The musicians played 
 from the " Freischiitz," and this dance so full of life 
 and joy began. 
 
 Meanwhile Anna Stepanovna was weighing 
 matters over in her mind. " On Saturday," she 
 repeated to herself. " My lawsuit will come on only 
 next week. No, Ivan Stepanovich, although you 
 are a relative of the governor, do not take it ill 
 if I think of myself first of all ; the shirt is nearest 
 the body. I should prefer not to quarrel with her 
 Excellency, but it cannot be helped." 
 
 At this moment the hall door was thrown open, 
 and the governor's wife, in company with two 
 other ladies, entered. She said something in pass- 
 ing to the lady of the house, and without noticing 
 any one else came straight to Anna Stepanovna, 
 kissed her, sat down by her side, and told her so 
 many pleasant things that the hapless woman was 
 quite beside herself. When the other ladies has- 
 tened to give assurances of their respect and good- 
 will, all her firmness was shaken. " my God," 
 
212 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 thought she, when the governor's wife went away 
 with her companions and took her place at the 
 card-table, " what am I to do ? To quarrel after 
 such kindness ! Now, I am almost the first person 
 at the ball. If I break with them nobody will look 
 at me, and they will ask for the dowry. Of course 
 they will, — they will demand it. And my lawsuit ! 
 Oh, tiiisery, misery ! " 
 
 " Good-evening, Anna Stepanovna," said the 
 Judge of the Civil Court, taking a seat at her side. 
 " I am very glad to see you to-night. But where 
 is Varvara Nikolaevna ? " 
 
 " She is here, Alexai Andreevich. Do you not 
 see she is dancing there with that hussar officer — 
 what is his name ? " 
 
 " Tonski." 
 
 " Yes. How long she has been dancing ! She 
 does not see that you are here ; if she did she would 
 have finished long ago, so as to come to us. How 
 she respects and loves you, Alexai Andreevich ! — 
 Varinka, Varinka, come here, my dear. You have 
 been asking, ' Will Alexai Andreevich come, will 
 he be here ? ' Here he is ; are you quieted ? " 
 
 Poor Varinka looked with astonishment at her 
 step-mother, blushed, bowed, and knew not what 
 to answer. 
 
 " How heated you are ! " said Zorin, kissing her 
 hand. " As red as a rose. Are you not tired ? " 
 
 " No," answered Varinka, looking toward the 
 place where the handsome young man in the hussar 
 uniform was standing. 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 213 
 
 " I see you are very fond of dancing," continued 
 Zorin. 
 
 "Yes." 
 
 " Would you be pleased to dance a French qua- 
 drille ? " asked a tall youth with an enormous head 
 of hair, and starched frills. Varinka gave him her 
 hand. Zorin turned again to Anna Stepanovna. 
 
 " I was occupied with you all the morning," 
 said he, in an undertone. 
 
 " With me, Alexai Andreevich ? " 
 
 "That is, with your lawsuit." 
 
 " I thank you most humbly." 
 
 " Oh, Anna Stepanovna, you put a halter around 
 my neck." 
 
 "How is that, father?" 
 
 " You know your case is a very bad one." 
 
 " What do you mean, father ? It is a clear and 
 holy case." 
 
 "No, Mother Anna Stepanovna, half and half 
 sin. Of course another turn might be given to it ; 
 but questions might arise afterward. The decision 
 of a district court, you know, is not final, and a 
 verbal proof of your right is not documents." 
 
 " Well, Alexai Andreevich, I did not think that 
 you-" 
 
 "What am I to do?" interrupted the judge. 
 " I declare to you that your case is a very 
 bad one. Of course God alone is without fault. 
 Once in a while one might make a twist for a 
 relative." 
 
 " That is just the thing to do, father." 
 
214 TALES OF THREE CENTCTRIES, 
 
 "But we are not relatives yet, Anna Stepa^ 
 . novna." 
 
 " I have asked you to wait three short weeks." 
 
 " Then, mother, you must wait too." 
 
 " How wait ? Have you not told me that next 
 week — " 
 
 " Oh, many a thing may be said ! What I told 
 you was not in court, nor was it copied into a 
 protocol." 
 
 " Now, Father Alexai Audree\ach, I thank you 
 most humbly." 
 
 " Oh, Anna Stepanovna, what is the use of 
 pouring from the empty into the void ? Will you 
 not be pleased to have the betrothal within three 
 days from now ? I will go then to work seriously 
 at your affair. The day after the wedding the 
 written decision will be ready." 
 
 "What do you mean, my father? The be- 
 trothal in three days, — in three days ! Are you 
 in your right mind ? " 
 
 " Act as you please, Anna Stepanovna. Your 
 reason and your will are at your own disposal." 
 
 " Where has there ever been such a case of put- 
 ting a knife to a person's throat as this ? " 
 
 " Ah, Mother Anna Stepanovna, if you are not 
 fond of delays why should I like them? But, 
 pardon me, Vailski told me that you were not 
 going to play ; so I have taken the cards, and I 
 expect they are waiting for me. Think the matter 
 over carefully. In two days from now I shall 
 come to see you." 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 215 
 
 Anna Stepanovna had scarcely recovered from 
 this unexpected attack when a slender man with 
 mustaches and side-whiskers which, coming down 
 over his cravat, surrounded his pale face like a 
 frame, appeared, and fixed his glittering eyes on her. 
 
 " Oh, Prince Vladimir Ivanovich ! " cried Ma- 
 dame Slukin, " is that you ? " 
 
 " Yes, Madame, it is I," replied the prince, con- 
 tinuing to look at her with that bitter Byronic 
 smile of which recent French authors write so 
 much. " It is I," repeated he, in a voice which 
 was low, but so gloomy and dismal that Anna 
 Stepanovna's heart sank within her from fear. 
 
 " What has happened to you ? " asked she, in 
 alarm. 
 
 " Nothing, — a trifle, the commonest thing. I 
 had the fancy of playing at bank, and staked all 
 the happiness of my life on a single card." 
 
 " Oh, Prince, why did you play at bank ? You 
 should have played whist quietly." 
 
 " Yes ! " continued the prince, not listening to 
 her, — " yes, all the happiness, all the joy, all that 
 can attach me to this life I placed on one card, 
 and do you think that I will allow myself to be 
 cheated ? Do you understand me ? " > 
 
 " No, father, I do not." 
 
 " Tell me, Anna Stepanovna, do you know what 
 love is ? " 
 
 " Of course I do. I loved my late husband 
 very much." 
 
 " That is, you mourned for him when he died ; 
 
216 TALES OF THKEE CENTURIES. 
 
 you wore black flannel robes and put a cross over 
 his grave." 
 
 " I did all this, as was proper, Vassily Ivanovich." 
 
 " As was proper ! I do not speak, Anna Stepa- 
 novna, of such love as that." 
 
 " Of what then ? " 
 
 " Of that which fills my soul ; of that which 
 knows not, and does not wish to know, any of 
 the proprieties or any social condition. But I 
 see that I must speak more definitely with you. 
 This love, Madame, is like the steel dagger of a 
 Caucasian mountaineer; it is smooth and bright 
 and beautiful, but it is dangerous to play with. 
 You understand me ? " 
 
 " No, father, I do not." 
 
 " Listen to rae. I love Varvara Nikolaevna ; 
 and if any one should dare to trifle with this pas- 
 sion, to jest with the happiness of my whole life, 
 — if you, Anna Stepauovna — " 
 
 " Oh, father, your Excellency, wljat do you 
 mean ? " 
 
 " I ask you why she is not mine before now ? 
 Why all these delays ? It seems that all is finished 
 between us ; we concluded the bargain." 
 
 " Collect yourself, Prince ! What are you saying ? " 
 
 " Be not oflended, Anna Stepauovna, if I say 
 that I hate all this mawkish politeness which seeks 
 to strew everything with roses. I like to call 
 things by their right names ; and I repeat it, we 
 concluded the bargain, and now you have no right 
 to sell this unfortunate orphan at public auction 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. ' 217 
 
 as they sell slaves iij the bazaars of the East. She 
 is mine ! " 
 
 " Be composed, Prince ! For God's sake, in a 
 lower voice ! Why so excited ? " 
 
 " Say one word and I shall be silent." 
 
 " But what has happened to you ? What has 
 put it into your head that I should withdraw from 
 my promise? But Varinka must also be taken 
 into account. Give her even a little time to be- 
 come accustomed to you, otherwise it may not be 
 far to trouble. If we turn too quickly, the girl 
 may become stubborn." 
 
 " Oh, give yourself no trouble about that ! " 
 
 " Be not too sure ; she is still young and fool- 
 ish, and will not understand in a moment that a 
 husband with four thousand souls is not to be 
 found at every cross-road." 
 
 " Who speaks to you about souls ? I see that 
 we never understand each other. Listen ! You 
 may have reasons for putting off our wedding. I 
 have none ; and I tell you that to-morrow you shall 
 either receive me as the bridegroom of Varvara 
 Nikolaevna, or the whole town shall know how 
 you trade in your step-daughter." 
 
 " To-morrow ! How to-morrow ? " 
 
 " Well, if you like, I will give you forty-eight 
 hours ; that is," added the Prince, taking out his 
 watch, " precisely at midnight on Friday Varvara 
 Mkolaevna shall call me her bridegroom. As for 
 you, you may act as you please, — you may call me 
 your son or not, just as it suits you ; I shall not 
 worry over that." 
 
218 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 Having said this, the prince bowed slightly aa 
 disappeared. 
 
 " But what does this mean ? " whispered Ann 
 Stepanovna. " Have they eaten madwort ? Gd 
 pardon us ! How has it come about that the 
 all attack me at once? Ah, Lord, save me 
 I '11 go home for sound reason right away ; tc 
 morrow at daybreak I '11 send for Nikolai Ivano 
 vich ; maybe he will invent something. — Va 
 rinka ! Varinka ! — She hears nothing. Wha 
 tricks is she playing with that Tonski ? — Varvari 
 Nikolaevna ! " 
 
 " What do you wish, mother ? " asked Varinka 
 approaching Anna Stepanovna. 
 
 " This, Madame, that you waste not your timi 
 with every chance man you happen to dance witl 
 at a ball! What were you rattling on abou 
 with that little officer ? Was he not making somi 
 nonsensical compliments? Have a care of youi 
 self, young lady ! Take your shawl ; we go homi 
 at once.'' 
 
 " Why so early, mother ? " 
 
 " I have a bad headache." 
 
 As Madame Slukin was descending the steps 
 she felt that some one was assisting her to th 
 carriage. The polite cavalier was Tonski. 
 
 " I thank you humbly, father ; you were please( 
 to give yourself trouble for jiothing," said Ann 
 Stepanovna, very dryly. The carriage rumblei 
 along the rough pavement, and in a few moment 
 some one drove by in a droshky. " What does i 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 219 
 
 mean," asked Madame Slukin, "that this mustached 
 fellow is buzzing around me all the time like a fly 
 in autumn ? I cannot endure such people ! " 
 
 " But he has a great regard for you," said the> 
 poor girl, with a timid voice. 
 
 "What do I care about that? What is the 
 regard of a beggar to me ? I have remarked my- 
 self that he looks on me very tenderly. He may 
 want to borrow money ; he may even pretend that 
 he is in love with me. These paupers are cunning 
 to invent. They will thresh rye on the back of an 
 axe, and strip bark from a stone." 
 
 " You have no reason to hold such a bad opin- 
 ion of him, mother; he is an honorable and an 
 honest man." 
 
 " What 's that ? What do you say ? " 
 
 " I say that he is an honorable, honest man." 
 
 " Indeed ! Why do you take his part so ? 
 What does this mean ? " 
 
 " Nothing in particular, mother." 
 
 " Well, see that it is nothing. Till to-day I have 
 not remarked that you entered into any extended 
 conversation with him, and I hardly think he would 
 dare. But however the case may be, I tell you, 
 young woman, not to be familiar with him in future. 
 I do not like it. — But we are at home. What 
 are you sitting for ? Get out of the carriage." 
 
 Varinka sprang out, and as she turned around, 
 her heart beat with joy ; for in the house opposite 
 there was a light, and sitting in the open window 
 was Tonski. 
 
220 TALES OP THREE CENTtTRIES. 
 
 IV. 
 
 " My dove, Nikolai Ivanovich ! be a father to 
 me," said Anna Stepanovna, dropping her head to 
 her shoulders. Thus spoke the widow next morn- 
 ing as Holmin entered the drawing-room, where 
 she had already waited some time for him. 
 
 " What has happened, Anna Stepanovna ? " 
 asked he, taking a seat by her side on the sofa. 
 
 " Oh, woe, my nourisher, — real woe ! The whole 
 night through I could not sleep ; I turned from side 
 to side, and pondered and pondered. What use ? 
 Wherever I turn, all is closed." 
 
 " What is the trouble ? " 
 
 " Oh, father, evil ! All the suitors have run mad." 
 
 "Ho^ is that?" 
 
 " I cannot tell, but it is like a conspiracy. Glory 
 be to God, they came singly. They pressed me. 
 ' Decide, decide,' said they. I answered this way 
 and that, the best I could. No escape ; they would 
 listen to nothing. No one gives more than three 
 days to decide in. That dandy, the governor's 
 nephew, so overwhelmed me with his words that I 
 came near believing myself that I had really prom- 
 ised him Varinka. Oh, the nettleseed, the rogue ! 
 Zorin talked as though Satan himself had put him 
 up to it, — told me my lawsuit would not be settled 
 till I had given him a decisive answer. Even that 
 crazy Prince Vladimir Ivanovich insisted so, and 
 held such speeches, Lord, my God ! that the 
 ears were withering on me." 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 221 
 
 " Well, mother, did I not foretell this ? " 
 
 " Oh, Nikolai Ivanovich, scold me, blame, but 
 save me!" 
 
 " Save ! That is easily said, Anna Stepanovna. 
 No matter how you evade, how you plan, you 
 must declare whom Varinka is going to marry." 
 
 " But when I declare, what shall I do with 
 Vailski and Zorin?" 
 
 " In truth, there will be no living for you, espe- 
 cially with Vailski and his family." 
 
 " I know it, father. They will devour me alive ; 
 you know what a family they are." 
 
 " I do ; but then if Varinka does not marry one 
 man, she will another. She must marry some one. 
 Your position is awkward, I admit ; but we cannot 
 ask Varinka to divide herself into parts. They 
 will be angry for a while and then cease ; but 
 they will never forgive you for deceiving and lead- 
 ing them by the nose." 
 
 " True, father, true." 
 
 " Let Varinka marry Prince Vladimir Ivanovich, 
 that 's nothing, if we can only guard you somehow." 
 
 "There is the task, father: try to think of 
 something." . 
 
 " Wait a moment. Well, in very truth, Anna 
 Stepanovna, you are answerable only if you your- 
 self give Varinka in marriage ; but if she should 
 elope and marry without your knowledge — " 
 
 "How elope?" 
 
 " If he should take her away." 
 
 " Take her away, — who take her away ? " 
 
222 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " Of course, Prince Vladimir Ivanovich." 
 
 " Ah, I understand ! Only, why should he elop< 
 with Variuka when he can have her withou 
 that?" 
 
 " Why should he elope ? Oh, you don't knov 
 him at all. I believe he is dying from misery tha 
 he must marry in such common and vulgar fashion 
 Believe me, if I were to give him the hint h^ 
 would jump for joy at the idea of eloping with hi 
 bride. But that is my affair ; be not troubled." 
 
 " I suppose I ought to speak a few words firs 
 with Varinka about this ? " 
 
 " What are you saying ? On the contrary, sh( 
 ought to suppose it all done without your know) 
 edge. I can answer for my own discretion, but no 
 for Varinka's, nor for her future husband's, fron 
 whom very likely she will keep no secrets. I sup 
 pose you understand all the importance of thi 
 affair? The least suspicion would destroy you ii 
 public opinion ; and if, which God forbid, th 
 truth should become known, you would be i 
 ruined woman, the whole town would rise agains 
 you. This innocent arrangement would be calle( 
 a false pretence. They would ask for the interfei 
 ence of the governor, and you know how noble 
 are punished for false pretences." 
 
 " I know, father, I know, — loss of rank aui 
 position. But where are the false pretences ? " 
 
 "How, where? Will you not be obliged t 
 bring a complaint to the governor ? Will you no 
 say that Varinka was stolen, that she marriei 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 223 
 
 without your knowledge and consent ? Of course 
 the more noise you make, the more innocent you 
 will seem in the eyes of those who, thanks to you, 
 will be duped." 
 
 "True, father, true!" 
 
 " Only leave the affair to me, I will arrange it. 
 But where is Varinka ? " 
 
 " In her room, father." 
 
 " Then I will go and talk with her ; you remain 
 here." 
 
 In an hour and a half Holmin returned to the 
 room. 
 
 " Well, father," asked Anna Stepanovna, hastily, 
 " have you arranged it ? " 
 
 " I have with difficulty. How much it cost me ! 
 On one point I was not mistaken. Varinka is 
 really not indifferent to the prince, but she would 
 not elope and marry him without your knowledge." 
 
 "Is it possible?" 
 
 "I declared decisively that you would never 
 allow her to marry the man she wished." 
 
 " Well, what did she say to that ? " 
 
 " She began to cry, but would not consent to 
 elope. I told her that she was not your own 
 daughter, and was not bound to obey you blindly." 
 
 " And what did she say then ? " 
 
 " She agreed, but still was unwilling to elope. 
 I explained to her that it was the one chance to 
 marry, that she would be an old maid if she waited 
 for your blessing." 
 
 "Well?" 
 
224 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " She did not dispute that, but still would not 
 consent." 
 
 "Ah, what a stubborn creature, — just like her 
 father! What did she want?" 
 
 "She wanted that I should give my word of 
 honor that you would forgive her. There was 
 nothing to be done. Before God I promised that 
 you would solemnly and publicly forgive her. 
 Now see to it, Anna Stepanovna, that you do not 
 leave me in a false position." 
 
 "So she insisted very much upon this? And 
 you do not know, father, why she wanted my 
 forgiveness ? " 
 
 "She said she should be ashamed to look at 
 people if you were to turn from her forever." 
 
 " Indeed ? But has she no other motive ? " 
 
 " What could she have ? " 
 
 "Nothing that I know of. However, I have 
 talked the matter over with the prince, and I have 
 certain documents." 
 
 " Documents, — what documents ? " 
 
 "So, father. Be pleased to see that I am a 
 widow. God guard me from a quarrelsome son- 
 in-law, who would summon me before the courts ! 
 There is no one, you know, to defend me, lone 
 woman ! So Varinka wishes absolutely that I 
 should forgive her?" 
 
 " Yes, and I gave her my word of honor that 
 you would." 
 
 "Well, so be it. Still I ought to pretend. 
 What do you think?" 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 225 
 
 " Yes, but I do not advise you to go too far, to 
 be unnatural. You have always been so fond of 
 Varinka, that if you are too harsh, evil tongues 
 will say that you are playing a comedy." 
 
 " Very well, father, very well ; but when shall 
 it be?" 
 
 " The sooner the better ; if we delay, the suitors 
 may meet, and thus destroy our plan. I think 
 to-night." 
 
 "To-night?" 
 
 " Yes. Say that you have the headache. Do not 
 send Varinka to her room, but go yourself to bed a 
 little after nine o'clock. She will tell her maid that 
 she cannot sleep, and will go to walk in the garden 
 about eleven o'clock. In the street behind the gar- 
 den there will be a carriage. I shall wait for them 
 in the parish church in my village, you know, about 
 five versts from here. All will be arranged, have 
 no fear. And, Anna Stepanovna, in the morning 
 do not rise earlier than usual, then call for Varinka, 
 and raise a storm ; order your carriage at once, drive 
 to the governor's, scream and cry — But why 
 give you counsel ? " said Holmin, opening his snuff- 
 box ; " to teach the learned is sheer annoyance." 
 
 Anna Stepanovna smiled, and taking a pinch of 
 snuflF from Nikolai Ivanovich, she said, with the 
 appearance of deep humility : " What can I do ? I 
 am a simple-minded person ; what 's on my mind 
 is on my tongue. There is no escape. I will try 
 to play my part somehow. 
 
 " But remember," said Holmin, rising, " if the 
 
 15 
 
226 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 governor should ask you whom you suspect, do 
 not mention the prince, — of all Varinka's suitors 
 he is the most profitable, so there might arise a sus- 
 picion of cunning and pretence on your part. Take 
 one position and stick to it : I know nothing ! " 
 
 " I obey, father ; it shall be as you advise." 
 
 " Good-by, Anna Stepanovna, I am going now 
 to the prince and afterward home. I shall have 
 so much to do that be not angry if I do not visit 
 you again to-day." 
 
 Nikolai Ivanovich went away. The morning 
 had passed, and the chief waiter, Filka, in a soiled 
 coat entered the drawing-room and announced 
 that lunch was ready. Anna Stepanovna sat 
 down to the table with her step-daughter; both 
 were silent. No matter how Varinka tried to 
 seem calm, the flush which came at times to her 
 pale cheeks, her wandering look, her disturbed 
 face, all indicated an unusual condition of mind. 
 Neither was Anna Stepanovna very calm. She ate 
 little, — that is, she did not eat for three, — was 
 restless in her chair, and looked continually at the 
 wall-clock which with its bells was hanging in 
 the dining-hall. 
 
 "What has happened to our mistress?" whis- 
 pered the servants, — "just as if she had been 
 dropped into water ! She does not say a word. 
 And the young lady is no better." 
 
 " Look, Parfen," said the chief waiter, giving an 
 untouched dish to the cook, " what a wonder ! the 
 mistress was not pleased to eat pancakes to-day." 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 227 
 
 " Yes, brother, that is not for nothing," said the 
 cook, looking with astonishment on the favorite 
 dish of Anna Stepanovna. " All are untouched 
 to the last one! Well!" 
 
 So the entire day passed. After eight o'clock 
 Anna Stepanovna began to complain of headache, 
 put a towel soaked in vinegar on her head, and 
 inhaled eau de Cologne. 
 
 " Oh, what a headache I have ! " said she at last, 
 in a voice of pain. " I will go to bed early ; per- 
 haps sleep will relieve me. And you, my doves," 
 continued she, turning to the maids, " no matter 
 what happens, do not dare to wake me. Do you 
 hear ? Oh, my God ! it seems as though my temples 
 were struck with a hammer. It is all because I 
 take no exercise. Varinka, you too never walk, — 
 sit sewing all the time, — even now you might go 
 out and walk in the garden ; the evening is beau- 
 tiful. You young girls have no sense. You dance 
 all night till you are ready to drop down ; you sit 
 at home all day without moving from your room. 
 When I was your age I could walk all night such 
 fine weather. Go out, my dear, into the garden ; 
 when you have walked about twenty times around 
 it, you will be all well to-morrow. I shall lie 
 down ; maybe my headache will pass off. Oh, 
 what pain ! my head is ready to burst ! Good- 
 night, Varinka, good-night, my dear ! " 
 
 Two hours more had passed. In the dining- 
 hall the bells began to ring, and the loud bell of 
 the clock struck eleven. 
 
228 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " Do not wait for me, Dunyasha," said Varinka, 
 " I cannot sleep ; I will go to walk in the garden, 
 and wake you when I come in." 
 
 Dunyasha, a thick maiden of thirty years, 
 whose eyes were already heavy, went into her 
 room, said her prayers, lay on the bed, and fell 
 into a deathlike sleep. Varinka covered her head 
 with a handkerchief, threw a velvet cloak over her 
 shoulders, and went into the garden. Everything 
 was quiet, except that from time to time the 
 sleepy night-watch struck an iron plate, and from 
 time to time a chained dog barked. Looking 
 around timidly, Varinka opened the garden gate, 
 and hastened along the grass-grown alley. The 
 ^/!*ays of the full moon scarcely penetrated through 
 the thick branches of the enormous linden-trees 
 which lined the path. Oh, how the poor girl's 
 heart throbbed, how it sank ! In a few moments 
 her fate would be decided for good ! Every rust- 
 ling made her tremble, — the sighing of the breeze 
 through the trees, the crackling of a dry twig un- 
 der her feet, the singing of a cricket, — everything 
 made her tremble and look around. 
 
 Has it ever happened to you to love? I ask 
 my male, not my female, readers, — feminine mod- 
 esty would prevent the latter from giving a candid 
 reply. But understand me clearly, not to love as 
 many love, the second, tenth, hundredth time, but 
 as we love the first time in our lives with all the 
 innocence of a young, fresh soul, when we not 
 only believe in friendship and love, but when they 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 229 
 
 form an article of our faith, when the honor and 
 virtue of the one whom we have chosen is dearer 
 to us than life itself. If you have experienced this 
 feeling, if ou some quiet spring evening you have 
 waited in a shady grove for your loved one, and 
 waited only for the purpose of repeating for the 
 hundredth time, and perhaps hearing from her for 
 the first time, " I love thee," then tell me what 
 took place in your soul. Did not your heart throb 
 wildly, was not your breath interrupted, when 
 after frequent and vain alarms you heard the well- 
 known rustling, and a white dress appeared in the 
 distance among the trees ? If you have not forgot- 
 ten yet the effect of these torturing and at the 
 same time inexpressibly delightful feelings, then 
 you may easily imagine how Varinka felt as she 
 heard the noise of steps. At the end of the alley 
 along which she was walking two thick cherry- 
 trees interlaced their branches, and formed a small 
 arch through which, as through a window, the 
 blue heavens were seen spangled with stars. Sud- 
 denly a dark object intercepted the view. " That 
 is he," whispered Varinka, leaning against a tree so 
 as not to fall. Again the stars were visible, again 
 were intercepted. This dark object casting before 
 it a long shadow now moved quickly toward her. 
 Suddenly the bright light of the moon burst 
 through the heavy branches of the linden-trees, 
 and covered with its mild light a man of tall 
 stature wrapped in a gray overcoat. Varinka 
 wished to make a step in advance, but could not ; 
 
230 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 her knees trembled, and she fell almost senseless 
 into the arms of Ton ski. 
 
