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IVAN TURGENIEFF
Volume V
ON THE EVE
f-S AND STORIES OF
TUKGENIEFF
. THE EVE
^" ^! ^-"yAN BY \
NEW YORK
iARLES SCRIBNER'S SON^
1903
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Thou wilt take me with thee, wilt thou not ? "
From a drawing by E. POTTHAST.
THE NOVELS AND STORIES OF
IVAN TURGENIEFF
ON THE EVE
TRANSLATED FROM THE RUSSIAN BY
ISABEL F. HAPGOOD
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
1903
Copyright, 1903, by
Charles Scribner's Sons
PREFACE
In a preface to the complete edition of his works,
pubhshed in 1880 (the last before his death),
TurgenieiF furnishes some extremely interesting
details about " On the Eve," in the form of a brief
episode from his literary career. This episode
runs as follows:
" I spent nearly the whole of the year 1855 (as well as
the three years preceding) in my village in the Mtzensk
county, Orel Government. Among all my neighbours,
the one with whom I was most intimate was a certain
Vasfly Karatyeeff, a young landed proprietor, aged
twenty-five. KaratyeefF was a romantic man and an en-
thusiast, very fond of music and literature, gifted, in ad-
dition, with peculiar humour, amorous, impressionable
and straightforward. He had been educated In the Mos-
cow University, and lived in the country with his father,
who was seized with an attack of hypochondria, in the
nature of insanity, every three years. KaratyeefF had a
sister, — a very remarkable being, — who also ended by
going Insane. All these persons died long ago; — that Is
why I speak so freely of them. KaratyeefF forced him-
self to attend to the farming, of which he understood
absolutely nothing, and was particularly fond of reading
and of conversing with persons who were sympathetic to
him. Very few such people were to be found. The
V
PREFACE
neighbours did not like him, because of his free-thinking
and his mocking tongue: — moreover, they were afraid
to introduce him to their wives and daughters, because
he had a well-established reputation — in reality not in
the least deserved by him, — of a dangerous Lovelace.
He came frequently to my house, and his visits consti-
tuted almost my sole recreation and pleasure at that
period, which was not a very cheerful one for me.
" When the Crimean war broke out, and recruiting be-
gan among the nobility, under the name of the militia,
the nobles of our county who disliked KaratyeefF con-
spired among themselves, as the saying is, to rid them-
selves of him, — and elected him the commanding officer
of that militia company. On learning of his appoint-
ment, KaratyeefF came to me. I was immediately struck
by his perturbed and alarmed aspect. His first words
were : ' I shall not return thence ; I shall not survive it ;
I shall die there.'
" He could not boast of robust health : his lungs ached
constantly, and he was of frail constitution. Although
I feared for him all the hardships of the campaign, still
I endeavoured to banish his gloomy forebodings and be-
gan to assure him that before a year had passed we
should meet again in our lonely nook, should see each
other, and chat and discuss as of old. But he obstinately
persisted in his view ; and after a rather prolonged stroll
in my park, he suddenly turned to me with the following
words :
" * I have a request to make of you. You know that
I spent several years in Moscow, but you do not know
that I had an experience there which aroused in me the
desire to narrate it — both to myself and to others. I have
PREFACE
tried to do so; but I have been forced to the conviction
that I possess no literary talent whatsoever — and the
whole thing has ended in my writing it down in this
copy-book, which I commit to your hands.'
*' So saying, he drew from his pocket a small manu-
script book, containing about fifty pages. ' I am so
firmly convinced,' he went on, ' despite all your friendly
consolation, that I shall not return from the Crimea, that
I beg you to be so good as to take these rough sketches,
and make something out of them which shall not vanish
without leaving a trace, as I shall ! '
" I tried to refuse ; but perceiving that my refusal
pained him, I promised to fulfil his wish, and that same
evening, after Karatyeeff 's departure, I glanced through
the book which he had left me. There, in hasty outlines,
was sketched that which afterward constituted the sub-
stance of ' On the Eve.' The story was not finished,
however, and broke off abruptly.
" Karatyeeff, during his residence in Moscow, had
fallen in love with a young girl, who reciprocated his
affection ; but, on making acquaintance with a Bulgarian
named Katranoff (a person who, as I afterward learned,
had formerly been very famous, and is not forgotten to
this day in his native land), had fallen in love with him,
and gone off with him to Bulgaria, where he soon died.
— The story of this love was given with sincerity but in-
artistically. Karatyeeff really had not been born for
literature. One scene alone, namely, the jaunt to Tzar-
itzyno, was limned with a good deal of animation — and
in my romance I have preserved its chief features.
" Truth to tell, at that time I was turning over other
images in my head : I was preparing to write ' Rudin ' ;
• •
vu
PREFACE
but the task which I afterward tried to fulfil in ' On the
Eve ' started up before me from time to time. The figure
of the principal heroine, Elena, which was then a new
type in Russian life, was pretty clearly defined in my
imagination ; but a hero was lacking, — the sort of person
to whom Elena, with her confused but powerful impulse
toward freedom, could give herself. On perusing Ka-
ratyeeff 's book I involuntarily exclaimed : ' Here 's the
hero whom I have been seeking!' — There was none of
that sort, as yet, among contemporary Russians.
" When, on the following day, I saw KaratyeeflP, I
not only repeated my promise to fulfil his request, but
I thanked him for having rescued me from a difficulty,
and cast a ray of light into my hitherto dark meditations
and inventions. KaratyeefF was delighted, and repeating
once more, ' Don't let all that perish,' he went oiF to
serve in the Crimea, whence, to my profound regret, he
did not return. His forebodings were realized. He died
of typhus in camp near the Putrid Sea, where our Orel
militia was stationed, — in earthen huts, — never seeing a
single enemy during the whole period of the war, and
nevertheless losing, from various maladies, about one-
half of its men.
" But I deferred the execution of my promise : I busied
myself with other work ; on completing ' Riidin ' I began
on ' A Nobleman's Nest ' ; and only in the winter of
'58-'59, on finding myself again in the same village and
the same surroundings as at the time of my acquaintance
with Karatyeeff", did I feel that the slumbering impres-
sions were beginning to stir. I hunted up and re-read
his copy-book; the figures which had retreated into the
background again advanced into the foreground — and I
• • •
Vlll
PREFACE
immediately took up my pen. A number of my friends
knew at the time all which I have now related ; but I re-
gard it as my duty now, on the definitive publication of
my romances, to communicate it to the public also, and
thereby pay at least a tardy tribute to the memory of
my poor young friend.
" And this is how a Bulgarian became the hero of
my romance. But the Messrs. Critics have unani-
mously reproached me for the artificiality and lif elessness
of that character, have been surprised at my strange
caprice in selecting a Bulgarian in particular, and have
asked : ' Why ? For what reason ? What 's the sense of
it.? ' — The casket has simply been opened; but I did not
consider it necessary, at that time, to enter into further
explanations."
Assuredly, no one of TurgeniefF's books raised
a greater storm, or provoked so diametrically op-
posite opinions from the critics. Some declared
that InsarofF was nothing but another Riidin;
others that he was the precise antithesis of
Rudin. Some admired his reticence, his
strength, the high relief in which he was depicted ;
others called him " shadowy," could detect no
force or attraction in him, and jeered at his having
captivated Elena by his " heroic " trip of forty
miles, on behalf of his compatriots, and, in par-
ticular, his silly feat with the German at Tzari-
tzyno. Opinions as to Elena were equally diverse.
The point about her which seemed particularly to
irritate society and the critics was her abandon-
ix
PREFACE
ment of her home (uncongenial as it was), and
the bad example which she thereby set to other
Russian girls. The special thing which fairly in-
furiated many critics was that Turgenieff should
have " imported " a hero from outside of Russia,
—and from Bulgaria, of all places!— as though
no men worthy of a serious maiden's love, or
no fine men, were to be found at home. Their
acerbity on this score ends by amusing one who
peruses the contemporary and later criticisms.
The author's explanation quoted above practically
nullifies a great deal of what was written about
Elena, as well as about Insaroif, of a carping
character.
The one thing which not one of them thought
of saying— a woman would have said it probably,
but the critics were all men— is: that with Elena's
temperament and surroundings it was inevitable
that she should fall in love with InsarofF, in spite
of the fact that he says almost nothing, is repre-
sented as merely preparing to act, and actually
does nothing except in the two trivial instances
cited. This proposition carries with it the corol-
lary that hero and heroine are as faithful to life
as are the secondary characters in the book, whom
the critics all praised for their fidelity to nature
and as genuine artistic creations.
The book was first pubhshed in 1860.
I. F. H.
ON THE EVE:
A ROMANCE
(1859)
ON THE EVE:
A ROMANCE
IN the shade of a lofty linden-tree, on the bank
of the Moscow River, not far from Kiin-
tzovo, two young men were lying on the grass, on
one of the very hottest summer days of the year
1853. One, three-and-twenty years of age, judg-
ing from his appearance, of lofty stature, swar-
thy of visage, with a pointed and somewhat
crooked nose, a high forehead, and a repressed
smile on his broad lips, was lying on his back,
and thoughtfully gazing into the distance, with
his small, grey eyes screwed up; the other was
lying on his chest, with his curly, fair-haired head
propped on both hands, and was also gazing at
something in the distance. He was three years
older than his comrade, but seemed much
younger: his moustache was barely sprouting,
and a light down curled on his chin. There was
something childishly pretty, something allur-
ingly elegant, in the small features of his fresh,
round face, in his sweet, brown eyes, his hand-
some, full lips, and small, white hands. Every-
thing about him exhaled the happy gaiety of
3
ON THE EVE
health, breathed forth youth — ^the unconcern,
self-confidence, self-indulgence, and charm of
youth. He rolled his eyes about, and smiled,
and put his head on one side as small boys do
when they know that people like to look at them.
He wore an ample white coat, in the nature of a
blouse ; a blue kerchief encircled his slender neck,
a crumpled straw hat lay upon the grass beside
him.
In comparison with him, his companion ap-
peared to be an old man, and no one would have
thought, to look at his angular form, that he was
enjoying himself, that he was at his ease. He
was lying in an awkward posture ; his large head,
broad above and pointed below, was uncouthly
set upon his long neck; uncouthness was ex-
pressed by every movement of his arms, of his
body, clothed in a tight-fitting, short black coat,
of his long legs, with elevated knees, resembling
the hind legs of a grasshopper. Nevertheless,
it was impossible not to recognise the fact that
he was a well-bred man; the stamp of "good-
breeding " was perceptible all over his ungainly
person, and his countenance, which was homely
and even somewhat ridiculous, expressed a habit
of thought and kindliness. His name was Andrei
Petrovitch BersenefF ; his comrade, the fair-haired
young man, was named Shiibin, Pavel Yakov-
litch.
" Why dost thou not lie on thy breast, as I am
4.
ON THE EVE
doing?" began Shiibin. "It's much better so.
Especially when you stick your feet in the air,
and click your heels together — this way. The
grass is just under your nose: it's tiresome to
gaze at the landscape — watch some fat little bee-
tle crawl up a blade of grass, or an ant bustling
about. Really it 's much nicer. But thou hast
assumed a sort of pseudo-classical pose, precisely
like a ballet-dancer when she leans her elbows on
a cardboard cliff. Remember, that thou hast
now a perfect right to rest. It 's no joke to have
graduated third in the class ! Take your rest, sir ;
cease to strain yourself; stretch out your limbs! "
Shubin enunciated the whole of this speech
through his nose, half -languidly, half -jestingly
(spoiled children talk in that manner to the
friends of the family, who bring them sugar-
plums), and, without waiting for an answer, he
went on:
" What surprises me most of all, in the ants,
beetles, and other worthy insects, is their wonder-
ful seriousness; they run to and fro with counte-
nances as grave as though their lives were of
some importance ! Why, good gracious, man, the
lord of creation, the most exalted of beings, may
be looking at them, but they care nothing for
him; perhaps, even, a gnat may alight upon the
nose of the lord of creation, and begin to utilise
him as food. This is insulting. But, on the other
hand, in what respect is their life inferior to ours ?
5
ON THE EVE
And why should n't they put on airs of impor-
tance if we permit ourselves to be pompous?
Come now, philosopher, solve this riddle for me!
Why dost thou maintain silence? Hey? "
" What ..." ejaculated Berseneff, coming
to himself with a start.
"What!" repeated Shubin. "Thy friend
expounds profound thoughts to thee, and thou
dost not listen to him."
" I was admiring the view. Look, how hotly
yonder fields are blazing in the sunlight! " (Ber-
seneff lisped a little. )
" A good bit of color that," — replied Shubin.
— " In a word, it is nature! "
Berseneff shook his head. " Thou shouldst be
more enthusiastic over all this than I am. It 's
in thy line: thou art an artist."
" No, sir; it 's not in my line," — retorted Shii-
bin, and pushed his hat back upon the nape of
his neck. — " I 'm a butcher, sir; my business is
flesh, modelling flesh, shoulders, feet, hands, but
here there are no contours, there is no finish, it
melts off in all directions. . . Go, seize it if you
can!"
" Why, precisely therein lies its beauty," — re-
marked Berseneff. " By the way, hast thou fin-
ished thy bas-relief? "
"Which one?"
" The child with the goat."
"Damn it! damn it! damn it! "—exclaimed
6
ON THE EVE
Shiibin, in a drawl. — " I 've been looking at the
real thing, at the old masters, at the antique, and
I 've smashed my miserable stuff. Thou pointest
out nature to me, and sayest: ' Therein lies
beauty.' Of course, there is beauty in every-
thing, there 's beauty even in thy nose, but one
can't run after every bit of beauty. The an-
cients — ^why, even they did n't run after it ; it
descended of itself into their works, God knows
whence, perhaps from heaven. The whole world
belonged to them; we cannot expand ourselves
so widely; our arms are too short. We fling out
a bait at one tiny point, and then we watch for
results. If there 's a bite, bravo ! if there is no
bite "
Shiibin thrust out his tongue.
" Stop, stop," — responded Berseneff . " That
is a paradox. If thou art not in sympathy with
beauty, if thou dost not love it wherever thou en-
counterest it, it will not give itself to thee in
thine art. If a fine view, if fine music, have no-
thing to say to thy soul, — I mean, if thou art not
in sympathy with them . . . ."
" Ekh, get out, thou sympathiser! " — retorted
Shiibin hastily, and broke into a laugh at his own
newly-coined word, but Berseneff became pen-
sive. — " No, my dear fellow," — resumed Shiibin,
" thou philosopher-sage, third in thy class at
the Moscow University, 't is a terrible thing to
argue with thee, especially for me, a student who
7
ON THE EVE
did not finish his course; but just let me tell thee
something: with the exception of my art, I love
beauty only in women .... in young girls, and
that only since quite recently. ..."
He rolled over on his back, and clasped his
hands under his head.
A few moments passed in silence. The still-
ness of the sultry midday weighed heavily upon
the radiant and slumbering earth.
" By the way, speaking of women," — began
Shiibin again. — " Why does n't somebody take
Stakhoff in hand? Hast thou seen him in Mos-
cow? "
" No."
" The old fellow has gone quite out of his
mind. He sits for whole days together at the
house of his Augustina Christianovna, — he is hor-
ribly bored, but there he sits. They gaze at each
other, so stupidly. ... It 's repulsive even to
look at. Just think of it! With what a family
God has blessed that man: but no, give him his
Augustina Christianovna! I don't know of any-
thing more hideous than her duck -like physiog-
nomy ! The other day, I modelled a caricature of
her, in Dantesque style. It turned out quite well.
I '11 show it to thee."
' " And the bust of Elena Pavlovna," — inquired
Berseneff, — " is that progressing? "
" No, my dear fellow, it is not progressing.
That face is enough to drive one to desperation.
8
ON THE EVE
You look, and the lines are pure, severe, regular ;
apparently, there is no difficulty about catching
the likeness. Nothing of the sort. ... It won't
yield itself, any more than a treasure will drop
into your hands. Hast thou noticed how she lis-
tens? Not a single feature moves, only the ex-
pression of her glance changes incessantly, — and
that alters the whole face. What is a sculptor
to do, and a bad sculptor into the bargain ? She 's
a wonderful being .... a strange being," — ^he
added, after a brief pause.
*' She is a wonderful girl," — BersenefF re-
peated after him.
" And the daughter of Nikolai Artemievitch
StakhofF! After that, just talk about blood,
about race! And the amusing thing is, that she
really is his daughter, she resembles him, and
resembles her mother, Anna Vasilievna. I re-
spect Anna Vasilievna with all my heart, — she is
my benefactress : but she 's a hen, all the same.
Where did Elena get that soul of hers? Who
kindled that fire ? There 's another riddle for
th©e, philosopher! "
But the " philosopher," as before, made no re-
ply. In general, Berseneff did not sin through
loquacity, and, when he spoke, expressed himself
awkwardly, hesitated, gesticulated unnecessarily:
but on this occasion a special sort of stillness had
descended upon his spirit, a stillness akin to
weariness and sadness. He had recently settled
9
ON THE EVE
in the country, after a long and difficult task
which had occupied him for several hours every
day. Inactivity, the softness and purity of the
air, the consciousness of having attained his ob-
ject, the whimsical and careless conversation with
his friend, the suddenly-evoked image of a be-
loved being, all these varied but, at the same time,
in some way similar impressions were merged to-
gether within him into one general feeling, which
soothed, agitated him, and enfeebled him
He was a very nervous young man. It was
cool and quiet beneath the linden-tree; the flies
and bees which fluttered about in its shadow
seemed to hum in a more subdued manner; the
clean, fine grass, of emerald hue, with no golden
gleams, did not wave; the tall blades stood mo-
tionless as though enchanted; the tiny clusters
of yellow blossoms on the lower branches of
the linden hung like dead things. Their sweet
perfume penetrated into the very depths of the
breast with every breath, but the breast inhaled
it willingly. Far away, beyond the river, as far
as the horizon, everything was glittering and
blazing; from time to time a little breeze swept
past, and broke and increased the scintillation;
a radiant vapour quivered over the earth. No
birds were to be heard: they do not sing in the
hours of sultry heat; but the grasshoppers were
shrilling everywhere, and it was pleasant to lis-
ten to that hot sound of life, as one sat in the
10
ON THE EVE
shade, at ease : it inclined to slumber, and evoked
dreaminess.
" Hast thou observed," — began BersenefF sud-
denly, aiding his speech with gesticulations of his
arms, — " what a strange feeling Nature arouses
in us? Everything about her is so full, so clear,
I mean to say, so satisfying in itself, and we
understand this, and admire it, and, at the same
time, she always — at least in my own case — causes
a certain uneasiness, a certain agitation, even
sadness. What is the meaning of this? Are we
more powerfully conscious in her presence, face
to face with her, of all our own incompleteness,
our lack of clearness, or is that satisfaction where-
with she contents herself not enough for us, while
the other — I mean the one which she does not
possess — is necessary for us? "
" H'm,"— replied Shiibin,— " I '11 tell thee,
Andrei Petrovitch, whence all this arises. Thou
hast described the sensations of the solitary man,
who does not live, but merely looks on, and
swoons in ecstasy. What 's the good of looking
on? Live thyself, and thou wilt be a fine, dashing
fellow. Knock at the door of Nature as thou
wilt, she will not respond with a single compre-
hensible word, because she is dumb. She will
ring and grieve, like the chord of a lyre, but thou
must not expect any song from her. A living
soul — and a woman's soul in particular — will re-
spond. Therefore, my noble friend, I counsel
11
ON THE EVE
thee to provide thyself with a friend of the heart,
and all thy melancholy sensations will immedi-
ately vanish. That 's what we ' need,' as thou
art wont to say. Seest thou, that agitation, that
sadness, is simply a sort of hunger. Give the
stomach the right sort of food, and everything
will reduce itself to order at once. Take thy
place in space, be a body, my dear fellow. And,
after all, what is Nature, and what 's the good of
her? Just listen: Love . . . what a mighty, burn-
ing word! Nature . . . what a cold, scholas-
tic expression! And then" (Shubin began to
chant): "'Long life to Marya Petrovna!' or
no," he added, " not to Marya Petrovna, but that
makes no difference! Vous me comprenez"
BersenefF half sat up, and propped his chin
on his clasped hands. — " Why this raillery," — he
said, without looking at his companion, — " why
this jeering? Yes, thou art right: Love is a great
word, a great feeling. . . . But of what sort of
love art thou speaking? "
Shubin also half sat up. — " Of what love? Of
whatever sort you please, if only it be present.
I will confess to thee that, in my opinion, there
is no such thing as different sorts of love. . . .
If thou hast loved . . . ."
" I have, with all my heart," — interjected Ber-
seneff.
" Well, yes, that is a matter of course : the soul
is not an apple: it cannot be divided. If thou
12 I
ON THE EVE
hast been in love, thou art in the right. And I
had no intention to jeer. I have such tenderness
in my heart now, it is so softened .... I merely
wished to explain why nature, according to thee,
has that effect upon us. Because she rouses in
us the necessity for love, and is not able to satisfy
it. She impels us gently to other, living em-
braces, but we do not understand her, and we
expect something from her herself. Akh, An-
drei, Andrei, it is beautiful. This sun, this sky,
everything, everything around us, is very beauti-
ful, but thou art sad ; but if, at this moment, thou
heldest in thy hand the hand of a beloved woman,
if that hand and the whole woman were thine,
if thou wert even gazing with her eyes, feeling
not with thine own solitary feeling, but with
her feeling, — Nature would not inspire thee with
sadness, Andrei, and thou wouldst not begin to
notice her beauty: she herself would rejoice and
sing, she would join in thy hymn, because thou
wouldst then have endowed her, the dumb, with
a tongue! "
Shiibin sprang to his feet, and strode back and
forth a couple of times, but BersenefF bowed his
head, and a slight flush suffused his face.
" I do not entirely agree with thee," — he be-
gan: — "Nature is not always hinting at . . at
love to us." (He could not utter the
word " love " at once.) " She also menaces us:
she reminds us of . . . terrible . . . yes, of un-
13
ON THE EVE
attainable mysteries. Is not she bound to engulf
us, is not she incessantly devouring us? In her
are both life and death; and in her death speaks
as loudly as life."
" And in love there is both life and death," —
interposed Shubin.
