The millionaire

THE MILLIONAIRE

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MILLIONAIRE

BY MICHAEL ARTZIBASHEF

T R A N S L AT E D B Y
PERCY PINKERTON

WITH AN INTRODUCTION
BY THE AUTHOR

THIRD IMPRESSION

NEW YORK

B. W. HUEBSCH

MCMXVII

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First published in England April 1915

Reprinted September 1915

Reprinted July 1917

Printed in England

INTRODUCTION

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The following autobiographical letter was written by
M. Artzibashef for publication at the request of a friend :

You ask me for an account of my life.

I must confess that your request embarrasses me some-
what An autobiography in the true sense of the word is,
as I see it, a difficult and intricate piece of work. For such
as are equipped with the necessary presumption it is easy
enough ; every trivial occurrence in their life seems to them
an important event. I lack this praiseworthy quality, and
therefore must apologize before I attempt my task. What
little I can tell you about myself is brief and dull. I have
followed the usual course.

I was born in the year 1878 in a small town in Southern
Russia. By name and extraction I am Tartar, but not of
pure descent, since there is Russian, French, Georgian, and
Polish blood in my veins. There is one of my ancestors of
whom I am proud, and that is the well-known Polish rebel-
leader Kosciusko, my great grandfather on the maternal side.
My father was a small landowner, a retired officer ; my
mother died of consumption when I was three years old,
bequeathing me a legacy of tuberculosis. I did not become
seriously ill until 1907, but even before that the tuberculosis
never left me in peace, as it manifested itself in various
forms of illness.

I went to a grammar-school in the provinces ; but as 1
had taken the keenest interest in painting from my childhood,
I left it at the age of sixteen and went to a school of art.
I was very poor ; I had to live in dirty garrets without
enough to eat, and the worst of it all was that I had not
enough money for my principal needs — paints and canvas.
So it was not given to me to become an artist ; to earn any-
thing at all I was obliged to do caricatures and write short
ssays and humorous tales for all kinds of cheap papers.

691348

6 INTRODUCTION

Quite by chance in the year 1901 J wrote my first story 9
Pasha Tumanoff. An actual occurrence and my own
hatred for the superannuated schools suggested the subject.
People have no idea of what a Russian grammar-school is
like. Tlie innumerable suicides of the pupils, which still
continue, are a testimony of its educational value for Russian
youth. Pasha Tumanoff had been accepted for publica-
tion by one of the most distinguished Russian reviews, but
it was not allowed to appear because the censorship at that
time categorically forbade any statements to be made which
did not show life in the schools in a pleasing light. Thus
it was impossible for the story to achieve publicity at the
right time, and it did not appear until some years later in
book form. That lias been the fate moreover of many of my
things. In spite of this the story was not without favourable
results for me ; it attracted the attention of the editorial staff
and stimulated me to further work. I renounced my dream
of becoming an artist and transferred my allegiance to
literature. This was very hard ; even to-day I cannot see
paintings without emotion. I love colours more than
words.

Pasha Tumanoff was followed by two or three stories
which interested the editor of a small review, a man named
Miroliuboff. My first introduction to literary circles I owe
to him. Lip till then I had never been in editorial offices,
but had always sent my tales by post. This was because I
imagined them as temples consecrated to literature, which I
revered. Nowadays we live in other times and have other
customs in Russia ; advertisement and influence dominate
the literary world. However, Miroliuboff s name will leave
its mark on the history of Russian literature, although he
did not write himself. He was the last Mohican of the old
idealistic, self-sacrificing school of literature, which has
now been supplanted by commercial interests here, as it
has in Western Europe. His energy, his intelligence, his
touching love for his work, and the wonderful gift of a
fascinating personality made his small review, which only
cost a rouble a year, one of the most distinguished publica-
tions, while from a literary point of view it excelled all the
other large and expensive ones. The greatest exponents

INTRODUCTION 7

of our modern literature — Maxim Gorki, Leonid Andreyeff,
Kuprins and others — contributed to it. It has now been
abandoned, for Miroliuboff did not wish to lower its standard,
as all the others did, even in the darkest days of the Revolu-
tion. Miroliuboff himself was obliged to seek refuge abroad
from Government proceedings.

My acquaintance with him was of the greatest importance
to me personally. I owe to him much of my development
as a writer ; and he made matters easier for me by appointing
me sub-editor of his paper, although at that time I was
absolutely unknown and very young. Miroliuboff was a
born editor and taught me also to like the occupation, which
I continued to follow even after his review had been given
up, editing now one journal, now another. I look upon it as
one of my merits that I have helped so many young writers,
who are now becoming known.

At this time, that is to say in the year 1903, J wrote
Sanine. This fact is wilfully suppressed by Russian
critics ; moreover they try to persuade the public that
Sanine is an outcome of the reaction of the year 1907,
and that I have followed the fashionable tendency of con-
temporary Russian literature. In reality, however, the
novel had been read by the editors of two reviews and by
many celebrated authors as early as 1903. Again I owe
it to the censorship and the timidity of publishers that it
was not brought out at the time. It is an interesting fact
that the novel was refused on account of Us ideas by the
editorial staff of the same monthly review, " Sovremionny
Mios," which some years later begged me to give it to them
for publication. In this way Sanine made its appear-
ance five years too late. This was very much against it :
at the time of its appearance literature had been flooded by
streams of pornographic and even homo-sexual works, and
my novel was liable to be judged with these.

The book was received with the greatest interest by young
people, but many critics protested against it. This may be
partially explained by the trend of thought of the novel ;
but no doubt they were greatly influenced by the circum-
stance that I patronized our literary aftergrowth, and at the
same time stood aloof from the " commanding generals of

8 INTRODUCTION

literature," so that I gradually found myself opposed to all
the influential literary circles. I am an inveterate realist,
a disciple of the school of Tolstoi and Dostoevsky, whereas at
the present day the so-called Decadents, who are extremely
unfamiliar, not to say antipathetic to me, have gained the
upper hand in Russia.

Later than Sanine, hut before its publication, that is
to say in the year 1904, / wrote a series of stories, such as
Ensign Gololoboff, The Madman, The Woman, The
Death of Ivan Lande. The last-named tale * brought me
what is known as fame.

In the year 1905 the bloody Revolution began and long
distracted me from what I consider " mine " — the preaching
of anarchical individuality. I wrote a series of tales
dealing with the psychology and types of the Revolution.
My favourites among them are Morning Shadows and
The Stain of Blood.

J must observe that in these Tales of the Revolution I
said what I believe, and was attacked therefore on all sides.
Whereas the Black Gangs reckoned me among the spiritual
originators of the Revolution and one even condemned me
to death, the Radical press attacked me because I recognized
none of the party-barriers and made no idols of the revolu-
tionary politicians. Subsequent events proved that I was
right in many cases, when, in spite of my enthusiasm for
the cause of liberty, I did not think the time had come to see
a saint in every ringleader of the movement and to believe
in the revolutionary readiness of the people.

At this time much that I had written for purposes of
agitation was confiscated, I myself was indicted, but the
temporary success of the Revolution at the end of 1905 saved
me from punishment.

Then the Revolution came to an end. Society rushed to
literature which in quantity, if not in quality, had received
a new impetus. The editors of the monthly review who had
refused my Sanine remembered it and were the first to
publish it. It evoked almost unprecedented discussions, like
those at the time of Turgenejf's Fathers and Children.
Some praised the novel far more than it deserves, others

* Included in this volume.

INTRODUCTION 9

complained bitterly that it was a defamation of youth. I
may, however, without exaggeration assert that no one in
Russia took the trouble really to fathom the ideas of the
novel. The eulogies and the condemnations are equally
one-sided.

In case it might interest you to know what I myself think
of Sanine, / will tell you that I consider it neither a novel
of ethics nor a libel on the younger generation. Sanine
is the apology for individualism ; the hero of the novel is a
type. In its pure form this type is still new and rare, but
its spirit is in every frank, bold, and strong representative
of the new Russia. A number of imitators who have never
grasped my ideas hastened to turn the success of Sanine
to their own advantage ; they injured me greatly by flooding
the literary world with pornographic, wantonly obscene
writings, thus degrading in the readers' eyes what I wished
to express in Sanine.

The critics persisted in ranking me with the number
of second-rate imitators of Sanine who displayed their
'* marketable wares " full of all sorts of offensiveness. Not
until recently, when Sanine had crossed the frontiers,
and translations had appeared in Germany, France, Italy,
Bohemia, Bulgaria, Hungary, Denmark, and also, in part,
in Japan, were other voices to be heard among the critics.
Russia always does grovel before foreign opinion.

What else is there ?
. My development was very strongly influenced by Tolstoi
although I never shared his views on " non-resistance to
evil.''' As an artist he overpowered me, and I found it
difficult not to model my work on his. Dostoevsky, and
to a certain extent Tchekhoff, played almost as great a part,
and Victor Hugo and Goethe were constantly before my eyes.
These five names are those of my teachers and literary masters.

It is often thought here that Nietzsche exercised a great
influence over me. This surprises me, for the simple reason
that I%have never read Nietzsche. This brilliant thinker is
out of sympathy with me, both in his ideas and in the
bombastic form of his works, and I have never got beyond
the beginnings of his books. Max Stirner is to me much
nearer and more comprehensible.

10 INTRODUCTION

That is all I can tell you about myself. Forgive me if it
is too little. But a genuine autobiography is a confession,
and this is not the right time. And I have neither leisure
nor inclination to recount private incidents in my life in
p-eater detail.

M. ARTZIBASHEF.

CONTENTS

PACK

THE MILLIONAIRE 13

IVAN LANDE 117

NINA 221

THE MILLIONAIRE

I

Above the horizon, round and lustrous, the moon hung
between the dark heavens and the sea. As, suspended
by unseen wires from the branches of the trees, all the
little coloured lamps swayed and danced, they resembled
a bevy of radiant humming-birds. From the flaring
stage, where like some droll puppet the conductor flourished
his arms and his coat-tails, as if preparing for immediate
flight, the thrilling tones of violins resounded on every
side. Leaping, laughing, singing, they danced along
through the dark trees, in airy, fantastic fashion, away,
away to the vast, shining shore. And here, beneath the
gaze of the white moon, invisible, indefinite, they danced
for the brief moment that made up their phantom life.

Mishuief leant his strong arms on the cold marble-
topped table, as in moody silence he glanced sideways.
If he looked at the stage it seemed to him that he was
surrounded by senseless din and paltry commotion, but,
as he turned towards the sea, all appeared calm and
majestic and wistful as the pale moon overhead.

His fair, curly beard and massive shoulders denoted
great strength and indomitable will-power, but his eyes,
sunken and unhealthy, had in them a look of death. At
the adjoining table there was a little convivial group ;
the men wore hats of roguish shape, and the women,
all remarkably good-looking, were very much made-up.
There was loud laughter as they drank toasts to each other
from slender glasses, and joked without ceasing. With
every fresh sally their voices grew louder, as they looked
round at Mishuief, which involuntarily served to heighten
the effect of their own mirth. Close at hand stood
obsequious waiters with white napkins tucked under
their arms, who never took their eyes off Mishuief, as
though ready at a sign from him to plunge head-foremost
into the sea.

13

14 THE MILLIONAIRE

Mishuief, though he saw all this, yet paid no heed.
Once he had found it occasionally amusing ; now it was
merely a vexatious, inevitable formality.

" Theodore, why do you look so worried to-day ? "
asked Maria Sergeievna, as she timidly touched his arm.

She wore a provokingly charming gown, which only
just allowed her feet to move freely. Wavering above
her dark curls, the simple flowers in her hat formed a
melancholy contrast to her painted face, tired eyes, and
crimson lips. Clumsily, as some jaded bull, Mishuief
thrust his broad head towards her, but said nothing.

Her beauty was just as alluring as ever, and through
the black, filmy laces, still the splendour of her bodily
charm made its wonted appeal. When they beheld it,
all men were spellbound as by some dream of strange
ecstatic delight. With Mishuief it was different. The
simple fact that she had lost her real name, Maria Serge-
ievna, and was now called Mary, and that she no longer
addressed him as " Fedia," but as " Theodor," using the
familiar " thou " — this, as well as her action in leaving
her husband in order to live with him, had effectually
extinguished the passionate reverence with which till
lately he had regarded her. From time to time his feeling
now was one of cold, unaccountable aversion. He
seemed to be taking his revenge for something, at the
cost of unspeakable anguish to himself. Maria Serge-
ievna understood the reason for this, and thus in her
eyes there was a shy, sad look, as if they dared not plead
for pity.

" Let us go," said Mishuief abruptly, as, rising, he
faced the inquisitive glances of those seated near him.
She hastily got up in her usual attractively awkward way
which once had distressed Mishuief so acutely. Caught
at first in the lace of her gown, she dropped her handker-
chief, and then her hand-bag, each time with a droll,
nervous gesture, before she at last accompanied him.

They walked down to the shore where sea and moon
alone held sway, and seated themselves on a bench at
the extreme end of the pier. Facing them, and on either
side, was the vast ocean across which lay a band o

THE MILLIONAIRE 15

trembling moonlight. Ceaseless was the sound of the
waves breaking against the pier, yet all the while a silvery
voice, melodious, persistent, if scarcely perceptible,
echoed across the tempestuous ocean-levels a voice whose
sad, mysterious chords aroused within the depths of the
soul sweet memories and immeasufable despair. Occa-
sionally a soft breeze tossed spray into their faces ; the
touch of it made them shudder.

Mishuief remained silent, gazing at the silver streak
of moonlight. He felt the same strange depression which
always overcame him when confronted with the inscrut-
able mysteries of night, making him oblivious of his
surroundings. Gloom, and a great void seemed all.

" I wanted to have a talk with you, Theodore," said
Maria Sergeievna in trembling tones, for she feared that
he might be angry with her before he had listened to
what she was going to say.

Mishuief was mute. All that he heard was the sound
of the waves dashing against the pier ; all that he saw
was the white line of foam along the strand. With tears
in her eyes Maria Sergeievna rose, as she nervously
crumpled up her handkerchief.

"It is intolerable," she muttered, trembling as much
with mortification as at the touch of the cool breeze.
" Why do you vex me in this way ? "

Without looking at her, Mishuief merely shrugged his
shoulders.

" I won't stand it any longer ! " She spoke quickly
now, raising her voice more and more. " You've no
right to despise me ... no right to vex and humiliate
me. If I couldn't resist your millions, as you say I
couldn't . . ."

" I never said anything of the sort," replied Mishuief
gloomily, his gaze still riveted on the sparkling moonlit
sea. Maria Sergeievna paused, feeling utterly perplexed
and crushed. Convinced though she was that he had
made such a statement, not a word could she recall to
prove this. Feeble and helpless, words failed her. She
seemed hardly to know why, or against whom, she had
to defend herself.

16 THE MILLIONAIRE

" Yes, but you think so ... I know you do . . .
and even if it were so ... it was you yourself that
wanted it all . . . wanted to get the utmost out of life
... all for my sake ! " She clasped her forehead in
despair. " Ah ! and what a price I have paid for these
millions ! It is they that have robbed me of my soul. . . .
What am I now but the vilest of creatures . . . anything t
Either ... or else ... or else. ... As you please,
but I can't go on like this ... no, I can't." Here she
became confused and incoherent, and could only gaze
dejectedly at the gloomy ocean, as her hands shook and
her lip quivered.

" If that's how you rate yourself ... as the vilest
•of creatures . . . what position am I to take up towards
you ? " asked Mishuief suddenly, his glittering eyes still
fixed upon the waves.

" Ah ! " cried Maria Sergeievna, with a start, as she
dropped her bag and handkerchief, which fell into the
sea. Covering her face with both hands she hurried
away. The wind at once caught her long dress, which
caused her to fold it more closely round her, and her
graceful figure resembled an apparition as it swayed in
the breeze. Mishuief watched the tiny piece of white
cambric dance for a moment on a wave and then dis-
appear. Though scarcely conscious of it, a sudden
tenderness moved him to follow, and soon to overtake
her. Her pretty, sloping shoulders were bent, showing
the graceful curve of her neck, white in the moonlight.

At the sound of his footsteps she stopped for a moment,
still covering her face with both hands, a pathetic figure
in her large white hat.

" Come, come ! That will do, Ma . . . russchka ! "
said Mishuief, as he fondly called her by her pet name,
and placed his arm round her shoulder. " Do forgive
me ! I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

He expected her to repulse him, and in a fit of temper
to shake herself free. It was her coldness that he feared,
aware that then he would be utterly forlorn. But she
only laid her head on his breast and thrust her face closer
to his lips, as she looked up at him appealingly through

THE MILLIONAIRE 17

her tears. It was in her eyes and in the corners of her
mouth, which betrayed a mournful smile, that Mishuief
could note that submissive, eager-to-be-forgiven look
that puppies and children have, after being chastised
and then caressed.

In a moment that feeling, pleasant to himself, of tender-
ness and pity vanished, as if it had never existed, leaving
only a dull sense of annoyance. He kissed her lips coldly,
moving back a little as he said :

" Don't be always so peevish ; it's really becoming
quite monotonous. What is it that you want ? I can't
make you out ! "

After a pause, he added, " It is time to be going home."

She smiled confusedly, as though she wanted to say :
" Do forgive me . . . perhaps I was in the wrong. I
don't know. I thought that you didn't care for me . . .
that . . . you despised me . . . and oh ! that's so hard
to bear."

She at once became flurried, and in silence they walked
along together, leaving behind them the pallid moon and
the restless, surging sea. Myriads of dancing tones now
floated forwards to meet them, yet they both were still
conscious of an estranging influence.

As they drove home Mishuief was thrilled by the contact
of her soft, supple body beneath its luxurious apparel ;
he noticed her exquisite profile en silhouette, the head
bowed as by some insupportable burden, and he asked
himself what it could be that had come between them ;
between him, the man who for so many years had adored
her, never even daring to dream of her white beauty or
the ecstasy of her kisses, and between her, the charming,
gracious wife, thoroughly devoted to her staid husband,
her attitude almost that of an elder sister, and her manner
modest, innocent as a maid.

II

In brilliant sunlight the shore gleamed like gold. Even
the sea itself, green and foam-flecked near the land, and
blue and lilac in the distance, was covered with a golden
glory. Half lost in the haze of the hills one could perceive
white summer villas strewn, like toys in the grass, along
their verdant slopes. The promenade facing the sea
was gay with its usual modish throng of visitors that
swept like a stream into the oval Public Gardens, making
it impossible to account for so vast and brilliant an array
of hats and gowns and smiling faces. The crowd seemed
to wax larger of itself, like a flower-bed in which the
blossoms grow apace. A confused clamour of voices and
laughter filled the air. Blended with the sound of break-
ing waves and of trampling hoofs it became at last as
an agreeable music to the ear. Maria Sergeievna and
Mishuief were driving along the sea-front in one of the
light Yalta landaulettes. Her white veil fluttered airily
in the wind, past horses' heads and majestic coachmen,
as the florid procession of parasols and hats dispersed.
Suddenly the carriage stopped at a shop where dainty
ladies' hats, like amorous birds and blossoms, adorned
the window. Maria swiftly alighted and entered the
dark doorway of the shop. Slowly, heavily, Mishuief
got out also, and followed her. Several alert, obsequious
shop-assistants at once darted forward, bowing and
smiling. For a moment it looked as if a bland and
courteous company of people were joyously welcoming
their very dear friend. In a trice dozens of cardboard
boxes flew open as if by magic, disclosing piles of white
hats trimmed with ribbons of all colours, red, blue, pink,
yellow, like blossoms lying on snow.

Simple little " baby " hats were then exhibited, as
Maria wished to choose one of those, thinking that in
a hat of this sort she would look like a pretty, petulant

The shop-women prattled with excessive briskness,

18

THE MILLIONAIRE 19

while the male assistants talked affectedly in order to
be taken for Frenchmen, and all the while, through the
open door, the noise of the streets came in, and the rich
sunlight. Maria Sergeievna went on looking and choos-
ing, pleased as a child with all this coloured finery. She
moved restlessly to and fro ; her eyes sparkled, and she
laughed as she surveyed herself in the mirror, standing
sideways in order to get a view of her profile. And as
each new hat with its bright ribbon was placed on her
dark hair, her little pink face seemed prettier and more
youthful.

Meanwhile Mishuief sat stolidly at the counter, a black
spot amid all this noisy crowd, leaning on his walking-
stick which he held upright in his ponderous hands. He
looked drowsy, like some sick, sleepless man who sees
nothing, hears nothing ; neither sunlight, nor laughter,
nor feminine charm, being merely conscious of a subtle,
resistless force that slowly, silently, step by step, was
undermining his existence. Sometimes his glance rested
on Maria's animated features ; then, turning away, he
stared at anything near him ; the corner of the counter,
a shopman's varnished boots, or the angular shoulder-
blades of a saleswoman discernible through her smart
silk blouse.

" Theodore, just look here a moment. I shall have
this one. It suits me rather well, eh ? Or shall I get
that one ? What do you think ? Give me your
advice."

Thus she questioned him, while unable to control the
nervous tremor that her voice and her eyes betrayed.
She had recovered her wonted good spirits. The scene
of the previous evening had ended in a passionate recon-
ciliation. In fact, she had almost forgotten it in all
■this sunlight and bustle, and in the joy of spending money
recklessly. Yet now Mishuief 's gloomy face was going to
spoil her pleasure. It even frightened her. It reminded
her that kisses and amorous endearments, if they delayed
the evil that had entered her life, could never undo nor
destroy it.

"Is it never going to end ? " she thought. " Are we

20 THE MILLIONAIRE

always going to have these odious scenes that make life
absolutely unendurable ? "

" Come, now, which one shall I have ? Do tell me ? "
she asked ; and again there was that strange, pleading
accent in her voice, as if asking him to spare her.

" Have the lot," replied Mishuief absently.

She laughed ; and all the shop-assistants laughed with
her. One of them, indeed, burst into a loud guffaw.

Mishuief, frowning, looked annoyed. The laughing
faces instantly grew grave, and this only served to enrage
him. He longed to shout at them ; even to kick and
beat them. Words of mad abuse rose to his lips, but
he remained silent, glancing downwards as if helpless.

" What's the matter with you ? Do tell me what to
have ; now do ! " exclaimed Maria Sergei evna coaxingly.
Mishuief noticed that such importunity on her part was
designed to prevent anyone €lse from detecting his own
indifference, which she instinctively dreaded. This
caused in him a feeling of compassion, almost of kindliness,
though he was sadder and more helpless at heart.

" Have the one with the blue ribbon. It suits you
best," he said carelessly.

" No, really ? " cried Maria, smiling with delight. As
she raised both hands to hef head he caught a glimpse
through the white blouse of her soft, supple shoulders.
At these, one of the shopmen, who wore patent leather
boots with buttons, cast a shy, lustful glance, and then
his eyes suddenly met those of Mishuief. In a moment the
expression of his face changed to one of servility and fear.

" Vermin ! " thought Mishuief, inwardly furious, as
he looked at the fellow full in the face. The latter
appeared completely crushed, and seemingly grew thinner
and smaller. For nearly a moment this mute encounter
lasted, which afforded Mishuief a certain morbid satisfac-
tion. He noticed that the man wore extremely tight
trousers and that his knees shook.

" After all," thought Mishuief, " if that shopman were
in my place, he'd have a right to her, and to others of
her sort ; whereas, if I were he, I should have to steal
glances at her, like a slave."

THE MILLIONAIRE 21

He turned aside in disgust as he thought of all this
grovelling rabble, and this woman, wounded but yester-
day by a sharp word, and ready to drown herself, yet
who to-day had forgotten everything in the paltry amuse-
ment of spending money.

" Shall you soon be ready ? Do let us go ! " he said,
as he rose.

" Yes, yes, I'm ready. I have chosen what I want,"
she hastily replied. " I'll take this one. . . . No, no,
that one, with the light blue ribbon ! " As she gave
these hurried directions, she looked round at Mishuief,
a black mass against the bright entrance.

" Let us take a turn in the Park," she said, as they
came out into the sunlight, the pleasant air and cheerful
noise.

" Very well," replied Mishuief carelessly.

After dismissing the carriage, they had already crossed
the road when they heard a voice calling out, " Feodor
Ivanovitch, wait a moment ! "

A smart motor-car had stopped close to the kerb, in
which, like a bouquet of lace and blossoms, three ladies
sat with a smiling gentleman who wore spotlessly white
clothes and pale yellow gloves, and waved his hand to
them.

" Theodore, some one's calling you ! It is Parkho-
menko," said Maria Sergeievna, as she touched Mishuief 's
arm, and nodded and smiled at the immaculate owner
of the car. The latter quickly alighted, and, flourishing
his hat, advanced to greet her.

" Maria Sergeievna ! As enchanting as ever ! I've
been looking everywhere for you ! "

" Really ? "

She laughed coyly, as he pressed her little hand to his
lips. The ladies in the motor bowed and smiled. Parkho-
menko, beaming, stood in everybody's way, while passers-
by turned to look at the shining car. It seemed to Maria
as if it was for her alone that all the town, and the hills,
and the flowers had assumed such a radiant aspect. A
consumptive-looking priest in a shabby cassock went
wearily past, and glanced at her for a moment with his

22 THE MILLIONAIRE

large, bright, melancholy eyes before he disappeared in
the merry crowd.

Then, as a young man, accompanied by two ladies,
passed the group, he whispered hastily to his companions,
as if eager to give them most important news :

"They're Mishuief and Parkhomenko, the Moscow
millionaires ! "

"Which is Mishuief? Where is he?" asked the
ladies eagerly. " The one next to the lady. That big
chap." The young man quickly pointed out Mishuief,
at whom they gazed inquisitively. He turned his back,
but Parkhomenko, beaming, observed :

" There ! You see, everybody knows us, Feodor
Ivanovitch ! "

" Allow me to pass, please," said a voice, and in the
tone of it Mishuief could detect bitter hate. Looking
round, he 6aw a fair young man who wore a blue shirt
under his shabby jacket. His honest eyes, as they rested
on Parkhomenko, expressed mild aversion.

" Do let one pass," he repeated.

Scarcely noticing him, Parkhomenko stepped aside.

" Maria Sergeievna," he said, " let us motor over to
Sououk-Su to-day. We did it yesterday in two hours ;
there, and back. Parole d'honneur ! Most awfully jolly,
'pon my word ! Simply flew ! We'll have supper there,
and then come back, eh ? Motoring by moonlight's
perfectly fascinating, 'pon my word it is ! "

Thus he ran on, excitedly, brimming with joy at the
fact of his own existence.

Maria gracefully demurred with a coquettish shake
of her new hat, which indeed gave her quite a girlish
look.

" We were there only two days ago."

" Ah ! but to motor there is such an absolutely different
thing. Away, away, over hills and dales ! You've no
idea how quickly one gets over the ground. It feels just
like flying in a dream ! 'Pon my word it does ! "

" Well, well, we must see, later on. I'm going for a
walk at present. Let us all go. The sea to-day is
perfectly lovely."

THE MILLIONAIRE 23

The three ladies in Parkhomenko's car, all of them
blonde, comely, and sensuous-looking, got out, laughing,
as if they were taking part in a game.

" I say, Feodor Ivanovitch, why are you so cross
to-day ? " Parkhomenko looked the very picture of
happiness as he asked this.

"He's always like that now," said Maria Sergeievna,
answering for Mishuief, as if she herself were to blame,
and glancing shyly at him.

" Then you ought to persuade him to buy a motor-car.
That would instantly put him in a good temper. He'd
be another man ! "

Parkhomenko laughed heartily.

" This car of mine is a cure for all ills ! Ton my word,
it is ! I'm not joking."

The four ladies walked along in a row, exciting universal
attention. Parkhomenko trotted beside them, and his
boisterous hilarity became infectious as he nearly trod
on their toes. Mishuief, heavy of step, followed. In
passing through the gaily dressed crowd that hummed
like a swarm of bees in sunlight, Mishuief carefully
scrutinized all the faces that met his, as if he would read
what was written on each.

They again met the sickly priest, and also the fair-
haired young fellow in a blue shirt. This time he was
accompanied by a tall, haggard man, whose face wore
a grave expression. Mishuief recognized him, and now
remembered who his companion was. The grave-looking
man was a well-known writer ; the other, a young
consumptive poet.

The author glanced coldly at the merry party, and
instantly looked away. The poet then said something
to him in whose voice, as in the angry expression of the
other's eyes, lay malignant scorn for Mishuief, Parkho-
menko, and all their pretty, pampered dames.

Faces, rows of them, went by ; ugly, and handsome,
in the bright sunlight, or the shade of parasols ; a living
kaleidoscope in which Mishuief, as was his wont, took
a morbid interest. He observed how the unconcerned
expression in the eyes of those he met suddenly changed

24 THE MILLIONAIRE

to one of dull curiosity as they fastened on himself. So
used was he to the monotony of all this that at last the
whole crowd appeared to have only one dull, flat face,
that to him was intensely obnoxious.

The ladies and Parkhomenko were laughing loudly as
Mishuief followed in their rear ; and beside him walked
Solitude, his inseparable companion. He longed to get
away from everybody and everything, to a place where
there was neither sunlight, nor human beings, nor human
noise. If he could but stay there, alone, and undisturbed !

Beaming as ever, Parkhomenko looked round and made
some remark. It was as silly and pointless as any other
of his utterances, but designed to show what an important
person he was, and how everything he said must obviously
be interesting.

" What a lucky fool ! " thought Mishuief, looking
down at his feet. " I wish I were such an utter idiot
as he is, for then, like him, I could be happy with my
motor-cars, my millions, and my mistresses — and with
all those parasites who pay no heed to my real personality,
but are only interested in what surrounds it ; who fear
and hate me, yet who stick closely to me."

" Ah ! here comes the General ! " cried Parkhomenko.
" Come along with us, General ! Come and cheer us
up!"

An old General in uniform, with a shrivelled, rosy face,
and a skinny neck that his trim grey whiskers could not
hide, ran feebly towards them. With senile gallantry
he proceeded to kiss the ladies' hands, smiling effusively ;
and one could see from his manner that he was not quite
sure of his reception.

Parkhomenko looked as pleased as if some one had
provided him with a funny toy.

" Well, General," he said, " did the steamer bring us
a lot of pretty women yesterday ? I expect your heart
went pit-a-pat, eh ? "

He laughed loudly, pirouetting in front of the ladies,
who had sat down on a bench.

" Do you know, Maria Sergei evna," he continued,
evidently conscious that he was going to say something

THE MILLIONAIRE 25

extremely witty, " the General goes down to the landing-
stage every evening in order to waylay any fair lady who
is incautious enough to entrust herself to his care. He's
a regular Don Juan. Ton my word he is ! I'm not
joking ! "

" Aha ! General ! I had no idea that you were so
dangerous ! " said one of the blonde ladies in a languishing
voice.

" Oh ! you've no idea what he is ! " Parkhomenko
almost choked with laughing. " Every evening he goes
there. Only, I must say, these hard-hearted dames
treat him very badly. After he has got lodgings for
them, looked after their luggage and paid the cabman,
they elope the very next day with some young subaltern
or other, and the poor General has to go down to the
steamboat again. Fact ! Ton my word ! I'm not
joking ! "

" Well, I never ! " exclaimed the buxom blonde,
affecting intense surprise.

44 You're always inventing something or other, Pavel
Alexeievitch," retorted the General, blushing.

44 Inventing, indeed ! I like that ! What about the
little schoolgirl with whom you were caught the other
day at Dschalita ? "

44 Why, that was my daughter, my own daughter,
Niurotschka ! Gad, what do you mean ? " The General's
face grew redder.

44 Your daughter ! Aha ! We know all about those
4 daughters ' ! "

44 No, really ! She was my daughter, Niurotschka ! "

44 That her name is Niurotschka I quite believe ; and
also that — " Parkhomenko paused and winked know-
ingly. Some specially subtle joke was surely coming.
44 For that matter, it is also easy to believe that you are
now only capable of paternal affection. That is most
probable ! "

The ladies laughed and looked down, and the General
tittered, too, though his face wore a slightly pained
expression, as though some offence to his Niurotschka
had been intended. For a moment he was inclined to

26 THE MILLIONAIRE

turn on his heel and walk away, but he lacked the courage,
and could only stand there giggling nervously.

" Dat's astonishing ! Dat's astonishing 1 " he muttered,
looking helplessly to right and left.

" General," cried Parkhomenko, " why do you always
say ' dat ' instead of * that ' ? Is it because you
think it sounds funnier ? Or have you got a hollow
tooth ? "

" Did I say 4 dat's ' ? " The General's face grew red.

" Why, of course you did. Now, say * that ' ! Dis-
tinctly, like this : That ! "

" Dat's," repeated the General, with a supreme effort.
Parkhomenko spun round on his heels with delight. The
ladies laughed and so did Maria, as she turned her head
aside, showing her delicate profile.

" General, you're a born comedian, 'pon my word
you are ! " cried Parkhomenko, shaking with laughter.

The poor General smiled feebly.

Maria Sergeievna felt sorry for him, as now some of
the passers-by were looking round at him. To show her
sympathy, she asked after his health, and spoke of his
daughter whom, but a few minutes ago, she had seen in
the company of her other merry school-companions.
The old man was obviously touched. He smiled now
in quite a different way, paying court to her after the
manner of some old cat when stroked. Parkhomenko,
however, began joking again, and continued to tease
him, much to the disgust of Mishuief, who pitied the
old fellow and would have liked to take his part. Yet
not a word could he utter.

The young poet and his older friend, the author, again
passed. Mishuief heard one of several young people
sitting near, exclaim :

" Look ! Here come Tchetyriof and Marussin ! "

" Where ? Where ? "

Eager glances followed the bent figures of the two
writers as, like some mournful blot on the bright multi-
tude, they slowly disappeared. Then Mishuief overheard
a heated discussion on the part of the young people
regarding the literary merit of Tchetyriof,

THE MILLIONAIRE 27

It was as if this encounter were to blame for the sudden
fit of depression which seized him. Again he felt an
intense longing to escape from his surroundings ; to find
some solitary resting-place where he should see nothing,
hear nothing.

Ill

The arrival of the evening steamer was signalled across
the bay by lights that, mirrored in the dark water, re-
sembled garlands of bright flowers. From this side of
the shore it was impossible to distinguish human beings,
and the black vessel loomed weirdly in the dusk, as if it
were some huge sea-monster that had risen from the deep.
Yet the rattle could be heard of carriages arriving at the
quay, and one felt that the gay little town was about to
be invaded by a fresh throng of visitors roused to activity
as their tedious journey neared its end.

It was on that day that Maria Sergeievna had joined
Parkhomenko's party in their trip to a neighbouring
watering-place, and Mishuief went out walking alone.
He sauntered along the beach so as to get away as far as
possible from the Casino and its gardens that were always
thronged at night-time. For a long time he had not felt
so happy in himself. The soft twilight and the gentle
murmur of the waves were attuned to his present medita-
tive mood. To be alone was what he desired, and to
recall memories of something near and dear to him.

Lost in his thoughts he wandered along the silent,
lonely shore, and faces half-forgotten rose up before him
as in a dream. In the blue dusk, as the first pale stars
trembled overhead, they swam before him, elusive appari-
tions that yet seemed touched with life.

Gradually his thoughts reverted to the time of his
return from abroad, when he met his old friend and Maria
Sergeievna, his wife. The tour, desultory and meaning-
less, had brought only disenchantment, and he had felt
weary, overwrought, even to the pitch of hatred for his
fellowmen. The simplicity of their menage, to which
he was unaccustomed, had cheered and consoled him ; and
he was soon drawn by them into the narrow circle of
their pleasant home-life. He passed many days and
evenings full of a delightful intimacy, made more memor-
able by the peculiar charm of a beautiful woman's society.

28

THE MILLIONAIRE 29

Then hidden love ensued — a strange, alluring combination
of the most chaste regard and shameless desire. Finally
came the moment when, timidly at first, she responded ;
and then, all that seemed impossible, all of which he dared
not even dream, suddenly occurred, as their mutual
passion burst into flame. Long and grievous had been
the conflict between conscience and fierce physical desire.
Such conflict from the first had seemed hopeless. Then
there were ecstatic prospects of consummate bliss, as on
that wondrous evening when she surrendered to him her
splendid body, unclothed and unashamed. Yet, if there
was joy in all this, it soon was lost in a morass of falsehood
and deceit, as inevitably they built up an infamous
barrier of lies and treachery between themselves and the
man that both of them loved and respected. Deeper and
ever deeper they sank in the mire, until, as it threatened
to engulf them, a rupture, short and sharp, became
inevitable.

Mishuief recollected how relieved they had felt when
the crisis was past and a new life lay before them. But
the past had left its sharp sting behind, and to this day
it rankled in the wound. When the first vehemence of
their passion had passed, Mishuief perceived that they
had made a terrible, an irreparable mistake. Maria's
variable moods, and the grief that she had felt, gradually
caused him to see what an utterly contemptible part he
was playing. This woman was in love with her husband,
and with him alone. He, Mishuief, merely remarkable
on account of his wealth, had for her but a casual
significance.

Hitherto her life had been simple and frugal ; now,
quite naively, quite innocently, she longed for pleasure
and display ; but for nothing else.

u Of what good, then, was it to ruin the lives of three
human beings ? " he asked himself. The question
horrified him.

" Somewhere, humiliated and forlorn," he thought,
" there is a man living alone with the mystery of a wrong
that can never be righted nor forgotten. A young wife
has been snatched away from everything, like a toy that

30 THE MILLIONAIRE

is flung aside. And into my life merely another woman
has come, bought like the rest ! "

The brutal truth stung him like a whip ; he winced
involuntarily.

" I have no right to say that of her ! Perhaps she
sincerely loves me." Thus he strove to stifle the dis-
tressing thought, yet soon he felt that it was not killed,
but had only crept into the depths of his inner self.

Mishuief threw back his head, strenuously endeavouring
to banish these memories from his mind, as he walked
along the promenade and then returned. Meanwhile it
had grown darker ; stars shone more brightly above the
hills, and the murmuring waves seemed falling asleep.

" Oh ! if I had but a man in whom to trust ! " he
suddenly thought, as he remembered one such who in
bygone days, when he spent money in lavish style and
cherished grandiose schemes, had been his intimate
friend. Mishuief longed to see him and talk to him, as
in the dusk the masterful personality of Nicolaief, the
famous poet, suddenly seemed to appear.

Carriages in one continual stream now rolled towards
him from the landing-stage. Hats, cardboard-boxes, and
trunks went rapidly past ; and faces that were new to
him, with shining eyes. The roadway shook with the
heavy sound of wheels. The sight moved Mishuief to
disgust.

What crowds of people there are ! Who ever gave all
these their place in the world ? "

By degree the rattling noise of the droshkys grew less
and less. Again the rhythmic beat of waves on the shore
could be heard as plainly now as if one were standing
beside a desolate shore. Once more Mishuief walked to
the end of the promenade, where a brilliantly lighted
cafe stood, which was crowded with boisterous Turks in
their red fezes. Then mechanically he turned home-
wards.

Near the public gardens he met promenaders of the
usual type ; an officer with a lady whose sinuous form,
in its tightly fitting dress, swayed as she walked ; and
two or three men well-fed, who sauntered along with

THE MILLIONAIRE 31

glowing cigars between their teeth. Then came a couple
of laughing, chattering girls ; and suddenly Mishuief saw
the old General with his small side- whiskers, and trousers
having an enormous red stripe. He was accompanied
by a pretty girl whose delicate complexion and simple,
conventional school-dress at once attracted notice.

When the General saw Mishuief he hurried forward,
bowing and smiling, as he dragged one leg awkwardly
behind the other. As a rule he seemed shy of Mishuief,
and kept aloof, but to-day he was anxious to impress his
daughter with the fact that he knew a real, live millionaire.
In his eyes and voice there was a certain petty pride as he
said with excessive cordiality:

" Ah ! Feodor Ivanovitch ! We're going for a walk.
What are you doing ? "

** Good evening ! " said Mishuief with a certain in-
voluntary touch of hauteur, as he carelessly raised his
hat.

" Allow me ... to, er . . . this is my daughter,
Niurotschka ! " faltered the General. The nervousness
he showed was not due to meeting Mishuief, but rather
to a personal feeling.

Mishuief held a little trembling hand in his. The child
was shaking like an aspen-leaf as she raised her dark eyes.
When Mishuief smiled at her she also smiled.

Then they all three walked along together. The
General began talking rapidly about nothing in particular,
so as to encourage his daughter and also to show her how
friendly he was with this millionaire. At first he became
unaccountably familiar, and after some wretched joke
he almost put his arm round Mishuief's waist, but just
managed to check himself in time. Such incipient
familiarity met with scant encouragement from Mishuief,
whose manner perceptibly cooled.

The girl blushed repeatedly, and did not look at him.
He could only see a little ear, a soft ringlet, and a delicate
oval cheek. She stooped when walking, as if she were
ashamed, and her dainty heels scarcely touched the
ground. When the General made some particularly
fatuous joke she bent her head still lower, and her cheek

32 THE MILLIONAIRE

reddened. But if Mishuief said something funny to
amuse her, she suddenly tossed back her pretty head
and laughed loudly. To Mishuief it was delightful to
see her laugh. Indeed, this quaint pair pleased him.
To him it seemed droll to hear them address each other
as " girlie " and " daddy " — droll, and yet charming.
As they walked through the gardens in the glimmering
dusk Mishuief felt in a brighter mood than for a long
time past. He talked frankly and merrily, first of his
foreign travels and then, to gain the girl's confidence, of
his grammar-school days.

" So you went to a grammar-school ? " asked the
General.

" Yes, we were brought up very simply, and at that
time our means were more moderate."

Mishuief paused, chuckling at the recollection of his
school-boy life. " We had some funny teachers at
school."

" So had we," said the girl.

" Why do you say 4 had ' ? Are you not still at
school ? " he asked smiling. He liked to think that she
could now count as a " grown up."

" Oh, no ! I left school long ago," replied the girl in a
low tone.

" Nonsense ! ' Long ago ? ' " cried the General gaily.
" Why, it's only just three months."

" It seems to me ages since I left," said his daughter.

" Does it ? " said Mishuief, feeling a sudden wish to take
her in his arms and give her a good, honest kiss.

Looking at her more attentively he saw that she was
not really as young as he had at first imagined. He
glanced at the delicate contour of her bosom and at her
plump arm and shoulder close to his own.

" Well, what's the next thing ? Go to a High School,
eh ? " he asked kindly.

" I don't know," replied Niurotschka almost inaudibly,
as she looked downwards.

The General wheezed, and stroked his whiskers. There
was a momentary pause. Mishuief felt that he had
touched upon a sore subject. He suddenly pitied them,

THE MILLIONAIRE 33

and it was pleasant to him to think that in a moment
everything could be set right. Yet he hesitated to broach
the subject ; so, to create a diversion, he returned to his
tales of school-boy life.

" We had a mathematical master, fat and pompous as
some old alderman. During the lesson he used to walk
up and down, giving us the benefit of his worldly wisdom.
This was summed up in a single phrase. Yes ; as he used
to walk through the class-room twiddling his thumbs, he
gravely drawled out :

" ' There are phi-lo-sophers ; there are work-ers ; and
there are favour-ites of for- tune I9**

" Aha ! Feodor Ivanovitch, I am sure that he called you
a favourite of fortune," was the General's flattering
comment, as he tripped along smiling.

" H-m ! He could hardly have said I was a worker."

" Why not a philosopher ? " observed Niurotschka
slyly.

Mishuief laughed, and again longed to give her a sound-
ing kiss. Confused once more, the girl looked down. Her
whole slim little figure suggested a certain mild sadness.

" Yes, indeed ; why not ? " was Mishuief's hasty reply.
He was determined to cheer her up if he could.

" We had a geography teacher too ; tall and thin as a
rail. We used to call him * Stick of Macaroni.' To
explain the solar system we all had to play different parts.
He himself used to represent the Sun ; I was usually the
Earth ; a little Jew boy the Moon, and so on. The Sun
stood on tiptoe in the middle of the class-room and
turned slowly round ; the Earth ran round the Sun in a
circle, and the Moon simply flew round the Earth as
hard as ever it could. At first it was all right, but very
soon we bumped against each other, and then a world-
catastrophe ensued. The Moon ran into the Earth,
Mars hit his head against Jupiter's stomach, so this
majestic planet abruptly sat down on the Sun, producing
universal chaos ! "

Niurotschka tossed back her head and her silvery laugh
was a joy to hear. Mishuief found it so delightful that he
continued to recount all sorts of nonsensical tales, just

e

34 THE MILLIONAIRE

as they came into his head. They only seemed funny
because he told them in such a droll way. The girl now
laughed incessantly, and the old General simply wept
with merriment, while passers-by looked back at such
a noisy trio.

" I once knew a deacon at Samara. He used to drink
like a fish. One day somebody came to consult him
about a religious matter. The deaconess opened the door
and said mysteriously:

" 'The Holy Father cannot see you.'

" ' Why not ? Is he full of the Spirit ? '

" ■ Yes, yes, quite full."

" ' Oh ! indeed ! ' said the visitor sympathetically, and
departed."