 " It is you, my darling ! " cried the young man, 
 with rapture. " I do not dare to believe my hap- 
 piness. It all seems to me a vision, and I am 
 afraid to wake." 
 
 Varinka said not a word; her head lay on 
 Tonski's breast, and great tears rolled down her 
 burning cheeks. 
 
 " Oh, if you should ever cease to love me ! " whis- 
 pered she at length, in a broken voice. " There 
 was no one to give me a blessing. I have neither 
 father nor mother." 
 
 " They see my heart," said Tonski, " and surely at 
 this moment they bless us both. But come, my dar- 
 ling, your godfather is waiting for us in the church. 
 Oh, hasten, hasten to say you will be mine forever ! " 
 
 Resting on Tonski's arm, Varinka left the alley 
 and came out on the wide meadow, which, begin- 
 ning with the house, ended with the enclosure. 
 She looked back involuntarily, and it seemed to 
 her that one of the windows of her step-mother's 
 bedroom was half open. They passed through the 
 gate and entered the carriage which, drawn by 
 four swift horses, was soon speeding on like an 
 arrow shot from a bow. For a moment the silent 
 street was enlivened ; in the distance was heard 
 the cry of the drowsy watchman ; farther on, the 
 frightened dogs began to bark ; the noise of the 
 sounding pavement became less and less. Again 
 was heard the scarcely audible cry of the watch- 
 man ; then all was silent as before. 
 
THE THREE SXHTORS. 231 
 
 " Now, thank God, they have gone," said Anna 
 Stepanovna, closing the window, — " they have 
 gone, and it is like a mountain oiF my shoulders." 
 
 She arranged her nightcap, went to bed, and 
 musing over the two thousand souls which would 
 now belong to her exclusively while she lived, she 
 slept a sweet and calm sleep. 
 
 " Malashka ! Malashka ! " 
 
 The chambermaid opened the door of Anna 
 Stepanovna's bedroom quietly, and stood on the 
 threshold. 
 
 " What time is it ? " 
 
 " Seven o'clock, Madame." 
 
 " How I have overslept myself to-day ! What 
 are you standing there for ? Come in ! " 
 
 After Malashka, rolled in Kondratievna, Anna 
 Stepanovna's old nurse ; after Kondratievna came 
 the housekeeper, Mavra ; after her two maid-ser- 
 vants, behind whom were seen three or four laun- 
 dresses, who did not dare to enter the chamber of 
 their mistress, but stood in the dressing-room. On 
 every face were depicted fear, trouble, and a cer- 
 tain timid curiosity. 
 
 " Why are you all here ? What did you come 
 for ? " 
 
 The nurse looked at the housekeeper, the house- 
 keeper at the waiting-maids, the waiting-maids at 
 one another, but no one answered a word. 
 
232 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 "Why do you not speak? What have you 
 come for ? " repeated Anna Stepanovna, with a 
 threatening voice. 
 
 " Oh, mother, Anna Stepanovna ! " said Kon- 
 dratievna at last, in a hoarse voice, " Oh, our 
 mother ! " 
 
 " What has happened ? " demanded Anna Ste- 
 panovna, rising from her bed and putting on her 
 dressing-gown. 
 
 " Oh, woe, mother ! " said one of the waiting- 
 maids. " Such a sin that we do not dare to 
 tell you about it ! " 
 
 " But tell me, you wretches ! " screamed Anna 
 Stepanovna. " Speak, Kondratievna ! " 
 
 " Oh, mother, such a misfortune ! Varvara 
 Mkolaevna has disappeared without a trace." 
 
 " How disappeared ? " 
 
 " Gone, lost ! Yesterday, about midnight, she 
 was pleased to walk in the garden. She ordered 
 Dunyasha not to wait for her, Dunyasha, from 
 stupidity, went to sleep, and snored away till 
 morning, the miserable creature ! When she woke 
 and looked around, her young mistress was not to 
 be seen, and the bed was untouched. She rushed 
 into the garden ; no one there. When she saw 
 that things looked badly, she came to me. We 
 roused the whole house, searched every mouse's 
 nest. She was nowhere to be found." 
 
 " God save me, but what does this mean ? Is 
 it possible that Varinka has run away with some 
 man ? It cannot be ! " 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 233 
 
 " Oh, our nourisher ! it seems that she has," said 
 the housekeeper. " I have just been at the German 
 baker's to buy French loaves, — that baker who 
 lives behind our garden. ' Is all right at home ? ' 
 inquired he. 'Why do you ask, Franz Ivanovich ? ' 
 * Well, yesterday about midnight near the gate of 
 your garden a carriage was standing. I saw a tall 
 gentleman come out of the garden with a lady; 
 both got into the carriage and drove away.' " 
 
 " Oh, the Lord save us ! So it is, indeed, — so 
 it is. She has eloped ! The carriage, the carriage, 
 at once ! Dress me this instant ! Oh, what a 
 shame ! Run to Nikolai Ivanovich ; tell him 
 that I hurried oflF to the governor's. Ah, what 
 have I come to, what have I lived to ? Why 
 are you standing around there ? Be off ! Anton 
 and Filka will go for the carriage. Oh, my fathers, 
 what is this? Malashka, bring my black dress. 
 Stir about, you good-for-nothing creature ! A 
 white cap ! For God's sake, the carriage ! Hurry, 
 hurry ! " 
 
 The carriage was driven to the door. Two 
 sturdy servants assisted Anna Stepanovna into it. 
 Her knees were bending under her from grief; she 
 seemed barely able to keep the head on her shoul- 
 ders. The coachman lashed the horses, and they 
 started on a trot, — which happened only on ex- 
 traordinary and important occasions. Anna Ste- 
 panovna was very compassionate to animals, and 
 took special care of her horses. It is true she 
 gave them only hay to eat; but to make up she 
 
234 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 always drove them at a walk. The governor's 
 house was far away, and the poor step-mother had 
 time to think over everything and prepare for her 
 part. She pulled her cap to one side, disarranged 
 her hair, turned her Turkish shawl inside out, in- 
 haled hartshorn till her eyes were bloodshot and 
 the lids red and swollen. At last the wearied 
 horses stopped before the governor's house. An- 
 ton and Filka took their mistress out of the car- 
 riage, almost carried her up the steps, then holding 
 her under the arms conducted her to the dining- 
 room, and placed her in the armchair brought by 
 the governor's polite servant, who said that his 
 Excellency would receive her at once. In about 
 five minutes the parlor door opened, and Nikolai 
 Ivanovich Holmin appeared. 
 
 " The governor begs you to come in," said he. 
 
 " Oh, that is you, father ! Help me, my dear, 
 help me ! my feet will not walk." 
 
 Nikolai Ivanovich helped her to rise from the 
 chair, and supporting her by the arm, whispered : 
 " Splendid, Anna Stepanovna, splendid ! impossi- 
 ble to do better ! Only please do not lean on me 
 so much ; you are heavy, mother." 
 
 They were met in the drawing-room by the 
 governor ; near him stood the marshal of the 
 nobility and Dr. von Dach. 
 
 "Compose yourself, Madame," said the gover- 
 nor, seating her on the sofa. 
 
 " Oh, your Excellency," cried she, " help me, 
 save me 1 " 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 235 
 
 " Calm yourself ! Be assured that I shall do 
 everything in my power, I have just learned from 
 Nikolai Ivanovich that Varvara Nikolaevna — " 
 
 " See, your Excellency, to what have I lived ! 
 What a disgrace ! To leave my house, to run 
 away, God knows with whom ! " 
 
 " How — and you do not know ? " 
 
 " No, your Excellency ; as God is holy, I do not." 
 
 " And you have not even a suspicion ? " 
 
 " I have not, — God sees that I have not ; whom 
 could I suspect? How could it enter my head 
 that the daughter of Nikolai Stepanovich, my de- 
 parted husband, would dare do such a thing ? Oh, 
 the Lord help me ! Would I oppose her wishes ? 
 Did not I love her, make her life pleasant, — the 
 ungrateful ? I can call every one to witness. Did 
 not I gaze into her eyes and blow from her face 
 every dust-speck ? And how has she repaid me ? 
 Oh, unhappy woman that I am ! I am sick ! Oh, 
 fathers, I am sick ; my death is coming." 
 
 Anna Stepanovna closed her eyes, her head 
 dropped forward, and she sank back on the sofa 
 apparently senseless. 
 
 "Water, water, quickly!" cried the governor. 
 "She is fainting!" 
 
 " But she has not grown pale," remarked the 
 marshal. 
 
 " Permit me ! " said Dr. von Dach, seizing Anna 
 Stepanovna by the hand. " H'm ! h'm ! " mut- 
 tered he, " her pulse is high, very high, there is a 
 strong rush of blood to the head. See how her 
 
236 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 face burns ! Ah, this may have serious results. 
 She must be bled right away." 
 
 " You think so ? " asked Holmin. 
 
 " Yes, yes ! Allow me. I believe I have a lan- 
 cet. Bring a dish and a towel. Hurry, hurry! 
 Not a moment is to be lost. Roll up her sleeve, 
 Nikolai Ivanovich ! Her right arm will do ; it is 
 all the same." 
 
 Anna Stepanovna opened her eyes. " What are 
 you doing?" screamed she, pushing away Von 
 Dach. 
 
 "Nothing, Madame, nothing. Be jjatient a 
 moment. You must be bled." 
 
 " Why, why, what for ? Leave me, leave me ! " 
 
 " How do you feel ? " asked the governor. 
 
 " A trifle better. Oh, your Excellency, what am 
 I to do ? Where am I to begin ? Counsel me, 
 assist me ! " 
 
 " If you wish to know my opinion, here it is. 
 Most likely Varvara Nikolaevna is married already ; 
 you cannot unmarry her. In your place I should 
 forgive her." 
 
 " Your Excellency, you advise me — " 
 
 " You say yourself that you would not oppose 
 her wishes." 
 
 " Of course not. But consider most graciously," 
 
 " I do not justify the conduct of your step-daugh- 
 ter ; she has acted badly in not confiding in you, 
 since you love her so much — " 
 
 " As if she were my own daughter, — God knows, 
 as if she were my own daughter." 
 
THE THKEE SUITORS. 237 
 
 " If that is the case," said the marshal, " be a 
 tender mother to the end ; forgive her." 
 
 "Indeed, Anna Stepanovna," added Holmin, 
 winking at her stealthily, " when a man's head is 
 cut off, what is the use of crying about his hair ? 
 It would be different if the affair could be reme- 
 died ; but now what is the use of tormenting her 
 and yourself both ? Forgive her, mother, forgive 
 her." 
 
 " If every one begs of me," said Anna Stepa^ 
 novna, with a deep sigh, " it 's clear that I must 
 forgive her." 
 
 " But maybe," added the governor, " the man 
 she has married — " 
 
 " No matter," interrupted Anna Stepanovna ; 
 " it is all the same. If she is to be forgiven, let 
 her be forgiven unconditionally. He is her hus- 
 band, and I shall love him as my own son." 
 
 " How kind you are, Anna Stepanovna ! " said 
 the marshal. 
 
 " What is to be done ? I know myself it is a 
 weakness ; but such is my nature." 
 
 " You hear, your Excellency," said Holmin, in 
 an undertone, turning to the governor. " Madame 
 Slukin, of her own free will, actuated simply by 
 her kind heart, forgives my goddaughter. Varinka 
 is here, Anna Stepanovna ; and if you will permit 
 her to come in — " 
 
 " Stop, father, wait ! Give me a moment to^ col- 
 lect my thoughts — My heart, oh, my heart ! — it 
 will jump out of my breast ; it is in my throat ! " 
 
238 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " In truth," whispered the doctor, " it would not 
 harm you to be bled, you are so excited — " 
 
 " That is no affair of yours," cried she. " Well, 
 let her come in," said Anna Stepanovna, covering 
 her face with both hands. " God, strengthen 
 me, poor sinful woman ! " 
 
 The side door opened, and the young couple en- 
 tered. "Here she is," said Holmin, leading his 
 godchild up to Anna Stepanovna. 
 
 " Well, Varinka, let God be your judge," said 
 Anna Stepanovna, trying to sob. " You have 
 grieved me in my old age. Well, let it be forgot- 
 ten. God be good to you, I forgive you, my dear. 
 But where is your husband ? " 
 
 " Here he is, mother." 
 
 Anna Stepanovna raised her eyes ; Tonski was 
 standing before her. This time she fainted in 
 earnest, and Dr. von Dach carried his point; he 
 bled her. 
 
 Two weeks after this event the following con- 
 versation took place in a small party of the High- 
 fliers : — 
 
 Princess Landtsheff (turning to Vailski). 
 So Prince Vassily Ivanovich will not come to-day ? 
 
 Vailski. No, Princess. I have prevailed upon 
 him to go to his estate in the country. 
 
 Princess. Why did you do that ? 
 
 Vailski. Do you not know, then ? The prince 
 wanted to fight a duel with Tonski. 
 
 Zlatopolski. Oh, my God ! a duel ? 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 239 
 
 Vailski. Yes ; and you cannot imagine what 
 trouble I had in showing him that he would be- 
 come ridiculous forever if he should fight with 
 that milksop, — and for whom ? For a Varvara 
 Nikolaevna Tonski, born Slukin. 
 
 Princess. Is it possible that he was really in 
 love with that girl ? 
 
 Vailski. To distraction. 
 
 Princess. She has a very good property, how- 
 ever. It must be admitted that Anna Stepanovna 
 acted very nobly with her. She gave her a thou- 
 sand souls as dowry. 
 
 GoREGLYADOFP. Indeed ! Oh, I can well un- 
 derstand that Tonski could fall in love. But the 
 prince ! , what could he find attractive in her ? 
 Une petite sotte ! 
 
 Zaraitski. Thin and pale as death. 
 
 GoREGLYADOFF. Glass-blue eyes. 
 
 Princess. Gray, ma chfere. 
 
 GoREGLYADOFF. Gray or blue, it is all the 
 same, for there is no soul in them. 
 
 Zlatopolski. But her nose, ma ch^re, her 
 nose ! (loohing stealthily at the mirror'). I think 
 no one will call it Grecian, 
 
 Vailski. Why talk about that alabaster doll ? 
 It always seemed to me as if she had just been 
 taken off the stand of a dealer in statues. 
 
 Zaraitski. Comme vous 6tes m^chant. 
 
 GoREGLYADOFF. To my thinking, this Tonski is 
 much better than his wife (looking from under her 
 brows a\ Vailski). II est assez joli gar^on. 
 
240 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 Vailski. Who? He? Oh, of course! Yes, 
 he would be a splendid drum-major. 
 
 Princess. True, he is not ill-looking ; but then 
 he is so common, ignoble. 
 
 Zaraitski. White and red. 
 
 Zlatopolski. Blond hair. Fi ! a real Russian 
 physiognomy. 
 
 Vailski {smiling). It seems that you have not 
 always thought so. 
 
 Zlatopolski (^tossing her head'). What non- 
 sense ! 
 
 Vailski {turning to Zaraitski). And I have a 
 recollection that you too — 
 
 Zaraitskl Who? I? Quelle id^e! 
 
 Vailski. If I am not mistaken, there was a 
 time when even you, Princess — 
 
 Princess {looking sharply at Vailski). I ? 
 
 Vailski. Yes, yes ! Confess it. He pleased 
 you very much. 
 
 Princess. Maybe. I can tell you even when 
 that was. It was at the very time that you 
 were proposing for the hand of that alabaster 
 doll. 
 
 Goregltadoff {excitedly). How? Vailski, 
 you wanted to marry her ? 
 
 Vailski {evidently disconcerted). Who ? I ? 
 Marry Varvara Nikolaevna ? ' What a question ! 
 
 Princess. But you proposed to her almost in 
 my presence. 
 
 Goregltadoff {nat concealing her vexation). 
 Splendid ! 
 
THE THREE SUITORS. 241 
 
 Vailski {whispering to Goeeglyadoff). Oh, 
 never mind what they say ! {Aloud) Are you 
 not ashamed, Princess ? 
 
 Princess. Well, Vailski, you are very fond of 
 trifling. 
 
 GoREGLYADOFF. C'cst bieu, Monsieur ; c'est 
 tr^s bien ! So you wanted to marry her ? (%s- 
 terically^ 
 
 Princess. Qu'avez-vous, ma ch^re ? What is 
 the matter ? 
 
 GoREGLYADOFF. Nothing ! Dieu ! I have 
 spasms. The air stifles me ; I cannot breathe ! 
 
 Princess. Call the servants ! Spirits, water ! 
 Hurry, hurry I {All a/re busied about Goreglya- 
 
 DOFF.) 
 
 GoREGLYADOFF (to Vailski). LaissBZ-moi ! 
 Oh, I shall suffocate ! O men, men ! 
 
 Vailski. This is nothing. It will pass ! {In 
 a whisper to the Princess) What carelessness ! 
 
 Zlatopolski {whispering to Zaraitski). How 
 she compromises herself! 
 
 Zaraitski. Yes, my dear ; I am very sorry 
 for her ! Elle est si bonne ! {Aside) I will go 
 this minute and tell my cousin all. 
 
 16 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIK 
 
 A Robber. 
 
 IT is said that there is nothing more beautiful 
 and varied than the lonely banks of the river 
 Svira, which, uniting Lake Onega with Ladoga, 
 passes through the whole western part of the 
 government of Olonets. I do not think, how- 
 ever, that its banks are more picturesque than the 
 hilly side of the broad Oka, especially over a space 
 of thirty or forty versts, encircling a town which 
 every one will recognize when I say that once upon 
 a time it formed, together with the spacious dis- 
 trict around it, a separate state, and that it was 
 the capital of a sovereign who was not Christian. 
 Eighty years ago, about eight versts from this 
 former capital, upon a lofty eminence which comes 
 down abruptly to the Oka, stood a large house, by 
 no means beautiful in appearance (our ancestors 
 did not think much about beauty). This house, 
 standing on a firm brick foundation, was con- 
 structed of great pine-logs, had a strong plank 
 roof and small windows, and was heated by enor- 
 mous stoves, — in one word, was such a structure 
 as rich landholders in the old time were in the 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 243 
 
 habit of building. They did not know the Eng- 
 lish word comfort, but they loved to live in quiet 
 and warmth. They did not put up large Italian 
 windows, had no idea of grdkt panes of glass, did 
 not ornament their houses with bas-reliefs, but 
 built them solidly. They coughed less, and were 
 more likely to leave houses and land to their 
 descendants than the present generation. 
 
 About half a verst from this mansion, on the 
 lofty bank of the river, was a long row of peasants' 
 cottages ; beyond them a meadow on which stood 
 the village church, with houses for the priest and 
 his assistants. The churchyard was at some dis- 
 tance lower down toward the river; but two or 
 three head-stones and a few wooden crosses were 
 to be seen near the church itself, marking the place 
 of eternal repose for the noblemen, — IlmenieflF, — 
 hereditary owners of the village of Zykovo and the 
 two hamlets belonging to it, counting altogether 
 about eight hundred souls, and giving the right to 
 Sergei Filippovich Ilmenieff to consider himself 
 among the first noblemen in the district of K . 
 
 One inclement evening at the end of the sixth 
 week in Lent, Sergei Filippovich Ilmenieff, a good- 
 natured old gentleman of about sixty years, wear- 
 ing a great sheep-skin coat and red leather boots, 
 sat at a small oaken table opposite his neighbor, 
 a widower advanced in years, Ivan Timofeevich 
 Zarubkin ; they were playing chess. In one cor- 
 ner of the room sat the wife of the master of the 
 house, in a white mantle and a very large white 
 
244 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 starched cap ; she was knitting stockings. Near 
 her, embroidering by the light of two tallow can- 
 dles, was Mashenka, their only daughter, a comely 
 maiden of seventeen. Leaning over the high back 
 of her chair stood a young and stately officer in 
 the uniform of a dragoon; some distance from 
 them were two or three rosy-cheeked waiting- 
 maids occupied with knitting lace. At the door, 
 standing first on one foot and then on the other, 
 was a boy armed with a pair of snuffers ; and in the 
 darkest part of the room, with his back to a large 
 tile stove, stood a man of about thirty-five years of 
 age, with a full blond beard ; by his dress he might 
 have been taken for a merchant or a villager. 
 
 If the form and expression of a man's face are 
 indications of his mental character, the face of 
 this mau was an exception to the general rule. 
 An agreeable exterior, a simple, good-natured 
 smile, and a pair of gray eyes, which at times glit- 
 tered like those of a tiger when he is stealing upon 
 his prey, formed such a strange combination of 
 good and evil, that the eloquent Lavater, who ana- 
 lyzed and described two thousand human faces, 
 would have grown serious after looking at the face 
 of this merchant. He seemed to follow the players 
 with great attention ; but the moment he saw that 
 no one was observing him his restless and rapid 
 glance took in the whole room, and flashed up like 
 powder when it rested on a small iron chest which 
 stood in the corner under the holy images. 
 
 " When I look at you, Vladimir Ivanovich," said 
 
KUZMA KOSCHIN, 245 
 
 the lady of the house to the officer, " I cannot be- 
 lieve that such a fine-looking young man is that 
 same Volodya whose ears I used to pull ten years 
 ago. Are you going to spend some time with us ? " 
 
 " I think, Varvara Dmitrievna," answered the 
 officer, " that our regiment will remain till winter. 
 My company has orders to prepare forage for six 
 months." 
 
 " Where are you quartered with your soldiers ? " 
 
 " I live at my father's ; my company is quar- 
 tered about half a verst farther on in a village — 
 What is it called?" 
 
 " Oh, I know ! Selo Voskresenskoe ; that is 
 near. But how hard it will be for your father to 
 part with you when you have to go again ! " 
 
 " We may not part, Varvara Dmitrievna," said 
 Zarubkin, putting forward a pawn, " I wish liim 
 to resign ; it is time. He has served the Tsar, the 
 sovereign, long enough. Should he go away for 
 another ten years, there may be no one to bury me. 
 It is no easy thing to say that we have not seen 
 each other for ten years ; and the last three years, 
 after the beginning of tlie war with the Prussians, 
 when they drove our young men off into that Ger- 
 man land, I did not hear a word from him. Oh, 
 mother, mother, I am weak now ; how can I man- 
 age affairs alone? I overlook one thing and do 
 not see another." 
 
 " You are too modest, Ivan Timofeevich ! You 
 are such a manager that it would be well for us 
 to take a lesson from you. We barely manage to 
 
246 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 mate both ends meet; but you, father, do not 
 live in our way. You know how to knock out 
 a copeck and grow richer each year; you buy 
 a village on this side, and on that you take in a 
 piece of land. See, you have almost bought two 
 pieces of wild woods from us. Three years ago, I 
 think, you had not twenty souls ; now I suppose 
 you have about a hundred ! " 
 
 "Thank God, mother, I have more. But the 
 present question is that this property should not 
 scatter like dust ; so I need an assistant, and my 
 Volodya a helpmate. Is it not true, your well- 
 bornness ? {to Volodya). Well, why are you silent ? 
 Perhaps you will say that the daughter of my 
 neighbor Fadyei Karpich Pobirashkin does not 
 please you — " 
 
 " I have seen her only once," interrupted the 
 officer, with evident displeasure, " and have not 
 the least wish in the world to see her again I " 
 
 " Indeed, indeed ! " replied Zarubkin, moving one 
 of his chessmen ; " but I should like to know what 
 you sigh about nights. Would you believe it, 
 mother," continued the old man, turning to the 
 lady of the house, " from the very hour that he 
 saw her (it was on the same day that I brought 
 him here for the first time) he became a different 
 person ; he is always meditating, — ordinary' peo- 
 ple sleep, but he wanders about like a crazy man 
 in the woods. If you don't bring him to dinner 
 he will not come himself, and he does not eat 
 enough for a child six years old. He seems to 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 247 
 
 be well and strong ; and our village doctor, Ivan 
 Fomich, says that he is. Now, what does all 
 this mean?" 
 
 " Yes, yes," said the lady of the house, looking 
 with a cunning smile at the officer, " all this makes 
 me think — What are you bending over for, 
 Mashenka?" 
 
 "Nothing, mother!" answered the girl, keeping 
 her eyes on her work ; " my ball of yarn fell on 
 the floor." 
 