" And moreover," — went on Berseneff , —
*' when I, for example, stand in springtime, in
the forest, in a green copse, when I fancy I hear
the sounds of Oberon's horn" (Berseneff was
a little shamefaced when he had uttered these
words) — "is that — "
" It is a thirst for love, a thirst for happiness,
nothing else! " — exclaimed Shubin, "I, too, know
those sounds, I know that languor and anticipa-
tion which invade the soul beneath the shadows
of the forest, in its bosom; or, in the evening, in
the open fields, when the sun is setting and the
vapour is rising from the river behind the bushes.
But from the forest and from the river, and from
the earth, and from the sky, from every Httle
cloud, from every blade of grass, I expect, I de-
mand happiness, in everything I feel its ap-
proach, I hear its summons. ' My god is a bright
and merry god ! ' That is the way I once began a
poem ; confess : it was a magnificent first Hne, but
I could n't possibly match it with a second. Hap-
piness ! happiness ! until life is over, so long as all
our members are in our power, so long as we are
going not down hill but up hill! Devil take it! "
14)
ON THE EVE
— continued Shiibin, with sudden fervour — *' we
are young, we are not monsters, we are not
stupid: let us conquer happiness for ourselves! "
He shook his curls, and glanced upward in a
self-confident, almost challenging manner at the
sky. BersenefF looked at him.
" Is there really nothing higher than happi-
ness? " — he said softly.
" What, for example? " — inquired Shiibin, and
paused.
" Why, here, for example, thou and I, as thou
sayest, are young; we are good fellows, let us
assume ; each of us wishes happiness for himself.
.... But is that word ' happiness ' the sort of
word which would have united us, would have
kindled us to flame, would have made us offer
each other our hands? Is it not an egotistical,
a distintegrating word, I mean to say? "
"And dost thou know any words which do
unite?"
*' Yes, — and there are not a few of them ; and
thou knowest them also."
" You don't say so? What words are they? "
" Why, take art, for instance, — since thou art
an artist, — fatherland, science, liberty, justice."
" And love? " — asked Shiibin.
" Love, also, is a word which unites ; but not
that love for which thou art now thirsting: not
love as enjoyment, but love as sacrifice."
Shiibin frowned.
15
ON THE EVE
" That 's all right for the Germans ; I want to
love for myself; I want to be number one."
" Number one," — repeated BersenefF. — " But
it strikes me that the whole significance of life
consists in placing one's self as number two."
" If everybody were to act as thou counsel-
lest," — remarked Shiibin, with a lugubrious
grimace, — " nobody on earth would eat pine-
apples : everybody would leave them for some one
else."
" As a matter of fact, pineapples are not in-
dispensable; however, have no apprehensions:
there will always be people to be found who
would like to take the bread out of other people's
mouths."
The two friends remained silent for a while.
" I met Insaroff again the other day," — began
Berseneff : — " I invited him to call on me; I am
very anxious to introduce him to thee .... and
to the StakhofFs."
" What Insaroff is that? Akh, yes, that Ser-
vian or Bulgarian, of whom thou hast spoken
to me? Is n't it he who has put all those philo-
sophical thoughts into thy head? "
" Perhaps so."
" Is he a remarkable individual? "
" Yes."
"Clever, gifted?"
" Clever? . . . Gifted? I don't know, I don't
think so."
16
ON THE EVE
" No? What is there remarkable about him? "
" Thou wilt see. But now, I think it is time to
be going, Anna Vasilievna is expecting us, I
fancy. What time is it?"
" Two o'clock. Come along. How stifling
it is! This conversation has set all my blood
aflame. And there was a moment when thou,
also . . . I 'm not an artist for nothing: I have
taken note of everything. Confess, a woman
occupies thy mind? . . ."
Shiibin tried to peer into Bersenefl"s face, but
the latter turned away, and emerged from be-
neath the shade of the linden. Shiibin followed
him, treading with graceful swagger on his tiny
feet. BersenefF moved clumsily, raised his shoul-
ders high as he walked, thrust forward his neck:
but, notwithstanding this, he appeared a better-
bred man than Shiibin, more of a gentleman, we
should have said, had not that word become so
trite among us.
17
II
The young men descended to the Moscow River,
and strolled along its banks. The water exhaled
coolness, and the soft plash of the little waves
caressed the ear.
" I should like to take another bath," — re-
marked Shubin, — " but I 'm afraid of being late.
Look at the river: it is fairly beckoning to us.
The ancient Greeks would have recognised it as
a nymph. But we are not Greeks, O nymph! —
we are thick-skinned Scythians."
" We have water-nymphs also," remarked Ber-
senefF.
" Get out with your water-nymphs! What
use have I, a sculptor, for those offspring of a
confused, cold fancy, those images born in the
reek of a peasant's hut, in the gloom of winter
nights? I must have light, space. . . When,
my God, shall I go to Italy? When . . . ."
" That is, thou intendest to say, to Little Rus-
sia? "
" Shame upon thee, Andrei Petrovitch, to re-
proach me for a thoughtless bit of stupidity, of
which, even without that, I have bitterly repented.
Well, yes, I behaved like a fool: Anna Vasi-
lievna, that Idndest of women, did give me money
18
ON THE EVE
for a trip to Italy, but I betook myself to the
Topknots/ to eat dough-balls, and . . . ."
" Don't finish thy remark, please," — inter-
rupted BersenefF.
" Nevertheless, I will say that that money was
not spent in vain. I beheld there such types,
especially feminine types. . . Of course, I know :
outside of Italy there is no salvation! "
" Thou wilt go to Italy," — remarked Berse-
neff, without turning toward him — " and thou
wilt accomplish nothing. Thou wilt merely flap
thy wings, but thou wilt not soar. We know
you!"
" But Stavasser soared. . . And he is not the
only one. And if I don't soar — it will signify
that I am an aquatic penguin, without wings.
I 'm stifling here, I want to go to Italy," — went
on Shiibin, — " there is sun, there is beauty
there. . ."
A young girl, in a broad-brimmed straw hat,
with a rose-coloured parasol over her shoulder,
made her appearance, at that moment, in the path
along which the two friends were walking.
" But what do I behold? Beauty is coming to
meet us even here! The greeting of a humble
artist to the enchanting Zoya!" — suddenly ex-
claimed Shubin, with a theatrical flourish of his
hat.
^The scornful Great Russian name for the Little
Russian. — Translator.
19
/
ON THE EVE
The young girl to whom this exclamation was
addressed shook her finger at him, and allowing
the two friends to approach her, she said, in a ring-
ing voice, with the merest suggestion of a lisp:
" Why don't you come to dinner, gentlemen?
The table is set."
" What do I hear? " said Shiibin, clasping his
hands. — " Is it possible that you, charming Zoya,
have brought yourself to come in search of us, in
this heat? Is that how I am to construe the
meaning of your speech ? Tell me, can it be ? Or
no, do not utter that word: repentance will kill
me on the spot."
" Akh, do stop, Pavel Yakovlevitch," — re-
turned the young girl, not without vexation: —
" why do you never speak seriously to me? I
shall get angry," — she added, with a coquettish
shrug of the shoulders and a pout.
" You will not be angry with me, my ideal
Zoya Nikitishna : you will not wish to plunge me
into the abyss of wild despair. But I do not
know how to talk seriously, because I am not a
serious man."
The girl shrugged her shoulders, and turned
to BersenefF.
" He is always like that: he treats me like a
child ; and I am already over eighteen years old.
I 'm grown up."
" O heavens! " — moaned Shubin, and rolled up
his eyes ; but BersenefF laughed noiselessly.
20
ON THE EVE
The girl stamped her little foot.
" Pavel Yakovlevitch ! I shall get angry ! He-
lene started to come with me," — she went on, —
" but stopped behind in the garden. The heat
frightened her, but I 'm not afraid of heat. Let
us go."
She set out along the path, lightly swaying her
slender iigure at every step, and tossing back
from her face, with her pretty little hand covered
with a black mitt, the long, soft locks of her hair.
The friends followed her ( Shiibin now silently
pressed his hands to his heart, again he raised
them above his head ) , and, a few moments later,
they found themselves in front of one of the nu-
merous suburban villas which surround Kiin-
tzovo. A small wooden house, with a partial sec-
ond storey, painted pink, stood amid a garden,
and peeped forth from among the verdure of the
trees in a naive sort of way. Zoya was the first
to open the wicket-gate, run into the garden, and
cry out: "I have brought the wanderers!" A
young girl, with a pale and expressive face, rose
from a bench beside the path, and on the thresh-
old of the house a lady in a lilac-silk gown made
her appearance, and, raising an embroidered ba-
tiste handkerchief above her head to protect it
from the sun, she smiled languidly and indo-
lently.
21
Ill
Anna Vasilievna Stakhoff, born Shubin, had
been left a full orphan at seven years of age, and
heiress to a fairly large property. She had rela-
tives who were very wealthy, and relatives who
were very poor; the poor ones on her father's
side, the wealthy ones on her mother's: Senator
Bolgin, the Princess Tchikurasoff . Prince Ar-
dalion Tchikurasoff, who was appointed as her
guardian, placed her in the best boarding-school
in Moscow, and when she left school took her
into his own house. He lived in handsome style,
and gave balls in the winter. Anna Vasilievna's
future husband, Nikolai Artemievitch Stakhoff,
won her at one of these balls, where she wore " a
charming pink gown, with a head-dress of tiny
roses." She preserved that head-dress. . . . Ni-
kolai Artemievitch Stakhoff, the son of a retired
captain who had been wounded in the year 1812,
and had received a lucrative post in Petersburg,
had entered the military school at the age of six-
teen, and graduated into the Guards. He was
handsome, well built, and was considered about
the best cavalier at evening parties of the middle
class, which he chiefly frequented : he did not have
access to fashionable society. Two dreams had
22
ON THE EVE
occupied him from his youth up: to become an
Imperial aide-de-camp and to make an advan-
tageous marriage ; he speedily renounced the first
dream, but clung all the more tenaciously to the
second. As a result of this, he went to Mos-
cow every winter. Nikolai Artemievitch spoke
French very respectably, and had the reputation
of being a philosopher, because he did not in-
dulge in carouses. While he was still only an
ensign, he had been fond of arguing obstinately
on the question, for example, as to whether it
is possible for a man, in the course of his whole
life, to traverse the entire globe, and whether it
is possible for him to know what goes on at the
bottom of the sea — and he always maintained the
opinion that it is not possible.
Nikolai Artemievitch had passed his twenty-
fifth birthday when he " hooked " Anna Vasi-
lievna ; he resigned his commission, and retired to
the country to engage in farming. Rural exis-
tence soon palled on him, and the estate was on a
quit-rent basis ;^ he settled in Moscow, in his wife's
house. In his youth, he had never played at
card-games, but now he became passionately fond
of loto, and when that was prohibited, of whist.
He was bored to death at home; he entered into
relations with a widow of German extraction,
1 That is, the serfs paid an annual sum for the privilege of being
released from agricultural labours for the master, and of earning their
living in the towns, at any trade wherein they were skilled. — Trans-
lator.
23
ON THE EVE
and spent almost all his time at her house. In the
summer of '53 he did not remove to Kiintzovo;
he remained in Moscow, ostensibly with the ob-
ject of taking a course of mineral waters; in
reality, he did not wish to part from his widow.
He did not talk much with her, however, but
mostly argued as to whether the weather could
be predicted, and so forth. Once, some one called
him " a frondeur " ; this appellation pleased him
greatly. " Yes," he thought, drawing down the
corners of his lips in a self-satisfied way, and
swaying to and fro, " I am not easily satisfied ;
you can't cheat me." Nikolai Artemievitch's
critical faculty consisted in this — ^that, for in-
stance, when he heard the word "nerves,"he would
say: " And what are nerves? " or some one would
allude in his presence to the triumphs of astron-
omy, and he would say: " And do you believe in
astronomy? " But when he wished overwhelm-
ingly to dumfound his antagonist, he said: " All
that is mere phrases." It must be confessed that
such retorts appeared (and still appear) to many
persons irrefutable; but Nikolai Artemievitch
had not even a suspicion that Augustina Chris-
tianovna, in her letters to her cousin, called him
" Mein Pinselchen." ^
Nikolai Artemievitch's wife, Anna Vasilievna,
was a small, thin woman, with delicate features,
inclined to emotion and melancholy. At board-
^ My simpleton.
24
ON THE EVE
ing-school she had busied herself with music, and
had read romances, then she had cast aside, all
this ; she had begun to take pleasure in dress, and
this taste had persisted; she had undertaken the
education of her daughter, but had weakened,
and given her over to the hands of a governess;
and it ended in her doing nothing whatever, ex-
cept grieving and indulging in gentle agitation.
The birth of Elena Nikolaevna had shattered
her health, and she was not able to have any more
children; Nikolai Artemievitch was in the habit
of alluding to this circumstance, by way of justi-
fying his acquaintance with Augustina Chris-
tianovna. Her husband's infidelity greatly em-
bittered Anna Vasilievna; what particularly
wounded her was that, one day, by a trick, he pre-
sented his German with a pair of grey horses
from her (Anna Vasilievna's) stud. She never
reproached him to his face, but she complained of
him, on the sly, to every one in the house in turn,
even to her daughter. Anna Vasilievna was not
fond of society; it pleased her to have a visitor
sit with her, and narrate something; when left
alone, she immediately fell ill. She had a very
loving and tender heart : life speedily ground her
between the millstones.
Pavel Yakolevitch Shiibin was her grand-
nephew. His father was in the government ser-
vice in Moscow. His brothers had entered the
cadet corps; he was the youngest, his mother's
25
ON THE EVE
darling, of delicate constitution: he remained at
home. He had been destined for the university,
and had passed his examinations with difficulty.
From his earliest years, he had begun to display
an inclination for sculpture: ponderous Senator
Bolgin one day saw a statuette of himself at his
aunt's (the lad was sixteen years old at that time) ,
and declared that he intended to protect the
youthful talent. The sudden death of Shubin's
father came near changing the young man's
whole future. The senator, the patron of talent,
presented him with a plaster bust of Homer —
and that was all ; but Anna Vasilievna aided him
with money, and in a lame sort of fashion, at the
age of nineteen, he entered the medical course of
the university. Pavel felt no predilection for
medicine, but, according to the distribution of the
students which existed at that period, it was im-
possible for him to enter any other course ; more-
over, he hoped to study anatomy. But he did not
study anatomy; he did not pass into the second
year, and without waiting for the examinations,
he left the university, to devote himself wholly to
his vocation. He toiled zealously, but by fits and
starts ; he roamed about the environs of Moscow ;
he modelled and drew the portraits of peasant
maidens; he entered into relations with various
persons, young and old, of high and low degree,
— ^with Italian model-makers and Russian artists ;
he would not listen to the suggestion of the
26
ON THE EVE
Academy, and recognised no professor. He pos-
sessed decided talent: he began to be known in
JVIoscow. His mother, a Parisian by birth, taught
him French, bustled and worried about him day
and night, was proud of him, and when she died
of consumption, at an early age, she entreated
Anna Vasilievna to take charge of him. He was
then in his twenty-first year. Anna Vasilievna
complied with her last wish: he occupied a small
chamber in a wing of the house.
27
IV
" Come, let us go to dinner," — said the mistress
of the house, in a mournful voice, and all betook
themselves to the dining-room. — " Sit next to
me, Zoe," — said Anna Vasilievna; " and do thou,
Helene, entertain our guest ; and please, Paul, do
not play pranks and do not tease Zoe. I have a
headache to-day."
Again Shubin rolled his eyes heavenward;
Zoe replied to him by a half -smile. This Zoe,
or, to speak more accurately, Zoya Nikitishna
Miiller, vi^as a pretty, little, slightly cross-eyed
Russian German, with a little nose cleft at the
tip, and tiny red lips, fair-haired and plump.
She sang Russian romances far from badly,
played neatly on the piano divers pieces, some-
times merry, sometimes sentimental; she dressed
with taste, but in a childish way, somehow, and
too spotlessly. Anna Vasilievna had taken her as
a companion for her daughter, but kept her al-
most uninterruptedly by her own side. Elena
made no complaint on this score: she positively
did not know what to say to Zoya when she
chanced to be left alone with her.
The dinner lasted rather a long time; Berse-
28
ON THE EVE
nefF chatted with Elena about university life,
about his intentions and hopes. Shiibin listened,
and maintained silence, eating with exaggerated
avidity, and from time to time casting comical
mournful glances at Zoya, who responded to him
with the same phlegmatic smile as before. After
dinner, Elena went into the garden with Berse-
nefF and Shiibin; Zoya gazed after them, and
slightly shrugging her shoulders, seated herself
at the piano. Anna VasiHevna began to say:
" Why don't you go for a walk also? " but with-
out waiting for an answer, she added: " Play me
something sad. ..."
" La derniere pensee de Weber? " asked Zoya.
" Akh, yes, Weber," — said Anna Vasilievna,
dropping into an arm-chair, and a tear sprang
to her eyelashes.
Meanwhile, Elena had led the friends to an
arbour of lilacs, with a small wooden table in the
centre, and benches all round it. Shiibin cast a
glance around, gave several little skips, and say-
ing in a whisper, "Wait!" ran off to his own
room, brought a lump of clay, and began to model
a figure of Zoya, shaking his head, muttering,
and laughing the while.
" At your old tricks again," — remarked Elena,
with a glance at his work, and turned to Berse-
nefF, with whom she pursued the conversation
which had been begun at dinner.
"My old tricks!"— repeated Shiibin.— " The
29
ON THE EVE
subject is downright inexhaustible! To-day, in
particular, she drove me beyond patience."
" Why so? " inquired Elena. — " One would
think that you were talking about some mali-
cious, disagreeable old hag. A pretty, young
girl . . . ."
" Of course,"— interrupted Shubin,— " she is
pretty, very pretty ; I am convinced that any pas-
ser-by, on glancing at her, is inevitably bound to
think : ' There 's a girl with whom it would be
pleasant to . . . dance a polka ; ' I am also con-
vinced that she knows this, and that it is agree-
able to her.— Why those bashful grimaces, that
modesty? Come, you know very well what I
mean to say," he added through his teeth. —
" However, you are otherwise occupied at pres-
ent."
And, smashing Zoya's figure, Shubin set has-
tily, and as though vexed, to moulding and knead-
ing his clay.
" And so, you would like to be a professor? "
—Elena asked BersenefF.
" Yes," rephed the latter, crushing his red
hands between his knees. " That is my cherished
dream. Of course, I am very well aware of
everything wliich I lack to become worthy of so
lofty .... I mean to say that I am too inade-
quately prepared, but I hope to receive permis-
sion to go abroad; I shall remain there three or
four years, if necessary, and then "
30
ON THE EVE
He paused, dropped his eyes, then suddenly
raised them and, with an awkward smile, smoothed
back his hair. When BersenefF talked with a
woman, his speech became still more dehberate,
and he lisped still more decidedly.
" You wish to be a professor of history? "—in-
quired Elena.
" Yes, or of philosophy," — he added, lowering
his voice,—" if that should prove to be possible."
" He is already devilish strong in philosophy,"
— remarked Shubin, making deep lines with his
finger-nail in the clay, — " so why should he go
abroad? "
" And shall you be perfectly satisfied with your
position?" — asked Elena, resting her elbow on
the table, and looking him straight in the face.
" Perfectly, Elena Nikolaevna, perfectly.
What profession can be better? Upon my word,
to follow in the footsteps of Timofei Nikolae-
vitch The mere thought of such a career
fills me with joy and agitation, — yes, ....
with agitation, which .... which springs from
the consciousness of my own small powers. My
deceased father gave me his blessing on that
matter I shall never forget his last
words."
" Did your father die last winter? "
" Yes, Elena Nikolaevna, in February."
" They say,"— pursued Elena,—" that he left
a remarkable work in manuscript: is that true? "
31
ON THE EVE
" Yes, he did. He was a wonderful man. You
would have loved him, Elena Nikolaevna."
" I am convinced of that. And what are the
contents of that work? "
" It is somewhat difficult to convey to you the
contents of the work in a few words, Elena Niko-
laevna. My father was a learned man, a Schel-
lingist: he employed terms which are not always
lucid. . . ."
" Andrei Petrovitch," — Elena interrupted him,
— " pardon my ignorance; but what does a Schel-
lingist mean? "
BersenefF smiled slightly.
" A Schellingist signifies, a follower of Schel-
ling, the German philosopher; and Schelling's
doctrine consisted in "
" Andrei Petrovitch ! " — suddenly exclaimed
Shiibin: — "for God's sake! Thou dost not in-
tend to deliver a lecture on Schelling to Elena
Nikolaevna? Spare her!"
" It is not a lecture at all," muttered Berse-
nefF, and flushed crimson, — " I wanted . . . ."
" And why not a lecture? " — interposed Elena;
" you and I are greatly in need of a lecture,
Pavel Yakovlevitch."
Shiibin fixed his eyes on her, and suddenly
burst out laughing.
" What are you laughing at? " — she asked
coldly and almost sharply.
Shubin stopped short.
32
ON THE EVE
*' Come now, don't get angry," — ^he said, after
a pause. — " I beg your pardon. But really, what
possesses you, — good gracious! — now, in such
weather, under these trees, to discuss philosophy?
Let us talk, rather, about nightingales, about
roses, about youthful eyes and smiles."
" Yes, and about French romances, and wo-
man's fripperies," went on Elena.
" And about fripperies, if you like," retorted
Shubin, " if they are pretty."
" Very well. But what if we do not care to
talk about fripperies? You call yourself a free
artist, why do you infringe upon the freedom of
others ? And permit me to ask you, if that 's your
way of thinking, why you attack Zoya ? It is par-
ticularly convenient to discuss fripperies and roses
with her."
Shubin suddenly flared up, and half rose from
the bench. — " Ah, you don't say so? " he began,
in a nervous voice. — " I understand your hint;
you are sending me off to her, Elena Nikolaevna.
In other words, I am intruding here."
" I had no thought of sending you away from
here."
" You mean to say," — went on Shubin testily,
— " that I am not worthy of any other society,
that I am a mate for her, that I am as empty and
silly and shallow as that sickly-sweet little Ger-
man? Is n't that so, madam? "
Elena contracted her brows. — " You have not
33
ON THE EVE
always expressed yourself about her in that man-
ner, Pavel Yakovlevitch," she remarked.
" Ah! reproach! reproach, now! " cried Shiibin.