" Full of the Spirit ! " Niurotschka burst out laughing ;
and, as she looked Mishuief straight in the face, her eyes
seemed to say that she hoped he would cap that story with
one much more absurd.

The General, however, shambled along behind them
and said nothing. All at once he had become taciturn,
and looked depressed. Mishuief's unexpected gaiety and
frankness almost alarmed him. The fear within him
was, so far, vague, indefinite ; merely shy, helpless, bird-
like fear for his pure, sweet child.

" For rich fellows like this one," he thought, " why,
it would be a mere nothing ! "

The conception of what Mishuief might be willing to
arrange with regard to his little daughter became gradually
clearer, yet the thought was one too horrible to harbour.

" Niurotschka ! It's time to go home ! " he said awk-
wardly.

" It's not late, Daddy."

The General in confusion muttered something to him-
self. His little face flushed ; his eyes had a vacant, dazed
look. When Mishuief observed this, he instinctively
divined what was in the other's inmost thoughts. Some-
thing of the old bitterness surged up within him, and then,
like a flash, came the suggestion : " Give them money
and send her to the High School." In an instant an
image of this girl in her virginal innocence rose up before

THE MILLIONAIRE 35

him, ripe and trembling, in the supreme moment of
initiation and surrender. The vision smote his brain like
a hot wave.

The girl looked up and made some remark.

" Yes, yes," replied Mishuief, recovering himself. Eager
to allay the General's secret anxiety, of which instinctively
he was aware, Mishuief endeavoured to show him how
just and friendly and straightforward he was.

" He's every right to be afraid of me," he thought.
" But I don't see that it's my fault, either. Anybody
else in my place would do just the same. Who could
help it ? "

Again the fleshly thought assailed him, and though,
by an effort he put it aside, he was sadly conscious of
fighting against a force that he could never resist.

" How lucky you are ! " cried Niurotschka, naively,
after he had recounted other incidents of his past life.
" You can travel everywhere and see everything. This
is our first visit to Yalta, and to us it's like being in
Paradise."

" There's no particular luck in that,\" replied Mishuief.
" One can live anywhere. There are folk living at the
North Pole, or at Kamskatka, in the Sahara Desert, or
the Pinski marshes ; and those who live there, even those
can manage to invest life with a certain poetry. One
can live without palms, without warmth, without vast
cities. Such things don't really signify. Only one thing
there is that man cannot do without — his fellow-
creatures. In solitude man becomes dull and weak and
useless."

" Oh ! but I think that I could even live in a desert,
if there were flowers there, and birds, and the sea "

" Yes, very likely," said Mishuief with a smile, " but
human beings like ourselves are endowed with complex
and profound feelings. That these feelings may thrive,
it is necessary that our surroundings should be equally
complex and sensitive. Trees, and sky, and sea cannot
alone suffice to appease the human soul. Though we
may travel much, and view many sights "

" Yes, but you can always be surrounded by as many

36 THE MILLIONAIRE

people as you like. You are able to do so much good,"
said Niurotschka timidly.

Mishuief's face changed. It wore a hard, cynical look.

" Ah ! " he said bitterly, " good ! But if people only
come to you because of that good. ..."

" Oh ! but everybody wouldn't ? " rejoined Niurotschka
sympathetically.

Mishuief was silent. He was annoyed with himself
at having let a girl see what was in his mind ; but, after
a pause, he said :

' Perhaps everybody wouldn't, yet, as most of them
only come to get money, one is apt to disbelieve in the
sincerity of anybody's motives, and to suspect them.
It even makes one feel inclined to be brutal."

Mishuief's voice trembled, and he bit his lip. If for
a moment he had felt kindly disposed, his calmer reason
now prevailed. After all, this retired General and his
school-girl daughter, who were they ? Persons of no
importance, to be bought with a price. He regretted this
glimpse that he had given them of his inner self. So he
abruptly turned the subject, and began to talk of trivial
matters. His change of mood did not pass unnoticed by
Niurotschka. Even her father had perceived it ; and
he made ineffectual attempts to enliven the conversation.

When they had reached the end of the Promenade a
painful weariness oppressed them ; they felt that it was
time to separate. Witless and irresolute, the old General
could not bring himself to go, but shuffled along, babbling
meanwhile of the weather, the sea, and Yalta life. With-
out looking up, Mishuief occasionally answered:

" Oh ! yes, quite so ! . . ."

" You see, Feodor Ivanovitch ..." began the General,
"you see — " His daughter just then pulled his coat-
sleeve and said firmly :

" Daddy, it is time to go home. I am getting cold."

" Yes, yes, girlie, we'll go at once," replied her father.

" Good-bye, Feodor Ivanovitch ! au revoir ! "

Still he lingered, after much shaking of hands, as if he
felt that there had been an omission of some kind. Pale
and silent, Niurotschka could only wait. She felt sorry

THE MILLIONAIRE 37

for them all — sorry, too, that this bright, pleasant little
episode had come to an end. Indeed, she could hardly
keep back her tears. As they were going, however, she
laughed at some final betise of her father's, and then said
clearly, and with feeling :

" Feodor Ivanovitch, we should be so pleased if you
would come and see us."

** Thank you very much," replied Mishuief coolly.

Niurotschka blushed, looking sad and perplexed.

All the way home she was silent, listening to the grating
sound of the gravel under her feet. To her it was as if
happiness of some kind had come to an end, and for
Mishuief her sympathy now increased.

IV

Slowly, languidly, Mishuief walked on, till he reached
the end of the esplanade. Then he stopped and turned
back. Words would have failed him to express all that
was then passing through his mind. To no human being
could the thoughts that troubled him have been told.
It seemed to him that the sound of his heavy footsteps
echoed not only on the broad quay but likewise on the
roadway of his life, recording, though for no reason, his
advance along a dead, useless path.

" It is time to die ! " thought Mishuief, with a grim
smile.

In a moment he felt light of heart. It was as if this
thought had dispelled the gloom that oppressed him, for
now he was conscious of nothing but a vast illimitable
void. It was this spiritual sense of boundless space that
for a moment affected the physical part of him, detaching
him from Mishuief, the dull, sad, worn-out man. Yet
it lasted but an instant, vanishing like a spark in the
gloom. A sudden impulse seized him to fling himself,
sobbing, upon the ground, and lie there, face downwards.

" What is the matter with me ? Am I ill ? " he asked
himself in despair. " I possess all that any man needs —
far more, indeed. To have even a hundredth part of what
is mine is the fondly cherished dream of many of my
contemporaries. What is it that I need ? I, who have
everything ? " Vividly there passed before his mental
sight a pageant of beautiful women, shining lakes and
cities, pictures, theatres, horses, motor-cars — an entire
world, full of light and colour, of movement and luxury.
Then the vision faded, and seemed like tinsel that had lost
its glitter.

" Not that ! Oh ! no, not that ! . . . Then, what is
it?"

Thus he vaguely questioned his inmost self, as he walked
along once more to the end of the esplanade. As he
turned round again the brilliantly lighted windows of a

88

THE MILLIONAIRE 39

cafe opposite attracted his notice, and he crossed the
road.

" I feel rather slack," he thought. " Perhaps a drink
may do me good."

Directly he had opened the heavy door and the porter
had helped him to remove his overcoat, a confused sound
of voices, laughter, and jingling glasses greeted his ear
from all sides. The noise was almost deafening after the
silence of the night. He was instantly recognized. Here
and there amid the racket his name was to be heard,
mentioned hurriedly, almost as a caution. Feminine
glances were eagerly levelled at him as he lounged up
the room between rows of tables. Near the buffet he was
hailed by an acquaintance of his. It was Opaloff, an
author from Moscow.

" Feodor Ivanovitch ! " he exclaimed, rising hastily,
with evident pleasure. He had delicate features and
small eyes like those of a Japanese doll.

" Feodor Ivanovitch ! Come and sit next to us !" he
said, smiling genially. " Waiter, bring us a chair ! "

Three men were seated at the table : the two writers
whom Mishuief had met that morning and a bloated,
bald, somewhat unsavoury-looking person in extremely
tight linen trousers and a waistcoat of a truly outrageous
type.

" I don't think you know each other," said Opaloff, as
the others all bowed slightly to Mishuief.

"Tchetyriof . . . Marussin . . . Podgurski. . . ."

" Ex-author," added the bloated individual, in a tom-
fool's voice which, however, might have been his usual
one.

Mishuief briefly stated his name, a form of introduc-
tion that to him was always distasteful, for it seemed
childish to repeat a name that every one already knew.
In this case it was unavoidable, yet none the less
annoying.

" Every one knows who you are, Feodor Ivanovitch,"
laughed Opaloff, and one could hardly tell if the words were
spoken good-humouredly or in irony.

Mishuief's only answer was a faint smile. Even this

40 THE MILLIONAIRE

vexed him, as he feared that it might seem to acknowledge
or deny the fact that everybody knew him.

The waiter hastily brought a chair, when Mishuief
sat down, leaning his massive arms on the table and glanc-
ing at the adjoining one where three portly ladies in fine
attire sat with a couple of smart young officers. There
was a moment of painful silence. Opaloff stared at
Mishuief with kindly curiosity, much as if a Polar bear
had suddenly sat down next to him. Podgurski, who
looked like a bundle of soiled linen in his tight trousers
and sail-cloth jacket, also fixed his mean little eyes upon
the newcomer. They had in them a look of impudence and
greed. Tchetyriof and Marussin drank their beer in
silence, and appeared not to notice Mishuief. The
latter observed that Marussin's feeble, slender hands
trembled continually and he recollected having heard that
he was consumptive. He remarked the strange trans-
parent look in his eyes, resembling the soft light in an
April sky. Perhaps, so Mishuief thought, he might be
a most unhappy man, yet good and true. He began to
feel genuine pity for him.

Louder and louder grew the din in the cafe, as laughter,
shouts, and the rattle of glasses were heard above the
hum of voices. Sometimes a chair fell down with a crash,
or a teaspoon was heard tapping impatiently against
the rim of a glass, amid peals of shrill feminine laughter.
Waiters with napkins hurried past. The light sparkled
on glass and coloured bottles, as on the splendid jewellery
that adorned soft necks and bosoms. Alone through the
broad windows the dark night, unmoved, looked on.

" Why are you all alone ? Where is' Maria Serge-
ievna ? " asked Opaloff, and from the tone of his voice one
could perceive that her name suggested to him an ideal
instance of feminine frailty.

Mishuief knew that for all men Maria Sergeievna had
a charm both potent and disquieting and that, when they
alluded to her, it was with a certain subtlety of tone.
At one time it flattered him to note how fruitlessly all
men were excited by this woman. Yet what latterly
galled him was the thought that they had only begun to

THE MILLIONAIRE 41

speak of her as they did after her intimacy with him had
become an open secret. She had been just as beautiful
before, though at that time purity constituted her special
charm. Now, by his touch, that purity was sullied, and
she stood unmasked before men, a degraded creature to
whom all could have access.

" She has gone to Semei'd," replied Mishuief curtly.

" Ah ! Then I must have met them ! With Parkho-
menko, I think ? "

Opaloff appeared delighted, and Mishuief at once divined
the reason for this. Opaloff, so he thought, must have
felt certaiA that sooner or later Maria would pass into
Parkhomenko's keeping. Now he was more than ever
convinced that all was in readiness for the transfer,
as her lover Mishuief figured at present on the retired
list.

" That is what he imagines," thought Mishuief.

" Was that Parkhomenko ? " asked Podgurski sud-
denly.

" Yes, yes, that was he," replied Opaloff, as his Japanese
eyes twinkled.

" Do you know him ? " continued Podgurski. " I
wish that you would introduce me to him. I want to see
him about a business matter."

" Want to borrow a bit, probably ! On the non-repay-
ment system, eh ? " asked Opaloff with a laugh.

" What if I do ? Do you think he wouldn't part ? "

" I am sure that he wouldn't," said Mishuief.

" Well, what about you ? Would you fork out any-
thing ? " asked Podgurski, turning suddenly to Mishuief.

There was something so frankly impudent in the
speaker's tone that Mishuief for a while remained silent.

" Perhaps," he said at last, with a smile.

" All right, then, please give me twenty-five roubles,
will you ? " Mishuief looked gravely into Podgurski's
eyes, and after a moment's reflection he smiled again,
and handed him a twenty-five rouble note across the
table.

The genuine quality of such insolence was what pleased
him. Podgurski had hardly expected to get anything,

42 THE MILLIONAIRE

had indeed displayed no special eagerness, but, on
seeing the money, his eyes glistened. Taking the note,
he calmly thrust it into one of the pockets of his greasy
waistcoat, saying :

" Thanks ! "

Mishuief noticed how the gentle-eyed Marussin strove
to repress a smile as he glanced furtively at Podgurski
for an instant. His companion, Tchetyriof, affected to
see nothing, but looked away across the room.

" Well, you're a cheeky fellow, 'pon my word ! "
exclaimed Opaloff. From the look in his eyes one could
see that he also had thought of borrowing money from
Mishuief, but, alas, too late.

" Damned if I care ! " replied Podgurski unabashed.
" I'm a cheeky fellow, and you're a journalist, and he's
a millionaire ; but which of us is the worst off, I'm hanged
if I can tell ! "

At this the others all laughed ; even the sullen Tchetyr-
iof smiled, at which Mishuief was surprised.

" I say, do you know what ? " continued Podgurski,
as if about to impart some delightful news, " I vote you
stand us all a champagne supper, eh ? Will you ? "

Mishuief shrugged his huge shoulders. This sly youth
and his barefaced method of fleecing an absolute stranger
amused him.

" Very well," he said : " only you must order everything
yourself."

"Good! Capital!" cried Podgurski. "Waiter!"
he yelled, never caring that his behaviour caused every one
to look round. The manager came forward, a lean old
man, with grey whiskers, who had long kept near Mis-
huief, like some hound lying in wait. He tripped along,
rubbing his hands and smiling blandly. Podgurski at once
proceeded to order supper, just as if all his life he had
been used to the costliest food. Mishuief watched him
in astonishment. Deft as a conjuror, Podgurski, while
giving elaborate directions as to the cooking, noticed this
and said, " My tastes are those of a millionaire, as you
see ! You think that you're the only person that knows
how to eat and drink ! "

THE MILLIONAIRE 43

" And do you know, then, what millionaires think ? "
asked Mishuief with unconscious hauteur.

" Of course I do. I know everything. When I was
a famous author "

At this the others laughed, but Podgurski paid no
attention. " I've come across millionaires, just as I've
met other chaps. I can see through them, too, right
through them, like a glass of vodka."

Champagne was brought. With it came an odour of
ice, and a sense of coolness, as if the doors of a cellar had
been opened. Stroking his luxuriant whiskers, the old
manager strove as far as possible to comply with Pod-
gurski's unreasonable demands.

The latter grew intensely excited ; his scanty hair
seemed to stand on end ; his bold, greedy eyes shone,
and the absurd waistcoat looked even more grotesque.
As he joked, and drank, and shouted, it was evident that,
if not exactly happy, Podgurski was at any rate enjoying
an excellent meal. Mishuief watched him, intensely
amused to see that this fine gentleman cared not a jot for
millionaires, or for men-of-letters, or anything else in the
whole world. He had got his champagne, his cigars,
and his jokes ; nothing else was of importance to him
except his own personal wants.

Tchetyriof and Marussin ate but little, and drank
nothing at all. Nor did they speak, except to exchange
a word or two with each other, listening attentively, as
artists would, to all that was going on. It was obviously
their intention to ignore Mishuief altogether, and this
distressed him. Opaloff, on the other hand, was extremely
obsequious, and all the while did his utmost to engage him
in conversation. His jokes and desultory remarks were
all made with a wish to please the millionaire.

At an adjoining table sat a robust lady in a remarkably
smart decollete gown.

" Have you ever noticed, Feodor Ivanovitch," said
Opaloff, " how a woman's skin in artificial light, such as
that of a restaurant, always looks wet ? "

" Wrong again ! " broke in Podgurski, who had noticed
Opaloff s furtive attempts to please, and now sought

44 THE MILLIONAIRE

to make him look ridiculous. " Restaurant light has got
nothing to do with it."

"Oh! but it has; and I'll tell you why. The light in
restaurants is always saturated with moisture."

"It is simply perspiration," said Podgurski with
authority. " But one thing's certain : wherever there's
a lot of women there's a smell of scent, and powder, and
stale flesh."

" Oh ! Oh ! " exclaimed Mishuief smiling.

" Yes, yes ; you may be right," said Tchetyriof.

The lady at the next table now got up, letting her
feather boa fall. The view of her exuberant figure was
not missed by Opaloff, who said to Podgurski, while looking
at Mishuief, " I'll tell you something else. When a
woman suddenly drops a feather boa her whole back
for a moment seems to be stark naked."

" Not so bad ! " said Podgurski in a tone of approval.
" You ought to tell that to Parkhomenko. I dare say he
would pay you for a thing of that sort."

" I think you said just now that you didn't know
Parkhomenko," observed Marussin, looking embarrassed.

" Did I ? Very likely. If so, I simply told a lie,"
rejoined Podgurski coolly.

Marussin's confusion became so apparent that it was
as if he, and not Podgurski, had been caught telling a lie.
Mishuief 's kindly feeling for him increased and he thought
what a good fellow he was.

" Oh ! I've known Parkhomenko for ever so long ;
knew him in Moscow," continued Podgurski. " Nobody
knows him better than myself. I've got him — here ! "

So saying, Podgurski held out his broad, greasy hand.
The movement of it, with its stumpy fingers and dirty
nails, expressed such tenacity and greed that they all
involuntarily looked at it. Even Mishuief felt almost
afraid.

" While old Parkhomenko was alive he used to be very
strict with his son. He often beat him and always kept
him short. He would tap on the counter with a couple
of twenty-copeck pieces, and say, * Take this, and be off 1'
So at that time Pashka was always trying to raise money

THE MILLIONAIRE 45

— with forged bills, of course — and that's how I happened
to run across him. Ah ! I could tell you a lot about some
of his little tricks ! One little bit of paper is all I want ;
just one ; and then I'll bleed him till he squeals like
a pig ! "

" Is that really necessary ? " asked Marussin, blinking
his eyes in a vain effort to avoid looking at the speaker.

" Ah ! Nicolai Nicolaievitch, you don't know the chap
as I do ! He's the vilest of the vile ! A reptile full
of venom ! Whoever sets his heel on it deserves to have
forty sins forgiven him. Baser than three kings and four
archbishops put together ! And cruel ! My word ! He
had read somewhere that out in Africa the officers used to
nail nigger women to boards and then shoot at them with
their revolvers for a wager. Well, what do you think ?
His one idea is to imitate them, and crucify a woman !
And some day he'll do it, too ! When his father lay dying
and was unable to utter a word, this Pashka Parkho-
menko burst into the bedroom and seized the old man by
the beard :

" * Vulture ! * he cried, ' this is the reward for your life
of theft.'

" And when he came into his fortune he was fifty times
worse than the old boy. And isn't he mean ? Dirty
beast ! Millionaires only exist in order that other folk
may drink champagne at their expense, but this brute's
not even good for a bottle of fizz ! "

" Then you think that millionaires are not good for
anything else ? " asked Tchetyriof, apparently in jest,
though every one, including Mishuief, at once felt that it
was a hit at him.

" Of course I do, damn it all ! " replied Podgurski, who
had grasped the other's meaning and evidently wanted to
provoke a scene.

Here Opaloff interposed.

" And what is your opinion of Parkhomenko ? " he
said, turning to Mishuief.

For a moment the latter did not reply. The unmis-
takable hatred in Tchetyriof's voice pained him, saddened
him ; for Tchetyriof, the poet, he both liked and esteemed.

46 THE MILLIONAIRE

It was depressing to feel suddenly helpless and surrounded
by enemies.

" It seems to me," he said, as he gazed downwards
at his hands on the table, " that you are in error. A man
may be a millionaire and yet be of more use than merely
to soak others in champagne."

Tchetyriof smiled slightly and looked at him with an
expression of stubborn hatred. Mishuief trembled, and
his face grew flushed.

" You seem to be offended," said Podgurski.

" No, I am not offended," replied Mishuief ; " and I
did not say that because I am myself a millionaire.
Parkhomenko is an exception. He is a degenerate, and
degenerates are to be found in all classes of society. I
certainly think that a man may be like this or like
that quite apart from the gold that he carries in his
pockets."

" I quite agree ! " exclaimed Opaloff.

"Parkhomenko is no degenerate," said Tchetyriof
coldly. "In a milieu where money is supreme, and
where for money everything can be bought or sold,
Parkhomenko and such as he have their legitimate place.
A real millionaire ought to be like that. If there are
exceptions, it is they who after their fashion have degene-
rated, and count as examples of human paradoxes."

There was such hatred underlying this speech that
Marussin looked up and blushed, while Opaloff fidgeted
nervously on his chair.

" Why should that be ? " asked Mishuief, and there was
a certain sadness in his voice. " Take me, for instance — "

" I am not speaking of you," was Tchetyriof's curt
rejoinder.

" Yes, but suppose you were speaking of me ? " said
Mishuief gently.

" Present company, you know, is always excepted, my
dear Feodor Ivanovitch ! " said Opaloff interposing.

" No, but why should it be ? " continued Mishuief,
lowering his voice even more. " It would be extremely
interesting to me to have the opinion of Sergei Maximo-
vitch, whom, as a poet, I most cordially appreciate."

THE MILLIONAIRE 47

It was now Tchetyriof who turned red.

Without looking at him Mishuief knew that his op-
ponent did not believe him, and only thought he was
trying to be conciliatory. This distressed him the more.
He regarded Tchetyriof as a poet of fine calibre, and
could not conceive why this thoughtful, truth-loving man,
who scarcely knew him, should already hate and insult
him. Controlling himself with an effort, he continued in
the same undertone :

" I honestly mean what I say."

Marussin was touched at the sight of this big, strong,
experienced man of the world speaking with such gentle-
ness to those who repulsed him. He even felt mildly
annoyed at Tchetyriof 's attitude.

" What Sergei Maximovitch probably wishes to point
out," he said, blushing, and opening his kind eyes, " is
that the accumulation of gigantic wealth in the hands of
one man seems absurd."

" Now for a dose of Socialism ! " sneered Podgurski.

" The millionaire himself, as he lives and moves, is to
my mind an absurdity," was Tchetyriof's harsh rejoinder.

" What can the unfortunate millionaires have been
doing to you, I wonder ? " asked Opaloff, who again
sought to turn the current of talk into a calmer channel.

But this interruption roused Mishuief.

" I must ask you, Sergei Maximovitch, to be more
explicit," he said coolly but firmly.

" How can I be more explicit ? " was the glum re-
joinder. " I have said what I think. I consider the life
of a man in whose hands immense power is placed, having
no right to it, as nothing if not absurd. You cannot
but feel that such a man in himself is less even than a
cypher, and that, without his millions, he would be of no
earthly use to anybody. Therefore the only logical
inference is that he must either remain an absolute
nonentity, or else use this immense power to good purpose.
Yet how can it be utilized ? What can wealth, enormous
wealth, procure ? Luxury, violence, debauchery. Under
such conditions it would be extraordinary to assume that
a man would readily renounce all that happens to be

48 THE MILLIONAIRE

placed so pleasantly in his way. A rich man finds
enjoyment in debauchery, violence and despotism."

" But surely not in that alone ? Look at Tretiakoff,*
for instance ! " was Mishuief 's gentle remonstrance.

" And what was Tretiakoff, pray ? " interposed
Tchetyriof bluntly. " A despot, just like all the others.
A man who spent his whole life in forcing art to follow
the particular direction approved by himself, and who was
responsible for that detestable art-movement in Russia
which arrested the healthy progress of our national art for
at least a dozen years."

Tchetyriof's feeble but penetrating voice was only
just audible above the general noise ; it sounded forced
and angry.

"It is one of two things ; either the millionaire, if he
takes the path that suits his position, must feed upon his
fellows, destroying life by battening thereon like a
bloated maggot in manure, or he must remain that
which he is already, an insignificant appendage to his
millions."

" But cannot the millionaire be himself a man of
talent — a poet, a painter, a sculptor ? " asked Opaloff.

" Certainly he can," replied Tchetyriof, shrugging his
shoulders. " But in order that such talent may develop
and bear fruit, he must know what it is to struggle and to
endure. What can a man know of suffering when, without
the least effort, he can attain the choicest pleasures of
life ? The thing's absurd ! "

" Feodor Ivanovitch," said the manager, who had
noiselessly approached, " you are wanted at the tele-
phone."

Tchetyriof suddenly stopped speaking, and his eyes
appeared shrunken, as if in thought he were continuing
his vehement speech.

" What ? " said Mishuief, who at first did not under-
stand.

He looked pale and sad, and his eyes expressed spiritual
pain.

* A wealthy Moscow merchant, the founder of one of the largest
and best art galleries in Russia, to which the public has free access.

THE MILLIONAIRE 49

" M. Parkhomenko would like to speak to you on the
telephone, sir."

" Yes, much of what you say may be right," replied
Mishuief, without looking at Tchetyriof, " and I quite
understand your meaning, though you express it some-
what brutally, I think. Excuse me, gentlemen, I shall
be back in a moment."

So saying he followed the manager, and as he pushed
past the rows of tables he was watched by curious eyes.

Parkhomenko invited him to come to a restaurant
outside the town. A singer of chansonnettes, named
Emma, whom Mishuief knew slightly, was to be there.

" And where is Maria Sergeievna ? " asked Mishuief
mechanically.

" She has gone home in the car," was the reply.

" Good."

It was dark and airless in the telephone-box. Mishuief
shut his eyes and leant against the wall. That feeble
voice, so full of hate, still rang in his ears.

" Yes ; he may be right, after all. . . . But why such
bitter hatred ? Isn't he aware of that ? "

When Mishuief returned to the table Tchetyriof and
Marussin were just about to go.

" Ah ! you are going ? " he asked, with an effort.

" Yes."

" Perhaps we shall meet again," he said, as they shook
hands.

" Perhaps," was Tchetyriof 's cold reply, which seemed
a reiterated expression of implacable hate.

Mishuief hastily glanced at Marussin's face, which wore
a look of perplexity ; the frank, gentle eyes were fixed on
something far away.

A wave of conflicting emotions surged up within
Mishuief ; anguish, fury, and a sudden burning desire to
do some wild, wicked deed, just to show them that he was
yet stronger than they, and that he could trample on them
like weeds, if he wished. But the impulse was a momen-
tary one ; and, as he watched the two depart, his counten-
ance grew pale and strange as that of a man marked out for
death.

BARE-shouldered, with bosom dilated, her hat at a saucy
angle, and flounces fluttering provocatively, a woman
leapt into the room.

The men had been drinking heavily. In this heated
air, reeking of cigar-smoke, wine and liqueurs, they were
wrought to such a pitch that a woman's presence seemed
necessary to create a diversion, and to break the monotony
of their night's debauch.

Her entrance was the signal for a display of frenzied
excitement. Red-faced Parkhomenko with blood- shot
eyes and moist moustache rushed towards her. Upsetting
a chair, he seized her by her slender waist and lifted her
on to the table. A bottle was knocked over, and a wine-
glass fell to the floor in fragments.

" Oh ! don't f You'll let me fall ! " she screamed in her
excited, high-pitched voice, which roused the revellers to
madder merriment.

" Hurrah ! " cried Parkhomenko, " Lovely woman for
ever ! Give her some wine ! She shall make up for lost
time ! "

In a dense crowd they all stood round her, as with
shining eyes and twitching fingers they longed to touch
and taste. Parkhomenko held a goblet of yellow cham-
pagne to her laughing, scarlet lips ; Opaloff, his grey
face showing patches of dusky red, kissed her bare arm
above her glove ; and a fat financier with a wet, gaping
mouth, gurgled and slobbered in ruttish glee. It was
as though, gibbering and whining, they were all ready
to fall upon this dainty flesh and tear it to shreds.

Only Podgurski, unconcerned, continued to drink his
liqueur, while Mishuief lounged on the sofa and looked
about him, dull-eyed and drowsy.

The others carried the woman to the couch, and there
deposited her, probably hurting her somewhat in doing
this. But she only laughed loudly, administering little slaps
to hands that constantly touched her with shameless zest.

50

THE MILLIONAIRE 51

" Gently, sirs, if you please ! Hands off ! Where's
the champagne ? " she cried. " I mean to have a good
old drink, after my success. You should have seen what
a reception I had to-night ! An absolute furore ! "

And she merrily sang a snatch from one of her latest
ditties.

Opaloff brought her wine, and suddenly switched on
an electric pocket-lamp underneath the wine-glass. The
foaming wine sparkled like liquid gold, and its radiance
was reflected in the woman's laughing eyes with fantastic
and charming effect :

" Oh ! how splendid ! Again ! Do it again, dear ! "
she cried.

Opaloff was about to turn on the light again when
Parkhomenko snatched the lamp out of his hand and
flashed the white dazzling ray across her eyes. They had
the yellow luminosity of a cat's. At first she shut them
tightly, as if the light hurt her ; then she laughed. They
could all see how painted she was ; the bistre on her eye-
lashes, and the wrinkles which in so young a woman
were deplorable proofs of youth on the wane. Even
Podgurski and Opaloff were touched to something akin
to pity. As if by accident Parkhomenko caught his foot
in her lace wrapper and tore it.

'" Good gracious ! what are you doing ? " she cried in
alarm.

Parkhomenko pretended to trip up, and this time made
a bigger rent in the lace, so that her dainty leg was exposed
to view. His face with its black moustache expressed
cat-like cruelty.

" Stop it ! Don't ! " she screamed, angry and afraid.

Opaloff appeared distressed, but hovered round the
couch, and his face might have been that of a grinning
Japanese doll. Podgurski appeared uninterested in the
proceedings, yet at the very moment when Mishuief, much
against his will, was going to interfere, he suddenly said.

" Pavel Alexeievitch, stop that, please ! "

Parkhomenko was literally quivering with excitement.
He pretended to adjust the girl's dress, but in reality his
moist hands were fondling her shapely form. She

52 THE MILLIONAIRE

laughed hysterically, almost in tears because her smart
dress had been spoilt.

" Stop that ! What are you doing ? " exclaimed
Podgurski once more.

" Do leave her alone, Pavel Alexeievitch ! " said
Mishuief, supporting him.

But Parkhomenko either could not or would not hear.
His red face with its mad, cruel, lustful look was horrible
to behold.

"Do you hear what, I say ? Hands off ! " said Pod-
gurski, in a lower, more threatening tone. Mishuief
looked round at him in astonishment, expecting Parkho-
menko to reply. The latter, however, said nothing,
though he momentarily ceased to molest the girl, looking
evidently scared.

" We'll soon mend that. Just give me a couple of
pins," said Opaloff, the mediator, turning good-naturedly
to the chanteuse, who was holding together the remnants
of her lace wrapper.

" How proper we are, all of a sudden ! " sneered
Parkhomenko, as, like a dog, he slunk away ; " One can't
even have a bit of fun."

" There's a limit to everything," said Mishuief coldly.

Parkhomenko for a moment was thoroughly dis-
concerted, for he could see that his " bit of fun " had
amused no one. Yet he soon became unnaturally
vivacious, and turning to Emma, exclaimed :

" Oh ! what's the good of pins ? Let me do it, Opaloff ;
I know a better way than that ! "

Thereupon he produced two bank-notes of one hundred
roubles each, which he thrust into the girl's bodice.

" Here, Emmy dear ! Don't be angry ! "

Emma at once became quiet and her eyes sparkled.
Suddenly she kissed Parkhomenko on his black moist
moustache.

" Oh ! I say, it is good of you ! " she exclaimed, and
one could hardly tell if she honestly thought so or not,

" Good, indeed ! " said Podgurski in a mocking voice.
" First he tears your dress, and then he gives you money !
Splendid fellow ! "

THE MILLIONAIRE 53

It looked as if, in another minute, he would rush at
Parkhomenko and pommel his rotund, self-satisfied face.

" Pretty way to behave ! " he continued, " to tear
people's clothes off their backs, and then chuck money
about ! It's like some clown at a fair ! " His deliberately
insulting tone was unmistakable. " Why don't you
smear the waiters' noses with mustard ? It would be
just as funny. Or you might shove your head through a
mirror ? "

Parkhomenko smiled and winced. Mishuief was sur-
prised to note his look of impotent fury ; it reminded him
of some little cur that would like to bite, but durst not.

Podgurski went on in the same strain of banter. He
suggested that Parkhomenko should make a tour through
the town in four state carriages ; told him he ought to try
a champagne bath ; or drive through a wall, after the
manner of a well-known Moscow merchant. At all this
Parkhomenko laughed uneasily, unnaturally. It was
plain that, though furious, he felt afraid.

How did you manage to tackle him like that ? "
whispered Opaloff.

" Easily enough ! " was the contemptuous answer.
" These gentlemen think that with their wealth they may
do anything. But if they happen to run up against a
fellow who doesn't care a damn for their money-bags,
they very soon knuckle under ! "

The fat Jew financier with such tact as he possessed
now sought to smooth matters over, and began to relate
anecdotes concerning famous millionaires and their
eccentric achievements. One or two of his tales proved
to be quite amusing, so that the talk soon became general,
and at last Parkhomenko, wrought to a pitch of en-
thusiasm, exclaimed with flashing eyes :

" Ah ! but there's nothing in all that ! I've got a
brilliant idea. How would it be to harness half a dozen
ballet-girls to a landau — just as they are, you know,
in their muslin skirts and tights — and then drive through
the Morskaia ! Oh ! it would be awfully chic ! "

" How silly ! " said Emma peevishly." They would
never make themselves so ridiculous ! "

54 THE MILLIONAIRE

" Oh ! wouldn't they, though ? For a couple of
thousand one could get a whole team of stockbrokers ! "

At this the fat financier burst out laughing, and fairly
slobbered at the mouth.

" That would be really too funny ! Ha ! Ha ! "

" Yes, of course it would ! " cried Parkhomenko in his

xcitement. " Imagine the nice little pink legs trotting

along, and the bare necks that one could touch up now

and again with the whip ! It only wants a little working

out and the effect would be jolly fine ! "

Mishuief still sat on the couch and hardly drank any-
thing. In his eyes there was the same look of weariness
and disgust. Yet he seemed unable to move, but sat
there stolidly, feeling afraid to be alone lest he should
think, lest he should long for something mysterious and
inconceivable. Almost deafened though he was by their
shouts and laughter, every word and every movement
served to increase his disgust.

" That tradesman's son," he thought to himself, " who
looks like a sheep, or some big tom-cat teasing a mouse,
and who finds enjoyment in whipping naked ballet-girls,
and in maltreating a poor cocotte ; that fat financier,
perpetually smacking his lips, as if he were chewing
roubles ; and Opaloff, a man of real talent, crushing all
his finer artistic instincts underfoot in order to curry
favour with Plutocracy! "How appalling to think that
men are really like that, and that he must pass his life
among them for many years to come ! He remembered
Marussin and Tchetyriof, and sadly pictured to himself
their remote, implacable souls, containing that something
within them which he could not understand. It roused
once more his bitter resentment. Only for Podgurski
sitting there, drinking and smoking, did he feel a certain
passing sympathy." Whatever he may be, at least he
wasn't afraid to protect poor Emma. ..."

It was now late. They had all drunk to excess, and
could shout and laugh no more. Their fatigue showed
itself in a certain nervous restlessness. Emma looked
flushed, expectant ; in her eyes, yellow as a cat's, there
was no trace of shame. She seated herself on the men's

THE MILLIONAIRE 55

knees, danced the matchiche, pinched their arms, and
pressed her nude shoulders nearer to their lips. The men
by degrees became mad. Only Mishuief and Podgurski,
the latter drinking on, unmoved, kept their seats. The
others crowded round Emma, and it was evident that to
one of them she would very soon fall as his prey. . . .

" These wretched, wretched men ! " thought Mishuief ;
and in that moment he felt that he himself was the most
wretched of them, and the most forlorn. . . .

Suddenly Parkhomenko sprang on to a chair and
cried :

" Look here, gentlemen ! There are three of us. . . ."

" Five ! " was Podgurski's mocking correction.

" And only one woman ! . . . I propose that we draw
lots for her ! "

" For shame ! " cried Emma, pretending to be shocked.

" Or else ... no, we won't draw lots. We'll have an
auction ! That'll be great sport. The highest bidder to
be the purchaser ! "

" Splendid idea ! " assented the financier.

" Eh ? What ? Podgurski, you shall be the auc-
tioneer ! Now then, Emma, get up on this chair. . . .
Down with your bodice ! We must see what we're
buying ! "

" Have I got to do that ? " cried the girl giggling, as
if she had been splashed with cold water.

" Yes, yes, there's no help for it ! " shouted Parkho-
menko. " It's to be a sale by auction, so don't make

any fuss ! "

* * * *

" Now then," cried Podgurski, as with a knife he tapped
the rim of a glass, " a woman named Emma is put up
for sale in public auction to the highest bidder. The
property may be viewed and even handled by intending
purchasers. Well, gentlemen, shall we say three hundred
roubles for a start ? Who will bid more ? "

" Four hundred 1 " cried Parkhomenko, raising his glass.

" All right, then," said the financier, " let's call it five
hundred."

There was a look of greed and lust in his eyes, delighted

56 THE MILLIONAIRE

though he seemed to be. It was not lost on Podgurski,
who laughed.

"Five hundred," he said. "Who bids more? . . .
Going . . ."

Opaloff's red perspiring face wore a vacuous smile.
A mad idea darted through his brain : to borrow the
money from somewhere. Simultaneously, like a flash,
came the thought of his hotel-bill to be paid on the
following day, the cost of the return journey to Moscow,
and his wife's pale, sulky face. But, before his eyes,
nude and splendid, stood the glorious woman that he
desired.

" Borrow it, somehow . . . might get it, later on . . ."
he thought, yet all the while it was quite clear to him
that he could not possibly get money from anybody,
that he would have to travel home, and that he would
never dare to risk it.

So his handsome, refined features were distorted by a
foolish smile.

Mishuief himself was conscious that he could not
remain uninfluenced by the amazing proceedings. His
wide nostrils became dilated as he watched the glowing
faces and glanced threateningly at Emma. Suddenly
he thought :

" How would it be to snap her up under their very
noses ? " and his eyes flashed. The sense of his own
power intoxicated him.

" Be quick, gentlemen ; it's cold," said Emma
shivering.

" Six hundred ! " exclaimed Parkhomenko enraptured.

" Six hundred ! " repeated Podgurski. " Any more
bids ? "

Something strangely tormenting now surged up in
Mishuief's mind, a dark, brutal desire that briefly strove
with his own disgust and contempt for his surroundings
and for himself. It was this something that proved
victorious.

" Going . . . going . . ."

Parkhomenko leapt towards Emma, whose attitude was
already one of submission.

THE MILLIONAIRE 57

" Seven hundred," said Mishuief gently. A look of
brute force unbridled at last, darkened and disfigured his
face. Parkhomenko was thunderstruck.

" Going . . . going . . . going — gone ! cried
Podgurski.

Emma laughed hysterically. But there were tears in
her painted eyes, tears of shame which to herself, perhaps,
were incomprehensible.

VI

It was already dawn, and from the horizon a delicate
iridescent light broke on the dreaming town. Night,
growing pale, retreated timorously to the hills ; the
shadows grew grey ; everything appeared transparent,
even the distant hills lay wreathed in opal mist like clouds
at sunrise.

The sound of hoofs was heard as a droshky rattled
along through the deserted streets leading to the villa
where Emma lived.

Mishuief was still trembling from the emotion which
had suddenly seized him. The woman that had been
sold was entirely in his hands. Her large eyes had a
strange, startled look in the grey dawn. In fact, there
was something strange about her whole personality. Just
as within the melody of a dance, flashy and obvious
though it be, there sometimes lurks a shy, tremulous note
of sorrow, so in this half-nude, painted cocotte another
personality at times furtively revealed itself, being that
of a miserable, dejected woman. Thus, all the while she
laughed, drank, danced and flirted, round the corners
of her painted eyes and mouth fell the shadow of some
hidden grief. It was this that gave her a certain piquancy
and charm. At the restaurant, in the electric light, this
strangely sad expression was hidden beneath the bold
mask of the saleable hetaira. Now, however, when all
was at an end, and she was at the disposition of the
man who had bought her, the look of melancholy and
weariness returned, and blended strangely with the
grey, desolate mists of dawn. ... On reaching the
villa they passed through the garden filled with the
scents of southern flowers. Mishuief followed Emma,
who led the way to the house like some submissive
slave.

" What is this that I am doing ? " asked Mishuief of
himself. " Is it madness ? A base, cowardly act ?
Well, perhaps it is ; yet why shouldn't I do it, if I have

58

THE MILLIONAIRE 59

the power and the will ? Bestial, yes ; despotic, yes,
for aught I care ! "

There was a touch of malicious exultation in this
thought, as if he were revenging himself upon one that
was fairer, purer than he, and that now he intended to
thrust from him utterly.

Suddenly, in a hoarse voice, he said to Emma, " Let
us stop here."

At first she did not understand, and glanced involun-
tarily at the turf in the shade of the rose-bushes and the
shrubs. That glance he swiftly intercepted, and in a
wild impulse of animal passion seized her by the
hand.

" No ! No ! Here it's impossible ! " she whispered,
as her lips whitened.

As she started backwards, her cloak slipped, and the
grey dawn-light touched her quivering shoulders.

" But if I wish it ? " Mishuief smiled grimly.

Still she resisted and recoiled, looking round her with
wild, sad eyes. There was a brief struggle, and then,
suddenly, in the magical atmosphere of that garden at
d.^vra stood a woman half nude, clad only in strips of
tattered lace that, light as sea-foam, fluttered round her.
Brutally, with a wild sense of mastery and of possession,
he caught her by her white, supple neck and thrust her
to the ground. . . .

For what ensued he felt only bitter shame and a strange,
humiliating fear. All those whom he had met a few hours
since — Tchetyriof, Parkhomenko, Maria Sergeievna, Ma-
russin, Opaloff — passed swiftly before his mental vision.
i Emma's eyes, as they met his, he could read disgust
and helpless hatred ; they recalled the look of loathing
and rebuke in those of Tchetyriof. Then, as if a shadow
had fallen across them, her eyes expressed terror, deference
and greed. She made an effort to speak ; her lips
trembled ; and Mishuief, seeing this, felt sudden fear.
She no longer seemed human, but something pitifully
repulsive. Her wicked eyes had a false, impudent look ;
and her lips were set in a treacherous smile. Stepping
forward, she put her white arm round his neck. The

60 THE MILLIONAIRE

pale morning light fell on the graceful outlines of her
form and was lost in the soft shadows of her bosom.

Upon Mishuief the effect was at first almost horrifying ;
but in another moment he felt only loathing for her and
for himself. Senseless appeared to him the terrific storm
that but a moment before had thus fiercely raged, and df
which not a trace remained. His actual feeling was one,
of sheer disgust.

" Never mind," he said awkwardly, " I'll send you the
money later."

Again she leaned towards him, smiling seductively,
but Mishuief turned sharply round and walked away.
The garden-gate creaked noisily behind him. Around
him all was void and silent ; only the grey-blue street
lay before. He could hear the sound of her little steps,
as she hurried along the gravel-path, and the rustle of
her silk skirts. Then all was silent and desolate.

So, too, in Mishuief's heart, silence and desolation
reigned, as the whole feverish nightmare vanished, leaving
only a sense of helpless woe. Standing still for a moment
in the middle of the street, he gazed at the pale blue
morning sky where two pink cloudlets floated, like birds
in flight to distant sunlit shores.

VII

Every evening a band played in the municipal gardens.
The bandstand, resembling a huge illuminated shell, was
filled with musicians that moved and swayed like strange
Insects. Rows of slender, graceful violin-bows slid up
and down as if they were the legs of grasshoppers, and
the conductor might have been mistaken for a beetle
that was continually opening and shutting its wings.

The flutes piped sweetly, the violins wailed and screamed,
and one grave, mournful trumpet made the final harmonies
fuller, richer, and more complete.

The walks were thronged with noisy people, and the
sound of shuffling feet and chattering tongues rose on
the air like a wave, now appearing louder and now more
faint, as it died away in the depths of the dark alleys,
and then surged up again in a wild stream of laughter,
shouts, and vibrant feminine voices.

A fantastic procession of smiling faces passed along
in the dull blue electric light, as they suddenly arose,
became fused, merged in each other, and then separated,
seemingly in the tortuous mazes of a dance. As canopy
they had the dark blue dome of heaven, silent, majestic,
£nd filled with radiant southern stars.

Thus the festival progressed, brilliant, careless, brim-
ming with life ; yet it seemed to Mishuief that in all this
merry throng he was but a dark blot, the seal and sign
of all that is solitary and unprofitable.