 " But the servant might have picked it up. 
 How red you are ! all your blood is in your face." 
 
 "Well, Sergei Filippovich, have you made up 
 your mind ? " asked Zarubkin of the master of the 
 house, who had been hesitating how to play. 
 
 " Oh, brother, don't hurry me ! Talk with my 
 wife and let me think." 
 
 "Well, mother," said Zarubkin, turning again 
 to Varvara Dmitrievna, " my Vladimir is so mod- 
 est that you can no more get an answer from him 
 than from a young girl. No man, however, can 
 avoid his fate — " 
 
 " But, father," said the young officer, impatiently, 
 " why do you calumniate me in this way ? " 
 
 " Oh, my boy ! Just as if I have not eyes ! 
 
 " All right, all right, my kind boy ! Have I not 
 seen how you looked at her ? Endure, hold out ; 
 some day the betrothal will come. Just so did I 
 grieve in time past for your mother, and hid from 
 all that she had touched my heart greatly. Like 
 you, I was sleepless, food stopped in my throat ; 
 
248 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 and such sadness and yearning! Oh, thou Lord, 
 my God ! they took me twice out of halters. But 
 when I sent a matchmaker and all went well, would 
 you believe it I came near drinking myself to death 
 from delight, — lost my wits altogether. When 
 one thinks of it, how wonderfully are all things 
 made on earth ! Take, for example, even this love ; 
 it will knock any hero you like off his feet." 
 
 " Oh, that pawn ! " cried Sergei Filippovich, 
 rubbing his forehead with his left hand. " Well, 
 as bad as a cataract on the eye 1 I cannot bring 
 out my knight; the castle stands useless. Oh, 
 devil take it ! It would be different if it were a 
 piece ; but this is trash, a cursed pawn ! " 
 
 " But such is always the case, Sergei Filippo- 
 vich," said Zarubkin, smiling with satisfied face ; 
 " fear not the master, but fear the servant. The 
 secretary of our voevoda is not a great man ; 
 still all bow down to the girdle before him. Last 
 year I decided not to send the price of a sheep on 
 his name's day, and he came near ruining me. He 
 invented, the cursed fellow ! the accusation that in 
 winter that villain Roschin has a retreat on my 
 land ; and if you, my benefactor and aid, had not 
 entered into my trouble and cleared me before the 
 authorities, they would have stripped me as a bass- 
 wood-tree is stripped. I had no thought on my 
 mind, when all at once they sent detectives to me. 
 Lord, ray God, how they began to kill hens ! A 
 whole party of ofi&cials from the court fell to feast- 
 ing. Give them wine, berry liquors, give this and 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 249 
 
 that. But how they ate, the cursed scoundrels ! 
 My housekeeper, Nikitishna, would give them for 
 breakfast a roast goose, or a ham, or the side of a 
 sheep. Look once, look twice, nothing but bones 
 left ; so the poor woman just dropped her hands. 
 But what is the use in talking ? — they would have 
 beggared me completely. Well, Sergei Filippovich, 
 have you been pleased to move your bishop ? " 
 
 " I have, brother." 
 
 " Bad move for you, father ! Check to the king ! " 
 
 " How is that ? " 
 
 " You have nothing to play with. Checkmate ! " 
 
 " Checkmate, it is true," said a somewhat rude 
 voice behind Zarubkin ; " but for you, not for Ser- 
 gei Filippovich." 
 
 Zarubkin looked around. The merchant was 
 standing behind him. 
 
 " But is that true, my dear man ? " asked the 
 master of the house, looking with astonishment 
 at the merchant. " Of course, it is more evident 
 from one side ; but still — " 
 
 " Look carefully." 
 
 " I am looking, but I see nothing sensible." 
 
 " Try, sir, if you please, to cover your king with 
 the knight." 
 
 " What if I do ? My opponent will take him 
 with the queen." 
 
 " No, Sergei Filippovich. If you move your 
 knight you will bring out your castle, and say 
 checkmate to him." 
 
 " Oh, father, it is truly so," cried Ilmenieff. 
 
250 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " Precisely, precisely ! His king cannot be moved. 
 What do you say, Brother Ivan Timofeevich ? " 
 
 " Stop, stop ! Let me think." 
 
 " What is there to think of here ? Checkmate, 
 and nothing more." 
 
 " Tfu ! In real fact. Ah, I am a fool, a fool ! 
 I have lost the queen, shut up the king, did not 
 bring out the bishop. And what a play it was ! " 
 
 " Well, the merchant is a hero," said Ilmenieff. 
 " But it is clear, my good man, that you are a 
 master at playing chess." 
 
 " With us in Astrachan there are Persians 
 enough. I play with them often, and have learned 
 a little in their company." 
 
 " Are you on the way now from Astrachan ? " 
 
 " Yes ; I am a merchant there." 
 
 " And doubtless are going to Moscow ? " 
 
 " Perhaps I shall go to Petersburg." 
 
 " Be not angry ; but your name, and your father's 
 name ? I do not know them." 
 
 " Alexai Artamonovich." 
 
 " And your family name ? " 
 
 " Vidybaeff." 
 
 "Look here, Alexai Artamonovich, you are 
 travelling from afar ; so doubtless your horses 
 are tired, and you are weary yourself. Stay 
 with me ; rest in good fashion till Easter, then 
 go with God." 
 
 " Most humbly do I give thanks for your kind- 
 ness," answered the merchant, with a low bow. 
 
 " Well, how is it ? You will stay, then ? " 
 
KtrZMA EOSCHIN. 251 
 
 " I should be glad, with rejoicing, Sergei Filip- 
 povich, but it is not possible in any way. I must 
 be on the road again to-morrow at daybreak. It is 
 enough, father, that through graciousness you were 
 pleased to-day to shelter me, a wayfaring man, from 
 the dark night and bad weather." 
 
 "Oh, stay, brother! We can battle together 
 at chess, and your poor horses will rest mean- 
 while. Christ's day, you know, is not beyond the 
 mountains." 
 
 " I know, sir, I know ; but on Passion week I 
 must be in Murom without fail. When I finish 
 all my affairs there, I will come here for the fes- 
 tival. I need not hurry to Moscow ; I must be 
 there after Easter. I would better go to Ryazan 
 than through the woods of Murom. I suppose it 
 is not more than five days' journey from this place 
 to Moscow ? " 
 
 " Oh, I go there in three days. Well, my friend, 
 if that is settled, let it be so. We beg the favor ; 
 come and break your fast on our Easter cake. Eh ! 
 but tell me, brother, since you are travelling, what 
 do people say of that son of Satan, Kuzma Ros- 
 chin ? The Oka is free of ice this long time, but 
 somehow we hear nothing of him. Perhaps he 
 has been taken ? " 
 
 " God grant it ! The report now is that he is 
 sporting with his young men on the Volga, and 
 has burned three villages near Makaria." 
 
 " Indeed ! So he has gone to the Volga ? It 
 is getting too hot for him here, then ? " 
 
252 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " Yes, father. On the Oka at present there are 
 military detachments everywhere ; so he has gone 
 lower down. He seems to have a very large band. 
 I am told that he is attended by three boats." 
 
 " But is not Satan himself helping him ? He 
 has been robbing on the Oka for two years, and 
 now he has gone to the Volga. I would give a 
 good deal to have one look at this Roschin." 
 
 " Well, I have seen him for nothing," said the 
 merchant, with a smile. 
 
 " Is it possible ? " cried Varvara Dmitrievna. 
 " When ? " 
 
 ' "A week ago. About ten versts from Nijni I 
 supped and spent the night at the same inn with 
 him." 
 
 " How, with Roschin," exclaimed Sergei Filip- 
 povieh, " and you came out unharmed ? " 
 
 " As you see. He was all alone, and after- 
 ward I heard who had supped with me ; the inn- 
 keeper told me about it next day." 
 
 " What did he look like, the villain ? The peo- 
 ple should have been summoned to bind the 
 robber." 
 
 "Bind? No, father, that is easier said than 
 done ; not only the innkeeper, but all the peas- 
 ants knew that Roschin was there; still, no one 
 interfered." 
 
 " Can it be he is so terrible that no one dares to 
 come near him ? " 
 
 " How can I describe him ?, He is a whole head 
 taller than I ? This young officer is strong, broad- 
 
KUZMA EOSCHIN. 253 
 
 shouldered ; but Roschin would manage two such 
 men. And what a face, — frightful to see, even iu a 
 dream, — with a beard to his waist — " 
 
 " And red of course," added Varvara Dmitrievna. 
 
 " No ; as black as a coal." 
 
 " What nonsense ! " said the master of the house. 
 " This Roschin is not Polkan the hero, so that a 
 whole village could not manage one man." 
 
 " Of course they could manage him, but peas- 
 ants think of themselves. If they were to capture 
 him his band would remain, and not a house nor 
 a stake would be left in the village." 
 
 " True ! But what is the voevoda of Nijni do- 
 ing? If I were in his place I should have had 
 this robber in prison long ago. Let him visit me 
 once." 
 
 " Eh, father, be not too eager on that point," 
 interrupted Zarubkin. 
 
 " Well," continued IlmenieflF, " I will receive 
 him, entertain him, and steam him in the bath 
 in such fashion that he will not forget it till 
 next summer. I havff only to whistle, and fifty 
 men are in arms in a moment. At your place, 
 of course, it is different, Ivan Timofeevich. Why 
 should n't you be afraid ? What sort of house- 
 servants have you ? Five or six poor fellows, I 
 think, while I have two hundred." 
 
 "True. Of course, Sergei Filippovich, for a 
 great ship great waters. But you know Roschin 
 does not go out with one man." 
 
 " Just as if I could not master such a rabble ! 
 
254 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 Why, any of my dog-keepers is a match for five 
 robbers." 
 
 " Eh, father, do not boast ; the hour may be evil. 
 Do you know the trick that Roschin played with 
 Prince Vladimir Pavlovich Zashibayeff two years 
 ago?" 
 
 " What was it ? " asked Ilmenieff, with 
 curiosity. 
 
 " I have not heard of it," said Varvara Dmi- 
 trievna. " Tell us, father," She put her knitting 
 on the table, Mashenka stopped embroidering, all 
 drew nearer in a circle about Zarubkin, who 
 began : — 
 
 "Well, be pleased to see. Two years ago 
 Roschin was not at all terrible ; now he has a 
 large baud. At that time he labored alone and 
 unaided on the highways. All the nobility round 
 about, and you, Sergei Filippovich, among the 
 number, complained against the local authorities 
 for not being able to manage one robber; but 
 loudest of all comijlained Prince Vladimir Pavlo- 
 vich, and, like you, boasted- before everybody that 
 he did not value Roschin a copper. ' Oh,' said he, 
 'if that rascal were to think of robbing me, I 
 should amuse myself with him ; even if he had a 
 forehead of seven spans he would not escape me. 
 I should bring him on a lariat to our lazy voevoda, 
 whose head the robber will steal if he does not 
 bestir himself. What sort of a robber is he ? A 
 mere petty thief, a pickpocket ! ' It must be that 
 these sayings of the prince were reported to 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 255 
 
 Roschin ; for about Peter and Paul's Day — at that 
 time you were in Moscow with your family — 
 Prince Vladimir Pavlovich set out on a pilgrimage 
 to the Olgieff Uspensti Monastery, about twenty 
 versts from here on the Oka. Roschin heard of 
 this. You know, of course, that the prince al- 
 ways travels with a crowd of attendants ; it is im- 
 possible for one robber to stop him. I beg you to 
 guess what that son of the enemy Roschin planned. 
 He started very early in the morning, and overtook 
 a whole party of beggars, going also to the monas- 
 tery in expectation of a movement of waters, — halt 
 and maimed, old men and women. It was not 
 hard for him to manage these people. When he 
 had frightened them with his gun and shouted, 
 they all dropped to the ground like sheaves of oats, 
 and fell on their faces. 'Listen, needy brother- 
 hood ! ' roared ^loschin, in a terrible voice. ' Out 
 of the road this minute ; lie down in the thicket, 
 — not a word from one of you ; don't dare to 
 move. You old women, lie quietly, and you old 
 men and cripples, listen to my command. The 
 moment I cry, " Up, you dare-devils ! " then rise 
 a little, and stick your heads out from the bushes. 
 When I shout, " Down ! " then drop in a moment. 
 But look out, you beggars, if one of you moves 
 without command or speaks, his death will be 
 right there.' As was said, so was it done. Be- 
 hold Prince Vladimir Pavlovich drives along in 
 his four-seated carriage. In front outriders are 
 galloping ; on the rear of the carriage hussars are 
 
256 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 standing. Two troikas follow closely, carrying 
 attendants all armed, — one with a pistol, another 
 with a sabre, a third with a hunting-knife. ' Halt ! ' 
 cried Roschin, when the carriage had come up 
 with him. The coachman against whom he thrust 
 the muzzle of his long musket stopped, the hussars 
 jumped down, the outriders turned back, the other 
 servants sprang out of the wagons, and surrounded 
 Roschin on all sides. 
 
 " The prince thrust his head out of the carriage 
 and shouted, ' Beat this thief for me ! ' ' Do not 
 stir ! ' roared the bold highwayman. ' I am Roschin ; 
 my whole band is here, and if one of you raises a 
 hand or even stirs a finger, I will slaughter you all 
 like sheep. Look here,' continued he, pointing to 
 the thicket. ' Hei ! up, you dare-devils ! ' O Lord, 
 my God, the prince's men dropped their hands. 
 From behind every bush about five heads were 
 sticking out, and from terror it seemed to the poor 
 prince that there were a couple of hundred men in 
 ambush. 
 
 " ' Well, do you see ? ' asked Roschin. ' Down, my 
 men, and do you stand quietly, cursed trash ! if not, 
 I '11 give the word, and the dust of you vidll not be 
 left. Greetings to you, father,' continued Roschin, 
 opening the door of the carriage. 'You were 
 pleased to boast that you would bring me to your 
 voevoda on a lariat. I am here face to face, and 
 there is a supply of ropes. I beg the favor. At- 
 tempt it, father.' 
 
 " The poor prince wished to say something, but 
 
KUZMA EOSCHIN. 257 
 
 choked at the first word. ' How is this, has your 
 tongue grown dumb ? Listen, Prince,' added Ros- 
 chin, in a threatening voice. * I ought to strangle 
 you with this rope for your boasting ; but never 
 mind, you are lucky that it is a rule with me to 
 forgive the first offence. Well, put out all that 
 you have in your pockets ; I know that you always 
 take money with you.' 
 
 " There was no help. The prince gave up 
 his watch, a tortoise-shell tobacco-case in silver 
 mounting, and fifty rubles in money. When Ros- 
 chin had cleared the prince's pockets, he bowed 
 very low, and said : ' Farewell, Prince, I thank you 
 for the favor. Do not forget Kuzma Roschin, and 
 remember the true Russian proverb : " Boast not, 
 but pray first to God." Well, men, are you tired ? 
 Now to your places, and stir up your horses. See 
 that you don't look back, or I will send such a 
 leaden messenger that you could not escape with 
 six horses.' They galloped away without stopping. 
 Roschin slipped into the woods and vanished. The 
 beggars lay in the bushes till night. At last one 
 lame fellow bolder than others crawled out on the 
 highway ; and when he saw that there was no one 
 in sight, he called to his comrades, and the whole 
 crowd dragged on its way again. Next day — I 
 was at the monastery myself — you should have 
 seen what happened to the prince when he heard 
 what a trick that dare-devil Roschin had put on 
 him. He lost his wits altogether, began to beat 
 his servants, flogged about twenty of the beggars, 
 
 17 
 
258 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 and shouted^ — raged so that they were going to 
 read prayers over him," 
 
 " In real truth, a trick ! " said Sergei Filippovich. 
 " Well, the robber is crafty. What kind of peo- 
 ple, though, has this Prince Vladimir Pavlovich ? 
 His butler asleep half the time, the house-servants 
 good for nothing, not only a robber with a gun, 
 but a simple peasant with a club could rob them 
 on the highway. I remember how once, when out 
 hunting, the prince's dogs stopped a wolf. What 
 do you think ? Not one of his hunters dared to 
 come near, and had it not been for my whipper in 
 they would surely have let the wolf go. They 
 were crying from a distance, 'Tyu, lyu, lyu, lyu, 
 lyu ! ' but no one would come up. Worse than old 
 women ! Well, they were just like the servants of 
 my cousin Avdotya Pavlovna Hlestoff, — and they, 
 I think, have become smarter since Eoschin worked 
 them over. Oh, that was a splendid trick too ! " 
 
 " But what sort of an affair was it ? " asked 
 Zarubkin. 
 
 " Well, such an aifair that when my cousin told 
 me of it, God sees I would have kissed the rob- 
 ber. Just listen, my dear man, what kind of an 
 affair it was. Last summer my cousin was going 
 from her estate in Kashir to visit her relative, 
 the voevoda of Pronsk. She was travelling with 
 four wagons, and had ten servants with her, all 
 young fellows and not with empty hands, — three 
 of them had guns even. About fifty versts from 
 the town of Pronsk, Roschin stopped them on the 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. ^ 259 
 
 highway. He had only three men with him ; but 
 the moment that he shouted at my cousin's men 
 the scoundrels fell down right there at his feet. 
 Roschin gave orders to bind them all, and walk- 
 ing up to my cousin, he removed his cap and 
 began to request, as if asking a charity, to give 
 him all the money which she had with her. Of 
 course my cousin did not parley with him ; and 
 when he had taken all she had, she, from fright 
 evidently, and not understanding herself what she 
 said, exclaimed : ' What have you done to me, 
 father? I have nothing now to go to Pronsk with.' 
 * Yes, boyarinya,' answered Roschin, ' you will have 
 to buy food twice, and food is dear now. There 
 is no help for it ! Here, poor woman, is the loan of ' 
 a ruble.' ' But how can I return it to you ? ' asked 
 my cousin, who had not yet been able to take in 
 the situation clearly. ' Never mind, mother, give it 
 to the poor ; let them pray for Kuzma Roschin. — 
 Now, I will talk with you, faithful servants,' con- 
 tinued he in an altogether different tone, turning 
 to the bound men. ' So this is the way, worthless 
 wretches, that you guard your kind mistress ! 
 Such lifeless blocks ! Ten men let themselves be 
 bound by four robbers, and besides had guns ! 
 You only know how to eat your mistress's bread, 
 you cursed trash, and of course not one of you 
 raised a hand to defend your nourisher. — Be not 
 disturbed, mother,' added he, again turning to my 
 cousin, ' I will give them a good bath, and they will 
 not deliver you in future with their own hands to 
 
260 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 the first robber on the road. — Ei ! my men, give 
 them the lash ; take them all, one by one, and 
 see that you do not spare them.' What do you 
 think, brother? Why, in real truth, he flogged 
 them all so that I think they are rubbing their 
 backs to this day." 
 
 " Well, he is a hero 1 " cried Zarubkin. " And 
 how could it come into his head to flog men be- 
 cause they yielded to him without a fight ? Oh, 
 Roschin ! " 
 
 The servant entered, and announced that supper 
 was ready. 
 
 " Varvara Dmitrievna," said the master of the 
 house, taking from his vest-pocket his enormous 
 silver watch, " it seems that we sup early to-day. 
 Oh, but how we have been talking," continued he, 
 rising to his feet, — " past nine o'clock ! Ivan 
 Timofeevich, Alexai Artamonovich, we beg the 
 favor. Do you conduct Vladimir Ivanovich, my , 
 dear," said he to his wife ; " he is your guest, you 
 know, but see that you do not exchange too many 
 glances with him. I have been watching you for 
 some time past." 
 
 After supper all went to their rooms. Lodgings 
 were given to Zarubkin and the merchant in a 
 wing of the house ; but for the dragoon ofiicer a 
 bed was prepared, according to his own wish, in 
 a summer-house, one side of which was turned 
 toward a pine-grove, and the other toward the 
 house, with which it was connected with a long 
 path flanked by linden-trees. During supper the 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 261 
 
 sky had become perfectly clear, a cool north wind 
 had gone down, and when the officer entered the 
 garden a light southern breeze blew on him with 
 the odor of the pine-grove, and surrounded him 
 with the warmth of spring. On entering the 
 summer-house he told a boy who was waiting for 
 him with a candle, that he had no need of his 
 services ; the boy disappeared, and the officer, left 
 alone, went out on the porch of the summer-house. 
 In IlmeniefT's dwelling there was a light here 
 and there. These were quenched one after another, 
 and in half an hour all the windows were dark, and 
 only through a white curtain came the faint, 
 scarcely visible light of a lamp which was burning 
 before the images in the bedroom of Varvara 
 Dmitrievna Ilmenieff. Another half-hour passed, 
 and a bright light flashed up suddenly in the 
 comer window. The officer was roused as in a 
 moment of battle ; his restless heart began to beat 
 violently. He sprang from the porch, and advanc- 
 ing directly under the trees, went along the path 
 toward the house. The night was dark, and not 
 only under cover of the many-branched lindens 
 but also in the open space it was impossible to dis- 
 tinguish objects at two paces ; still he looked 
 around timidly, and listened as it were to his own 
 steps. Before reaching the end of the path he 
 turned to one side, pushed through a strip of fruit- 
 trees, bent some currant-bushes, opened with his 
 bare hands two bushes of prickly gooseberries, and 
 came out at the house ; then stealing along the 
 
262 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 wall, came to the open window, opposite which a 
 lighted candle was standing on a small table. 
 
 " Is that you, Vladimir Ivanovich ? " was heard 
 in a scarcely audible whisper. 
 
 " Yes, it is I," answered the officer, in a voice 
 broken from strong emotion. 
 
 " Not so loud, for God's sake ! " 
 
 The light was quenched, and after a moment 
 the former whisper was heard again. 
 
 "Come nearer; so. Oh, how clear it is out- 
 side, — not a cloud ! " 
 
 " Have no fear ; it is late, the night is dark." 
 
 " Oh, no ! See how the stars twinkle ; it is as 
 clear from them as in the daytime. If the gar- 
 dener should see us ! " 
 
 "Be calm. It is silent everywhere; all are 
 asleep." 
 
 " Oh, Vladimir Ivanovich, I feel that I am doing 
 very wrong ; but I had to speak to you. It seems to 
 me that I should not have lived this night through 
 without telling you everything that is on my mind. 
 Listen ! Why did your father speak this evening 
 of that Pobirashkin's daughter? Why does he 
 think that she pleases you ? Where did you meet 
 her ? When ? Is it not true that she is very good- 
 looking?" 
 
 " What do you mean, Marya Sergeevna ? But 
 she barely escapes being ugly." 
 
 " No, no ! She is better looking than I ; she 
 has large black eyes." 
 
 " But could they be compared with yours ? " 
 
KUZMA BOSCHIN. 263 
 
 " She has a splendid form — " 
 
 " One shoulder lower than the other." 
 
 " So you remarked it?" 
 
 " But it is so evident." 
 
 " But she is so amiable and so witty." 
 
 " Oh, spare us ! she cannot say two words in 
 succession." 
 
 " Not true ; she knows more than I. But she 
 is very ill-tempered." 
 
 "What is that to me?" 
 
 " Your father, as is evident, wishes very much 
 that you should marry her." 
 
 " Perhaps ; but I do not wish." 
 
 " But if he requests you, — if he says one and 
 the same thing every day ? " 
 
 "Be not troubled; I will tell him to-morrow 
 that I cannot endure this Pobirashkin." 
 
 " How you have relieved my heart ! " said Ma- 
 shenka, pressing her hand to her breast. " If you 
 knew — if you knew, Vladimir, what I feel ! " 
 
 Tears interrupted her words ; she went away 
 from the window, and sobbing fell on her knees 
 before an image of the Mother of God. 
 
 " What is the matter, Marya Sergeevna ? What 
 has happened ? " cried the officer, with alarm. 
 
 " Nothing," said she, coming to the window 
 again and giving Vladimir her hand, which he 
 covered with kisses. 
 
 " I feel so joyous and light now," said Mashenka. 
 Meanwhile great tears were dropping from beneath 
 her thick lashes. 
 
264 TAIiES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 The poor maiden, trustful as a child, was not 
 thinking of the future. She was happy at that 
 moment ; and like a calm spring morning in which 
 rain and sunshine follow each other continually, 
 she wept and smiled almost at the same moment. 
 
 " Then you will not obey your father ? " whis- 
 pered she at last. " You will not marry her ? " 
 
 " For nothing in the world." 
 
 " Dear Vladimir ! But if your father demands 
 that you marry some one else without fail ? In 
 our neighborhood there are many young maidens." 
 
 " I swear to you that I will never marry oi^e of 
 them." 
 
 " I believe you, Vladimir Ivanovich. But still — 
 Ah, this uncertainty is so tormenting. It is easier 
 to die once than to die every day. Confess every- 
 thing to your father ; let him talk with — " 
 
 "With your father?" interrupted Vladimir. 
 " And do you think that he would listen to him 
 patiently? Do you suppose that your father, a 
 wealthy noble of ancient family, will give me his 
 daughter ? " 
 
 " But how are you inferior to others ? You are 
 an officer ; your father is well born." 
 