— " Well, yes, I do not conceal the fact, there was
a moment — precisely that, one moment — when
those fresh, commonplace little cheeks ....
But if I wished to pay you back with reproach,
and remind you .... Good-bye, madam," he
suddenly added, — " I am on the point of talking
at random." ^
And dealing a blow upon the clay, which he
had moulded into the shape of a head, he rushed
out of the arbour and went off to his own room.
" A child," — remarked Elena, gazing after
him.
" An artist," said BerseneiF, with a gentle
smile. — " All artists are like that. One must par-
don them their caprices. That is their preroga-
tive."
" Yes," returned Elena, — " but, so far, Pavel
has not established that prerogative for himself.
What has he accomplished up to the present time?
Give me your arm, and let us walk in the avenue.
He disturbed us. We were talking about your
father's writings."
Berseneif gave Elena his arm, and went into
the garden with her; but the conversation which
had been begun, having been broken off too soon,
was not renewed. Berseneff again began to set
forth his views on the vocation of professor, on
34
ON THE EVE
his future career. He moved quietly by Elena's
side, stepped awkwardly, supported her arm
clumsily, now and then jostled her with his
shoulder, and never once looked at her; but his
speech flowed lightly, if not quite freely, he ex-
pressed himself simply and pertinently, and in
his eyes, which roved slowly over the boles of the
trees, over the sand of the path, over the grass,
there beamed the quiet emotion of noble feelings,
and in his tranquil voice there was audible the joy
of a man who is conscious that he is successfully
expressing himself to another person who is dear
to him. Elena listened attentively to him, and,
half turned toward him, never removed her eyes
from his face, which had paled slightly, — from
his eyes, which were friendly and gentle, although
they avoided an encounter with her eyes. Her
soul unclosed, and something tender, just, good,
was poured into her heart, or sprang up within it.
35
Shubin did not leave his room until nightfall. It
was already perfectly dark; the moon, not yet at
the full, hung high in the heaven, the Milky Way
gleamed white, and the stars had begun to stud
the sky, when BersenefF, having taken his leave
of Anna Vasilievna, Elena, and Zoya, went to
his friend's door. He found it locked, and
tapped.
" Who 's there? " rang out Shiibin's voice.
" I," — replied BerseneiF.
" What dost thou want? "
" Let me in, Pavel ; have done with thy ca-
prices; art not thou ashamed of thyself? "
" I 'm not capricious; I 'm asleep, and behold-
ing Zoya in my dreams."
" Stop that, please. Thou art not a child. Let
me in. I must have a talk with thee."
" Hast not thou talked enough already with
Elena? "
" Have done, have done with that; let me in! "
Shubin replied by a feigned snore; BersenefF
shrugged his shoulders, and went home.
The night was warm, and, somehow, peculiarly
quiet, as though everything round about were
36
ON THE EVE
listening and watching; and Berseneff, envel-
oped by the motionless mist, involuntarily came
to a halt, and began also to listen and watch. A
faint murmur, like the rustle of a woman's gown,
arose from time to time in the crests of the trees
near by, and excited in Berseneff a sweet and
painful sensation — a sensation of semi-alarm.
Little shivers coursed down his cheeks, his ej^^es
were chilled with quick-springing tears ; he would
have liked to walk absolutely without noise, to
hide himself, to steal along stealthily. A keen lit-
tle breeze attacked him on the flank : he shivered
slightly, and stood stock-still; a sleepy beetle
tumbled from a bough and landed on the path
with a clatter: Berseneff emitted a soft " Ah! "
and again came to a halt. But he began to think
of Elena, and all these transient sensations in-
stantly vanished; only the vivifying impression
of the nocturnal freshness, and the nocturnal
stroll, and the image of the young girl absorbed
his whole soul. Berseneff walked on with droop-
ing head, and called to mind her words, her ques-
tions. It seemed to him that he heard the tread
of rapid footsteps behind him. He listened in-
tently : some one was running, some one was pur-
suing him; the panting breath was audible, and
all at once, out of the black circle of shadow cast
by a huge tree, Shiibin popped up in front of
him, with no hat upon his dishevelled hair, and
ghastly pale in the moonlight.
37
ON THE EVE
" I am glad thou hast taken this path," he ar-
ticulated with difficulty; " I should not have slept
all night if I had not overtaken thee. Give me
thine arm. Thou art on thy way home, I sup-
pose? "
" Yes."
" I will accompany thee."
But how wilt thou go without thy hat? "
Never mind about that. I have taken oiF my
neckcloth also. It is warm now."
The friends advanced a few paces.
*' I was very foolish to-day, was n't I? " asked
Shubin suddenly.
" To speak frankly, yes. I could not under-
stand thee. I have never seen thee like that.
And what was it that angered thee, pray? A few
trifles!"
"H'm!" muttered Shubin. — "What a way
thou hast of expressing thyself ! — but I am in no
mood for trifles. Seest thou," he added, — " I am
bound to inform thee, that I . . . . that ....
Think of me what thou wilt .... I ... .
well, here goes! I am in love with Elena! "
"Thou art in love with Elena!" — repeated
Berseneff, and stopped short.
" Yes," went on Shubin, with forced careless-
ness. — " Does that surprise thee? I will tell thee
more. Until this evening I was able to hope
that, in course of time, she would come to love
me. . . . But to-day I have become convinced
38
ON THE EVE
that I have nothing to hope for, — she has fallen
in love with some one else."
*' With some one else? With whom, then? "
" With whom? With thee! " cried Shiibin, and
slapped Berseneff on the shoulder.
"With me!"
" With thee," — repeated Shubin.
Berseneff fell back a pace, and stood stock-
still. Shubin gazed keenly at him.
"And does that surprise thee? Thou art a
modest youth. But she does love thee. . . .
Thou mayest rest at ease on that score."
" What nonsense thou art chattering! " ejacu-
lated Berseneff, at last, with vexation.
" No, it is n't nonsense. But why are we stand-
ing here? Let 's go on. It 's easier when we are
walking. I have known her for a long time, and
I know her well. I cannot be mistaken. Thou
art after her own heart. There was a time when
she liked me: but, in the first place, I am too
frivolous a young man for her, while thou art
a serious being, thou art a morally and physically
clean individual, thou .... Stay, I am not
through. . . Thou art a conscientious enthusiast,
a genuine representative of those priests of
science, of which, — no, not of which, — of whom,
— of whom the middle-class Russian gentry are so
justly proud. And, in the second place, the other
day, Elena caught me kissing Zoya's arms! "
"Zoya's?"
89
ON THE EVE
<(
Yes, Zoya's. What wouldst thou have me
do? She has such fine shoulders."
" Shoulders? "
" Why, yes, shoulders — arms — is n't it all the
same? Elena caught me in the midst of these fa-
miliar occupations after dinner, while before din-
ner I had been objurgating Zoya in her presence.
Elena, unfortunately, does not understand how
perfectly natural such contradictions are. Then
tliou didst turn up : thou art a believer . . . what
the deuce is it that thou believest in? . . . thou
art eloquent, thou blushest, thou growest con-
fused, thou grievest over Schiller, over Schelling
(and she is always hunting up distinguished per-
sons), and so thou hast carried off the victory,
while unhappy I endeavour to jest . . . and
. . . nevertheless ..."
Shubin suddenly burst into tears, stepped aside,
sat down on the ground, and clutched himself
by the hair.
Berseneff went up to him.
" Pavel," — he began, — " what childishness is
this? Good gracious! What is the matter with
thee to-day? God knows what nonsense thou
hast taken into thy head. And thou art weeping !
Really, it seems to me that thou art pretending."
Shubin raised his head. The tears glistened
on his cheeks in the moonlight, but his face was
smiling.
" Andrei Petrovitch," — ^he said, — " thou may-
40
ON THE EVE
est think of me what thou wilt. I am even ready-
to admit that I have a fit of hysterics at the pres-
ent moment ; but God is my witness that I am in
love with Elena, and that Elena loves thee. How-
ever, I promised to escort thee home, and I will
keep my word."
He rose.
" What a night ! silvery, dark, young ! How
fine it is now for those who are in love! How
delightful they find it not to sleep! Shalt thou
sleep, Andrei Petrovitch? "
BersenefF made no reply, and accelerated his
gait.
" Why art thou in such a hurry? " — went on
Shubin. — " Trust my words, such a night will
never be repeated in thy life. But Schelling awaits
thee at home. He has done thee a service to-day,
't is true ; but do not hasten, nevertheless. Sing,
if thou knowest how,— sing still more loudly; if
thou dost not know how — take off thy hat, throw
back thy head, and smile at the stars. They are
all gazing at thee — at thee alone: the stars do
nothing else but gaze at people who are in love, —
that is why they are so charming. Thou art in
love, art thou not, Andrei Petrovitch ? . . . Thou
dost not answer me. . . . Why dost thou not
answer? " — began Shubin again. — " Oh, if thou
feelest thyself happy, hold thy peace, hold thy
peace! I chatter, because I am an unlucky wretch,
I am not beloved; I am a juggler, an artist, a
41
ON THE EVE
buffoon; but what wordless raptures would not
I quaff in these nocturnal streams of light, be-
neath these stars, beneath these brilliants, if I
knew that I were loved? .... Berseneff, art
thou happy? "
Berseneff remained silent, as before, and strode
swiftly along the level road. Aliead, among the
trees, the lights of the hamlet in which he lived
began to twinkle; it consisted of half a score, in
all, of small villas. At its very beginning, on
the right of the road, beneath two wide-spreading
birch-trees, was a tiny shop ; all its windows were
already closed, but a broad streak of light fell
in fan-shape from the open door, upon the tram-
pled grass, and surged upward upon the trees,
sharply illuminating the whitish under side of
their dense foliage. A young girl, a lady's maid,
to all appearance, was standing in the shop, with
her back to the road, and bargaining with the
shopkeeper : from beneath the red kerchief, which
she had thrown over her head, and held fast under
her chin with her bare hand, her plump cheek
and slender neck were just visible. The young
men stepped into the band of light, Shubin
glanced at the interior of the shop, halted, and,
exclaimed: "Annushka!" The young girl
turned briskly round. A pretty, rather broad,
but rosy face, with merry brown eyes and black
brows, was revealed. — "Annushka!" — repeated
Shubin. The girl looked at him, took fright,
42
ON THE EVE
grew abashed — and without finishing her pur-
chase, descended the steps, slipped hastily past,
and with hardly a glance behind her walked down
the road to the left. The shopkeeper, a corpulent
man and indifferent to everything in the world,
like all suburban shopkeepers, grunted and
yawned after her, while Shubin turned to Ber-
senefF with the words: " That . . that . . thou
seest .... I am acquainted with a family here
. . . thou must not think. . . ." and without
finishing his speech, he ran after the retreating
girl.
" Wipe away thy tears, at least," — shouted
BersenefF after him, and could not refrain from
laughing. But when he reached home, the ex-
pression of his face was not merry; he was no
longer laughing. Not for one moment did he
believe what Shubin had said to him, but the
words he had uttered had sunk deep into his soul.
" Pavel was making a fool of me," — he thought
..." but when she does fall in love . . . whom
will she love? "
A piano stood in Berseneff 's room, small and
not new, but with a soft and agreeable, although
not quite pure tone. BersenefF sat down at it,
and began to strike chords. Like all Russian
nobles, he had studied music in his childhood,
and, like almost all Russian nobles, he played
very badly; but he was passionately fond of mu-
sic. Properly speaking, what he loved in it was
43
ON THE EVE
not the art, nor the forms wherewith it expresses
itself (symphonies and sonatas, even operas,
made him low-spirited), but its poetry: he loved
those sweet and troubled, aimless and all-embrac-
ing emotions which are evoked in the soul by
blending and the shifting successions of sounds.
For more than an hour he did not leave the piano,
repeating the same chords over and over many
times, awkwardly seeking new ones, pausing and
allowing the sounds to die away on diminished
sevenths. His heart ached within him, and his
eyes were more than once suffused with tears.
He was not ashamed of them; he was shedding
them in the dark. " Pavel is right," he thought;
"I have a presentiment that he is right: this
evening will not be repeated." At last he rose,
lighted a candle, donned his dressing-gown, took
from its shelf the second volume of Raumer's
" History of the Hohenstaufens," — and heaving
a sigh or two, began to read diligently.
44
VI
In the meantime, Elena had returned to her own
chamber, seated herself in front of the open win-
dow, and leaned her head on her hand. It had
become her habit to spend a quarter of an hour
every evening at the window of her chamber.
During that time, she held converse with herself,
rendered herself an account of the day that was
past. She had recently celebrated her twentieth
birthday. She was tall of stature, had a pale and
dark-skinned face, large grey eyes under arched
brows, surrounded with tiny freckles, a perfectly
regular brow and nose, a tightly compressed
mouth, and a decidedly pointed chin. The braids
of her dark-chestnut hair hung low on her slender
neck. In the whole of her being, in the expres-
sion of her face, which was attentive and some-
what timid, in her mutable glance, in her smile,
which seemed strained, in her soft and uneven
voice, there was something nervous, electrical,
something impulsive and precipitate, — in a word,
something which could not please every one, which
even repelled some people. Her hands were nar-
row, rosy, with long fingers; her feet also were
narrow; she walked rapidly, almost impetuously,
45
ON THE EVE
with her body slightly bent forward. She had
grown up very strangely; at first she had wor-
shipped her father, then she had become passion-
ately attached to her mother, and had cooled
toward both of them, especially toward her father.
Of late, she had treated her mother like an ail-
ing grandmother; and her father, who had been
proud of her, as long as she had possessed the
reputation of being a remarkable child, began to
be afraid of her when she grew up, and said
of her, that she was some sort of an enthusiastic
republican, God knows whom she took after!
Weakness agitated her, stupidity angered her, a
lie she never forgave " unto ages of ages " ;^ her
demands made no concessions to anything what-
ever, her very prayers were often mingled with
reproach. A person had but to lose her respect,
— and she promptly pronounced judgment, often
too promptly, — and he forthwith ceased to exist
for her. All impressions took deep root in her
soul : she did not take life easily.
The governess to whom Anna Vasilievna had
entrusted the task of finishing her daughter's
education, — an education, we may remark in
parenthesis, which had never even been begun
by the bored young lady — was a Russian, the
daughter of a ruined bribe-taker, graduate of
a Government Institute, a very sentimental, ami-
^The equivalent, in the Eastern Church, of "for ever
and ever."— Thanslator.
46
ON THE EVE
able, and deceitful creature ; she was forever fall-
ing in love, and ended by marrying, in her fiftieth
year (when Elena had already passed her seven-
teenth birthday), some officer or other who im-
mediately abandoned her. This governess had
been very fond of literature, and was herself in
the habit of scribbling bad verses; she imbued
Elena with a taste for reading, but reading alone
did not satisfy the girl; from her childhood up,
she had thirsted for activity, for active good : the
poor, the hungry, the sick, interested her, dis-
turbed, tortured her ; she saw them in her dreams,
she questioned all her acquaintances about them;
she bestowed alms carefully, with an involuntary
air of gravity, almost with emotion. All op-
pressed animals, — gaunt watch-dogs, kittens con-
demned to death, sparrows which had tumbled
out of the nest, even insects and reptiles found
a protector and defender in Elena; she tended
them herself, she did not despise them. Her
mother did not interfere with her; on the other
hand, her father was very much incensed with his
daughter for her vulgar coddling, as he called it,
and declared that one could not take a step in the
house without treading on a dog or a cat. " Le-
notchka,"— he would shout at her, " come hither,
make haste, a spider is sucking a fly, release the
unhappy victim! " And Lenotchka, all in a flut-
ter would run to him, release the fly, and separate
its legs which were stuck together. " Come, now,
47
ON THE EVE
let it bite thee, if thou art so kind," remarked her
father ironically; but she paid no heed to him.
At the age of ten, Elena made acquaintance with
a poor little girl, Katya, and was in the habit of
going in secret to meet her in the garden. She
carried her dainties, made her presents of ker-
chiefs, and ten-kopek coins — Katya accepted no
toys. She sat down beside her on the dry earth,
in the thicket, behind a clump of nettles; with a
sensation of joyous humility she ate her black
bread, listened to her stories. Katya had an aunt,
an ill-tempered old woman, who frequently beat
her; Katya hated her, and was always talking
about running away from her aunt, and of how
she would live entirely free from all restraint.
With secret reverence and terror, Elena listened
to these new, unfamiliar words, stared attentively
at Katya, and at such times everything about her
— her black, quick eyes, almost like those of a wild
beast, her sunburned arms, her dull little voice,
even her tattered clothing — seemed to Elena to
be something peculiar, almost holy. Elena would
return home, and for a long time thereafter think
about the poor, about God's will ; she thought of
how she would cut herself a staff from a nut-
tree, throw a beggar's wallet over her shoulder,
and run off with Katya; how she would roam
about the highways in a wreath of corn-flowers:
she had once seen Katya with such a wreath. If
one of her relatives entered the room at that
48
ON THE EVE
moment, she became shy, and looked queer. One
day, she ran through the rain to her rendezvous
with Katya, and splashed her frock; her father
caught sight of her and called her a slut, a little
peasant. She flushed crimson all over, and had
a terrible and wonderful sensation at her heart.
Katya often hummed some half -barbarous, sol-
diers' ditty; Elena learned the song from her
.... Anna Vasilievna overheard her, and flew
into a rage.
" Where hast thou picked up that abomina-
tion?" — she asked her daughter. Elena merely
stared at her mother, and said not a word : she felt
that she would sooner allow herself to be rent in
pieces than to betray her secret, and again she had
a sweet and terrified feeling in her heart. How-
ever, her acquaintance with Katya did not last
long: the poor little girl fell ill of a fever, and
died a few days later.
Elena grieved greatly, and it was long before
she could get to sleep at night after she heard of
Katya's death. The last words of the little beg-
gar child rang incessantly in her ears, and it
seemed to her that they were calling her. . . .
But the years followed years ; swiftly and inau-
dibly, like the waters beneath the snows, Elena's
youth flowed past in outward idleness, in in-
ward strife and unrest. She had no friends: she
did not become intimate with a single one of the
young girls who visited the Stakliofl's' house.
49
ON THE EVE
Parental authority never weighed heavily upon
Elena, and at the age of sixteen she became almost
entirely independent; she lived her own life, but
a lonely life. Her soul burned and expired alone,
she beat her wings like a bird in a cage, but there
was no cage: no one checked her, no one re-
strained her, yet she was restless and pined.
Sometimes she did not understand herself, she
was even afraid of herself. Everything around
her seemed to her either senseless or incompre-
hensible. " How can one live without love? but
there is no one to love! " she thought, and fear
fell upon her at that thought, at those sensations.
At eighteen, she came near dying of a malignant
fever. Shaken to the very foundations, her whole
organism, strong and healthy by nature, was un-
able, for a long time, to recover itself; the last
traces of illness disappeared, at last, but Elena
Nikolaevna's father still talked, not without
wrath, about her nerves. Sometimes she took it
into her head that she wanted something which
no one, in the whole of Russia, wishes, thinks of.
Then she calmed down, even laughed at herself,
spent day after day in careless unconcern; but
suddenly something powerful, nameless, which
she was not able to control, fairly seethed up
within her, and demanded to burst its way out.
The tempest passed over, the weary wings, which
had not soared, drooped; but these fits left their
mark upon her. Try as she would not to betray
50
ON THE EVE
what was taking place within her, the sadness of
her agitated soul was revealed in her very external
composure, and her relatives often had a right to
shrug their shoulders, to marvel, and to fail to
comprehend her " peculiarities."
On the day upon which our story began, Elena
did not leave her window until long after her ac-
customed time. She thought a great deal about
BersenefF, about her conversation with him. She
liked him ; she had faith in the warmth of his feel-
ings, in the purity of his intentions. Never be-
fore had he talked with her as on that evening.
She recalled the expression of his bold eyes, of
his smile — and smiled herself, and fell into rev-
erie, but it was no longer about him. She set to
gazing out into " the night " through the open
window. For a long time she gazed at the dark,
low-hanging heaven; then she rose, with a ges-
ture tossed the hair back from her face, and,
without herself knowing why, she stretched out,
toward that heaven, her bare, cold arms ; then she
dropped them, knelt down before her bed, pressed
her face to her pillow, and in spite of all her
efforts not to yield to the feeling which was
sweeping in upon her, she fell to weeping with
strange, amazed, but burning tears.
51
VII
On the following day, at twelve o'clock, Berse-
neiF set out for Moscow with a cabman who was
returning thither. He had to get some money
from the post-office to purchase certain books,
and he wished, incidentally, to see InsarofF and
have a conference with him. The idea had oc-
curred to Berseneff, during his last chat with
Shiibin, to invite InsarofF to visit him at the villa.
But he did not speedily find him: he had re-
moved from his former lodgings to other quar-
ters, which v/ere awkward to reach. They were
situated in the rear courtyard of a hideous stone
house, built in the Petersburg style, between
Arbat Square and Povarskaya Street. In vain
did BersenefF wander from one dirty entrance
to another, in vain did he call out now to the yard-
porter, now to " somebody." Even in Peters-
burg the yard-porters endeavour to avoid the
gaze of visitors, and much more so in Moscow : no
one answered BersenefF's shouts: only a curious
tailor, in nothing but his waistcoat, and with a
skein of grey thread on his shoulder, silently
thrust through the hinged pane of a window high
up his dull and unshaven face, with black, bruised
52
ON THE EVE
eyes, and a black, hornless goat, which had
climbed upon a dung-heap turned round, bleated
pitifully, and began to chew its cud more briskly
than before. A woman in an old sleeved cloak
and patched shoes took pity, at last, upon Berse-
neiF, and pointed out to him InsarofF's lodgings.
BersenefF found him at home. He had hired a
chamber from the very tailor who had gazed so
indifferently from the hinged pane at the embar-
rassment of the straying man, — a large, almost
perfectly bare chamber, with dark-green walls,
three square windows, a tiny bed in one corner,
a leather-covered couch in another, and a huge
cage suspended close to the ceiling; in this cage
a nightingale had once lived. Insaroff advanced
to meet Berseneff as soon as the latter crossed the
threshold, but did not exclaim, " Ah, is that
you!" or, " Akh, my God! what brings you
here? " He did not even say, " Good-morning,"
but simply shook him by the hand, and led him
to the only chair in the room.