It was on this day that Maria Sergeievna, looking
specially charming in a new blue dress, had again gone
out with Parkhomenko in his motor. All day long, like
a black shadow, a grim sense of unrest had weighed upon
Mishuief's mind. Maria latterly had been abnormally
bright and gay, and Mishuief knew that in his absence
Parkhomenko never ceased to pay assiduous court to
her. ^He could easily imagine with what deft and impu-
dent assurance Parkhomenko was playing his dirty game,
and how he would gradually draw the noose tighter and

61

62 THE MILLIONAIRE

ever tighter. Yet Maria was still utterly fascinated by
the perpetual charm of her new life, now that after long
years of indigence and dulness, she had been plunged
into a vortex of luxury, and so she danced unwittingly
and all too carelessly the perilous dance above the abyss.
Even her dresses, in which she cleverly contrived to
suggest propriety heightened by daring touches of demi-
mondaine freedom, obviously indicated the excitement
which her dazzling personal charms aroused.

Probably she herself hardly gave it a thought, yet
Mishuief knew that under such conditions it needed but
an accident, a moonlight night, some sudden licence, an
unexpected, frivolous caress, and she would then only
regain her senses when all was at an end.

To Mishuief the idea seemed absurd and indeed un-
speakably painful that Maria Sergeievna should give
herself to a man who would only look upon her as a
successful means of stimulating his jaded lust. It was
utterly disgusting, and quite at variance with her charm-
ing personality. At times he rejected it as unthinkable.
She was beautiful, clever, cultured, and had loved two
men, both of whom were above the average. Thus, after
their affection, an intrigue with this Parkhomenko, half
beast, half idiot, would seem vile beyond all conception.

Yet at times he was tortured by the thought : " In
what way am I better than he ? I have greater intelli-
gence, finer perceptions. Granted. But, when we began
our life together, did I show her this intelligence, these
finer feelings, or merely the same animal lust ? Once
she loved her husband, who was certainly a far more
intelligent and talented man than myself ; and then she
gave herself to me because I could procure for her luxury
and enjoyment. It was with the prospect of a new life
that I seduced her. Parkhomenko achieves the same
end with his impudence, his despotism. . . . She came
to me without love, solely because I was wealthy ; she
came just as the lowest of women would have come. In
her case it was worse, for she hid her mercenary motives
beneath a profession of love. Could anything be more
vile ? *

THE MILLIONAIRE 63

Musing thus, Mishuief lounged along through the
crowd. He walked slowly, keeping his eyes fixed on the
ground, sick at heart, nursing a grief that he was powerless
to define.

In one of the alleys he met the old General and his
little daughter Niurotschka, who laughed her silvery
laugh and tossed back her head, showing her pretty chin.
While yet at a distance she had seen Mishuief, and in her
quiet way gave him a droll side-glance ; it was like a
timid challenge, of which she herself was unconscious.
Her bright, youthful face was to Mishuief as a breath of
pure, fresh air, yet he only bowed and passed on.

A few days previously the General had summoned up
courage sufficient to ask the millionaire for his help in
order to send the girl to the Moscow University ; and this
help Mishuief had promised to give. The idea pleased
him at first ; it seemed delightful to be of assistance to
this pretty little girl. Then in his troubled mind arose
morbid misgivings. Perhaps the General was offering
him, the millionaire, his daughter, and that she knew
nothing of it seemed inconceivable. Mishuief clearly
foresaw that he would meet the girl in Moscow, and that
each from the very first would be sensible of their mutual
relations, she feeling under an obligation to him for his
generosity, and he, counting upon her gratitude. . . .

Inevitable, simple as it all seemed, it made a horrible
impression on Mishuief.

4 " Yet why should it be so ? " he asked himself. " Per-
haps it will never get as far as that ! Perhaps we shall
just remain good friends, and I shall grow really fond of
her, and in her pure life my own will become fresh and
wholesome ? Why do I always foresee something vile ?
There are other ways, other possibilities of living. Men
live happily, honourably. Why is it only I who . . . ?
Or have I within me some special germ of moral disease ?
Must all that I touch become filthy and putrid ? What
a nightmare ! I am sick at heart ; I am killing my very
self by such hideous delusions ! "

His features became distorted, as though a knife had
pierced his heart; and a sudden dread seized him, a

64 THE MILLIONAIRE

dread of remaining longer in this disturbing, foolish
crowd. Leaving the gardens, he entered a restaurant
facing the sea, and sat down at a small table on the
balcony.

" Feodor Ivanovitch, why are you sitting there, all
alone ? " cried a voice from the quay below, as the fat,
unsavoury Podgurski approached him with a greedy look
in his twinkling eyes, and wearing the same unsightly
clothes.

" Good morning. I expect you find it a bit dull, eh ? "
Taking a seat beside him, he asked : "I say, Feodor
Ivanovitch, what are we going to drink ? "

Mishuief smiled. For some reason or other, in the
presence of this insolent, luckless youth he felt greater
freedom. There was no mistaking the predatory instincts
of Podgurski. They were there, on the surface, for all
to see. Yet it was also plain that his relations with
Mishuief did not depend upon whether the latter would
give him money or not.

Podgurski saw at once that Mishuief was bored, and
honestly wished to cheer him up.

" Have you heard the latest ? Opaloff won thirteen
hundred roubles yesterday from Parkhomenko."

" Did he really ? "

Mishuief good-humouredly appeared to be greatly
interested.

" Yes ; and what do you think was the first thing that
he did ? He went and collared Emma, and has dragged
her off with him somewhere. He was in such a hurry,
too, that he even left his necktie behind. He must be
having a glorious time ! "

" In his case, it wouldn't want much to give him a
glorious time, I should say," laughed Mishuief.

" That might not be much for you, but for Opaloff,
whose wife runs about in a flannel dressing-gown, and
is always having babies, it's simply Paradise, full of scents
and lace, and luxury. Oh ! I should rather think it
was ! "

" I say, do you know what we'll do ? " he continued
in a livelier tone. " We'll go to the Casino,"

THE MILLIONAIRE 65

" What can we do there ? "

" Gamble, of course ! " was the reply, as if Podgurski
were proposing something extremely diverting.

" What's the good ? " asked Mishuief languidly. " Too
boring."

" Well, then, let us drive down to Emma's place, and
see Opaloff reclining in the lap of luxury."

Mishuief did not answer, and Podgurski, who saw that
his proposal was negatived, made yet another.

" What can I do for you ? " he exclaimed, rubbing his
forehead in perplexity. " Oh ! I know ! If you like
I can take you to a place where. . . . You don't see
such things, even in Paris. Let's go, shall we ? "

" No, thank you. I really don't want to go." Mishu-
ief's face expressed disgust.

" Why not ? "

" Because I don't."

Podgurski eyed him curiously.

" I suppose it's on principle that you won't go, eh ? "
he sneered. Up to the present I always thought
that millionaires were never troubled by that sort of
thing."

" Don't you admit, then, that millionaires may have
even the most primitive sense of purity ? " asked Mis-
huief in a graver tone than he wished, as he smiled
nervously.

Podgurski eyed him once more, and at first did not
speak. Then he abruptly changed the subject, told
sundry droll stories, and poked fun at Parkhomenko and
the Yalta public. At last he suddenly asked for a hundred
roubles. Mechanically, Mishuief produced his pocket-
book and handed him the money, thinking all the while
of something else. As he opened it, Podgurski scrutinized
the coloured edges of the bank-notes it contained, and
when Mishuief laid the wallet on the table the other could
not immediately take his eyes off it.

1 There's one thing I can't make out," said Mishuief
slowly, as if in answer to his own thoughts.

" What is it ? "

Mishuief did not reply at once, but glanced sadly aside.

66 THE MILLIONAIRE

as if he could not say the grave thing that oppressed
him.

" It's like this," he stammered, still looking downwards,
" whatever I may say or I may do, nobody views it in
the same way that any other person's words and deeds
would be viewed. No one ever tells me that what I
think or feel is wrong ; their one idea is : he's a million-
aire ! He's got millions ! If you only knew how boring
that is ! "

Again he smiled nervously, aware that " boring " was
not the word that he wanted, but a stronger, more serious
epithet.

Podgurski gazed at him, wide-eyed. He had entirely
forgotten the recent conversation, and could not under-
stand what Mishuief meant by this remark.

"Tchetyriof was right, after all," he thought. "It
seems to have upset him a bit. But he's really a fool,
and his own fat will choke him ! "

" All that sort of thing's so unnatural," continued
Mishuief, looking pained and sad. " Why do you, for
instance, treat Tchetyriof, who earns a hundred times
what you earn, in such a casual way, while ..."

" Hm ! Tchetyriof," replied Podgurski, " however
much he earns, does it all by his brains. As long as his
strength holds out he can work, but if he became ill and
no longer the fashion, his position would be much what
mine is now. And what sort of an income do you suppose
he has ! There's little difference between his way of
living and mine. But a millionaire ! That's something
very different. Life on another scale ; possibilities of
quite another kind. His position, for one thing, is a
peculiar one, and his relations with others are all of an
exceptional nature. I really can't see what it is that
worries you so ! "

" It does not actually worry me, but it troubles me,"
replied Mishuief, feeling disinclined to say too much,
and ashamed to open his heart to such a fellow as
Podgurski.

The latter was silent and listened attentively.

" It's the unique position assigned to me among my

THE MILLIONAIRE 67

fellow-men that exasperates me," continued Mishuief
reluctantly, as the other did not speak. " Why can't
people admit that I am just the same sort of man as any
other, that I think the same, feel the same as "

" Perhaps I personally am of that opinion," said
Podgurski, smiling, " but you can't get away from the
fact that money is a huge force ; and you yourself can't
help utilizing it. We each of us live according to our
means. We others have only ourselves to reckon with,
and our good or bad qualities, but when you come along
with your money, it's a very different affair. Everybody
knows that. It doesn't matter a damn to me, really,
but still I feel that you are not like myself or Opaloff or
Tchetyriof. Probably you won't do me any harm or
any good, but still, you could if you chose. That's where
it is. I said I didn't care a damn if you'd millions or
not, but I must honestly confess that I made a mistake."
Podgurski laughed and made a gesture of resignation, as
it were, to fate.

Mishuief nodded, eager to hear what was coming, and
Podgurski continued almost peevishly : " Whether you
like it or not, I can never forget that you are a millionaire
and lead a life of luxury and enjoyment such as I have
never even dreamed of, and that you could plank me down
a thousand roubles, if you liked. But, on the other hand,
you might play me a dirty trick. Why, look at Parkho-
menko "

•? We are not talking of Parkhomenko ! " interrupted
Mishuief, in a tone intended sharply to dissociate that
name from his own.

" Yet for us you are both exactly alike ! " exclaimed
Podgurski eagerly and with absolute conviction. " We
can never know how you think, nor how you feel."

He remained silent for a moment, as if something had
occurred to him.

" Look here ! It annoys you that others regard you
as different from themselves. But you yourself, Feodor
Ivanovitch, why don't you do something to show us
what you really are — your real soul, not that of a million-
aire, no, just that of a Mishuief ? It is because that not

68 THE MILLIONAIRE

for a moment can you ever forget that you are a million-
aire ! Instead of getting into closer touch with other
men and winning their sympathy, you insist upon this
sympathy as a right, and are annoyed at not getting it.
Well, that is certainly not ..."

" It seems to me that I am only too ready to gain
their confidence," retorted Mishuief hotly.

Podgurski shrugged his shoulders.

" There it is ! ' Only too ready.' There would be no
such word as ' too ' in my case if I wanted to tell all my
troubles to Opaloff. But with you it's ' only too ready ' !
You seem to think that it's condescending on your part
to speak to me with perfect frankness. You are really
ashamed of being so candid. Come, now, isn't that a
fact ? "

There was a certain covert animosity in Podgurski's
tone, as he added triumphantly : " But you don't notice
this yourself, I am sure ! "

" The fact is," replied Mishuief gravely, raising his
broad shoulders, " you would never have noticed this
in anybody else, but you can't forgive it in me. You
listen to what I say, yet I am sure that you look upon
me as a poseur, or even as an absolute fool."

At this Podgurski showed some confusion. He smiled
uneasily.

" I can't deny that. There is certainly something in
what you say."

" Yes," added Mishuief, nodding his head. " You
will not understand that I am heartily glad to talk to
you just because your behaviour, good or bad, is in no
way influenced by the fact that I possess millions."

" Oh ! I quite believe that," was Podgurski's answer.
Then both were silent, aware that there was a latent note
of insincerity in their talk. Mishuief became sullen and
depressed, while Podgurski felt irritable.

" He's simply mad I " he thought. This discussion,
false as it was, served to make him furious with Mishuief.

Through the open window there was a vision of the
dark, undulating ocean, and from the shore faint sounds
arose of tramping horses and of distant music. Podgurski

THE MILLIONAIRE 69

felt that he ought instantly to continue the conversation,
but at the moment found nothing to say. Mishuief
sighed heavily.

" Well, I must go," he said.

" Where are you going ? Won't you stop a bit longer ?"

" No, I've got a headache. Good-bye ! "

Podgurski, with an imperceptible shrug of his shoulders,
thought to himself irritably : " Deuce take it ! What
a dull fellow he is ! "

In that moment he spied the pocket-book which Mis-
huief had left lying on the table. He wanted to call
him back, yet something deterred him.

On reaching the street Mishuief lounged along in the
direction of the gardens. He seemed to have a sinister
recollection of something strange that disturbed him.
Was it of his recent futile talk with a young scamp, or
of a sudden movement after he had turned his back to
leave the cafe ? What could it be ?

Suddenly he remembered that he had forgotten his
pocket-book. Before he was absolutely conscious of
this, he felt that something horrible must have happened.
He walked faster, till the thought that Podgurski would
certainly steal the money, pained him, and he at once
returned to the restaurant.

As he entered, he almost collided with the young man,
whose insolent and yet confused expression was enough
to confirm Mishuief's suspicions.

Their eyes met, and Mishuief said bluntly : " I left
my pocket-book behind."

Podgurski's eye-lids twitched, and he appeared eager
to join in the search. " Oh ! really ? I didn't see it.
Waiter ! "

" It doesn't matter," said Mishuief gently.

" Doesn't matter ? It must surely be there ! "

Podgurski became nervous and restless ; his eyes
resembled those of a trapped fox that is ready at any
moment to bite.

Mishuief looked him full in the face.

" It really doesn't much matter to me," he said with
some hesitation. He only wanted Podgurski to under-

70 THE MILLIONAIRE

stand that he would not be angry with him about this
cursed money, if only the fellow would make a clean
breast of it.

But Podgurski's face showed greater fury ; even his
teeth were visible.

" What do you mean by that ? I tell you I didn't
see anything ! "

Mishuief gave the fellow a cursory glance, smiled, and
then, with a gesture as if to shake him off, went out,

VIII

When Mishuief reached home and had sat down at his
bureau to go through a pile of letters and telegrams,
Maria Sergeievna entered, fresh and radiant as ever.
It was as if with her entrance she brought the fragrance
of the hills and flowers, and the fresh, pungent savour
of the sea. Yet in her eyes and in her smiling face, before
she had uttered a word, he read the lie. Falsehood and
fear were what he saw there ; a fear that only beautiful
women know. This subtle game, where beauty, helpless-
ness and lying have a part, gives to them a moving and
a mysterious charm.

She called him by name and tripped somewhat too
vivaciously towards him, laying her hand on his shoulder.
" Ah ! so you've come back, darling ? I've been longing
to see you."

Mishuief gazed in her dark, shining eyes. Suspicions
flashed across his mind. For a moment he felt irresolute
and exhausted.

" Oh ! you've no idea how charming it was there !
We motored over to Sinferopol — ever so far. The whole
way there we sang and laughed and joked ; and then
afterwards we had supper at Gourief."

Mishuief looked at her and said nothing. The slightest
flush was perceptible on her delicate cheek; her form
became more supple, like that of a cat, and there was
a false gleam in her eyes.

" No, but tell me, you're not angry, Feodor, are you,
because I go off for these jaunts ? I know that I've
neglected you shamefully. Why didn't you come, too ?
It was delightful. But, without you, it's not the same
thing, somehow ! " She attempted to kiss him, as her
lithe body swayed towards him.

Mishuief recoiled.

" Look here, Mary ; no hypocrisy, please ! " he blurted
out.

" WThat's the matter ? "

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72 THE MILLIONAIRE

Maria Sergeievna opened her eyes wide, as if honestly-
amazed, but one could read in them more plainly than
ever mean, feminine falseness.

" I can see that you've been doing something or other,"
he said confidently. " So you needn't tell lies about it,
but I advise you to say frankly what it is. That will be
best."

Maria laughed a little false laugh, and again sought
to let her physical charm assert its wonted influence.
But, contrary to custom, it only roused Mishuief's anger.

" None of that I Stop it, I tell you ! " he said, thrusting
her aside.

" How extraordinary you are to-day ! Why are you
so upset ? " Maria Sergeievna affected astonishment
and now forcibly tried to embrace him, but so roughly
did he push her backwards that she seemed in pain, and
there was a look of terror in her eyes. " Good gracious ! "
she exclaimed.

" Now, then, out with it ! " he shouted, in a fury.

Maria started back in alarm, yet her false eyes still
encountered his.

" Oh ! it's nothing ! A mere nothing. I hadn't meant
to tell you at first."

A cold shiver passed across Mishuief's forehead. He
felt that in a wild outburst of fury he might lose his
self-control, and that, if she did not speak out, something
awful would occur.

She herself appeared sensible of this, for she approached
him cautiously and let her slender finger-tips rest on
his elbow.

" Well, you see . . . now, you mustn't be angry . . .
it was just this. . . . We had supper at Gourief, on the
balcony, you know, looking on to the sea ; it's such a
lovely place, and then. ..."

She kept dragging out her story and all the while
pressed his elbow gently, tentatively, with her pretty
little fingers. Mishuief could feel how they trembled.

" Get on with it, do ! " he roared.

Maria almost collapsed. Her eyes became perfectly
round, scared as those of a cat.

THE MILLIONAIRE 73

" You see," she stammered hurriedly, never moving
from the spot, "I met Vassia there. ... I met my
husband and he asked me to come in, as he wanted to
speak to me. I ought not to have done it, ought I ? "

The question itself showed plainly that it needed no
answer, for she knew that she ought not to have gone.
Another touch of falseness.

Mishuief was silent, breathing hard.

She gently approached him and again fondled his
hand. " Are you angry with me ? "

The tone of her voice showed that she had foreseen his
anger and was now striving to appear unconscious of
having done wrong.

Mad with rage, Mishuief suddenly leapt to his feet,
and without a word flung her from him. She almost fell
over an arm-chair, but with feline swiftness just managed
to slide into it in time.

" What is the matter with you ? " she began, as her
lips turned white.

" Kindly tell me this," said Mishuief, speaking in a
strangely suppressed tone, as he looked at her with cold,
hate-filled eyes. " Do you seriously think it possible
that I should not be angry with you ? What is the good
of all this hypocrisy ? "

" But what have I done that is wrong ? " she faltered ;
and this time her helplessness was not assumed.

" What have you done ? Here " and he paused

for a moment, painfully conscious that he would not
find the right words. " Here ; I'll tell you. Either
you frankly confess to me that I am nothing to you, and
that you only came to me as my mistress , . . and all
the while . . . or . . ."

Mishuief never finished his sentence. Suddenly he
felt pity for himself. He had loved this woman so dearly ;
had sacrificed for her sake a friend to whom he was
attached ; and had acted in a low, despicable way,
thinking that his lies and treachery would at any rate
keep her near him. These continual meetings with her
husband had often led to the most humiliating outbursts
of jealousy. He had even told her once that it was only

74 THE MILLIONAIRE

for his money that she had given way to his advances.
Now, all at once, he saw that he had really spoken the
truth. She had never loved him ; she loved the other
man, and was ready to go back to him ; while to him,
Mishuief, she was false and deceitful simply through fear.
He felt that his position was at once a ridiculous and a
foolish one.

" The lowest of cocottes would not have behaved
thus ! "

In those words a mass of the bitterest, foulest invective
was concentrated. He was seized by an uncontrollable
desire to strike her, and to treat her with the utmost
brutality, just to show her that, as she had only come
to him for his money, she was now his property, to do
what he liked with. But when he saw her look of helpless,
slavish horror, it was so intensely painful to him that
he fell forward on the table, leaning his head on his hands,
anxious only to hear nothing, to forget all. For some
moments this silence lasted. Mishuief did not move ;
his massive head was propped helplessly on his hands ;
a pitiful sight.

For a long while Maria Sergeievna stood motionless,
watching him. Then the gentle light of womanly com-
passion shone in her eyes. She softly approached him,
and stood perfectly still. Mishuief could hear her sweet
breath come and go, as soft, warm fingers lightly touched
his hair.

IX

Scenes such as this one had occurred before, each one
becoming more violent than the last. To Maria Sergei-
evna they were inexplicable. Sometimes she thought
that Mishuief must be mad, and then again, at times,
in a fit of passionate remorse, she accused herself of all
sorts of misdeeds that in calmer moments she would
never have admitted. She saw plainly the approach of
some inevitable mischance, yet knew not how to free
herself from the nightmare that haunted her. Quarrels of
this sort had latterly ended in hysterics and utter exhaus-
tion.

" We are both going mad ! " she used to exclaim in de-
spair. Sobbing bitterly she would cling to Mishuief as
though for protection. This he bore in silence, his eyes
fixed on the dark chasm where all must inevitably end.
So, in this way, the present stormy scene had come to
a close.

Prostrate and tearful, Maria lay beside him her morbid
longing for a reconciliation still unappeased. At last
she murmured :

" I ought not to have gone because it worries you. But,
do believe me, I felt so sorry for him ; he seemed so
unhappy, so ill ! And I wronged him, oh I wronged
him ! " And to Mishuief, whose brain, after such
emotion, if tired, may yet have become clearer, this
seemed both simple and natural.

" Forgive me," he stammered, " I am mad, absolutely
mad ! " And he kissed her hot, tear-stained cheek in
a sudden access of affection, remorse, and self-contempt.

She at once thought that everything would now be
happily arranged, and that, after mutual explanations,
the next day would see the beginning of a far happier life.
She showed intense eagerness to tell him all that was in
her mind.

" I know that your idea is that I never loved you, but
only came to you because of your money. You may have

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76 THE MILLIONAIRE

reason to think so, for I am silly and selfish. But it
is not so, it really isn't, for I love you more than my life.
I've been fond of you for ever so long. You're so ... so
big and strong, and yet so sensitive ! "

It was now dusk in the room and Maria Sergeievna's
face loomed white against the dark sofa-cushions. Her
eyes were opened wide ; her voice had the fretful quality
of a sickly child's.

" It always gladdened me to see that you were conscious
of your own power, and that others all submitted to you.
Of course I was pleased when you spent such lots of
money on me, which I didn't deserve. But, as for rich
men, there are heaps of them, and, if I liked . . . but you
are bigger, stronger than any of them. What we women
adore in a man is strength, might \ "

Moved now to tears, Mishuief kissed her tenderly,
proudly conscious of his power, feeling that she loved him
and him alone.

" I am such a silly thing, I don't know how to explain
myself rightly," she murmured. " My life had been so
tedious, so monotonous. It was as if all was at an end,
and that there was no prospect, nothing to look forward
to. Then you brought something powerful into my life,
and I became, as it were, crazy with delight. I used to
dream about you ; I ran after you as some little school-
girl might have done."

" And yet it was not I that really did this," observed
Mishuief, vaguely desirous to get at her inmost thoughts.

" Yes, yes, it was you, you ! Big, strong, mighty as a
king ! But that's not the most important thing. Had
you been poor I should have given myself to you just
the same. You are all in all to me ! " And she nestled
closer to him, expanding like some blossom beneath his
caresses. Mishuief felt that there was less and less reason
for his previous suspicion.

" I am simply a despot, that's all ! " he thought.

He hoped that she would say more, and thus allay his
fears yet further.

" Yes, but your husband was cleverer and more talented
than I am. After all, what am I ? What was it that

THE MILLIONAIRE 77

really made you care for me ? Surely not because I'm as
healthy as a bull ? "

He spoke thus contemptuously of himself on purpose,
longing for her to protest in passionate words that should
console him.

But this question offended Maria Sergeievna deeply.
She did not at first reply, as the right words failed her.
In the gloom Mishuief could not observe the expression in
her eyes. During that moment of suspense he was again
haunted by vague and terrible suspicion.

Then she began to explain why she considered him
cleverer, better, and more original than anybody else.
She spoke in haste, passionately, vehemently. But he
always negatived her assertions, declaring in a false, spite-
ful tone that her husband was a most distinguished man.
He described him as the soul of honour, thus casting
shame on himself. Gradually her husband's familiar
personality became clearer to Maria ; the sensitive face
of this kindly man whom still, without knowing it, she
loved. Memories came back to her of their early affection,
their first caresses ; memories that grieved her beyond
measure. At last her protests of love for Mishuief
became more and more unconvincing. Proofs failed her
to show why she had fallen in love with him. To her
amazement she felt that it was her husband, good and
true and honourable, who possessed her real love. Thus,
without words, the fact became clear to her, though till
now she had obstinately, and she believed honestly, denied
it, that it was her craving for a new life of show and luxury
that had led to the breach. She suddenly ceased speaking,
terrified to think that this awkward pause would mean her
undoing. Mishuief waited, gazing hopelessly into the
gloom ; waited for what he had long foreseen must happen.
She again made an unsuccessful effort to speak, and then
all at once burst into tears.

" Why do you torment me like this ? I know of
nothing — nothing."

Mishuief made no reply. He breathed hard, and it
was as if body, heart, and brain were sinking downwards
into some dark, illimitable void.

78 THE MILLIONAIRE

Maria only sobbed. Still he was silent and waited.
Then for a moment, still weeping, she furtively looked up.
A violent slap on her face resounded through the room.

" Ah ! " she screamed in astonishment and pain, being
half-stunned for an instant.

" Drab ! " he cried hoarsely.

With that he staggered away in the darkness, striving
to avoid contact with her soft, motionless form, and
knocking against the furniture as he hurried to the door.

" It's all over," said a dull voice within him.

In the middle of his study he stood still, wide-eyed,
listening with feverish anxiety for some sound at the back
there. Yet all was silent as the tomb. He was afraid
to move even a finger, for it seemed to him that the
slightest motion would bring with it death. His whole
spirit was immersed in grief too great for speech. Shame,
and a poignant sense of utter loneliness, grim pity for
himself and for her, were all blended with a certain fiendish
glee at having at last got his revenge upon some one,
though at the cost of his own destruction.

" It's all over ! " he said, with a strange smile. He
tried to check this senseless smile, yet it broadened
into a convulsive grin, as his jaws twitched, and his whole
countenance hardened into one hideous, mad grimace.

It was a breezy day, and the wide blue-green ocean was
flecked with foaming crests. All objects stood out in
sharp and brilliant relief ; the tones of the whole picture
seemed more intense ; the vivid colours of the ladies'
dresses on the steamboat ; the sides of the vessel, and her
moorings. The wind gave a touch of capricious restless-
ness to everything, yet vast as was its environment, the
little shining town itself and its denizens had almost a
mimic, toy-like effect.

There would be a long while to wait before the boat
started. Mishuief and Marie Sergeievna were both
feeling sad and ill at ease.

The crane rattled noisily as it swung heavy chests
through the air and deposited them in the hold. Across
the gangway connecting the ship with the land passed a
continual throng of gaily dressed passengers, notably
ladies. Cries from the ship were answered by cries from
the shore, and flowers were flung across, that by sudden
gusts of wind were tossed into the water. The ladies
gripped their hats ; fluttering dresses revealed dainty
insteps, and the whole effect was one of uncertainty
and impatience. Yet it seemed as if the steamer would
never finish taking her endless cargo on board, and start.
At times the hooter sounded, its hideous noise gradually
overpowering all others, and when its deafening scream
became intolerable, it gave one short gasp and then sud-
denly stopped. A strange silence ensued when the shrill
sound had died away amid the distant hills. Again one
heard loud eager voices talking, and the rattle of the crane.

Mishuief stood on deck, silent and heavy-hearted. He
felt that Maria kept repeatedly looking at him and he
could see that, in her dark eyes, despite all efforts to
appear cheerful, there were tears.

Maria said nothing. Already yesterday they had
decided to part. After that last awful scene what more
was there to say ?

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80 THE MILLIONAIRE

" Ah ! well, it's the end ; let us hope that it is ! "
she muttered to herself, as vaguely her white-gloved
hand tapped the bright brass deck-rail. This nervous
movement in itself showed Mishuief all that she felt and
thought ; it told him of the grief that was torturing her
little heart. He pitied her ; he felt that the blame
lay at his door. Yet in his heart all was vacant. It
seemed impossible to go back, to renew the former inti-
mate, affectionate life, or even to imagine it. Something
had snapped ; between them all was cold, void, his one
desire now being never again to let things drag on as in
this case. It must all end far sooner !

" Ah ! well," thought Mishuief, as he stared at the
garish crowd, " she'll get along all right without me, and
she'll lead the same gay life, denying herself nothing,
being solely intent upon luxury and enjoyment."

It seemed to him that she would have to find another
man with whom, as once with himself, she could fall in
love ; a man who could give her not only honest affection,
but also gratitude and sincere esteem. Yet for some
reason or other he could not picture to himself such a
man ; first it was the round, black- whiskered face of
Parkhomenko that rose up before him, and then that of
the loose-lipped financier.

" That might happen, too," thought Mishuief. " She
exchanged her pure true love for her husband for me.
Why ? Because I provided her with new impressions
and the possibility of an untroubled, merry life. It will
now be difficult for her to go back to her former one ; she
will have to remain in the new groove, happy, laughing,
and devoted to dress and finery. So it will go on until
the glamour of life fades. The pity of it ! But for this
I alone am to blame. Ah ! well, I shall just live on in the
old way. It will be horribly dreary and lonely — an
absolute blank ! "

Again the steam-whistle shrieked. The air quivered,
the deck shook, and for an instant it was as if sea and sky
vibrated at the sound of that inhuman voice. There was
great bustling on deck as passengers shouted and waved
their handkerchiefs. Maria Sergeievna grew pale. Her

THE MILLIONAIRE 81

dark eyes expressed sad submission. Mishuief felt a pang
at his heart. In this last moment of farewell both were
touched by the pathetic hopelessness of it all.

It was impossible to note the actual moment when the
steamer began to move, yet suddenly the dull-green strip
of water between the steamer and the pier grew broader
and broader.

Mishuief, as he stood on deck, strove for a long time to
distinguish Maria's graceful figure amid the crowd. The
steamer was now going at full speed, and foam-crested
waves lay between it and the shore. The quay became
smaller and smaller, yet still Mishuief could perceive
her little white form touched by sunlight and buffeted by
the breeze. And as the view of the little town and the
quay and Maria swiftly melted into a mimic panorama, he
felt a sharp stab at his heart, knowing that in the whole
wide world he stood alone.

His former life had abruptly ended ; it had vanished
for ever in yonder blue distance. Before him lay the
vast tumultuous sea.

" Well, be it so," he thought. " Perhaps it is for the
Lest. Somehow or other I shall manage to pull through."

The scene on deck was a bright and festive one, where
groups of smartly dressed ladies, carrying bouquets, were
laughing, talking, and listening to the band which sud-
denly began to play. Through the blue mist, green shores
and rosy hills could be descried. High on a rocky
promontory stood a white convent like a seagull poised
above the waves. Mishuief continued to pace the deck,
still sorrowful and hopeless.

Whither should he go, and why ? he thought, as he
glanced listlessly at shore and sea that to him were such
a familiar sight ; here, as on the coasts of Italy and
Egypt, yet that could now no longer charm him by their
azure loveliness which makes the human heart feel free
as a bird on a sunlit summer morn. All that he noticed
was the strange screaming of the gulls that followed and
accompanied the boat.

XI

Maria Sergeievna stood in the middle of her bathroom
where the walls and grey and white tiles of the floor
reflected the cold electric light, and a sturdy maid was
lustily rubbing her down with a moist sponge. . . .
Heavy at heart, grieved and perplexed, she seemed lost
in her thoughts.

" Perhaps it is too cold, madam ? " asked the maid,
who noticed that her mistress shuddered slightly.

" What ? " exclaimed Maria Sergeievna, starting back-
wards and staring at the girl with wild, sad eyes.

" Isn't the water too cold, madam ? " repeated the maid.

"No; it is all right." \

Dipping the sponge in lukewarm water the servant
continued the process of vigorous rubbing as before. To
Maria it was positive torture to stand thus and be sham-
pooed while her heart seemed broken. She longed to be
alone, to fling herself on the bed and bury her head in the
pillows ; to lie down as the dead, and never more to see,
or hear, or feel.

But she was beset by domestics of the trained, im-
passive sort that only attend upon patrician families,
and of whom Maria always secretly stood in awe, just as
simple, middle-class folk dread the flunkeys of the
aristocracy. They continually watched her, with cold,
inquisitive eyes.

She wished the events of the previous day to remain
hidden, and that none should know that she had been
cast off, her position being merely that of a mistress, to be
struck in the face, and dragged like the veriest trull
through the mire.

Ever since Mishuief's departure she had striven her
utmost to let nothing be known of the rupture. At the
steamboat she endeavoured to smile and look pleased,
and when she went home with all her grief she forced
herself to figure as mistress before the servants and to let
everything go on in the house as usual, though all the

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THE MILLIONAIRE 83

while she felt like the slave of these hirelings who were
nothing to her. When her maid politely said the bath was
ready, she at once went to the bathroom, where, nude
and unspeakably miserable, she submitted to the girl's
superfluous and painful attentions. How the heart of
that little woman ached as she stood there, surrounded
by light and Warmth, under the soothing influence of
steam and scents ! Pampered though her body, in her
soul there was a sense of utter solitude. To her it was all
a mockery.

" That will do, Claudia, that will do ! " she said, feeling
that in another moment she must positively collapse.

" But what about the douche, madam ? " asked the
girl, as without waiting for an answer she turned on the
spray and with her hand tested the temperature of the
water that fell from it like warm rain.

Tears came into Maria's eyes as she stood under the
douche. When the girl had swathed her in a dry, soft
bath-wrapper and had left her alone in the bedroom, she
wrung her hands and hid her face in the pillows, weeping
helplessly, silently, like a child.

Her whole life passed before her ; bygone sorrows and
dark forebodings of the days to come ; bitter deceptions
and the sense of an appalling, irreparable error.

Never once since her life had undergone a fundamental
change and she, the wife of a quiet, kindly man, living in her
little, simple world, that yet had its sunshine, disappeared
to become a restless lady of fashion, revelling in luxury
and bedecked with lace and diamonds — never once had
Maria given her former life a thought. That pleasant
happy time was not to be remembered without a pang
of remorse that would have conclusively disposed of
all remaining justification for her conduct. It had been
terribly tragic to see her forsaken husband, once so
infinitely dear to her, choked with emotion, and only
able to stammer out, " Little mother, little mother ! You
surely aren't going to leave your boy ? What shall I do
without you ? " Her heart seemed ready to break as she
saw this grown-up man sobbing bitterly; and when he
exclaimed, " What shall I do without you ? " she suddenly

84 THE MILLIONAIRE

remembered that it had been impossible to picture him as
he was, before she had been his wife, to pet and take care
of him. In that instant she saw all his loneliness, sad-
ness, and poverty, while she was going to enjoy a life of
luxury and splendour. Just for one minute her decision
had seemed to her to be madness. She had embraced
her husband, kissing him affectionately, and drying his
tearful eyes. It was the new life, full of colour and
splendour, that allured her on the one hand, while un-
bounded pity yet moved her for this sorrowing husband,
helpless as some forsaken child. She had felt that her
will-power was growing less and less, and that the dreams
of a new life, like some dazzling romance of fairy-land,
were fading fast. To save herself from flinging all to the
winds and in order to remain, she steeled her heart by a
touch of cruelty that for herself was the most painful
of all. For the last time she surveyed the well-known
room, the lamp, the marriage-bed, the portraits of herself
done by her husband, the intimate surroundings of her
home ; and the vision of it all cut her to the heart. To
go away like this, how horrible it seemed ! Yet again
she mastered her emotion and went out. He no longer
wept, nor implored her to stay, but sighing deeply he
clutched at an old cloak of hers that she had left behind,
as if afraid that this last relic too might be taken from
him. That act of his alone had been horrible to witness.
The memory of it thrilled her, as the memory of some
ghastly crime. To escape from it Maria Sergeievna
plunged into a mad whirl of gaiety and frivolity. By
degrees she came to forget the past ; her spirits rose, and
she grew used to a luxurious life, which really pleased her
much. Theatres, balls, fine dresses and the society of
wealthy people provided her with perpetual enjoyment ;
an unending dream in which she almost began to believe
that she was happy. Yet, in certain rare moments when
alone, she thought of a forsaken, solitary man far away
tortured by everlasting grief.

" How is it with him ? What is he doing now ? " she
thought, grown sad, ashamed, and then rushing out into
the gay world, where she laughed and flirted as before.

THE MILLIONAIRE 85

Yet now, like dust, all the glitter had been brushed
from her life, and before her a chasm yawned. She felt at
her wits' end, and in her poor little head there was utter
confusion. Where should she go ? What should she
do ? To whom should she give her heart ? Everything
was at an end. Only a deserted mistress remained ; a
wife without a name, or any claim to regard. She had
ceased to count as a human being ; she was just a
thing, a rag that, having been used, could be flung into
the street.

So, too, it horrified her to feel that there was no going
back ; no return to the life that hitherto she had led.
Her road, whither would it lead ?

" That is retribution ! " she murmured mechanically,
" yes, retribution ! "

On the little table beside the bed lay the money
which Mishuief had left for her. She looked at it in
horror as, like a caged animal, she convulsively tore the
pillows with her nails.

XII

It was on a rainy autumnal day that Mishuief reached
Moscow. As he left the railway- carriage the cold, damp
air seemed to penetrate to his very marrow.

The huge square of asphalt in front of the railway
station glistened like a lake on which apparently wet
droshkys were floating ; and shivering foot-passengers
splashed hurriedly past him in the slush. In the distance
behind the grey curtain of rain, countless roofs and
church cupolas were dimly discernible, and little rain-
soaked gardens opening on the street looked doubly
dreary. To Mishuief it was strangely depressing to think
that for days they had been without sun here ; there
was no blue sky, no delightful flowers. All these wet
people hurrying along appeared to be utterly weary of
life ; and, if they lived it was just because they had got
used to the rain, the leaden skies, the cold and the damp,
and no longer heeded them. Even had they heard that,
somewhere far away, at this moment the sun was shining
brightly on radiant blue seas, and smiling fields, they
would never have believed such a thing, but would have
still gone splashing along through the puddles as fast
as they could. Mishuief, however, used as he was to it
all, never thought of such a thing. The tender beauty
of springtime held no charm for him, nor did the grey
skies of autumn influence his mood.

As he had let no one know of his arrival at the station
there were no servants to meet him. His luggage he
entrusted to a porter, and drove home in a droshky,
shivering in the dark, damp vehicle.

While yet at a distance he recognized the well-known
silver-grey house. Its immense height and its facade
grotesquely decorated in the modern style with a huge
shield inscribed " Mishuief Brothers " at once arrested
attention. In front of the cavernous-looking main
entrance there was still the old bustle and stir. Dripping
vanmen were packing and loading yellow cases from

86

THE MILLIONAIRE 87

which damp straw peeped in places, while black and
yellow vans drove out or in, and sounds of bitter wrangling
and abuse floated on the humid air. Indoors, the vast
rooms cold as the yards outside, with huge windows,
were lighted by dull-green electric lamps. Rows of heads
stooped over papers that rustled, and there was a clatter
of slates.

"The same old routine," thought Mishuief, almost as
if he had expected to find something different.

Having deposited his things, he walked through the
whole counting-house. As always on these occasions
when he found himself amid these formal surroundings,
his face assumed a cold, haughty expression, as if he
wished to mark the vast difference between himself and
all others.

Well-dressed and of smart appearance, all the employes
hastily rose amid general silence and bowed. Mishuief
acknowledged this by a slight nod. Many of them he
did not know, nor had he the slightest recollection of
ever having seen any one of them before. It was only
the head clerk, a bald-headed veteran, with a face like a
crumpled bank-note or an eikon, greeted him as follows :
" Welcome home, Feodor Ivanovitch ! Your brother's in
his office. He's been expecting you back for a long while.
Did you have a pleasant journey ? "

Mishuief could not help smiling. To Yalta and back
seemed to him a fairly short trip ; yet he recollected that
to this old clerk, who had spent his whole life mewed up
in a counting-house, a journey of that sort seemed nothing
short of fabulous.

" Thank you, yes, pretty fair," he said coolly and yet
not unkindly, as he shook hands and passed on.

Bent over a monumental desk, his brother Stepan
Ivanovitch Mishuief sat writing, while with his left hand
he tapped a large slate. A faint light from the window
fell on his large bald head. In the room there was a
general gloom. It looked tedious and dull as some
gigantic ledger within whose pages a human being was
crawling about.

When Mishuief entered his brother looked up with his

88 THE MILLIONAIRE

wonted expression of dull discontent. To the former the
glance seemed an unpleasant sort of greeting, but when
Stepan looked more attentively, his features relaxed in
a faint smile. " So you've come at last ! " he said, rising.

The brothers kissed each other. Stepan was as tall and
heavily built as Mishuief, but his face was sallow, and
unhealthy looking ; there were shrivelled bags under his
eyes, and his voice sounded hollow and faint, as if he
were dead beat.

" I'm very glad that you've come," began Stepan
Ivanovitch after they had sat down facing each other
and had lit their cigars. " Glad for various reasons.
First, of course, I wanted to see you, and then, your
presence is absolutely necessary, because at the works
things are in a shocking state. Besides, there is a personal
reason. But of that we will talk later." Stepan Ivano-
vitch looked away for a moment and again smiled
feebly.

" You will have seen in the papers, no doubt, that the
factory has now been closed for a fortnight. I daresay,
too, that you know the nature of the men's demands ? "

" Yes, I do," replied Mishuief curtly.

" Well ? "

Stepan looked at him with cold, searching eyes, and to
Mishuief it seemed as if it were not a brother talking to a
brother, but the head of a firm conferring with one of
the shareholders. He would have been better pleased
not to discuss these matters, but Stepan was waiting for
his answer, so controlling himself, he said :

" H-m ! I think that in many ways they are quite
just."

Involuntarily he blinked his eyes and glanced aside,
certain that at this Stepan Ivanovitch would prick up his
ears. The latter still looked hard at him, and it was a
long time before he spoke, as if the effort were too much
for him. Then he said :

" Good. But may I ask you if you quite realize that
these terms, in the present state of the market, will ruin
us?"

" I am not talking of that," replied Mishuief. " All

THE MILLIONAIRE 89

I said was that the men's demands were just. Whether
they are profitable to us or not is another matter."

" Yes, a very different matter," was the dry response.
" But it seems to me that it is just that of which we ought
to think first."

Mishuief sighed, as though oppressed by some odious
burden. Yet, with a desire to appear acquiescent, he
said:

" Of course it is. Only I think that the justice of these
claims is not altogether a side-question. It is one of
two things. Either they are unjust, and in that case the
only way is to fight them, or else, they are just, when we
must think how we can satisfy them."

He strove to keep calm, anxious to avoid a quarrel of
any kind. Yet, while speaking, he felt the old anger that
galled him. He noticed that his brother, as usual, only
listened to a part of what he said. Just those things
which moved him most Stepan disregarded as unnecessary
and superfluous, saying nothing, but fixing on Mishuief
his cold, hard eyes. Then, sighing, he drummed on the
edge of the table with his fingers, and said in a forced
voice :

" Yes, yes ; we will discuss it all later on. You must
be tired after your journey. Have you lunched ? "

" Not yet."

" Then come upstairs to my place."

Stepan Ivanovitch rose slowly from his seat. His
apartment on the upper floor was a small one. It seemed
strange that of this whole huge, comfortable house, only
one little corner should be really his, where he could
enjoy rest and refreshment. Everywhere else, above,
below, on all sides, strangers swarmed, like bees in a
mammoth hive who, many of them, never even knew
Stepan Ivanovitch Mishuief by sight, nor if he really
existed and were not merely a myth.

There was a chilly look about the dining-room with
its old oak furniture ; and this cold, lifeless effect was
heightened by the white napery and the pallid light that
came in through the windows.

" Well, so you had a good journey, eh ? " asked Stepan

90 THE MILLIONAIRE

Ivanovitch, trying still harder to purse his dry lips into
a pleasant smile. He was fond of his brother, and pitied
him for being, as he thought, morbidly eccentric.

" And where's your Maria Sergeievna now ? " Stepan,
Ivanovitch smiled, without looking at his brother.

" She's staying on there . . . for the present," replied
Mishuief. Suddenly something seemed to stab his heart
like a knife. Somewhere, far away, he could see the little
forsaken woman that he loved and that loved him, and
that had now gone out of his life for ever. To him now
she seemed an utter stranger, as if they had never loved,
never kissed, never felt that they were all in all to each
other.

Why this had to be Mishuief in this moment could not
imagine. All that then he had thought horrible and
insufferable now seemed trivial and exaggerated. Yet he
felt that it could not have happened otherwise. Striving
to master his feelings and not to notice the gnawing pain
at his heart, he began to recount some of his experiences
in the South, and to ask for all the latest Moscow news.
Large and massive, the two brothers sat down opposite
each other, imposing, as it were, their appalling weight
upon the floor and all that swarmed beneath it. On its
polished surface the cold grey light gleamed, as on the
silver and china, while the amber wine sparkled as if that
alone held gladsome sunshine on this dripping, desolate
day.