 "But his father — No, no! Why deceive 
 one's self? This can never be ! God has not de- 
 cided that we should be happy in this life. God's 
 paradise is in heaven, Marya Sergeevna, and you 
 and I live on earth." 
 
 " But why should we despair ? I am sure that 
 my kind mother would give her blessing with de- 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 265 
 
 light ; and my father — But you do not know 
 how he loves me. He has said a thousand times, 
 that he will give me only to him who is according 
 to my heart." 
 
 " Oh, I am convinced of that ; he will not con- 
 strain you. But neither will you marry against his 
 will, and he will never consent to call me his son. 
 The day before yesterday, in talking with my 
 father, he said : ' It is evident that I must go to 
 Moscow in my old age ; my daughter is marriage- 
 able, and in all our district there is no man fit to 
 marry her.' And when my father hinted of the 
 eldest son of the voevoda, he cried out, ' What, 
 what ! But have you not gone out of your mind ? 
 My grandfather served near the Tsar, and my great- 
 grandfather sat in the council of boyars ; and shall 
 I give my daughter to the grandson of some clerk 
 with a diploma ? To my thinking, she would bet- 
 ter die an old maid. Lord, my God ! that the 
 last of the IlmenieflFs should become related to 
 some quill-driver ! ' — No, my good friend, he will 
 not see that even in a dream. Well, Marya 
 Sergeevna, is it possible that after this you can 
 hope?" 
 
 " Why not ? God is merciful, you please my" 
 father greatly, my mother likes you, and besides, if 
 you have no hope, wnat fear have you? Worse, 
 than at present it cannot be." J 
 
 " What fear has a criminal condemned to death ? 
 asked Vladimir, with a gloomy voice. " He knows 
 that his destruction is inevitable ; but if he could 
 
266 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 he would delay his execution even for half a 
 minute. Do you think that they will let us see 
 each other when our love will be a secret no 
 longer ? Not to see you, not to be near you, not 
 to speak to you without witnesses, — is such a life 
 better than death ? Ah, Marya Sergeevna, do not 
 hinder me from living even a few days longer.^' 
 
 " Vladimir Ivanovich, these secret meetings 
 must cease. I love you, you know that ; but you 
 are an honorable, noble man, and surely you do 
 not wish yourself that she who desires to be yours 
 should be unworthy of your respect. If you can- 
 not be my husband, then we ought to part without 
 fail." 
 
 " To part ! " repeated Vladimir, in despair. 
 
 " Yes, that is inevitable," continued Mashenka 
 through her tears, but in a firm voice. " I cannot 
 be with you and try to avoid you. Oh, Vladimir, 
 be my defender against ourselves. If your feel- 
 ings are altogether similar to mine, I do not re- 
 quire of you the impossible. I do not wish that 
 you should forget me ; but separate we must 
 absolutely." 
 
 " So you wish that life should become hateful 
 to me, that I should curse the minute in which I 
 saw you first ? " 
 
 " No, Vladimir Ivanovich," said Mashenka, in a 
 low voice ; " I wish that we in our misfortune 
 should have some consolation. If we part now, 
 we may think of each other without blushing. 
 You will have no cause to reproach yourself, and I 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 267 
 
 may pray for you with the hope that the Lord may 
 hear my prayer. I have said all. Do what may 
 please you ; but know that either I see you for 
 the last time without witnesses, or I shall be 
 yours for good. But what is this ? It seems to 
 me that people are coming. my God! they 
 are. Ah, Vladimir Ivanovich, if any one has 
 heard us ! Go away, for God's sake, go away 
 quickly ! " 
 
 Mashenka closed the window; Vladimir hid 
 behind a large mountain-ash. Steps approached ; 
 some one was speaking with great warmth, but 
 in such a low voice that Vladimir could not un- 
 derstand a single word. Suddenly the speakers 
 turned to one side and went out on a small plain. 
 There were two of them. In spite of the dark- 
 ness Vladimir could not be mistaken, and take 
 them for watchmen ; he noticed also that one of 
 them by his lofty stature resembled very much the 
 travelling merchant with whom he had supped. 
 At another time this night-walk would have roused 
 his curiosity, but now he had no mind for it ; and 
 when these midnight strollers continuing to con- 
 verse had vanished behind the trees, he went out 
 again on the path, and taking as before every 
 possible precaution, reached the summer-house at 
 last. 
 
 Evidently it is useless to inform the reader that 
 Vladimir could not sleep for a moment. The last 
 words of Mashenka were sounding continually in 
 his ears ; and when it came to his mind that in a 
 
268 TALES OK THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 few hours his fate must be decided forever, his 
 heart was pressed and sank from fear. At times a 
 faint ray of hope entered his suffering soul, but 
 almost at the same moment cruel and relentless 
 judgment covered it with a chill ; it seemed to 
 him that some importunate evil spirit whispered 
 over his pillow, "Madman, and thou canst hope — 
 thou the son of a poor landholder and the grandson 
 of a freedman — that a wealthy boyar of ancient 
 stock will give thee his only daughter. Of course 
 he loves her and certainly wishes to see her happy; 
 but this pride of birth ! No ! thou art striving in 
 vain to deceive thyself. Dost thou wish to try 
 thy fortune ? Try ! But know in advance that 
 not joy awaits thee, but sorrow and shame ; not 
 a kindly greeting, but contempt and offensive 
 ridicule." 
 
 A number of times Vladimir decided to say 
 nothing to his father, and to request the authori- 
 ties to transfer his company somewhere farther on 
 beyond Ryazan ; but in spite of this the result was 
 that he sprang up at daylight from his bed and 
 hurried to Ivan Timofeevich, who was lodging in 
 one wing of the house. He so frightened the half- 
 sleeping old man that he could not understand for 
 a long time what the question was. 
 
 Vladimir told his father that he must ask the 
 daughter of the host for him in marriage; and 
 without letting him come to his mind, he added 
 that if his prayer were not granted, he would raise 
 hands on himself, or at least would go to serve 
 
KUZMA KOSCHIN. 269 
 
 beyond the thrice ninth land into the thirtieth 
 kingdom, and would never return to his birth- 
 place. 
 
 " I will go home this moment," continued he, 
 " and await there the decision of my fate ; what- 
 ever answer you receive, bring it quickly. I am a 
 soldier, and accustomed to endure without com- 
 plaint everything that the Lord may send upon me, 
 but uncertainty. Ah, father, that is not an earthly 
 torment, not a torture, but a hellish suffering with 
 which nothing can be compared." 
 
 Vladimir embraced his father, ran to the stable, 
 saddled his Persian stallion, and shot away like a 
 whirlwind out of the village of Zykova. 
 
 It was about six o'clock in the morning. Var- 
 vara Dmitrievna was still sleeping soundly ; but 
 her husband had long since gone the rounds of all 
 his buildings, had visited the dog-kennel, had 
 turned into the stables, given some cuffs to a lazy 
 hostler who had not opened his eyes yet, scolded 
 his overseer, and having drunk a good cup of 
 home-made liquor, was working at some fat dried 
 sturgeon and excellent caviar, which he had re- 
 ceived the day before from Astrachan. 
 
 Just at this interesting moment the door opened 
 silently, and Ivan Timofeevich Zarubkin entered 
 the dining-room on tiptoe. His purple nose 
 seemed not so red as usual, his hair was in disor- 
 der, his left hand was thrust respectfully behind 
 his vest, and with his right he fingered mechani- 
 cally his lace frills. 
 
270 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " Ah, good neighbor," cried IlmeiiiefF, " we beg 
 a favor. I thought you were still sleeping a hero's 
 sleep, like my wife. Well, Ivan Timofeeyich, try 
 the caviar. I have received it directly from As- 
 trachan from a friend. There is no question, it is 
 wonderful caviar, and the liquor is good enough 
 for any man. Pour out a cup for yourself, and 
 take a good taste, and you will give thanks to my 
 Varvara Dmitrievna. But come up, brother ! 
 Why do you staiid in one place like a stump? 
 Eat something." 
 
 " I thank you most humbly," said Zarubkin, 
 bending almost into two. "Eat for your good 
 health, father, but I have no wish to eat." 
 
 " So it seems you have breakfasted already, 
 brother." 
 
 " By no means, sir." 
 
 "Then why do you not eat? But what the 
 dust is twisting you? Are you well, brother? " 
 
 " In body, glory be to God ; but on my heart, 
 father — " 
 
 " Oh, nonsense, my dear man ! Drink a good 
 cup, it will grow lighter in your heart ; I ask you 
 humbly." 
 
 " No, Sergei Filippovich, the soul does not live 
 at the table. Of course I drink a couple of cups 
 in a day for my stomach ; but now, father, I have 
 no thought of drink." 
 
 " What the devil is it ? But what has happened 
 to you ? " 
 
 Zarubkin clasped his hands, and twisted his face 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 271 
 
 SO pitifully that IlmeniefF repeated his question 
 with alarm. 
 
 " Oh, father," said Zarubkin, " it is not for noth- 
 ing that people say children are a joy ; children are a 
 sorrow as well. And whoso has but one child — " 
 
 " Ah, my dear man, few children and many are 
 all the same. Ten sons, you know, are like ten 
 fingers, — cut off any of them and it is all pain. 
 But what made you talk of this? Has your 
 Vladimir fallen ill?" 
 
 " Worse, Sergei Filippovich, worse. Yes, father, 
 my Volodya — Lord, it is terrible even to tell 
 it ! — has gone out of his mind." 
 
 " How is that ? " cried IlmeniefF, springing from 
 his seat. 
 
 " Lost his wits altogether. I am afraid he will 
 raise hands on himself." 
 
 "What do you say?" 
 
 " He has but one song : ' I want to marry, 
 father, and only — ' " 
 
 " So that is it," said IlmeniefF, taking his former 
 seat. " Oh, you ornamented jester, you frightened 
 me to death ! What a wonder ! the man is twenty- 
 seven years old, and wants to marry." 
 
 " Do you know whom, father ? " 
 
 " Is it possible the daughter of that miser 
 Pobirashkin ? " 
 
 "Oh, in that case what grief should I have ! 
 To-day I might ask for her, and to-morrow the 
 betrothal. No, Sergei Filippovich ; my Volodya 
 is in love to his ears, but not with her." 
 
272 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " Well, what of it ? Any other girl would 
 marry him too. You know now, my dear man, 
 suitors are scarce, and you might dam ponds with 
 marriageable girls." 
 
 " True, father, true ; but the young woman is 
 not his equal." 
 
 "Nonsense, brother! For whom is such a 
 splendid young fellow as Vladimir not an equal ? " 
 
 Zarubkin's face lighted up ; his nose, which had 
 been pale, was covered again with the usual blush, 
 and kissing IlmeniefF on the shoulder, he said with 
 a glad voice, — 
 
 " thou, my own father, God grant thee many 
 years of health ; may the Lord comfort thee as 
 thou hast comforted me in my old age ! " 
 
 " What do you mean, what do you mean ? " 
 interrupted IlmeniefF. " Do I say this for the first 
 time ? It is clear that no one will refuse such a 
 suitor as your Vladimir." 
 
 " Indeed, father ? " 
 
 " Of course, brother. A maiden not to be com- 
 pared with Pobirashkin's daughter would marry 
 him." 
 
 " Well, and if he, sir," continued Zarubkin, halt- 
 ing at intervals, and not daring to look straight 
 in Ilmenieff 's eyes, " should, we will suppose, 
 think of asking in marriage, — that is, fall in love, 
 — that is, wish for himself as partner — Not with 
 any other intention — God forbid that he should 
 think of a fortune ! Three, four hundred souls, 
 plenty, and beyond that the will of God — no one 
 
KUZMA EOSCHIN. 273 
 
 lives two lives — and God grant you to live count- 
 less years — if not to them, to their children will 
 it come — " 
 
 " But what nonsense are you talking ? " said 
 IlmeniefF, looking with wonder at Zarubkin. " To 
 whose children will it come ? What will come ? 
 Tfu ! Devil take it ! But whom do you want your 
 son to marry ? " 
 
 "Not I, Sergei Filippovich, — God sees, not 
 I. If it were not for him I should not have 
 thought of it in a dream ; and were it not for 
 your kind words my tongue would not turn to 
 say that my Volodya wishes to enter into lawful 
 marriage — " 
 
 Here Ivan Timofeevich stuttered, and he had 
 reason ; his eyes met the eyes of IlmeniefF, and he 
 read in them something very unfriendly. 
 
 " Wishes to enter into lawful marriage," said 
 Sergei \ Filippovich, pushing away the plate of 
 caviar. 
 
 " Yes, father," continued Zarubkin, with a timid 
 voice, " my son wishes to enter into lawful 
 marriage — " 
 
 " With whom ? " roared the host. 
 
 His legs went from under the poor match- 
 maker, and he said, choking at every word, — 
 
 " With the most worthy, beautiful, and most 
 amiable Marya Sergeevna, your daughter." 
 
 IlmeniefF sprang from his chair ; his eyes were 
 flashing. " With my daughter ! " shouted he, strik- 
 ing the table so powerfully with his fist that the 
 
 18 
 
274 TALES' OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 earthen pepper-box fell to the floor and was broken 
 into bits. " With my daughter ! " repeated he, 
 taking a step in advance. 
 
 Zarubkin pushed back, but seeing no one in the 
 entrance, he remained in the room. Meanwhile 
 the angry glance of the host grew mild. 
 
 " Tell me, brother," asked he at last, almost 
 with cool blood, " when did you get tipsy ? " 
 
 " Who ? I ? Have mercy on us ! A poppy dew- 
 drop has not been in my mouth," 
 
 " Go away, go away ! Sleep, you half-witted 
 old man ! How did it come into your head that 
 I would give my Mashenka to your son? Is 
 it, perhaps, because he has a little command ? 
 Great aflair, — a dragoon officer ! Just think with 
 what request you have come, with whom you wish 
 to be related ; but evidently you have forgotten 
 altogether that your father served my father as a 
 dog-keeper." 
 
 " Be not angry, your high-bornness ! God sees 
 that I was not the cause of this, and I said myself 
 to Volodya : ' Where is your head, foolish fellow ? 
 Is such a young woman for you ? Do you wish 
 to bring yourself to shame ? Make the sign of 
 the cross on yourself.' I talked and talked, — 
 no result ; he would not listen, and is, if you will 
 believe it, father, just like a madman, not to be 
 stopped." 
 
 " That not a breath of him be in my house, do 
 you hear ? " 
 
 " He galloped off home at daybreak." 
 
KUZMA E08CHIN. 275 
 
 " Ah, ha ! he understood ; it is clear, brother, 
 that he is wiser than you." 
 
 " Ah, Sergei Filippovich, if you had not encour- 
 aged me yourself — " 
 
 " Encouraged you how ? " 
 
 " Of course ; were you not pleased to say that 
 no one would refuse my son ? " 
 
 " But I said the same thing the day before yes- 
 terday to the son of my starosta, Andryushka the 
 Red ; was he, then, to ask for my daughter ? You 
 fool, let the cricket know his hearth, and if a crow 
 flies into lofty chambers they will twist its neck. 
 My late father — God grant him the kingdom of 
 heaven ! — would have you conducted from the 
 house with an oak club, and perhaps flogged in 
 the stable ; but I am not like him, I will laugh at 
 this proposal with my wife and daughter — " 
 
 "Father," interrupted Zarubkin, folding his 
 hands humbly, " I will tell the whole truth. 
 Volodya would not have made bold to ask for 
 your daughter if such had not been her own 
 wish." 
 
 " How ? " screamed Ilmenieff. " Is it possible ? 
 Did my daughter dare, without my knowledge ? 
 Untrue, impossible ! " 
 
 At that moment the door of the drawing-room 
 opened, and Mashenka entered the dining-room. 
 She was as pale as death ; her breast was heaving 
 violently, but her eyes, red from tears, expressed, 
 not fear, but a certain firm resolution, and even 
 calm. 
 
276 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 "You are here, my dear," cried IlmeniefF. 
 " Come hither. What do you think this old fool 
 says ? He assures me that his son, with your con- 
 sent and will, has made bold to ask your hand." 
 
 " That is true, father," said Mashenka, 
 
 The ruddy face of Sergei Filippovich grew 
 deathlike ; he became as rigid and silent as if he 
 had lost his senses, he fixed his motionless eyes on 
 the poor girl. 
 
 " How, what ? " whispered he, suftbcating with 
 angef. 
 
 " Yes, father, it is true," repeated Mashenka, 
 with a mild but firm voice. 
 
 " Well, are you pleased now to see ? " asked 
 Zarubkin. 
 
 " Silence ! " shouted IlmeniefF, so threateningly 
 that Ivan Timofeevich with one spring was in the 
 entrance. " Out of here, slave, out of here ! 
 Hei, servants ! " 
 
 Zarubkin vanished. 
 
 The silence continued five minutes. With the 
 appearance of the most profound obedience, but 
 at the same time with the comforting feeling of an 
 accused whom everything condemns save his own 
 conscience, Mashenka looked at her angry father. 
 IlmeniefF, without speaking a word, walked with 
 swift steps up and down the room ; the color now 
 vanished, now reappeared in purple spots on his 
 pale face ; his lips trembled. It seemed that he 
 used all his strength to restrain the first outbreak 
 of anger. All at once IlmeniefF stopped before 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 277 
 
 his daughter, took her lovingly by the hand, and 
 with a voice almost imploring, said, — 
 
 " Mashenka, my dear, you were not serious ; 
 you were making sport of that half-witted old 
 man, were you not ? " 
 
 Tears burst from the eyes of the poor girl. 
 This kindly voice, this tender look of her father 
 struck her more powerfully than all the reproaches 
 for which she was prepared. 
 
 " Are you weeping ? " cried Ilmeniefif. " So it 
 is true ? So you have dared ? " 
 
 " Hear me, father," said Mashenka, to whom 
 the stern look of her father had brought back all 
 her former firmness. " I shall never disobey you, 
 and without the blessing of my parents no one 
 shall lead me to the altar ; but I do not wish to 
 hide anything from you. Yes, father, I love 
 Vladimir Ivanovich, and if I cannot marry him I 
 will remain with you. Surely you do not wish that 
 your daughter, loving one man, should say to an- 
 other before God, that she wishes to be his for- 
 ever. Men may be deceived, but you cannot 
 deceive God." 
 
 " Mashenka, my dear," said Ilmenieff, looking at 
 his daughter with astonishment, " what has hap- 
 pened to you, what has become of your maiden 
 modesty ? Who gave you the will to dispose of 
 yourself? A daughter falls in love without the 
 knowledge of her father and mother ; a girl says 
 that she will not marry any one because they will 
 uot give her to a petty officer whose father is a 
 
278 TALES OF THREE CENTUKIES. 
 
 clerk with some rank, and whose grandfather was 
 a dog-keeper. Hear me, daughter ! If you will 
 not cast this nonsense out of your head, if I ever 
 hear you call this rascal by name, I will renounce 
 you forever, and forget that I had a daughter; 
 when dying I may remember her, but not to leave 
 her my blessing. No ; I will take that with me to 
 the grave." 
 
 " Father ! " cried Mashenka, in despair. 
 
 " Yes, yes," continued llmenieff, in broken speech 
 and with great excitement, " if in the other world 
 a father can bless his children, do not wait for 
 that blessing, do not come to weep over my grave ; 
 by no imploring will you obtain it." 
 
 Mashenka wished to say something, wished to 
 approach her father ; but strength failed her, and 
 she fell senseless on the floor. 
 
 " My daughter, my daughter ! " cried llmenieff, 
 rushing to help her ; " what is the matter, my 
 child ? She is senseless, Hei, some one ! Girl ! 
 girl ! Poor thing, what have you done with your 
 head ? Cursed Zarubkin ! if ever he comes in my 
 way — Take your mistress," continued he, turn- 
 ing to the girls who ran into the dining-room, 
 " lay her on the bed, and call to me Varvara 
 Dmitrievna." 
 
 In a few minutes llmenieff 's wife came in. 
 
 "Come here, mother," said he, going to meet 
 her, " is this the way you look after your daughter ? 
 Do you know — " 
 
 " Oh, Sergei Filippovich, I know everything. 
 Mashenka told me all this morning." 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIX. 279 
 
 " Well, what will you say, Madame ? " 
 
 " What is to be said ? The Lord seat trouble ; 
 there is no help for it." 
 
 "How! no help for it?" 
 
 " Be not angry, father. We are all people, all 
 human ; we all walk under God. Of course Vladi- 
 mir Ivanovich is not a wealthy suitor, has not rank ; 
 but if such is the fate of our Mashenka — " 
 
 " Fate ! " repeated Ilmenieff. " Oh, you fool, 
 where did you get that, I ask humbly ? Fate ! 
 So, according to you, the first scapegrace who 
 pleases your daughter is to marry her. And who 
 are you and I? Am I her step-father; are you 
 her step-mother ? " 
 
 " True, Sergei Filippovich, true, but you cannot 
 ride around your fate on a horse ; and what is to 
 be cannot be avoided." 
 
 "That I should become related to this freed- 
 man, — that I, a noble of ancient stock, should 
 call clerks my relatives ! " 
 
 " But, Sergei Filippovich, Vladimir Ivanovich 
 has no relatives, unless his old father." 
 
 " Is that true ? Do you not wish me to find 
 among my house-servants cousins of his ? Enough 
 of nonsense ! While I live this cannot be, do you 
 hear ? — cannot be. And if any one mutters it 
 before me — " 
 
 " But, father, if your daughter is consumed with 
 grief — You should look at her, — tears like the 
 flowing of a river." 
 
 " Nonsense, Madame, nonsense ! A girl's tears 
 
280 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES, 
 
 are like the morning dew ; the sun comes, and the 
 dew is as if it had never been. Give her an emer- 
 ald necklace or a new silk robe, and the aiFair will 
 be over." 
 
 " See to it, father, that instead of a silk dress 
 for her you have not to get a white shroud. 
 You do not know how she loves Vladimir 
 Ivanovich." 
 
 " Nonsense, mother ! She has loved him quickly; 
 she will forget him quickly." 
 
 " Do not speak that way, Sergei Filippovich. 
 The Lord preserve and have mercy; but if by 
 God's permission love makes its way into a girl's 
 heart, you cannot drive it out in any way. Love, 
 father, in appearance is as beautiful and dainty as 
 a poppy-flower; but in real fact it is bitter and 
 not to be conquered." 
 
 " Eh-e ! but that is taken whole out of the 
 history of Alenkurt and Florida. There is the 
 trouble; you and your daughter have read these 
 stupid books, and crammed your heads with folly. 
 How could there be anything sensible ! Yesterday 
 I told Malashka to bring me an almanac from the 
 bedroom. I look. What is she bringing ? A story 
 about Princess Jevan, the daughter of some Mexi- 
 can king, Firdedondak. Lord, my God, see 
 what this reading has brought us to ! ' Why,' say 
 they, ' should not a young Russian lady read when 
 in Germany what the daughters of shopkeepers' 
 read ? ' They read, and what is the use ? If 
 they would but , understand their embroidery, this 
 
KUZMA KOSCHIN. 281 
 
 nonsense from beyond the sea would not enter their 
 heads ; they would not select husbands for them- 
 selves without the knowledge of father or mother, 
 and would not fall in love with the first man on 
 the highway or cross-road. But why talk of this ? 
 Listen to me ! I love Mashenka no less than you, 
 but I will never agree to this disgrace. The 
 grandson of a dog-keeper is not going to be my 
 son." 
 
 "Butthink, father— •" 
 
 " There is nothing here to think of. When this 
 folly passes she will thank me herself." 
 
 " But if it will not pass, Sergei Filippovich ? " 
 
 " In very truth ! " shouted Ilmenieif, with a 
 threatening voice, " have you thought of teach- 
 ing me ? Do you hear ? Not a word of this in 
 future!" 
 
 " As you like, Sergei Filippovich," said the obe- 
 dient wife, in a timid voice ; " but see that you do 
 not have to blame yourself hereafter." 
 
 " Well, well, you and your daughter have be- 
 come very wise. Since you were with me in 
 Petersburg and heard there every kind of infidel 
 talk, there is no living with you. But to tell 
 the truth, I am a fool myself. Why did I let 
 that writing-pest into the house, that babbler 
 Tredyakovski, that root of all the evil? The 
 holiday scarecrow, I cannot think of him ! He 
 used to come in his ridiculous wig, stand like a 
 pole, with a book under his arm and a manuscript 
 in his pocket ; he would begin to declaim verses, 
 
282 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 and talk such nonsense that Satan himself could 
 not understand him." 
 
 "You speak unjustly, father; Vassily Kirilovich 
 Tredyakovski is a very good man." 
 