" Sit down," — he said, and seated himself on
the edge of the table.
" Things are still in disorder with me, as you
see," — added Insaroff, pointing at a pile of pa-
pers and books on the floor; " I have not yet in-
stalled myself properly. I have not had time
as yet."
Insaroff spoke Russian with perfect correct-
ness, pronouncing each word strongly and
53
ON THE EVE
clearly; but his guttural, though agreeable voice
had a certain ring which was not Russian. In-
saroff's foreign extraction (he was a Bulgarian
by birth) was still more plainly apparent in his
personal appearance: he was a young man five-
and-twenty years of age, thin and wiry, with a
hollow chest and angular arms ; he had sharp fea-
tures, a nose with a hump, bluish-black straight
hair, a small forehead, small deep-set eyes with
an intent gaze, and thick eyebrows; when he
smiled, very handsome white teeth made their ap-
pearance for an instant from beneath thick,
harsh, too clearly outlined lips. He was dressed
in an old but neat frock-coat, buttoned to the chin.
" Why have you removed from your former
lodging? " — BersenefF asked him.
" This one is cheaper; it is nearer the univer-
sity."
" But it is vacation-time now . . . And what
possesses you to live in town during the summer?
You ought to have hired a villa, if you had made
up your mind to move."
InsarofF made no reply to this remark, and
offered Berseneff a pipe, with the words: " Ex-
cuse me, I have no cigarettes or cigars."
Berseneff lighted the pipe.
" Now I," he went on, — " have hired a little
house near Kuntzovo. It is very cheap, and very
convenient. So that there is even an extra room
up-stairs."
54
ON THE EVE
Again InsarofF made no reply.
Berseneff stretched himself.
" I have even been thinking," — he began again,
emitting the smoke in a thin stream, — " that if,
for example, I were to find any one . . . you,
for example, — that is what I was thinking ....
who would like .... who would consent to
install himself up-stairs in my house .... how
nice it would be ! What do you think of it, Dmi-
try Nikanoritch? "
InsarofF turned his small eyes on him. —
" Are you proposing that I should live with you
in your villa? "
" Yes; I have an extra chamber up-stairs."
" I am very much obliged to you, Andrei Pe-
trovitch; but I do not think that my means will
permit me to do it."
" What do you mean by that? "
" They will not permit me to live in a villa. I
cannot afford two sets of lodgings."
" Why, but I . . . " Berseneff began, then
paused. — " You would not be at any extra ex-
pense," — he went on. — " Your present lodgings
could be retained for you, let us assume; on the
other hand, everything is very cheap there; we
might even arrange, for example, to dine to-
gether."
InsarofF maintained silence, Berseneff felt
awkward.
" At all events, come and visit me sometime,*
55
it
ON THE EVE
he began, after waiting a while. — " A couple of
steps from me lives a family with whom I am
very anxious to make you acquainted. If you
only knew, InsarofF, what a splendid young girl
there is there ! One of my most intimate friends
lives there also, a man of great talent ; I am con-
vinced that you will take to him." (A Russian
loves to stand treat — if with nothing else, then
with his acquaintances. ) — " Really, now, do come.
But, better still, come and live with us, — really
you ought. We might work together, read . . .
you know, I am busying myself with history and
philosophy. You are interested in all that. I
have a great manj^ books."
Insaroff rose and paced the room. — " Allow
me to inquire," — he asked at last, — " how much
you pay for your villa? "
" One hundred rubles."
*' And how many rooms has it? "
" Five."
" Consequently, by computation, one room
would cost twenty rubles? "
"Yes. . . But, good gracious! I don't need it
at all. It is simply standing empty."
"Possibly; but listen," — added Insaroif with
a decided but, at the same time, ingenuous move-
ment of the head:—" I can accept your propo-
sition only in case you will consent to take the
money from me according to the computation.
I am able to give twenty rubles, the more so as,
56
ON THE EVE
according to your words, I shall be effecting an
economy on everything else there."
" Of course ; but, really, I am ashamed to do
it."
" It cannot be done otherwise, Andrei Petro-
vitch."
"Well, as you like; only, what an obstinate
fellow you are! "
Again Insaroff said nothing.
The young men came to an agreement as to the
day on which Insaroff was to move. They called
the landlord, but first he sent his daughter, a
a little girl seven years of age, with a huge, mot-
ley-hued kerchief on her head; she listened with
attention, almost in affright, to everything In-
saroff said to her, and silently went away; after
her, her mother, who was near her confinement,
made her appearance, also with a kerchief on her
head, only it was tiny. Insaroff explained to her
that he was going to move to a country villa near
Kuntzovo, but retained the lodging, and en-
trusted all his things to her ; the tailor's wife also
seemed to take fright, and retired. Finally, the
master of the house came; at first, he seemed to
understand all about it, and only remarked
thoughtfully: " Near Kuntzovo? " but then sud-
denly flung open the door, and shouted, " Are
the lodgings to be kept for you, pray? " Insaroff
soothed him. " Because, I must know," repeated
the tailor gruffly, and disappeared.
57
ON THE EVE
BersenefF went his way, very much pleased
with the success of his proposition. Insaroff
escorted him to the door, with an amiable cour-
tesy which is not much in use in Russia ; and when
he was left alone, he carefully removed his coat,
and busied himself with putting his papers in
order.
58
VIII
On the evening of that same day, Anna Vasi-
lievna was sitting in her drawing-room, and pre-
paring to weep. Besides herself, there were in
the room her husband and a certain Uvar Ivano-
vitch StakhoiF, Nicolai Artemievitch's great-
uncle, a cornet on the retired list, aged sixty, a
man obese to the point of being unable to move,
with small, sleepy, yellow eyes, and thick, colour-
less lips in a bloated yellow face. Ever since his
retirement from the army, he had lived uninter-
ruptedly in Moscow on the interest from a small
capital which had been bequeathed to him by his
wife, a member of the merchant class. He did
nothing, and it is hardly probable that he thought ;
but if he did think, he kept his thoughts to him-
self. Only once in the course of his life had he
become excited and displayed activity, namely:
when he read in the newspapers about a new in-
strument at the London International Expo-
sition: a " controbombardon," and wanted to im-
port that instrument, and even inquired where
he was to send the money, and through what
office. Uvar Ivanovitch wore a capacious sack-
coat, snuff -brown in hue, and a white necker-
59
ON THE EVE
chief, ate much and often, and only in embar-
rassing circumstances, — that is to say, on every
occasion when it behooved him to express any
opinion, — did he wiggle the fingers of his right
hand convulsively in the air, beginning first with
the thumb and running to the little finger, then
beginning with the little finger and ending with
the thumb, with difficulty articulating: " It ought
. . . somehow, you know ..."
Uvar Ivanovitch was seated in an arm-chair
by the window and breathing hard, Nikolai Ar-
temievitch was pacing up and down the room
with great strides, with his hands thrust into his
pockets: his face expressed displeasure.
He came to a halt, at last, and shook his head.
— " Yes," — he began, — " in our day, young peo-
ple were brought up diff'erently. Young people
did not permit themselves to be lacking in respect
for their elders." (He pronounced the ma'n}
through his nose, in French fashion. ) " But now,
all I can do is to look on and marvel. Perhaps
I am not right, and they are ; but I was not a born
dolt. What do you think about it, Uvar Ivano-
vitch?"
Uvar Ivanovitch merely stared at him, and
twiddled his fingers.
" There is Elena Nikolaevna, for instance," —
pursued Nikolai Artemievitch — " I don't under-
stand Elena Nikolaevna, really I don't. I 'm not
^ Manktrovat, to be lacking in respect.— Tea nslatob,
CO
ON^ THE EVE
sufficiently lofty for her. Her heart is so capa-
cious that it embraces all nature, down to the
very tiniest cockroach or frog, — in a word, every-
thing, with the exception of her father. Well,
very good ; I know it, and I don't meddle. For
it is a question of nerves, and learning, and soar-
ing heavenward, and all that is not in our line.
But Mr. Shiibin ... let us assume that he is an
artist, a wonderful, remarkable artist, I do
not dispute that; but for him to be lacking in
respect toward his elder, toward a man to
whom, nevertheless, he may be said to owe a
great deal, — that is what I, I must confess,
dans mon gros hon sens^ cannot allow. I am not
exacting by nature, no, but there is a limit to all
things."
Anna Vasilievna rang the bell in an agitated
manner. A page entered.
"Why does not Pavel Yakovlevitch come?"
she said. "Why cannot I get him to come?"
Nikolai Artemievitch shrugged his shoulders.
— " But why, for goodness sake, do you want to
summon him ? I am not demanding it in the least,
I do not even desire it.
" ^Vhy do you ask the reason, Nikolai Artemie-
vitch? He has disturbed you; perhaps he has in-
terfered with your course of treatment. I want
to call him to account. I want to know in what
way he has angered you."
" I tell you again that I do not demand it.
61
ON THE EVE
And what possesses you . . . devant les domes-
tiques . . . .'*
Anna Vasilievna blushed slightly.—" There is
no need of your saying that, Nikolai Artemie-
vitch. I never . . . devant . ... les domes-
tiques . . . Go away, Fediushka, and see that
thou bringest Pavel Yakovlevitch hither imme-
diately."
The page left the room.
" But that is not in the least necessary," —
muttered Nikolai Artemievitch between his teeth,
and again he began to stride up and down the
room. " I had not that in view at all, when I
started the subject."
" Mercy me ! Paul ought to apologise to you."
*' Good heavens! What do I want of his apol-
ogies? And what are apologies? Mere phrases."
" What do you mean by not wanting him to
apologise? He must be brought to his senses."
" Bring him to his senses yourself. He will
listen to you more readily than to me. But I
make no charges against him."
" Really, Nikolai Artemievitch, you have been
out of humour ever since your arrival to-day. I
have even seen you growing thin before my very
eyes. I 'm afraid your course of treatment is
not helping you."
" My course of treatment is indispensable to
me," — remarked Nikolai Artemievitch; "my liver
is out of order."
62
ON THE EVE
At that moment, Shubin entered. He seemed
weary. A slight, almost mocking smile played
about his lips.
" You sent for me, Anna Vasilievna? " — ^he
said.
" Yes, of course I sent for thee. Good hea-
vens ! Paul, this is terrible. I am very much dis-
pleased with thee. How canst thou be lacking
in respect to Nikolai Artemievitch ? "
" Has Nikolai Artemievitch been complaining
to you about me? " — asked Shubin, and glanced
at StakhofF, with the same mocking smile on his
lips. The latter turned away and dropped his
eyes.
" Yes, he has. I do not know how thou art to
blame toward him, but thou must apologise in-
stantly, because his health is very much shaken
at present; and, in short, we are all bound, in
our youth, to respect our benefactors."
"Ekli, is that logic?" thought Shubin, and
turned to Stakhoff. — " I am ready to apologise
to you, Nikolai Artemievitch," he said with a
courteous half -bow, " if I really have offended
you in any way."
" I did n't in the least . . . mean it that way,"
— returned Nikolai Artemievitch, as before
avoiding Shubin's eyes.—" However, I willingly
pardon you, because, you know, I am not an ex-
acting man."
" Oh, there is not the slightest doubt about
63
ON THE EVE
that!" — said Shubin. "But permit me to in-
quire whether Anna Vasilievna is acquainted
with the precise nature of my offence? "
" No, I know nothing," — remarked Anna Vasi-
lievna, and stretched out her neck.
"Oh, gracious heavens!" — exclaimed Nikolai
Artemievitch hastily: — " how many times already
have I begged and entreated, how many times
have I said how repugnant to me are all these ex-
planations and scenes ! When a man comes home
once in an age, he wants to rest, — I tell you, in
the domestic circle, interieur^ he wants to be a
family man; — but there are scenes, unpleasant-
nesses. There 's not a minute's peace. One is
forced to go to the club . . or somewhere . .
against his will. The man is alive, he has a phys-
ical side, it has its demands, but here . . . ."
And without completing the phrase he had be-
gun, Nikolai Artemievitch swiftly quitted the
room and banged the door. Anna Vasilievna
gazed after him. — " To the club? " — she whis-
pered bitterly: — " You are not going to the club,
giddypate ! There is no one at the club to whom
you can give horses from my stud-farm — and
grey ones, at that! My favourite colour. Yes,
yes, a light-minded man!"— she added, raising
her voice: — " You are not going to the club. As
for thee, Paul,"— she continued, as she rose,—
" art not thou ashamed of thyself? Thou art
not a child, I think. There now, I have a
64
ON THE EVE
headache coming on. Where is Zoya, dost thou
know? "
" I think she is up-stairs, in her own room.
That sagacious Httle fox always hides herself in
her own den in such weather as this."
" Come now, please, please stop that I " —
Anna Vasilievna fumbled about her.
"Hast thou seen my wine-glass of grated horse-
radish? Paul, please do not anger me in future."
" Why should I anger you, Aunty? Let me
kiss your hand. And I saw your horse-radish on
a little table in the boudoir."
" Darya is forever forgetting it somewhere
or other," — said Anna Vasilievna, and went away,
rustling her silk gown.
Shubin started to follow her, but paused on
hearing behind him the deliberate voice of Uvar
Ivanovitch.
" Thou didst not get .... what thou hast
deserved .... puppy," — said the retired cor-
net, with stops and pauses.
Shubin stepped up to him. — *' And for what
ought I to have been punished, laudable Uvar
Ivanovitch? "
"For what? Thou art young, therefore re-
spect. Yes."
" Whom? "
"Whom? Thou knowest well whom. Grin
away."
Shubin folded his arms on his chest.
65
ON THE EVE
" Akh, you representative of primitive, uni-
versal principle," — ^he exclaimed, — " you black-
earth force, you foundation of the social edifice! "
Uvar Ivanovitch wiggled his fingers. —
"Enough, my good fellow; don't try my pa-
tience."
" Here you have a nobleman who is not young,
apparently," — went on Shiibin, — " yet how much
happy, childish faith still lies smouldering within
him! Revere him! But do you know, you ele-
mental man, why Nikolai Artemievitch is wroth
with me? You see, I spent the whole morning,
to-day, with him, at his German woman's; you
see, we sang a trio to-day, * Leave me not ' ; you
just ought to have heard it. That would affect
you, I think. We sang, my dear sir, we sang —
well, and I got bored ; I saw that things were not
as they should be; there was a lot of tenderness.
I began to tease them both. It turned out finely.
First she got angry with me ; then with him ; then
he got furious with her, and told her that he was
happy nowhere but at home, and that he had a
paradise there ; and I said to her : ' Ach ! ' German
fashion ; he went away, and I remained ; he came
hither, — to paradise, that is to say,— but paradise
nauseates him. So he took to growling. Well,
sir, and who is to blame now, in your opinion? "
" Thou, of course," — replied Uvar Ivanovitch.
Shiibin stared at him. — " May I make so bold
as to ask you, respected knight-errant," — he be-
66
ON THE EVE
gan, in an obsequious voice: — " whether it is your
pleasure to utter those enigmatic words in con-
sequence of some combination of your thinking
faculties, or under the inspiration of the mo-
mentary necessity to produce that vibration
known as sound? "
" Don't tempt me," — groaned Uvar Ivano-
vitch. . . .
Shiibin laughed, and ran out of the room. —
" Hey, there," — shouted Uvar Ivanovitch, a
quarter of an hour later: — " I say a
glass of whiskey."
The page brought the whiskey and a little solid
refreshment on a tray. Uvar Ivanovitch softly
took the wine-glass from the tray, and stared at
it long and intently, as though he did not quite
understand what sort of thing he had in his hand.
Then he looked at the page and asked if his
name were not Vaska. Then he assumed a pained
expression, took a bite, and dived into his pocket
for his handkerchief. But the page had long
since carried off the tray and the carafe to their
place, and had eaten the remains of the her-
ring, and had already succeeded in falling
asleep, leaning up against his master's overcoat,
while Uvar Ivanovitch was still holding his hand-
kerchief in front of his face with outspread fin-
gers, and staring now out of the window, now at
the floor and walls, with the same fixed attention.
67
IX
Shubin returned to his own chamber in the wing
and was about to open a book. Nikolai Artemie-
vitch's valet cautiously entered the room and
handed him a small, three-cornered note, the seal
of which bore a large coat-of-arms. — " I hope,"
ran this note, " that you, as an honourable man,
will not permit yourself to hint, by so much as a
single word, at a certain note of hand which was
discussed this morning. You know my relations
and my principles, the insignificance of the sum
itself, and other circumstances,— in short, there
are family secrets which must be respected, and
family peace is such a sacred thing, that only etres
sans coeurs, among whom I have no reason to
reckon you, repudiate them! (Return this note.)
N. S."
Shubin scrawled below it, with a pencil:
*' Don't worry, I don't pick people's pockets of
their handkerchiefs yet " ; returned the note to
the valet, and again took up his book. But it soon
slipped from his hands. He gazed at the crim-
son sky, at two sturdy young pine-trees, which
stood apart from the other trees, and thought:
" Pine-trees are blue b}^ daylight, but how mag-
68
ON THE EVE
nificently green they are in the evening," and be-
took himself to the garden, in the secret hope of
meeting Elena there. He was not disappointed.
Ahead of him, on the path between the shrubs,
her gown was fluttering. He overtook her, and
as he came alongside, he said:
" Don't glance in my direction, I am not
worthy of it."
She cast a fleeting glance at him, gave an eva-
nescent smile, and pursued her way toward the
depths of the garden. Shiibin followed her.
" I request that you will not look at me," —
he began — " yet I address you: a manifest con-
tradiction! But that makes no difl'erence: it 's
not the first time I 've done it. I just remem-
bered that I had not yet asked your pardon, in
proper form, for my stupid sally of yesterday.
You are not angry with me, Elena Nikolaevna? "
She paused, and did not answer him at once —
not because she was angry, but her thoughts were
far away.
" No," — she said at last, — " I am not in the
least angry."
Shiibin bit his lip.
" What an anxious . . . and what an indiff'er-
ent face! " he murmured. — " Elena Nikolaevna,"
— he went on, raising his voice: — " permit me to
narrate to you a little anecdote. I had a friend ;
this friend also had a friend, who first behaved
himself as an honest man should, and then took
69
ON THE EVE
to drink. So, early one morning, my friend
meets him on the street (and please to observe
that they had ceased to know each other) —
meets him, and perceives that he is drmik. My
friend took and turned away from him. But the
other man stepped up, and says : ' I would n't
have been angry if you had not bowed, but why
do you turn away ? Perhaps I do this from grief.
Peace to my ashes! ' "
Shubin relapsed into silence.
" Is that all? "—asks Elena.
" Yes."
" I do not understand you. What are you hint-
ing at? You just told me not to look in your
direction."
" Yes, but now I have told you how bad it is
to turn away."
" But did I . . . " Elena was beginning.
"But did n't you?"
Elena flushed faintly, and offered Shubin her
hand. He pressed it firmly.
" You seem to have caught me in ill-feeling,"
— said Elena, — " but your suspicion is unjust.
I never even thought of avoiding you."
" Let us admit that, let us admit it. But con-
fess that at this moment you have in your head a
thousand thoughts, not one of which you will con-
fide to me. Well? am not I speaking the truth? "
" Perhaps so. "
"But why is it? Wliy?"
70
ON THE EVE
" My thoughts are not clear to myself," — said
Elena.
" That is precisely the reason why you should
confide them to another person," — interposed
Shiibin. " But I will tell you what the matter
is. You have a bad opinion of me."
"I?"
" Yes, you. You imagine that everything
about me is half -spurious, because I am an artist ;
that I not only am not capable of any business
whatever, — as to that, you are, in all probability,
quite right, — but even of any genuine, profound
feeling ; that I cannot even weep sincerely, that I
am a chatterbox and a scandal-monger, — all be-
cause I am an artist. After that, are n't we un-
fortunate, God-slain people? You, for example,
whom I am ready to worship, do not believe in
my repentance."
" Yes, Pavel Yakovlevitch, I do believe in
your repentance, I believe in your tears. But it
seems to me, that your very repentance amuses
you, and so do your tears."
Shiibin shuddered.
*' Well, as the doctors express it, I seem to be
an incurable case, casus incur abilis. All that is
left for me to do, is to bow my head and submit.
But in the meantime, O Lord, can it be true, can
it be that I am forever fretting over myself,
when such a soul is living by my side? And to
know, that one will never penetrate into that soul,
71
ON THE EVE
will never find out, why it grieves, why it rejoices,
what is fermenting within it, what it craves,
whither it is going. . . . Tell me,"— he said,
after a brief pause: — " would you never, for any
consideration, under any circumstances whatever,
fall in love with an artist? "
Elena looked him straight in the eye.
" I think not, Pavel Yakovlevitch ; no."
*' Which remains to be demonstrated," — re-
marked Shiibin, with comical dejection. — " After
this, I assume that it would be more decent for
me not to interfere with your solitary stroll. A
professor would have asked you : ' But on the
foundation of what data have you said no ? ' But
I am not a professor, I am a child, according to
your view; so remember, do not turn away from
children. Farewell. Peace to my ashes!"
Elena was on the point of detaining him, but
changed her mind and said: — " Farewell."
Shubin quitted the yard. At a short distance
from the StakliofFs' villa Berseneff met him. He
was walking with brisk strides, with bowed head,
and his hat pushed back on his nape.
"Andrei Petrovitch!" — shouted Shubin.
The latter came to a halt.
*' Go along, go along," — continued Shubin : —
" I did it thoughtlessly, I will not detain thee, —
and wend thy way straight to the garden; thou
wilt find Elena there. — She is expecting thee, I
think .... she is expecting some one, at any
n
ON THE EVE
rate. . . . Dost thou understand the force of the
words ' she is expecting ' ? And knowest thou,
brother, one remarkable circumstance? Imag-
ine, here I have been living in the same house with
her for two years. I am in love with her, and yet
it was only just now, a moment ago, that I have
— not precisely understood but— seen her. I
have seen her, and thrown apart my hands in de-
spair. Don't look at me, please, with that falsely
sarcastic grin, which is not very becoming to thy
sedate features. Well, yes, I understand, thou
wouldst remind me of Annushka. What of that?
I don't deny it. Annushkas are mates for such
fellows as I. So, long live the Annushkas, and the
Zoyas, and even the very Augustina Christia-
novnas ! Go along to Elena, now, while I go off
to .... to Annushka, art thou thinking? No,
brother, brother, worse; to Prince TchikurasoiF.