After lunch a sense of warmth made conversation
easier. Mishuief, with folded arms, leaned on the table
as Stepan Ivanovitch, assuming an easy attitude, began
as follows :

" I've had a rather unpleasant experience lately, and
as you know more about these things than I do," he said
with an awkward smile, " I want to ask your advice."

Mishuief looked at him curiously.

" There was a girl who came here, you know, as cashier.
Young and very pretty. Well, you'll see her for yourself,
because 1 am anxious that you should go and pay her a
visit."

Stepan Ivanovitch lit a cigar, and the bags under his

THE MILLIONAIRE 91

eyes became puckered as he blinked through the smoke.
It evidently pained him to tell this story ; he felt that
it made him appear ridiculous.

Mishuief looked at him in amusement and surprise.
A pretty girl, not a cocotte, not a chanteuse !

So absolutely out of keeping with Stepan Ivanovitch's
personality did this sound that one might imagine that he
was joking.

" Well, what's the matter ? " asked Mishuief, endeavour-
ing to hide his astonishment.

" What's the matter ? . . . Why, I've been intimate
with her. Now you've got it ! said Stepan Ivanovitch
with an effort.

" And now ? "

" I don't seem able to explain the whole thing properly
to you. You know how I've worked all these years, and
that romance was never in my line. But I can't deny
that this girl has brought something new, something
fresh into my life."

Before Mishuief the image rose of a pretty little girl
with a soft dainty chin that involuntarily one was eager
to kiss. Possibly she had a silvery laugh, and had given
herself heedlessly to Stepan Ivanovitch, never even
noticing that he had a bald head, a shrivelled countenance,
and a dull, commercial mind. Perhaps, though, she had
perceived this, and had striven to cheer, and enliven his
life, to share with him all her wealth of youthful joy.

" She really seems fond of me, too," continued Stepan
Ivanovitch. " Of course she at once tried all she could
to turn me into a social-democrat ! Ha ! Ha ! "

He laughed a false kind of laugh in which there was
yet a touch of tenderness.

" H'm ! "

Mishuief could not help smiling. He felt quite sorry
for the simple little girl.

" But that's not the worst of it. The fact is, that
she's — well, what's the word for it ? — that's she's in the
family way."

" Aha ! " Mishuief 's eyes softened with compassion.

" And it becomes more and more plain to me that

92 THE MILLIONAIRE

her position in my life will have to be reckoned with.
I've begun to be afraid of quarrelling with her, and so I
give in. In business matters, too, she interferes, shows
temper, and states terms. ... In short, it is time to put
a stop to it all ! said Stepan Ivanovitch, breaking off
suddenly, as the former cold, dull look came into his eyes.

" Why put a stop to it ? " asked Mishuief gently and
considerately. " I suppose you're tired of her, eh ? "

** Tired of her ? Not a bit of it ! On the contrary,
I feel certain that I should be awfully dull without her."

The speech sounded dry and commonplace, yet to
Mishuief there was a deeper note in it to which he warmly
responded.

" Then why worry yourself about it ? Go on living
with her as before."

" Unfortunately she's not one of that sort. She'll
expect to have a recognized place in the eyes of the world
— not to remain just a mistress."

" Then let her have it by all means. Marry her, and
I daresay you'll be happy."

Mishuief smiled again. But the expression of benign
perplexity on his brother's face changed. The hard,
commercial look came back.

" If I wanted to marry I shouldn't choose a wife who
would sit at my desk, make a helmet of all my business-
papers, and laugh and cry at the same time."

Mishuief imagined what his brother would look like
with a paper cap on his head, and laughed aloud.

With an awkward gesture of annoyance Stepan Ivano-
vitch turned away.

" Yes, you may laugh ; but it's no laughing matter for
me. I can't forgive myself for having been such a fool,
I ought never to have let things get to such a pitch . . ■
and that's why I am obliged to ask you to go and see her,
and come to some sort of arrangement. Can you do
this ? "

Mishuief shrugged his shoulders. He felt suddenly
sorry for his brother into whose sterile, lifeless soul, as
by magic, a golden light had come which he now desired
to shut out.

THE MILLIONAIRE 93

" Why ? " thought Mishuief. " So that he may go on
sitting at his desk and poring over accounts and bills of
exchange, and leading the old dull life ? What on
earth's the good of that ? " But he answered :

" Of course I can. But why should I. Is there no
other way but that of settling things ? Perhaps. . . ."

By the strange look of pain on his brother's face
Mishuief saw that all remonstrance would be useless.

M Do you really mean to say," began Stepan Ivanovitch
suddenly, " that I cannot understand how things are ?
Supposing that I were not a millionaire, and that she had
not had the opportunity of remoulding the soul of a
millionaire, well, what then ? Do you think that she
would then become fond of me ? That sort of thing's
not exactly in my line."

He smiled bitterly.

" Why a millionaire ? " asked Mishuief.

" Oh ! Well, that hardly needs explaining," replied the
other without looking up. Then after a pause, he said,
" Let us talk about something else."

Mishuief's heart ached. His thoughts reverted to
the past. The picture he had evoked of a cheerful little
wife grew dim and slowly faded. He sighed deeply;
and in his jaded eyes there was the look of one who holds
within him death.

XIII

Towards evening Mishuief drove out to see his friend
Nicolaief. The first snow had fallen, and though much
of it had melted, on hedges and banks it still lay in whit?,
fleecy patches. The air in the streets was fresh, buoyant,
and the bells of all the churches began to ring for evening
prayer as if the entire city of Moscow had but one melo-
dious brazen voice. On Mishuief the effect was exhilarat-
ing after that long, depressing interview with his brother.
His splendid horses bore him past the large pools of water
in the streets. Each with its edge of snow, these black
lakes yet reflected golden gleams, and beside them moved
unceasingly a lively, joyous crowd.

So, too, Mishuief 's heart felt glad and full of expectancy ;
for he thought of Nicolaief, with his broad shoulders,
dishevelled locks, and jovial voice. Already he felt the
gladness of their meeting and heard their brisk questions
and replies that preceded hearty, honest talk, which for
much that grieves can provide an outlet and a cure.
Mishuief thus looked happier ; for a long while past he
had not felt so strong, so sure of himself.

It was an unpleasant surprise, however, on reaching
Nicolaief's house, to find rows of hats and coats hanging
up in the hall, and to hear a brilliant soprano voice singing
some operatic air in the drawing-room, from which the
penetrating odour reached Mishuief of scent and of cigars.
He stood still outside the door for a while. It had never
occurred to him that at this time Nicolaief was seldom
to be found alone. He feared that the pleasant meeting
and hearty talk would, after all, not be his. But just
then the door was flung open, and Nicolaief came striding
out, looking a regular Volga brigand in his blue shirt and
baggy breeches.

" Fedia ! Aha ! How are you, my pigeon ? Where
have you been hiding away all this time ? " he cried, in
a voice that rang through the house, as he grasped
Mishuiefs hand. " Why are you looking so blue ? "

94

THE MILLIONAIRE 95

They embraced, and the kiss he gave the other's honest
| lips yielded Mishuief a pleasure far more subtle than any
I that he had ever bestowed on women.

" Well, you are just the same," he said, glancing affcc-
I tionately at Nicolaief. Then, as they entered the drawing-
; room, he whispered : " What a host of people you've got !
I wanted to have a quiet chat with you."

" That's all right ! " replied Nicolaief, with a wave of
the hand. " Don't you worry about that. I get a mob
like this every day in my house ; I'm used to it by now.
Can't help it, my dear chap. I've become a celebrity
you see ! "

" Well, thank goodness that you have ! " said Mishuief
genuinely pleased, as he glanced at Nicolaief who, broad-
shouldered though he was, appeared slim beside the
other's height and massive proportions. It was delightful
to be near this jovial, kindly fellow, who, if he loved him,
loved him solely for his own sake.

As they came into the drawing-room a tall lady in
black with grey, fascinating eyes like those of an actress,
advanced.

" Here, Lydia," cried Nicolaief gaily, " this is my
friend Mishuief. Just look at him ! Isn't he a colossal
millionaire ? "

Mishuief laughed, and the handsome grey-eyed lady
laughed too. But he did not like to hear such laughter.

" Delighted to see you," she said in a musical voice,
holding out her plump white arm which was bared to
the elbow. She then proceeded to introduce him to her
guests, of whom there were many, yet their faces all had
but one expression. Everybody looked over-affable,
with teeth displayed by a fixed smile and secret curiosity
in their eyes. It was just this same face that had haunted
Mishuief all his life. He loathed it. Yet so delighted
was he at seeing Nicolaief again that he paid no heed.

" Now, my friends," said Nicolaief, as he stood still
in the middle of the room, " you may sing and shout
and dance as much as ever you like, while my friend and
I are going to have a little chat. Lydia, will you excuse
us?"

96 THE MILLIONAIRE

" Of course, of course ! " cried his wife, as she raised
her handsome eyes as well as both arms, the gesture being
obviously intended to produce an effect. " Go, by all
means, and I'll send you in some tea."

As he sat down in Nicolaief's study on a broad Turkish
divan, Mishuief glanced round the room with pleasure.
It was still just as of yore ; the same books and papers
piled up on the floor, the table, and in the cupboards.
There was nothing except this leather-covered divan
that in any way suggested the comfort which befitted
a famous author's " den." Mishuief recollected that in
Nicolaief's rooms when as yet a student and unknown,
there had been just the same untidiness and confusion.
He himself had not altered in the least, except that he
had grown somewhat stouter.

Their talk from the very outset was easy, natural, and
entertaining, like everything else in which Nicolaief had
a share. In five minutes he had heard the whole story ;
the rupture with Maria Sergeievna, the disagreeable
meeting with Stepan Ivanovitch, the various adventures
abroad, in hotels, theatres, and museums ; and finally
the vague morbid fears that for so long had tormented
Mishuief s heart.

" I don't understand you," said Nicolaief sharply, yet
not unkindly, as he strode up and down the room. " The
same sort of thing happens to me. It's a long while
since anybody came to me simply because they liked
what I had done or what I had said. It's the famous
poet to whom they want to pay homage now. Well, it
doesn't matter to me ; in fact, it's rather pleasant. Man
is by nature a slave ; yet one can always find some men
who will open their heart to you simply and naturally."

" As regards yourself it's a different matter," replied
Mishuief with a touch of sadness. " You are famous ;
but first and foremost you are a poet, that is to say, a
man who only by the might of his own soul dominates
other men and draws them to himself. If I knew that
there were such a lot of young fellows in Russia who
count themselves specially fortunate not to have a word
with me even, but simply to see me, I think I should

THE MILLIONAIRE 97

be utterly swept away by the tide of their youthful
enthusiasm. Then, perhaps I should be happy."

" Ah, but, on the other hand, there are many to whom
you give help."

" No ; that's not exactly correct," said Mishuief,
shaking his head. " It's not I myself who make this
money, and, after all, it belongs to them in a way. Besides
those to whom I give a little money, hate me, and those
who get a good lot out of me are angry because it isn't
more. They all view with secret hostility any good that
I can get for myself by means of my wealth. They seem
to think that I am stealing, squandering their property,
their fortune."

There was a tragic sound in his voice as he said this.
Nicolaief stood still in the middle of the room and looked
grave and thoughtful.

" That may be ; and yet it does not put you in the right."
He tossed back his hair, as if he had found something
that he had lost.

He reminded Mishuief that to this wealth, since it had
come into his hands, he was perfectly entitled to hold
fast. Whether a millionaire, brought into existence by
the labour of the masses, had a right to such existence
was a matter of no importance. Millionaires exist ; and,
so far from wishing to destroy them, other men are ready
to submit to them. It was within the power of every
millionaire, he said, to commit crimes of the most infamous
description, just as easily as to do good to his fellow-
creatures. Mishuief had chosen the latter course, and
no sensible man could possibly mistake his intentions.

As he spoke, Nicolaief became intensely animated ;
his eyes shone, and he smiled genially.

" You have nearly ten thousand workmen in your
hand," he said, with a fervour that seemed to emanate
from his inmost being, striving to make himself heard
above the sound of the piano and the tempestuous
vocal roulades that came to them from the adjoining
room.

" But they have not only you as their master ; your
brother owns them as well. Why hasn't he done what

8

98 THE MILLIONAIRE

you do ? Or why don't you do as he does ? Every
kopeck that you give to your workmen you give of your
own free will. Nobody can force you to do it. Now,
do you suppose that the workmen don't know this ?
They know a good deal more than we do."

Mishuief looked at him trustfully.

" When the news was published of your suicide the
workmen would not believe it. One of them said to me,
with tears in his eyes, t That's not possible. Such a man
as that would never take his own life. He is just hiding
away somewhere from enemies ; and when the time comes
he'll turn up.' So now you know ! " cried Nicolaief
enthusiastically.

Mishuief felt himself trembling from head to foot
through sheer joy. All at once he seemed to be confronted
by a vast crowd of these docile, harassed, hungry workmen,
as a veritable sea of trustful eyes turned to his. He could
see himself, too ; not his usual gloomy, melancholy self,
but an energetic, benevolent man, firm of purpose, sure
of his goal. The thought that his life of personal in-
fluence had ended stabbed him like a knife, yet the
momentary pain of that reflection was lost in a host of
other jarring sensations.

" Oh, brother," he said, in a trembling voice, " it was
not in vain that I had you so much in my thoughts and
longed for this meeting ! "

Nicolaief smiled pensively. For a while both were
silent as the brilliant voice in the drawing-room ceased.

Later, as Mishuief sat down with Nicolaief and the
other guests at supper, both he and his host felt happier
and more animated than ever. The others listened to
them in silence, almost in awe. Nicolaief told Mishuief
of an idea which he had of starting a new paper to which
all the younger and most brilliant writers of the day
should contribute. He proposed that Mishuief should
finance the scheme, and the latter gladly agreed to do
so. All things seemed now to be good, and life worth
living since he had felt the charm of Nicolaief's in-
fluence.

Nicolaief's wife, the lady with the grey eyes, a well-

THE MILLIONAIRE 99

known singer, was particularly attentive to them both,
showing herself continually eager to content her husband
by her affectionate sympathy and care.

" She seems to be genuinely fond of him," thought
Mishuief ; and to her also, he felt drawn as to a real
friend.

" How he manages to attract people to himself ! Not
like me. ..." And he sighed.

" And may I ask, Sergei Petrovitch," ' asked one of the
guests, as his moist Jewish eyes were turned inquiringly
to Nicolaief, " do you intend to invite Tchetyriof to
contribute to your Living Thoughts ? "

" That we shall be better able to decide later on,"
replied Nicolaief carelessly, yet a shadow seemed to cross
his face as he spoke.

Mishuief thought it strange that, for a minute at least
after this there was a dead silence, while in the large
grey eyes of the hostess, who with her white hands was
passing a dish, he could detect a flash of positive hatred.

" Is he really afraid of Tchetyriof ? " thought Mis-
huief, utterly astounded.

He knew that by many Tchetyriof was held in higher
esteem than Nicolaief, but had never for a moment
imagined that to the latter it signified in the least. The
thought that Nicolaief was jealous of a rival whom he
detested troubled him deeply. Just at that moment
he observed the grey eyes fixed on the poet eagerly,
almost greedily. He said to himself : " This woman
is only fond of Nicolaief because he is famous."

It hurt him deeply to think that this could be so.
Then in another moment the grey eyes beamed as before,
and Nicolaief laughed and joked in his former exuberant
way. Yet, somehow, in spite of all this, Mishuief could
not feel as light-hearted as at first, when he drove home
at a late hour through the empty streets of dreaming
Moscow. Here and there, in the dim lamplight, he
discerned the nebulous form of some prostitute loitering
at the edge of the pavement, and this did but add to his
spiritual unrest, as thoughts vague and disquieting
revolved within his mind.

XIV

White snow furnished a background for the square-built,
smoke-stained factory sheds, black chimneys, and fences,
as also for the surging mob itself, which, rabid and ready
to resist, filled the yard and the adjoining streets ; a
grimy, hostile crowd.

The factory was in the hands of the strike-committee.
The yard was one living mass of red, excited faces and
waving arms. The troops and police, who had been
called out, took up their positions on both sides of the
streets, forming regular lines of grey and black ; and
from a distance one could see the horses restlessly tossing
their heads, and officers in their grey uniforms running
over the snow.

Only one approach, the one from the Moskva, had
been left open, and from this direction crowds of other
workmen came trooping in.

Hastily summoned by telephone, Mishuief drove up
in a one-horse droshky, going straight into the yard.
He looked pale and his lips quivered. He had been
suddenly roused that morning without sufficient time
to think out what he should do. He only felt a vehement
desire to set matters straight and believed that he would
succeed. He knew that, if it were in any way possible
to influence the malcontents, it was he alone that could
do it ; so that, allied to his nervous excitement, was the
firm belief that the workmen would follow him and that
he would be able to avert a catastrophe.

Already at a distance he had heard the dull roar of
many voices, interrupted by occasional shrill exclama-
tions. As the horse, going at full trot, swerved into the
yard, the din was deafening. He hastily glanced round
at the sea of faces and the red walls of the building, from
all the windows of which hands were waved excitedly.
He stood up in the droshky, which creaked beneath his
weight, and then he sank back heavily in his seat. At
his appearance the uproar suddenly ceased, and only at

100

THE MILLION A IFF 10V

the back of the crowd some discontented murmurs ,and,
shouts could be heard. His arrival .Ju^l .be^n ob*>c;nyccf
from the windows of the manager's office, and Schanz,
the head manager, white and distraught, appeared at
the top of the stone steps with a military policeman on
either side of him.

Swept forward as by some resistless tide, Mishuief
rushed up the steps, took off his hat and waved it.
Silence ensued, as countless eager faces, both old and
young, gazed up at him. Not a sound, except a
muffled noise on the fringe of the crowd and in the street
beyond it.

" Gentlemen ! " exclaimed Mishuief in a clear firm
tone, knowing that they would listen to him, " I have
only just got back, and, as yet, I don't know all the facts
of this matter. I am at once going to attend a meeting
of the strike-committee and the management, and until
negotiations are at an end, may I ask you not to take
action in any way ? You'll trust me, won't you ? Is
that all right ? "

Before the crowd could utter cries of consent, somebody
signalled from a window on the third floor of the building,
and Mishuief instinctively felt, before he could look closer
to see what has occurred, that this was a signal to the
men to greet him.

" All right ! For your sake ! "

He hurried into the house, the friendly shouts of
thousands ringing in his ears. As he entered the counting-
house the first thing he saw was Stepan Ivanovitch's
surly face, on which he read hatred, malice, and scorn.
Stepan scarcely glanced at his brother, but Mishuief
walked straight up to him, when he looked up and said
drily, " Well, what do you think of things now ? "

" What do I think ? " replied Mishuief with emphasis.
" Why, that all can be satisfactorily arranged, and that,
if you'll give me a free hand, the men will all resume
this very afternoon."

He looked his brother frankly in the face ; but the
latter' s glance was cold, almost malignant.

" Quite so," he replied mockingly, " if we are disposed

102 TUB-MILLIONAIRE

to ruin ourselves by this afternoon the men will resume
work ... for three days."

Mishuief turned round. The five men present looked
at him without speaking, and all their faces wore the
same hostile, dogged expression.

" Enemies, eh ? " thought Mishuief, glancing at his
brother. " Good ! We'll see who gets the upper hand."

" Why ruined ? " he asked, with a jerk of his head.
" Do you mean to tell me that the concession of twenty
per cent, will eat up our huge dividend ? That's a little
bit too much, eh ? "

It hurt him to regard his brother, whom he always
had loved and pitied, as a foe.

" It's not a question of twenty per cent.," replied
Stepan Ivanovitch coldly. " Twenty per cent, won't
ruin the business, though, as things are at present, it's
quite heavy enough. Yet what guarantee have we that,
after this precious twenty per cent., we shall not be
asked for forty or fifty per cent. ? Do you really think
that this twenty per cent, is any good to them ? Why,
it's absurd ! Twenty copecks on a rouble means for
them only another bottle of vodka. It is not a question
of the twenty copecks, but of the uncompromising greed
of these people who think they are really entitled to a
hundred per cent., not merely twenty or forty, and that
they have every right to demand what is theirs and to
kick us out into the street."

" What right have you to talk like that ? " said Mis-
huief in an undertone. " The men are starving, worn
out with work that in two days would utterly knock you
up ; and then you talk of drink and of bottles of vodka !
No, no, brother, that won't do at all ! Now, I maintain
that if we give them at once what is absolutely necessary,
they will resume work and not dream of asking for any-
thing more. For they know better than we do that this
disproportion is not our doing, and it is not towards us,
personally, that their hatred is shown."

Stepan Ivanovitch shook his head, apparently too
furious to reply. It was this stubborn refusal to accept
what Mishuief considered a simple and just solution of

THE MILLIONAIRE 103

the difficulty that caused him to add, with some heat,
" Very well, then ; don't give them anything ! Kick
their representatives downstairs. Let them smash up
your factory, and raze it to the ground. I should be
only too glad to see the cursed place swept off the face
of the earth ! "

Stepan Ivanovitch smiled an evil smile.

" It's all very fine to talk like that," he hissed through
his clenched teeth, " but the troops won't let them smash
up the ' cursed place,' as you call it. At any rate you've
had the benefit of it just as much as I have ! Bah ! "

" The troops ? " asked Mishuief in amazement. In that
moment he hated his brother, and felt convinced that
Stepan hated him. " Are we going to let these starving
men be shot down because they demand what is their
right ? Do you understand what you are saying ? "

" I understand everything. It's no wish of mine that
there should be factories and workmen. Some day, I
hope, such things won't exist. But, at present this
factory happens to belong to us, not to them, and if they
touch a single stone of it I'll have them shot down like
so many mad dogs ! Yes, that I will ! "

With that Stepan Ivanovitch rose, ponderous, massive
as a rock. The pale wintry light touched his broad
forehead.

" But to that I won't consent," exclaimed Mishuief
hoarsely. " If you give orders to shoot, I'll side with
the strikers. Then we'll see if you dare to do such a
thing ! "

Stepan Ivanovitch turned away and walked to the
window.

" That's your affair," was his callous rejoinder.

With beating heart and trembling limbs, Mishuief
stood as if rooted to the spot.

" Feodor Ivanovitch," began Schanz in a mild, in-
gratiating tone ; and Mishuief caught sight of his little
fox-like face. " I think that you're getting too excited
about all this, and that you exaggerate matters. Con
cessions of some kind will have to be made. We're all
of us aware of that, and I know that Stepan Ivanovitch

104 THE MILLIONAIRE

is ready to admit this, too. Of course he is. The point
is, to what extent can such concessions be granted. But,
from what I could gather at our former consultations,
you were ready to accept the strikers' terms in their
entirety. This can never be done, Feodor Ivanovitch.
Such a thing is obviously quite impossible ! "

Producing a pile of carefully kept books, the manager
at great length sought to convince Mishuief that it was
sheer folly to accede to the men's actual demands, and
the latter, dazed by the relentless logic of figures, felt
at last unable to act, unable to reply. He would have
to give in, though he rebelled against doing so with his
whole soul.

Angry murmurs could be heard without. The sound
was as that of some distant waterfall, while at times
loud cries rose up from below. Schanz, the manager,
still continued talking, as he cited facts and figures in
endless succession.

" Understand this much," struck in Stepan Ivanovitch,
but in a quieter tone ; "no middle course is possible,
They'll never agree to ten per cent. There was some
talk at first of thirty ; however, the strike-committee
gave in and accepted twenty. But, as to agreeing to
ten, they'll never do that ! "

Mishuief raised his sad, weary eyes, as his brother
continued :

" One must either grant everything or nothing.
Nothing, so that, after the inevitable catastrophe, we
may have it in our power to dictate our own terms."

" And till that happens ? " asked Mishuief, turning
pale.

" Till that happens, well ! " Stepan looked away, and
snapped his fingers viciously.

" No ! " cried Mishuief, drawing himself up to his huge
height. " I cannot, I will not consent to let the men be
shot down simply because they are starving and their
interests are not our interests."

" Very well, then, go to them yourself, and put your
own proposals before them ! " said Stepan Ivanovitch,
as he flung out his arms.

THE MILLIONAIRE 105

Mishuief stood there silent, with downcast eyes. He
longed to have Nicolaief beside him at that moment.
He felt sure that they two would be able to break through
this magic circle.

"That is what I mean to do. Rather go to them
than " His voice here failed him.

" Hm ! As you please," replied Stepan Ivanovitch.
" Perhaps you'll be successful. But I warn you that
you are running a great risk."

" In what way ? "

" You will draw all their hatred upon yourself. These
very workmen, about whom you are so concerned, wiH
in a moment forget everything that you have tried to
do for them ; and, if you show that you are against them,
they'll hate you more than anybody else, just because
you took their part at first and therefore they believed
in you."

Mishuief looked at him in silence.

" Listen, Fedia," said Stepan Ivanovitch kindly, " do
you really think that all this doesn't affect me tremen-
dously ? But you are running an awful risk. Don't
do it, I beg of you ! "

For a good while Mishuief stood perfectly still. Then
he turned sharply round and walked out. He felt that
if he did not go that . . . Hark ! he fancied that he
heard the sound of musketry and of shrieking, that he
saw blood. With head thrown backward and a vague
sense of grief that chilled his heart, as if he alone had
chosen to bear a heavy cross, he took his stand on the
stone steps outside.

Tumult and white light seemed to overwhelm him.
Thousands of expectant faces were turned towards him ;
on some of them there was a look of gladness. He began
to speak.

What then occurred came swiftly, furiously, as some
horrible typhoon. He could hardly hear the first words
he uttered, but in an instant he saw how the faces round
him changed. In a moment the expression of trust and
gladness had vanished. Amid that huge crowd Mishuief
felt all at once that he was quite alone ; .utterly isolated,

106 THE MILLIONAIRE

a stranger to them all. He strove to recover himself,
but already what he spoke had no force, no point. All
in a moment the bond of sympathy, firm as it had seemed,
was broken ; indeed, it might never have existed. He
stood there, face to face with foes.

Afterwards he remembered that a little dark man with
piercing eyes, a turner by trade, began to answer him.

" No more lies ! " the man shouted. " You've shown
your real face to us now. You're just another that
thinks first of his millions and millions of roubles before
he gives a thought to the millions of human beings
who have only asked you for their rights. That's all
we want now. Let them shoot us down, do ! Shoot
away ! Hangman, do your work ! "

Pale as death, Mishuief tried to speak, but words failed
him. Sudden terror seized him, as when in a dream one
falls into some horrible abyss.

Some fellow seized his arm, and instinctively he shook
him off, while endeavouring to speak louder. But on
the crowd this movement of his had the effect of a threat.
Others now assaulted him, a snowball hit his eye, and
amid frantic yells he disappeared head foremost in the
crowd. With a wrench he freed his right hand and hit
out blindly, striking some one's head with terrific force.
For an instant there was space round about him, and
then he saw red-capped Cossacks riding into the yard
and heard whips whizzing through the air. Horror-
struck, he dashed towards them, but he was attacked
from behind and fell, dragging with him the swart little
turner, whose head was broken, and spattered with blood

XV

In crimson splendour came the shining dawn, and at
her coming the dark blue heavens, roused from their
dream, grew brighter above the spacious sea. Drowsily
the green wavelets broke against the steamer's side, and
the ocean and the distant hills were as yet shrouded in
opaline mist. High up, some topmost peak, touched
already by sunlight, shone like a golden flame.

Mishuief slowly crawled up on to the deck, and with
jaded eyes, aching still after a sleepless night, surveyed
the scene. On board the steamer passengers were not
yet awake. Two or three sailors were swabbing the
slippery deck, and confused sounds could be heard pro-
ceeding from the cabins. The steamer's noise was dull
and continuous as the waves lapped monotonously against
her sides. Mishuief shivered repeatedly in the cold air.
His sleepy face looked as if it had been crumpled up, and
his hair was dishevelled.

Crossing to larboard he stood for a long while gazing
at the green frothing water or at the distant sunlit hills.
Then, going to the upper deck, he sat down at one of the
little marble tables that, screwed down tightly in their
places, seemed cold and comfortless as ice. Leaning on
this with both his massive arms, he gazed about him.
There were now signs of life on board. A steward in a
white jacket with huge silver buttons ran past ; the
first officer, chilled by his long night watch, descended
from his post ; two girls, their eyes still heavy with sleep,
came out of the first class, apparently much surprised
to find the weather so bright and sunny. Then a lanky
Englishman in a panama hat, looking as if he had stepped
from some book of caricatures, propped his legs against
the seat opposite to his, and lit a huge cigar. A little
boy in a sailor-suit came running on deck, and the sun-
light fell on his plump, little bare legs. Other passengers,
smiling and sleepy-eyed, now appeared, and soon life on
board the steamer pursued its busy, cheerful course. Two

107

108 THE MILLIONAIRE

bright-eyed French women, like twittering, merry birds
that greet the morning, sat down at the table next to
Mishuief's. They looked about them and, spying their
gloomy neighbour, glanced at each other and laughed.

Mishuief felt inclined to get up and go. Human faces,
human voices were hateful to him ; false tongues, false
eyes, he shunned them all. Yet he was trembling in
every limb ; his back ached, and his eyelids throbbed
with pain. To move would have been torture. He
rapped smartly on the table to attract the hurrying
waiter's attention, and was just about to call out to him
when he saw the Frenchwomen looking at him curiously,
as they knew that he was a famous Russian millionaire.
He remained dumb. Had he in that moment heard his
own voice it would have sufficed, so he thought, to cause
one of those mad fits of rage to which latterly he had
often been subject. In the whole world there was nothing
more odious, foolish, and futile than his own voice.

The servant stood waiting, silent and surprised. Then
Mishuief, to his own astonishment, took out a pencil and
wrote on the marble top of the table, " Bring me some
coffee.''

With head awry, like a hen about to peck at grain,
the waiter read what was written, and then hurried away.

The idea amused Mishuief. Why had he not thought
of it before ? Quite simple, too. One could thus always
remain dumb, and get from other persons that which
one wanted without hearing their false voices or one's
own. The whimsical nature of such a proceeding pleased
him, as in this way he thought he could mock his fellow-
men and hide himself from them.

Yet, when the coffee was brought, he gazed seawards,
lost in his thoughts. His aching head was propped
against his hands, through which his ruffled locks of hair
emerged, and in his eyes there was a dull, leaden look.
For many days he had brooded thus, and when in a brief,
unrefreshing sleep the thoughts that Harassed him were
lost, he had an awful sense of sinking downwards, ever
downwards, helplessly in the huge fathomless void.
Latterly he had travelled much, but the impressions of

THE MILLIONAIRE 109

such journeys were dim and blurred, like vague memories
of the long-forgotten past. Yet an ever-recurring group
of faces flashed across his disordered brain. They were
always present ; he saw them as clearly as one sees figures
in the unnatural glare of a feverish dream. Now they
rose up again before his eyes that hardly noticed the blue-
green panorama which met his view.

First he beheld Nicolaief s perplexed countenance,
which recalled their last interview. There he stood, in
the middle of his study, opposite the tattered figure of
the roaring, raving Mishuief, looking aside and nervously
fingering the tassels of his girdle. Choking with mad
rage, Mishuief strove to understand how it was that this
man, the best of all he had ever known or loved, could
not see the monstrous injustice of which he was a victim.
Brutes in human shape, to whom he had done nothing
but good, and to whom he had wished to sacrifice his
whole life, had ill-used him, beaten him, had wanted to
kill him. The thing was amazing, infuriating, yet all
that he heard was Nicolaief's disloyal, embarrassed voice
persuading him that they were not to blame.

" They're just brutes ! Low, senseless, greedy brutes ! "
shouted Mishuief. " What had I done to them ? Why
did they treat me thus ? "

" Yet, look what they had to suffer — all for one man,"
was Nicolaief's quiet answer.

" Suffer, indeed ! They didn't suffer half enough !
I'm glad if they did suffer ; yes, I'm delighted, delighted !"
Mishuief shouted louder and louder, yet, as his fury
increased, Nicolaief's expression grew colder and more
hostile. When Mishuief bitterly reproached him with
callousness and want of sympathy, he replied calmly,
but with cruel malignity in his voice :

" Possibly in this case they did wrong. It was an
outburst of blind fury on the part of desperate, toil-worn
men. But, to be quite candid, how do you stand with
regard to them ? You're their enemy, like all the rest,

like your brother "

" I am their enemy ? " cried Mishuief, aghast.

" Yes, that you are. You lived, like all the rest, by

110 THE MILLIONAIRE

the sweat of their brows ; they bled for you ; and if
you refrained from crushing them underfoot, even if
you went so far as to help them, that is really not so
meritorious after all."

Mishuief's bruised face, with swollen lips and blackened
eyes, grew hideous, even pitiable, to behold.

" So, you think that they would have done right if
they had killed me ? " he asked breathlessly.

Nicolaief turned pale as again he fidgeted with the
tassels of his girdle.

" If that's the case," began Mishuief, " then you
are " But he stopped short.

Then, to his supreme disgust, he noticed a changed
expression on Nicolaief's face, the result, as it seemed,
of some afterthought. The poet suddenly attempted
to gloss over his previous remarks and to be anxious to
conciliate Mishuief who, in his overwrought state, was
quick to detect the falseness of such words and the reason
for their utterance. Nicolaief appeared afraid to quarrel,
lest Mishuief should refuse to find money for the proposed
journalistic venture. Both were silent. Mishuief felt
unutterable shame, and Nicolaief's honest face grew red
with confusion. For a moment their eyes met, and in
that moment the bond of their lifelong, loyal friendship
melted and left no trace. Half an hour later they sepa-
rated, not as two intimate friends, but as foes who hated
and despised each other.

Afterwards Mishuief spent the long tedious hours of
that night in travelling. He had determined to go to
the man whom he had robbed of all his happiness. Why
he had sought out this man he could not tell, and not
till he saw the other's questioning look did he dimly
perceive what he had done. It may be that he desired
to meet a man, even an enemy, who would look him
fairly and squarely in the face.

Maria Sergeievna's husband stood before him, haggard
and grey-haired, gazing fixedly at him with burning,
unquenchable hatred in his eyes.

" What do you want ? " he asked. " Is what you did
to me not enough ? Have you come to mock me? Do

THE MILLIONAIRE 111

you suppose that you have a right to do whatever you
like ? "

Mishuief, though he did not recollect the exact words,
could yet clearly see how the other's face first expressed
astonishment ; and then, having understood, bitter, almost
triumphant scorn. ^

" Aha ! " he said softly, " so, apparently, there is yet
something which money cannot buy. That's good."

Then he laughed louder and louder, and at last drove
him from the door as one drives a dog. Mishuief went.
He had long since lost the living thread that had drawn
him to this man, and he could not conceive why he had
ever gone to him.

That night in the train he could not sleep, tormented
by hideous visions. Before his eyes there rose up the
image of a famous poet whose very name since childhood
he had reverenced and loved. Would he receive him ?
The idea cheered him for a time until the reply to his
telegram arrived. Yet when he knew that the venerable
man was willing to see him, the scheme appeared futile.

He was going to be received, so he thought, merely
because he was Mishuief, the millionaire. For Mishuief,
the man, this philanthropist did not, could not care.
The whole idea collapsed ; Mishuief saw that it was absurd.
There was no need to go to any one for counsel or advice.
No one could tell him what he did not know himself.
Then, for the first time in his life, he thought of renounc-
ing his wealth and of becoming poor, like most other
men. Yet that again seemed impossible. There was
no need to go here, or there, for comfort. He would
always be, and continue to be, just what he was. Nothing
could cure the malady that once and for all had maimed
his soul. This new thought that for him there was no
further place in the world became clearer and more firmly
rooted in his brain. Sighing deeply, he shut his eyes.
At that moment he overheard a youthful voice say in
Russian :

" It's wonderful, when you travel by the Southern
express, how you get the impression that spring is return-
ing not day by day but hour by hour. You simply rush

112 THE MILLIONAIRE

to meet it. I cannot express myself rightly, but to
me there is nothing more enchanting. Yesterday every-
thing was grey and cold ; to-day it has thawed in
places, and between the birches one sees patches of
green. To-morrow we shall see the blue sky. How
delightful ! "

Mishuief mechanically opened his eyes and looked at
the speaker. He was a very young man, probably an
invalid, and he was talking to a girl with bright,
merry eyes. They were standing on deck, and the breeze
lightly touched her soft hair. From their beaming faces
Mishuief knew that they, at all events, were really happy.
Then once more he gazed at the shore, and again closed
his eyes.

Close by, two French women were talking about a
bull-fight.

" Before the toreador kills him all the matadors drive
him with their red cloaks in one direction ; you see, in
one direction, until he's utterly dazed . . . and then
the toreador stabs him. It's horrid, I assure you."

In a moment Mishuief seemed to see the huge head
of a bull with staring, bloodshot eyes.

He trembled all over, and got up from his seat. There
were passengers everywhere on deck. Laughing and
chattering, they turned to watch him as he quietly passed
them and went aft.

There he stood, gazing at the track of foam churned
by the steamer as she cut her way through the waves.
It was as if he were searching for something in this
mysterious frothy stripe. Then, as it seemed to him,
he had found it. He looked round, at the sky, the hills,
the merry folk on board who sat at some short distance
from him. Then, suddenly, he jumped overboard. It
was done clumsily, and of this he had a lightning- swift
impression, as he felt ashamed that his fellow-passengers
should see it.

There was a hideous buzzing in his ears ; nose and
mouth were choked by water that burned and stung.
His brain seemed bursting as he sank down into the
green chasm that engulfed him. Then, as he rose to

THE MILLIONAIRE 113

the surface of the water, he saw through the dripping
spray the steamer like a white spot in the distance.

" Help ! "

But at once he began to sink in the dull green abyss,
as his chest seemed rent in pieces. A shoal of little fishes
darted aside, like splinters, in all directions, yet instantly
returned to stare with round curious eyes at his outspread
overcoat, straddling legs, yellow tan boots, and blue,
lifeless head that slowly sank, deeper and deeper, into
the cold green gloom beneath.

IVAN LANDE

IVAN LANDE

As winter approached, the little town became tranquil.
All its youth and activity had forsaken it for populous
cities. Only the aged in body and spirit remained at
home. Their life was the traditional one, regular and
monotonous. They played cards, went to church, read
books, and thought that in this way life should be spent.
Snow, like a pure cold shroud, covered the streets, and
in the houses feeble, sleepy folk pottered about, for whom
everything by now had reached its end. Yet in spring-
time, when fragrance rose from the black, moist earth,
and on all sides there were magic touches of tender green,
as the glad sunlight warmed each grassy slope ; when
at eventide all things lay hushed and expectant, then
each day brought some one back by rail to the town, and
in the streets bright, pleasant faces could be seen, young,
joyous as the spring itself. Just as birds go back to
their old nests, and as in the old spots grass again shoots
up, so all the young, life-loving folk were wont to return
to their little peaceful, yet somewhat dreary town.

Thus in the May of this year, Ivan Lande, a student of
mathematics, had arrived, his father, chairman of the
rural district council, being recently deceased. Through-
out the day he had remained with his mother, who
tearfully recounted the details of his father's death,
and not till the twilight hour did he take up his cap and
walk down to the boulevard.

The avenue lay at the border of a large river swollen
now by spring floods. At one place there was a steep
cliff, where two old green benches stood, the wood of
them mouldy now through damp.

Beyond the river it was growing dark, as the horizon
gradually faded from sight, and faint stars gleamed in
the sombre sky. It was that moment of solemn peace

117

118 IVANLANDE

when something invisible appears to float, calm and
majestic, above the land. Far down the river a ship's
steam-whistle uttered a weird, melancholy noise, as if
to give notice of danger, or to recall some sad and in-
evitable occurrence. On the broad glossy surface of
the water, strangely bright amid the general gloom, a
black moving spot could be seen which left in its wake a
broad, even streak.

At this hour the boulevard was absolutely deserted.
Only from the club- windows fell shafts of yellow light in
which noiseless shadows moved, and close to the cliff
dark figures could be dimly discerned, and the glimmer
of lighted cigarettes, as in the distance voices and laughter
resounded.

Lande smiled, and walked on slowly in that direction.
Light, yet somewhat feeble of step, his approach could
hardly be perceived.

" 1 say, shall we sing a song, or shout till they hear us
on the other side of the water ? " cried a pleasant feminine
voice, that in the dense, warm air was delightful to
hear.

" Well, you begin," was a man's cheery rejoinder, as
some one laughed.

Lande, coming nearer, said : *

" Good evening ! " quietly, but so distinctly that he
was at once heard.

" Hullo, Lande ! " exclaimed Shishmariof, a young
student with boisterous energy, as he held out his big hand.
Lande, smiling, gave it a hearty grip, and his greeting
to the others was equally cordial. They all were glad to
shake his slender hand, and in this universal pleasure
there was so much that was charming because so perfectly
sincere, that Motatehaief, the artist, a big, strong fellow
who had never seen Lande before, felt its influence.
When Lande, approaching him, said, " Let me introduce
myself, my name's Lande," the artist replied :

" I am delighted to meet you," as he smilingly looked
into Lande's calm eyes. " I have heard about you," he
added, in a voice resonant as some brazen bell.

" Really ? " asked Lande, smiling and turning away.

IVANLANDE 119

Yet this did not betoken indifference, but rather a certain
latent intimacy as if he had known this long ago.

" What were you all talking about ? " he said to the
group.

" Oh ! Maria Nicolaievna wants to jump over the
moon ! " laughed the little student.

" That's charming of her ! " said Lande, as he smiled,
and nodded kindly to Maria.

A sickly student, Semenof, coughed huskily.

" Still suffering ? " asked Lande kindly, as he put his
hand on his shoulder.

" Yes, just the same as ever," was the gloomy reply.
" Not so bad as that, come ! " said Lande, but his voice
shook.

" No, my boy, I'm done for ! " replied Semenof, as
his features, wrinkled by disease, were distorted by an
unnatural smile, and his voice expressed resentment
and acute despair. " There'll be some fine weeds grow
out of me soon ! "

All were silent. A cold, strange, and yet horribly
intimate sensation seemed to freeze their vitals. Then,
like a slack violin-string, Lande's gentle voice was heard,
saying :

" No, don't say that, my little pigeon ! One mustn't
talk like that about what no one really knows. Some
day we shall all have to die, not merely I, or you, but all
of us, and then we shall all know at once if the end is
just weeds, as you say, or a new life. All ! Don't you
feel how much that word implies ? It is impossible that
such a wealth of thought and suffering and affection
should vanish without a trace and simply reappear as
1 weeds.' All of us feel this, too, and believe it. So
do you. Only, you won't believe anything, because,
like a child, you're afraid of what is new to you, what you
don't understand. We don't know what death is, and
that is why we are afraid of it."

The simple sincerity with which these words were
spoken soothed the other's tortured brain ; like some
soft odour, some genial ray, caressing to the spirit, and
that points to brighter horizons, to a distant, roseate dawn.

120 IVANLANDE

In Semenof s trembling heart child-like, trustful hope
was aroused, as he said laughingly, " Blessed are they who
believe."

At this there was a general sense of relief. The in-
visible phantom softly receded, and removed from their
talk its dreadful, icy hand.

Like some black shadow a tall man now came striding
along the boulevard, kicking up the sand as he went.

" That is Firsof," said Lande, as he hailed him by
name.

" Who is it ? " asked Molotchaief softly.

44 Oh ! some official at the Finance Department," said
Shishmariof, with an impatient gesture. He seemed
to be annoyed with Lande.

The black shadow stopped.

" It's you, isn't it, Ivan Ferapontovitch ? " asked a
dull, grating voice.

" It is I," replied Lande.

There was a sound of shuffling feet, and the dim shadow
gradually changed into a long, lean man, who approached.

" Welcome, Ivan Ferapontovitch, welcome ! "

Writh a show of excessive cordiality the new-comer
stumbled over the other's feet to get to Ivan Lande.
His somewhat boisterous manner seemed to be assumed.

44 1 say, look out where you're coming to ! " exclaimed
Semenof irritably.

44 Good evening, Firsof, how are you ? " said Lande
as he grasped the other's hand.

44 Ah ! " replied Firsof, rubbing his hands, 44 how
should I be ? At work, hard at work. Life's nothing
but that. Though, of course, I have my spiritual life
as well. Church is what renovates me."

His voice had a false ring in it, as if he wished to praise
himself and show off before Lande.

44 Your life's not exactly rich, is it ? " said Shishmariof
with obvious irony.

Firsof turned slowly round.

44 Don't you think it is ? Greater riches than com-
munion with God I do not know. Very likely you are
not of that opinion."

IVANLANDE 121

Almost threatening was the tone in which this was
said, yet Shishmariof only glanced contemptuously at
him, and did not answer.