 " Good ! But who accustomed you to those ab- 
 surd books ? He would bring you some heroic tale, 
 — Argenida, — then different verses, and all other 
 wretched sorrows. He wanted to make of me 
 just such a scribe and Pharisee as he is himself. 
 You remember once he pulled out from under his 
 arm a miserable book, pushed me to the wall, and 
 began : ' Do not think, your high-bornness, that I 
 by reason of any vain pride make bold to speak 
 to you of this book called "A Journey to the 
 Island of Love," because in it, so to speak, the 
 language blushes from an honorable modesty; it 
 is as spotless as it is uninflated, but it is lofty 
 through a certain natural beauty.' I wanted to 
 escape through the back door, — how could I ? 
 He caught me by the coat-belt, and inflating him- 
 self like a turkey-cock began to read. thou 
 Tsar of heaven ! even now the frost runs over 
 my skin when I think of him. And you, mother, 
 opened your ears, and you drew near. ' Oh, my 
 fathers, what verses ! Oh, how beautiful ! Vassily 
 Kirilovich,' said you, ' how sweetly you are pleased 
 to write!' Well, here is the sweetness now. I 
 think it has become bitter. Every day there was 
 nothing to be heard but yearning of the heart, 
 endless love, plays, and laughter. What wonder 
 if a poor girl's head should be turned ? But wait ; 
 
KtlZMA ROSCUIN. 283 
 
 I will get hold of all these vile books. See what 
 learned women — Well, why stand here, mother ? 
 I suppose that nothing has been done all the morn- 
 ing. Go now and give their work to the lace- 
 weavers, and see that there is not even a memory 
 of this foolish proposal." 
 
 Varvara Dmitrievna went to Maskenka, who 
 was lying in bed ; but Ilmenieff gave orders to 
 bring him a horse. He put on a field coat, and 
 rode around till dinner. Varvara Dmitrievna ap- 
 peared alone at the table. 
 
 " How is Mashenka ? " asked IlmenieflF, without 
 looking at his wife. 
 
 " She is crying, father." 
 
 " Crying," muttered Sergei Filippovich, " cry- 
 ing ! Well, let her cry ; she will stop some 
 time." 
 
 After dinner Ilmenieff played chess all the eve- 
 ning with his butler ; and no matter how the cun- 
 ning Foma gave way to his master, he was unable 
 to lose a single game. Ilmenieff supped alone, 
 Varvara Dmitrievna did not leave her daughter's 
 room. Sergei Filippovich wished greatly to look 
 at the sick girl, but he resisted ; and as befitted an 
 angry father he went to sleep without saying good- 
 night to his wife, and without making the sign of 
 the cross on his daughter. 
 
 Next day at dinner he asked Varvara Dmitrievna 
 again, " How is Mashenka ? " 
 
 " She cries more than before," answered the old 
 woman, wiping her eyes. 
 
284 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " More than before ! " said IlmeniefF, in a low 
 voice ; " stupid girl, more than before. Well, it is 
 clear that she does not buy her tears." 
 
 A whole week passed in this way; the great 
 festival of the year was approaching. Mashenka 
 could not rise from the bed yet. Ilmenieff and 
 his wife met only at the table and at church ; one 
 was weeping, the other feigned anger. But for 
 some time his heart had place for no other feel- 
 ing than compassion and love ; he grieved no 
 less than his daughter, and even at times he was 
 in despair, seeing no means of curing her trouble. 
 It seemed to him as impossible to give his daugh- 
 ter to Zarubkin, as to wish that his eldest son who 
 had died in childhood should rise from the grave 
 and appear before him a blooming youth of twenty. 
 A number of nights in succession he came stealth- 
 ily to the door of Mashenka's room, to hear whether 
 she was sleeping quietly. " Maybe it will pass," 
 said he, if it seemed to him that her sleep was 
 calm. " The robber Zarubkin ! " muttered he in 
 a rage, when he noticed by her uneven breathing 
 that she was weeping. 
 
 On the eve of Easter Sunday Mashenka came 
 to the dining-room for the first time. It was sad 
 to see her ; she was so pale and weak, that not 
 only her father and mother, but even the servants, 
 could not look at her without tears. In silence, 
 but with almost a look of kindness, IlmeniefF gave 
 her his hand to kiss. Mashenka did not weep, 
 she swallowed her tears ; but could she hide on 
 
KUZMA EOSCHIN. 285 
 
 her half-dead-face the deep traces of cheerless sor- 
 row and weary nights passed without sleep ? 
 
 " Cursed dragoon ! " muttered IlmeniefF. " And 
 why should he be the son of that Zarubkin ? The 
 poor girl is almost dead ; but what is to be done? 
 If only his grandfather had not been my father's 
 dog-keeper ! " 
 
 After the most silent dinner Mashenka kissed 
 her father's hand again, and went to her room. 
 Varvara Dmitrievna followed her, and Sergei 
 Filippovich lay on the bed from sorrow and went 
 to sleep. 
 
 What was Zarubkin doing meanwhile ? For a 
 number of days in succession he used all means to 
 comfort his son ; but seeing at last that his elo- 
 quence was wasted he waved his hand and said 
 the same thing as IlmeniefF: "There is nothing 
 to be done ; let him grieve, he will stop some 
 time." 
 
 Ivan Timofeevich Zarubkin's village was sepa- 
 rated only by one pasture-field from the crown 
 settlement, in which was quartered the com- 
 pany of dragoons under command of his son. 
 A few black huts, half sunk in the ground, sur- 
 rounded the house of the master, — which we call a 
 house because through its straw roof peered forth 
 a brick chimney, and its broad courtyard was 
 surrounded, not by a hurdle enclosure, but by a 
 fence. Through this yard, with its turkeys and 
 hens, walked a tame stork with great dignity, 
 pigs rolled peacefully in the mud, and ducks sailed 
 
286 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 in an enormous pool which, like a Mediterranean 
 sea, stood in the very centre of the yard, without 
 drying up the whole year. In the house there 
 were only two rooms, and one chamber built 
 on at the side in which Vladimir lived. In the 
 rear of the house were a broad garden and a 
 hemp-field, and beyond them an oak-grove, 
 which extended almost to the granaries of the , 
 crown settlement. 
 
 On the last day of Passion Week, at seven in 
 the evening, Vladimir was sitting on the porch 
 before his father's house. From this place the 
 view of the surrounding country was beautiful; 
 but Vladimir did not look at the majestic flow of 
 the broad Oka nor its steep banks, dotted with 
 villages. His glances did not rest on the distant 
 and picturesque group of . city houses, from the 
 midst of which rose the lofty minarets of the Tar- 
 tar mosque which exists to this day. No, he was 
 looking straight ahead, to the dark pine-grove be- 
 yond which as through a mist was seen the plank 
 roof of IlmenieflF's house. Under this roof Ma- 
 shenka was living ; in this house he had seen her 
 the first time. Behold something in the distance ' 
 like a motionless cloud of smoke stands above 
 the very roof of the house ; that is the top of the 
 Siberian cedar, planted in the garden by Ilme- 
 niefi''s grandfather. Is it long since Vladimir, 
 with her, admired this giant of the dense forests of 
 Siberia ? Is it long since she, transporting herself 
 in thought to that wild and uninhabited region, 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 287 
 
 said to him, " Oh, how happy should we be if we 
 could live there far away from all ! " Is it long 
 since even the thought of eternal separation from 
 her seemed impossible ? But now ! 
 
 " Again you have dropped your nose, Volodya," 
 said Zarubkin, approaching his son ; " but you 
 have grieved enough. To-morrow will be the bright 
 festival, all orthodox people should rejoice ; but 
 look at yourself, — just as if dropped into water. 
 It is a sin, Volodya, in truth a sin." 
 
 " I am not grieving, father." 
 
 " You are not grieving! Look at yourself; what 
 are you like ? — bones and skin. Yesterday, Fri- 
 day, you would not dine. ' I will not eat on this 
 great day,' said you, ' till the stars come out ; ' but 
 to-day, what ? " 
 
 " To-day I dined." 
 
 " A fine dinner, — two spoonsful of schi made 
 without meat, and a crust of bread ! Ah, Volodya, 
 you have let folly come on you. But in good 
 truth, is there only one woman for you in the 
 whole white world; and what in her is dear to 
 you ? No plumpness of body, no bloom in her face, 
 nothing to look at, long lashes and eyes like a 
 spoon, — what a wonder ! Look at the daughter 
 of the voevoda's secretary, — you have not seen 
 her, she is visiting her godmother in Ryazan, — 
 there in truth you have something to look at. 
 What is the use in discussing ? — a Tsar-maiden, as 
 tall as you, dark-eyed, dark-browed, on her cheeks 
 a blush that is blooming, j ust blooming ! And such 
 
288 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 ways as she has, — playful, joyous, does not sit in 
 one place ; and her voice, — her voice just pours. 
 When she sings ' thou sea, blue sea,' you hear it 
 a verst away. And if she does not please your 
 heart we will find another. Any woman, Volodya, 
 will grasp at you; not all are so important as 
 this proud IlmenieiF. May he wait, cursed man, 
 all his life for grandchildren ! He is a brigadier, 
 has eight hundred souls ; therefore he cannot be- 
 come related to our brother, an ordinary land- 
 holder. What conceit, when you think of it ! A 
 great thing, your high-bornness, but excellencies 
 bow to us. If it comes to that, I '11 get you 
 the daughter of our neighbor Prince BerkutoflF. 
 Though he is of Tartar descent, still he is a prince, 
 and in the table of ranks he does not stand below 
 that high-born niggard. Well, Volodya, do you 
 wish ? " 
 
 " No, father, I want to serve." 
 
 " But what success in your service ? You would 
 better enter the civil department." 
 
 " I do not wish to do that, father. But it is 
 beginning to grow dark ; I will go to sleep. At 
 midnight, you know, we must be at Mass." 
 
 " Wait, Volodya," said Zarubkin ; "let us talk 
 a little longer. But no," continued he, in haste, 
 "go, Volodya, go my dove, go to sleep." 
 
 "What is that, father?" asked Vladimir. 
 " It seems to me that some one is waiting at our 
 gate out there — do you see, beyond the fence, in 
 a high fur cap ? " 
 
KUZMA KOSCHIN. 289 
 
 " Some passer-by on foot or on horseback, God 
 be with him. We have no time now for guests. 
 Go, Volodya, go." 
 
 Vladimir entered the house ; and Zarubkin with 
 evident timidity ran to the gate, opened the small 
 door, and let into the yard a man of lofty stature 
 in the blue coat of a merchant. 
 
 " Hail to you, Ivan Timofeevich ! " said the 
 guest, without raising his cap. 
 
 " Lower, for God's sake, lower ! " whispered Za- 
 rubkin, looking around in terror. " Are you in 
 your mind, Kuzma Stepanich ? There is light yet, 
 and people have not gone to bed, and you come 
 straight to my house." 
 
 " Never fear, no one has seen me." 
 
 " How, no one ! My Vladimir was here this 
 moment, and if he should recognize you ? " 
 
 " He would call me Alexai Artamonovich Vidy- 
 baeff. It is not written on my forehead, you 
 know, that I — " 
 
 " Lower, lower ! Why do you shout ? " 
 
 The guest laughed. " Well, Brother Ivan Timo- 
 feevich," said he, " you are cowardly. It is evident 
 that they have frightened you regularly in the 
 voevoda's chancellery. But just wait ; soon you 
 will be bold, when I leave your district forever, 
 and all the ends in the water. I have come to 
 say farewell to you, Ivan Timofeevich." 
 
 "To say farewell?" 
 
 " Yes, my dear man. You see, they have driven 
 those biscuit-eating dragoons in here. Would the 
 
 19 
 
290 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 cursed ruffians were dead! Now there is no 
 chance for us on the whole Oka." 
 
 " But, Kuzma Stepanich, be careful." 
 
 " If there were not so many of them, I should 
 not say a word. My men are all brave, — two 
 soldiers are a small bite for one of them, — but 
 here is the trouble ; there will be, not two to a 
 man, but three tens ; so you know it is beyond 
 my power." 
 
 " Are you preparing to go away ? " 
 
 " Yes, my dove. There is no help for it. Force 
 breaks a straw. To-morrow I will go down the 
 Oka to the Volga itself, and see if there is profit 
 about Nijni; if there is not, I will sail down 
 Mother Volga to Tsaritsin, — in that place there 
 is something to put hands to. Many barges, and 
 merchants not a few; and of freebooters and 
 passportless men there is no end. In very truth, 
 Ivan Timofeevich, we cannot trifle all our lives 
 and gather a ruble at a time ; seize a pile at once 
 and be done with it." 
 
 " That is it, Kuzma. It is clear that you are 
 wearied." 
 
 " Not exactly wearied. To whom is his freedom 
 not dear ? A frolicking life, a gallant occupation ; 
 but two pillars with a cross-piece, my dear man, 
 are greatly against my liking." 
 
 " But who likes them ? Well, Kuzma Stepa- 
 nich, if that is the case, farewell, my friend ! A 
 pleasant road, a lucky path ! " 
 
 " Stop, stop, Ivan Timofeevich ! Do you think 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 291 
 
 that I, in taking farewell of my native place, will 
 not leave a memory behind me ? " 
 
 " Never fear, they will not soon forget you." 
 
 " Oh, my dear man, people have short memories ; 
 besides, there is no harm in providing bread for 
 the road. Listen, my dove, do me the last service. 
 Here are fifty rubles for you. If that is a small 
 sum I will add ten more, and the whole work will 
 not cost you a copper." 
 
 " What more are you contriving ? " 
 
 " Well, be pleased to see." 
 
 " Ts ! — Lower, lower ! " interrupted Zarubkin, 
 looking with timidity at the remote corner of the 
 yard. " Look, look ! Who is that stealing along 
 the fence ? " 
 
 "Where?" 
 
 " There, straight in front of us." 
 
 The guest laughed again. " Well, the saying is 
 true," said he, " A frightened crow is afraid of a 
 bush. Eh ! you see visions from terror ; don't you 
 see that that is your stork ? " 
 
 " Is it the stork ? Tfu, fathers ! it is indeed ; 
 the cursed creature, how he frightened me ! But 
 do you know that this is a public place, and my 
 people have not all gone to bed yet ? Let us go 
 into the grove." 
 
 " But is not your night-walker wandering about 
 there?" 
 
 " Who ? " 
 
 " Vladimir." 
 
 "No, he went to sleep. Let us go, Kuzma 
 
292 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 Stepanich, let us go," continued Zarubkin, draw- 
 ing his guest after him. " Volodya did not close 
 his eyes last night, so now he is surely sleeping a 
 deathlike sleep." 
 
 But Vladimir was not sleeping ; he had gone to 
 his room only to pass from it to the grove, where 
 in freedom he could grieve and muse over past 
 moments of fleeting happiness, over hope that 
 had perished forever, over the faithful, firm friend 
 of every unfortunate, the last death-hour, which 
 is so terrible for the happy man, and so consoling, 
 so joy-giving for him who has drunk to the bottom 
 the cup of earthly sorrow. Death, the end of 
 weary exile, shore of the native land, oh, how 
 dear art thou to the wearied unfortunate ! With 
 what enthusiasm, directing toward heaven his 
 looks, wearied with suffering, he repeats the 
 inexpressibly comforting words, " Come to me, all 
 who are weary and heavy-laden, and I will give 
 you rest ! " With what delight he hastens to cast 
 down the heavy burden of earthly life, of sin and 
 sorrow, of diseases, cares of life, and sad remem- 
 brance of joys ever momentary, and misfortunes 
 always unbroken ! 
 
 Vladimir had been walking through the grove 
 about half an hour ; all was silent, and even the 
 restless rooks, whose noisy cries from morning till 
 evening had been heard through the forest, were 
 silent, and had taken refuge in the tops of the 
 many-branched oaks and lofty birches. All at 
 once it seemed to him that his steps were repeated 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 293 
 
 at a short distance. That was not an echo. No. 
 So he is not walking alone in the grove. A dry 
 twig cracks ; there is a rustle among the bushes, 
 and some inaudible word comes to his hearing. 
 Vladimir halts, the steps are heard nearer, some 
 one calls him by name, the voice seems famil- 
 iar ; he rests against a tree, and almost entirely 
 hidden by a lofty honeysuckle bush, begins to 
 listen. 
 
 " Enough of this, Ivan Timofeevich," continued 
 the same voice, " why do you hesitate ? How im- 
 portant to shut up for three short hours the room 
 in which your son is living ! Let him sleep over 
 the Mass. Eh, brother ! You have forgotten your- 
 self. Formerly you would run for two rubles to 
 Ryazan itself; but now, when you are given fifty 
 rubles for such a trifle, you hesitate." 
 
 " But why do you want me to keep Volodya 
 shut in till morning ? " 
 
 " What is that to you.? " 
 
 " Say what you please, Kuzma Stepanich, tell 
 me first." 
 
 " Well, give ear, my dear man. But know in 
 advance, that if I tell you everything, whether you 
 like it or not, you must do what I wish. I have 
 come to-day to congratulate your neighbor, Sergei 
 Filippovich Ilmenieff, with this festival." 
 
 " But, Kuzma, what are you doing ? " 
 
 " How, what ? Have you forgotten that I gave 
 my word in your presence to come to break the 
 fast with his cake ? It is true that I did not tell 
 
294 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 him that I would bring guests ; but his house is 
 like a full cup, there will be enough for all. My 
 men have landed on the bank, about half a verst 
 away, and they are only waiting for me to begin 
 work. When the bell rings and all assemble in 
 the church, they will set fire to the village from 
 two sides, and the brave fellows themselves will 
 go at once to the meeting-place, — that is, to 
 the house of his high-bornness, and frolic. The 
 peasants and house-servants will be at the fire, 
 and we shall clear out Ilmenieff 's storerooms with- 
 out hindrance, rush to the boats, and then let 
 them remember our names. Do you understand 
 now why your son should not leave his room till 
 morning ? " 
 
 " No, I do not," 
 
 " Oh, what a head, what a head ! But have 
 you not remarked that your son is looking at 
 IlmeniefF's daughter ? When he sees that Zykovo 
 is burning he will come thundering with his com- 
 mand before we can escape in safety and health, 
 so the affair will be spoiled ; but if you keep him 
 shut in there is nothing to fear ; without his order 
 not one dragoon will dare to leave his quarters. 
 Well, do you see now, my dear man ? " 
 
 "I understand, Kuzma Stepanich, I under- 
 stand. Here are your fifty rubles ; take them 
 back." 
 
 " I have told you that I will add ten more." 
 
 " I would not take five hundred." 
 
 "Why so?" 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 295 
 
 " Because I do not want them. I do not give 
 orders to you, Kuzma Stepanich; do what you 
 like, but do not depend on me. Though Ilmenieff 
 has oflFended me greatly, I will never forget that I 
 have eaten his bread and salt. No, my dear man, 
 take this sin on your own soul alone ; I will not 
 share it with you ; besides, you have found a time 
 on Christ'6 day. Oh, Brother Kuzma, there is no 
 God in you." 
 
 " Is it long since your conscience has become so 
 tender, Ivan Timofeevich ? Do you not want to 
 repent of your sins, and give your property to the 
 poor? Listen to me, brother. In a week you 
 will be free to repent ; but if you whisper with 
 any one before that about this, if you say even 
 half a word, then may I not be Kuzma Roschin 
 if you will not die on this knife ! See what you 
 have invented ! No, my dove, if you do not want 
 to do what I command, don't do it ; but if even 
 one dragoon comes to the fire, repeat prayers 
 beforehand over your own death. Farewell ! " 
 
 " Stop, stop ! Kuzma Stepanich, what do you 
 mean? Make the sign of the cross on yourself. 
 Why should I answer if misfortune comes on 
 you ? You creep into the halter, and I must be 
 responsible." 
 
 " Think as you please, but the word is said." 
 
 " But listen ! You are afraid of the dragoons, 
 but I think Sergei Filippovich will show you re- 
 sistance. He is not a chance man; he has fifty 
 house-servants, and all sturdy fellows; all have 
 
296 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 plenty of arms, and he will stand up for him- 
 self. Ei, Kuzma, have a care that you make no 
 mistakes." 
 
 " Do you not know that in a surprise one man 
 will overcome ten ? " 
 
 " True, true ; but if some one should give him 
 news — " 
 
 " News ! Hear me, Ivan Timofeevich ! God 
 knows what is on your mind ; but if I fall into a 
 trap, be not Angry. You joined me ; so drink the 
 same cup. I will give myself up alive on purpose, 
 so as to declare before the court at whose place I 
 had my refuge in winter." 
 
 " What do you mean, what do you mean, Kuzma 
 Stepanich ? Did you not call upon God ? " 
 
 " I did, not to betray you for anything if you 
 would serve me faithfully and truly." 
 
 " But what do you want ? " 
 
 " Nothing at present. Do what you like till we 
 meet again, comrade — " 
 
 " Stop, stop ! What a testy fellow ! Well, let 
 it be as you wish." 
 
 " You have come to your senses, that 's it. 
 Farewell, friend, I have no time to talk with 
 you." 
 
 "But the fifty rubles?" 
 
 " Here they are ; take them." 
 
 " Ah, Kuzma, Kuzma, you and I will not pros- 
 per. But you wanted to add ten more." 
 
 " Here they are ; take them, nettleseed, but be 
 careful, brother, that you play no Satan with me ! 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 297 
 
 You may not keep your word ; I will keep mine. 
 Farewell for the moment." 
 
 The voices ceased. Again a rustling was heard 
 in the grove that was mingled in the distance with 
 the low rustle of the breeze. A few more minutes 
 passed. Vladimir remained all the time on the 
 same spot. Motionless as a statue, he drew with 
 difficulty the breath which with a deep groan 
 came from his breast. Under the dark vault of 
 heaven, dotted with bright stars, it seemed that 
 everything was sleeping a mild and quiet sleep ; 
 but in the soul of the unfortunate young man a 
 tempest was roaring. 
 
 Oh, just God, and that was not a dream, and 
 the voice which he had heard was the voice of 
 his father; and he to whom he was indebted 
 for life, who called him son, was the companion 
 of despised murderers, the hireling and servant of 
 Roschin the robber ! " Why did I, wretched man, 
 return to my birthplace ? " said Vladimir, with 
 broken voice. " Oh, mother, mother, why did I 
 survive thee ? Why didst thou implore the Lord 
 for me ? Why did I not lay down my. ill-fated head 
 in a foreign land? Now I should be with thee." 
 
 Poor Vladimir was covered with tears. At that 
 moment he thought only of his endless disgrace, of 
 the dishonored name which his father would give 
 him when dying under the hand of the execu- 
 tioner as the confederate and comrade of Roschin. 
 All at once the thought of how in a few hours a 
 band of robbers would be feasting in UmeniefT's 
 
298 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 mansion flashed up in his head. He remembered 
 too all the threats of Koschin. If that malefactor 
 should escape, the death of liis father was inevi- 
 table ; if he or one of his robbers should be taken 
 alive, the government would learn everything, and 
 then what awaited Vladimir ? — the contempt of 
 his comrades, eternal shame, and infamy. 
 
 " Oh, my God, my God, give me reason ! " whis- 
 pered Vladimir. 
 
 " Volodya, Volodya ! where are you ? " sounded 
 the voice of Zarubkin near by. 
 
 Vladimir shuddered. This voice brought back 
 all his firmness ; his father was seeking him, so as 
 to carry out his agreement with the robber, so as 
 to make him a partner in the foul conspiracy. 
 
 " No, no ! death is better than eternal infamy," 
 cried Vladimir, starting to run along the path 
 which led to the village where his dragoons were 
 quartered. 
 
 In a few minutes he had reached the opposite 
 side of the grove ; the path ended at a high hurdle- 
 fence. Vladimir climbed over it, and came to an 
 old, long since deserted granary, which was con- 
 nected with large vegetable-gardens. He had not 
 gone twenty paces when suddenly he slipped and 
 fell headlong into the deep pit of a grain-kiln. 
 Half-rotten bundles of straw scattered on the 
 bottom saved him from injury ; but some moments 
 passed before he recovered from the violent shock. 
 He stood up. The faint light of the night which 
 came from above helped him to see that there 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 299 
 
 was not even the remnant of a ladder on which 
 formerly they had descended to the pit. Vladimir 
 tried at first to reach the surface of the earth by 
 climbing up the side, but all his efforts were 
 vain ; the soil scattered under his hands, his feet 
 slipped, he lost his hold, and fell to the bottom 
 again. 
 
 More than two hours passed in these vain en- 
 deavors. Beyond the fence, about fifty yards from 
 him, voices were heard, among which Vladimir 
 distinguished clearly that of his father. Finally 
 the voices began to recede, cease. Again deep 
 silence. All at once the first sound of a bell rang 
 and boomed in the distance. The blood grew cold 
 in the veins of Vladimir. " Merciful God ! " cried 
 he, " that is the signal agreed upon. Half an 
 hour more, and all will be lost." 
 