He 's a Maecenas of Kazan Tatar origin, after the
style of Bolgin. Seest thou this note of invita-
tion, these letters: R. S. V. P.? Even in the
country I have no peace. Addio! "
Berseneff listened to Shubin's tirade to the
end, in silence and as though somewhat ashamed
on his account, then he entered the yard of the
StakhofF villa. And Shubin really did go to
Prince TchikurasofF, to whom he uttered, with
the most amiable mien, the most pointed imperti-
nences. The Maecenas of Kazan Tatar origin
shouted with laughter, the JVIsecenas's guests
73
ON THE EVE
laughed also, and no one was merry, and when
they parted all were in a rage. Thus do two
slightly-acquainted gentlemen, when they meet
on the Nevsky, suddenly display their teeth in a
grin at each other, mawkishly wrinkle up their
eyes, noses, and cheeks, and then immediately,
as soon as they have passed each other, assume
their former indifferent or morose, chiefly apo-
plectic expression.
74
Elena received Berseneff in a friendly manner,
not in the garden, but in the drawing-room, and
immediately, almost impatiently, renewed their
conversation of the previous evening. She was
alone: Nikolai Artemievitch had quietly slipped
oiF somewhere, Anna Vasilievna was lying down
up-stairs with a wet bandage on her head. Zoya
was sitting beside her, with her skirt primly ar-
ranged, and her hands folded on her knees ; Uvar
Ivanovitch was reposing in the mezzanine on
a broad, comfortable divan, which had received
the nickname of " the doze-compeller." Again
BerseneiF alluded to his father: he held his mem-
ory sacred. Let us say a few words about him.
The owner of eighty-two souls,^ whom he
emancipated before his death, an illuminatuSj a
former student at Gottingen, the author of a
manuscript work, " The Presentations or Pre-
figurings of the Soul in the World," — a work
wherein Schellingism,Swedenborgianism,and re-
publicanism were intermingled in the most origi-
nal manner — BersenefF's father brought him to
Moscow while he was still a small lad, immedi-
ately after the death of his mother, and himself
^ Male serfs. —Translator.
75
ON THE EVE
undertook his education. He prepared himself
for every lesson, and toiled with remarkable con-
scientiousness and with utter lack of success: he
was a dreamer, a book-worm, a mystic, he talked
with a stutter, in a dull voice, expressed himself
obscurely and in an involved way, chiefly in com-
parisons, and was abashed even in the presence of
his son, whom he passionately loved. It is not sur-
prising that the son was merely staggered by his
lessons, and did not advance a hair's breadth. The
old man (he was about fifty years of age, having
married very late in life) divined, at last, that
things were not going as they should, and placed
his Andriiisha in a boarding-school. Andriiisha
began to learn, but did not escape from parental
oversight : the father visited him incessantly, bor-
ing the head of the school to death with his exhor-
tations and conversations; the inspectors also
were bored by the unbidden visitor: he was con-
stantly bringing them what they called most
amazing books on education. Even the scholars
felt uncomfortable at the sight of the old man's
tanned and pock-marked face, his gaunt figure,
constantly clad in a spike-tailed grey dress-coat.
The school-boys never suspected that this surly
gentleman, who never smiled, with his stork-like
gait and long nose, heartily sympathised and
grieved with every one of them, almost the same
as he did with his own son. One day he took it
into his head to harangue them on the subject of
76
ON THE EVE
Washington: "Youthful nursHngs!" he began,
but at the first sounds of his queer voice the
youthful nurslings dispersed. The honest grad-
uate of Gottingen did not live on roses: he was
constantly crushed by the course of history, by
all sorts of problems and considerations. When
young BersenefF entered the university, he ac-
companied him to the lectures ; but his health had
already begun to fail. The events of the year
'48 shattered it to the very foundation (he was
forced to make his book all over), and he died
in the winter of the year 1853, before his son
graduated from the university, but not until he
had congratulated him in advance on having ob-
tained his degree, and consecrated him to the ser-
vice of science. " I transfer the torch to thee," —
he said to him, two hours before his death, — " I
have held it as long as I could, do not thou let
go of the torch until the end."
BersenefF talked for a long time to Elena about
his father. The awkwardness which he had felt
in her presence vanished, and he did not lisp as
badly as before. The conversation turned on
the university.
" Tell me," — Elena asked him, — " were there
any remarkable individuals among your com-
rades? "
Again BersenefF recalled Shiibin.
" No, Elena Nikolaevna, to tell you the tiTith,
there was not a single individual of mark among
77
ON THE EVE
us. Yes, and why should there be! There was
such a time at the Moscow University, they say!
Only, not now. Now it is a school, not a univer-
sity. I have had a hard time with my comrades,"
he added, dropping his head.
"A hard time? " whispered Elena.
" However," — went on Berseneff , — " I must
correct myself: I know one student— he is not in
my course, it is true— who really is a remarkable
man."
"What is his name?" — asked Elena with
vivacity.
" Insaroif , Dmitry Nikanorovitch. He is a
Bulgarian."
" Not a Russian? "
" No, not a Russian."
" But why is he living in Moscow? "
" He has come hither to study. And do you
know, with what object he is studying? He has
a certain idea: the liberation of his native land.
And his lot is unusual. His father was a fairly
well-to-do merchant, a native of Tirnovo. Tir-
novo is now a small town, but in olden times it
used to be the capital of Bulgaria, when Bulgaria
was still an independent kingdom. He traded
in Sofia, he had relations with Russia; his
sister, InsarofF's own aunt, still lives in Kieff,
married to a former teacher of history in a gym-
nasium there. In 1835, that is to say, about
eighteen years ago, a frightful crime was perpe-
78
ON THE EVE
trated: InsarofF's mother suddenly disappeared,
without leaving a trace: a week later, she was
found with her throat cut."
Elena shuddered. BersenefF paused.
" Go on, go on," she said.
"Rumours were in circulation that she had been
abducted and murdered by a Turkish Aga; her
husband, Insaroff 's father, discovered the truth
and wanted to avenge himself, but he only
wounded the Aga with his dagger. . . He was
shot."
"Shot? Without a trial?"
" Yes. Insaroff at that time was in his eighth
year. He was left on the hands of the neigh-
bours. His sister learned of the fate of her bro-
ther's family, and wanted to have her nephew
with her. He was taken to Odessa, and thence to
KiefF. In KiefF he lived for twelve years. That
is why he speaks Russian so well."
" Does he speak Russian? "
" As well as you and I do. When he was
twenty years of age (that was in the beginning
of 1848) , he wanted to return to his native land.
He went to Sofia and Tirnovo, and traversed the
whole of Bulgaria, in its length and breadth,
spent two years there, and learned his native lan-
guage again. The Turkish government perse-
cuted him, and probably, during those two years,
he was subjected to great perils; I once saw on
his neck a broad scar, which must have been the
79
ON THE EVE
vestige of a wound; but he does not like to talk
about it. He is a taciturn fellow, also, in his way.
I have tried to make him tell me all about it, —
but in vain. He replies in general phrases. He
is frightfully stubborn. In the year 1850 he re-
turned again to Russia, to Moscow, with the in-
tention of perfecting his culture, of getting bet-
ter acquainted with the Russians. Later on, when
he graduates from the university "
" And what then? " interrupted Elena.
" Whatever God sends. It is difficult to con-
jecture in advance."
For a long time Elena did not remove her eyes
from BerseneiF.
" You have interested me greatly with your
story," she said. — " What is he like personally,
that friend of yours, — what did you say his name
is? . . . InsarofF? "
" How can I tell you? He is not bad-looking,
according to my taste. But you shall see him for
yourself."
"How so?"
*' I shall bring him hither to your house. He
is coming to our hamlet the day after to-mor-
row, and is to live in the same lodgings with me."
" Really? But will he care to come to us? "
" I should say sol He will be very glad to
come."
" He is not proud."
"He?— He? Not in the least. That is to say,
80
ON THE EVE
he is proud, if you like to call it that, but not in
the sense in which you mean. For instance, he
will not borrow money from any one! "
" And is he poor? "
" Yes, he is not rich. When he went to Bul-
garia, he got together a few crumbs, which had
remained intact of his father's property, and his
aunt aids him; but all that is a mere trifle."
*' He must have a great deal of character," —
remarked Elena.
" Yes. He is a man of iron. And, at the same
time, as you will see, there is something childlike,
sincere about him, with all his concentration, and
even secretiveness. In truth, his sincerity is not
our trashy sincerity, the sincerity of people who
have absolutely nothing to conceal But
I will bring him to you, — just wait."
"And he is not shy?" — Elena put another
question.
" No, he is not shy. Only self -conceited peo-
ple are shy."
" And are you conceited? "
Berseneff became confused, and flung his
hands apart.
" You arouse my curiosity," — continued Elena.
— " But come, tell me, did not he avenge himself
on that Turkish Aga?"
Berseneff smiled.
" People avenge themselves only in romances,
Elena Nikolaevna; and, moreover, in the twelve
81
ON THE EVE
years which had elapsed, the Aga might have
died."
" But has Mr. InsarofF told you nothing about
it?"
" Nothing."
" Why did he go to Sofia?"
" His father had lived there."
Elena became thoughtful.
" To free his fatherland ! "—she said.—" Those
are awkward words even to utter, they are so
great "
At that moment, Anna Vasilievna entered the
room, and the conversation came to an end.
Strange sensations agitated BerseneiF when
he returned home that evening. He did not re-
pent of his intention to make Elena acquainted
with InsarofF: he regarded as very natural the
profound impression which his recitals about the
young Bulgarian had produced. . . . Had not
he himself endeavoured to strengthen that im-
pression! But a secret and gloomy feeling
stealthily made its nest in his heart; he was de-
pressed with a sadness which was not pleasant.
This sadness did not, however, prevent his taking
up the " History of the Hohenstaufens," and
beginning to read it, at the very same page where
he had left off on the previous evening.
82
XI
Two days later, InsarofF, in accordance with his
promise, presented himself to BersenefF with his
luggage. He had no servant, but he put his
room in order without any assistance, placed the
furniture, wiped up the dust, and swept the floor.
He fidgeted for a particularly long time over
the writing-table, which absolutely refused to fit
the wall-space designated for it; but Insaroif,
with the taciturn persistence peculiar to him, had
his way. Having got settled, he asked BersenefF
to take from him ten rubles in advance, and arm-
ing himself with a stout staff, he set off to in-
spect the environs of his new residence. He
returned, three hours later, and in reply to Ber-
senefF's invitation to share his meal, he said that
he would not refuse to dine with him that day, but
he had already made an arrangement with the
landlady, and thenceforth he would get his food
from her.
" Good gracious! " — retorted Berseneff : "You
will be badly fed : that woman does not know the
first thing about cooking. Why are not you will-
ing to dine with me? We could have shared the
expense."
83
ON THE EVE
" My means do not permit me to dine as you
do," — replied InsarofF, with a calm smile.
There was something about that smile which
did not admit of insistence: BersenefF did not
add a word. After dinner, he proposed to In-
saroff that he should take him to the Stakhoff s ;
but the latter replied that he intended to de-
vote the entire evening to writing to his Bul-
garian correspondents, and therefore begged him
to defer the visit to the Stakhoffs until another
day. BersenefF was already acquainted with the
inflexibility of InsarofF's will, but only now, when
he found himself under the same roof with him,
was he definitively able to convince himself of the
fact that InsaroiF never changed any of his de-
cisions, just as he never put off the fulfilment of
a promise he had once given. This more than
German punctiliousness seemed, at first, brutal,
and even slightly ridiculous, to BersenefF, a radi-
cally Russian man ; but he speedily became accus-
tomed to it, and ended by thinking it, if not
worthy of respect, at least extremely convenient.
On the day after his removal, InsarofF rose at
four o'clock in the morning, explored nearly the
whole of Kuntzovo, bathed in the river, drank
a glass of cold milk, and set to work ; and he had
not a little work on hand : he was studying Rus-
sian history, and law, and political economy, and
was translating Bulgarian ballads and chronicles,
collecting materials concerning the Eastern Ques-
84
ON THE EVE
tion, compiling a Russian grammar for the Bul-
garians, and a Bulgarian grammar for the Rus-
sians. BersenefF dropped into his room, and
talked to him about Feuerbach. Insaroff listened
to him attentively, and replied rarely, but practi-
cally; from his replies it was obvious that he was
trying to make up his mind whether it was ne-
cessary for him to occupy his mind with Feuer-
bach, or whether he could dispense with him.
BersenefF then turned the conversation on his
work, and asked Insaroff to show him some of it.
Insaroff read to him his translation of two or
three Bulgarian ballads, and expressed a desire
to know his opinion. BersenefF thought the
translation accurate, but not sufficiently viva-
cious. Insaroff took his remark under consider-
ation. From the ballads, BersenefF passed to the
contemporary situation of Bulgaria, and here,
for the first time, he observed what Insaroff
underwent at the mere mention of his native
land: it was not that his face flushed hotly, or
that his voice was raised— no! but his whole
being seemed to gather strength and strain
onward, the outlines of his lips became more
clearly and more pitilessly defined, and in the
depths of his eyes some sort of a dull, un-
quenchable fire kindled. Insaroff was not fond
of dilating upon his own trip to his native
land, but about Bulgaria in general he talked
willingly with every one ; he talked, without haste,
85
ON THE EVE
about the Turks, about their oppressions, about
the woes and calamities of his fellow-country-
men, about their hopes ; the concentrated deliber-
ation of a sole and long-existing passion was au-
dible in his every word.
" I 'm afraid that Turkish Aga paid his debt
to him for the death of his mother and father,"
— BersenefF was thinking in the meantime.
Before Insaroff had ceased speaking, the door
opened, and Shiibin made his appearance on the
threshold.
He entered the room in a rather too free-and-
easy, good-natured way; Berseneff, who knew
him well, immediately comprehended that some-
thing had stirred him up.
" I will introduce myself without ceremony,"
— ^he began, with a bright and frank expression
of countenance: — "my name is Shiibin; I am a
friend of this young man here." (He pointed at
BersenefF.) "You are Mr. InsarofF, I think,
are you not? "
" I am InsarofF."
" Then give me your hand, and let us make ac-
quaintance. I do not know whether BersenefF
has talked to you about me, but he has talked to
me about you. You have taken up your abode
here? Capital! Don't be angry with me for star-
ing intently at you. I am a sculptor by profes-
sion, and I foresee that before long I shall ask
your permission to model your head."
86
ON THE EVE
" My head is at your service," — said InsarofF.
" What are we doing to-day, hey? " — said Shii-
bin, suddenly seating himself on a low stool,
with both arms propped upon his widely-
parted knees. — " Andrei Petrovitch, has Your
Well-born any plan for the present day? The
weather is glorious; it is so redolent of hay
and dry strawberries .... that it is as though
one were drinking herb tea. We ought to
get up some sort of jollification. Let 's show
the new resident of Kiintzovo all its numer-
ous beauties. ("He is stirred up," BersenefF
continued to think to himself.) " Come, why
art thou silent, my friend Horatio? Open thy
wise lips. Shall we get up some sort of an affair,
or not? "
"I don't know," — remarked BersenefF: —
" that 's as InsarofF says. I think he is preparing
to work."
Shiibin wheeled round on his stool.
" Do you want to work? " — he asked, some-
what through his nose.
" No," — replied InsarofF;—" I can devote to-
day to a stroll."
"Ah!"— ejaculated Shiibin.— " Well, that's
fine. Come along, my friend Andrei Petrovitch,
cover your wise head with a hat, and let us walk
straight ahead, whithersoever our eyes gaze. Our
eyes are young — they see far. I know of a very
bad little eating-house, where they will give us a
87
ON THE EVE
very nasty little dinner; and we shall be very
jolly. Come along."
Half an hour later, all three of them were
strolling along the shore of the Moscow River.
It appeared that InsarofF had a decidedly queer,
long-eared cap, over which Shubin went into not
entirely natural ecstasies. InsarofF strode along
at a leisurely pace, gazed about him, breathed the
air, talked and smiled composedly: but he had
consecrated that day to pleasure, and was enjoy-
ing himself to the full.
" That 's the way good little boys walk on Sun-
days," whispered Shubin in BersenefF's ear.
Shubin himself cut up all sorts of capers, ran
on ahead, assumed the poses of famous statues,
turned somersaults on the grass ; InsaroiF's com-
posure did not exactly irritate him, but it made
him play antics. " What makes thee grimace so,
Frenchman ! " BersenefF remarked to him a
couple of times. " Yes, I am a Frenchman, —
half a Frenchman," — Shubin retorted; "but do
thou keep the mean between jest and seriousness,
as a certain waiter used to say to me." The young
men turned away from the river, and walked
along a deep, narrow gully, between two walls of
tall, golden rye; a bluish shadow fell upon them
from one of these walls; the radiant sun seemed
to glide across the crests of the ears; the larks
were singing, the quails were calling ; everywhere
88
ON THE EVE
about the grass grew green; a warm breeze flut-
tered and raised its blades, and rocked the heads
of the flowers. After prolonged ramblings,
rests, and chat — (Shiibin even tried to play at
leap-frog with a toothless, wretched passing peas-
ant, who laughed incessantly, whatever the gen-
tlemen did to him) — the young men arrived at
the " very bad little " eating-house. The servant
almost upset each one of them, and actually did
feed them with a very nasty dinner, with some
sort of wine from beyond the Balkans, all which,
however, did not prevent their heartily enjoying
themselves, as Shiibin had predicted that they
would; he himself was the most noisily merry —
and the least merry of them all. He drank the
health of the incomprehensible but great Vene-
lin, the health of the Bulgarian King Krum,
Khrum, or Khrom, who lived about the time of
Adam.
" In the ninth century," — Insarofl" corrected
him.
" In the ninth century? " — exclaimed Shiibin.
—"Oh, what bliss!"
Berseneff* remarked that, in the midst of all
his antics, sallies, and jests, Shiibin seemed to be
constantly examining Insarofl*,— kept sounding
him, as it were,— and was the prey of inward agi-
tation, — while Insarofl* remained calm and clear
as before.
89
ON THE EVE
At last they returned home, changed their
clothes, and, in order not to spoil the programme
which they had adopted in the morning, they de-
cided to betake themselves that same evening to
the StakhofFs. Shubin ran on ahead to give no-
tice of their coming.
90
XII
" The Hero Insaroff will deign to come hither
in a moment! " he exclaimed trimnphantly, as he
entered the drawing-room of the Stakhoffs,
where, at that moment, there was no one but
Elena and Zoya.
" Wer? '"—asked Zoya in German. When
taken by surprise, she always expressed herself
in her native tongue. Elena drew herself up.
Shubin glanced at her with a playful smile on
his lips. She was vexed, but said nothing.
"You have heard," — he repeated: — "Mr.
InsaroiF is coming hither."
" I have heard," — she replied, — " and I have
heard what you called him. I am amazed at you,
I really am. Mr. InsaroiF has not yet set his foot
here, and you already consider it necessary to
make wry faces."
Shubin suddenly relaxed.
" You are right, you are always right, Elena
Nikolaevna: — but I did n't mean it, God is my
witness that I did not. We have been strolling
together all day, and he is an excellent man, I
assure you."
" I did not ask you about that," — said Elena,
rising from her seat.
91
ON THE EVE
Is Mr. Insaroff young? " — inquired Zoya.
He is one hundred and forty-four years old,"
answered Shiibin, with vexation.
The page announced the arrival of the two
friends. BersenefF introduced InsarofF. Elena
asked them to be seated, and sat down herself,
but Zoya went away up-stairs: Anna Vasilievna
must be informed. A conversation began, — ra-
ther insignificant, like all first conversations.
Shiibin kept silent watch from a corner, but
there was nothing to watch. In Elena he ob-
served the traces of repressed vexation with him-
self, Shiibin, — and that was all. He glanced at
BersenefF and at InsarofF, and, as a sculptor,
he compared their faces. Neither of them was
handsome, he thought: the Bulgarian had a face
full of character, a sculpturesque face; it was
well illuminated now; the Great Russian de-
mands rather painting: he has no lines, but he
has physiognomy. But, probably, one might
fall in love with the latter as well as with the
former. She was not in love yet, but she would
fall in love with BersenefF, he decided in his
own mind. — Anna Vasilievna made her appear-
ance in the drawing-room, and the conversation
took a turn completely of the summer-villa
order, — precisely that, the villa order, not the
country order. It was a very varied conversation
in the matter of the abundance of the subjects
discussed; but brief, tiresome pauses broke it
92
ON THE EVE
off every three minutes. In one of these pauses,
Anna Vasilievna turned to Zoya. Shubin under-
stood her mute hint, and made a wry face, but
Zoya seated herself at the piano and played and
sang all her little pieces. Uvar Ivanovitch
showed himself for a moment in the dooi'way,
but wiggled his fingers and retreated. Then
tea was served, and the whole party went into the
garden. . . It had grown dark out of doors, and
the guests went away.
InsarofF had really made less of an impression
on Elena than she herself had expected; or, to
speak more accurately, his straightforwardness
and unconstrainedness had pleased her, — and his
face had pleased her. But InsarofF's whole
being, composedly firm, and simple in an every-
day way, somehow did not accord with the im-
age which she had formed in her own mind from
Berseneff's accounts. Elena, without herself
suspecting it, had expected something " more
fatal." But, thought she, he said very little to-
day; I myself am to blame: I did not question
him, I will wait until the next time .... but
his eyes are expressive, honest eyes. She felt
that she did not wish to bow down before him
and give him a friendly hand, and she was sur-
prised: not thus had she pictured to herself peo-
ple, like Insaroff , who were " heroes." This last
word reminded her of Shubin, and she flushed
up and waxed indignant, as she lay in her bed.
93
ON THE EVE
" How do you like your new acquaintances? "
BersenefF asked Insaroff on their way home.
" I hke them very much," — repHed Insaroff,
— " especially the daughter. She must be a
splendid girl. She gets agitated, but in her case
it must be a good agitation."
" We must go to them as often as we can," —
remarked Berseneff.
" Yes, we must," — said Insaroff — and said
nothing more the whole way home. He immedi-
ately locked himself up in his room, but his can-
dle burned until long after midnight.