" Yes," drawled Firsof, after a pause, " the other day
I had to serve on a jury here, rather an interesting case,
it was, of a workman accused of theft. At one time he
was foreman at the weaving mills, here. Probably you
know him. His name's Tkatchof."

*'• Tkatchof ? " cried Lande in amazement. " It's
impossible ! "

"Yes, yes," continued Firsof gleefully, "it was theft
right enough. A trifling matter in itself; but the way
that he behaved ! Just imagine ! He wouldn't have
anyone to defend him, but conducted his case himself.
'Of course, I know that I've stolen,' says he, 'but if any-
one on the jury is without sin in this respect then let
him judge me.' Blasphemous, I call it ! Till then I
never realized how mighty are those words ! "

" I can't see that the words matter in the least ! " was
Semenof's interjection.

" Of course, it's the words, and the making use of
them like that ! " said Firsof angrily.

In clumsy fashion he then tried to explain that inspired
words, words of our Lord, should never have been used
by a man of that sort with reference to his own evil
deeds. Yet all that he said was so dry and lifeless that
nobody listened.

Stretching out her arm which, in its loose white sleeve,
looked the wing of some large bird, Maria Nicolaievna
exclaimed in glee :

" The moon ! The moon is rising ! "

Firsof stopped short, evidently annoyed.

" Ah ! yes. No doubt the moon's of more import-
ance."

" Everything is of importance," said Lande smiling.

Above the dark horizon the moon's red disc slowly
floated into sight. At once on the gloomy surface of the
river sparks appeared, and a frail tremulous golden bridge
was flung across it from shore to shore, like some mute
mysterious appeal to come over into a new, azure world.

122 IVANLANDE

" How lovely ! " cried Maria Nicolaievna enthusias-
tically, and her full, rich voice echoed down the darkening
slopes. Lande turned to look at her charming face as she
gazed dreamily into the gloom.

"Ivan Ferapontovitch," said Firsof, in the same
rasping tone, as he rose, " we shall meet again, I hope.
I must go now."

" No doubt we shall," replied Lande, as he feebly
shook the other's hand.

Firsof took leave of the others, and went shuffling
onward.

" What pleasure can you find in talking to such a
fellow ? " asked Shishmariof, when he had gone. " A
grumbler and a skin-flint, always running to church, and
worrying his child when he's at home."

"He. . . ."

" Oh ! don't let us talk about him, please," exclaimed
Shishmariof irritably.

Lande smiled sadly and was silent.

The moon had now risen, and her silver shield hung
overhead.

" Now, Molotchaief," said Maria Nicolaievna, " paint
something like that. Then I shall at once think that
you're a great artist ! "

Molotchaief gazed at the moon without speaking,
and Shishmariof watched him.

"He'll paint it directly," was his mocking remark;
then, turning to Lande, he said eagerly :

" Lande, do you know what happened at Verschilof's
mill ? He wanted to give his workmen a lot of putrid
meat, and so they smashed his windows and thrashed the
manager. Twenty- one men have been arrested."

" Now then, Lande," asked Semenof, to rally him,
" were they in the right ? "

"Yes," was Lande's firm reply. Then, as Semenof
uttered an exclamation of surprise, he added :

" Their families are in terrible straits. It's a shocking
story. We did what little we could for them, but "

No one spoke. Lande's eyes were fixed on the ground,
and his thin fingers twitched slightly.

IVAN LAND E 123

Semenof coughed, and the sound echoed across the
cliff. Gliding upwards, the moon, as she rose higher
and higher, gradually revealed in ghostly outline the
opposite river-bank, and over the fields and the river
itself white mists floated. The air grew chill and damp.
Semenof buttoned his overcoat, pulled his cap right over
his ears, and got up.

" I must go home," he said, " it's getting cold. Sonia,
are you coming too ? "

" No," replied a slim girl, who had sat the whole time
close to the edge of the cliff.

"Very well," said Semenof carelessly, "it's cold.
You'll come and see me, won't you, Lande ? "

" All right."

" Good-bye."

" What ? " asked Molotchaief mechanically.

" The artist is lost in his thoughts ! Good-bye ! "

And Semenof went slowly along the boulevard, stooping
as he walked.

" I say, Lionia," said Lande slowly, after evident
reflection, " we must help this fellow."

" All that it was possible to do has been done," replied
Shishmariof. " There's no help for it."

Lande got up.

" Why not ? " he said thoughtfully. " Come and see
me to-morrow. I must go now. My mother expects
me."

It soon became very cold. The earth and the sky, the
river's surface and the features of human beings, all had
a frigid, transparent look like that of blue ice. Shish-
mariof with Lionia went in one direction, and Lande,
Molotchaief and Maria Nicolaievna in the other.

II

" If you'll be my model, I'll paint a picture," said
Molotchaief, as he bent closer to Maria Nicolaievna's
moonlit face.

" Why not two ; while you're about it ? " she laugh-
ingly replied, as her eyes sparkled with pleasure.

Lande looked up at her and said :

"It is good — " but then he smiled, and did not finish
his sentence, which would have been, " It's good that
you are both so young, so handsome, and so much in
love with each other."

" What are you going to do for the workmen ? " asked
Maria Nicolaievna, remembering Lande's words and
looking suddenly grave.

" Nothing much ; something just as a temporary help.
I've got some money."

Molotchaief looked at him, and was impressed by the
expression of steadfast determination in that haggard,
moonlit countenance and those large, glorious eyes. He
felt suspicious, half jealous of the other, as with curling
lip he asked :

" Are you going to give it to them ? "

" Yes," replied Lande.

" All of it ? " To Molotchaief it sounded like a bad
joke. " I really don't know, my lad," was Lande's
good-tempered answer, as if considering the matter.
" Perhaps the whole of it if necessary."

And you . . . have got lots of money, I suppose ? "
asked Molotchaief ironically. " The fellow's a poseur"
he thought to himself, annoyed, really, because he knew
it was jealousy that gave him this false impression.

Maria Nicolaievna listened attentively as Lande
continued :

" I have . . . not very much, you know . . . four
thousand."

And again Molotchaief could not help thinking, " that
hesitation's all done for effect."

124.

IVAN LAND E 125

Then he chanced to look at Maria Nicolaievna, which
made him forget Lande.

" Your face is just like one in some picture by Stuck,
when you laugh or when you look serious," he said with
enthusiasm.

Maria Nicolaievna laughed, and for an instant her
white teeth gleamed in the moonlight. Lande as he
looked at her perceived the truth of what Molotchaief
had said.

" Do you really mean to give them all that money at
once ? " she asked, trying to hide her face from
Molotchaief.

" Yes, all at once ! " said Lande smiling.

There was such calm earnestness in his voice that she
for a moment became thoughtful. His words had
touched some tender chord within her inmost soul.

"He's delightful ! " she thought. "And so abso-
lutely original ! A saintly man ! "

She remembered that Semenof had once called him
this.

" No, he's not saintly, in the sense of being crazed on
the subject of religion."

She did not want him to be that.

When it came to saying good-bye, Lande seemed
irresolute, as if he would have preferred to remain with
the young couple.

" Good-bye," said Molotchaief coolly, as he hastily
held out his hand. Lande paused a moment and then,
smiling, went his way, full of a great tenderness, of a
boundless sympathy with the whole world.

Maria Nicolaievna walked for a good while beside
her companion without speaking, her soul filled with
solemn peace.

" This Lande's simply crazy," said Molotschaief.
An absolute fool I Not even that, perhaps ! " he added
with a grimace. *' He's not handsome, but interesting-
looking."

" Oh ! you know nothing except about your art ;
that's all ! " said Maria Nicolaievna, as she laughingly
looked up at the moon.

126 IVANLANDE

" No, I have only an eye for what is beautiful," replied
Molotchaief, and to these simple words he gave a special
meaning which she did not miss.

" And, besides the beautiful ? "

" The devil only knows. Nothing, I should say ! "
Molotchaief shrugged his shoulders.

Maria laughed, and her bosom as it heaved beneath
the white bodice in the moonlight looked almost nude.
Molotchaiefs glance was fixed upon her ravishing
profile and her dark, shining eyes that were not turned
to him but seemed fraught with mystery and cryptic
promise.

Silence reigned. Behind one or other of the distant
dreary houses a little dog began to bark.

" I want to live," said Maria Nicolaievna softly at
first, but gradually raising her voice. " I want to do
something, I want to love ! "

Then, with a sudden peal of silvery laughter, ** I want
to jump over the moon, as Shishmariof said ! No !
No ! It's sleep, that's what I want ! Good-bye ! "

" Good-bye ! " said Molotchaief, as, still trembling,
he heaved a deep sigh. " Good-bye ! "

Behind the fence the sound of light footsteps could
be heard, the turning of a key in the lock, as the door
clumsily opened and a sleepy voice mumbled something.
Then was all still.

Molotchaief walked on through the silent moon-
silvered streets, free from disturbing thoughts ; conscious
only of his great happiness.

Ill

When Lande reached home, his mother was seated at
the table waiting to get supper ready for him.

Since her husband's death it had been a dreary, desolate
home for her ; everything seemed to have come to an
end, so she thought. Some fatal power had divided her
life into two equal halves. Sad and tedious though the
past had been, it was not without joy or sunshine. But
now all was cold and vacant. It was only the thought
of her son that shed a gleam of light upon her dull exist-
ence, and which made what she did of any significance.

" Vania ? " she called gently, from behind the lamp.

" It is I, mother dear," replied Lande, as, throwing
down his cap, he sat down beside her and leaned his
head on her shoulder. She stroked his soft fair hair
and thought that all which life still held for her was
centred in her boy.

" Will you have something to eat ? " she asked, laying
her hand on his shoulder.

" Yes," replied Lande, as he kissed her hand with its
short, wrinkled fingers.

" My own dear boy," said his mother, and there were
tears in her eyes.

" Mother, what did father really leave us ? I mean,
how much altogether ? "

The question did not at all surprise his mother, as
Lande might want to be certain if he could continue his
studies or not.

" Not much, Vania?" she said sadly, while thinking
of something else. " This house, here ; and then, thank
God, there's my little annuity, which is not so bad. But,
in actual cash, we've only got four thousand."

"That's about what I thought. The house and the
annuity are yours, of course, mother, but, if you don't
mind, I'd like to have the money, as I want it." When
he said this Lande felt a sense of oppression at his heart,

41 Yes, yes, take it, do I It was really left to you."
127

128 IVANLANDE

She looked thoughtfully at him and stroked his
hair.

" What do you want to do with it ? " she asked
tenderly, smiling at him as if he were a child.

Not for an instant did Lande think of concealment.
As he looked into her eyes, his face brightened and he
cheerfully replied :

" I want to give it to the families of the workmen that
Vershilof has turned into the street."

" What ? " cried his mother. Then, smiling, she said,
" You're just like some silly child, although you've got
a good big beard, too." .

Lande smiled sadly, and did not answer.

" But you don't seriously mean it ? It's the sort of
thing you might do," continued his mother, as the tone
of her voice suddenly changed to one of anxiety and
caution. Yet ere she had finished speaking she saw by
his clear, wide-opened eyes that he was really in earnest.
For a moment she was silent, and stared at him in amaze-
ment. Then, more to console herself, she added, " How
absurd ! Why what would become of you ? "

" That will be all right, somehow," was Lande's
mournful rejoinder. He felt that an insurmountable
icy wall had risen up between them.

" It's absurd ! " repeated his mother with stubborn
emphasis, as if she were bound to ward off something
hostile and evil. It was, in fact, impossible for her to
approve of such a scheme which meant the annihilation
of all that had been accumulated during her long, in-
dustrious life. He made no reply, conscious in his heart
of a grievous wound.

That night, as he lay in bed, he thought :

" What's be be done ? Mother can't and won't under-
stand. It will be an awful shock to her, but I can't act,
otherwise. We should never agree about this, and, loving
her as I do, I should have to give in. That cannot be ;
and therefore I must go away."

It was appalling to think that for the first time in his
life he must sever the ties which bound him to one he
so deeply loved. Then, in the darkness, he seemed to see

IVANLANDE 129

the dying Semenof coming towards him, a vision that
strangely thrilled him.

" Here I lie," he thought, " convinced that, by this
rupture I am bound to create sorrow and pain, and yet
— perhaps, in spite of everything, what is there, if I look
before or after ? Chaos, a limitless void ! I am less,
far less, than a grain of sand ; my life in eternity scarcely
counts for a moment. It is as if it had never existed.
Yet here I live, and believe, and devote myself to others ?
What is this that I am doing ? "

He shivered from head to foot, and it seemed as if he
were suspended above some horrible abyss. Then he
remembered a kitten that one of Verschilof's coachmen
had picked up by the scruff of its neck and flung on the
ground. Poor little kitten ! It was killed instantly.
It was as if he himself had been seized by the neck and
were hanging helpless in mid air, at the point of death.
In another moment he would be flung to the ground;
a terrific blow ; and then silence, darkness, the end !
To his over-wrought nerves this sense of solitude was
unbearable. Involuntarily he attempted to pray : " Oh,
Lord, Lord ! "

Suddenly, amid the general whirl of ideas and im
pressions, one thought seemed to emerge like a flame :

" I pray here, as I lie in a warm bed, while Verschilof's
workmen after a hard day's work are sleeping on the bare
boards."

Urged by a sudden impulse he sprang up, fell on his
knees and pressed his burning brow to the cold floor.
As he wept there, in the darkness and the silence, to his
soul there suddenly came peace. He remembered the
workmen, and at once determined to give them the
money ; all of it, all that he had. How to do this, as
yet he knew not ; nor did he ever think that this would
grieve his mother, rouse opposition from others, and
add to the cares of his own life. Yet a sense of new-
found joy overcame him as, straight and shining, the road
that he should take lay clearly before his soul.

IV

Next morning Lande went to the prison, the white
high walls of which shone at some distance from the
town, as they rose above the broad bank of the river
and near a pleasant green meadow. The sunlit bayonets
of the sentries, dark solitary figures, flashed in the blue
air.

Lande was conducted to the Inspector, a man with a
long silvery beard, such as one might see in some picture
of a saint. He received Lande politely, as his thin lips
moved nervously, and the look on his face was one of
inquiry and distrust.

" My name is Lande. Perhaps you know me ? I am
anxious to see Tkatchof, he who the day before yesterday
was acquitted. I understand that he is still here."

The Inspector's bony fingers moved slightly.

" That you can do ; yes. He is still with us. You
can see him, of course," he repeated, as if to convince
himself of the fact. " You shall be accompanied to his
cell, or he can come here, if you like."

" I would rather go to him. Possibly he would not
wish to come and see me, as he hardly knows who I am."

The Inspector looked hard at Lande for a moment and
frowned.

" Sidorof, accompany this gentleman ! "

" What do you think I ought to do about this fellow ? "
asked Lande, in a confidential tone. " You see, I should
like to propose "

" You can discuss all that with him personally," was
the Inspector's brusque rejoinder, as he busied himself
with papers on his desk.

An old soldier with a bristly moustache and a black
baggy uniform raised his ragged cuff to salute the Inspector
and said :

" At your service, sir ! This way, please."

Lande followed him into the courtyard. It was clean
and spacious, yet the air seemed close, although above it

130

IVANLANDE 131

lay the soft spring sky. It smelt of sour cabbage-soup
and cobblers' shops ; there was also a strong penetrating
stench from the latrines.

" Not exactly a nice sort of place, this," said Lande.

With his little peasant's eyes Sidorof glanced round the
yard in comic perplexity, as if to find out what was not
nice about it.

" No, it's not," was his brisk, cheery reply. It seemed
to please him greatly that he and Lande were of the
same opinion.

Lande watched how the fellow plodded along clumsily
in front of him, and added :

" A sorry business, isn't it, to have to watch over
other men ? "

" Yes, it is," replied Sidorof in the same cheerful tone.

" It was better, at home, in your village, when you
were working in the fields," said Lande, feeling full of
pity for the soldier.

" Yes," replied Sidorof, " working in the fields is all
right."

It was this cheery voice of his that made Lande feel
happier.

" Why has Tkatchof not yet been discharged ? He
has been acquitted."

" He doesn't want to go," said Sidorof smiling.

" Why ? "

" ' I have no place to go to,' says he. What an idea
to be sure ! He's a funny chap."

Lande grew pensive ; sadness like a shadow passed
across his soul.

Leaving the courtyard, they went along a narrow
vaulted corridor which after the bright sunlight outside
seemed unusually dark. One saw here nothing but
cold, muddy stone and rusty iron. Dirty, ill-clad
men of various ages, but all with the same anaemic,
bloated faces, lounged about listlessly from door to
door. They looked at Lande with unfriendly, hostile
eyes, stood against the wall, and then retreated to
the obscurity of the damp corridor. In one of the
cells somebody began to ssing, but the song sounded

132 IVANLANDE

more like a curse, so wild was it, and so full of vile
words.

" Tkatchof ! "

Sidorof's voice echoed cheerily down the corridor.

" Hallo ! Tkatchof ! You, there ! Some one's calling
you ! Can't you hear ? " cried several prisoners, as if
glad to be able to shout for some real reason. At the
entrance to one of the cells, a grimy, gaunt man appeared
in a prison- jacket far too large for him. He had promi-
nent cheek-bones, and he eyed Lande suspiciously.

*' I want to see you," said the latter, as he held out his
hand and smiled, so as to assure him of his kindly in-
tentions. Tkatchof shook hands in awkward fashion,
yet as if the visit did not at all surprise him. " I wanted
to speak to you about something," said Lande.

Tkatchof looked at him with greater suspicion, as he
bit his thin, dry lips and stepped unwillingly aside.

" This is where I live — here ! " he said in a husky
voice.

Lande followed him into his cell, a vaulted room, so
small, damp and stuffy that it seemed amazing to think
that it was the abode of a full-grown man and not of
some little hunted animal.

After pausing to reflect Tkatchof knit his brows and
then pushed a stool towards Lande.

" Please sit down," he said in a vague tone, Lande
did so, and looked tenderly at the other.

" What is it that you want from me ? " asked Tkatchof;
and, as his eyebrows worked uneasily beneath this glance,
his face had not a harsh, but a pitiful expression such as
that of a sickly child.

" I want nothing," replied Lande kindly. " I only
heard about you, and so I came."

" But for what reason ? " asked Tkatchof suspiciously.

" Well, I felt sorry that you had been so upset and
unfortunate, and I thought that it might make it easier
for you if I came to see you."

"Pity? I don't want your pity," replied Tkatchof
gruffly, turning towards the window as with lean, grimy
fingers he gripped the edge of the tablev

IVANLANDE 133

Lande gently took hold of his hand.

44 Why do you say that ? It's not true. Your life's
been embittered by misfortune, and if you stole, it was
only because you've known so little of human sympathy
and love. I have come to you without any afterthought,
but with an open heart and a sincere desire to help you
if I can. So, why say anything to wound me?"

Tkatchof glanced shyly at Lande's hand that in this
gentle trustful way was holding his own grimy one, and
all at once he blushed.

44 1 don't want anybody," he replied sullenly, as he
drew back his hand. 44 That's all nonsense ! "

44 Why ? " asked Lande, with a pained look on his
face.

Turning towards him Tkatchof smiled contemptuously.

44 Your question, simple as it is, puts me in rather
a silly position," he replied, with a certain pompous
bitterness of tone. 44 After all, why should I have
anything to do with you ? " He shrugged his shoulders
and turned to the window where pigeons were cooing,
though through the barred window-pane they could not
be seen.

44 There I I feed them. They're my friends," he said
after a pause, as a nervous smile flickered on his pinched
lips.

44 The pigeons ? Ah ! I see ! "

Lande smiled also. "Of course they're friends. It's
not true that there must be eternal hatred and de-
struction. There's no necessity, there can't be any
necessity for this. On the contrary we must all try to
protect one another, and be friends, brothers. You
know I think everything's all wrong at present ; it's
not as it ought to be. To put an end to this, to make
things better in the world, that is what we've got to do.
I believe that "

44 1 don't understand your fine phrases," broke in
Tkatchof, obviously wishing to be rude.

Lande smiled sadly.

" I'm afraid I can't express my meaning in any better
way. Don't you really understand me ? Oh ! I believe

134 IVANLANDE

that you do. I wanted to say that evil and hatred
don't exist of themselves, but they are the result of the
work of forming the world. They must be conquered."

" Ah ! yes," sneered Tkatchof, " what an easy task ! "

" No, not easy ; hard, fearfully hard. But not im-
possible. No hate nor wrath is so strong that it cannot
be overcome."

"Why do you tell me all this?" asked Tkatchof
interrupting.

" Because," replied Lande, grasping the other's hand
for fear that he might go, " because it seems to me that
you have ceased to believe that such things were possible.
I am sure that you think that Evil is everlasting and at
all times triumphant ; you think that one should not
fight against it, but yield to it. That would be awful.
Yet this is not so. You have simply lost heart ; have
become embittered by misfortune, and you make even
denser the atmosphere of hatred that surrounds you, as
if this were the only air in which you had really ever
learnt to breathe. Ah! Tkatchof, but what an awful
mistake ! You feel that it is ; you find it difficult to
breathe, terribly difficult, eh ? "

Tkatchof did not answer, but breathed heavily through
his nose.

" One must not requite hate with hate," continued
Lande, as his large eyes shone, and the words he uttered
came spontaneously as some fervent, soul-inspired song.
" Only in this way can it be overcome. Nor does one
ever feel such ease, such satisfaction, as when conquering
personal hatred, as when refusing to retaliate if assailed
by hatred from some other quarter. Does not, then,
this feeling show us which way is ours ? And to all of
us is it not a joy ? What tortures would not men endure
for its sake ! And, though men should treat you badly,
even cruelly, external relations with others must neces-
sarily differ and cannot always be equal. Reconciliation
is really an easy matter if only "

" Have you ever known what it is to be hungry ? "
was Tkatchof's cutting interpolation. " Tell me that,
Mr. Lande."

IVANLANDE 135

" Oh ! why talk like that ? " pleaded Lande. " You
know that for his ideas man can suffer hunger and pain —
even death. The martyrs endured the most horrible
torments."

" Ah ! but they were martyrs ! " said Tkatchof, as
he jerked back his head.

" Do you think, then, that the martyrs were in any
way remarkable people ? No ; I and you, and every-
body, even the most insignificant of men, is ready to
bear all things for an idea, if only it be his idea, what he
personally feels. Isn't that so ? "

" Perhaps that's true," said Tkatchof gruffly.

" True ! Of course it is ! " Lande's face became radiant.
" Truth lives in mankind ; it is in human beings that
this enormous force exists. As this is so, man is able
to attain all things. Each of us can ! Each of us can
battle against every opposing power and conquer.

" What made you steal, Tkatchof ? "

Tkatchof trembled, and gradually grew pale, as he
glared furiously at Lande.

" What business is it of yours ? " he exclaimed hoarsely,
as he stretched out his long, grimy neck.

" I know why," said Lande with quivering lips, " and
I want to talk to you about it."

The expression on Tkatchof's face was now fearful
to behold. Close to him Lande saw the man's eyes,
their dark pupils fully dilated, and in their depths a
quenchless flame of furious hate. If he so much as
winked, thought Lande, the other would either knock
him down or spit in his face. But he never winced.

Suddenly Tkatchof looked down.

" You know nothing," he said in a defiant tone.

" Oh ! but I do," replied Lande firmly. " Your whole
life is known to me ; I have heard much about it ; and,
when speaking yourself in court, you said a good deal
which was afterwards repeated to me. Your account of
things was so accurate, so vivid, so that one scarcely "

A look of foolish vanity crossed Tkatchof's face.

" I expect you thought that it's only the likes of you
gentlemen students that know how to speak ? No,

136 IVANLANDE

those days are over. Now . . ." and so he rambled on,
never keeping to the point.

" I know," said Lande, " that you've always had a
hard life of it, and yet that you never stole, never drank,
never smoked. I know, too, that you studied the Gospel,
and that you gave up eating meat."

" That's all nonsense ! " replied Tkatchof with affected
scorn.

"No, no, it's not nonsense ! It is a tremendous thing
when a man shows such self-discipline. For that it
needs enormous will-power, and that will-power you
had, Tkatchof. Why does it fail you now ? " pleaded
Lande, as he caught hold of the other's hand. " Why
didn't you fight it out to the end ? "

" To what end, pray ? " asked Tkatchof, as his
features became distorted by a malicious grimace and he
snatched away his hands.

" To victory, Tkatchof ! A man can conquer all
things if he fights for his ideas. Your idea was that
all men are as one ; that life and feeling are one, and
should be good and beautiful. You would have con-
quered, too, Tkatchof. You've such a strong character.
Why, then, did you lose heart ? What happened ? "

Tkatchof did not answer. Lande was silent also,
shaken, indeed exhausted, by violent emotion. His
lips and hands trembled ; only his eyes beamed as before
with love and pity. For some time Tkatchof was
silent.

" Here, Mr. Lande," he said at last, looking away,
" you said just now that you knew me. That's true
enough. You know . . . know about my unfortunate
life and how wretched I have been. Yes, but I know
all about you, too. You're a good fellow ; everybody
says that, and I'm sure it's a fact. You're one of the
best in this place ; perhaps in the whole world there is
not a better. I think that you may be a saint, for you
have such a simple soul ; clear as glass. Therefore I
should like to ask you one thing : what were you about
while all this was happening to me ? "

Lande raised his hand.

IVANLANDE 137

u No, first let me finish, please," exclaimed Tkatchof,
and there was hatred in his voice. " You were everything
to me once, Mr. Lande ; everything in my life and that's
the truth. I've known you for a long while. At that
time you were only a child, and I wasn't grown up,
either. Ah I you meant so much to me in those days !
Do you remember, Mr. Lande, how I came to you once
to get some books ? You were just about to start off on
a journey, and were packing up your things in the front
room. I'd been waiting three years for you, and you,
what did you say to me ? "

"Tkatchof, Tkatchof, that's right," stammered
Lande, but . . . yet. ..."

Tkatchof's face was like black stone, as clenching his
teeth he hissed out :

" You told me that you were going away ; that you
hadn't time, but that you'd have a talk to me later on !
That was all I And there was I, waiting for a word from
you that could have changed my whole life ! It's this
way : either you didn't understand me, didn't see that
I was in earnest, or else, though you saw all this, your
journey and your private affairs were of more importance
to you. That's what it was, Mr. Lande, eh ? Or am
I mistaken ? "

" By God," cried Lande, " I swear that I would have
stopped, if at that time I had really understood
you. For this you were alone to blame, Tkatchof.
You should have been more open with me ; you
should have knocked vigorously at the door of my
soul. You must have seen that I didn't understand
you ! "

" Must have seen ? " replied Tkatchof, as he smiled
bitterly. That's just it. I did see ; and that's what
threw me off the right track once and for all ! "

Lande looked aghast.

" Had you really considered that your journey and
your interests were of more importance than the coming
to you of a man who wanted spiritual comfort and
gtiidance I should probably have said to myself, ' Another
humbug, like the rest ! ■ But that was not the case.

138 IVANLANDE

I saw that y@u simply didn't understand me ; didn't
perceive how troubled I was. . . ."
Lande's fingers twitched nervously.
" Such a thing might happen to anybody. There are
times when the soul of a man slumbers. So, at that
time, I slumbered. Yet, why did you not rouse me from
my sleep ? "

Again the other smiled cynically.

"What I thought was this," he replied. "Here's a
man, one of the best, a man whose like I shall never meet
again in my whole life — well, to have to rouse even his
soul within him is a difficult matter. . . ."
" Not always, Tkatchof."

" No, not always. The man in question is an uncom-
mon sort of man. Yet even he needs an occasional
shaking-up until he can sympathise with another's grief !
What about other men, ordinary men ? I expect no
amount of shaking would ever serve to rouse them, eh ? "
" What do you think ? " sneered Tkatchof.
" Yes, yes ; one will rouse them in time."
" But to go about knocking at the hearts of others like
this — why, life's too short for such a thing ! "

Tkatchof stopped, as if in triumph. A light seemed
to transfigure Lande's face as he replied :

"Why, Tkatchof, that in itself is a whole life's work.
Alone the echo of such knocking is a joy that thrills one,
as we feel that, if we cannot reach every heart, we are
yet finding our way into the universal heart of humanity,
and that our efforts can never die, but that others will
knock, as we have done, so that heart after heart will
be touched, until, one day. ..."

" Aha ! " laughed Tkatchof, but the laugh may have
really masked his inward anguish.

" You think it's ridiculous, eh, Tkatchof ? " asked
Lande, and there were tears in his eyes. " You don't
believe it ? "

" What an idea to be sure ! To live in a fool's paradise
and believe that in suffering one can find joy ! And I,
when I led the old life, was just as badly off as if I had
never knocked ! Ha ! Ha ! If I drank, it was death ;

IVANLANDE 139

and if I didn't drink, it was death too ! You must look
about you for some other fool to swallow that ! "

His voice sounded harsh and insolent. If Lande had
still cherished any hope of making Tkatchof understand
him that voice extinguished it.

" Tkatchof," he began timidly, " you must pull
yourself together. You must get away from here. You
have been too much influenced by these horrible sur-
roundings.

" Where shall I go ? " was the other's mocking question.

" Anywhere. To me if you like. I've brought you
some money, so, take it and go away from here and forget
everything. After a time, when you've got over it. . . ."

" Money ? " asked Tkatchof shutting his eyes tightly.
Then, in a brutal outburst of fury and despair, " I don't
want any money from you ! He wants to stop my mouth
with money ! Get out with you ! "

"Tkatchof, Tkatchof, why? Dear Tkatchof,
I've . . ." stammered Lande as he grasped the other's
hand. But Tkatchof shook him off and hurried out of
the cell. Then he suddenly came back and stood in the
doorway gazing at Lande as he muttered to himself :

" There's a saint for you ! A holy man on stilts !
Blockhead ! "

With that he marched off along the corridor.

Lande called after him, in despair :

"Tkatchof! Tkatchof!"

But the other, without answering, went away.

Late that evening Shishmariof came to Lande. The
latter's decision to give away his money to the poor had
roused his enthusiasm. Yet, in a way, it had caused
him a certain uneasiness ; and, though he knew that
what Lande chose to do was no concern of his, he could
not help feeling apprehensive. He came hurriedly into
the room and, shaking Lande by the hand, while avoiding
his gaze, he said :

" Well, here lam!"

Lande at once opened a drawer from which he took
out four long packets of notes that rustled in his slender
fingers.

" I wanted just to say," began Shishmariof, in a
forced voice, as if some one had pushed him from behind.
" Perhaps, you won't give all of it away ? "

As if he were thinking of something else, Lande replied
simply :

" That makes no difference. If one gives any, one
must give all." Then, after a pause, he added :

" Lionia, I won't go with you, so you must distribute
it yourself. I'll tell you why. Mother is furious with
me about this money. I must have a talk to her and
soothe her, if I can."

With some hesitation Shishmariof took the notes.

" Ah ! you see, your mother's dissatisfied ! " he said.

On Lande's face there was a faint smile as he answered
earnestly :

"In a case of this kind a mother must not be con-
sidered."

Still Shishmariof did not move; feeling evidently
more and more uncomfortable.

"I really don't see how by myself I can " he

faltered.

Lande smiled, and, with a gesture of indifference, said :

" Somehow or other ! Your heart will tell you what
to do. God knows it's not such a difficult task."

140

IVANLANDE 141

" Well, as you wish," was Shishmariof 's reluctant
consent, as he took up his cap. All at once he felt such
pity for Lande that he could almost have wept. The
bare, uncomfortable room suggested the solitude of a
cloister. Lande looked ill and depressed. Shishmariof
could not help wondering why a man who had done such
a noble deed should not appear pleased or proud.

" He is a strange fellow," thought Shishmariof, and,
though not aware of it himself, this reflection lessened
his sympathy for Lande and his generous act.

" Good-bye, my dear fellow," said Lande.

" Vania ! "

At the sound of his mother's quavering voice outside
the door Lande winced.

" Go, Lionia," he said gently, but firmly.

Still Shishmariof hesitated. The money burned his
hand as if it had been stolen.

" You must just leave it," he said, and there was a
shade of annoyance in his tone.

" No," replied Lande as he shook his head. " They're

in such terrible distress. As for my mother, well

Anyhow, the money's mine, to do what I like with."

Lande's mother entered. Her care-worn, kindly face
showed now extreme agitation and anger. She was
breathing hard. Her son hurried towards her, and,
clasping her hands, held them to his heart.

" Mother, don't ! " he said, with a pleading look.
Shishmariof bowed awkwardly.

" Don't what ? " she cried, snatching her hands away.

The shrill, harsh voice seemed to tell one how much
in the past she had screamed and wept.

u You've no right to do this ! Do you suppose that
your father slaved all his life just for a pack of paupers ?
Fool that you are ! "

*' Go, Lionia," said Lande.

His mother sprang forward and placed herself between
Shishmariof and the door, though he had never moved
from where he stood. Her hair was dishevelled, and her
wild eyes expressed greed and fear.

" You've encouraged him to do this ! " she screamed,

142 IVA1ST LANDE

in a fury. " How dare you ? I'll denounce you to the
police. It's robbery ! "

" I " . . . stammered Shishmariof, feeling surprised
and hurt.

" Give up that money ! " shouted the old woman,
and she snatched the notes from Shishmariof with
her claw-like fingers.

" Take it," cried the latter in a fury, as he clenched
his fists and turned to Lande.

" It won't do, you see," he said with difficulty.

" So, good-bye. I'll be off."

" Yes, Lionia, go," replied Lande sadly. " Don't be
angry with me."

Shishmariof looked as if he wanted to speak, yet he
said nothing and went out. There was a dead silence.
With her hand thrust deep into her pocket the old woman
gripped the bundle of notes, while Lande mournfully
watched her. Though shut together in that little room,
each felt hopelessly, utterly alone.

" For goodness' sake give up this stupid idea ! " said
his mother at last.

Lande shook his head. " It's not stupid."

" Whom do you think you'll impress by it, pray ? "
she continued in a mocking tone. " Aren't you ashamed
of yourself ? To think, that it should come to this ! "
she whimpered, and, withdrawing her hand from her
pocket, she began to cry. Lande did not answer. The
room looked dreary in the dusk.

" Some day you'll thank me ! " sobbed his mother.

" I don't know that. Listen, mother. If you don't
want to give me the money then I won't ask you for it.
You keep it for yourself."

" How can you talk like that ? " she exclaimed in-
dignantly. " Do you suppose I want it ? What's the
use of it to me ? I am not long for this world. Think
first before you speak in that way ! "

" This is more what I meant to say, mother," replied
Lande, after a pause. " I love you dearly, as you know.
But you think that, by withholding this money from me,
you will save me from ruin, and I am convinced that what

IVANLANDE 143

you are doing means my destruction. D© you really
suppose that I should ever keep this money for myself,
I should instantly give it away, either to these people,
or to others, if I conscientiously felt that I ought to do
so. Therefore. ..."

" You're simply raving mad ! " cried his mother
angrily.

" How do you suppose that you're going to live ? "

" Oh ! I should manage somehow. There's no need
to worry myself about that," said Lande with conviction.

*' Very likely you expect me to go on keeping you ? "
was her malignant question.

" No ; I shall go away. It's difficult for us to be
together, for you won't let me lead the life that I want to
lead, and I shall only be a worry to you. I would rather
live alone."

She stared at him, as all the blood left her cheeks.

" Vania ! What's that you say ? " she stammered.

Lande sighed gently and, kneeling beside her, kissed
her hand still wet with tears. Looking down at his head
with its limp, soft hair, she felt as if some great mischance
were near.

" Don't cry, mother darling ! It is better so ! " said
Lande in a faint, trembling voice.

VI

Maria Nicolaievna sat at the open window, gazing
pensively at the long road, one side of which was bathed
in moonlight. The black trees had a petrified look
beneath the cold, white stars. The echo of approaching
footsteps could be heard clearly as in the silence a man,
yet invisible, came nearer and nearer. Strange and
mysterious they sounded, bringing, as it were, with them
some secret that was theirs alone.

Maria Nicolaievna leaned over the window-sill, and,
recognizing the figure in the gloom, called out, " Ivan
Ferapontovitch, is that you ? "

Lande stopped short, and then, smiling, came up to
the window.

" Where are you going ? " asked Maria.

" I'm going home — to Semenof. I am living with him
at present," said Lande in a faint, tired voice. As he
stood close to the window she could clearly see his
emaciated face and large eyes. A feeling of pity and of
curiosity which Lande always roused in her again possessed
Maria's gentle heart.

" Ivan Ferapontovitch," she asked timidly, " is it true
that you have quarrelled with your mother and don't go
near her ? "

Alarmed at her own temerity she hastily added, "I'm
asking you this because I always feel so sorry for you
both, and — I may ask you anything, mayn't I ? "

" One can ask me anything, yes," said Lande, as if
repeating her words. He evidently had not noticed her
trepidation, and continued sadly :

" I have not quarrelled with her, nor with anyone else,
ever. I still love my mother ; even more now that she
is unhappy. I only went away that I might live alone ;
I had to choose one of two things, either, not to live
according to my convictions, or else to go away from
home. I think that you would have acted in the same
way that I did."

144

IVANLANDE 145

Maria Nicolaievna, as she looked trustfully at him,
said, with a smile, " Oh, no, I'm sure that I could never
have done that ! "

" Do you know," continued Lande, who had not heard
her answer, "it is easier to lay down one's life — no, I
don't know how to express myself ! " and he laughed,
but said no more.

" Where have you been ? " asked Maria Nicolaievna,
after a pause.

" In the monastery," was the reply.

" You said your prayers, I hope ? " she asked
jokingly.

" No, I just went there. In that place there is such
peace. And I prayed, too," he replied gravely, as if
ignoring her playful question.

" You believe in God, then ? "

Lande looked at her half in surprise.

"It is impossible not to believe in him," he said in a
tone of calm conviction.

" Why is it impossible ? I, for instance, don't believe
in Him." She bent her head slightly, as if listening to
her own musical voice.

" Don't say that I " replied Lande fervently. " It is
not true. WTe all of us believe in Him, and so do you."

He stretched out his hand and grasped her dainty little
fingers.

" Look upwards, and you'll see that it's impossible not
to believe in Him. Look up yonder, to the heavens !
Look ! "

Maria gazed above at the vast immeasurable firmament
with its glittering companies of stars, here brilliant to the
view, and there fading, vanishing in the realms of infinite
space. It was as though this silence by its cold, mysterious
serenity had brought some inscrutable, revolving force to
a standstill and now held it in check.

" How awful it looks up there ! " said Maria Nicolaievna
shuddering. " And when one day that all collapses !
Good gracious ! It's too horrible to think of such a
thing ! "

" No, that will not collapse," he replied. " Look at

x

146 IVANLANDE

those boundless, starlit spaces ! So small is this earth of
ours, such a mere atom, that we get not a glimpse of all
that mad tempestuous whirl. Imagine then how small
a thing is man ! Every moment, every millionth part
of a moment, this huge globe is swept along by some
terrific force to distances quite inconceivable. Yet we
notice nothing, but, tiny as we are, we calmly travel
onward as if all these gigantic masses moved out of our
way, and as if a hand were safely guiding us. The
slightest hostile force could wipe us out of existence, but
so sure and free is the development of the history of
humanity that it would seem to be the very nucleus of
the universe."

" Doesn't it appear to you," he said after a pause, " as
if all were frozen and waiting for something to happen
on this earth of ours, which one day must occur ? When
this does take place then everything will suddenly be set
in motion ; destruction here, creation there ; a new light
bursting on our vision ; new transformations ; a new and
yet more wondrous life."

The silence became intense as JLande ceased speaking.

" How cold it is ! " exclaimed Maria Nicolaievna,
trembling. " Good night ! "

She withdrew into the dark room, closed the window,
and Lande was left on the lonely road, gazing into the
fathomless azure spaces overhead.

VII

Wrapped in a sheet that left exposed to view his lean,
bare legs, and looking like some bad imitation of a ghost,
Semenof opened the door for Lande. After the calm
beauty of the night in its gentle splendour, the scene
that now met his eyes seemed at first unendurable. The
crude, yellow lamplight, the rickety furniture, the bed-
clothes in disorder, and Semenof's thin, sallow counten-
ance and scraggy legs provided a depressingly squalid
spectacle.

Semenof sat down on the bed, looking horribly ill.
His wrinkled, ashen features, his scanty locks that,
soaked with sweat, adhered to his febrile brow, and his
emaciated body with its angular shoulder blades, all told
in simple, fearful words the story of that appalling
malady lurking deep within man, the whole enormity of
which has baffled human comprehension. As Lande sat
down beside him, Semenof stared at him with feverish
eyes, and said hastily, " I'm so glad that you've come.
I feel so ill — terrified at something or other. I'm sure
I'm going to die soon ! I know I am ! "

It- sounded as if his fretful complaint were not addressed
to Lande, but to some one within his own suffering body,
asking him to confirm the fears that tortured him. Filled
with pity Lande placed both his arms round the other's
gaunt shoulders.

" Vassia, my dear old boy ! " he said, as he sought to
console and convince him by an exposition of his own
simple faith. Cowering and motionless, Semenof gazed
fixedly at the flame of the lamp. His thin lips were
tightly compressed, and as Lande, glancing sideways,
observed his glittering eyes, it seemed to him that Semenof
were not listening to a single word. He longed to shout
in his ear and to shake his shoulder in a desperate effort
to gain his attention. Yet, to his horror, he perceived
that such solitary suffering had caused Semenof to become
deaf and taciturn, like the mute, cold lid of a leaden

147

148 IVANLANDE

coffin, that holds within it some hideous secret known to
itself alone.

" Vassia, I am certain that you believe ! " cried Lande.
" Do you remember how happy and cheerful we were
when we spoke together about God, and eternal life, and
eternal joy ? Why are you silent, Vassia ? Say some-
thing, do ! "

" Listen ! " said Semenof suddenly, not in his usual
mocking tone. His voice had a piteous, tearful quality
in it. " Oh, Lande, I don't want to die ! All you say
may be true enough, and perhaps I shall get there before
you — to our common goal. There may be a God, and all
that, but no ! I don't want to die ! It grieves me to
give up life, to lose you, and the sunlight, the grass . . .
to go from it all, and perhaps never to set eyes on it
again ! " . . .

Lande wept, and large tears coursed down his anxious
face, as he moved his hands helplessly. Semenof sat up
and plucked at his scanty beard. After a moment's
meditation he sank back again. His wrinkled features
underwent a sudden change, looking yellow and dry as
parchment.

" You're a fool, Lande," he said, smiling maliciously.
" Do you really believe that all this silly stuff concerning
God matters to anyone who is actually about to die ?
It's all very consoling and pleasant to think of immortality,
one has to think of it in order to live. But when death
comes, and there seems to be no God either before or
behind one, well, such self-delusion is impossible. And
where's the good of it ? Don't go on please ! It only
irritates me."

The last words were uttered in a weak, querulous tone,
as his jaws rattled continuously.

" Here I suffer. It's very poor fun for me, I can assure
you. My life's at an end ; all enjoyment, all sense of
pleasure, gone ! All that is left to me is suffering ; the
very moment, one would think, when your God would be
needed. Otherwise to suffer thus is absurd. But where
is He ? Where is your God ? Why doesn't He reveal
Himself ? When I lie in my death-agony, and my legs

IVANLANDE 149

grow cold, cold — before my very eyes, and I feel per-
fectly conscious of this . . . why, even then, I shall never
be certain if there's really a God. And, if I were certain,
what good would it do me ? "

His voice sounded shrill and sibilant, as almost with a
shriek it ceased. He was pale, wide eyed, and trembling
all over, and a fearful paroxysm of coughing suddenly
threatened to shake him to pieces. While Lande sup-
ported him with trembling hands, Semenof strove to
continue speaking, and his eyes rolled wildly.

" Of what good is your God ? " he gasped, when he had
got his breath, while he looked nervously at his blood-
stained handkerchief. " To a healthy, living man, I
mean ? If He exists at all, only a man recognizes this
when all the human vital part of him is dead, when the
human being has become a mere corpse. Well, it's time
to go to bed. I'll put out the lamp."

Lande did not answer. He had no heart to speak of
his faith to one suffering so intensely, and who was only
two feet away from him.

Semenof watched him closely and smiling bitterly,
continued :

" Do you know what I've been thinking about, Lande ?
All men are my brothers and therefore they will come to
give me their last brotherly kisses. Well, do you know,
that if there's one thing that cheers me it is to feel that
thus they might all catch their death ! "

He flung himself back into bed, and stretched himself
out rigid, shrunken as some lifeless bird. Lande put out
the lamp and lay down, dressed as he was, burying his
face in the pillows. That night he got no sleep. He
hardly noticed the passing of the hours, since he seemed to
stand outside the pale of time. In this restless state he
reflected that he himself had not yet got a firm hold of
the faith that he professed if the power failed him to reveal
it to others. Silent, constant probing of his own soul
could alone make that faith clear and steadfast, and pre-
vent it from being shaken by momentary gusts of human
sympathy. Vague at first and undefined, this thought
printed itself deeply upon his brain and heart.