 In the village, from which Vladimir was sepa- 
 rated only by the gardens, ringing had begun too ; 
 the people were moving on the streets, and hope 
 sprang up anew in the spirit of the hapless young 
 man. He began to shout ; a loud echo repeated his 
 despairing cries, but no one hastened to help him. 
 Tormented by continuous efforts and conipletely 
 exhausted, Vladimir fell on the damp earth. Like 
 a living corpse in an open tomb he lay there mo- 
 tionless, and looked with black despair on the 
 cloudless sky. He did not pray ; no, in his head 
 there were no thoughts, not one sigh passed his 
 set teeth; even his heart had grown cold, as it 
 seemed, and ceased to beat in his breast, which had 
 
300 TALES OP THREE- CENTURIES. 
 
 become as wood. But what is this ? Can it be 
 morning ? The stars are growing pale, the sky has 
 become lighter. See ! it is brighter and brighter ; 
 a kind of bloody reflex is coming on it. That is 
 the flush of the burning! All is over. In the 
 house of IlmeniefF are heard the wild shouts of 
 murderers ; the unfortunate man and his wife are 
 under the knives of robbers, — but their daughter ? 
 Perhaps at this moment she is lying senseless in 
 the arms of a malefactor ; perhaps the kiss of a vile 
 robber has branded her forehead. Oh, what a hell 
 was seething in the soul of Vladimir ! He sprang 
 up like a madman, thrust his hands into the soft 
 sides of his prison, seized the falling earth with his 
 teeth, — his bleeding fingers grasped it, as would 
 the claws of a wild beast. Vain efforts ' Whole 
 lumps of damp earth were torn away, fell to the 
 bottom of the pit, and the steep sides became still 
 more abrupt and unclimbable, 
 
 " Help me, for God's sake, help me ! " cried 
 Vladimir at last, struggling beyond his power. 
 
 " Who is shouting there ? " said a voice above, 
 on the very edge of the pit ? 
 
 " Is that you, Jegulin ? " asked Vladimir, recog- 
 nizing by his voice the company trumpeter. 
 
 " thou Lord, my God ! How did you fall in 
 there, your well-bornness ? " 
 
 " Hurry, hurry ! draw me out of this pit." 
 
 " In a moment. I will run at once for a 
 ladder." 
 
 " No, no, run first to the barracks, sound the 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 301 
 
 alarm, on with the sadcQes, load the guns, to 
 horse, every man ! " 
 
 " I obey, your well-bornness." 
 
 " Stop ! do you see the fire ? " 
 
 " Of course I see it, just blazing ! It must be 
 that Zykovo is burning." 
 
 " No doubt of it. Hurry, for God's sake, hurry ! " 
 
 Jegulin hastened away. In a quarter of an hour 
 the whole neighborhood was trembling, the earth 
 groaning under horses' hoofs. Vladimir, at the 
 head of his dragoons, was rushing along the road 
 toward the village of Zykovo. 
 
 Now, we must turn back somewhat, and see what 
 was happening at the house of Sergei Filippovich. 
 
 It was almost midnight. The broad Oka flowed 
 quietly on ; the lower side of it, covered with the 
 flood, presented the appearance of a boundless 
 lake, in the midst of which stood dark in places 
 thickets not altogether covered, and trees half 
 hidden in the water. No steps were heard, either 
 in IlmeniefF's yard or in the wide streets of the 
 village. The country is not like the city ; in the 
 country the midnight hour is a time of general 
 rest. But why at this late hour were lights gleam- 
 ing in all the cottages, and why were all the win- 
 dows of IlmeniefF's house lighted up ? What were 
 those fair maidens and those gayly dressed young 
 married women waiting for ? Why were they run- 
 ning out continually beyond the gate, and looking 
 with such impatience at the bell-tower of the 
 parish church ? Why was it that in all Zykovo 
 
302 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 no one, from the old man to the little child, had 
 lain down to sleep, — why ? Every one who has 
 lived in the country will answer this question 
 without trouble. The last moment of holy Satur- 
 day was drawing near ; a few minutes more, and 
 with the first stroke of the bell all would start up 
 with animation, all the houses would be deserted, 
 and the temple of God would be filled with people. 
 
 In front of one of the last cottages of the vil- 
 lage sat a thin old man, eighty years of age. He 
 too was looking with impatience at the bell-tower 
 which rose behind the straw roofs on the oppo- 
 site end of the street. 
 
 " Well, it is clear that Friend Garasim lay down 
 to sleep," said the. old man at last, shaking his 
 head. " See, the cocks have crowed for the first 
 time ; so what is he waiting for ? Ei, hi, hi ! our 
 old deacon Parfen was not like him, he would not 
 have gone to sleep before Mass." 
 
 " Grandfather ! Ah, grandfather, are you here ? " 
 asked a young man, looking out of a half-open 
 gate. 
 
 " What is watiting, Vanyusha ? Come hither." 
 
 " Well, grandfather," said he, drawing near to 
 the old man, " shall you go to Mass or not ? " 
 
 " Of course I shall go. God only knows 
 whether I shall live to another bright festival." 
 
 " If you go, grandfather, there will be no one at 
 home." 
 
 " But, Vanyusha, why should we watch ? What 
 have we, — some treasure ? " 
 
KUZMA KOSCHIN. 303 
 
 " Treasure or no treasure, grandfather, still we 
 have a horse and some cattle, and this and that. 
 Glory be to thee, Lord ! there is something by 
 which robbers might get profit even from us." 
 
 " But what is the matter, Ivan ? All the time 
 dreaming of thieves ! Last evening you said that 
 there were boats on the Oka, with people," 
 
 "Yes, grandfather, I myself saw two curved 
 boats, and it seems not with boat-haulers. Now 
 do you hear how Beetle is barking in the garden ? " 
 
 "Well, what of it?" 
 
 " How what of it ? I stopped him, and stopped 
 him, and warmed his side a couple of times with a 
 stick. No good, he just rushes forward ; surely 
 there is something there." 
 
 " But, my boy, what can there be ? " 
 
 " That is it, grandfather; has not some man crept 
 into our place from behind ? " 
 
 " From behind ? Why ? To carry off a couple 
 of bundles of straw ? What if he has ? God be 
 with him ; he will not grow rich, and we shall not 
 grow poor. Chu ! " 
 
 On the bell-tower the first stroke of the bell 
 was heard. 
 
 " Glory to thee, Lord ! " said the old man, 
 making the sign of the cross ; " they have sounded 
 for Mass. Uh ! fathers, how the heart jumps for 
 joy! But what is he doing, or has he gone to 
 sleep again ? A good bell-ringer, he strikes and 
 goes home. Is that the way to announce Christ's 
 day ? Eh ! friend, friend, you should have learned 
 
304 TALES OF THREE CENTUBIES. 
 
 from Parfen. When he struck, it was an alarm ; 
 but this man, — what a laggard, think of it ! 
 Well, he has dragged on." 
 
 " See, grandfather, the people are coming out of 
 the master's house." 
 
 " They have started. Our neighbors, too, have 
 gone out through their gates. Well, Vanya, why 
 are you standing there when all the orthodox col- 
 lect in the church ? You will not get in. Go on ; 
 send your wife." 
 
 " Stop, stop ! Do you hear how Beetle has be- 
 gun to bark again ? Oh, grandfather, stay at home." 
 
 " Enough ! You have one story, ' Beetle is bark- 
 ing.' What a wonder ! A hare ran through the 
 garden, and the dog is excited." 
 
 " As you like, grandfather, but my heart sniffs 
 something evil." 
 
 " Well, the will of God ! Here, Grunya is com- 
 ing ; let us go." 
 
 The old man rose, and leaning on his staflF, 
 moved forward with his grandchildren to the 
 church. 
 
 Ten minutes had not passed from the first 
 stroke of the bell, when it was impossible to move 
 in the church from the throng. Those arriving 
 later stood at the porch, and soon the people were 
 crowding in the churchyard. 
 
 All were waiting with impatience for the Ilme- 
 nieffs ; at their coming Mass was to begin. 
 
 A low murmur ran through the church ; the 
 people moved, and notwithstanding the pressure 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 305 
 
 an open space was formed through the dense 
 crowd from the door to the front. 
 
 " Make way, make way ! " was said on every 
 side, as Sergei Filippovich, with his wife and 
 daughter, entered the church, 
 
 " How thin she has grown, our dear ! " whispered 
 the old women among themselves, looking with 
 sadness at Mashenka. " O thou Lord, my God, 
 not a drop of blood in her face ! " 
 
 The IlmeniefF family, passing the length of the 
 church, took their places at the left choir, and ser- 
 vices began. After a time the banners ^nd the 
 local images were raised, the people went after 
 them in a noisy procession out of the church ; 
 but barely had the priest with his attendants, 
 and the peasants with the images, come out to 
 the porch, when there was heard at first an in- 
 distinct murmur, and quickly hundreds of voices 
 were mingled in one general exclamation of 
 terror. 
 
 " Fire, fire ! " was heard on the porch. " Our 
 houses are burning, fathers! our houses are burn- 
 ing ! " was heard in the church. 
 
 The people swayed; all rushed in a mass to 
 the door, and crushing one another they burst 
 forth. The IlmeniefFs came last. It was as 
 bright outside as in the daytime. A number of 
 cottages were blazing at the opposite end of the 
 village ; all at once a flame appeared in the centre 
 and in a moment a fire burst out in front of the 
 church itself. Swiftly as a river of flame the fire 
 
 20 
 
306 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 spread from one end of the place to the other, and 
 black clouds of smoke were formed above the 
 blazing roofs of the houses. 
 
 If it has never come to you to see a fire in the 
 country, you have only a faint idea of this terrible 
 calamity. In a city every aid is so near, a police 
 is at hand to keep order and guard the property of 
 inhabitants, while a well-organized fire-depart- 
 ment works in harmony without interruption, 
 having in its hands all the means of acting with 
 success. But in the country, especially forty years 
 figo, when the authorities had not yet turned at- 
 tention to the fact that village-dwellers should 
 build their houses farther apart, a fire presented 
 a most terrible picture of destruction, ruin, and 
 disorder. Built without intervening spaces, the 
 hundred and fifty cottages and stables composing 
 the village of Zykovo seemed at that moment to 
 be one broad pile. The blazing fragments of straw 
 roofs flew and circled about in the air. The peas- 
 ants rushed into the fire as if mad; they saved 
 their children, dragged out their property, drove 
 horses into the street ; no man listened to another, 
 each thought only of himself. The cries and 
 weeping of children, the screams of despairing 
 mothers, the crash of falling buildings, all drow;ned, 
 deadened the voice of IlmeniefF, who with the 
 coolness of an old soldier wished at first to manage 
 and give orders; but when he saw that no one was 
 obeying him, he commanded his house-servants to 
 remain in the village to aid the people in putting 
 
, KUZMA EOSCHIN. 307 
 
 out the ftre, and went home himself with his wife 
 and daughter. 
 
 " Have no fear," said he to Mashenka, who was 
 trembling from terror ; " the fire will not reach us, 
 the village is half a verst away, and the wind is 
 not blowing toward us." 
 
 " Lord, O Lord! " said poor Varvara Dmitri- 
 evna, with horror, when she saw that nearly the 
 whole village was seized with fire, " why dost 
 thou punish us, in what have we offended thee ? 
 What a pity ! And during the bright festival 
 itself!" 
 
 " And it began to burn in three places at once," 
 muttered Sergei Filippovich, shaking his head ; 
 " that is not for nothing. I will take you home, 
 and go back myself to the fire. There is some- 
 thing in this. Has not some one done it from 
 spite ? Is it not our neighbor Kocheryshkin, with 
 whom we have a lawsuit ? It may be ; from that 
 wretch anything may come. What is this ? " con- 
 tinued IlmenieflF, looking at the brightly lighted 
 windows of his house, which was not more than 
 two hundred yards distant. " Or does it seem to 
 me — Yes, people are bustling about in the 
 house. Look ! they seem to be dragging some- 
 thing. Yes, that is it. The fools, I told them all 
 to stay at the fire ; but no, they have run home, 
 and surely are carrying out things." 
 
 " Oh, Father Sergei Filippovich, it is really no 
 harm to carry out. If the wind should turn 
 toward us ! " 
 
308 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " They would have time then, the beasts ! Let 
 us go this way through the garden. But hurry ! 
 From stupidity' they may turn the house upside 
 down." 
 
 Sergei Filippovich opened the gate, and had 
 barely entered the garden when a heavy groan was 
 heard at his feet. 
 
 " What is this ? " cried IlmeniefF, springing back 
 with horror. 
 
 Before him was a man all in blood, with his 
 head laid open. 
 
 " Is this you, father ? " muttered the dying man. 
 
 " my God ! the gardener Kudimich ! What 
 has happened to you ? " 
 
 " Robbers." 
 
 " You lie ! " said a rude voice near by. " Not 
 robbers, but the daring freemen of Ryazan. We 
 beg a favor ; host, receive welcome guests." 
 
 And before IlmeniefF had recovered his wits 
 "they surrounded him, seized him, with his wife 
 and daughter, and in spite of desperate resist- 
 ance dragged him along the path toward the 
 house. 
 
 If it has ever happened to you, while walking 
 outside a town on a holiday, to enter some dram- 
 shop or public house in spite of yourself, to escape 
 from a sudden shower, you have surely seen how 
 the lowest class of people feast and rejoice. With- 
 out doubt that wild and unbridled delight, those 
 mad exclamations of a drunken mob, that brutal 
 and shameless rejoicing, roused your aversion in 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 309 
 
 the highest degree, and notwithstanding the heavy 
 rain you hurried to escape into the air, so as not 
 to stifle in the poisonous atmosphere of depravity, 
 so as not to see disgusting vice in all its deformed 
 nakedness. Now imagine to yourself a collection 
 of men in comparison with whom the other rab- 
 ble filled with liquor might almost be called 
 good society, and you will have an idea of 
 what was taking place in the house of Sergei 
 Filippovich, while he with his men was at the 
 fire. 
 
 In the broad dining-room thirty robbers were 
 feasting, some in holiday plush kaftans sprinkled 
 with blood, bespattered with mud ; others ragged, 
 in gray coats, and red shirts with sleeves rolled 
 up ; one had a pistol behind his belt, another 
 a broad knife ; in the corners of the room stood 
 long muskets and clubs, in the middle a keg of 
 wine with the head knocked out ; around it were 
 scattered glass bottles, and berry wines of various 
 colors were lying in pools on the floor. Right at 
 the door lay a murdered old man, Ilmenieff"s 
 butler ; and near him his grandson, an infant at the 
 breast, with broken head, was thrown on a pile of 
 cracked bottles. Through the whole room were 
 heaped bundles of clothing, silver vessels, caskets 
 and trunks bound with iron. On one of these sat a 
 man thirty years of age, in a green coat ; he was 
 not of large stature, but broad-shouldered ; he had 
 a repulsive red face and a shaven forehead. 
 This was Roschin's well-known essaul, a runaway 
 
310 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 soldier, nicknamed Filing the most bloodthirsty 
 beast in all that pack of hungry wolves. 
 
 "Hei! Yoj,"^ cried he, in a hoarse voice, to 
 one of the robbers, " give me another glass of 
 wine ! Somehow it is not glad at my heart. But 
 where has the ataman gone ? " 
 
 " He is out in that room working at the iron 
 trunk," answered the robber, giving Filin wine in 
 a silver cup. 
 
 " But somehow it does not yield to him, just 
 like a buried treasure." 
 
 " Well, explain it yourself ; it is fastened to the 
 floor so that a crowbar will not raise it." 
 
 " Then take out the plank." 
 
 " They tried to take it out, but it would not 
 come ; it is evident that bolts have been driven 
 into ,the beam." 
 
 Two robbers entered the room dragging a large 
 oak trunk. 
 
 " Why do you loiter ? " cried Filin ; " drag it on 
 quickly." 
 
 " But he hinders us," said one of the robbers, 
 pointing to the murdered old man ; " you see, he is 
 stretched across our road." 
 
 " Stop, boys ! I will help you." 
 
 The essaul rose, pushed aside the dead man 
 with his foot, and helped them to drag in the 
 trunk. 
 
 " Well," continued he, " have you cleared out 
 the storerooms?" 
 
 ^ Owl. 2 Hedgehog. 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 311 
 
 "Yes, almost entirely; some little refuse 
 remains." 
 
 " Then you might set fire. According to rae, if 
 you are going to rob, then rob ; what you don't 
 take yourself, burn with fire." 
 
 " It would seem to be so, but have you not 
 heard the order of the ataman ? " 
 
 "What order?" 
 
 " Not to burn the house." 
 
 "Why?" 
 
 f He knows why." 
 
 " He knows ; but I don't know, and I don't want 
 to know." 
 
 "Oho, Filin! look out; you are talking large. 
 Kuzma will hear." 
 
 " What if he does ? Am I his slave ? Great 
 figure, the ataman I But who made him ataman ? 
 Whom did he ask ? Pull him up. In what are 
 we worse than he ? " 
 
 " Oh, stop ! Don't bluster, Aspen-apple ! don't 
 hinder mushrooms from blossoming ! " roared a 
 man about seven feet and a half high, with an 
 enormous head of curly hair. 
 
 "Who is talking to you, Kalancha?"^ said the 
 essaul, looking with a frown at the robber. " If 
 I want to bluster, I 'II bluster." 
 
 " Look out that it will not bluster in your head," 
 continued the giant, taking a cup of wine from 
 the keg. 
 
 "What is that?" cried Filin, walking up to 
 
 1 Watch-tower. 
 
312 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES, 
 
 him. " Is your own head fixed firmly on your 
 shoulders ? " 
 
 ^' But what, in truth, are you roaring about ? " 
 asked Kalaneha, ceasing to drink. " Is there 
 much of you in the ground, for above the 
 ground there is not much ? See, what a hero ! 
 He hid behind a poppy-seed, and thinks the devil 
 is n't fit to be his brother." 
 
 " Listen, Long-back ! " roared the essaul. " How 
 dare you ! " 
 
 " Oh, enough of this ! Don't come under my 
 feet, I may tread on you ; then let them remember 
 your name." 
 
 " Oh, you cursed hop-pole ! " cried Filin, trying 
 to seize the colossal robber by the collar. 
 
 " You need n't stretch, you can't reach it," 
 said Kalaneha, pushing away Filin. " Ei, brother, 
 keep off! If I give one blow, you will not ask 
 a second time." 
 
 " Quiet, quiet, boys ! " cried the robbers. " The 
 ataman is coming." 
 
 Roschin entered the room. 
 
 " What are you fighting about here ? " asked he, 
 looking angrily at Kalaneha and the essaul. " In- 
 stead of hurrying to get hold of everything, the fools 
 have begun to fight. Filin, take ten men with 
 you and drag everything to the boats — Well, 
 what are you standing for ? Bestir yourself ! " 
 
 The essaul, snarling through his teeth like a 
 chained dog, set to work with his comrades. 
 
 "Carry everything through the garden," said 
 
KUZMA KOSCHIN. 313 
 
 Roscliin, " straight to the Oka. But hurry ! We 
 cannot stay a whole day here. But what is this ? " 
 added he, pointing to the murdered old man and 
 the infant. " Oh, butchers, butchers ! Were they 
 trying to fight with you? Who slaughtered 
 them ? " 
 
 " I caught the old man," said Kalancha, scratch- 
 ing his head, " when he had almost slipped out to 
 the village ; and the essaul struck the little boy, 
 who was screaming too much." 
 
 " What a mad dog ! Blood-drinker ! But 
 there is no time to talk of this now. Here, Tsa- 
 plya,^ you used to be a master at opening other 
 people's locks without a key. Can you not open 
 in some way the iron trunk in that room ? We have 
 sweated at it, and though you split, you cannot 
 get it away from the' floor. But no, stop a 
 moment! Maybe we can do without you." 
 
 Four robbers led into the room Ilmeniefl", bound, 
 and almost carried his wife and daughter, who 
 were scarcely able to keep their feet from fear. 
 
 " We beg a favor, your high-bornness," said Ros- 
 chin, bowing politely to Ilmenieff ; " I have kept 
 my word, and come to you to break the fast." 
 
 " Is it possible ! " cried IlmehiefF; " Alexai Arta- 
 monovich ! " 
 
 " Yes, I was Alexai too. What is to be done, 
 Sergei Filippovich? Be not angry, this is our 
 trade." 
 
 "So then you — " ' 
 
 1 Heron. 
 
314 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " I am Kuzma Roschin, whom you were pleased 
 to exalt as Kuzka, and whom you wanted to 
 receive and entertain and steam in the bath." 
 
 " Have you no fear of God ? " cried Varvara 
 Dmitrievna, clasping her hands. " Is there a con- 
 science in you ? In return for our bread and salt ! " 
 
 " Be silent, woman ! " said Ilmenieff. " You 
 want conscience in robbers — " 
 
 " We have our conscience too," interrupted Ros- 
 chin. " Were I at another man's place, neither 
 house nor stake would remain, but your dwelling 
 is untouched. From another we should find out 
 with fire where his money was ; but you, I ask 
 with an obeisance, if you please, father, the key 
 of this trunk. If you are not pleased, then God 
 be with you. We will find the key ourselves. 
 But be not angry. Mother Varvara Dmitrievna, if 
 we search you a little. I remember that keys were 
 rattling in your pocket." 
 
 " Here, criminal, take them ! " said she, giving 
 a bunch of keys. 
 
 " We thank you most humbly, mother ; be calm, 
 no one will offend you. Hei, you gallows' birds ! 
 Off with your caps, and see that no one scolds in 
 the presence of the ladies ; work is work, and 
 respect is respect." 
 
 All at once a shot was heard near the house. 
 
 " What is that ? " cried Roschin, " who dares ? 
 Have not I given orders — Another! Curse 
 them, they will rouse the whole village! Ei, 
 Kalancha, hurry out ; tell those fools — " 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 315 
 
 " Where is the ataman ? " thundered voices in 
 the entrance ; and a number of robbers with 
 frightened faces ran into the room. 
 
 "What is the matter?" asked Roschin, going 
 to meet them. 
 
 " The dragoons 1 " 
 
 " Is it possible ? Curses on that Zarubkin ! this 
 is his work. Where are they ? " 
 
 "Very near. Just now they rode out from 
 behind the grove." 
 
 " Are there many ? " 
 
 " Seen and unseen." 
 
 " Ei, boys ! " cried Roschin, with a thundering 
 voice. , " Take quickly whatever is lighter, and to 
 the Oka, through the garden. Filin, take the 
 sentries and run there too. Lock the front doors. 
 Escape, all of you, by the rear wing ; I will remain 
 for the moment. Leave one skiff at the shore. 
 Push out with your boats, and down the Oka. 
 Hurry, boys ! But you, Sergei Filippovich," con- 
 tinued Roschin, locking the door of the entrance 
 on the inside, " be pleased to stand calmly. You 
 too, ladies, see that you say not a word, just as if 
 there were no one in the room. If one of you 
 raises a voice, — be not angry ! " added he, taking 
 a pistol from his belt. 
 
 In the yard was heard the tramp of horses. 
 
 " Traitor ! " muttered Roschin. " Judas ! But 
 wait ! If I don't give it to you, I will to your 
 son." 
 
 He went to the window, from which the whole 
 
316 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 yard was visible, opened a pane, and cocked his 
 pistol. 
 
 " They have hurried. There he is, in front of 
 his dragoons. We beg the favor. Come up, come 
 up, my dove ! Here is the way, Vladimir Ivano- 
 vich ! " cried Roschin, with a loud voice. " Take 
 this to your father." 
 
 At the pistol-shot Mashenka screamed and fell 
 senseless to the floor. 
 
 " This way, after me ! " thundered the voice of 
 Vladimir on the porch. 
 
 " What devilish thing is this ! " said Roschin. 
 " Have I missed ? No help for it. Perhaps I 
 vrill settle with the father. Chu ! they have 
 broken into the entrance. No time for delay." 
 
 " Break the door ! " cried voices in the entrance. 
 
 " You will not escape, you criminal ! " said 
 IlmeniefF. 
 
 " God is merciful, Sergei Filippovich. Here is 
 my defence," added Roschin, running up to Ma^ 
 shenka, who was lying senseless. 
 
 He seized her, and threw her like a feather over 
 his shoulder, then rushed from the room. 
 
 " My daughter, my daughter ! " screamed Var- 
 vara Dmitrievna, in despair. " Help ! for God's 
 sake, help! " 
 
 The strong, oak door was cracking under the 
 blows o^ butts of muskets; and in a moment 
 Vladimir, with his dragoons, had broken into the 
 room. 
 
 " Sergei Filippovich ! " cried he, running up 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 317 
 
 to Ilmenieff, "you are alive! Where is your 
 daughter?" 
 
 " Save her ! " screamed Varvara Dmitrievna. 
 
 "Where is she? For God's sake, tell ! Quickly, 
 quickly ! " 
 
 " Roschin, the robber, has carried her off." 
 
 "Whither?" 
 
 " I know not, father. Likely through the gar- 
 den, to the Oka." 
 
 " Save my daughter, and she is yours," cried 
 IlraeniefiF. 
 
 " After me, boys ! " 
 
 And before the dragoons could follow him to 
 the rear wing he was running through the garden. 
 
 Boschin, in spite of his burden, had already 
 gone far ; in a few minutes he had passed through 
 the garden and pine-grove ; it only remained for 
 him to go down the hill to a small bay in the river, 
 where among flooded bushes the boats of the 
 robbers were tied to the bank. 
 
 All at once, on the Oka, musket-shots began to 
 thunder. 
 
 " Is it possible," muttered Eoschin, " that they 
 have been able to cut us off? It cannot be ! 
 Surely they are covering their retreat," said he, be- 
 ginning to descend the steep path winding among 
 bushes, which hindered him from seeing the near 
 bank of the river. 
 