Before Berseneff had succeeded in reading a
page of Raumer, a handful of fine gravel was
flung and rattled against the panes of his win-
dow. He involuntarily started, opened the win-
dow, and espied Shiibin, pale as a sheet.
"What a turbulent fellow thou art! thou
night-moth! " began Berseneff.
" Hush! " Shiibin interrupted him: — " I have
come to thee by stealth, as Max did to Agatha.
It is imperatively necessary that I should say a
few words to thee in private."
" Then come into the room."
*' No, that is unnecessary," — replied Shubin,
leaning his elbows on the window-sill: — "it 's
jollier this way, more like Spain. In the first
place, I congratulate thee; thy stocks have gone
up. Thy vaunted, remarkable man has been
a dead failure. I can vouch for that. And,
ON THE EVE
in order to demonstrate to thee my disinterested-
ness, listen : here 's a formal inventory of Mr. In-
saroif : Talents, none; poetry, has n't any; capa-
city for work, an immense amount; memory, a
great deal; mind, neither varied nor profound,
but healthy and lively, aridity and power, and
even a gift of language, when the subject is his
— between ourselves be it said — most deadly
tiresome Bulgaria. What? thou wilt say, I am
unjust? One more remark: thou wilt never be
on terms of calling him thou^ and no one ever has
called him thou; I, as an artist, am repulsive to
him, a fact of which I am proud. He 's dry, dry,
and he can grind all of you to powder. He is
bound up with his land — not like our empty ves-
sels, who fawn on the people ; as much as to say :
' Flow into us, thou living water ! ' On the other
hand, his problem is easier, more readily under-
stood : all it amounts to is, to turn out the Turks,
and a great matter that is! But all these quali-
ties, thank God, do not please women. There's
no fascination, charme; nothing of that which
thou and I possess."
" Why dost thou implicate me in this? " — mut-
tered Berseneff. — " And thou art not right as
to the rest: thou art not in the least repulsive to
him, and he is on the footing of thou with his
fellow-countrymen, .... that I know."
" That is another matter! For them he is a
hero; but I must say that my conception of
95
ON THE EVE
heroes is different: a hero ought not to know
how to talk — a hero bellows like a bull; on the
other hand, when he moves his horns the walls
tumble down. And he himself ought not to
know why he moves, yet he does move. How-
ever, perhaps heroes of another calibre are re-
quired in our times."
" Why does InsaroiF occupy thy mind so
much?" — inquired Berseneff. — "Is it possible
that thou hast run hither merely for the purpose
of describing his character to me? "
" I came hither," — began Shiibin, — " because
I was very sad at home."
"Not really I Dost not thou wish to weep
agam f
"Laugh away! I came hither because I am
ready to bite my own elbows, because despair is
gnawing rtie — vexation, jealousy "
" Jealousy! — of whom? "
" Of thee, of him, of everybody. I am tor-
mented by the thought that if I had understood
her earher, if I had set about the business intelli-
gently .... But what 's the use of talking!
It will end in my constantly laughing, fooling,
playing antics, as she says, and then I shall take
and strangle myself."
" Well, as for strangling thyself, thou wilt
not," — remarked Berseneff.
" On such a night, of course not; but only let
us live until the autumn. On such a night as this
96
ON THE EVE
people die also, but it is from happiness. Akh,
happiness! Every shadow stretched out athwart
the road from the trees seems to be whispering,
now: ' I know where happiness is. . . . Wilt
thou have me tell thee ? ' I would invite thee to
a stroll, but thou art now under the influence
of prose. Sleep, and mayest thou dream of
mathematical figures! But my soul is bursting.
You, gentlemen, behold a man laugh, and that
signifies, according to you, that he is at ease ; you
can prove to him that he is contradicting himself,
which means that he is not suffering. . . Be-
gone with you! "
Shiibin swiftly withdrew from the window.
" Annushka! " BersenefF felt like shouting after
him, but he restrained himself; in fact, Shubin
looked unlike his natural self. A couple of min-
utes later, Berseneff even fancied that he heard
sobs ; he rose, and opened the window ; everything
was quiet, only somewhere, in the distance, some
one — probably a passing peasant— struck up
" The Mozdok Steppe."
97
XIII
In the course of the first two weeks after In-
sarofF's removal to the neighbourhood of Kiin-
tzovo, he did not visit the StakliofFs more than
four or five times ; Berseneff went to them every
other day. Elena was always glad to see him,
a lively and interesting conversation always
arose between him and her, but, nevertheless, he
frequently returned home with a melancholy
countenance. Shubin scarcely showed himself;
he busied himself with his art, with feverish ac-
tivity: he either sat behind locked doors in his
chamber and rushed thence in his blouse, all
smeared with clay, or spent days in Moscow,
where he had a studio, whither came to him
models and Italian model-makers, his friends
and teachers. Elena never once talked with In-
sarofF as she would have liked to talk; in his
absence, she prepared herself to question him
about many things, but when he came she felt
ashamed of her preparations. InsarofF's very
composure daunted her : it seemed to her that she
had no right to make him express his opinions,
and she resolved to wait; withal she felt that
with every visit of his, however insignificant were
98
ON THE EVE
the words which were exchanged between them,
he attracted her more and more : but she had not
happened to be left alone with him, — and in
order to get close to a person it is necessary to
have at least one private conversation with him.
She talked a great deal about him to BersenefF.
BersenefF understood that Elena's imagination
had been struck by InsarofF, and rejoiced that
his friend had not proved a failure, as Shubin
had asserted; he narrated to her, with fervour,
everything he knew about him, down to the very
smallest details (we frequently, when we wish
to please a person ourselves, extol our friends in
conversation with him, almost never suspecting,
moreover, that by that very fact we extol our-
selves), and only now and then, when Elena's
pale cheeks flushed slightly, and her eyes began
to beam and open widely, did that noxious sad-
ness, which he had already experienced, grip his
heart.
One day Berseneff went to the Stakhoffs at
eleven in the morning, an unusual hour for him.
Elena came to the drawing-room to receive him.
" Just imagine," — he began with a forced
smile: — "our InsarofF has disappeared."
" Disappeared? " said Elena.
" Yes, disappeared. Day before yesterday, in
the evening, he went off somewhere, and since
then there has been no sign of him."
*' Did not he tell you where he was going? "
99
ON THE EVE
<< "1VT~ >'
No.'
Elena sank down on a chair.
" Probably he went to Moscow," — she re-
marked, striving to appear indifferent, and, at
the same time, surprised that she was striving
to appear indifferent.
" I do not think so," — returned BersenefF. —
" He did not go away alone."
" With whom, then? "
*' Two men, who must have been fellow-coun-
trymen of his, came to him the day before yes-
terday."
" Bulgarians? Why do you think that? "
" Because, so far as I was able to overhear
them, they were talking with him in a language
which was unknown to me, yet was Slavonic.
.... Now you, Elena Nikolaevna, have always
thought that there was very little that was mys-
terious about Insaroff; what could be more mys-
terious than this visit? Imagine: they entered
his room— and began to shout and quarrel, and
so savagely, so viciously. . . And he shouted
also."
"He also?"
" He also. He shouted at them. They seemed
to be complaining of each other. And if you
could but have seen those visitors! Swarthy, dull
faces, with broad cheek-bones and aquiline noses,
each of them over forty years of age, badly
dressed, dusty, sweaty, with the aspect of ar-
100
ON THE EVE
tisans — neither artisans nor gentlemen. . . God
knows what sort of men."
" And he went away with them? "
" Yes. He fed them, and went off with them.
My landlady said that, between the two, they
devoured a huge pot of buckwheat groats. She
says they vied with each other in gulping it down,
just like wolves."
Elena gave a faint laugh.
" You will see," — she said: — " all this will turn
out in some very prosaic manner."
" God grant it ! Only, you are wrong to use
that word. There is nothing prosaic about In-
saroff, although Shiibin declares . . . ."
"Shiibin!" — interrupted Elena, and shrugged
her shoulders.—" But admit that those two gen-
tlemen who gulped down the groats "
" Themistocles also ate on the eve of the bat-
tle of Salamis,"— remarked Berseneff, with a
smile.
" Exactly so: but, on the other hand, the bat-
tle took place on the following day."
" But you must let me know when he returns,"
— added Elena, and tried to change the conver-
sation, — but the conversation languished. Zoya
made her appearance, and began to walk about
the room on tiptoe, thereby giving it to be under-
stood that Anna Vasilievna had not yet waked
up.
Berseneff took his departure.
101
ON THE EVE
On that same day, in the evening, a note was
brought from him to Elena. " He has returned,"
— he wrote to her: — " sunburned, and dusty to
the very eyebrows ; but why and whither he went,
I do not know; cannot you find out? "
" ' Cannot you find out! ' "—whispered Elena.
— " Does he talk with me? "
102
XIV
About two o'clock on the following day, Elena
was standing in the garden, in front of a small
kennel, where she was rearing two watch-dog
pups. (The gardener had found them aban-
doned under the hedge, and had brought them
to his young mistress, concerning whom the laun-
dresses had told him that she had compassion on
all wild beasts and animals.) She glanced into
the kennel, convinced herself that the puppies
were alive and well and that they had been lit-
tered down with fresh straw, turned around, and
almost shrieked aloud: directly in front of her,
alone, InsarofF was walking up the alley.
" Good morning," — he said, approaching her,
and removing his cap. She noticed that he had,
in fact, grown very sunburned during the last
three days. — " I wanted to come hither with
Andrei Petrovitch, but he lingered for some rea-
son or other; so I set out without him. There
was no one at your house, — everybody is asleep
or out walking, — so I came hither."
" You seem to be apologising," — replied
Elena. — " That is entirely unnecessary. We are
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ON THE EVE
all very glad to see you. . . . Let us sit down
on that bench yonder, in the shade."
She seated herself. InsarofF sat down beside
her.
" You have not been at home of late, I be-
lieve? " — she began.
"No," — he replied: " I went away. . . . Did
Andrei Petrovitch tell you? "
Insaroff glanced at her, smiled, and began to
play with his cap. When he smiled, he winked
his eyes swiftly and thrust out his lips, which im-
parted to him a very good-natured aspect.
" Andrei Petrovitch, probably, told you also
that I had gone off with some . . . horrible peo-
ple," — he went on, continuing to smile.
Elena was somewhat disconcerted, but imme-
diately felt that it was necessary always to speak
the truth to InsarofF.
" Yes," she said, with decision.
" What did you think of me? " — he suddenly
asked her.
Elena raised her eyes to his.
" I thought,"— she said . ..." I thought
that you always know what you are doing, and
that you are not capable of doing anything bad."
" Well, I thank you for that. See here,
Elena Nikolaevna," — he began, moving closer
to her, in a confidential sort of way: — "there is
only a small family of us here; among us there
are people who are not highly educated; but all
104
ON THE EVE
are firmly devoted to the general cause. Un-
happily, quarrels cannot be avoided, and all
know me, trust me; so they called on me to ar-
bitrate in a quarrel. I went."
" Was it far from here? "
" I went more than sixty versts, to the Troit-
zky suburb.^ There, at the monastery, there are
also some of our people. At all events, I did
not have my trouble for nothing : I arranged the
matter."
" And did you find it difficult? "
" Yes. One persisted in being stubborn. He
would not give up the money."
"What? Was the quarrel about money?"
" Yes ; and not a large amount, either. But
what did you suppose it was? "
" And for such a trifle you travelled sixty
versts — j^ou wasted three days? "
" It is not a trifle, Elena Nikolaevna, when
one's fellow-countrymen are concerned. To re-
fuse in such a case, would be a sin. Here, I per-
ceive that you do not refuse your aid even to
puppies, and for that I laud you. And as for
my having wasted time, that is of no consequence.
I will make it up later on. Our time does not
belong to us."
"To whom, then?"
" To every one who needs us. I have told you
* The Trinity — Sergy^i Monastery, forty miles from
Moscow. — Teianslator.
105
ON THE EVE
all this without circumlocution, because I value
your opinion. I can imagine how Andrei Petro-
vitch amazed you! "
" You value my opinion," — said Elena in a
low tone: — " why? "
Again InsarofF smiled.
" Because you are a nice young lady, not an
aristocrat . . . that 's all."
A brief silence ensued.
"Dmitry Nikanorovitch,"— said Elena: "do
you know that this is the first time you have
been so frank with me? "
" How so? It strikes me, that I have always
told you everything I thought."
" No; this is the first time, and I am very glad
of it, — and I, also, wish to be frank with you.
May I?"
InsarofF laughed and said:
" You may."
" I warn you, that I am very curious."
" Never mind, speak on."
" Andrei Petrovitch has told me a great deal
about your life, about your youth. I know one
circumstance, one frightful circumstance. . . .
I know that, afterward, you went home to your
fatherland. . . . Do not answer me, for God's
sake, if my question appears to you to be indis-
creet, — but one thought tortures me. . . . Tell
me, did you meet that man "
Elena's breath failed her. Her daring both
106
ON THE EVE
mortified and terrified her. Insaroif gazed in-
tently at her, narrowing his eyes slightly, and
touching his chin with his fingers.
" Elena Nikolaevna," — he began, at last, and
his voice was softer than usual, which almost
frightened Elena: — " I understand what man
you just referred to. No, I did not meet him,
and God be thanked for that! I did not seek
him. I did not seek him because I did not con-
sider that I had a right to kill him, — I would
have killed him quite calmly,— but it was not
a case for private vengeance, when it is a ques-
tion of national, general vengeance .... or
no, that is not the proper word . . . when it
is a question of the emancipation of a nation.
The one would have interfered with the other.
In its own good time, that will not escape, either.
.... That will not escape, either,"— he re-
peated — and shook his head.
Elena cast a sidelong glance at him.
" You love your native land greatly? " she ar-
ticulated timidly.
" That is not settled, as yet," — he replied. —
" You see, when some one of us shall die for her,
then it may be said that he loved her."
" So that, if you should be deprived of the pos-
sibility of returning to Bulgaria," — went on
Elena: — "you would be very unhappy in Rus-
sia?"
Insaroff dropped his eyes.
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((
((
ON THE EVE
" It seems to me that I should not survive
that," — he said.
"Tell me," — began Elena again: — "is the
Bulgarian language difficult to learn? "
" Not at all. A Russian ought to be ashamed
not to know Bulgarian. A Russian ought to
know all the Slavonic dialects. Would you like
to have me bring you some Bulgarian books?
You will see how easy it is. What ballads we
have ! As good as the Servian. And, stay, I will
translate one of them for you. . . . Do you
know anything at all about our history? "
No, I know nothing," — replied Elena.
Wait, I will bring you a book. You will see
the principal facts, at least, in it. Now listen
to the ballad. . . However, I had better bring
you a written translation. I am convinced that
you will like us. If you only knew what a blessed
land is ours! Yet they trample it under foot,
they torture it," — he added, with an involuntary
gesture of his hands, and his face darkened: —
" they have taken from us everything, every-
thing: our churches, our rights, our lands; the
accursed Turks drive us like a flock, they cut
our throats "
"Dmitry Nikanorovitch ! " exclaimed Elena.
He paused.
" Forgive me. I cannot speak of it with in-
difference. You just asked me, whether I loved
my native land? What else on earth can one
108
ON THE EVE
love? What alone is unchangeable, what is above
all suspicion, what else is it impossible not to
believe in, except God? And when that fa-
therland needs thee .... Observe: the hum-
blest peasant in Bulgaria and I, — we desire one
and the same thing. We have but one aim, all
of us. You must understand what confidence
and strength that gives! "
InsarofF paused for a moment, and again
began to talk about Bulgaria. Elena listened
to him with devouring, profound, and melan-
choly attention. When he had finished, she asked
him once more:
" So, you would not remain in Russia, on any
terms? "...
And when he went away, she gazed long after
him. He had become for her a different man
that day. The man to whom she bade farewell
was not the same man whom she had greeted two
hours before.
From that day forth, he began to come more
and more frequently, and Berseneff came more
and more rarely. Between the two friends a
strange something had established itself of which
both were plainly conscious, but which they could
not name, and were afraid to explain. A month
passed in this manner.
109
XV
Anna Vasilievna was fond of staying at home,
as the reader is ah'eady aware: but sometimes,
quite unexpectedly, she manifested an uncon-
querable desire for something out of the ordi-
nary, some wonderful partie de plaisir; and the
more difficult was this partie de plaisir, the more
preparations and preliminary arrangements did
it require, the more excited did Anna Vasilievna
become, the more agreeable was it to her. If that
mood descended upon her in the winter, she or-
dered that two or three adjoining boxes should
be engaged, assembled all her acquaintances, and
went to the theatre, or even to a masquerade; in
the summer, she went somewhere out of town,
the farther the better. On the following day,
she complained of headache, groaned, and did
not get out of her bed, and a couple of months
afterward, the thirst for the " out of the ordi-
nary " was again kindled within her. So it hap-
pened now. Some one referred, in her presence,
to the beauties of Tzaritzyno,^ and Anna Vasi-
^ A village twelve miles from Moscow, with an unfinished palace,
begun by Katherine II., and a park. To reach it from Kiintzovo, six
miles from town), involves traversing the whole breadth of Moscow.
— Translator.
110
ON THE EVE
lievna suddenly announced that she intended to
go to Tzaritzyno on the next day but one. The
house was in an uproar ; a special messenger sped
to Moscow for Nikolai Artemievitch ; with him
also hastened the butler to purchase wine, pasties,
and all sorts of edibles; Shubin was commanded
to engage a calash and postilion (the carriage
alone was insufficient), and to arrange for re-
lays of horses; the page ran twice to Berseneff
and InsarofF, and carried them two notes of in-
vitation, written first in Russian, then in French,
by Zoya; Anna Vasilievna busied herself with
the travelling toilets of the young ladies. In
the meantime, the partie de plaisir came near
being upset: Nikolai Artemievitch arrived from
Moscow in a sour and ill-disposed, rebellious
frame of mind (he was still in the sulks at
Augustma Christianovna) ; and on learning what
was on hand, he announced, with decision, that
he would not go;— that to rush from Kiint-
zovo to Moscow, and from Moscow to Tzarit-
zyno, and from Tzaritzyno to Moscow, and
from Moscow back to Kiintzovo, was folly ; and,
in short, he added, " Let it first be proved to
me, that any one spot on the earth's surface can
be any jollier than any other spot, then I will
go." Of course, no one could prove this to him,
and Anna Vasilievna, in the absence of any se-
date cavalier, was on the point of renouncing
her partie de plaisir^, when she remembered Uvar
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ON THE EVE
Ivanovitch, and in her distress she sent to his
room for him, saying: "A drowning man
clutches at a straw." They waked him up; he
went down-stairs, listened in silence to Anna
Vasilievna's proposal, twiddled his fingers, and,
to the general surprise, consented. Anna Vasi-
lievna kissed him on the cheek, and called him a
darling; Nikolai Artemievitch smiled scornfully,
and said, " Quelle hourde! " (he was fond, on oc-
casion, of using "chic " French words) ; and, on
the following morning, at seven o'clock, the car-
riage and the calash, loaded to the brim, rolled
out of the yard of the StakhoiFs' villa. In the
carriage sat the ladies, the maid, and BersenefF;
InsarofF installed himself on the box ; and in the
calash were Uvar Ivanovitch and Shiibin. Uvar
Ivanovitch himself, by a movement of his fingers,
had summoned Shiibin to him; he knew that the
latter would tease him the whole way, but be-
tween the " black earth force " and the young
artist there existed a certain strange bond and a
bickering frankness. On this occasion, however,
Shiibin left his fat friend in peace: he was taci-
turn, abstracted, and gentle.
The sun already stood high in the cloudless
azure when the carriages drove up to the ruins
of the castle of Tzaritzyno, gloomy and forbid-
ding even at noon-day. The whole company
alighted on the grass, and immediately moved
on to the park. In front walked Elena and
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ON THE EVE
Zoya with InsarofF; behind them, with an ex-
pression of complete bliss on her face, trod Anna
Vasilievna, arm in arm with Uvar Ivanovitch.
He panted and waddled, his new straw hat sawed
his forehead, and his feet burned in his boots,
but he was enjoying himself. Shiibin and Berse-
nefF closed the procession. *' We will be in the
reserves, my dear fellow, like certain veterans,"
Shubin whispered to BersenefF. " Bulgaria is
there now," he added, indicating Elena with a
movement of his brows.
The weather was glorious. Everything round
about was blooming, humming and singing;
in the distance gleamed the water of the
ponds; a light, festive feeling took possession of
the soul. — " Akh, how nice! akh, how nice!" —
Anna Vasilievna kept incessantly repeating;
Uvar Ivanovitch nodded his head approvingly,
and once he even remarked: "What 's the use
of talking! " Elena exchanged words with Insa-
rofF from time to time ; Zoya held the broad brim
of her hat with two fingers, thrust her tiny feet,
clad in light-grey boots with blunt toes, coquet-
tishly from beneath her rose-coloured barege
gown, and peered now to one side, now behind
her. "Oho!" suddenly exclaimed Shubin, in a
low tone: "Zoya Nikitishna is looking back, I
do believe. I '11 go to her. Elena Nikolaevna
despises me now, but she respects thee, Andrei
Petrovitch, which amounts to the same thing.
113
ON THE EVE
I '11 go; I Ve been sulking long enough. But
I advise thee, my friend, to botanise: in thy po-
sition, that is the best thing thou canst devise ; and
it is useful from a scientific point of view also.
Good-bye!" Shubin hastened to Zoya, crooked
his arm, saying, ''Ihre Hand, Madame" took
her arm, and marched on ahead with her. Elena
halted, summoned BersenefF, and took his arm,
but continued to chat with Insaroff. She
asked him, what were the words in his language
for hly of the valley, ash, oak, linden ....
("Bulgaria!" thought poor Andrei Petro-
vitch.)
All at once, a shriek rang out in front; all
raised their heads. Shubin's cigar-case flew into
a bush, flung by the hand of Zoya. " Wait, I '11
pay you ofl" for that! " he exclaimed, dived into
the bush, found his cigar-case, and was about to
return to Zoya ; but no sooner had he approached
her, than again his cigar-case flew across the
path! Five times this performance was re-
peated, he laughing and menacing all the while;
but Zoya only smiled quietly, and writhed like
a kitten. At last he grasped her fingers, and
squeezed them so that she squealed and for a
long time afterward blew on her hand, pretend-
ing to be angry, while he hummed something in
her ear.