VIII

Whenever Maria Nicolaievna saw Lande, his presence
seemed to her refreshingly sympathetic ; as if a gentle
ray of morning light had gladdened her soul. Whether
excited or depressed, or full of vague longing, directly she
encountered Lande's kindly, trustful, childlike gaze she
became calm. Specially did she experience his feeling
of joyous serenity on a certain golden evening about a
month after Lande's arrival, as they went out walking
together. When they had passed the last cottages on
the outskirts of the town they came to broad level spaces
of white sand. In the light of the sinking sun their long
shadows seemed to race ahead, with feet lifted grotesquely
high like black arrows pointing out the way. Seated on
a mound at some distance was a man whose figure,
illumined by the rays of the setting sun, stood out clearly
against the blue sky.

" There's Molotchaief ! " said Maria Nicolaievna. The
artist, as they could see, was bending over a small easel.
Poised on its thin pointed legs it had a droll effect.

" Do you like Molotchaief ? " asked Maria Nicolaievna,
confident that the answer would be of that calm, kindly
sort which Lande alone could give.

Lande smiled.

" I like everybody," he said. " All .men, virtually,
are the same, and, if you love humanity, you love each
and every man."

" But surely there are some better or worse than
others ? "

" No, I don't believe that there are. We are apt to
think so merely because we do not estimate a man by
the good qualities which each one, whatever else she may
be, possesses, but by his relation to certain individual facts
which one views from one's own personal standpoint.
Therefore, this is unjust. One must feel profoundly con-
vinced of one's own infallibility to judge others in that
way. Yes ; each man is possessed of love, benevolence,

150

IVANLANDE 151

delicacy of feeling, integrity and self-sacrifice — all quali-
ties by which alone the human soul can be made rich.
Only the circumstances of human beings are unequal,
and therefore these good qualities cannot develop in the
right direction. Yet no man could find pleasure, merely for
its own sake, in being wicked, envious, cruel or covetous. "
" Oh ! but I take pleasure sometimes in being cruel,"
replied Maria Nicolaievna pensively.

" Ah," said Lande, " but a certain pain really under-
lies such pleasure ! The most inveterate criminal
cannot take a sheer, calm delight in cruelty unless
he is insane, and thus no longer a man really.
Every man must always love something, pity some-
thing, sacrifice himself for something. He will always
create a god for himself, because God dwells within
his soul. And it is not his fault if life does not lead
his natural feeling into the right way. That depends
solely on external circumstances, on the direction that
his life happens to take. For instance, Molotchaief.
He's passionately fond of his art and of the beautiful.
I feel certain that he would be ready to make any sacrifice
for it. Consequently, latent within him, lies the capacity,
the great capacity of loving. By accident, or by some
other impulse, his vast love assumes another form, finds
another outlet, and this famous artist, who to our think-
ing has his limitations, becomes a man of noble deeds,
a philanthropist — capable of all ! "

" Then you believe in mankind ? " asked Maria
Nicolaievna gently.

" Yes, that I do," was the firm reply.
" What makes you do that ? "

" My belief in God," replied Lande. " I believe that
the divine spirit which God flung into chaos meaning to
create man in His image, dwells within the soul of
man, that so God's will may be done, and that His great
solitude may thus be lessened. I cannot express it,
yet I believe in man as the precursor of futurity, of this
I am certain."

Here Lande paused. He smiled nervously, and his
shining eyes and restless fingers bore witness to his

152 IVANLANDE

intense emotion which had also influenced his com-
panion.

" Yes, but death ? " she asked in a tone of vague
alarm. " Are you afraid of death ? "

" Yes, I'm afraid ! "

But her voice sounded so strangely solemn that Maria
Nicolaievna was forced to laugh at it. Just then they
were slowly nearing a dense plantation of young pine-
trees and the echo of Maria's laughter came back from
their dark depths.

" No, no, you are not afraid ! " Lande laughed gaily
also. " It's not possible, either, to be afraid of death
itself. Nothing in the world fears death except man,
and it is not death that he fears, but the uncertainty of
a hereafter. For myself I don't believe that there is such
a thing as death."

They approached the glimmering pine wood, fragrant
in the dusk with the scent of the first green pines. Here
amid their stems it was quite dark and their branches
gently swayed about the grassy edge of the road. A bird
flew noiselessly from bough to bough, and a twig broke
as the wind swept past.

" Then you believe in a life after death ? " asked Maria
Nicolaievna with childlike, irrelevant curiosity.

"This much I feel," replied Lande calmly, "that I
cannot be utterly destroyed. Yet what will happen I
know not. Man's thoughts and conceptions are limited ;
we cannot form any idea of eternal life because it lies
outside and beyond our ken. One can but conjecture it."

" Ah ! but if it exists then it's strange that we can't "

" No, not strange at all. Why should it, be strange
that you cannot explain a great mystery when we cannot
explain our own personal feelings and emotions ? Love,
for instance. Love certainly doesn't seem strange to you,
does it ? "

" Ah ! Love ! Well . . . love ..." and she slowly
repeated the word to herself.

" The Eternal and the Infinite, those are the greatest
attributes of the Divine Spirit," said Lande. Man is as
yet so far from comprehending these last "

IVAN LAND E 153

" Ah 1 " cried Maria Nicolaievna. " What's that ? "
She stood still in alarm.

Two men emerged from a hedge and advanced towards
them silently in the dusk. They came along in a leisurely
way, swinging their arms, but the effect of their approach
was vaguely disquieting as some secret threat. Lande
calmly looked up.

" Tkatchof ! " he cried in surprise.

When only a few paces distant the two men stopped
and looked about them on all sides. Their forbidding
aspect in the quiet dusk alarmed Maria Nicolaievna.

" Let's run away ! " she whispered to Lande, who, as
if he did not recognize her voice, looked at her in surprise.

Grimy, and wearing a ragged jacket, Tkatchof stood
still while his companion quickly approached Maria.
The sight of his bare feet with toes outspread between
which pine needles and tender blades of grass emerged,
remained for ever fixed in her memory.

" You're good for the price of a drink, eh ? " said the
fellow insolently, as he held out his hand.

Maria Nicolaievna clutched Lande's arm, leaning closer
to him for protection. Tkatchof did not stir.

" Now then, be quick ! " persisted the man, in a
threatening tone.

Lande awkwardly drew out his purse.

" Here you are," he said, looking gravely at the tramp.

Tkatchof stood aloof, sneering.

" Here ! this ain't much," said the other, pocketing
the purse. '* Let's have that coat of yours. Look sharp.
You'd better go on, lady. Not quite proper, eh ? " he
added mockingly.

Terror-struck and trembling, Maria Nicolaievna turned
aside.

Lande smiled sadly and took off his coat. In his old
shirt with its badly ironed pleats he looked even thinner
and more frail.

" Those trousers are far too good for you," said the
tramp, as he looked about him uneasily, and shook the
coat in Lande's face. " Off with them, too."

" Do you want them ? " asked Lande calmly, as he

154 IVAN LAND E

sat down on the grass. " You go on, Maria Nicola ievna,
God be with you."

Terrified as she was, Maria suddenly felt a mad desire
to laugh out aloud. Lande, half-undressed, sat calmly
there as the tramp tugged at the leg of his trousers, and
Tkatchof, still motionless, watched the proceedings.

" You go on, Maria," repeated Lande.

" Wait a bit, lady, What have you got there ? " cried
the footpad hurriedly as he made a grab at her dangling
watch-chain.

To Maria there was something intensely horrible and
revolting in this act. Darting aside, she caught up her
dress and rushed along the road. It was as if some
large blossom had been suddenly tossed forward by the
breeze.

" Where are you going ? " cried the tramp as he flung
Lande's jacket aside, and promptly gave chase. Maria
uttered a piercing scream which rang through the darkling
pine wood. This cry Molotchaief heard as he came
round a bend of the road. Swift as a flash he dropped his
paint-box and easel and ran forward. The tramp saw
him first, and cunningly swerved aside, glared at him for
an instant, and then cowering in the grass, got away
through the brushwood. Maria Nicolaievna ran precipi-
tately against the trunk of a tree. Wild-eyed, with
tumbled hair, for a moment she seemed utterly dazed.
Never noticing Lande, pale and feeble, on the grass at
the side of the road, Molotchaief rushed past Maria,
panting, and flung himself upon Tkatchof. The latter
had seen him coming. At one moment it looked as if he,
too, would make a bolt for it, but he stubbornly stood his
ground. Before he could move Molotchaief struck him a
terrific blow full in the face. Tkatchof uttered a low
groan and threw up his hands as he fell forward in a
kneeling posture. A second blow struck the top of his
head, knocking him right down in the road, where he lay
sprawling.

" Molotchaief ! Molotchaief ! " cried Lande as, clad
merely in his shirt, he rushed forward and seized the
other's hand. " Leave him alone ! " Then, kneeling

IVANLANDE 155

down, he endeavoured to raise Tkatchof whose head on
its long, thin neck drooped helplessly.

" You've killed him ! " stammered Lande, horrified.

"What if I have? It's no more than he deserved,"
was Molotchaief's rough rejoinder.

Yet suddenly Tkatchof scrambled to his feet. Blood
was streaming from his forehead which was covered with
mould, while his nose and the left side of his face had a
dull red look shocking to behold.

" Recovering, is he ? He'll mind what he's about
another time ! " Molotchaief's clenched fists still trembled
as if he longed to hit the fellow again.

Lande paid no heed, but, taking a handkerchief from
the pocket of his trousers that were lying on the grass,
he offered it to Tkatchof.

" Here ! Wipe off the blood ! Oh ! my God, what is
to be done ? " he exclaimed incoherently, in utter distress
and amazement.

But Tkatchof neither moved nor took the handkerchief.
His left eye had already become swollen, and from his
bruised lips and chin blood dripped on to his greasy coat-
cuff.

" Don't you bother about him ! The best thing I can
do is to take him back to where he belongs. Here !
Come along with me, and be quick about it ! " So saying
Molotchaief roughly collared Tkatchof as he gave him a
kick so that he slipped forward and fell.

" Don't ! Leave him alone ! " cried Lande, angrily
interposing.

Molotchaief looked at him in fury and astonishment.

" What the devil are you "playing the fool for ? " he
cried. But as he caught sight of Lande in his shirt he
paused for a moment and then burst out laughing.
Maria Nicolaievna, unaware until now of their approach,
glanced in amazement at Molotchaief, and then at Lande.
Blushing deeply, she instantly looked away and walked on.

" Well, of all the fools I ever "... exclaimed Molot-
chaief as he laughed aloud.

Then Tkatchof's black, gory features became distorted
by a grin as he, too, laughed sardonically, and at the

156 IVANLANDE

same time spat blood. Broken and disfigured as he was,
such laughter seemed revolting. Lande looked up at
them with the same calm, sad smile.

" For God's sake, go and dress yourself ! " cried
Molotchaief, as he went on to join Maria. Lande did
not heed him. Tkatchof was not laughing now, but
turned and walked away. Lande called to him.

" Tkatchof," he said, as he touched his arm, " you
meant to do that. I saw it in your eyes. Oh ! why,
Tkatchof, why ? "

Tkatchof scowled at him as if he had not understood
but were thinking of something quite different.

44 Have you ever seen a real man ? " he asked huskily.
44 There I Look at him ! " and he pointed to Molotchaief.
" That's a strong chap if you like ! But you ? Why,
you're just a lump of dirt ! Not worth a damn ! "

44 That may be," said Lande, 4< yet why is it that you
hate me so ? Is it really because I am so much inferior
to him ? "

44 It's because I believed in you for so many years,"
replied Tkatchof. " And now, this is the result ! " So
saying, he struck his bruised cheek. " I see now what a
fool I was to believe all that silly humbug. But my life ?
What about that ? Done for ! And, instead of a man,
I'm just — . Well, now you understand what I mean,
eh ? As for him, I'll pay him out yet ! " He shook his
black fist vindictively. " He shall remember me
though I swing for it. Wait a bit." Turning swiftly on
his heel he walked away, and Lande thought he could
hear him muttering to himself. However, he did not
look round, and soon disappeared in the dusk. Lande
gazed despairingly at his retreating figure, and then having
put on his clothes, he hastened to rejoin Maria and her
companion.

"He's in a desperate mood now, but when he gets
calmer I'll go and see him," such was his vague consolation.

" This is where I heard you scream," the artist was
eagerly explaining to Maria, as he proceeded to pick up
his paint-box and easel that were lying in the road. " I
had seen you already, and wanted to catch you up, but

IVANLANDE 157

I lost my palette knife, and it took mc a long white to find
it. However, thank goodness I still got here in time ! "

As Lande came up behind, Maria hardly looked round.
He smiled kindly at her, but she instantly turned away,
finding it difficult to repress another fit of nervous laughter.
At that actual moment Lande appeared to her simply
contemptible and absurd. Molotchaief scornfully sur-
veyed him as he exclaimed, " Ah I Here comes the
hero 1 "

" I am not a hero ! " replied Lande with a touch of
indignation unusual for him.

" That's pretty clear," laughed the other mockingly.
As they walked home together Molotchaief continued to
jeer at Lande while he boasted of his own tremendous
muscular strength. Lande only smiled mournfully, wkile
Maria Nicolaievna glanced sideways at Molotchaief with
singular physical curiosity, as her pink nostrils, sensitive
as those of a thoroughbred, expanded and quivered.
Interesting as he was to her, she yet felt for him a certain
repulsion.

IX

It was still dark, and the moon had not yet risen as Laude
neared home. His thoughts, strangely cold and keen,
were continually of Tkatchof.

" When he laughed at me it was more painful to him
than to me. I saw that. That's a dreadful thing, but
who is to blame ? I or he ? I don't know. One must
fight, yes ; but how can one fight in the dark ? "

Lande walked on in the quiet dusk, gazing at the
ground, although his eyes saw nothing.

" Ah ! Daddy ! " cried a child's voice despairingly ;
anJ then the dark deserted street rang with wild screams.

" Daddy ! Daddy ! I won't do it again ! " was the
child's helpless cry, as if it were trying to defend itself.

" You won't, won't you ? You won't, won't you ? "
growled a rasping bass voice repeatedly, and between
each repetition of these words it was as though something
dreadful were being done.

Some one was standing beneath a window to listen.
Dim in the dusk, Lande recognized the figure of a girl
with pale features and large shining eyes. It was
Semenof's sister.

" Is that you, Sonia ? " he said, as he grasped her thin
little hand.

" What is the matter ? "

" Listen ! He's beating him to death ! " she replied in
a girlish voice, as she gazed up at the window, craning her
neck in a wild, eager movement of curiosity.

Roused from his reverie, Lande instantly understood
all, as, uttering a groan, he dashed through the little
yard, knocking his knee in the darkness against a post.
Running upstairs, in a trice he reached the door of the
room, which he flung open. A large lamp was burning
there, which shed a golden glow upon numerous sacred
pictures hung up in one corner of the room. In the
middle of it, facing the door, stood Firsof, coatless. The
little metal buttons of his waistcoat shone. Bending

158

IVANLANDE 159

forward in a strange, almost a libidinous attitude, he was
beating with a leather strap a small red rump wedged
tightly between his bony knees.

" You wTon't do it again, eh ? " he kept repeating, as
he viciously belaboured the tender pink flesh. Infuriated
at the sight, and half dazed, Lande gave Firsof a violent
push, so that he nearly fell, and, to save himself, clutched
at the table, thus releasing the child and dropping the
strap. Something rattled and was broken to pieces on
the floor. Lande put his arms round the child that was
sobbing violently, and turned to Firsof with wide, angry
eyes. " Stop it, Firsof ! " he cried vehemently.

For a moment Firsof stared at him, not recognizing
him, and then turned very red as the wicked light in his
eyes went out. Clutching his head convulsively, he
murmured :

" Ah ! It's you, Ivan Ferapontovitch ! Excuse me
. . . er . . . I . . ."

" Again, Firsof, again ? Aren't you ashamed of your-
self ? Doesn't the sinfulness of it shock you ? " said
Lande as he pushed the child towards Sonia, who stood
silent in the doorway.

Firsof's long yellow face turned a fiery red. " Excuse
me, Ivan Ferapontovitch," he said hoarsely, " you do
not know ... I had good reason for "

" Reason ? What reason could there be ? " was Lande's
indignant rejoinder. " Nothing could possibly justify
such monstrous cruelty."

Firsof, advancing, raised his trembling, bony hand.
" Yes, there could ! " he cried, as he displayed the yellow
stumps of his decayed teeth and glared at Lande. " Do
you know what this little beast has been doing ? Do you
know, I say ? " he shouted exultantly.

" What ? "

" I'll show you, and you can admire it for yourself ! "
said Firsof, as with his lean finger he pointed at the sacred
pictures.

Lande failed to notice anything at first except a paint-
box, a brush, and a glass of greenish, turbid water,

" Well, what is it t " he repeated.

160 IVANLANDE

" Look here." Firsof caught hold of Lande's arm and
dragged him towards the sacred pictures.

Two of the scenes from Holy Writ had been foolishly
daubed with paint after the manner of a child. The faces
jrf the women had been embellished with beards and
moustaches.

" Oh ! I see ! " was Lande's placid comment.

The boy still sobbed.

" Don't cry ! We won't let him do it any more," said
Sonia mechanically, her eyes still fixed on Lande.

" But he's only a little child, Firsof," said Lande as
he took the boy's hand and sought to soothe him.

" I know that ! " snorted Firsof. " If he hadn't been
a child, I daresay I should have thrashed him to death. "^

" How can you talk like that ? " Lande made a
gesture of impatience.

" Yes, certainly ; I'd have thrashed him to death ! "
shouted Firsof stubbornly, as he rapped the table with his
knuckles.

" Come, come, Firsof," expostulated Lande, taking the
other's hand. " Don't talk like that ! Such a trifling
matter, too 1 "

At this Firsof fired up, apparently expecting such a
remark.

" A trifling matter, indeed ! " he drawled.

" Yes. How can one possibly say it's a serious one ?
Don't you realize that your offence is far greater than your
poor boy's ? "

" Aba ! So you think it's a trifling matter, do you ? "
repeated Firsof. Then he suddenly shrieked in the
previous tone of sham fury :

" A trifling matter, is it ? " And he stamped his foot.
" Get out with you ! Get out, you blasphemous little
devil ! Get out ! " he yelled.

" Firsof ! What's the matter with you ? " exclaimed
Lande aghast.

44 Get out ! " roared Firsof, purposely deaf to all remon-
strance. Foaming at the mouth, and stamping his feet,
he worked himself up into a state of absolute frenzy.

For the second time in his life it seemed to Lande that

IVANLANDE 161

it is not man himself that screams thus, but some cunning
demon within him. Filled though he was with disgust,
he would not let this influence him, but resolved ta
withdraw.

" I am going," he said hurriedly. " You're not your-
self to-day. I'll come and see you to-morrow. But I
had better take Seriosha with me, or else you might "

Choking with rage, Firsof glared at him, but said
nothing. Lande turned to Sonia.

" We'll take him home with us, Sonia," he said.

Sonia glanced swiftly at him and nodded assent. Then
with an effort she lifted the sturdy little boy and went to
the door.
% " We're going, Firsof," said Lande again, " and we'll
take Seriosha with us."

" Good luck go with you ! " cried Firsof, as he stood
there rooted to the spot, staring at the sacred pictures.

•* We're only taking charge of him because you're so
upset," added Lande kindly.

" All right ! All right ! " replied Firsof, as he nodded
his head. " Mind you bring him back, and then we
shall see what happens."

For an instant Lande's sad eyes were turned to the
speaker, who, however, would not meet their steadfast
gaze, but who looked away, at the sacred pictures, the
walls and the floor.

" What on earth is the matter with you ? " exclaimed
Lande sharply. " You've never behaved to me like this
before."

" Perhaps not ! Perhaps not ! " muttered Firsof. " I
daresay you think you're always in the right. But I
wouldn't advise you to be so cocksure. There are others
as good as you, though they mayn't shove themselves
forward quite so much. Yes, that there are ; and — as
for that little brute, you'll see if I don't "

" But he's your son ! " cried Lande, and he struck his
breast with his fist.

" It's no business of yours to teach me my duty towards
my son. Do you hear ? It's not for you to say what's
right, nor for me, either. God knows best as to that. My

162 IVANLANDE

son, indeed ! I know all about my son. My son doesn't
come before my God t " he cried. " Here ! Look,
look ! " And he began to finger the pictures nervously,
as he dropped something on the floor, muttering inco-
herently.

Lande looked at him in amazement, and then, shrugging
his shoulders, walked to the door.

" I had better go now," he said. " My presence only
irritates you."

Sonia stood waiting on the stairs, with the boy in her
arms.

" Let us go. It's impossible to speak to the father.
He's nearly mad ! " He took the child in his arms and
pressed its little soft cheek against his own. Sonia fol-
lowed, gazing with a certain strange rapture at Lande's
neck as mechanically she wiped her hand still wet with
the child's tears.

On the following day Firsof, in frock-coat and high collar,
looking dry and straight as a stick, entered Semenof's
room. Lande sat near the window, busily engaged in
some copying work which Semenof had got for him. The
latter lay in bed, smoking.

" Ah ! Firsof ! " cried Lande, jumping up to greet
him, and making a blot on the neatly written page as he
did so. Semenof noticed the blot at a distance, but said
nothing.

Firsof looked coldly at Lande and did not offer to shake
hands.

" I have come to fetch my son," he said, in a dry, official
tone.

" Seriosha's been in the garden a long while. . . ."

" Sonia took him out for a walk," added Semenof
unconcernedly.

" Thank you," replied Firsof, bowing to Semenof in the
same formal manner.

Then he turned to go.

" What's the meaning of this ? " asked Lande sadly.

" Nothing." Firsof shrugged his shoulders, vastly
pleased with himself.

" Don't go on like this," remonstrated Lande.

" It's such an idiotic pose ! " said Semenof angrily.

Firsof swung round sharply, and his wooden figure
became suddenly pliant.

" I don't know who is the idiot ! " he retorted sharply.
" But, under the circumstances, I slfould like to explain
myself."

So saying, he placed his hat and stick on a chair and
sat down brusquely beside them.

" Somewhat necessary, I should say," snorted Semenof.
" Jackass ! "

" Hush, Vassia ! " said Lande.

Firsof pretended not to have Y ewd, and turned to
Lande.

163

164 IVAN LANDE

" I find myself obliged to go back some little way," he
began pompously, pleased at the opportunity of deliver-
ing the speech that had evidently been prepared.

" You, Ivan Ferapontovitch, at one time had con-
siderable influence over me. That I must admit. In
fact, I do honestly admit it. I might even go so far as to
say that we were friends."

A dull red hue overspread his flabby cheeks, and for a
moment he appeared to halt in his speech, as if afraid
that Lande might contradict him.

" I always liked you, Firsof," said the latter.

A subtle, self-complacent smile crossed Firsof's face,
but his tone at once became insolent and overbearing.

" My first superficial impression of you and your actions
was what allured me, and, being young at the time, I
could not see their real meaning."

" I don't think I knew you before you were grown up,"
replied Lande simply.

" Well, well, be that as it may," and again Firsof's face
turned a muddy red. " Of course, I . . . er . . .
meant to say that when you, as a youth, went about
visiting the sick and the poor, sharing everything with
them and all the rest of it, I thought that I had met with
a real, true Christian. Your speeches strengthened my
belief, also. I felt great sympathy for you ; that I must
admit. It was your eloquence that made you the centre
of so much youthful enthusiasm ; in fact, by many you
were idolized. Even I, a man — I may say this without
boasting — a man of principle and sound integrity, for a
long while could not grasp the real significance of your
words and conduct."

" And what, according to you, was their real sig-
nificance ? " asked Lande eagerly.

" Surely you yourself know that ? " Firsof s face
assumed a sly expression.

" No, I don't ! "

" Well, if you must know, it was this. As you never
attended mass, nor took any part whatever in the services
of the Church, your object was to point out, indeed to
emphasize the fact, that the real Christian religion lay

IVAN LAND E 165

outside the pale of the Church. Yes, that's what your
object was ! And you managed to lead astray many
who gave up going to church, and, in fact, began to
criticize its doctrines ! "

" Many, yes ; but not myself. Of course you didn't
like it, but I wasn't one of your silly student-admirers,
and you couldn't hoodwink me. More likely is it that I
may be able to lead you back to the right path ! "

" My God ! " signed Lande, " what are you talking
about ? "

Semenof tossed restlessly in his bed, hardly able to
contain himself.

" Yes, yes," repeated Firsof consequentially. " You
couldn't hoodwink me."

" And still I don't know what you're driving at ! "
exclaimed Lande, in bewilderment.

"Then I'll tell you," shouted Firsof. His grey
whiskers bristled ferociously. He was evidently in a
fix, and the fact wounded his vanity. " Allow me to
ask you this plain question : ' Are you a Christian, or are
you not ? ' "

Semenof snorted.

" I really don't know. Hadn't we better discuss this
some other time, eh ? " was Lande' s gentle effort to turn
the conversation, as he felt sorry for Firsof.

But the latter insisted.

" Do you believe in the holy Orthodox Church ? "

" What a question to ask me, Firsof ? Why ? If you
particularly want to know, I don't believe in the Church
at all, and "

" I thought as much ! " interrupted Firsof, rubbing
his hands in glee. "This speech, coupled with many
others, and notably with your having disowned your
mother — ■ — "

" That's not true ! I have never disowned my mother.
I merely decided to live apart from her.

" What's the use of wasting words on that fool ? "
exclaimed Semenof suddenly, as he sat up in bed, livid
with rage. " Why do you let every lout interfere like
this?"

166 IVANLANDE

" I quite understand," hissed Firsof between his teeth,
as he took up his cap to go. " I have no further questions
to ask, although there are one or two things which I
should like to have said with a view to their being of
benefit to you. However — no matter ! I now know
what I have to do and you may be sure that I shall act
in accordance with my duty and my conscience, I can
safely say that !

Firsof got up triumpl ant.

" Oh you old dung-1 ag ! " cried Semenof furiously.
He strove to rise, but shaken by a terrible paroxysm of
coughing, fell back, with his face on the pillows. One
gaunt foot which protruded from the coverlet trembled
convulsively.

With malicious satisfaction Firsof watched him.

" Aha ! " he muttered superciliously between his gleam-
ing teeth. Then, turning to Lande :

" I have only this much to tell you : what you do is,
all of it, mere hypocrisy and falsehood. You have not
got the real true faith, though you may be able to impose
upon those whom you consider your inferiors by — in short,
you are a servant of Antichrist — and "

" Go to the devil ! " shrieked Semenof, mad with rage.
" Get out with you ! "

Firsof gave him a disdainful look, and, putting on his
cap, opened the door.

" A half-dead dog like that t " he said venomously.
" The least he could do would be to hold Ms tongue when
God had struck him down ! "

Lande stood there, pale and confused, smiling feebly.
Semenof looked at him, and then, as if ashamed of
his outburst, with trembling hands began to dress him-
self.

" Why all this hate and fury ? Good God ! What
have I done ? "

" Simply don't take any notice," was Semenof's quiet
reply.

But Lande did not listen to him. His one over-
mastering desire was at once, without delay, to quench
the flame of hate which all unwittingly he had lighted,

IVAN LAND E 167

and which burned his heart beyond endurance. Without
a moment's reflection he rushed out of the room.

" Where are you going ? " cried Semenof, who dis-
approved of such conduct on Lande's part, as being
unnecessary, and, in his opinion, humiliating.

" I shall be back directly," cried Lande, as he ran down
stairs to Firsof's house

" Firsof ! Open the door ! " he cried. " There's
some mistake ! Open the door, and I'll explain every-
thing. Let me in ! "

Not a sound. Lande looked round mournfully, and
bit his lip to daunt his pain. Just then, from the garden
came Sonia, slim and graceful, wearing a thin white
handkerchief over her head to protect her from the sun.

" Vania," she said earnestly as she looked at him with
her large, thoughtful eyes, " you had better go back.
You're only humiliating yourself."

" Sonetchka," he replied, " how can I ? It's awful !
Why is he so furious with me?"

" He's a blackguard," replied Sonia with emphasis.
" He's hated you for a long while, because you are better
than he is."

" Oh, what nonsense, Sonia ! " protested Lande.

*' It's the truth ! " she persisted, as she plucked the
handkerchief from her head.

" Well, perhaps it is. But, Sonia, it's not a question
of who is the better. That's not the important point."

On the steps stood Semenof, half-dressed, unkempt, and
the colour of saffron.

" Lande," he cried, " come back at once ! Do you
hear me ? If not, I'll thrash you, by God I will ! "

In his voice love and pity could plainly be heard, and
also a certain frank astonishment.

XI

That evening a light was burning in Firsofs little house.
By the dim yellow light he sat bolt upright at the table
writing out a denunciation of Lande addressed to the
Bishop. The noise of the pen was like that of a mouse
scratching, and the air was sultry and oppressive, charged
with the intense hate that filled Firsofs soul. The
white moon shone through the window and gave radiance
to the cool, azure night. It would have been easy to read
by moonlight on the boulevard where everything had
a pale blue lustre as of delicate enamel. The shadows
of promenaders lay in sharply defined outlines on the
smooth, shining earth.

Quitting the crowd, Lande and Semenof, the former in
his old tunic and the latter in a student's cloak closely
buttoned up, walked to the cliff, where they sat down
on the bench.

" And I tell you," said Semenof, waving his stick,
" that men in their search for so-called happiness have
worried themselves quite enough. It's high time that
they stopped."

" No," replied Lande, sadly but firmly, " that is
despair ; and despair is a sin ; it shows that one has let
one's courage sink. We do not know what is God's
will, and thus we cannot detach ourselves from Him of
our own accord. Whatever happens we are bound to
obey the will of the Power that sent us here. And, as I
think, we ought not to give way to bitterness or to
despair. We must strive to do, as best we may, that
which we cannot leave undone. That is what life means
for us. That is the best creed for mankind."

Semenof waved his stick contemptuously, and by his
black shadow this gesture was repeated.

"And what is going to show us the best way to do
such things ? " he asked.

" Our heart," replied Lande with conviction. " Our

168

IVAN LANDE 169

*' Oh, my friend, men's consciences are not all
alike ! "

" There is no need to think about that, Vassia. It is
only necessary for a man to believe sincerely that what
he does is right and for the best."

" All very fine, my dear fellow," replied Semenof
chuckling, " but there's not much use in that so far as I
can see."

From the dark background of houses and trees that stood
out clearly in the moonlight they saw figures approaching.
Shishmariof and Molotchaief came up to them, with Maria
Nicolaievna and Sonia, the latter clinging to her com-
panion with that almost passionate devotion which very
young girls invariably feel for one that is older than them-
selves and who has beauty.

As with some hesitation she shook hands with Lande,
Maria Nicolaievna involuntarily smiled as she recollected
his appearance on the evening of their adventure with
Tkatchof. Turning away, she placed her soft plump arm
round Sonia. Molotchaief stood, tall and handsome,
at the edge of the cliff, as if riveted thereto by the
moon's cold silvern light, and little Shishmariof was talk-
ing volubly to Lande.

" I say, Vania, this is really too much ! " he said,
chafing his hands nervously. " Are you really quite
unable to distinguish one kind of man from another ? "
This Firsof is an absolute swine, a canting humbug and
a spy. He belongs to the Real Russian League, and yet
you associate with him. Sonia tells me that you almost'
implored him to forgive you."

"He is not such a bad fellow," was Lande's quiet
answer.

" But he's always up to some blackguardly trick."

" He doesn't really know what he's doing," replied
Lande, " nor how much he harms himself by it. One
ought to try and explain this to him and show him
sympathy, I think."

" What damned nonsense ! " cried Semenof, as he spat
angrily.

" Don't be cross with me, my boy," said Lande gently

170 IVANLANDE

to Semenof. " I know that I am always upsetting you,
but, really, I. . . ."

" If you want to know," interrupted Shishmario
excitedly, "sympathy of that sort is merely absurd
Love should be given to those who merit our love, or at
least our pity, but he who only deserves contempt ought
to be despised and exterminated, just as one exterminates
disease- producing germs so as to purify the air which we
all breathe. This famous love of one's neighbour, indis-
criminate, nonsensical as it is, has only served to fostei
a lot that is harmful and that ought most certainly to
have been destroyed."

" There are many people, whom we — that is, you and
I, consider harmful. But I don t believe that among
men there can be harmful ones."

"It's impossible for you not to believe it," rejoined
Shishmariof hotly, as he adjusted the sleeve of his shor
tunic.

Sonia drew a deep breath, as she watched Lande
intently.

" No, I don't believe it," said Lande, shaking his head.
For though there may be wicked men, they are not
harmful men. If it were not for their badness the best
qualities of the human spirit, self-forgetfulness, forgive-
ness, self-sacrifice, and pure affection could never be
revealed or evolved. But these qualities must be made
manifest as, without them, life would mean merely
senseless vegetation."

" Thank you ! " exclaimed Shishmariof. " At that
rate one might say that a stink was useful because it
taught one to appreciate fresh air ! "

"Yes, perhaps," replied Lande smiling. "Only the
two things are very different. So much goes to make a
man. He is too full of beauty and strength for such a
comparison to be possible."

" When shall you have finished arguing, gentlemen ? "
interposed Molotchaief. It seems to me that you'll go
on fighting like this as long as you live. I vote we go for
a row on the river. Let each of us live as he likes ! "

" You have uttered a profound truth," replied Semenof,

IVANLANDE 171

as he waved his hand. " Yet, in accordance with this
wise remark, I shall not go on the river, but home to
bed."

" And I can't come, either," said Shishmariof, " as I've
got some more reading to get through."

Lande smiled.

" You'll have to go without us, Maria Nicolaievna, for
I must get back, too. I don't feel very well."

With this they separated. As they drew out into the
centre of the stream, amid cooler, more spacious sur-
roundings, they breathed with ease. Sonia crouched at
the bottom of the boat and gazed at the moon, while
I Maria looked down at the deep dark water.

" Oh ! it frightens me ! " she said, leaning back.

Molotchaief laughed jovially, and began to sing. His
voice, like a challenge, went echoing across the smooth
surface of the stream.

" Here comes the steamer," said Sonia gently.
Looking round, they saw something black and immense
which rose up close to them out of the darkness. Smoke,
as a huge pillar, suddenly ascended, smirching the heaven
and the stars. A red light faced them like an avid, fiery
eye. They could hear the surge and swirl of the water
and the scream of the whistle which rent the air, as in
that very moment a monstrous shadow obscured the
moon. Tossed by a large wave, through clouds of blind-
ing smoke, the boat rocked violently, and, then, as it
rebounded, very nearly capsized. But the shadow fled,
. and the moon swam upward in the starry skies, as, touched
by her light, the eddying water glistened for very joy.

" Wonderful, wasn't it ? " exclaimed Molotchaief
fascinated by the sight.

" Yes, wonderful," echoed Maria Nicolaievna in her
musical voice, as she clasped both hands to her bosom.
Then, radiant with youth and life, she added :

" My heart beat so fast ! I thought we should have
been drowned ! "

" I wasn't frightened in the least," remarked Sonia
calmly. " It doesn't matter when we die, does it ? I
wasn't at all afraid."

172 IVANLANDE

Molotchaief stared at her in comic amazement. " Good
gracious ! Another little Lande 1 One's enough,'
surely ! "

As she looked at him Maria Nicolaievna thought what
a strong, handsome fellow he was. She heaved a deep
sigh and then joined in his laughter.

" You can't understand Lande," replied Sonia com-
batively.

"Perhaps I can't," was the contemptuous answer."
" What does that matter ? Instead, though, I can
understand what life and love and beauty mean. Life to
us means youth, strength, and beauty, doesn't it, Marm
Nicolaievna ? "

" Yes," she answered gently.

" Ah ! " shouted Molotchaief. The wild, passionate
cry rang out across the water, vibrating with the strange
delicious joy of life.

XII

It was so dark in the warm humid garden, that its trees
•and shrubs could no longer be discerned, but they formed
one sombre mass where glow-worms flickered like mimic
lanterns on the gloomy river of the night.

Molotchaief and Maria Nicolaievna wandered along
the path, groping their way as best they could.

" Let us sit down," said Maria Nicolaievna, as they at
last reached a bench. Here, too, on all sides the little
* white sparks were gleaming. Stooping down, Molotchaief
took up a glow-worm from the moist warm grass, which
shed a bluish phosphorescent light on his broad strong
hand. Maria Nicolaievna leant forward, and in the
faint gleam their two heads touched.

" It's still shining," said Maria Nicolaievna softly, as
if she feared to frighten the little luminous worm. As
her sweet breath touched his cheek, Molotchaief, looking
i up, caught a glimpse of her delicate profile. Close to
them something fell gently on to the grass, as a bough
rustled overhead. They both sighed and looked round.
Molotchaief carefully shook the glow-worm off his hand,
and now all was darkness, while even stronger became the
odour of the warm, moist turf.

Molotchaief gently put his arm round her soft, trembling
t body and drew it closer to his. As she leaned backwards,
her hair drooped across his shoulder. By some invincible
might they seemed fused and welded. Yet suddenly
Maria Nicolaievna slipped like a snake from Molotchaiefs
embrace, and laughed a silvery mocking laugh as she
sprang aside, which woke the echoes in the dreaming
garden. Molotchaief rose to his feet in amazement.
t " Maria Nicolaievna ! What is it ? Why are you
laughing ? "

" What ? " she asked, feigning curiosity ; and to him
her voice sounded mocking.

" What's the joke ? "

Again her merry laugh rang out.

173

174 IVANLANDE

" Ah ! " he cried hoarsely, as, lowering his head like a
bull, he lurched towards her. He seemed to become
oblivious of all save the fact that she by her wily and
mocking laughter was luring him on. In the heat of his
passion he felt that she burned for him with like ardour,
and that she was only afraid, as she teased and defied
him.

To his instinctive desire was now added sensuous hate ;
a lust for brutal vengeance at once lascivious and cruel.

" No ! No ! No ! " cried the girl, as she lightly struck
his hand with a twig, splashing it with drops of dew.

" Let's go home. This evening you're too

dangerous ! " she said, still trembling, and yet enjoying her
triumph, as she mockingly caught hold of his arm.

And they departed. She glanced up laughingly at his
face and mocked him for being thus helpless, while he,
awkward, lustful, and brutish, walked tamely, timidly
beside her, restraining his fierce longing to crush her in
his arms, fling her down on the sward and by the might
of his passion accomplish her destruction.

XIII

This was the day on which Semenof left for Yalta by the
afternoon train. According to the doctors, whom he did
not believe, though he wanted to do so, it was there that
his life might be saved. All his friends came to bid him
good-bye. He was feeling very ill indeed. He had lost
all joy in life. A vague, gnawing pain blunted all his
sensations and impressions. It was like a thick veil,
making everything dim and indistinct. This journey
roused in him no interest whatever. The physical part of
him seemed dead already, while his spirit had sunk down
into the fathomless depths of his own misery. That all
his friends had come to bid him good-bye neither pleased
nor vexed him. It did not interest him in the least.
Only for Lande did he feel concern, and this strange
solicitude which he showed towards him appeared to the
others most remarkable ; a smile, as it were, on the face of
a corpse.

• " Well, Lande, so you'll live on here, eh ? " he asked
huskily. " And what about food ? "

" I shall get some, somehow," said Lande smiling.
" Behold the birds of the air ; they sow not "

" Silly fool ! " cried Semenof irritably. " You're not
a bird. If nobody feeds you, you'll die of hunger."
"It's really too absurd! If I were God Almighty, do
you know what I'd do with you ? Shove you in a mad-
house 1 "

Lande laughed merrily.

" My dear Vassia, you're the best fellow that I have
ever met."

" And you're the biggest fool ! " replied Semenof,
waving his hand petulantly. After a pause, he added :
k " Shishmariof promised to get you some teaching."

" Ah ! That'll be very nice," said Lande.

Just then Shishmariof and Molotchaief came in together.

" So you'ie off ? " asked the latter carelessly.

" Of course ! " was Semenof's snappish reply.
175

176 IVANLANDE

" I've already got one pupil for Lande," said Shish-
mariof.

" There, you see ! " said Semenof to Lande.

** It's time to start," added Shishmariof, as he looked
at his watch.

While Semenof went out of the room for a moment
Molotchaief asked impassively :

" Where's he going ? To Yalta ? How will he make
a living ? "

" As a private tutor," replied Shishmariof, shrugging
his shoulders. " Students often do that sort of thing."

" Private tutor ? " repeated Molotchaief in astonish-
ment, and for a moment there was a faint look of pity on
his face.

" How can he go as a private tutor ? Why, a puff of
wind would blow him away ! "

" Nonsense ! " replied Shishmariof, looking as if he
were going to say something pleasant. " A poor devil
like that can't afford to pick and choose. He's not been
blown away yet, and he'll have to get along somehow."

At this moment a black, tattered parasol appeared
below the window, followed by a second, a bright red
one,

" Here come Maria Nicolaievna and Sonia," said
Lande.

With Semenof they then entered. Sonia, looking
grave, sat down in the corner, facing Lande. Maria
Nicolaievna seemed nervous and ill at ease. She stood,
laughing, in the middle of the room, and twirled her
parasol, yet, though she glanced about her in all direc-
tions, she never appeared to see Molotchaief.

When he observed her come in, one of the muscles
of his knee began to quiver. He got up and walked to
the window, as he glanced furtively at her from time to
time.

The cab now arrived. One could hear it rattle and
the horses snort.

" Well, I must go," said Semenof listlessly.

Lande was about to lift the trunk, but Molotchaief
called ©ut, " Here ! what are you doing ? " and picked

IVANLANDE 177

up the trunk as if it were a feather, pleased to be able to
show how strong he was. Maria Nicolaievna glanced
at him for a moment as she turned to look at Semenof,
who already sat huddled up in the carriage in his faded
green cloak with its tarnished buttons, and his cap pulled
right down over his ears.

" Well, good-bye ! " he said sadly, as the horse started.

" Au revoir ! Au revoir I " cried a chorus of bright
young voices.

"Hi! Stop!" The driver pulled up. "So you,

Lande, are . Oh ! Well, it's not my business !

As you please ! Good-bye ! " And he drove away.
They could see his bent figure being jolted along the
street ; it had almost a sinister appearance in all that
warmth and brightness, as if only on that the blessed sun
would not shine. Sonia wept silently.

I will go back with you, Maria Nicolaievna," said
Molotchaief. His commanding tone alarmed her, and
she replied :

*' I am going to stop here, with Sonia," though, till
then, she had not thought of doing so.

Molotchaief reddened, and again that animal desire for
revenge came over him.

" Good ! " exclaimed Lande with evident pleasure.
" It is just with you that I wanted to have a talk.5*

The glance that Molotchaief gave Lande was full of
jealousy and anger as he replied curtly, " As you please !
Good-bye ! Come along, Shishmariof ! "

In Semenof s cool, empty room, Maria Nicolaievna sat
down near the window that faced the garden, with Sonia
beside her, while Lande stood close by.

" What was it that you had to tell me ? " asked Maria
Nicolaievna smiling.

" You're so young, and beautiful, and good," said he,
smiling in his turn, " that's why it was with you that I
wanted to talk."

She laughed merrily.

** As if I really was ! " she exclaimed.

" Of course you are ! And what a grand thing that is ! j

" What is ? "

178 IVAN LANDE

" Why, that beautiful young women exist. I always
think that God only bestowed feminine beauty and
youth and tenderness upon men so that they should not
entirely despair of attaining happiness and love while
their terribly grievous and joyless work in this life endures."

Sonia watched him intently, and at the sound of his
voice, the colour came into her pale cheeks.

" So that, when this work is accomplished, women
will no longer be needed ? asked Maria Nicolaievna
pensively.

" Not at all ? Why should that be ? " replied Lande
with enthusiasm. " They will remain as splendid as
ever they were, but all of us, and all things, will then be
just as splendid and youthful and kindly. All will then
be bright and joyous ; but at present women are but as
a sunbeam that comes to cheer us, a ray of that most
glorious future."

After a pause he added :

" Perhaps I am wrong, but I always feel sorry when a
young, happy girl gives herself to some eager, brutal man.
Though I feel glad that she should be happy, at the same
time I am sorry for her. It is as if some one should take
possession of a radiant little flame that shone upon us all,
bear it hence, and put it out. It is not any base motive
that causes me to have this feeling. It only grieves me
that there are far too few of us men who possess such
little flames."

" But it cannot be otherwise," she replied softly, as
she bent her head, thinking that Lande alluded to her.

" No, no, of course not. Only I am sorry that youth and
beauty cannot be of universal benefit. Yet men think
that would be harmful. I don't know — perhaps "

Maria Nicolaievna, as she turned her eyes to Lande,
felt, as never before, a strange passionate longing for
life and love ; to love her fellow-creatures ; to get all
that she could from this pleasant, shining world ; to
yield up her youth, her beauty, and her strong, splendid
body. It was a sudden thrill that, passing, left behind it
calm, tender sympathy for this gentle, delicate man
with the glorious eyes who stood beside her. As she

IVANLANDE 179

saw their frank, happy expression, she longed to be one
with him,

" I have never felt such strange joy in living as now,"
she said.