 " But why do they not sail out into the river ? " 
 said he. " The fools ! they have found a time to 
 hug the shore." 
 
318 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 He continued to advance, listening to the mus- 
 ket-firing, till he came to a place where the path 
 turned sharply to one side, and wound around a 
 small sandy eminence which hung almost over the 
 river, Koschin ran forward to it, and for the first 
 time the fearless heart of the robber shuddered 
 from terror. 
 
 On the left, under his feet, extended the small 
 bay ; three curved boats were drawn out on shore, 
 and fifty dragoons from behind them met the rob- 
 bers as they ran down with discharges of mus- 
 ketry. All the landing was covered with their 
 corpses. 
 
 " Well, the afiair is bad ! " said Roschin, drop- 
 ping Mashenka, who was beginning to regain con- 
 sciousness. He cast a swift glance around on the 
 whole place ; on the right, about fifty yards from 
 him, near a fisherman's hut which was partly un- 
 der water, a boat was tied. " I may escape ! " 
 muttered he. 
 
 " Vladimir ! " cried Mashenka, with a weak 
 voice. 
 
 The robber put an arm around Mashenka quickly, 
 took from his breast a broad knife, and raised it ' 
 above the bosom of the half-dead girl ; but Vladi- 
 mir was already there. The upraised hand of the 
 robber grew numb in his grasp, and the knife fell 
 to the ground. Roschin dropped Mashenka, and 
 turned aside with his left hand the pistol directed 
 upon him. The report was heard ; the ball whistled 
 past. With a powerful efibrt the robber freed his 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 319 
 
 right hand, seized Vladimir with both, squeezed 
 him to his breast, and a brief, deadly struggle 
 began. The desperate bravery, agility, and un- 
 common strength of Vladimir were of no avail 
 against the enormous power of Roschin, who suf- 
 focated him in his embraces, knocked him from 
 his feet, pressed him into the earth with his knees, 
 and raising his knife said in a suppressed voice, — 
 
 " This is for you, but honor for your father is 
 ahead." 
 
 With a scream of despair Mashenka threw her- 
 self on Vladimir's bosom, under the very knife of 
 the robber. Roschin stopped and fixed his flash- 
 ing eyes on the hapless girl. 
 
 *' Oh, for the sake of your last hour, for the sake 
 of the Lord himself 1 " said Mashenka, in a failing 
 voice. 
 
 Something like pity gleamed in the stem eyes 
 of the robber. 
 
 "This way, brothers, this way!" thundered 
 voices right there, and ten dragoons rushed out 
 of the bushes. 
 
 " She has saved you," said Roschin. 
 
 He sprang up, drew back a couple of paces, 
 and threw himself into the river with all his force. 
 
 " To the bank, boys ! " cried the sergeant, who 
 was running ahead of the dragoons, " and the 
 moment he comes to the top — " 
 
 " Halt ! " cried Vladimir, rising with difficulty to 
 his feet, " let him die his own death ; we are not 
 executioners." 
 
320 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " True," answered the sergeant, coming with his 
 comrades to the sandy eminence, " the river is high, 
 and he will not cross." 
 
 " See him ! see him ! " cried the dragoons. 
 
 A few yards from the bank Roschin appeared 
 on the surface of the water; he was swimming 
 with incredible rapidity. 
 
 " See, see where he is going ! " said the ser- 
 geant. " Over there in the water, near that hut, 
 a boat is tied. He is quick-eyed, the dog ! " 
 
 Roschin swam to the fishers' hut, sprang into 
 the boat ; in half a minute he had made his way 
 into the swift current, and was shooting down like 
 an arrow with the flow of the river. 
 
 " Eh ! your well-bornness," said one of the dra- 
 goons, " we have let him go." 
 
 " Silence, you fool ! " said the sergeant ; " it was 
 evidently fated to him at birth. Whoso is to be 
 hanged will not drown." 
 
 " My daughter, my daughter ! she is alive," cried 
 voices from behind; and Mashenka threw herself 
 on Ilmenieff's neck. 
 
 " Now kiss your bridegroom," said Sergei Filip- 
 povich, leading her to Vladimir. 
 
 " And may the Lord bless you ! " added Varvara 
 Dmitrievna, embracing them both. 
 
 Next day about vesper time they found Ivan 
 Timofeevich Zarubkin slain in the grove two 
 steps from his garden. Roschin's whole band 
 was destroyed, but he himself vanished without 
 tidings. 
 
KUZMA KOSCHIN. 321 
 
 Vladimir married Mashenka, resigned the ser- 
 vice, and with the IlmeniefFs went to live in 
 Moscow. 
 
 Twenty years passed. The name of the daring 
 robber was almost lost from the memory of the 
 inhabitants along the Oka ; the peasants of Zykovo 
 alone frightened their children with Kuzma Ros- 
 chin, and told how he had burned their village and 
 plundered IlmeniefF's house ; how their young mas- 
 ter Vladimir Ivanovich had fallen upon the robbers 
 with his dragoons, and cut them all down except 
 Roschin himself, who turned into a gray wolf, and, 
 as is said, ran oflF to the forests of Brynsk, through 
 which he races now in the night-time, and howls 
 so that for ten versts around him a groan goes 
 through the whole damp forest, the earth trembles, 
 and not a bird builds a nest there frona terror. 
 
 II. 
 The Judgment of God. 
 
 The year 1771 is memorable for all the inhabi- 
 tants of Moscow. It was one of the most grievous 
 years for our ancient capital ; and old men still, in 
 telling of the past, say, "That happened two 
 years before the Moscow plague ; this was in the 
 very year of the plague." Expressing themselves 
 in this fashion, they are convinced that they fix 
 with the greatest accuracy the period of the event. 
 Up to the present, old inhabitants of Moscow call 
 
 21 
 
322 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 to mind with horror this time of misfortune, with 
 which, according to them, the French invasion of 
 1812 can scarcely be compared, 
 
 I almost agree with this view. In 1812, while 
 looking at the immense burned ruins of Moscow, 
 on the thousands of wrecked and charred houses, 
 the thought was present to you that the men who 
 lived in those houses had burned them with their 
 own hands, that they had lost a part of their prop- 
 erty but had saved themselves, and perhaps had 
 saved by this sacrifice the glory, power, and in- 
 dependence of their native land. This consoling 
 thought, this thought elevating to the soul, cast a 
 certain veil of fascination over the ruins of Mos- 
 cow ; you looked not with sorrow, but with devo- 
 tion and pride, on these sacred heaps of stones, on 
 this broad tomb of the enemies of Russia. Let 
 him who was in Moscow soon after the expulsion 
 of the French say whether this thought was not 
 a consoling angel to him, even when he was 
 sitting on the ruins of his own home. 
 
 In 1771 Moscow was not burned, the skeletons 
 of houses were not smoking on its streets. Build- 
 ings stood as before on their foundations ; but the 
 spiked doors, windows closed with planks, those 
 signs of death, the red crosses on the gates of 
 plague-stricken houses, which like two rows of 
 enormous cofl[ins stretched along both sides of the 
 street, — were they not a hundred times more ter- 
 rible than any fire ? Add to this an almost com- 
 plete anarchy, a silence as of the grave in the 
 
KUZMA EOSCHIN. 323 
 
 suTjurbs, the furious cries of an insurgent mob in 
 the centre of the city, of a mad crowd which, drunk 
 with the blood of those who had striven to save it 
 robbed, broke open drinking-shops, and covered 
 with its infected corpses the desolated streets. 
 Represent to yourself all this, and surely you will 
 agree that the misfortune of 1771 was vastly more 
 grievous to the inhabitants of Moscow than that 
 which in 1812 was the beginning and, perhaps, 
 main cause of the deliverance of all Europe. 
 
 The Eastern plague, which simple people so ex- 
 pressively call death, appeared in Moscow in 1 770 ; 
 it was raging at that time in Woldavia and Wallar- 
 chia, where our armies were. Frequent com- 
 munication of the inhabitants of Moscow with the 
 active army was the probable cause of the appear- 
 ance of the plague, first in Little Russia, and then 
 in Moscow itself. The measures taken by the 
 Government, it seems, stopped it completely ; but 
 in the following year, that is, in 1771, in the month 
 of March, it broke out again, and increased to such 
 a degree that in September the number of daily 
 deaths reached one thousand. All eflforts to stop 
 this plague were unavailing. 
 
 The mob was indignant at the establishment of 
 quarantine houses, the closing of the baths, arid 
 more than all, the prohibition to bury the dead in 
 churches of the city. In troubled times deceivers 
 and knaves always take advantage of popular cre- 
 dulity. A laborer in a cloth-factory began to her- 
 ald forth that he had seen in a dream that this 
 
324 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 misfortune had come upon Moscow because no 
 one had performed a service, or even wished to 
 place tapers before the image of the Mother of 
 God at the Varvara gate. Notwithstanding the 
 absurdity of this tale, or, to speak more correctly, 
 precisely because everything in it was contradic- 
 tory to true faith and sound sense, the mad crowd 
 rushed in a mass to the Varvara gate ; continuous 
 services began. The healthy and the sick came to- 
 gether from all parts of Moscow; they infected 
 one another, and spreading death throughout their 
 own houses, perished by whole families. 
 
 In this woful time early one morning, Septem- 
 ber 15, a telega, to which three horses were at- 
 tached, was being dragged at a walk along the 
 Yaroslav road. In it sat a merchant, in a blue 
 kaftan of fine cloth, over which was thrown a 
 costly fox-skin cloak. From the first glance at his 
 beard, white as snow, and high forehead covered 
 with wrinkles, it might be thought that he was 
 finishing his eighth ten of years. But the vivacity 
 gleaming in his eyes, which were, at times, .sad and 
 thoughtful, his erect and stately form, his cheeks 
 not altogether faded, showed that not years but sor- 
 row had brought these deep wrinkles to his face, 
 and covered his head with gray before its time. 
 
 "See, the sun has begun to warm," said the 
 wayfarer, dropping the cloak from his shoulders. 
 " Ei, good friend," said he, turning to the driver, 
 " you have driven now four versts at a walk ; is it 
 not time for a trot ? " 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 325 
 
 " Wait, master," answered the driver, " we will 
 reach the hill-top, and then go at a trot. But 
 why hurry greatly ? All are trying now- to go out 
 of Moscow ; there are few who wish to go in." 
 
 " Is it long since you were there ? " 
 
 "About five days ago I took in a Eostoff 
 merchant." 
 
 " Well, has it grown easier in the city ? " 
 
 " How easier ? Such death, that it is impossible 
 to tell of it. It just boils with a boiling, do you 
 hear ? They cannot make coffins." 
 
 " My God, my God," muttered the merchant, 
 " punish me not according to my sins ! " 
 
 " We have angered the Lord," continued the 
 driver. "But have you heard, master, that an 
 image of the Bogolyubsk mother of God has ap- 
 peared at the Varvara gate ? " 
 
 " No, I have not heard that." 
 
 " When I was in Moscow last, I went myself to 
 offer a candle. O Lord, my God ! people and peo- 
 ple, just crushing one another! But it is said 
 that they have begun to die more than before." 
 
 " And no wonder, for this disease is infectious. 
 Well, now the road is down-hill," continued the 
 merchant. " Whip up, my dove ! " 
 
 " Wait, master, let us drive out of this village, 
 then we will go ; you see what mud there is on 
 the street, '■ — no road at all." 
 
 The wayfarers entered the village of Pushkino. 
 Here and there lean dogs were barking, and calves 
 tormented with hunger were wandering along the 
 
326 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 street; but nowhere was a human voice to be 
 heard. Not one chimney was smoking ; all was 
 as dead and silent as in deep midnight. 
 
 " What does this mean ? " asked the merchant. 
 " Are all asleep yet in the houses ? The sun is 
 high, I think." 
 
 " What, asleep ! " answered the driver, shaking 
 his head. " All Pushkino is dead." 
 
 "Can it be? Is it possible that all, to the 
 last?" 
 
 " All, from small to great ; in the whole village 
 not a living soul is left." 
 
 " All, to the last one ! " repeated the merchant, in 
 an undertone. " Perhaps in this cottage three 
 days ago a father admired his family, a mother 
 nursed her children." 
 
 " But now," interrupted the driver, " there is no 
 one to close a gate. Here lived my friend Fad- 
 dei, a rich man ; and what a family he had, — six 
 sons, one as sturdy as the other ! Two weeks ago 
 all were in health ; but the last time I drove by I 
 looked, and the wretched man was sitting in front 
 of the house, alone, like a finger. He tried to say 
 something when I was passing ; but all at once 
 he rolled over, groaned, and there in my presence 
 gave up his soul to God." 
 
 Having passed the long row of peasant-houses, 
 the wayfarers approached the end of the village. 
 In the window of the last cottage stood a woman 
 visible to the waist ; she was looking out on the 
 street, her head bound with a white kerchief. 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 327 
 
 " Glory to thee, Lord ! " said the merchant. 
 " With difficulty have we seen a living person." 
 
 The driver shook his head. 
 
 " But have you grown blind ? " asked the mer- 
 chant ; " there, in the last cottage." 
 
 " I see, master ; but she has been looking out of 
 that window these five days. She, poor woman, 
 wished before death, it seems, to look on God's 
 world. Unfortunate ! and there is no one to take . 
 her away." 
 
 The merchant shuddered involuntarily when 
 they came up to the house from which this terrible 
 mistress was looking. He covered his eyes with 
 his hands so as not to see her disfigured face, cov- 
 ered with black spots, — a face on which the 
 expression of unendurable torment and terrible 
 suflFering had stiffened in death. 
 
 When they had left the village the driver struck 
 the horses, and they went at a slow trot. 
 
 " But add something to your speed," said the 
 merchant ; " in this way we shall drag along the 
 whole day." 
 
 " How can we go differently ? " muttered the 
 driver, shaking the reins. " And where are you 
 hurrying? You are not going to rejoice." 
 
 " How do you know ? " answered the merchant, 
 hurriedly. 
 
 " But what is there pleasant in Moscow at this 
 time?" 
 
 " I have a wife and children there." 
 
 " That is it. But stop ! " continued the driver. 
 
328 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 turning around to the merchant ; " are you not the 
 Moscow merchant, Fedot Abramich SibiryakoflF ? " 
 
 " I am." 
 
 "I thought so. I listened; the voice was 
 familiar. I hardly knew you." 
 
 " But how do you know me ? " 
 
 "How not know? Last fall I took you with 
 your whole family to Rostoff. You have your 
 own house on the Varvarka, in the parish of 
 Maksim the Confessor, — such a splendid stone 
 house ! " 
 
 " Stop, stop ! " said the merchant ; " and they 
 call you Andrei ? " 
 
 " Andrei, father. And I know your wife, and 
 your children I know. Oh, your wife is such a 
 good woman, — God grant her many years to live ! 
 And your two daughters, — it is not to be denied, 
 so kindly and comely ; but your son — " 
 
 " I have no son." 
 
 " But who was that with you, that red-haired 
 boy? Teresha was his name." 
 
 " He is my adopted son." 
 
 "Why adopt any one when you have your 
 daughters? " 
 
 " I took him when I had no children.' 
 
 " That is it. Well, be not angry, master ; you 
 have bound an evil pain to yourself. You know 
 that rascal Teresha is out and out shameless, and 
 so venomous ! You remember that we stopped at 
 Bolshiya Mytishi to let the horses rest ; you went 
 to drink tea, and I to the public house to take a 
 
KUZMA BOSCHIN. 329 
 
 glass of spirits. What do you think that red- 
 haired rogue did while I was gone? He went 
 and took the bits quietly out of the horses' mouths. 
 It is well that I saw it in time, or there would have 
 been misfortune. My horses are wild, and they 
 would not have left a bone of us alive. I began to 
 scold him ; but he, the little devil, hurled a stone 
 at me, and came near knocking out one of my eyes." 
 
 " Yes," said the merchant, with a sigh, " it is 
 clear that the Lord is punishing me for my sins." 
 
 " But, master, who is he ? Is he a relative ? 
 Put him on the threshold, and throw him out by 
 the neck." 
 
 " No, my kind friend, if the Lord God has not 
 yet withdrawn altogether from me, a cursed sin- 
 ner, shall I desert without care this orphan ? If I 
 have to suffer sorrow from him, there is no help for 
 it. It is clear that that was the will of God ; and 
 if the Lord has only been merciful to my wife and 
 children — " 
 
 " Never fear, master," said the driver ; " perhaps 
 all will be well. God is merciful. Well, the 
 road is like a table-cloth now. Shall I console 
 you?" 
 
 " Be so kind, my dear man. If you reach Mos- 
 cow for Mass, I will give you a ruble for vodka." 
 
 " God save you, master ; but is your telega 
 strong?" asked the driver, pulling in his reins. 
 
 " Ei ! there, ye friends ! " (to the horses.) " Be on 
 your guard, Fedot Abramich," continued he, draw- 
 ing from his belt a braided whip. "Well, have 
 
330 TALES OF THRKE CENTURIES. 
 
 ye stopped ? I '11 strike you. Ei, gray, thou art 
 slow ! Are thy feet sore ? " 
 
 The bold driver whistled, called, and the telega 
 rolled over the broad road like a whirlwind. 
 Tarasovka, Bolshiya, Mytischi, Rostokino, Alek- 
 saievskoe, with the Tsar's house and mirror-like 
 ponds, flew past the wayfarers ; and the bells had 
 not begun to ring yet in the city when the driver, 
 reining in with difficulty his mettlesome troika, 
 halted near the cross at the Troitskaya barrier. 
 An old invalid came up to them as if unwillingly, 
 and learning that the merchant Avas travelling from 
 the safe city of Yaroslav, opened the gate without 
 further question. 
 
 " Well, you are lucky, master," said the driver, 
 touching up the horses ; " the last time they kept 
 me outside the barrier almost till vespers, — so 
 many questions ! " 
 
 " But see that wagon ahead of us," said the 
 merchant ; " they did not stop that at all." 
 
 " Yes, yes," answered the driver. " What does 
 that mean ? " 
 
 " It is clear, good man, that there is no one 
 now to guard mother Moscow." 
 
 " What do you say, master ? Are the commands 
 of every kind few in number ? Of those alone that 
 are chosen, and of men in tens there is a whole 
 legion. No ; it has grown easier in Moscow." 
 
 " God grant it," said the merchant, with a deep 
 sigh. 
 
 The wagon, moving ahead of the travellers. 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 331 
 
 turned aside on a sudden and quickly, while in 
 front was heard a repulsive, hoarse voice, — 
 
 " Turn out in a hurry ! Gentlemen are 
 travelling ! " 
 
 In one moment the middle of the street was 
 free, and the merchant saw before him such a 
 terrible train of wagons that his heart grew icy 
 from horror. Toward the barrier stretched a long 
 row of wagons loaded with coffins, some of which 
 were so badly nailed together that it seemed they 
 might fall apart at the first jolt ; others were with- 
 out lids, and the disfigured corpses, barely covered 
 with mats, looked out from them on the pass- 
 ers-by. The living men surrounding this funeral 
 procession seemed to the merchant more terrible 
 than the corpses, not because they were dressed 
 like scarecrows of some kind, but because their 
 drunken, dissolute features, their beastly faces, 
 their mad laughter at sight of the travellers who 
 hastened to turn out of the road, all gave them 
 the appearance of genuine demons. At some dis- 
 tance were moving garrison soldiers with muskets, 
 and a police official on horseback. 
 
 " Oh, Lord ! " said the merchant, " what kind of 
 people are these ? They do not even look like men." 
 
 " Do you not see, master, that they are in 
 chains ? " answered the driver. " Those are 
 robbers." 
 
 " Robbers 1 " repeated the merchant, with a timid 
 voice. 
 
 " Yes. At first government drivers took dead 
 
332 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 people outside the city ; but they began to die in 
 great numbers, so that now convicts are sent from 
 the prison." 
 
 " Ei, master ! " cried one of the convicts, " open 
 the jug for us ; give us a little. We have nothing 
 to remember the dead with." 
 
 " And be not stingy," added another ; " to-mor- 
 row, you know, we may draw you out this way too." 
 
 The merchant threw them a handful of small 
 money. The robbers rushed like hungry dogs to 
 pick up the coppers. Only one convict about 
 seven feet and a half high did not follow their 
 example; he stood motionless in his place, and 
 stared at the merchant. 
 
 " Well, Kalancha,^ why do you stick out your 
 eyes ? " cried one of his comrades, " or do you 
 want to taste whips ? Go on ! " 
 
 " Drive quicker I" whispered the merchant ; " it 
 is terrible to look at these people." 
 
 " If you live here a couple of days you will grow 
 used to them," muttered the driver, urging his 
 horses. 
 
 They drove from the barrier to the SuharefiF 
 tower without meeting one person. They found a 
 death-like silence rarely interrupted by dull cries 
 which came through the walls of the houses, here 
 and there in the churchyards stiffened corpses of 
 beggars, doors nailed up, windows with broken 
 panes, and everywhere, almost at each step, red 
 
 1 This man will te recognized as one of the robbers at 
 Ilmeuieff's. 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 333 
 
 crosses on the gates. Beyond the Suhareff tower 
 the wayfarers began to overtake first people walk- 
 ing singly, then whole masses of men and women, 
 and when coming to the Nikolski gate they turned 
 to the left along the city wall, they had to stop 
 continually so as not to drive over the crowds. 
 
 " See, master," said the driver, " how all the 
 orthodox people run to pray to the Bogolyubsk 
 mother of God. Look, look there, at the Varvara 
 gate ! Oh, thou Lord, what a crowd ! Boiling as 
 in a kettle ! " 
 
 " But what is that ? " asked the merchant, lis- 
 tening to some indistinct sounds which were heard 
 among the countless mass of people like distant 
 sounds of thunder. " That is not like the ordinary 
 speech of people. Do you hear how they cry ? " 
 
 " I do, Fedot Abramich. The last time there 
 were not fewer people, but they did not make 
 such noise. Are they not factory-workers?" 
 
 "God forbid." 
 
 " But stop, master, let us drive nearer ; we 
 shall see." 
 
 When within three hundred yards of the Var- 
 vara gate they had to stop ; the space between the 
 city wall and the church of All Saints was filled 
 with people. 
 
 "Well, there is no help for it," said the mer- 
 chant, stepping out of the wagon. " Turn back ; 
 perhaps you can pass through the Ilyinskiya gate 
 to the Varvarka, and I will make my way home 
 somehow on foot." 
 
334 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 The driver turned his horses, and the merchant 
 mingled with the people. Now pushing himself 
 slowly forward, now swept on quickly by the hur- 
 rying crowds, he found himself in a few moments 
 at the Varvara gate itself. First of all he was 
 astonished at the sight of a man of small stature 
 standing on a high bench ; his hair was dishev- 
 elled ; he was spotted, ragged, — in one word, 
 like a convict escaped from prison ; he called from 
 time to time in a hoarse, drawling voice, " Pro- 
 vide, orthodox, a public taper for the mother of 
 God." To the image of the Bogolyubsk mother 
 of God, fixed in the wall of the tower about four- 
 teen feet from the ground, a ladder was planted. 
 The people climbed on this ladder unceasingly. 
 Some kissed the image, others set up tapers; 
 those lower down caught on to others above 
 them, pulled them down, fell themselves, were 
 trampled under foot, crushed. Curses, cries, the 
 whining of women, the groans of the dying, all 
 was drowned by the general murmur of the crowd, 
 which rose in waves, and roared like a stormy sea. 
 Listening to the conversation of a number of per- 
 sons, the newly arrived merchant was struck by 
 the name of the Archbishop Ambrosius, and hints 
 of the danger threatening the good pastor. Wish- 
 ing to know more precisely what the question was, 
 he inquired of many ; their answers were obscure, 
 or expressed in general threats, and he did not 
 give them attention. 
 
 When the crowd had begun to grow thin, the 
 
KUZMA ROSCHfN. 335 
 
 merchant went forward again. He passed the 
 church of George the Victorious, and came into 
 open spaces ; behind him were crowds of people, 
 but in front the whole street was empty, and only 
 here and there from the windows of houses looked 
 out stealthily the wives of rich merchants who 
 lived in confinement and did not dare to go out 
 on the street. 
 
 All at once the merchant, who was walking with 
 swift step, stopped. He saw in the distance the roof 
 pf his own house ; his heart was straitened, cold 
 sweat came out on his pale face. Up to that 
 decisive moment he was not altogether unhappy ; 
 he might hope, he might think, " I have a wife, I 
 have children ; " but now a few steps more, a half 
 minute more, and perhaps he will find that for 
 some time he has been alone in the whole world, a 
 wretched orphan with gray hairs ; perhaps he will 
 seek and will not find the tomb over which to weep. 
 
 " Gracious God," muttered the poor old man, 
 " it is not for me to implore thee for mercy ; but 
 if it may redeem their lives, send on me diseases, 
 sufferings, let me lie down in the grave alive, and 
 I will praise thy mercy." 
 
 At this very moment a tattered and ugly boy, 
 who was running and looking back continually, 
 knocked against the merchant. 
 
 " Teresha ! " cried he, seizing him by the hand, 
 "is this you?" 
 
 " Of course it is," snapped the boy, struggling 
 to tear away. 
 