" Rogues, the j^oung folks," remarked Anna
Vasilievna merrily to Uvar Ivanovitch.
114
ON THE EVE
The latter twiddled his fingers.
"What a girl Zoya Nikitishna is!"— Berse-
nefF said to Elena.
" And Shiibin? " — she replied.
Meanwhile, the whole party had reached the
arbour, known by the name of the Pretty Arbour,
and halted to admire the view of the Tzaritzyno
ponds. They stretched out, one beyond the
other, for several versts; the dense forest lay
dark beyond them. The grass which covered the
entire slope of the hill to the principal pond
imparted to the water itself a remarkably-bril-
liant emerald hue. Nowhere, even on the shore,
was there a wave swelling or foam gleaming
white ; not even a ripple flitted over the even sur-
face. It seemed as though a mass of chilled glass
had spread itself out in a huge font, and the sky
had descended to its bottom, and the undulating
trees were gazing immovably at themselves in its
transparent bosom. All admired the view long
and in silence; even Shiibin subsided, even Zoya
grew pensive. At last, all were unanimously
seized with a desire to go upon the water. Shii-
bin, InsarofF, and BersenefF ran a race with one
another on the grass. They hunted up a big,
gaily-painted boat, found a couple of oarsmen,
and called the ladies. The ladies descended to
them ; Uvar Ivanovitch cautiously went down af-
ter them. While he was entering the boat, and
seating himself, there was a great deal of laugh-
115
ON THE EVE
ter. "Look out, master! Don't drown us!"
remarked one of the rowers, a snub-nosed young
fellow, in a sprigged calico shirt. — " Come, come,
you windbags!" said Uvar Ivanovitch. The
boat pushed off. The young men tried to take
the oars, but only one of them— Insaroff— knew
how to row. Shiibin suggested that they sing
in chorus some Russian song, and himself started
up: " Adown dear Mother Volga . . . ." Ber-
senefF, Zoya, and even Anna Vasilievna joined
in (InsarofF did not know how to sing) ; but a
discord ensued in the third verse, the singers
got into confusion and BersenefF alone tried to
continue in his bass voice: " Naught in her waves
can be seen," — but he, also, speedily became
disconcerted. The rowers exchanged winks, and
grinned in silence. — " Well? " — Shiibin turned
to them, — "evidently, the ladies and gentlemen
cannot sing? " — The young fellow in the
sprigged calico shirt merely shook his head. —
" Just wait then. Snub-nose," — retorted Shiibin.
" We '11 show you. Zoya Nikitishna, sing us
' Le Lac,' by Niedermeyer. Don't row, you!"
— The wet oars were elevated in the air, like
wings, and there remained motionless, sonor-
ously trickling drops ; the boat floated on a little
further, and came to a standstill, barely circling
on the water, like a swan. Zoya affected airs.
"Allons! " said Anna Vasilievna caressingly.
.... Zoya flung aside her hat, and began to
116
ON THE EVE
sing : "^ O lac, Vannee a peine a fini sa car-
nere ....
Her small but clear little voice fairly hurtled
across the mirror-like surface of the pond; far
away, in the forest, every word was re-echoed;
it seemed as though some one there were singing
also, in a voice which was distinct and mysterious,
but not human or of this world. When Zoya
had finished, a thunderous bravo rang out from
one of the arbours on the shore, and from it
rushed forth several red-faced Germans, who
had come to Tzaritzyno to have a carouse. Sev-
eral of them were coatless, minus cravats, and
even minus waistcoats, and they roared, " Bis! "
so violently, that Anna Vasilievna gave orders to
row to the other end of the pond as quickly as
possible. But, before the boat reached the shore,
Uvar Ivanovitch had managed to astonish his
acquaintances again: observing that, at one spot
of the forest, the echo repeated every sound with
particular distinctness, he suddenly began to call
like a quail. At first all started, but immedi-
ately they experienced genuine pleasure, the
more so as Uvar Ivanovitch gave the call with
great fidelity and lifelikeness. This encour-
aged him, and he tried to mew like a cat ; but his
mewing did not turn out so successful; he
called once more like a quail, looked at them all,
and relapsed into silence. Shiibin rushed to kiss
him: he repulsed him. At that moment the boat
117
ON THE EVE
made its landing, and the whole party got out on
the shore. In the meanwhile, the coachman,
aided by the footman and the maid, had brought
the baskets from the carriage, and prepared the
dinner on the grass, beneath the aged linden-
trees. All seated themselves around the out-
spread table-cloth, and began on the pasties and
other viands. All had an excellent appetite, and
Anna Vasilievna kept constantly offering things
to her guests, and urging them to eat more, as-
serting that this was very healthful in the open
air; she addressed sucli remarks even to Uvar
Ivanovitch. — "Be easy!" he bellowed at her,
with his mouth crammed full. " The Lord has
given such a splendid day! " she kept incessantly
repeating. It was impossible to stop her: she
seemed to have grown twenty years younger.
"Yes, yes," she said; "I was very comely, in
my time, also; they would n't have rejected me
from the first ten, as to looks."— Shiibin joined
Zoya, and kept constantly pouring wine for her;
she refused, he urged her, and it ended in his
drinking a glass himself, then urging her to
drink again; he also assured her that he wanted
to lay his head on her knees: she would not, on
any terms, permit him " so great a familiarity."
Elena seemed more serious than all the rest, but
in her heart there was a wondrous calm, such as
she had not experienced for a long time. She
felt herself infinitely amiable, and constantly
118
ON THE EVE
wished to have by her side not only InsarofF but
also BersenefF Andrei Petrovitch dimly
apprehended what this meant, and sighed by
stealth.
The hours flew past; evening drew on. Anna
Vasflievna suddenly started up in affright. —
" Akh, good heavens, how late it is! " — she said.
" We have had a good time, but all good things
must come to an end." She began to fidget, and
all began to fidget about, rose to their feet, and
walked in the direction of the castle, where the
equipages were. As they passed the ponds, all
halted to admire Tzaritzyno for the last time.
Everywhere flamed the brilliant hues which pre-
cede evening: the sky was crimson, the foliage
gleamed with flitting sparks, agitated by the
rising breeze; the distant waters flowed on,
touched with gold; the reddish towers and ar-
bours, scattered here and there about the park,
stood out sharply against the dark green.
" Farewell, Tzaritzyno, we shall not forget our
trip of to-day!" said Anna Vasflievna. . . .
But at that moment, as though in confirmation
of her last words, a strange event occurred, which
really was not so easily forgotten.
Namely: Anna Vasilievna had not finished
wafting her farewell greeting to Tzaritzyno,
when suddenly, a few paces from her, behind a
tall bush of lilacs, there rang out discordant ex-
clamations, laughter and shouts — and a whole
119
ON THE EVE
horde of dishevelled men, the very same admirers
of singing who had so vigorously applauded
Zoya, poured out on the path. The admirers of
singing appeared to be very drunk. They halted
at sight of the ladies; but one of them, of huge
stature, with a bull neck, and inflamed eyes like
a bull's, separated himself from his companions,
and, bowing clumsily and reeling as he walked,
approached Anna Vasflievna, who was petrified
with fright.
"Bon jour J madame" — he said, in a mighty
voice, — " how is your health? "
Anna Vasilievna staggered backward.
" And why," — pursued the giant, in bad Rus-
sian, — " were not you willing to sing his when
our company shouted, ' bis,' and ' bravo'? "
" Yes, yes, why? " — rang out in the ranks of
the company.
InsarofF was on the point of stepping forward,
but Shiibin stopped him, and himself went to
Anna Vasilievna's rescue.
" Allow me," — he began, — " respected stran-
ger, to express to you the unfeigned amazement
into which you have thrown us all by your be-
haviour. So far as I can judge, you belong to
the Saxon branch of the Caucasian race; conse-
quently, we are bound to assume in you a know-
ledge of the social decencies, and yet you are
addressing a lady to whom you have not been in-
troduced. At any other time, believe me, I would
120
ON THE EVE
be particularly glad to make closer acquaintance
with you ; for I observe in you such a phenomenal
development of muscles, — biceps, triceps, and
deltoidseus, — that, as a sculptor, I would regard
it as a genuine pleasure to have you for a nude
model; but, on the present occasion, leave us in
peace."
The " respected stranger " listened to the whole
of Shubin's speech, scornfully twisted his head
on one side, and stuck his arms akimbo.
" I understands nodings vat you say to me,"
he said at last. — " You dinks, perhaps, dat I am
a master shoemaker or vatchmaker? Eh! I am
officer, I am official, yes."
" I have no doubt of that," — began Shii-
bin ....
" And dis is vat I says," — went on the stran-
ger, brushing him off the path like a branch with
his powerful hand, — "I says: vy did n't you
sing bis when we shouted, ' Bis ' ? And now I am
going avay, immediately, dis very minute, only,
dis is vat is necessary, dat dis fraulein, not dis
madam, dat is not necessary, but dis vun, or dis
vun " (he pointed at Elena and Zoya), " should
give me einen Kuss, as we say in German, a kees,
yes; vat of dat? it is noding."
" Nothing, it is nothing," rang out again in
the ranks of the company.— '^'^7^^/ der Stakra-
menter!" said one German, who was already
roisterously drunk, choking with laughter.
121
ON THE EVE
Zoya clutched at Insaroff 's arm, but he tore
himself free from her, and placed himself di-
rectly in front of the insolent giant.
" Please go away," — he said to him in a low
but sharp voice.
The German laughed ponderously. — " Vat
you mean by avay? I like dat! Can't I valk
here also? Vat you mean by avay? Vy
avay? "
" Because you have dared to disturb a lady,"
— said InsarofF, and suddenly paled, — " because
you are drunk."
" Vat? I am drunk? Do you hear? Horen
Sie das, Herr Provisor? I 'm an officer, and he
dares . . . Now I shall demand Satisfaction!
Einen Kuss will ich! "
" If you take another step," — began Insa-
rofF
"Veil? And vat den?"
" I will throw you into the water."
" Into de vater? Herr Jet Is dat all? Come,
let 's see, it 's very curious, how you '11 throw me
into de vater. . . ."
The officer raised his arms, and started for-
ward, but suddenly something remarkable hap-
pened: he gave a groan, his whole huge body
swayed, rose from the ground, his legs kicked in
the air, and before the ladies had time to shriek,
before any one could understand how the thing
was done, the officer, with his whole mass, splashed
122
ON THE EVE
heavily in the pond, and immediately disap-
peared beneath the swirling water.
"Akh!" screamed the ladies in unison.
" Mein Gott!" was audible from the other
side.
A minute elapsed . . . and the round head,
all plastered with damp hair, made its appear-
ance above the water; it emitted bubbles, that
head; two arms gesticulated convulsively at its
very lips. . . .
" He will drown, save him, save him! " Anna
Vasilievna shrieked to Insaroff, who was stand-
ing on the shore, his legs planted far apart, and
panting.
" He '11 swim out," he said, with scornful and
pitiless indifference. — " Let us go," — he added,
offering Anna Vasilievna his arm, — " come
along, Uvar Ivanovitch, Elena Nikolaevna."
" A . . . a . . . . o . . . . o . . ." at that
moment resounded the j^ell of the unlucky Ger-
man, w^ho had contrived to grasp the shore
reeds.
All moved on after Insaroff, and all were
obliged to pass that same " companie." But, de-
prived of their head, the roisterers had quieted
down, and did not utter a word; one only, the
bravest of them all, muttered, as he shook his
head : " Well, but this . . . this, God knows,
what . . . after this " ; and another even pulled
off his hat. Insaroff seemed to them very for-
123
ON THE EVE
midable, and with good cause : something malevo-
lent, something dangerous had come forth in his
face. The Germans rushed to fish their comrade
out, and the latter, as soon as he found himself
on dry land, began tearfully to curse and shout
after those " Russian bandits," that he would
complain, that he would go to Count von Kieze-
ritz himself. . . .
But the " Russian bandits " paid no attention
to his shouts, and made all haste to the cas-
tle. All maintained silence while they walked
through the park, only Anna Vasilievna sighed
slightly. But at last they approached their car-
riages, halted, and an irrepressible, interminable
shout of laughter arose from them, as with the
heaven-dwellers of Homer. First Shiibin burst
out shrilly, like a crazy person; after him Berse-
neiF rattled away like a shower of peas; then
Zoya scattered fine pearls of laughter; Anna
Vasilievna, also, suddenly went into such parox-
ysms of mirth, that Elena could not refrain from
smiling; even Insaroff, at last, could not resist.
But louder and longer than all the rest, shouted
Uvar Ivanovitch ; he roared until he had a stitch
in the side, until he sneezed, until he strangled.
He would quiet down a little, and say through
his tears: " I . . . think . . . that that knocked
him out .... but ... he ... . splash, ker-
flop I" . . . And with the last, convulsively ex-
pelled word, a fresh outburst of laughter shook
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his whole frame. Zoya spurred him on still more.
" I see his legs in the air," said she. . . .
" Yes, yes," chimed in Uvar Ivanovitch,— " his
legs, his legs . . . and then! and he went spla-ash
ker-flop!"
" Yes, and how did he manage it, for the Ger-
man was twice as big as he? " asked Zoya.
" I '11 tell you," — replied Uvar Ivanovitch,
wiping his eyes, — " I saw him seize the man by
his belt with one hand, thrust under his leg, and
then, slap-dash! I hear: 'What's this?' . . .
but he went splash, ker-flop ! "
The equipages had been on their way for a
long time, the castle of Tzaritzyno had long van-
ished from sight, and still Uvar Ivanovitch could
not calm down. Shiibin, who was again driving
with him in the calash, became ashamed of him
at last.
And Insaroff felt conscience-stricken. He
sat in the carriage opposite Elena (BerseneiF
had placed himself on the box) and preserved
silence: she, also, was silent. He thought that
she was condemning him; but she was not con-
demning him. She had been very greatly
frightened at the first moment ; then she had been
struck by the expression of his face; after that,
she had been engaged in meditation. It was
not quite clear to her what she was meditating
about. The feeling which she had experienced
during the course of the day had disappeared;
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ON THE EVE
she was conscious of this; but it had been re~
placed by something else which, as yet, she did
not comprehend. The partie de plaisir had
lasted too long: the evening had imperceptibly
merged into night. The carriage rolled swiftly
onward, past ripe fields, where the air was suf-
focating and fragrant and redolent of grain,
again past broad meadows, and their sudden
coolness beat upon the face in a light wave. The
sky seemed to be smoking at the edges. At last
the moon floated up, dull and red. Anna Vasi-
lievna was dozing ; Zoya was hanging out of the
window, and gazing at the road. At last it oc-
curred to Elena that she had not spoken to In-
saroff for more than an hour. She turned to
him with a trivial question: he immediately an-
swered her joyously. Certain indefinite sounds
began to be wafted through the air : JMoscow was
hastening to meet them. Ahead of them twin-
kled tiny points of light; their number kept
constantly increasing; at last, the stones of the
pavement rang beneath their wheels. Anna Vasi-
lievna waked up ; all in the carriage began to talk,
although not one of them was able to hear what
the conversation was about, so loudly did the
pavement resound beneath the two carriages and
the thirty-two hoofs of the horses. Long and
wearisome did the transit from JMoscow to Kiint-
zovo appear; everybody was asleep or silent,
with heads nestled in various corners; Elena
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ON THE EVE
alone did not close her eyes: she never re-
moved them from Insaroff's dark figure. Mel-
ancholy had descended upon Shubin: the breeze
blew in his eyes, and irritated him; he muffled
himself in the collar of his cloak, and all but
wept. Uvar Ivanovitch was snoring blissfully,
swaying to right and left. At last the equipages
came to a halt. Two footmen carried Anna
Vasilievna from the carriage; she was com-
pletely done up, and announced to her fellow-
travellers, as she took leave of them, that she
was barely alive; they began to thank her, but
she merely repeated: "Barely alive." Elena
shook Insaroff's hand for the first time; and sat
for a long time, without undressing, at her win-
dow; while Shubin seized the opportunity to
whisper to BersenefF as the latter departed:
" Well, and why is n't he a hero? — he pitches
drunken Germans into the water! "
" But thou didst not do even that," — retorted
Berseneff , and went home with InsarofF.
The dawn was already invading the sky when
the two friends regained their lodgings. The
sun had not yet risen, but the chill had already
set in, the grey dew covered the grass, and the
first larks were carolling on high in the half -twi-
light aerial abj^ss, whence, like a solitary eye,
gazed one huge, last star.
127
XVI
Shortly after Elena had made Insaroif 's ac-
quaintance, she had (for the fifth or sixth time)
begun a diary. Here are excerpts from that
diary:
" Jwne .... Andrei Petrovitch brings me books, but
I cannot read them. I am ashamed to confess this to
him; I do not wish to return the books, to he, to say
that I have read them. It seems to me that that would
grieve him. He notices everything in me. Apparently,
he is very much attached to me. He is a very nice man,
is Andrei Petrovitch.
" . . . . What is it that I want.? Why is my heart
so heavy, so languid? Why do I gaze with envy at the
birds which flit past? I believe that I would like to fly
with them, fly — whither I know not, only far away from
here. And is not that desire sinful? Here I have a
mother, a father, a family. Do not I love them? No !
I do not love them as I would like to love them. It is
terrible for me to speak this out, but it is the truth.
Perhaps I am a great sinner ; perhaps that is the reason
why I am so sad, why I have no peace. Some hand or
other lies heavy on me, is crushing me. It is as though
I were in prison, and as though the walls were on the
point of falling upon me. Why do not other people
feel this? Whom shall I love, if I am cold to my own
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ON THE EVE
people? Evidently, papa is right: he accuses me of
loving only dogs and cats. I must think this over. I
pray but little; I must pray. . . . But it seems to me
that I could love !
" .... I am still timid with Mr. Insaroff . I do not
know why; I am not so very young, I think, and he is
so simple and kind. He sometimes wears a very serious
face. It must be that he has no time for us. I feel it,
and I am ashamed, as it were, to rob him of his time.
Andrei Petrovitch — is another matter. I am ready to
chat with him all day long. But he keeps talking to
me about Insaroff. And what terrible details ! I saw
him in my dreams last night, with a dagger in his hand.
And he seemed to say to me : * I will kill thee, and kill
myself.' What nonsense !
" . . . . Oh, if some one would only say to me : ' Here,
this is what thou shouldst do ! ' To be good — that is not
enough; to do good . . . yes; that is the principal
thing in life. But how shall I do good.'* Oh, if I could
only control myself! I do not know why I think so
often of Mr. Insaroff. When he comes, and sits, and
listens attentively, but makes no effort himself, no fuss,
I gaze at him, and find it agreeable — nothing more; but
when he goes away, I keep recalling his words, and I am
vexed with myself, and I even grow excited ... I know
not why. (He speaks French badly, and is not ashamed
of it — I like that. ) However, I always do think a great
deal about new people. In chatting with him, I sud-
denly recalled our butler Vasily, who dragged a helpless
old man from a burning cottage, and came near perish-
ing himself. Papa called him a fine fellow, mamma gave
him five rubles, but I wanted to bow down at his feet.
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ON THE EVE
He had a simple, even a stupid face, and he became a
drunkard afterward.
" To-day I gave a copper coin to a poor
woman, and she said to me : ' Why art thou so sad? ' And
I did not even suspect that I had a sad aspect. I think
it arises from the fact that I am alone, always alone, with
all my good and all my bad. I have no one to whom
I can give my hand. The one who approaches me is not
the one I want, and the one I would Hke .... passes
me by.
" .... I do not know what is the matter with me
to-day ; my head is in a snarl, I am ready to fall on my
knees and beg and pray for mercy. I do not know who is
doing it, or how it is being done, but it seems as though I
were being murdered, and I shriek inwardly and rebel:
I weep, and cannot hold my peace. . . . My God ! My
God! quell thou these transports in me! Thou alone
canst do this, all else is powerless: neither my insignifi-
cant alms, nor occupations, nothing, nothing, notliing
can help me. I would hke to go off somewhere as a
servant, truly : I should feel more at ease.
" What is the use of youth, why do I live, why have
I a soul, to what end is all this.''
" . . . . Insaroff, Mr, InsarofF — I really do not
know how to write — continues to occupy my thoughts.
I would like to know what he has in his soul. Appar-
ently, he is so frank, so accessible, yet notliing is visible
to me. Sometimes he looks at me with eyes which seem
to be scrutinising ... or is that only my fancy? Paul
is constantly teasing me — I am angry with Paul. Wliat
does he want? He is in love with me . . . but I do not
want his love. He is in love with Zoya also. I am unjust
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ON THE EVE
to him ; he told me yesterday, that I did not know how to
be unjust half-way . . . that is true. It is very wrong.
" Akh, I feel that unhappiness is necessary to a man,
or poverty, or illness, otherwise he grows arrogant at
once.
" . . . . Why did Andrei Pctrovitch tell me to-day
about those two Bulgarians? It seemed as though he
told me that with a purpose. What is Mr. Insaroff to
me.'' I am angry with Andrei Petrovitch.
" .... I take up my pen and do not know how to
begin. How unexpectedly he talked with me in the gar-
den to-day ! How affectionate and confidential he was !
How quickly this has come about ! It is as though we
were old, old friends, and had only just recognised each
other. How could I have failed to understand him
hitherto ! How near he is to me now ! And this is the
astonishing part of it: I have become much calmer now.
I find it ridiculous: yesterday I was angry with Andrei
Petrovitch, — at him, — I even called him Mr. Insaroff;
but to-day . . . Here, at last, is an upright man ; here
is some one on whom I can rely. This man does not lie:
he is the first man I have met who does not lie: all the
rest lie, lie continually. Andrei Petrovitch, dear and
kind, why do I insult you ? No ! Andrei Petrovitch is more
learned than he, perhaps, perhaps he is even cleverer, . .
But, I do not know, he is such a small man beside him.
When he speaks of his fatherland, he grows, and grows,
and his face becomes handsome, and his voice is like steel,
and it seems as though there were not a man in the world
before whom he would lower his eyes. And he not only
talks — he acts, and will act. I shall question him. . . .
How suddenly he turned to me, and smiled at me ! . . .
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Only brothers smile in that way. Akh, how content I
am ! When he came to us for the first time, I did not, in
the least, think that he would become a close friend so
soon ! And now it even pleases me that I remained indif-
ferent that first time. Indifferent ! Can it be that I am
not indifferent now? . . .