" Ah ! you must always have that feeling," said Lande.
" It is indeed a joy to be conscious of so much beauty,
and to know that it gives to others such delight."

" Lande, where are you ? " cried Shishmariof from
outside.

Lande hurriedly left the room, and the girls could hear
Shishmariof say urgently : " We came back to let you
know that the mother of that pupil wants to see you
at once."

" I'll come at once," said Lande mechanically, almost
mournfully.

Maria Nicolaievna sighed deeply as she put her arm
round Soma's slender neck and drew her closer.

" Maria," cried Sonia solemnly, " you must marry
Vania ! "

A faint blush overspread the girl's features as she
tenderly kissed Soma's brow.

Lande came back.

" I am sorry, but I have to go," he said.

Maria rose and arranged her hair as she again gazed
at Lande.

" I'll come with you," she said. Outside, on the steps,
next to Shishmariof, she caught sight of Molotchaief's
handsome face. He looked somewhat pale as he stared
grimly at her, and she turned away in annoyance.

" How could I behave like that yesterday ! " she
thought.

Left by herself, Sonia sat for a long time motionless,
gazing at the garden trees until they faded from her
sight. Then, rising, she sighed hysterically, rolled up
the sleeve of her dress, and bit her pale, thin arm as hard
as she could. On the tender skin two curved rows of
red spots were visible. Sonia watched how swiftly the
blood filled these marks, which formed a little crimson
crown.

XIV

Late that evening, as with bowed head Lande walked
homeward after seeing his pupil, he thought to himself :

" Fifteen roubles. . . . Five will be quite enough for
me. I must send ten to Vassia. . . . Only I'm afraid
that he'll be angry. Ah ! well, I must write and tell
him that I've got two lessons ! "

This idea cheered him.

It had now grown quite dark, so that the outlines of
objects were blurred and dim. At the open window,
which looked like a black spot, sat Lande's mother. He
recognized her while at a distance, and his heart smote
him. This was the first time that he had seen her since
she had told him that she did not wish to know anything
about him until he had changed his ridiculous views
concerning life. As she shrieked this at him he had not
been able to look her in the face, but went away, deeply
distressed ; nor, since then, had he ventured to visit her
lest he should again hear that strange, discordant voice.

Yet now, as he saw her sitting there at the window,
bent and forlorn, his heart was filled with tender pity,
and hastening towards her, he silently embraced her.
She said not a word, but only wept tears of joy as she
kissed his head.

" Mother, dearest mother ! " he whispered, pressing
his lips to her trembling hand.

" My own darling boy ! You won't go away any more,
will you ? You won't forsake your old mother ? " she
asked.

" No, I'll not leave you. I won't go away," he mur-
mured tenderly.

Slowly, imperceptibly, night came on. Lande still
stood by the window-sill. In the whole world this was
all that seemed lacking to him, this tranquil love and
endearment.

From the other side of the ditch a tall, dark figure
advanced,

180

IVANLANDE 181

" Ivan Ferapontovitch, is that you ? "

Lande, recognizing Molotchaief, said hurriedly :

" I'll be back in a moment, mother," as he went out
to Molotchaief.

" What is it ? " he asked.

Molotchaief was breathing hard, and he looked con-
fused.

" I should like to have a word with you. Hadn't we
better walk on ? "

" Yes, certainly."

So they went along the dark, deserted road. Molot-
chaief still seemed breathless and excited.

"I wanted to say ... so you've made it up with
your mother ? "

Lande smiled.

" 1 had never quarrelled with her."

" Oh, of course ; I quite forgot that you never quarrel
with anybody, never upset anybody," sneered Molotchaief,
" but I may as well tell you that you've upset me\"

" Really ? " asked Lande with concern.

" None of your nonsense, please ! " he shouted roughly,
as he stood still. " You know very well what I mean."

** Don't shout at me like that," said Lande. " Indeed
I had no intention of. . . ."

" I'll tell you what," cried Molotchaief, furious now,
as he flourished the handle of his riding- whip in Lande's
face, " if you cross my path I'll simply fling you aside
like some old rag 1 "

Choking with rage, he turned sharply on his heel and
hurried away.

** What does it all mean ? " said Lande to himself
sadly.

XV

It was a special gala night in the Municipal Gardens,
and Maria Nicolaievna went there with Lande. For the
last fortnight she had been his constant companion, as
in his presence she felt calm and happy ; sure, too, that
her affection for him was simple and sincere. Lande
always spoke in the same gentle, kindly way, never giving
any hint of passion or desire. Nor did she at any time
talk to him of love, though deep in her heart she cherished
what as yet was but a golden dream.

She had not met Molotchaief for a long time. He
had at first sought to draw her into conversation by a
blunt reference to that night of rapture. When, however,
she shrank from him in alarm, he threatened to go away ;
in fact, he did leave the town for a short time. To her
this was a relief. Yet, as soon as she heard of his return,
she became pleasurably anxious and eager.

" What is it ? " she asked herself. " Am I really so
bad ? I love Lande, that good, pure man. Not that
animal ! "

Despite her repugnance, she still thought of Molotchaief
with curiosity and interest. She had a presentiment
that he would come to the Gardens that night.

"He'll come! I know he will," she thought. "I
must go, I must go."

Yet she did not go, but waited, deceiving herself.

" After all, what is he to me ? I'm only afraid of him
— afraid of his brutality." Thus she sought to justify
herself, while yet aware that she lied.

The music of the band ceased, and behind the motion-
less trees there was silence, broken only by the shuffling
feet of promenaders on the gravel- walks.

" Do you know that Sonia is going to undertake a
pilgrimage on foot ? " said Lande.

M Impossible ! " cried Maria Nicolaievna. " Where is
she going ? "

" It's over a hundred versts away. She's chosen her

182

IVANLANDE 183

travelling companion, a simple old woman, and now she
wants to start. She asked me for my advice."

" And you advised her to go ? "

" No. She asked me in such a way that I saw at once
that there was no need for her to go. I said nothing,"
replied Lande gravely.

" She's in love with you," observed Maria Nicolaievna,
and, though she did not notice it, it displeased her to say
this.

" No," affirmed Lande calmly. " I daresay that you
really think that she is in love with me. I know what
you mean. But this is not so. She is not in love with
me, but with — how shall I express it ? — with what is great.
Sonia is a wonderful girl. She has a great heart, and yet
so little love. There are people like that, and they are
always unhappy. In their hearts they would like to hold
something enormous — the whole world. They are ready
to do deeds of heroism, to suffer martyrdom ; and yet
they lack that love which prompts them to cherish the
small things that lie close to their hand."

While Maria Nicolaievna listened to Lande her eyes
were steadily fixed upon the lighted entrance of the
gardens. Suddenly she saw Molotchaief appear, who,
not noticing her, turned aside into another alley. Yet
she did not move.

" Molotchaief, here they are ! " cried Shishmariof, and
then they both approached.

Silently Molotchaief pressed the girl's soft little hand,
while his companion addressed Lande with great vigour.
At first she paid no attention, but after a while she heard
Lande say :

" It seems to me that human beings in their chase
for happiness all try to push their way through one
door, like those shut up in a burning house. Each
thinks he can save himself by fighting his way out
quicker than anybody else ; but in the horrible crush all
perish."

" The struggle for existence I " exclaimed Shishmariof.

" There ought to be no struggle," replied Lande firmly.
" It is impossible to get out over a pile of corpses. One

184 IVANLANDE

must keep calm, stand still, not mutually hinder each
other, but make room for one another."

44 Like the two Frenchmen who politely gave way to
each other, and who both fell into the mire," sneered
Molotchaief. " It's all nothing but sentimentality. Since
we have our life, we must just live it. It's not my fault
if some one is weaker than myself."

He paused for a moment, and then added :

44 I push him into the mud, stamp on his head, and
walk over him."

Lande shook his head sadly.

44 Let us have done with all these tears and lamentations.
That's not life I " said Molotchaief.

44 And if somebody stamps on your head, what then ? "
asked Maria Nicolaievna coldly.

Molotchaief turned quickly round.

44 Let him. But I'll soon see to that." Then, smiling,
he hesitatingly added :

44 Maria Nicolaievna, I have something to say to you.
I want to tell you something — about him," indicating
Lande with a nod of his head.

The latter looked up in surprise.

44 Tell it me here," she said, shrugging her shoulders.

44 No, not before him. You seem to be afraid of me,"
he said in an undertone.

Maria Nicolaievna smiled superciliously.

44 Let us go. Lande, you'll come on too, won't you ? "

44 Very well," replied Lande, as he turned again to
Shishmariof and resumed his task. As she walked along
in front she heard him say :

44 Man can never be happy while he rules by force,
and only when he rules by love. But it will be a long
while yet before that comes to pass."

XVI

One evening, about nine o'clock, Lande joined the others
at their usual meeting-place on the cliff. Shishmariof
hurried towards him.

" Look here I I've had a letter from Semenof. Really,
it's too absurd of you ! Why the deuce do you do such
crazy things ? He tells me that you sent him ten roubles."

" Never mind, Lionia," said Lande simply, as he looked
away across the river.

" But I do mind ! " exclaimed Shishmariof indignantly.
Then, as he saw Lande's mournful smile, he turned away,
feeling too much annoyed to remonstrate further. " What
do I care ? Go to the devil, if you like ! " he thought to
himself.

" What is the matter ? Why are you so sad ? " asked
Maria Nicolaievna tenderly, as she lightly touched the
sleeve of his grey tunic.

" My mother is worrying me," he said sorrowfully.

Full of jealous hate, Molotchaief glanced at Maria
Nicolaievna's hand as it rested on Lande's arm. Turning
away, he lit a cigarette.

" What about ? " she asked gently.

" She's always asking me to lead another sort of life ;
one for which I am not fitted. She keeps urging me to
take the money and travel abroad. But I do not want
to do this. There is nothing for me there. Men are
everywhere alike."

" But the life is different," replied Shishmariof.

" No, the life's the same, because the people are the
same. Life, as I think, no longer depends upon the
number of railways, universities, or the like. Life is in
the man himself ; to use it to advantage is the great thing.
Even if life abroad should be different, why should I go
thither ? I should certainly never be able to live in that
way."

" Oh ! but you could at least see what it was like \ "
cried Shishmariof with enthusiasm.

185

186 IVANLANDE

" No," smiled Lande, " but I should like to go away
somewhere, away from everybody. Not for always, but
for a time. I often think that it is necessary for every
man at times to retire from the world and to dwell by
himself, in a desert, say, or a place of that sort, so that
he may spend some time in meditation and self-discipline."

" You ought to have been the first to set the example,"
said Molotchaief rudely, and his whole face seemed dis-
torted by fury. "That would really have been the
most sensible thing to do."

For a while Lande looked gravely at him. Then,
sighing, he shrugged his narrow shoulders and said :

" I know that I annoy you. I am sorry."

" And so am I ; very sorry," replied Molotchaief in
his usual rough tone.

Just at that moment a tall man, leaving the high road,
came across the grass. In his hand he carried a large
heavy stick, and creeping up behind Molotchaief, he
struck him a violent blow on the head. Maria Nicolaievna
uttered a piercing scream and rushed to the edge of the
cliff, leaning right over it as she buried her face in her
hands. Shishmariof dropped his cap and stood there,
helpless. Lande sprang forward and seized Sonia by the
hand. Her eyes were wide open ; they expressed intense,
almost savage, curiosity. Not for a moment did Molot-
chaief lose his nerve. Like lightning he snatched the
stick from Tkatchof, who nearly fell down, and then,
clenching his teeth, struck him on the face, the head,
and the hands. Mad with pain and rage, Tkatchof reeled
backwards and sought to ward off the blows with his
arms, and one could see that he was bedabbled with blood.
The fourth of these fearful blows struck Lande's arm.
He had rushed forward to protect Tkatchof, crying :
" Don't ! Don't hit him any more ! "

For a moment Molotchaief glared at him furiously as
he lowered the stick. Then, raising it suddenly, he struck
another sharp blow, which, with a sickening sound, hit
Lande on the cheek.

Lande staggered and turned a ghastly white ; there
were tears in his eyes.

IVAN LAND E 187

" Hit me ! Yes, do, if you want to," he muttered, as
his lips trembled and he kept his eyes fixed on Molotchaief,
while never changing his position. It was then that
Molotchaief, flinging away the stick, brutally struck
Lande twice in the face with his fist, who staggered and
fell backwards over the bench with his legs in the air.
As he turned sharply round, Molotchaief hurled Tkatchof
aside and then strode rapidly away.

There was a general outcry as they all rushed forward
to help Lande. Tkatchof raised him up, looking horror-
struck, while Maria Nicolaievna kissed his pale, trembling
fingers and Shishmariof tried to put his cap on for him,
murmuring incoherently all the while. Sonia embraced
him with her frail little arms, and they all tottered about
at the edge of the cliff, like birds scared by the sound
of a gun.

" Good heavens ! What an awful thing ! " exclaimed
Maria Nicolaievna.

" Ivan Ferapontovitch ! Forgive . . . forgive me!"
stammered Tkatchof.

Lande turned his swollen face towards them and tried
to smile as he feebly grasped their hands. His eyes were
half closed, his nose and mouth were bleeding, while
mud and grass were sticking to his forehead.

" It's all right," he said, as with difficulty he moved
his puffed lips. " He did not mean to hit me. I know
he'll feel sorry for it afterwards. I shall go and see
him."

Clasping her thin hands, Sonia stepped backwards and
exclaimed ecstatically :

" Vania, what a saint you are ! "

" Don't talk such nonsense, Sonia ! " replied Lande,
with a feeble gesture. Then, rising, he walked forward
with outstretched arms, and they all saw that Molotchaief
was standing at ten paces distant with his hands in his
pockets, sniggering sheepishly as he looked at Lande.

Maria endeavoured to prevent Lande from advancing.
" You must not do it ! You must not do it ! " she cried,
as she stood in his way. But he gently yet firmly thrust
her aside :

188 IVAN LANDE

" You don't know what you are saying."

As Landc approached him, holding out his hand,
Molotchaief turned very red, and there was hatred in his
eyes as he said mockingly :

" What a touching comedy, to be sure ! "

Then he turned round sharply and walked away. For
a long time Lande watched him, and then, sinking 4own
on the bench, he covered his face with his hands, appa-
rently overcome with grief.

" What on earth do you mean by that ? " cried Shish-
mariof angrily. " Have you gone stark, staring mad ? "

By this time a crowd had collected in the roadway.
There was a good deal of laughter among the spectators.
Shishmariof looked round quickly and then hurriedly
walked away.

" To the deuce with you t Silly blockhead ! Saint,
indeed 1 " he blurted out bitterly.

Tkatchof stood with his arms hanging down as if some
one had suddenly splashed him with cold water.

" That kind of thing's not a bit of good," he mockingly
exclaimed. For Lande it was intended as an answer and
a warning.

XVII

That night Lande became feverish. The wounds on his
head throbbed violently, causing great pain and dizziness.
It was probably some kind of nervous fever, so Shish-
mariof thought, and Maria Nicolaievna and Sonia resolved
to sit up with him all night. Each with a book, they
took their places at the table, but they did not read, and
only gazed sadly at the flame of the lamp. When the
night was well advanced, Sonia left Maria Nicolaievna
alone with the sick man. The room was in semi-darkness.
To Maria Nicolaievna the lamp's dull circle of light
seemed magical, as she sat with her head bent and her
hands folded on her lap. Though outwardly motionless,
within her brain there raged a veritable tempest of
confused, disquieting thoughts. On reflection it seemed
to her that all was now at an end. To-morrow the whole
town would know that she had spent the night here, and
this would give rise to loathsome scandal. For a long
while such thoughts distressed her, till at last one single
thought took clearer, nobler shape and inspired her.
Henceforth she would be always united to Lande — kind,
good Lande, the best of all the men that she knew. She
turned towards him as he lay there pale and thin, with
long white arms stretched out above the coverlet. The
lamplight did not reach the bed, so that in the gloom
Lande's profile stood out in clear relief, his disfigured
cheek being hidden in shade. Kneeling down beside the
bed, she laid her beautiful head on his breast and shut
her glowing eyes. Lande did not appear surprised.
Gently and carefully he took hold of her soft, shapely
chin and drew her head hearer to his. Her hot lips were
pressed against his. He kissed her tenderly, as one would
kiss a child. With ever-increasing ardour she returned
his caress, pressing her soft, supple body close to his,
submissively, longingly. All at once she opened her
questioning eyes and looked at Lande's face. Its cold,
frightened expression shocked her. It was indeed
intolerably repulsive.

189

190 IVANLANDE

" Not like that ! No ! No ! " he murmured, smiling
helplessly.

In a moment it flashed across her brain that she had
made an atrocious mistake. She sighed faintly and
hastily rose, covering her face with her hands. Lande
sat up in confusion.

" Maria Nicolaievna, is there any need . . . for . . .
that ? I love you . . . only . . . not like that ! " he
stammered, holding out his trembling hands.

She moved away towards the table and sat down, still
screening her face with her hands, smiling hysterically.
Then she got up as if to go, sat down again, moved about
restlessly, and glanced from time to time at the sick man,
mortified, ashamed, and feeling a certain hatred for
Lande himself.

" It was nothing. A mistake ! It was only in fun.
I don't know how I . . ."

So she stammered on, conscious that she was drifting
farther and farther away from him.

Sonia, hearing a slight noise, now came in and stood
in the doorway, gravely watching them.

" Maria, what is the matter ? " she asked sternly.

" Nothing, nothing, Sonetchka," faltered Maria
Nicolaievna. " It's time for me to go."

Then she went out, knocking her shoulder awkwardly
against the door. She flitted like a phantom through the
cold, deserted streets in the wind and the gloom. Sonia
carefully shut the door behind her and then approached
Lande s bed.

" Sonia, dear one, that's my fault ! What shall I
do ? I ought to have known ! " And he clasped her
hands.

Sonia clenched her teeth tightly so that the cheek-
bones of her puny face became more prominent, and in
her eyes there was a malicious gleam :

" It's not your fault," she said with emphasis.
" They're all alike ; animals, beasts. She's just such
another."

" Sonia, what's that you say ? " cried Lande.

" I hate them all 1 " exclaimed Sonia vindictively.

IVANLANDE 191

" How commonplace and filthy they all are ! No better
than the dogs ! "

Lande stared at her, aghast, and to him it did not
seem that Sonia stood there, but rather some evil little
goblin.

XVIII

The fight on the cliff provoked a good deal of gossip in
the town, and Maria Nicolaievna's name was coupled
with Lande's in the most flagrant manner. Wherever
she went she encountered the same offensive curiosity or
ill-concealed contempt. As the result of such treatment
she began to feel hatred for Lande. Yet when he came
to see her for the first time, she had a faint hope that all
might pass like some horrible dream, and that her life
might be bright and happy as before.

Lande entered quietly, his face swathed in a large white
bandage.

" Good morning," he said in his calm voice.

Maria Nicolaievna got up in confusion, but did not
reply to his greeting. m

• I have come to tell you. . . ." He paused, as if
unable to continue, and then, with a sudden outburst, he
exclaimed :

" Oh ! Maria Nicolaievna, if you only knew how fond
I am of you ! To me you are like some bright, glorious
angel ! "

Her eyes shone, and she smiled timidly.

" Yet I can never be your husband," he faltered.

Maria Nicolaievna winced as if she had been struck in
the face.

" What do you mean ? Is this to insult me ? " she
asked haughtily.

" No ; you know that I would never insult you. I am
simply saying just what I feel. I love you ; but not in
that way. Is there no other love but that sort of love ?
And is it absolutely necessary ? For me it is impossible ! "

"I am not asking for your love. Please, go away."
Lande was holding her hand mechanically; and that in
itself disgusted her. She snatched it away angrily.

" Leave me alone ! "

"Forgive me," said Lande, "I did not mean. . . ."

But Maria Nicolaievna cut him short by making a
192

IVANLANDE 193

hasty exit from the room, having first adjusted her hair,
dropping, as she did so, several hair-pins on the floor.
She gave him one withering glance as she passed.

Lande waited there alone in the dusk, and after a while
a maid brought him a note. She had round, stupid eyes,
and stared at him in alarm.

The note was as follows :

" For God's sake, leave me in peace. Perhaps I am bad
and horrid, but you only worry me. I hate you — loathe
you, as I do vermin."

Lande went out into the dark street. Suddenly some
one accosted him. It was Tkatchof.

" Ivan Ferapontovitch ! I must speak to you. I
have been waiting about for the last three days, hoping
to see you ! "

Lande stood still.

" Good evening," he said cordially. " Why didn't
you call on me ? I should have been so pleased."

Tkatchof smiled confusedly as he grasped Lande's
hand.

" Perhaps I might have called . . . but there are
other people at your place, and I wanted to have a talk
to you by yourself."

Oh ! I am so glad that at last you've come, Tkatchof,1'
exclaimed Lande. " Come back with me and we'll have
some tea."

" Very well," said Tkatchof in a low voice.

They had but a little way to go and they walked
along in silence. Lande lit the lamp, prepared the tea,
and seated himself opposite Tkatchof, looking affec-
tionately into his eyes.

" If you only knew how pleased I am that you've come
, to see me," he said smiling.

" I wanted to come a long time ago," said the other,
looking down in confusion. " Ever since that evening
— you know, in the wood ! "

"Ah, yes!"

" And when he struck you, then, all in a moment, like
I a flash, I seemed to understand that the truth was not on
^ my side but on yours. There's nobody like you, Ivan

N

194 IVANLANDE

Ferapontovitch ! " he said with evident emotion, as he
partially rose from his seat.

Lande beamed at him.

" How kind of you to say that, Tkatchof ! "

Tkatchof sighed deeply, as if preparing to sustain the
weight of some huge burden.

" That's my opinion, Ivan Ferapontovitch, only I don't
know how to express myself properly."

"Go on ! Tell me all. You'll say it all right, I'm
sure," said Lande encouragingly, as he stroked the
other's hand.

" Well, I came on purpose to tell you, and speak I
must. You remember all that I said to you in the
prison ? Ah ! that was because I had grown utterly
desperate. I had been the victim of so much cruel in-
justice that I had lost all faith in mankind. I believed
that things must be thus, and that men were all villains,
all beasts of prey. I had got to hate mankind and
myself and life. But then it was you who opened my
eyes. In you I saw what a real man is, and what a man
can be. I remembered, too, how for the sake of two
righteous men the Lord was willing to spare Sodom and
Gomorrah — and I thought to myself that a man like this
can transform life "

" Tkatchof ! " exclaimed Lande, interrupting.

" No ; wait, wait a moment ! I know that at present
everybody is not able to understand you, but by degrees

your influence will be felt, and Look you, this is

my idea ! " he said, bending closer towards the other, so
that his hot breath warmed Lande's cheek, and his dark,
sad eyes seemed to pierce his brain.

" We must announce a new faith to the people ! " he
whispered excitedly.

" What ? " cried Lande in amazement.

" A new faith ! Yes, the people are ready, are waiting,
longing for it ! They'll come to you from all parts of
Russia. Yet the news must go forth and be circulated.
You'll stand above them all ; you'll lead them all, Ivan
Ferapontovitch ! "

Tkatchof was flushed and trembling with excitement.

IVAN LANDE 195

" What faith do you mean ? " asked Lande sternly.
" What can I do ? "

" Do ? Everything, Ivan Ferapontovitch ! As for
announcing a new faith, that's only to start the move-
ment ; to set things going ! "

Lande rose, looking white and austere.

" That's not a right thing to do," he said. " Don't you
really see what a fearfully wicked, blasphemous imposture
that would be ? Truth cannot spring from falsehood. I
could never do that ! Don't think of such a thing."

Tkatchof's face grew dark. He looked intensely
pained. " Ivan Ferapontovitch ! You are the one and
only person to do it ! Are we, then, all to be ruined ? "

" No one will be ruined ! How can you talk like that ?
What you propose — it is just that which would cause
ruin. You would never succeed, because such a thing
ought not to be. There is no need for deceit. The fight
must go on, for it is necessary, as some cleansing fire.
But each step forward in this fight must be an honest one.
Truth is what will lead one to triumph."

" Then— it is not to be ? " asked Tkatchof hoarsely.
" So ... I have made a mistake ? "

" Forget it, Tkatchof ! Forget all about it ! "

As he walked down the cold dark street, Tkatchof
shouted wildly in the wind :

" Oh ! the devil take it all ! He might have done it,
wretched fool ! "

Somewhere in the darkness the night-watchman an-
nounced the passing of the hour.

XIX

After a sleepless night Lande rose, feeling weak and ill.
All night long he had been thinking of Tkatchof and Maria
Nicolaievna.

" How strong they are ! And how tremendous is their
love of life ! They are unhappy now, but that will pass,
and their vital forces will remain. Whether fortunate
or unfortunate, they will be happy."

That morning he resolved to see Molotchaief. He
found him at home, seated on the window-sill, smoking
cigarettes. On seeing Lande he got up quickly and
turned red. Lande calmly walked straight into the room,
and, smiling, held out his hand. For a moment Molot-
chaief felt a certain kindliness, as if he wanted to grasp
the proffered hand, and then Lande's attitude seemed
to him almost an affront, for he drew himself up, as, with
ironical politeness, he shook hands, saying :

" Delighted ! Pray, sit down. And how Is your
health ? "

Lande touched his bandage and said simply :

" Not very good. You knocked me about terribly."

Molotchaief blushed again and appeared suddenly dis-
concerted. But, recovering himself, he said in the same
offensively courteous tone :

" I really am extremely sorry."

With clear, calm eyes, Lande looked into his.

" No, why should you be sorry ? You are not sorry in
the least. You wished to hurt me."

Molotchaief felt crushed. He was bitterly conscious
that it was not Lande, but he himself who looked ridiculous.

" I really came to you to-day," said Lande, with great
composure, " to tell you how sorry I am for having
caused you to do this. I know that you were jealous of
me with regard to Maria Nicolaievna. I had not the least
wish to come between you. I certainly love this girl
because of her extraordinary vitality, her huge delight in
life ; but my love for her was quite different from what

196

IVANLANDE 197

she wanted it to be. Now, having found out her mistake,
she hates me. Go to her, and I believe that she will
give you her affection. And forgive me ; and don't
bear me any ill-will, for I like you. You are a strong,
fine fellow. Now I'll go, for I am sure that my presence
is distasteful to you. Good-bye ! "

Lande got up and held out his hand. Molotchaief bit
his lip, and they shook hands. When Lande had gone
the artist again felt a kind of jealous hatred for him.

He walked quickly up and down the room and sought to
foment the flame. He seemed to have succeeded, for he
managed to laugh at Lande, yet at the same time he felt a
certain remorse. Why this was he could not tell ; but
the feeling was keen and poignant ; and by degrees he
got the impression that he would never be free from it.

XX

Lande's life became more and more solitary, and gradually
he had a presentiment of something inevitable. For the
last few days he had been always alone, though Sonia
came constantly to look after him. One night he wrote
a long impassioned letter to Semenof full of obstinate
questionings concerning truth, human beings and human
happiness. To this the sick student replied as follows :

" Pray, leave me in peace. I am dying, and have to
think of something more important than you. I am now
face to face with the final, supreme question of human
existence. How am I going to die ? Do you suppose
that a man can talk of human beings, or love, or solitude,
when he must die, and die utterly alone ? You cannot
understand what that really means. There is only one
word to express it, horror ! . . . M

" Some day you yourself will discover how silly it all is.
And you will hate men for the stupid part that they have
led you to play, just as much as I hate them now. If you
only knew what a fearful hatred I have for them all !
May you all be cursed ! If I had the power, I would
demolish the whole earth. Why have I lived, Lande ?
All seems utterly horrible, desolate, and cold. For God's
sake, don't worry me any more ! "

" Poor Vassia ! " thought Lande. " How filled he is
with horror and hatred ! That is because he is alone —
alone with his sufferings and his fears. I must go to
him ! I must get some money. But who will help me ?
It is no good asking mother. She will give nothing.
Anything that I want to do only vexes her and makes her
wish to oppose me. Who else is there ? Shishmariof ?
But he's got nothing himself. I'll go to Father Paul."

Next day, still with his head bandaged, Lande crossed
the large grass-grown square and entered a small, pleasant
courtyard. Though it was a grey, windless day, the
trees with their golden leaves seemed bathed in sunlight.
In the tiny front garden beneath the windows were bright-

198

IVAN LANDE 199

hued flowers, and there was an odour of apples, autumn
leaves, and incense.

The oH priest, rosy and white-haired, was sitting on
the veranda in his clean, white cassock. Lande hastened
towards him.

" Good day, Father Paul."

" Good day," he replied in friendly fashion. " Please
sit down. What can I do for you ? "

" I have a favour to ask of you," said Lande. " One of
my comrades, named Semenof — perhaps you know him — "

" Yes, I've heard of him," said the priest drily, as with
his little shrivelled hand he stroked his beard.

" Well, this Semenof is dying of consumption," said
Lande hastily.

" God's will be done ! " was the solemn reply. The
priest sighed deeply and crossed himself.

" I have received a letter from him, a fearful letter,"
said Lande, bending forward confidentially. " It is
plain that he is in the last state of despair. In his soul
there remains nothing but hate and fury. I am con-
vinced that it would be a great comfort to him if I could
go to him. He will then feel that he is not alone, and that
in itself will suffice. . . . Only I have no money for the
journey," he added suddenly, with a child-like smile.

He looked in the priest's face, and all at once the
kindly eyes, or what seemed to him kindly eyes, contained
in their depths a look at once evil and watchful. In-
stinctively he stopped. The priest, without speaking,
looked at him. In the silence, a golden leaf fell circling
to the ground.

" Here is the letter. Will you please read it ? "

So saying, Lande produced the letter and gave it to
the priest, who sighed again and proceeded to read it
calmly, as if it were the tranquil life-story of some saint.
Then he sighed again, folded the letter and handed it
back.

w Now, you see ! " exclaimed Lande, pointing to the
letter which he had placed beside him on the bench.

M You will please put that letter away. I cannot have
such stuff in my house," said the priest sternly.

200 IVANLANDE

Lande did not understand what the priest's words
meant, but he took up the letter and put it in his
pocket.

" So I came to ask you for some money. It is necessary,
as you see, that some one should go to him," he said with
simple earnestness.

The old priest sighed.

" Yes, very likely it is. But I shall not give you any
money for that purpose. I have it, you understand, but
I don't intend to give it."

As if stunned, Lande sprang to his feet in despair.

44 Why ? You read yourself what he wrote ! "

The old priest also got up.

44 YeS I've known this Semenof for some time. He's
a godless blasphemer, an atheist, an apostate. And I do
not counsel you to go to him."

Lande opened his eyes wide.

44 You mean that I am to forsake him and let him die
in despair ? "

44 This death is the reward of his deeds," said the old
priest, with his hands folded behind his back, and again in
his eyes there was an evil gleam.

44 But you fear God ? " cried Lande. 44 What's this
that you say, little father ? "

44 It is not your place to teach me," replied the priest.

44 But you are a servant of the Church — the Church of
Christ ? "

" This Mr. Semenof has long since renounced the Church,
and it would not be fitting for the Church to run after him,
do you understand ? "

Lande became desperate.

" Yet . . . without money I cannot travel ? "

" You might try and get a free pass. Or you could
even go on foot."

44 But that's too far 1 "

The old priest sighed.

44 Yes, it's a long way. But, as I understand you, you
desire to do a great deed, so that you will surely spare no
pains ? "

Lande all at once felt chilled in the presence of this

IVANLANDE 201

rosy, white-haired old man. He turned away and went
towards the gate.

" But I must get there as quickly as possible. He may
die before I arrive." And he stood still.

The old priest's reply had in it a touch of malice and
scorn. " If God wills it, you will still find him alive."

Lande was silent. Like a white cloud against the
golden background the priest stood in the middle of that
peaceful courtyard.

"Very well," said Lande, " I must be going. If I
cannot get any money, I shall have to go on foot. The
money doesn't matter much. But how ashamed of your-
self you must feel 1 " he said solemnly.

The priest raised his skinny Httle hand.

" That'll do ! Just take yourself off."

" Little Father, I did not mean to offend yon."

" Get you gone, I say."

With bowed head Lande silently went out. He heard
how the old priest came to the gate and fastened the latch.

XXI

In the evening Lande told his mother what he had decided
to do.

" More tomfoolery ! " she cried angrily. " In God's
name, when is it ever going to end ? " So saying, she
got up and walked out of the room, banging the door
after her. Lande sadly watched her go, and then, taking
up his cap, he went to Shishmariof. He was alone in his
room making tea, and a large book lay spread open before
him. On seeing Lande, he rose awkwardly and held out
his hand.

44 Ah ! It's you 1 Sit down and have some tea."

44 No thank you," said Lande. 44 I've had a letter
from Semenof."

44 Oh ! And what does he say ? "

44 Here ! Read it for yourself."

Shishmariof read the letter carefully through.

" Poor fellow ! " he sighed, when he had finished. Then
he put his two hands, which stuck out from the short
sieeves of his jacket between his knees, and rubbed them
together, as if he were cold.

44 1 want to go to him," said Lande.

44 Why ? " asked Shishmariof. 44 What can you do
there?"

44 1 don't know what I can do ; but I have a feeling
that I must go."

For some time past Shishmariof had been conscious that
Lande and he were estranged. Lande's sweet temper
he considered a sign of weakness, of inability for conflict.
Occasionally he recognized in it something that surprised
and amazed him, but he never really gave it a thought,
being intentionally indifferent to it as to everything else
which did not present itself with absolute clearness and
simplicity to his keen, hard intellect.

He now looked seriously at Lande as he continued
rubbing his hands, and said :

44 1 do not understand that. You lay such stress on
202

IVANLANDE 203

this ' feeling,' as if there were something mystic about it.
In my opinion your presence there would not help
matters in the least. You'll only worry yourself and him,
too. Better not go. Why should you ? "

" You ask why ? " replied Lande pensively. " In that
question alone there lies a thought that makes for the
ruin of mankind. One must never ask. We must act
as our heart prompts us to act. That is the force which is
higher than ours. If we seek to measure it by our
standard we do but cripple our soul."

" What do you want with your soul ? " exclaimed
Shishmariof, shrugging his shoulders irritably. " Do
leave your soul alone I There must be some recognized
method of discrimination with regard to our actions. If
you wish to go, you must first of all be satisfied as to
what use there is in your going."

Lande sighed sadly. " I don't know. Perhaps it
won't be of any use at all."

" Then where's the object in going ? "

" The object ? That truth which I feel within me, and
which calls me," said Lande with fervour.

" More truths ! " sneered Shishmariof.

" That is the supreme truth," replied Lande. " There's
none that comes higher than that."

Shishmariof shrugged his shoulders again.

" There is only one higher truth ; it is that which
reason, logic gives us," he exclaimed. " We possess
nothing that is not obtained by thought."

Lande clapped his hands together.

" What's that you say ? How poor, how miserable life
would be if that were really the case ! "

Shishmariof leapt from his seat and swung his arms
aloft.

" Miserable, indeed ! In my opinion it's more miser-
able to lull oneself to sleep with fairy-tales, and to impose
limits to one's thoughts."

" Yet Reason is conscious of its own limits," replied
Lande gently.

" No, it knows no limits ! " cried Shishmariof in a shrill
voice.

204 IVANLANDE

" The horizons of Thought are boundless. Though, at
the moment we do not know all, there is no reason to
suppose that we shall not, some day. Thought is just as
limitless as the whole world itself. Just as the bounds of
possibility become enlarged, so Thought becomes en-
larged ; is infinite ! "

" Extending to the void ? " asked Lande with wide-
opened eyes.

" Yes, to the void ! " screamed Shishmariof.

" But that is horrible ! "

" Very likely it is horrible. I know very well that it is
far easier to indulge in the golden dream of an all-embracing
spirit, and the rest of it. But, for my part, I prefer the
void, the unknown, to a truth which is only so far a truth
because it serves to make life easy and pleasant."

Shishmariof was trembling all over with excitement,
and his red fingers, thrust into his jacket pockets, were
twitching continually.

" I won't quarrel with you," said Lande simply. " You
are cleverer than I am ; and, besides, it's wrong to quarrel
about such a thing. Yet, just because I feel how sublime
is the grandeur and strength of the human spirit, I cannot
believe that it came from the void, and that in the same
way it will return thither, like some mad marsh-fire
engendered in a swamp ! It burns too brightly ; its
development is too powerful ; it encircles the whole
world and gives it light and warmth. No, I feel the force
of Truth — and ... I must go to Semenof, Lionia, I
must ! "

" That is another matter," replied Shishmariof. " If
you desire to go, if you are sorry for him, then by all
means go. That's your affair."

He sat down again and went on with his tea, rattling
the spoon noisily in the half empty glass. His shoulders
were still trembling with excitement.

" I want to go by train, but I haven't any money."

" Well, old chap, I haven't any, either," replied Shish-
mariof apologetically, as like a debtor he flung both arms
apart.

Lande snapped his fingers.

IVAN LANDE 205

" My God ! What shall I do ? "

" Wait a bit," said Shishmariof. " Somehow, you
may be able to manage it later."

" No,*' exclaimed Lande in a determined tone, " there's
no time to wait. I must go at once."

Shishmariof looked up in surprise and smiled.

" Oh ! so you must go at once ? How do you mean to
go ? On foot ? "

" On foot, of course. I might get a lift part of the
way," replied Lande simply.

For a moment Shishmariof stared at him, as he opened
his mouth wide. Then he suddenly became grave.

" Look here, Lande, there's a limit to all these mad
fancies," he said.

" It is not a mad fancy," replied Lande. " I have no
journey -money, so I must go on foot. Pilgrims can
march thousands of versts."

" Pilgrims ? " For a moment Shishmariof seemed
puzzled. " Yes, but in the first place they are pilgrims ;
and, in the second place, they don't make their pilgrimages
in autumn. You will simply be stranded on the way."

" Perhaps not."

Shishmariof showed some of his previous excitement.
" The pilgrims go for their faith's sake, which "

'* And I go for my faith's sake, too," said Lande, smiling.

" Yes, that's all very well, but you must at least make
allowance for circumstances."

" Oh ! it's so easy to arrange one's life according to
circumstances," said Lande, in a tone of gentle remon-
strance, as his eyes twinkled. " At that rate, one would
at last entirely cease to believe in oneself, and make
circumstances the main thing. No ; I feel that I ought
to go, and in some way or other go I must."

" Yet be convinced of this one thing : that what
you're doing won't make the slightest difference."

" That we don't know," replied Lande impressively,
" It only appears so."

Shishmariof was silent. He was at a loss to know what
else he could say.

" It's such a silly idea. You will certainly never

206 IVAN LAND E

reach Yalta, nor make things any better. It's silly and
impossible."

" Ah ! " sighed Lande, " I know that to yon it
seems silly and impossible and absurd. But still, I
mean to go. Don't try to prevent me, old fellow,
don't ! "

Shishmariof shrugged his shoulders, and muttered :
" Deuce take me if I know what to think ! " And he
went on drinking his tea. For a while there was silence.

Lande rose.

" Well, I'm going. Good-bye, and au revoir I "

" Sit here a little longer."

" No, my dear boy, I can't. I must get a few things
ready." He shook the other's hand warmly, and Shish-
mariof suddenly had a strange foreboding, a presenti-
ment of ill.

" Then you're really going ? " he asked, wanting to
laugh, and yet with a choke in his voice.

Lande was a head taller than he, and louked down on
him affectionately.

" Yes, going ! " And he nodded.

Shishmariof wanted to say something else, but had a
curious sensation as if his throat were closed. They
were standing in the little passage, lit only by a slender
ray of light which came through the crack in the door,
when suddenly Lande recollected Tkatchof.

" Do you remember that man on whose account
Molotchaief hit me ? " he asked. " He came to see me
not long ago."

And Lande gave an account of his interview with
Tkatchof; a short, simple account which, however,
appealed powerfully to Shishmariof's imagination. He
seized Lande's hand impulsively, exclaiming :

" The idea is simply tremendous ! What did you say
to him ? "

" It grieved me much," replied Lande, " to shatter his
dream."

" Then you refused ? "

Lande smiled. " How could I consent to pose as a
prophet when I am not one ? "

IVANLANDE 207

Shishmariof rubbed his hands together, and after a
moment's reflection, said gloomily :

" No, of course not."

He accompanied Lande to the steps, in the dim light,
for the moon was hidden by a cloud.

" Farewell ! " Lande called out, as he departed in the
gloom.

*4 Farewell ! " came the answering valediction.

For a long while Shishmariof remained standing on the
steps, and then, returning to his room, he sat down at
the table. The lamp only served to illumine this, and
the corners of the room were quite dark. Shishmariof
moved the book closer to him ; yet, though the letters
danced before his eyes, they made no impression upon
his brain. He felt strangely excited. He sat down and
then got up again, as if some terrible thing had happened,
something that greatly distressed him. Lande's figure
was ever present in his thoughts and his imagination. In
his ears the sound of his voice still lingered, while dim
and nebulous his form seemed to rise up before his eyes.
All at once he laughed a weird, unnatural laugh.

XXII

On a raw night in early autumn when the air was keen,
Lande quietly left home. He wore an old black cassock
which he had bought from a monk, and carried a bag
on his back. The whole town was silent and empty.
An impenetrable veil of white clouds covered the sky
where neither moon nor stars could be seen. Slowly,
slowly the dark houses with their blank windows and the
cheerless trees receded in the gloom. Soon Lande had
reached the open country. The wind tossed the skirts
of his cassock apart and wailed drearily in his ears.
Before him, bleak and vast, lay the boundless steppe,
where the slow-moving clouds seemed at a greater height,
and on the slopes, grey, withered grasses waved. The
huge sense of space and freedom filled Lande' s breast, and,
strangely enough, at the same time he felt clearly con-
scious of the fact that he would never reach Yalta. Yet
this did not daunt nor discourage him, but, on the
contrary, he felt in a careless, light-hearted mood as if
thereby he had got on to the right path that should finally
lead him to his goal.

Yet this was merely a presage, not a clearly defined
thought. In his mind he saw only the image of the sick,
suffering man to whom he was going. He never gave a
thought as to what would become of himself.

With fight, springy step he trod the broad highway,
gazing around him with joy and wonder, and listening
enraptured to every sound borne to him from the desolate
steppe by the wind.

For five days Lande walked on through various hamlets,
sleeping at night-time in huts where peasants eyed him
with disfavour, and would barely grant him an entrance.
Few spoke to him, for few could understand what he said
to them, though to all he spoke in clear, simple fashion.
Some old peasant- woman, with shrivelled cheeks propped
against her hand, would ask him whence he came, and if
he were not from the Convent of the Holy Seraphim.

208

IVANLANDE 209

But the male peasants looked askance at him and were
dumb. On the fifth day a hulking peasant with wicked
eyes and a black beard that might have been lopped with
an axe, shouted at him :

" You clear off at once, or else we'll put the police on your
track ! There are too many of you fellows loafing about ! "

To Lande this ignorantly hostile attitude on the part
of the village folk was lamentable in the extreme.

With eager eyes he observed the life in these hamlets
through which he passed, yet it affected him in the same
way as the sight of the large herds of cattle that gazed at
him with wide, mysterious eyes as he passed. For the
men as for the beasts he felt affection and sympathy.
Yet he knew instinctively that he was at a distance from
them, that they had no need for him ; and this saddened
him. Only when, vast and spacious, the lonely steppe
lay open to his view, and the sun, as it were, shone for
him alone in all the world, did Lande feel glad of heart.
Yet this was at rare intervals, for on every side he per-
ceived men, countless as ants, all busily at work.

When he at last got on to the road through the forest,
and walked beneath the shadow of the calm, stately trees,
a transport of joy seized him. For the first time in his
life he had a sense of unspeakable relief, since here no
anxious, gloomy faces met his view. All day long he
followed forest paths overgrown and scarcely recognizable,
and all day long beside him stood only the tall, pensive
trees. Birds fluttered silently past him, apparently
unaware of the wanderer's presence. Here and there
brushwood crackled, as if some one, yet not a mortal,
were passing through the forest.

Then gradually it grew lighter ; and there was a
moist odour, a sense of some strange, incomprehensible
force. Something glittered among the trees. It was a
river, broad, deep, and cool. Reeds grew on either bank,
waving their sharp green blades like daggers above the
stream that, in placid grandeur, floated on. Opposite,
like a dense wall, lay another forest, dark and green
as this, and some of its silent trees stretched gnarled
boughs across the water.

o

210 IVANLANDE

Here there was solitude, a solitude that seemed un-
ending, as Lande sat musing by the bank. Then noise-
lessly a boat approached. This, like the tree-stems, was
green and moist, and wild-looking. Kneeling as he
rowed in it was a wet, wrinkled peasant. He in no
sense disturbed the tranquillity of forest and stream ;
indeed, he seemed a part of it, so that the eye glanced
unarrested at him as at the waving reeds, the water and
the sky.

" Little grandfather ! " cried Lande, as he rose.

Across the water came the echo faint and strange :

"O— a— a— a ! "

" Here ! " cried the peasant, as he steered for the bank.

" E — e — e ! " rang the echo through the forest.

While the peasant rowed and rowed, Lande sat in the
bow of the boat and watched his reflection like a long
black streak in the water.