336 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " But stop ! where are you running to ? Now 
 tell me, are all well at home ? How are my wife 
 and daughters ? " 
 
 " Oh, something happens to them ! " said the boy, 
 looking impatiently ahead. 
 
 " Are they alive ? " 
 
 "Who knows?" 
 
 " But are you not living with them ? " 
 
 " Of course not ! I am sick of pounding. Let 
 me go ! " 
 
 " Is it possible," exclaimed the merchant, " that 
 you have left my house ? How did you dare ? " 
 
 " This is how," said the boy, freeing his hand 
 and starting on a run toward the Varvara 
 gate. 
 
 " He is alive," said the merchant, looking after 
 the boy ; " but perhaps my wife, my children — 
 But quickly, quickly," continued he, hastening for- 
 ward. " What wiU be, will be." 
 
 Now he is before his own house. He looks; 
 the shutters are closed, the doors on the street are 
 covered with boards ; he hurries to the gate. 
 
 " Oh, just God ! there is a red cross on it. But 
 it seems — yes, a dog is barking in the yard ; so 
 the house is not altogether deserted." 
 
 The merchant knocks at the door in the gate. 
 No answer ; but the dog, recognizing his master, 
 barks more than before. A few minutes pass ; 
 the same deathlike silence. In the next house 
 a window was opened slowly, and a man with a 
 pale, sickly face said to the merchant, — 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 337 
 
 " Do not knock, my friend ; there is no one in 
 that house." 
 
 ' "No one," repeated the unfortunate old man, 
 with a broken voice. " And the mistress of the 
 house?" 
 
 " She died three days ago." 
 
 " And her daughters ? " 
 
 " They took the last one to the grave yesterday." 
 
 " The last one ! " muttered the merchant. 
 
 He dropped against the wall of his house. 
 Hapless man ! he did not lose his memory ; he 
 understood that he had neither wife nor children; 
 There is sorrow which we call sorrow, God knows 
 why ; it has not and it cannot have a name in hu- 
 man language. This feeling is of short duration, 
 like the last sigh of a dying man ; but half a 
 lifetime of uninterrupted diseases, a whole age 
 of physical suffering is nothing in comparison to 
 this momentary death of the soul. The aged or- 
 phan was silent ; in his eyes there were no tears, 
 in his breast there was no sigh. He looked at the 
 heavens; they were bright and clear, but as re- 
 sponseless and dead as his soul. It seemed to 
 him that some one was whispering above his ear, 
 " Do not knock there either, aged man ; neither will 
 any one answer you in that place." The lifeless 
 glances of the merchant rested on the door of the 
 church opposite which he was standing. Sud- 
 denly his eyes flashed. " And so," cried he, gnash- 
 ing his teeth, " neither penance nor ardent prayers 
 nor my bloody tears could soften thee." 
 22 
 
338 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 At this moment some one came out of the 
 church. There was service inside, and through 
 the open door low voices were heard in the choir 
 singing to the Tsar of heaven, the true comforter 
 of souls. The words of despair died on the lips 
 of the merchant. Mild obedience as beneficent 
 rain was poured into his soul, tears came to his 
 eyes, and he fell in the dust before the chastising 
 right hand of God. 
 
 An earnest prayer relieved the heart of the un- 
 fortunate man. He felt all the greatness of his loss ; 
 he was able to say, " Grieved is my soul even 
 unto death ; " but he did not complain against 
 Him who gives and takes away. " Let thy holy 
 will be done," said he, fixing his eyes on the image 
 of the Saviour which was hanging over the door 
 of the church. "Thy just judgment is accom- 
 plished upon me. Thou seest my suffering, 
 Lord, Lord ; have I made peace with thee ? " 
 
 Soon there rushed up a crowd of people coming 
 from the Varvara gate, and he heard again the 
 name of Ambrosias. The merchant trembled ; he 
 began to tremble for the safety of the revered 
 archpastor, whom he knew personally. 
 
 With grief in our hearts we must mention here 
 an event all the details of which we are prevented 
 from describing by horror. 
 
 Besides the misfortunes which Moscow endured 
 at that time, she was fated to add another dark 
 page to her chronicles ; a terrible crime was com- 
 mitted within her walls. The Archbishop Ambro- 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 339 
 
 sius fell, as is known, under the knife of vile 
 criminals. Let us rather throw a veil over this 
 sacrilegious deed which the old inhabitants of 
 Moscow cannot mention to this day without a 
 shudder, and tell what part was taken in it by 
 the merchant Fedot Abramich Sibiryakoff. 
 
 Satisfying himself of the reality of the criminal 
 plan, this ill-fated man decided to save Ambrosius. 
 Next day, September 16, he galloped oif early in 
 the morning to the Don Monastery, where the arch- 
 bishop was living at the time. He found at the 
 gate a novice and a lay-brother attending Ambro- 
 sius, and he demanded of them insistently to perr 
 suade the worthy pastor to go at once as far from 
 Moscow as possible. The archbishop had not been 
 able to follow his advice, when the murderers were 
 at the gate. He took refuge in the church. The 
 criminals broke into the temple, and the adopted 
 son of SibiryakoflF (that same Teresha) discovered 
 him in the choir and pointed him out to the fran- 
 tic fanatics. The robbers dragged the archbishop 
 from the choir. One of them, in whom Sibirya- 
 koff recognized the factory-laborer who had been 
 collecting money at the Varvara gate for a pub- 
 lic taper, raged more than the others. When 
 he had exhausted all words of imprecation, he 
 raised a broad knife above the breast of the 
 victim. Sibiryakoff seized his hand and stopped 
 the blow. 
 
 " And who is this who interferes ? " roared voices 
 around ; " strike him ! " 
 
340 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " What are you doing, brothers ? " the merchant 
 was forced to say. " I am with you. Is it a proper 
 thing to defile the temple of the Lord ? Lead him 
 out of the monastery, and then we shall see." 
 
 " True, true ! " cried the robbers. " Of course he 
 will not escape." 
 
 SibiryakofF had hope that meanwhile he would 
 succeed in rousing the consciences of the outcasts ; 
 but all his efforts were vain. Ambrosius perished. 
 The criminals did not escape merited punishment. 
 Pyotr Dmitrievich Yeropkin, the only authority in 
 Moscow, succeeded in collecting a few companies 
 of the Velikolutsk regiment, which was then about 
 thirty versts from the city, and with the aid of 
 this handful of soldiers he dispersed the crowd 
 and seized the ringleaders. After this Count Pyotr 
 Semyonovich SaltykofF, commander-in-chief, came 
 to Moscow mth the civil governor, Yushkofi", and 
 the chief police-master Bahmetyeff. Soon tran- 
 quillity was restored completely, and a special com- 
 mission formed to investigate the murder of the 
 archbishop. The greatness of the offence and the 
 security of the capital demanded unusual measures 
 of severity. Of those who had taken part in the 
 death of the archbishop two were hanged ; and 
 the rest, very many in number, were condemned 
 to draw lots, and every tenth man was flogged. 
 
 At the end of September, in the court in which 
 the commission held its sessions, an official of ad- 
 vanced years appeared ; he was very pale, and it 
 seemed that he moved his feet with difficulty. 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 341 
 
 " Ah, that is you, Afanasi Kirilovich ! " cried the 
 president of the commission, rising partly from his 
 place. "We beg the favor. Well, how is your 
 health ? " 
 
 "Glory be to God, I wander on a little," an- 
 swered Afanasi Kirilovich, taking his seat at the 
 table with the other members of the commission. 
 
 " But we were beginning to be alarmed," said 
 one of his associates. "You -fell ill' on the day 
 of opening the commission, and for three weeks 
 neither report nor sign of you." 
 
 " Well, father, I barely escaped dying. What is 
 going on with you here ? " 
 
 " I think that we shall soon finish," said the 
 president. " Two of the chief murderers are sen- 
 tenced already to death, and to-day those who took 
 part in the crime will draw lots ; every tenth man, 
 by decision of the commission, must be punished 
 as a capital criminal." 
 
 : "Have a care, gentlemen, that no one suffers 
 innocently ; you know the will of our merciful 
 Tsaritsa. Better forgive ten guilty men than 
 punish one innocent." 
 
 " Oh, as to that, we can be at rest," said one 
 of the members, our old acquaintance, Vladimir 
 Ivanovich Zarubkin. " The accused have volun- 
 tarily and without any constraint confessed their 
 guilt, except one, who denies; but all the cir- 
 cumstances and the evidence of eyewitnesses 
 convict him." 
 
 " I will give the order to read a list of their 
 
342 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 names to you," said the president, " Be so kind, 
 Kondrati Prohorovich," continued he, turning to 
 the secretary. 
 
 The secretary took from the table a sheet of 
 written paper, and began to read: — 
 
 " The first tenth, the Moscow merchant, Fedot 
 Abramich SibiryakofF — " 
 
 " What, what ! " interrupted Afanasi Kirilovich ; 
 " what is his name ? " 
 
 " Fedot Abramich SibiryakofF." 
 
 " That rich merchant who came to Moscow ten 
 years ago from Irkutsk ? " 
 
 " Precisely so, your high-bornness." 
 
 " It cannot be," cried Afanasi Kirilovich ; " this 
 is a mistake. I know^ SibiryakofF; he is a wise, 
 pious man, worthy of every respect." 
 
 " And still," added the president, " he was 
 among those who killed the late Arabrosius." 
 
 "And he confessed that himself? " 
 
 " On the contrary, he insists on his innocence ; 
 but the proofs of his guilt are so evident — " 
 
 " Oh, for God's sake, be not hasty ! " interrupted, 
 with warmth, Afanasi Kirilovich. 
 
 " I repeat that this must be a mistake. Think, 
 gentlemen, if it should transpire hereafter that he 
 was innocent — " 
 
 " Permit me," said the secretary ; " here is the 
 statement of the police-officer KochetkofF, who, 
 disguised as a factory-laborer, was with the rob- 
 bers at the monastery when they dragged the 
 archbishop out of the choir. He heard with his 
 
KUZMA KOSCHIN, 343 
 
 own ears how the merchant Sibiryakoff commanded 
 them to take the archbishop out of the church, 
 and put him to death beyond the walls of the 
 monastery." 
 
 " But if this Kochetkoff had never seen him be- 
 fore, and was deceived by a resemblance of faces ? " 
 
 "There is the point, Afanasi Kirilovich," said 
 the president. " The testifying police-officer knows 
 him personally, and exchanged hospitality with him 
 more than once." 
 
 " But this is not all," said the secretary. " The 
 adopted son of the above-mentioned Sibiryakoff 
 testified voluntarily and on a clear conscience that 
 Sibiryakofi", bringing the archbishop by means of 
 his assistants beyond the monastery walls, was one 
 of the first to lay hands on him. And such 
 weighty and concurrent testimony of two eye- 
 witnesses becomes by virtue of the law clear and 
 firm proof." 
 
 " Still, gentlemen, I am convinced of his inno- 
 cence," said Afanasi Kirilovich, " in spite of the 
 testimony of eyewitnesses, who may act through 
 personal enmity." 
 
 "But why are you so troubled?" interrupted 
 the president. " Let this Sibiryakoff draw his 
 lot ; he may be fortunate, and if not we shall be 
 able to talk about his case then. Give orders to 
 lead in the merchant Sibiryakoff," continued he, 
 turning to the secretary. 
 
 In a minute the door opened, and our acquaint- 
 ance, the merchant, entered. 
 
344 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES, 
 
 " Fedot Abramich ! " cried bis defender, " is it 
 you wbom I see here?" 
 
 " Hail to you, Father Afanasi Kirilovich ! " said 
 the merchant, praying before the images, and 
 bowing low to the judges. 
 
 " All the circumstances make you guilty," con- 
 tinued Afanasi Kirilovich ; " but I cannot believe 
 that you were among the murderers of the 
 archbishop." 
 
 " God grant you many years of health ! " said the 
 merchant ; and on his pale, sickly face was de- 
 picted a glooipy joy. " This is the first word of 
 comfort that I have heard since I was reckoned 
 among criminals." 
 
 " And your adopted son, that serpent whom you 
 warmed in your breast — " 
 
 " What is to be done, father ? Even the good 
 deeds of a sinner turn against him." 
 
 " Sibiryakoff"," said the president, " come to the 
 table; you must draw the lot yourself. There 
 are ten folded papers ; only one of them is marked 
 with a cross ; perhaps that one will not come to 
 
 you." 
 
 The merchant made the sign of the cross, and 
 took one of the lots. His hands trembled ; he 
 wished to give it to the secretary. 
 
 " No," said the president, " open it yourself." 
 
 Sibiryakoff opened it. All the blood rushed to 
 his face, which almost at the same moment was 
 covered with a deathly pallor. 
 
 " With a cross," said the secretary coolly, look- 
 ing at the open paper. 
 
KUZMA KOSCHIN. 345 
 
 " My God ! " cried Afanasi Kirilovich, springing 
 from his place and approaching Sibiryakoff, " pre- 
 cisely so." 
 
 " High judges," said the merchant, in a trem- 
 bling voice, " I have nothing to add in my defence. 
 I have already said everything ; but I repeat, — and 
 God sees that I speak the truth, — I am innocent." 
 
 The president gave the sign to lead him from 
 the room. 
 
 "Do not lose hope, Fedot Abramich," whispered 
 his defender. " God is merciful." 
 
 " Well, there is no help now," said one of the 
 members. " It is evident that it was fated to him 
 at birth." 
 
 " Hear me, gentlemen," interrupted Afanasi Kiri- 
 lovich, after he had gone through some of the papers 
 which the secretary had given him. " I am ready to 
 put my hand on the Gospels and swear that he is in- 
 nocent. Here are his points of his examination. The 
 testimony of the police-officer is rebutted by the 
 confession of the merchant. He did not deny, but 
 from the first word he declared that he did indeed 
 give counsel to the criminals, who wanted to kill 
 the archbishop in the church, to take him beyond 
 tlie monastery enclosure. But why did he do that ? 
 To give time to the murderers to come to their 
 senses, and feel all the foulness of their crime. In 
 his examination it appears also that as proof of his 
 innocence he refers to the archbishop's lay brother." 
 
 "Whom no one has found," remarked the 
 secretary. 
 
346 TALES OP THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 "Afanasi Kirilovich," said the president, "we 
 all respect you and believe your words willingly ; 
 but you were not a witness of this unfortunate 
 event, and in a criminal trial the testimony of 
 eyewitnesses serves as the main foundation for 
 a legal decision." 
 
 " But all the other criminals have confessed." 
 
 " And he does not confess. What of that ? Per- 
 haps it only shows that he is incapable even of 
 repentance. And where would justice be if a 
 criminal condemned by everything were freed by 
 us simply because he does not confess his crime ? " 
 
 " I request one thing of you," said Afanasi Kiri- 
 lovich, after a silence : " let him be transferred to 
 the second ten, and let him draw the lot once 
 more. Gentlemen," continued he, turning to all 
 the members, " for my sake, out of regard for the 
 friendship which I have always had for this un- 
 fortunate man, do not refuse my request." 
 
 " Indeed," said Vladimir Ivanovich Zarubkin, 
 "I remember now, I have heard much good of 
 this merchant; he was a real father to all the 
 poor." 
 
 " And I have heard also," added the president. 
 " This of course does not give us the right to de- 
 clare him innocent in the face of the proofs. But 
 if you, gentlemen, are agreed, out of respect to the 
 request of our worthy associate, I will give the 
 order to transfer him to the second ten. Let him 
 try his fortune once more." 
 
 The members of the commission, after they had 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 347 
 
 spoken a few minutes together, agreed to the 
 proposition of the president, and they brought 
 the merchant into the room again. 
 
 " Sibiryakoft"," said the president, " previous to 
 your crime you conducted yourself like a model 
 citizen, you did much good, you were an honor to 
 all the merchants of Moscow. Out of considera- 
 tion for your former conduct, and the request of 
 your benefactor, Afanasi Kirilovich, we transfer 
 you to the second ten, and permit you to draw 
 a lot again." 
 
 The merchant bowed in silence, went slowly to 
 the table, and took one of the folded papers from 
 the second ten. When he began to open it Afanasi 
 Kirilovich was not able to keep his seat ; he ap- 
 proached Sibiryakoff, and asked hurriedly, — 
 
 "Well, what is it?" 
 
 " Look for yourself," said the merchant, with a 
 bitter smile, giving him the paper. 
 
 " A cross again ! " cried his defender, almost in 
 despair. 
 
 " Again! " repeated the president ; " well, that 
 is unfortunate." 
 
 " The lay brother of the late archbishop wishes 
 to enter the room," said a councillor in a loud 
 voice, opening the door. 
 
 " Bring him in quickly ! " cried Afanasi Kirilo- 
 vich. " Now you see, Fedot Abramich, God him- 
 self sends you a defender." 
 
 " Yes," said the merchant. " Now I see how 
 God saves a sinner." 
 
348 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 " What is wanted, my good man ? " asked the 
 president of the lay brother when he entered. 
 
 " Glory to thee, Lord," said he, when he 
 saw SibiryakoflF. " It seems that I have come in 
 time, high judges. I am the lay brother of the 
 late Archbishop Ambrosius, Only to-day have I 
 returned to Moscow from the Voskresenski Mon- 
 astery, and heard that the merchant Sibiryakoff 
 by some false accusation has happened among the 
 number of criminals tried for the murder of the 
 archbishop. I do not know what they testify 
 against him, but 1. declare here before the mirror, 
 and I am ready to' confirm my testimony with an 
 oath, that this merchant hurried to the Don Mon- 
 astery some time before the arrival of the murder- 
 ers, that he informed the archbishop through me 
 of their intention, and implored us to leave the 
 monastery without delay ; and if there had not 
 been a lack of horses the late archbishop, thanks 
 to this good man, would be alive and directing 
 his spiritual charge to-day." 
 
 "Well, gentlemen!" cried Afanasi Kirilovich, 
 with delight, " can you doubt his innocence now ? 
 It is impossible at the same time for one and the 
 same man to wish to save and to be a murderer." 
 
 " Yes," said the president, " this testimony 
 clears him completely." 
 
 " And if another witness could be found," added 
 the secretaij. 
 
 " I can produce him before you," said the lay 
 brother. " When this merchant informed me of 
 
KUZMA EOSCHIN. 349 
 
 the danger threatening us, I was with one of the 
 novices of the Don Monastery. He was not able 
 to come with me to-day, because he was painfully 
 wounded by the murderers, and only yesterday did 
 he rise from his bed for the first time." 
 
 " Well, my dear friend," cried Afanasi Kirilo- 
 vich, " have I not said to you, ' God is merciful,* do 
 not lose hope ' ? Do you see now how gracious 
 and just is the judgment of God ? " 
 
 " I see," muttered the merchant ; but his face, 
 now pale, now covered with purple spots, ex- 
 pressed not joy, but a grievous internal struggle. 
 
 " I do not doubt," said the president to Sibi- 
 ryakoff, " that you will be acquitted ; but legal pro- 
 cedure does not permit me to discharge you from 
 arrest immediately." 
 
 " I will be his bond," interrupted Afanasi 
 Kirilovich. 
 
 " Then the affair is settled. I congratulate you, 
 Fedot Abramich, you are free." 
 
 '■ Free," repeated the merchant, and his eyes 
 flashed with an unwonted fire. " Yes, I shall 
 soon be free. High judges, I am a criminal." 
 
 " What do you mean ; what do you mean ? " 
 exclaimed Afanasi Kirilovich. 
 
 All present looked at one another in silence. 
 
 " Is it possible ? " asked the president, with as- 
 tonishment. " Do you confess that you were one 
 of the murderers of the late archbishop ? " 
 
 " No," answered Sibiryakoff, " I did not add 
 that grievous sin to my other sins. The blood 
 
350 TALES OF THREE CENTURIES. 
 
 of the holy man will not rise against me in the 
 awful hour of God's judgment. I wished to save, 
 not to destroy him. But these guilty hands were 
 reddened many a time in Christian blood, and the 
 judgment of God ought to be accomplished upon 
 me. Madman," continued the merchant, not 
 heeding the amazement of those present, " I 
 thought that when I had escaped earthly pun- 
 ishment I could make peace with God and my 
 conscience. Some days ago I had a good wife 
 and dear children; God took them to himself. 
 He has seen my heart ; he has heard my groans, 
 and has not forgiven me. An orphan cared for 
 and reared by me, testified falsely against me ; 
 evil was the reward to me for good, but I did 
 not murmur against the inscrutable ways of the 
 Lord, and in silence I bowed to his will. But 
 my conscience, like a hungry vulture, continued to 
 tear my heart ; neither penance nor prayer nor 
 tears could relieve it. I was condemned as a 
 criminal. I did not complain, and said from the 
 depths of my soul, ' Let His holy will be done ; ' 
 and still the same heavy stone was lying on my 
 breast. No, no, it is time to throw it oiF, it is 
 time to breathe freely. Judges, I am a criminal." 
 
 "But of what do you accuse yourself?" asked 
 our old acquaintance Zarubkin. 
 
 " Vladimir Ivanovich," said the merchant, " look 
 at me carefully. I recognized you at the first 
 glance. Twenty years have left you almost un- 
 changed, and no wonder. Your sleep was calm, 
 
KUZMA ROSCHIN. 351 
 
 conscience did not torment you, late and barren 
 repentance did not torture you. God was not 
 angry with you." 
 
 " But who are you ? " asked Vladimir Ivanovich. 
 
 " Kuzma Roschin," said the merchant, with a 
 quiet but firm voice. 
 
 THE END. 
 
NAMES. 
 
 In the following lists names without printed ac- 
 cents are accented on the penult. Names in the 
 body of this volume which are not included in these 
 lists are accented on the penult. The names in 
 parenthesis are diminutives. The surnames are 
 arranged alphabetically. 
 
 Letters. 
 
 The following letters in Russian names in this volame 
 have values as indicated here : — 
 
 a 
 
 as a 
 
 in hat. 
 
 ai without diaeresis ' ' ai 
 
 " bait. 
 
 e 
 
 " a 
 
 " fate (long) or e in bet (short). 
 
 i 
 
 " ee 
 
 " beet (long) or i in pin (short). 
 
 J 
 
 
 the French y. 
 
 h 
 
 " eh 
 
 " the Gaelic loeh ox the German ch. 
 
 accented 
 
 " 
 
 " bone. 
 
 unaccented 
 
 " u 
 
 " full. 
 
 s 
 
 " s 
 
 " sit. 
 
 u 
 
 " 00 
 
 " moon. 
 
 Letters not given above may be sounded as in English. 
 
 Persons 
 
 IN " An 
 
 Evening on the Hopyoe." 
 
 Ivan Alexaievich AsanofF. 
 
 Prohor Kondratievich Cher6muhin. 
 
 Alexai Draitrioh or Dmitrievich (the ispravnik). 
 
 FomA Fomfch. 
 
 Sofia Pavlovna Glinski. 
 
 Ant6u Feodorovich Kolchugin. 
 
354 NAMES. 
 
 General MilorAdovicli. 
 MihailNikolaevich (Zagoskini). 
 Alexai Mihailovich Zarutski. 
 IvAn Nikolaevich Zorin. 
 
 Persons in "The Thkeb Suitors." 
 
 Glafira Feddorovna Goreglyadoff. 
 
 Nikolai Ivanovich Holmin. 
 
 Madame Hopr6if. 
 
 Princess Landysheff. 
 
 Katinka Lidin. 
 
 Katerina Fe6dorovna Radugin. 
 
 Stepanida Alexaievna Salkovski. 
 
 Anna Stepanovna Slukin. 
 
 (Varinka) Varvara Nikolaevna Slnkin. 
 
 Iv4n Stepanovich Vailski. 
 
 Prince Vladimir Ivanovich V6rhogly4doff. 
 
 Olga Fe6dorovna Zaraitski. 
 
 Anna Ivanovna Zlatopolski. 
 
 Alexai Andr^evich Zorin. 
 
 Servants. 
 
 Kondr4tievna. 
 Parfen. 
 
 Persons in "Kuzma Roschin." 
 
 Avd(5tia Pavlovna Hlest6ff. 
 
 Sergei Filippovich Ilmenieff. 
 
 Varvara Dmitrievna Ilmenieff. 
 
 (Mdshenka) Maria Serg^evria Ilmenieff. 
 
 Afanasi Kirilovich. 
 
 Kochetkoff. 
 
 Kuzma Roschin. 
 
 Fed6t Abramovich Sihiryak6ff. 
 
 Alexai Artamonovich Vydibaeff. 
 
 > Mihail Nikolaevich, Zarutski's friend, is Zagoskin, the author of the 
 tales. 
 
NAMES. 355 
 
 IvAn TimoftSvich Zanibkin. 
 
 (Volodya) Vladimir Iv4novioh Zarubkin. 
 
 Prince Vladimir Pavlovich Zashibaeffi 
 
 Bobbers. 
 Ealancha. Filin. 
 
 Places and Eiveks. 
 
 Hopy6r. Piishkino. 
 
 Ismail. Serd6bsk. 
 
 Novo-Cherkdsk. Sura. 
 
 Oka. Zykovo.