" Are you going far ? " asked the man in a hollow
voice.

" Yes, far," replied Lande.

The man looked at him with his sharp little eyes.

" Oh ! " he said, as he ceased rowing and stared at the
water.

" They say that in Siberia there's much more room," he
suddenly began, as if Lande' s answer were related to his
own dull thoughts. " That's how folk go roaming about
to find some place where it's better. But what's the
good ? One tries to find the right, but there isn't any
right in this world. If you live here, or if you live there,
it's all the same. Like me, say, in the forest. All things
come from God, and you yourself go back to God, too.
And nobody but He will help you. . . . We know nothing,
but just grope about in the dark. There's no such thing
as right, I say, no such thing. Here or there, the world's
the same everywhere ! "

In the man's dull, monotonous voice could be heard
the hidden yearning of a soul oppressed.

" This right you speak of lies in man himself, not in the
world," replied Lande sadly. " We must love one another
and feel pity for each other. The rest will come of itself."

IVANLANDE 211

The man laughed grimly.

" Ha ! Ha ! Come of itself, eh ? Yes ; but how are
we going to live to-day ? Tell us that, first. Love one
another ! Ha ! ha ! How can we love one another when
sometimes we're ready to cut each other's throats for a
morsel of bread ? "

After a pause he added : " It's all very fine for the
grand folk to talk ! The nobility and the priests ! But
their notion of right is this ! " And he shook his bony
fist at Lande. " That's about it ! There's no justice in
this world, and maybe men have to suffer as they do so
that one day justice may come. That's about it, eh ? "

" Yes ! Yes ! " cried Lande, as he joyfully nodded.
" Everything in this world, all noble work, all knowledge,
all thought — everything is carried on through suffering.
If there were no suffering, the soul would come to a stand-
still, would die."

The boat touched the shore, and Lande slowly got out.
For a moment they both looked at each other without
speaking. It was as if some mighty bond had bound
them. Each longed to speak some word that should
bring the other closer, yet neither could find it, nor
rightly utter that which burned within his heart.

" Farewell, grandfather," said Lande sadly.

The peasant muttered something inaudible and pushed
off from the shore, gliding over the water again, wet and
gnarled as some floating tree-stump.

For a long while Lande watched him till he disappeared
round a bend of the river, as the long silvery streak melted
into the broad mirror of the stream. Towards evening
Lande lost his way. But, seeing an old, disused hut, he
resolved to stay there over night. It was a bitterly cold
night. Chilled, overtired as he was, he slept but little.

Towards morning the mist that all night long had
wrapped the tall trees like a dense white veil, began to rise,
and turned grey. There was a strange thrill in the air.
Simultaneously all things as by mutual agreement awoke
swiftly and with ease. A bird twittered softly, as though
it had something to ask. From a wet bough a raven slowly
flew straight into the mist, as its dew-laden wings brushed

212 IVANLANDE

against the dry branches in passing. The forest grasses
shivered, and the leaves stirred, as all around became
suddenly brighter.

All at once the mist began to disperse, becoming
broken up into slender, waving columns that swiftly and
silently rose or fell amid the stems of the trees.

Lande crept out of the hut, chilled to the bones. His
features looked grey and pinched. As he gazed round, all
things in this undulating mist for a moment seemed to him
to have become strangely altered.

Yet ever brighter grew the morning as the mists melted,
and on all sides the vast murmur rose of a great forest's life.
Touched with roseate fire, the tree-tops pointed upwards
to the dark blue dome of heaven. Profoundly impressed
by this all-pervading warmth and light, Lande felt loth
to go. He sat down on the ground, and motionless, with
keen, joyous eyes regarded all. Then, as day came on,
he lounged beneath a tree which scattered over him frail
golden leaves, while he eagerly observed the life of the
forest that to him was new and full of strange mystery.

Slowly, dimly, he seemed to apprehend it.

A deeper sense of calm came over him as his physical
strength decreased. He noticed this weakness and
tried to eat a little, yet the food stuck in his throat, and
after he had eaten he felt more faint. When he stood up
he could hardly lift his foot ; his knees trembled strangely,
and he was seized with giddiness.

" I am ill," thought Lande, yet without fear or surprise,
but as if he had expected this. " Very likely I caught
cold in the night. I must stay here."

Gradually he felt strangely happy. " Why am I
glad ? " he asked himself, smiling. ' Because I must
stop here ! Or is it for some other reason ? . . . I don't
know. . . . But oh ! how delightfully calm and happy
I feel ! "

He lay there all day long, having no clear thoughts, but
merely musing peacefully, surrounded by such a wealth
of light, and life and colour that his very eyes for sheer
longing throbbed and burned.

Ceaselessly the sweet voices of the woodland sounded

IVAN LANDE 213

overhead, yet he saw nothing except silent birds with
green plumage. About noon a lean, shaggy bear came out
of the wood and looked earnestly at Lande with its
little black eyes. Sitting up on its hind legs it stretched
out its neck, sighed, and then gazed again at Lande. A
bird swayed gently on the green branches above him.

" Oh, God, how beautiful ! " he murmured, as tears
rose to his eyes.

The bear made a curious sobbing noise, and again
stretched out its neck.

" You dear thing ! " cried Lande, feeling a sudden
impulse to pet the beast and stroke its brown, matted
fur. Yet he feared that this might frighten it. That the
bear might attack him never entered his mind. So
bland and serene was his mood that to realize anything
horrible seemed impossible.

" Shall I give it some bread ? " he thought, and
laughed at the idea.

Once more the bear heaved a long, drawn-out sigh,
looked about with its bright black eyes, and then trotted
back into the forest. Lande felt sorry, and yet glad, as
he watched it disappearing amid the trees.

" Here would be a good place to die," he said to himself.

The thought of death and the clear consciousness of its
nearness now took possession of his soul. He remembered
Semenof, but merely for a moment, the thought being
fused and lost in the rich splendour of the day. It was
as though he were going to some one other and mightier
than he.

XXIII

Rain fell in torrents, and in the forest there were perpetual
noises. At times it seemed as if some one were sobbing
behind a bush, weeping in a faint, silvery voice ; yet
soon one could clearly hear that it was only the music
of the rain.

Lande lay in the wet, dark hut, where at times it seemed
as if beneath him yawned a fathomless abyss. With
difficulty he lifted his hot, trembling hand as he touched
the rain-drenched branches from which chilly drops fell
on to his face. His head burned, yet feverlike a frost
racked his limbs, and he writhed helplessly on the ground
in his dripping cassock, vainly endeavouring to get
warmth. Sparks glittered before his eyes ; countless
golden circles revolved in the gloom.

"I am dying," thought Lande. "Yea, Lord, Thy
will be done."

Cold and in agony, he wept. His tears fell unseen on
the wet ground and dripped into his mouth between his
chattering teeth.

" Lord ! Lord ! " he exclaimed gently, and here, in
the forest and the darkness, this solitary call sounded so
strange that for a moment it seemed to him as if there were
perfect silence so that his cry might be heard.

Then the rain fell in torrents and the water gurgled as
before. Lande now became unconscious, as in a high
fever he lay huddled up on the ground with his knees in
a pool of water.

Out of the darkness emerged the head of a large hare
with long ears thrown back, and red eyes that stared at
Lande. There was something horrible, something mock-
ing about this silent head. Slowly, almost imperceptibly,
it nodded at him. Suddenly a yellow light shone over
everything, as if at his back there burned an invisible
flame. Lande caught a sidelong glimpse of himself,
filthy and disgusting, in a pool of water, with the black
cassock clinging to his limbs, and at his heart he felt

214

IVANLANDE 215

horrible fear. With a wild, mad scream he sat up, and
in so doing knocked his head against the branches. Icy
rain-drops fell on him in streams, yet he remained un-
conscious. A long procession of familiar faces with
shining eyes passed him and were lost in the distance.
Advancing towards him they bowed to him and then
passed on, being succeeded by others. The light behind
Lande shone no longer now, but from himself a radiance,
faint yet clear, appeared to emanate.

It was well with him now, and he had peace.

Then the same lurid light reappeared ; again his
black body could be discerned coiled up on the ground like
a crushed worm ; again the hare's head slowly, almost
imperceptibly, nodded.

It was not thought, not delirious fancy, nor mental
emotion, but only the dazzling light of a wondrous per-
ception, that then penetrated Lande's heated brain. In
that same instant his whole life was snapped in two. It
was as if the radiant, forceful, wondrous part of him
were now slowly ebbing away and passing into every-
thing around him, while he himself lay in the grip of a
final, unconquerable pain that drove into him its cruel
claws and with frightful force pinned him to earth.

" A — a — a ! " cried Lande. The sound of his feeble
voice floated out into the dark.

XXIV

When going home, certain peasant folk from Riasau,
carpenters, found in the wood, at a long distance from any
human dwelling-place, the body of a man.

The corpse lay in a hut roughly constructed of dry
branches. The limbs were contracted and the hands
convulsively clenched, while the long, thin neck seemed
partially dislocated. The body was clothed in a black
cassock, and for some reason or other one foot was ex-
posed to view. An overpowering odour of corruption
blended strangely and fearfully with the delicate smell of
the dry bracken growing in that place.

One of the peasants, burly and red-bearded, touched
the foot of the corpse with the tip of his boot. The dead
foot hardly moved.

" Died here, I expect," was the peasant's remark, as he
scratched the nape of his neck, and for a while stood still.
Then, with an expression on his face of fear and of fury for
which he himself could not account, he caught hold of the
projecting foot and dragged the body out of the hut. The
head swayed and bumped up and down as the hands
flopped heavily and trailed along the ground. All at once
there was such a frightfully nauseous, penetrating stench
that the peasants staggered backwards.

" What the devil ! " cried the red-bearded man in
amazement, as if that had been totally unexpected.

The men stood and surveyed the corpse.

There it lay, forlorn and cold, on the earth, gazing
upwards with dull, lidless eyes at the distant sky, and its
lips, now sealed for ever, without words spoke of some
dreadful secret. At the breast the black stuff was torn,
disclosing the dull yellow flesh beneath. Faded leaves
and dry mud adhered to it, as if mother earth had already
taken the dead man into her grey arms and were drawing
him slowly, yet irresistibly, down to herself.

For a long while the peasants stood looking at the
corpse, as if they could not decide what ought to be

216

IVANLANDE 217

done. At last an old grave-faced peasant sighed, and
removing his cap, crossed himself. Once he crossed him-
self, and after a while said, " May heaven be your por-
tion ! " Then twice he made the sign of the Cross. All
the others immediately pulled off their caps, as if by so
doing they were ridding themselves of a heavy burden,
and waved their fingers through the air. Then, in single
file, they went away without looking back.

For a long while the golden forest, and the sunlight, the
grass, and the lofty heaven, seemed to them shrouded in
some invisible veil, fettered by some grievous silence. Yet
in reality all things were overflowing with joy in the glad-
some light and beauty of the landscape, radiant even in
decay.

The peasant, who walked last, glanced stealthily round ;
and he could just discern in the distance, behind a golden
brown bush, the dim outline of a shrunken, rigid foot.

The spot was one where all the year round ferns grew
in great abundance.

NINA

NINA

Nina usually spent the whole evening at the old Ivolgins.
She always felt happy and at home there, for the Ivolgins'
house was bright and cosy ; and she, young, buoyant,
and full of hope, could be happy anywhere. All the
time her talk was of the wonderful life that she meant to
lead, and of the gladness that was to be hers. At eleven
o'clock she went home, and old Ivolgin accompanied
her.

It was dark and damp out of doors. From the river
that was hidden by huts and sheds came a humid, fitful
breeze, and one could hear the willows wailing at the
water's edge. On the river there was a muffled sound
of something that cracked, and slid, and suddenly dis-
persed with a strange, resonant, gurgling noise.

" The ice is breaking up," said Ivolgin, striving to
face the wind that flung back the folds of his cloak,
shook Nina's dress, and spattered their faces with icy
drops.

" And now the spring is coming," replied Nina loudly,
merrily as ever.

It really almost seemed as if, out of the darkness that
covered the river, something floated to them on the
moist, warm air, something mighty and immense.

"You will soon be home now," said Ivolgin, just to
cheer his companion, for the girl, young, happy, charming
as she was, always roused in his old heart a sense of warmth
and joy and sorrow.

" Yes, thank goodness, very soon," cried Nina. Her
merry voice in the wind sounded trembling and sweet.
Passing along a dark, wet street, they reached an open
square. Here the air was cold and bleak as a draught
from a vault. On the church wall lay half-thawed snow
that gleamed faintly in the grey mist. Behind the

221

222 NINA

church, fenced in by gaunt, bare trees which rattled like
black bones, stood a large angular house built of brick.
Its two lighted windows were like yellow eyes that glared
wrathfully upon the general gloom without.

" Ah ! some one has come," said Nina eagerly.

They went to the gateway, looked over at the dark
farmyard that gave out a warm, damp smell of manure,
and stopped at the school-room door. Nina held out her
hand and Ivolgin in friendly fashion clasped her soft
little hand in his, and said : " Good night, my pretty
one."

Then, pulling his cap closer about his ears and thump-
ing the ground with his stick, he hurried off, glancing
once more at the window that for a moment lit up his
bent form as it vanished in the mist.

Nina ran up the steps and tapped at a dark window.
Some one came out from the gateway, splashing through
the puddles and stood at the bottom of the steps.

" Is that you, Matthew ? " asked Nina. " Have you
got the key ? Who is it that has come ? "

" It is I," replied a dark figure in a hoarse voice.

" Have you got the key ? "

" Here it is."

Matthew went up the creaking steps, and, pushing past
Nina, opened the door which rattled somewhat on its
hinges. There was a smell of bread.

44 Who is it that has come ? " asked Nina a second time.

Matthew was silent for a moment.

" The Magistrate with the Doctor and the Commissioner
of Police. At Tarasovka a corpse has been found."

Nina groped her way to the class-room to look for matches.

" Where can I have put them ? " she muttered.

Matthew stood in the darkness and was silent. At
last Nina found the matches and lit the lamp. A faint
ghostly light fell on the rows of desks and benches that
resembled coffins in the cold, bare room.

" I have to get the post-chaise ready, Miss, to fetch
witnesses from Tarasovka."

" Now ? To-night ? " asked Nina, in surprise.

Matthew nodded his head and sighed.

NINA 223

" You had better go across to the priest's, Miss. These
gentry are full up. With all their row you will never be
able to sleep."

" That won't matter," replied Nina. " Have they had
such a lot to drink, then ? "

" Ah ! I should just think they had ! " said Matthew,
half-irritably and half- enviously. He sighed again.

" They've been at it all the evening. . . . You ought
really to go to the priest's. They mean to make a night
of it."

" That won't matter," said Nina once more.

Matthew, disapproving, was silent. " Well, I'm off,"
he said at last.

Nina went with him to the door which she bolted, and
then passed through the school-room to her own room
taking the lamp with her. At once she heard sounds of
drunken laughter, of the clinking of glasses and of the
moving of chairs. The noise came through the door
which shut off her room from that used by " officials and
travellers." It was locked and covered with a curtain,
but tobacco-fumes and a hot, heavy odour came through
it into Nina's room. She opened a window, looked sus-
piciously at the door, and, with her ear close against it,
listened.

" Ha ! Ha ! It's all very well. We know you !
Expect you've been there already," shouted some one
with brutal vehemence.

" Shut up ! " cried another with a wild, drunken
laugh.

" No, sirs, I swear to God. . . ."

For some reason or other Nina suddenly felt as if she
had been insulted, although she had understood nothing.
Bewildered and irresolute, she moved to the table.

" I had better have stayed the night at the Ivolgins',"
she thought, in fear and disgust.

On the other side of the wall she heard shouts and the
noise of falling furniture ; at times it seemed as if they
were fighting like wild beasts in a cage. Nina strove not
to listen. She sat down at the table and gazed thought-
fully at the lamp-light.

224 NINA

" Education, so they say, makes man moral. Our
peasants would never roar like that. . . . They must
know that I am here ! No, a vile man becomes by
education yet more vile. ... It is as if all that he does
were done intentionally."

Then she recollected that in April she would be free to
go.

" I wish that it could be soon. ... I am so tired."

Unconsciously her face wore a jaded, weary expression.
Yet bright, glad thoughts came back to her — visions of
faces she loved from the wide, joyous world that lay
before. Smiling, she gave them welcome with her dark,
thoughtful eyes.

Suddenly there came a sharp rap at the door. Nina
started and looked round.

" Please . . . Miss," said a voice so loudly that it
seemed as if it were in the room, " could you . . . please,
Miss, let us have a candle ? Our lamp is going out."

Nina smiled confusedly, as if the speaker could see her,
and stammered out, " Er — yes, yes ! "

She got up, and, fumbling in the cupboard, produced
a candle with which she went to the door. The bolt was
on her side. She thrust it back, and, opening the door
very slightly, put her hand through the aperture.

" Here ! Will you please take this ? "

" A thousand thanks, Miss ! So much obliged ! "
said with unnatural politeness the same thick, drunken
voice. To Nina it was as if the speaker had made her a
bow ; but he did not take the candle. Nina, holding this
still, moved it again in front of the door. She thought
she heard a chuckle, and suddenly felt as if, close to her
hand, something was being stealthily attempted. Before
she could be certain a fat, moist hand grasped the candle,
and pressed Nina's finger-tips with brutal gallantry close
to the greasy tallow.

" Thank you, thank you, Miss ! " said the same voice,
hastily, and in a more repulsively polite tone than
ever.

" Don't mention it ! " replied Nina mechanically, as
she withdrew her hand.

NINA 225

There was suddenly silence in the adjoining room ;
and, after that, a dull, suppressed murmuring.

Feeling reassured. Nina sat down on the bed, yawned,
and began to undress. She took off her boots, her dress,
and her stays, remaining in her chemise and long black
stockings with pale blue garters. The tight-fitting black
stockings made her feet look so dainty and childish,
and her soft, delicately moulded arms were lustrous in
the lamplight. She arranged her hair for the night,
removing the hair-pins and making a single plait.

" If you please, Miss," said the voice again at the door,
" we've made some tea. Won't you have a glass with
us?"

The voice was still that of a drunken man, and it sounded
unnaturally polite, but the tone was more excited than
before, as if the speaker panted between each word.

" No, thank you ! " answered Nina, in alarm, seizing
the counterpane. The voice was mute, and silence
reigned. Only a second it seemed of absolute stillness,
and then through the window came a far-off sound of
turbulence and commotion from the river. The wind
wrenched off a shutter, and howled round the roof, from
which a slab of ice fell, breaking like glass.

Nina got gently, almost stealthily, into bed, as if she
sought to conceal herself, drawing the coverlet right up
to her chin. Her eyes were wide open, fixed in a vacant,
horrified stare upon the door, and thoughts whirled in
her brain like startled birds.

" I must get away. ... If only Matthew would
come ! . . ."

Yet, instead of escaping, she did not dare to move,
but convulsively clutched the coverlet and drew it up to
her chin, striving to allay her fears.

" Nonsense ! Drunken fellows . . . what could they
do ? They would never dare to come in ! "

To her, this seemed simple and conclusive enough, yet
at the same moment she felt that something incredibly
hideous was about to happen.

At the door all was still.

" Yes . . . but the bolt is not drawn." The words

226 NINA

were uttered in an awful whisper quite close to Nina ;
almost in her ear. Scarcely audible, and yet having the
effect of a piercing scream, they sent a flash of mortal
terror through her brain.

" What does that matter ? " Another sharp whisper
in her ear, and, at the same time a slight noise, as of
some one behind the curtain who stealthily, with bated
breath, was trying to open the door.

Nina's brain reeled ; her soul and body were gripped
by wild fear ; one keen, agonizing thought of something
inconceivably horrible seemed to light up the whole
world. As if a hand had struck her, she sprang up,
and, half nude, like some beautiful little animal, stood by
the'bed, at bay. The curtain moved gently. From the
gloom behind it a large, shadowy form emerged.

" What — what do you want ? Go away at once !
I'll scream ! " cried Nina, in a trembling voice.

The shadowy form suddenly tottered forward, and a
big, red, burly man almost fell into the room. Behind
him came a second, and a third.

" Eh . . . we've come to thank you ... for the candle
and . . . well, you see . . . perhaps you're feeling a
bit lonely . . . such a pretty girl, too "... stammered
the man, with a hideous leer, and, by his bloated, bestial
eyes, Nina could see that he was drunk. Her voice
seemed frozen in her throat ; but suddenly she uttered a
wlid, piercing shriek !

"Help! Help!" *

" Be quiet ! Hush ! " hissed some one in alarm.
Thereupon the big, burly man attacked her, and with his
whole body crushed her against the wall. Some one,
panting, seized her in his rough, sweaty hands and with
a suppressed grunt of fury flung her aside. , , .

II

Then, suddenly, they became sober.

The grey dawn had come ; the lamp went out ; the
room had a close, sickening smell. Pillows lay on the
floor, and the coverlet was huddled up at the foot of the
bed. Bruised and blue, Nina lay there, crying and
screaming, as she tossed from side to side ; not beautiful,
now, but wretched, awful, even hideous to behold. The
tali, pale Commissioner of Police held her down with all
his might, closing her mouth with one hand. The Doctor
and the Magistrate looked on, moving restlessly up and
down. Their hands trembled ; their eyes were blood-
shot and vacant ; their faces in the dawnlight seemed
strangely grey.

" Come, now, do listen, little one. . . . It's no good making
all this fuss ... it can't be helped now. . . . Do listen,
for goodness' sake ! What's done is done ! "

So, all speaking at once, the three strove noisily to
pacify her ; and at last relapsed into craven silence.

Nina, however, the wreck of her former engaging,
beautiful self, writhed, disfigured and soiled, in the
Commissioner's grasp. Wrenching herself free, she
shrieked again, her eyes starting from their sockets.

" What on earth are we to do with her ? " muttered the
Magistrate, furious and afraid.

From the village yonder came sounds remote, indistinct.
Just below the window, loudly, defiantly, a cock crew thrice.

" Ah ! Ah 1 Ah ! " screamed Nina, who had freed
her mouth from the Commissioner's grasp.

His features became distorted with bestial rage as he
ruthlessly gripped her face with all his force, crumpling
it up in such a way that his fingers were covered with
blood and saliva. For a moment they looked both into
each other's eyes — a brief, piercing, glance, horrible,
inhuman.

" Now . . . scream away, do ! " hissed the Commis-
sioner in frenzied triumph.

227

Ill

It was a bright, sunny morning. Long, damp shadows
still lay in front of the houses and fences, but where the
sun shone the puddles glittered, and, here and there,
straws that had been trodden into the frozen mud gleamed
like gold. The school-yard was empty, and only the mark
of wheels in the wet ground were visible. All the furniture
in the room " For Officials and Travellers " was displaced,
except the sofa that was set exactly in front of the door.
One could see empty bottles, dirty glasses, heaps of wet,
greasy cigar-ashes and crushed gherkins. It seemed
strange to imagine that human beings had been here.
On the other side of the door, in Nina's room, all was still
and motionless. It was as though the folding-doors,
like clenched teeth, were guarding a grim secret.

Until eleven o'clock the school-yard was crowded with
boys and girls chasing, pushing, and striking each other,
shrill- voiced as a flock of sparrows. But at eleven o'clock
a sudden ominous silence ensued. Then some one rushed
down the street to proclaim the awful news, and at once
there was a stir and commotion, as from every side
horror-struck people ran, shouting, 'to the school-house.
Old Ivolgin came, and the fat veteran of the village,
and the policeman. The door was opened, and into
Nina's mournful room, where all was silent as the grave,
noisy folk forced their way, with strange, wild, curious
eyes.

There, where all was sad and silent, all things bore
mute and harrowing testimony to a mysterious and awful
tragedy. The whole room had obviously been hastily
and ignorantly set in order by strange hands, the furniture
accurately placed, and the bed, as if long disused and
superfluous, most carefully made. Nina's clothes lay
folded with scrupulous neatness upon a chair, and the
room had a strange, faint, indefinable odour.

In a corner of the room, from a peg of the empty clothes-
stand, Nina was found hanging, in a white chemise with

228

NINA 229

spotless pleats that still smelt of soap. Her delicate arms,
already slightly discoloured, hung helplessly at her side,
and her legs, in black stockings, with sky-blue garters,
were unnaturally bent outwards, as if convulsively
struggling to touch the ground. The ghastly head, blue
and bloated, with its glassy eyes was bent backwards ;
from livid lips the big, puffy tongue protruded ; the
agonized expression of the face was inconceivably horrible.
Old Ivolgin uttered a wild shriek, and the others with
him screamed and chattered incoherently, as if they had
lost their reason. A deep, long-drawn sigh seemed to
float along the street, subsiding in the dense dark crowd
that thronged the stairway. The general horror and
disgust knew no bounds, while deeper and deeper grew
the thirst for revenge.

IV

On the next day, towards evening, the Commissioner
of Police, the Magistrate and the Doctor arrived; not
together, but singly. There was yet daylight, but where
the lengthening shadows fell, thin, brittle ice sparkled.
From the office they went to the desolate-looking school-
house in front of which two plain-clothes policemen with
a stretcher were posted. In silence the officials entered
the school-house. The fat, bloated Doctor was breathing
hard, and his hands twitched convulsively like a helpless
animal scratching the ground. The gaunt, lanky Com-
missioner led the way, his face hard as stone, resolute
and bold.

The Magistrate walked sideways ; his thin white neck
moved in jerks beneath his puny, pert face, and fair,
upturned moustache.

The Commissioner was the first to enter the room,
walking straight up to the corpse, cold and motionless,
/n its sack- cloth shroud. For the space of a second he
looked upon that ghastly head, and then, turning round,
said in a dull, hard voice :

" Away with it ! "

The two assistants hastily flung down their caps by
the door, and carefully, with slippered feet, approached
the bed. Their hands trembled; even their backs, bent
and rigid, expressed horror and pity. Breathing low, they
halted.

" Be quick ! " said the Commissioner in the same hollow,
determined voice.

The men obeyed. The little black feet quivered, and
then rose and sank helplessly. From the coarse canvas-
covering a small livid hand fell out, and dangled on the
floor.

" Carry her down to the yard on the stretcher ! "

The men moved forward, then stopped, and then moved
on again, carrying their burden as if it was something
extremely heavy and fragile.

280

NINA 231

As the strangely extended black legs moved down the
school-house steps, another sigh, muffled and poignant,
swept along the village street alive with a hundred
staring eyes.

" Drive those people away ! " whispered the cowardly
Doctor to the Commissioner.

The latter drew himself up, as in a cold, domineering
tone, he shouted : " What are you all staring at ? Go
away ! March ! "

The mob moved, grew denser, swayed, and remained
stationary.

" Go away ! Go away ! " cried the policemen, gesticu-
lating timorously, feebly.

Nina had been carried down on the stretcher and placed
on the frozen ground. The little head shook slightly,
and then lay quite still.

One of the men, a pale, fair fellow, crossed himself in
terror. The Commissioner, glancing at him, said mechani-
cally :

" Go and fetch witnesses."

The man's features were contracted as if by a spasm of
genuine pity and brainless fear.

After the inspection of the corpse the Doctor and the
Magistrate sat silently in the office. Starless night lay-
without, and on the dark plain some one seemed to hover,
listening.

" Oh ! my God, my God ! " groaned the Doctor, as
with fat fingers he tried to make a cigarette.

The Magistrate glanced at him and walked up and
down the room.

Both were utterly dejected ; each felt unable to look
the other in the face. Thoughts, recollections, blurred
and confused, yet at times sharp as a razor, flashed through
their besotted brains. To the Doctor at times it seemed
as if all were an error, a mistake that could be rectified ;
all would pass away, and life would be as jolly and pleasant
as before. Then suddenly there came a fiery mist, and
the vision of an alluring maid with whom that which
they willed to do they did, until the obscuring clouds of
drunkenness and obscenity rose and revealed a livid
corpse. All fife vanished ; even the possibility of living ;
the whole future was engulfed in the black chasm of terror
from which escape there was none. Avenging forms
arose ; familiar faces became strange and hideous ; hands
were stretched forth to seize ; and the heart sank down,
down into an abyss of horror and shame.

" Oh ! my God, my God ! " groaned the Doctor,
wailing for mercy. The Magistrate paced the room
from one corner to the other, walking faster and faster,
as if to escape from something. The boards creaked ; it
seemed as though a phantom were pursuing him. The
Doctor's lamentations irritated him. They were needless
now, he thought ; the important thing was how to wriggle
out of the affair. The thought of that little murdered
girl had taken firm root in a dark corner of his brain.

" Oh ! my God ! " sighed the Doctor. The Magistrate
became furious. He turned sharply round, his little eyes,
transparent as gelatine, rolling with rage.

NINA 233

" What's the good of all this whining ? " he exclaimed ;
" for God's sake, shut up ! "

An evil thought suddenly flashed across his mind.

" You planned the whole thing yourself, and now you
blubber like some old woman ! " he said viciously, without
looking at the Doctor.

The latter understood him and turned a purplish red.
His big round face resembled a child's toy balloon. His
breath came in short, laboured gasps.

" What ? ... It was I ? ... I that . . . ? " he
stuttered, slowly rising on his short legs.

" Of course, it was you ! " retorted the other with a
nod and a chuckle.

The little lamp on the table tottered, and its green
glass shade rattled piteously. The light fell on broad,
firmly planted feet, and fists convulsively clenched.
The faces of the two were in the shade ; their eyes only
gleamed ferociously.

" / f " gasped the Doctor, choking with rage.

" Yes, you, you, you ! " shouted the Magistrate
wildly.

" Who first suggested it 1 "

" I was only joking ; but you went in first."

" And who hit her on the head, pray ? Yes, on the
head ? I did, perhaps ? "

" Ah ! but who was it that said we had nothing to
fear ? "

There was a knock at the door. They both started
backward in alarm, and were mute. The Commissioner
of Police entered. He was wearing a dull grey coat
with shining buttons, and his sword. His face looked
grey and hard as stone ; his eyes had a lustre as
of metal. Approaching the table he leant upon it with
both hands, and, looking at the wall between them,
said :

" We will hold the inquest at once."
Then, as he did not see, but felt, how pale they turned,
he bit his lip, and continued ;

" We might have had such a nice night of it. This
stupid affair has spoilt everything. Ah ! well, it doesn't

234 NINA

matter ! " He glanced scornfully at both of them, and
then, altering his tone, added sternly :

44 All the same, we're not going to ruin ourselves just
because of a woman. We must get ourselves out of it
somehow, eh ? I have just heard that two peasants saw
the watchman, Matthew Povalny, leaving the school-
house that night. Do you hear ? "

" Well, what of that ? " asked the Doctor huskily.
Again a black thought darted into the Magistrate's mind.
He uttered a sigh of relief.

44 That's what will save us ! It's not a case of outrage ;
merely one of theft. That's simpler, and it won't create
so much fuss. I'll manage the watchman. No need to
bring it in outrage at all. ..."

" Oh ! ... I see ! " said the Commissioner, leaning
over the table, and craning his sinewy neck as if to hear
a distant sound. But the Magistrate grasped the grey
cloak and whispered something, as his eyes rolled insanely,
and saliva spirted from his mouth.

As he proceeded to explain how all the blame should
be laid upon the watchman, the fat Doctor became more
and more unnerved. Another awful phantom confronted
him ; one that he felt powerless to face. When the
Magistrate had finished speaking, the Doctor sank feebly
into a chair, struck the table with his elbow, and covered
his face with his fat fingers, exclaiming fretfully :

44 Oh, Lord ! Oh, Lord ! What are you going to do
now ? "

The Commissioner slowly turned to him a face of
iron.

44 What else is there to be done ? " he asked coldly.

44 Why, that means prison. ... An innocent man is
sent to prison through us ! "

The Magistrate's puny face was lit up by a look of
savage glee.

44 Well, what do you want, then ? " asked the Com-
missioner, with suppressed ferocity of tone.

44 Impossible ... I can't do it ! " The Doctor groaned
and pressed his fingers harder against his face.

NINA 235

" What do you mean by ■ I can't do it ? ' "

"No, I can't!" The Doctor shook his head. "I
can't," he murmured in a broken, husky voice.

44 Ah ! but you could do what you did ! " cried the
Magistrate.

" That . . . well . . . how that happened, I don't
know. . . . But this ... no, I can't ! " replied the
Doctor sadly.

" So you can't do it ? But twelve years' penal servitude
— you could do that, eh ? " asked the Magistrate veno-
mously, as he bent down close to the Doctor's ear. " And
how about your wife and child, eh ? "

Hurriedly uncovering his fat, red, perspiring features,
the Doctor stared at the speaker with dazed, lustreless
eyes. His head sank on the table, and he sobbed and
moaned :

44 My God ! My God ! " . . . What will be the end
of it all ? What shall I do ? "

His head wobbled to and fro on the edge of the table
like a big soft ball.

44 What is the meaning of all this humbug ? " asked
the Commissioner contemptuously, as he moved away
from the table. <4 1 fail to understand."

The Doctor sobbed, and then suddenly burst out laugh-
ing. The Magistrate in alarm hastened to fetch water,
and, as the glass rattled against the other's teeth, he kept
repeating ;

44 For goodness' sake, stop ! What's the matter ?
We had a bit of fun with the girl ; we were drunk,
and — there it is ! Anybody else in our place would
have done the same. We never meant to kill her,
did we ? Here, drink this, go on ! Be quiet and don't
scream like that ! What's done is done, and it can't be
mended ! "

The Doctor now began to groan and laugh alternately.
The Magistrate turned round in terror, and for a moment
experienced a most extraordinary sensation. It was as if
he and the others had gone mad ; his brain seemed on
fire. The Commissioner, rushing forward, knocked the

236 NINA

glass out of his hand and, seizing the Doctor by the

shoulder, yelled at him furiously ;

" Shut up, curse you ! If you don't, I'll kill you ! "
The Doctor shook as if his head were being torn from

his body, and stammered out : " I . . . understand . . .

Let me . . . alone . . . ! I'll say . . . nothing ! "

VI

Already that evening, invisibly, inaudibly, news of the
grave crime had passed from lip to lip, and gradually
the spirit of mutiny and revolt grew deeper. Next morn-
ing workmen at the cotton factory and on the railway
left their work, and in black crowds surged across the
fields to the village. "They murdered her themselves,
and now they want to hold an inquest ! " cried a dull,
hard voice; and from these words something huge and
sinister as an approaching cloud took shape which grew
with lightning speed, and, moving, bore in its wake the
bygone shame and oppression of centuries.

It was as if this little murdered maiden had been the
embodiment of gaiety and youth and human charm,
and that these now were hopelessly extinguished and
destroyed.

When, early in the morning, the corpse was carried by
police-agents along the street, a huge crowd like a black
whirlpool blocked the whole road, dispersing silently at
the approach of the roughly made, unpolished coffin
that slowly swayed aloft. No one knew what to do ;
but all gazed mournfully at the yellow lid. Silence
prevailed, but yonder, somewhere in the distance, there
was a suppressed sound like subterranean rumblings.

The sky grew bright ; frost shone on the roofs, the
fences, and the ground. A single star gleamed sadly in
the east. Slowly forming a circle, the black crowd followed
the coffin down the long, silent street. In the sky all
was so pure and calm and bright; and all so restless,
so brutal on the black earth. The bier was hastily borne
to the church, and then, at a slow pace, to the graveyard.

Suddenly a voice was heard, shrill, insistent. Grey-
haired Ivolgin ran, bareheaded, after the bier, and,
shaking his bony fist, shouted : " Stop ! Stop ! "

The coffin came to a standstill as of its own accord,
swaying to and fro. Ivolgin approached, his grey hair
ruffled, his eyes moist, his mouth awry.

237

238 NINA

" Where are you going ? " he gasped, attempting to
stop the coffin's progress. " Go back ! First murdered,
and then the matter hushed up ! Lying villains ! Go
back ! We'll see about that ! "

A dull murmur, as that of distant breakers, rose from
the crowd..

" For these words, Ivolgin, you will have to answer !
Do you hear ? " cried a police-agent, obstructing the
old man's approach. " Go on, you fellows, go on ! "

Ivolgin mechanically grasped the other's hand, and his
lips moved convulsively.

" Don't lay your hands on me ! " exclaimed the police-
agent, roughly withdrawing his hand. But Ivolgin
seized him by the elbow and murmured something,
opening and shutting his mouth like a fish.

" Leave me alone ! " shouted the police-agent furiously.

" It was they who killed her ! They, themselves ! "
murmured Ivolgin, at last. " You're doing wrong. . . .
You surely know. ..."

" Know ? What do I know ? " cried the police-agent
angrily. " What is it — what business is it of yours ?
Here, arrest this man ! "

A fair, pale man timidly caught hold of Ivolgin's arm.

" What does this mean, chaps ? " cried a voice from the
crowd.

" Let him go ! Murderers ! Stop the funeral, you
fellows ! Wha ... a ... at ? Don't let them go
on ! " Several voices uttered these words wildly and
at random, as the crowd suddenly surged forward. The
police-agent yelled out something in reply, but his words
were lost in the general din. The coffin swayed, and then
was swiftly lowered to the ground.

VII

Next day at noon the District Governor arrived, having
been summoned by telegraph. He was accompanied by
the Commissioner of Police. Ever since the early morn-
ing the whole village had been astir. The coffin stood in
the empty church, the sunlight falling on its yellow lid.

The fat, pompous Governor climbed down from his
carriage in clumsy fashion, saying sharply to the Com-
missioner, but in an undertone : " Call the police- witnesses
and have the girl buried at once."

Taking short steps, he himself walked briskly to the
church. The space in front of the porch was filled by
a silent crowd. The policeman, the sergeant, and the
Commissioner, now came, and their heavy, uneven foot-
steps could be heard on the pavement of the church.
Then they went out again, and the yellow coffin-lid
appeared in the black doorway, swaying above the
crowd.

44 Come, now, clear off ! " said the Governor sharply
as he scowled at the spectators. Silently, automatically,
the crowd advanced, thronging the porch. The coffin
was brought to a halt.

" Go your ways ! " cried the Governor, stepping
forward.

44 What's the meaning of 4 go your ways ? ' " replied
one of the crowd. 44 First you murder somebody, and
then it is, 4 go your ways ! . . .' A fine thing, indeed ! "

Ivolgin, with a small white cross on his grey cloak,
firmly and courteously accosted the Governor.

44 Allow me, sir," he began, in a low voice, bending
closer. 44 The voice of the people shows that. ..."

44 What do you say ? " asked the Governor, turning
sharply round and frowning.

44 1 was saying that we all know who the murderers
are ... we cannot let this awful crime. ..."

The Governor glanced furtively at the other, and then
abruptly turned away.

239

240 NINA

" If you please, this is no business of yours. Who are
you, pray? Be good enough to stand aside." With
that he gently pushed Ivolgin aside.

" Take care, sir ! " cried Ivolgin, in a threatening voice,
as he shook himself free.

The Governor stopped and suddenly grew pale.

" Gently, gently ! " he muttered, and then, in a tone
of command : " Remove the coffin ! "

A long, painful silence ensued. All stood motionless.
The coffin still swayed in the church porch.

" Do you know what you are doing, you fellows ? "
cried the Governor, white with anger. His voice was
weak yet shrill. " You'll have to take the consequences !
Let the coffin pass. The inquiry has discovered who the
culprit is. The law must now take its course, or you'll
sutler for it ! "

"Law must take its course, indeed ! Ha ! Ha ! Ha ! "
cried several mockingly. " Artful fellows, eh ? No, my
friends, there's no such thing as law or justice ! "

" Stand back ! " shouted the Governor, beside himself
with rage. " What does this mean ? "

" I'll tell you what it means," cried Ivolgin, again
advancing, " you think that, for you, justice does not
exist ! You lying wretches ! You're going to be brought
to justice, now ! "

The Governor, frowning, drew back a step. The crowd
instantly advanced, menacingly.

" Commissioner ! " cried the Governor, utterly dis-
concerted.

The tall, pale Commissioner pushed roughly past him
to seize Ivolgin. His face like a mask of steel wore a
cold, hard expression as if he understood nothing.

Just as the Commissioner and a policeman had arrested
Ivolgin, a big gaunt workman struck the former full in
the face with his bony fist. " Murderer ! " he cried.

Blood spurted, and there was a gruesome sound of
something broken. The Commissioner staggered but
kept his feet. His face had suddenly become shapeless.
It expressed neither pain nor fear, but only brutish,
insensate fury. He yelled, crouched like a cat, and

NINA 241

leapt at the workman. Locked for a moment in a deadly
embrace they both staggered and fell, screaming, down
the steps of the church porch.

In a moment all was uproar and confusion. Rebellion,
as a grim, grey ghost, floated above the mob, and was
mirrored in the pallid faces of the fighters.

" Go ahead ! Give it to them, boys ! " cried a voice,
high-pitched and exultant.

The Governor and the Magistrate ran side by side over
the muddy ground, splashing through the half-melted
snow, their faces bedabbled with slush and mire. They
ran, panting, gasping and in tatters, bruised and dis-
figured, like big hares scurrying across the fields, pursued
by the howling, frenzied mob.

VIII

That night, along the dark, muddy high-road a huge mass:
advanced towards the village. Nothing definite was
discernible in the gloom, but one could hear the snorting
of horses, the trampling of hoofs and the faint jingling
of steel. Neither men nor movements were visible,
but it was as if some force, dense and threatening,
approached.

The troops halted in the square. The streets were
silent and deserted ; only a couple of restless yard-dogs
barked and howled. Here and there lights nickered at
windows and immediately went out. A detachment of
soldiers, burly, equal-sized phantoms, dismounted and
occupied the space in front of the church. Then out of
the darkness they brought a box and swiftly carried it
across the glimmering wall to the churchyard. All was
still. Rest everywhere, until the coming of the grey,
restless day. At dawn the main street was again filled
by black masses of humanity — men ill-favoured and
sinister of mien, who had flocked thither from the factory
whose chimneys no longer smoked, standing there like
huge candles that had been put out. From the streets
adjoining the square, black figures emerged. These
gradually became fused and welded, resembling some
dark mass that had been poured out upon the snow-
covered square.

Pale, anxious faces collected and then separated,
glancing round and watching the soldiery with rapt
attention. Half the square by the church was occupied
by a dense crowd. Some squatted on the wall and on
beams beside it — a veritable sea of faces. The other half
of the square was, as before, empty and silent. Here,
motionless, in one long line the Cossacks were stationed,
their stony, inscrutable faces turned towards the mob.
They sat there, rigid in their saddles ; only the horses
kept nodding their heads. In front of them sundry grey
forms paced to and fro ; strange figures that shone above

242

NINA 243

the dark ground. These now swung themselves adroitly
into their saddles. The word of command rang out, and
the long line of cavalry with jingling spurs and clattering
hoofs rode straight across the square at the mob.

Shouts of astonishment and alarm now broke the
silence, as the crowd, recoiling, separated. Then the
whole black mass with wild shrieks clambered on to the
wall and the beams. The horses tossed their heads
vehemently and dashed forward. A yell rose from the
wall, and a storm of hisses. One tall, haggard workman
rushed from the church towards the horses, crying :

" This way, boys, this way ! "

Others followed him, one by one, shouting :

" Go for them ! Let them have it ! "

Riot and confusion now became general. Sticks and
stones whizzed through the air ; on every side were faces
purple with fury, and wild, flashing eyes. There was no
shouting now, but a dull confused sound, as merciless
blows struck living bodies, as horses whinnied, and
fighters were felled to the ground. Then a savage yell
of triumph resounded, and in the distance, at the end of
the square, the Cossacks were seen, no longer in a regular
line, but broken up into little groups. On these a steady
rain of large round stones was falling.

" We've won ! " cried a lanky fellow, laughing trium-
phantly like a schoolboy.

" Look out, you chaps ! " said a voice from the crowd,
gently.

Across the square, on the other side, a long grey stripe
slowly unravelled itself, and one could see plainly how a
hundred feet struck the ground with swift precision.
Instantly all was silent ; and once more above the square
a grim, grey phantom hovered.

" They'll never dare to do that ! They only want to
frighten us ! " murmured voices, nervously, in the crowd.

" Lads ! what shall we do now ? " cried the workman
hoarsely.

Immediately afterwards there was a loud report.
The grey men opposite had disappeared in a cloud of
bluish smoke.

IX

Towards evening the clouds dispersed and there was a
gleam of sunlight. The streets were deserted ; only hens
wandered calmly across the high-road, and, close to the
church, dogs sniffed the ground, slinking along, their
tails between their legs. Silence and horror prevailed,
while between the earth with its victims and the fair
blue sky a Power invisible, deadly, all-oppressing, seemed
to hover.

At the police-station, on stretchers, lay rows of rigid
bodies, with white eyes staring upwards. In these eyes
there was a look, a sad, questioning look of horror and
despair.

THE END

PRINTED AT
KNIGHT'S, WEST NORWOOD

UNIVERSITY OF CALIFORNIA LIBRARY
BERKELEY

Return to desk from which borrowed.
This book is DUE on the last date stamped below.

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AUG 6 1982

IN 9 1960

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