" It is a long time since I felt such inward
peace. It is so still within me, so still. And there is
nothing to record. I see him often, that is all. What
else is there to record?
" . . . . Paul has shut himself in his room, Andrei
Petrovitch has taken to coming more rarely .... Poor
fellow ! it seems to me that he . . . however, that is im-
possible. I love to talk with Andrei Petrovitch: never
a word about himself, always something practical, use-
ful. With Shubin the case is different. Shiibin is as
gorgeously arrayed as a butterfly, and admires his ar-
ray: butterflies do not do that. However, both Shubin
and Andrei Petrovitch ... I know what I want to
say.
" . . . . He finds it agreeable to come to our house,
I see that. But why? What has he found in me?
Really, our tastes are similar: neither of us is fond of
poetry: neither of us knows anything about art. But
how much better he is than I am ! He is calm, I am in
perpetual agitation; he has a road, a goal — but as for
me, whither am I going? where is my nest? He is calm,
but all his thougl^ts are far away. The time will come
when he will leave us forever, and go away to his own
land, yonder, beyond the sea. What of that? God
grant he may ! Nevertheless, I shall be glad that I have
known him while he was here.
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" Why is not he a Russian ? No, he cannot be a Rus-
sian.
" And mamma likes him. She says : * He is a modest
man.' Kind mamma! She does not understand him.
Paul holds his peace: he has divined that his hints are
displeasing to me, but he is jealous of him. Wicked
boy! And by what right.'* Have I ever
" All this is nonsense ! Why does this keep coming
into my head.''
" . . . . But it is really strange that so far, up to
the age of twenty, I have never been in love with any
one. It seems to me that D. (I shall call him D., I like
that name: Dmitry) is so clear in soul because he has
given himself wholly to his cause, to his dream. What
is there for him to be agitated about.? He who has
consecrated himself wholly . . . wholly .... wholly
.... has little grief, he no longer is responsible for
anything. It is not / who will ; it wills. By the way,
he and I both love the same flowers. I plucked a rose
to-day. One petal fell, he picked it up I gave
him the whole rose.
" . . . . D. comes often to us. Yesterday he sat
here the whole evening. He wants to teach me Bul-
garian. I felt at ease with him, as though at home.
Better than at home.
" . . . . The days fly I am both happy and,
for some reason, apprehensive, and I feel like thanking
God, and the tears are not far off'. O warm, bright
days!
" .... I still feel light of heart, as of yore, and
only rarely a little sad. I am happy. Am 1 happy.?
.... It will be long before I shall forget the
133
((
ON THE EVE
jaunt of yesterday. What strange, novel, terrible im-
pressions ! When he suddenly seized that giant and
hurled him, like a small ball, into the water, I was not
frightened .... but he frightened me. And after-
ward — what an ominous, almost cruel face! How he
said : ' He '11 swim out ! ' It upset me completely. It
must be that I have not understood him. And then,
when every one was laughing, when I laughed, how
pained I felt for him ! He was ashamed, I felt that, — he
was ashamed before me. He told me that, later on, in the
carriage, in the darkness, when I tried to scrutinise him,
and was afraid of him. Yes, one cannot jest with him,
and he does know how to defend himself. But why
that viciousness, why those quivering lips, that venom
in the eyes.'' Or, perhaps it could not be otherwise. Is
it impossible to be a man, a champion, and remain gentle
and soft.'' Life is a harsh matter, he said to me not long
ago. I repeated this remark to Andrei Petrovitch; he
did not agree with D. Which of them is right.'' And
how that day began ! How happy I was to walk by his
side, even in silence. . . . But I am glad that it hap-
pened. Evidently, it was as it should be.
" . . . . Again uneasiness I am not quite
well.
" . . . . All these last days I have not recorded any-
thing in this note-book, because I did not wish to write.
I felt that, whatever I might write, it would not be what
was in my soul. . . . And what is in my soul.'' I have
had a long interview with him, which has revealed to me
many things. He told me about his plans (by the way,
I know now why he has that wound on the neck. .
My God ! when I think that he was already condemned
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ON THE EVE
to death, that he barely escaped, that he was wounded
). He foresees a war, and rejoices at it. And,
nevertheless, I have never seen D. so sad. What can
he .... he! .... be sad about .f* Papa returned
from the town, found us together, and gave us rather a
strange look. Andrei Petrovitch came: I notice that he
has grown very thin and pale. He reproached me for,
as he said, treating Shubin too coldly and carelessly.
But I had quite forgotten Paul. When I see him, I will
try to repair my fault. But I am not in the mood for
him now .... nor for any one in the world. Andrei
Petrovitch talked to me with a sort of compassion. What
is the meaning of all this.? Why is all around me and
within me dark,? It seems to me, that around me and
within me something enigmatic is in progress, that the
answer must be sought ....
" .... I did not sleep last night ; my head aches.
Why should I write? He went away so soon to-day,
and I wanted to talk to him He seems to shun
me. Yes, he does shun me.
" . . . . The answer is found, a light has dawned
upon me ! O God ! have pity on rae. . . . I am in love ! "
135
XVII
On the day when Elena inscribed this last, fate-
ful word in her diary, Insaroff sat in BersenefF's
room, and BersenefF stood before him with an
expression of amazement on his face. InsarofF
had just announced to him his intention to re-
move to Moscow on the following day.
"Good gracious!" — exclaimed Berseneff: —
" the very finest part of the season is beginning.
What will you do in Moscow? What a sudden
decision! Or have you received some news? "
" I have received no news," returned InsarofF
— " but, according to my views, it is impossible
for me to remain here."
" But how is it possible "
*' Andrei Petrovitch,"— said InsaroiF,— " be
so good as not to insist, I entreat you. It pains
me to part with you, but it cannot be helped."
BerseneiF stared fixedly at him.
" I know," — he said at last, — " you are not
to be convinced. And so, the matter is settled? "
" Completely settled,"— repHed InsarofF, ris-
ing and withdrawing.
BersenefF strode about the room, seized his
hat, and betook himself to the StakhofFs.
136
ON THE EVE
(<
You have something to impart to me,** —
Elena said to him, as soon as they were left alone
together.
" Yes; how did you guess? "
" No matter. Tell me, what is it? "
BersenefF communicated to her InsarofF's re-
solve.
Elena turned pale.
" What does it mean? " — she articulated with
difficulty.
" You know," — said BersenefF, — " that Dmi-
try Nikanorovitch does not like to give an ac-
count of his actions. But I think .... Let
us sit down, Elena Nikolaevna; you do not seem
to be quite well .... I think I can guess the
real cause of this sudden departure."
" What— what is the cause? " repeated Elena,
clasping BersenefF's hand tightly, without her-
self being aware of it, in her hands, which had
grown cold.
" Well, you see,"~began Berseneff with a
melancholy smile — " how shall I explain it to you?
I must revert to last spring, to the time when I be-
came more intimately acquainted with Insaroff.
I then met him at the house of a relation ; this re-
lation had a daughter, a very pretty young girl.
It seemed to me that InsarofF was not indifFer-
ent to her and I said so to him. He laughed, and
answered me that I was mistaken, that his heart
had not sufFered, but that he would go away at
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ON THE EVE
once, if anything of that sort should happen with
him, as he did not wish — those were his very
words — to betray his cause and his duty for
the satisfaction of his personal feelings. ' I am
a Bulgarian,' he said, ' and I want no Russian
love.' "
" Well . . . and do you .... now . . . ."
whispered Elena, involuntarily turning away her
head, like a person who is expecting a blow, but
still not releasing BerseneiF's hand from her
grasp.
" I think " — he said, and lowered his voice —
" I think that that has now happened which I
then erroneously assumed."
" That is to say . . . you think .... do not
torture me! " — broke out Elena suddenly.
" I think," — hastily went on BersenefF, —
" that InsarofF has now fallen in love with a Rus-
sian maiden, and, in accordance with his vow, he is
resolved to flee."
Elena gripped his hand still more tightly, and
bent her head still lower, as though desirous of
hiding from the sight of an outsider the flush of
shame which overspread her whole face and neck
with sudden flame.
" Andrei Petrovitch, you are as kind as an
angel," — she said, — " but, surely, he will come to
bid us farewell? "
" Yes, I assume that he will certainly come, be-
cause he does not wish to go . . ."
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ON THE EVE
" Tell him, tell him . . . ."
But here the poor girl broke down: tears
streamed from her eyes, and she rushed from the
room.
" So that is how she loves him," thought Ber-
seneff , as he slowly wended his way homeward.
" I did not expect that; I did not expect that it
was already so strong. I am kind, she says," —
he continued his meditations . . . . " Who shall
say by virtue of what feelings and motives I have
communicated all this to Elena? But not out
of kindness, not out of kindness. Is it that
accursed desire to convince myself whether the
dagger is still sticking in the wound? I must be
content — they love each other, and I have helped
them. . . . ' The future mediator between
science and the Russian public,' Shiibin calls me ;
evidently it is written in my destiny that I shall
be a mediator. But what if I have made a mis-
take? No, I have not. . . ."
It was bitter for Andrei Petrovitch, and Rau-
mer never entered his head.
On the following day, at two o'clock, InsarofF
presented himself at the StakliofFs. As though
expressly at that hour, in Anna Vasilievna's
drawing-room sat a neighbour, the wife of the
arch-priest, who was a very kind and respectable
woman, but had had a trifling unpleasantness with
the police, because she had taken it into her head,
at the very hottest part of the day, to bathe in
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ON THE EVE
a pond near a road along which the family of
some influential general or other was wont to
drive. The presence of an outsider was, at first,
even agreeable to Elena, from whose face every
drop of blood had fled as soon as she heard Insa-
rofl"s tread; but her heart died within her at the
thought that he might take leave without having
spoken with her in private. He also appeared
embarrassed, and avoided her gaze. "Is it pos-
sible that he will take leave at once?" thought
Elena. In fact, Insarofl* was on the point of ad-
dressing Anna Vasflievna, when Elena rose, and
hastily called him aside to the window. The
arch-priest's wife was surprised, and tried to turn
round; but she was so tightly laced that her cor-
set squeaked at every movement she made. She
remained motionless.
" Listen," — said Elena hurriedly, — " I know
why you are come; Andrei Petrovitch has told
me of your intention; but I beg you, I entreat
you, not to bid us farewell to-day, but to
come hither to-morrow at an earher hour — about
eleven o'clock. I must say a couple of words to
you."
Insarofl* inclined his head in silence.
" I shall not detain you. . . . Do you promise
me?"
Again Insarofl* bowed, but said nothing.
" Come here, Lenotchka," — said Anna Vasi-
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ON THE EVE
lievna, — " see here: what a splendid reticule the
matushka ^ has ! "
" I embroidered it myself," said the arch-
priest's wife.
Elena quitted the window.
InsaroiF did not remain more than a quarter of
an hour at the Staklioffs'. Elena watched him
covertly. He fidgeted about on his seat as
usual, did not know where to fix his eyes, and
went away in a strange, abrupt manner, just as
though he had vanished.
The day passed slowly for Elena; still more
slowly did the long, long night drag out its course.
Elena, at times, sat on her bed, clasping her
knees with her arms, and with her head resting on
them; again she walked to the window, pressed
her burning brow to the cold glass, and thought,
thought, thought, until she was exhausted, the
same thoughts, over and over again. Her heart
had not precisely turned to stone, nor yet had it
vanished from her breast ; she did not feel it, but
the veins in her head throbbed violently, and her
hair burned her, and her lips were parched. " He
will come ... he did not bid mamma good-bye
... he will not deceive Can it be that An-
drei Petrovitch spoke the truth? It cannot be.
1 Matushka— dear little mother— is the characteristic Russian form
of address for women of all classes; but it is particularly applied to
the wives of ecclesiastics. Bdtiushka — dear little father— is used, ger;-
erally and specifically, in the same way. — Thaxslatob.
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ON THE EVE
.... He did not promise in words to come. . .
Can it be that I have parted from him forever? "
.... Such thoughts as these never quitted her
. . . precisely that, never quitted her: they did
not come, they did not return, — they surged to
and fro incessantly within her, like a fog.
— "He loves me I" suddenly flared up through
all her being, and she stared intently into the
gloom; a mysterious smile, unseen by any one,
parted her lips but she instantly shook
her head, laid the clenched fingers of her hand
against her nape, and again, like a fog, the for-
mer thoughts surged within her. Just before
dawn, she undressed herself, and went to bed,
but could not sleep. The first fiery rays of the
sun beat into her room. ..." Oh, if he does
love mel" — she suddenly exclaimed, and, un-
abashed by the light which illuminated her, she
stretched out her arms in an embrace. . . .
She rose, dressed herself, went down-stairs.
No one was awake in the house as yet. She went
into the garden ; but in the garden it was so still,
and green, and cool, the birds chirped so con-
fidingly, the flowers gazed forth so gaily, that she
felt uncomfortable.— "Oh!"— she thought, "if
it is true, there is not a single blade of grass which
is happier than I, — but is it true? " She returned
to her chamber, and, for the sake of killing time,
began to change her gown. But everything
slipped and fell from her hands, and she was still
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ON THE EVE
sitting, half -clad, in front of her dressing-glass
when she was summoned to drink tea. She went
down-stairs; her mother observed her pallor, but
said merely: " How interesting thou art to-day! "
and, sweeping a glance over her, she added: " That
gown is very becoming to thee ; thou shouldst al-
ways put it on when thou hast a mind to please
any one." Elena made no reply, and seated her-
self in a corner. In the meanwhile, the clock
struck nine; two hours still remained before
eleven. Elena took up a book, then tried to sew,
then took to her book again ; then she made a vow
to herself that she would walk the length of one
avenue one hundred times, and did it; then for
a long time she watched Anna Vasilievna laying
out her game of patience .... and glanced at the
clock: it was not yet ten. Shiibin came into the
drawing-room. She tried to talk to him, and
begged him to excuse her, without knowing why
she did so. . . . Her every word did not so much
cost her an effort as it evoked in her a sort of
surprise. Shiibin bent down to her. She ex-
pected a jeer, raised her eyes, and beheld before
her a sorrowful and friendly face. . . She smiled
at that face. Shiibin also smiled at her in silence,
and quietly left the room. She wanted to detain
him, but did not inmiediately recall his name. At
last the clock struck eleven. She began to wait,
wait, wait, and listen. She could no longer do
anything: she had ceased even to think. Her
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ON THE EVE
heart came to life, and began to beat more and
more loudly, and, strange to say ! the time seemed
to fly more swiftly. A quarter of an hour elapsed,
half an hour passed, several minutes more passed,
as it seemed to Elena; and suddenly she started:
the clock did not strike twelve, it struck one. —
" He will not come, he is going away without
saying good-bye. . . ." This thought, together
with the blood, rushed to her head. She felt that
she was choking, that she was on the point of
sobbing. . . . She ran to her room, and fell face
down on her clasped hands on the bed.
For half an hour she lay motionless; tears
streamed between her fingers on the pillow.
Suddenly she sat up: something strange had
taken place in her ; her face underwent a change,
her wet eyes dried of their own accord and
beamed, her eyebrows drew together, her lips com-
pressed themselves. Another half -hour passed.
For the last time, Elena bent her ear to hear
whether a familiar voice would be wafted to her.
She rose, put on her hat and gloves, threw a man-
tilla over her shoulders, and slipping unseen out
of the house, she walked briskly along the road
which led to BersenefF's lodging.
144
XVIII
Elena walked along with drooping head and
eyes fixed unswervingly in front of her. She
feared nothing, she considered nothing; she
wanted to see InsarofF once more. She walked
on, without noticing that the sun had long since
disappeared, veiled in heavy, dark clouds, that the
wind was roaring in gusts among the trees and
whirling her gown about, that the dust had risen
suddenly, and was sweeping in a column along
the road. . . . Large raindrops began to patter,
she did not notice them ; but the rain came faster
and faster, with constantly increasing violence,
the lightning flashed, the thunder pealed. Elena
halted, and glanced about her. . . . Fortunately
for her, not far from the spot where the thunder-
storm had overtaken her, there was an ancient,
abandoned chapel, over a ruined well. She ran
to it, and entered beneath the low shed. The rain
poured down in torrents; the whole sky was ob-
scured. With mute despair Elena stared at the
fine network of swiftly falling drops. Her last
hope of seeing InsarofF had vanished. A poor
old beggar-woman entered the little chapel, shook
herself, said with an obeisance, " Out of the rain,
dear little mother," and, grunting and groaning,
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ON THE EVE
seated herself oi^ a projection beside the well.
Elena put her hand in her pocket: the old woman
observed the gesture, and hei* face, wrinkled and
yellow, but once beautiful, lighted up. " Thank
thee, my benefactor, my dear," she began. There
was no purse in Elena's pocket, but the old woman
still held her hand outstretched. . . .
" I have no money, granny,"— said Elena,—
" but here, take this, it will be of some use."
She gave her her handkerchief.
*' O-okh, my beauty," — said the beggar-
woman, " of what use to me is thy little kerchieft
None, unless to give to my granddaughter when
she marries. May the Lord reward thee for thji
kindness! "
A clap of thunder pealed out.
" O Lord Jesus Christ," muttered the beg-
gar, and crossed herself thrice. — " But I think
I 've seen thee before," — she added, after a pause.
" Hast not thou given me Christ's alms? "
Elena cast a glance at the old woman, and
recognised her.
*' Yes, granny,"— she replied.—" Didst not
thou ask me why I was so sad? "
" Just so, my dear, just so. That 's how I
knew thee. And thou seemest to be living in
affliction now also. Here, thy little handker-
chief is damp — with tears, of course. Okh, you
young girls, you all have one grief, one great
woe!
146
ON THE EVE
((
What grief, granny? "
" What grief? Ekh, my good young lady,
thou canst not dissemble with me, an old woman.
For I have been young myself, my dear, I too
have passed through those trials. Yes. And
here 's what I will say to thee, for thy kindness:
if a good man, not a giddy fellow, has fallen to
thy lot, do thou cling to him — cling tighter than
death. If it is to be, it will be; if it is not to be,
evidently such is the will of God. Yes. Why
art thou surprised at me? I 'm that same for-
tune-teller. If thou wishest, I will carry away
all thy woe with thy handkerchief! I '11 carry it
away, and that 's the end of it. Seest thou, the
rain is slackening; do thou wait a bit yet, but I
will go on. It won't be the first time I 've been
drenched by it. Now remember, my dear little
dove: there was a grief, the grief has flowed
away, there is not a trace of it. Lord, have
mercy! "
The beggar rose from the projection, emerged
from the chapel, and went her way. Elena stared
after her in amazement. " AVhat does it mean? "
she whispered involuntarily.
The rain descended in a steadily decreasing
network, the sun flashed forth for a moment.
Elena was already preparing to abandon her
refuge. All at once, half a score of paces from
the chapel, she beheld Insaroff*. Wrapped in
his cloak, he was walking along the selfsame
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ON THE EVE
road by which Elena had come; he appeared to
be hastening homeward.
She braced herself with her hand on the de-
crepit railing of the little porch, and tried to call
him, but her voice failed her. . . . InsarofF was
already passing on without raising his head
"Dmitry Nikanorovitch ! " — she said at last.
InsaroiF came to an abrupt halt, and glanced
around At the first moment he did not
recognise Elena, but he immediately advanced
toward her. — " You! you here! " he exclaimed.
She drew back, in silence, into the chapel. In-
sarofF followed Elena.
"You here?" — he repeated.
Still she said nothing, and merely gazed at him
with a sort of long, soft glance. He dropped
his eyes.
"You have come from our house?" — she
asked him.
" No . . . not from your house."
"No?" — repeated Elena, and tried to smile.
— " Is that the way you keep your promises? I
have been expecting you all the morning."
" I made no promise yesterday, if you remem-
ber, Elena Nikolaevna."
Again Elena smiled faintly, and passed her
hand across her face. Both face and hand were
very pale. — " Evidently, you meant to go away
without saying good-bye to us? "
" Yes," — said InsarofF, surlily and dully.
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ON THE EVE
"What? After our acquaintance, after those
conversations, after everything. . . . Conse-
quently, if I had not met you here by chance "
(Elena's voice began to tremble, and she paused
for a moment) ..." you would have gone
away, and would not have pressed my hand for
the last time, and you would not have regretted
it?"
InsarofF turned away. — " Elena Nikolaevna,
please do not talk like that. Even without that,
I am not in a cheerful mood. Believe me, my
decision has cost me a great effort. If you
knew "
" I do not wish to know," — Elena interrupted
him, in affright, — " why you are going. . . .
Evidently, it is necessary. Evidently, we must
part. You would not grieve your friends with-
out cause. But do friends part in this way? For
you and I are friends, are we not? "
" No,"— said Insaroff.
" What? . . ." said Elena. Her cheeks became
suffused with a faint flush.
" That is precisely the reason why I am going
away, — that we are not friends. Do not force
me to say that which I do not wish to say,— which
I will not say."
" You were frank with me in former days," ar-
ticulated Elena, with a tinge of reproach.
" I could be frank then,— I had nothing to
hide; but now . . . ."
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ON THE EVE
" But now? " — asked Elena.
" But now .... But now I must depart.
Farewell."
If, at that moment, Insaroff had raised his
eyes to Elena, he would have perceived that her
face was growing brighter and brighter, in pro-
portion as he himself grew more frowning and
lowering; but he stared persistently at the floor.
" Well, good-bye, Dmitry Nikanoroviteh," —
she began. — " But, at least, since we have already
met, give me your hand now."
Insaroff started to extend his hand. — *' No,
I cannot do that, either," — he said, and again
turned away.
" You cannot? "
" I cannot. Farewell." And he went toward
the exit from the chapel.
" Wait a little longer,"— said Elena.—" You
seem to be afraid of me. But I am braver than
you are," — she added with a sudden slight shiver
coursing all over her body. — " I can tell you . . .
would you like to have me ? . . . . why you have
found me here? Do you know where I was
gomg f
Insarofl" looked at Elena in amazement.
" I was going to you."
"Tome?"
Elena covered her face. — " You have wanted
to make me say that I love you," — she whispered:
— " there now .... I have said it."
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ON THE EVE
"Elena!"— cried Insaroff.
She removed her hands, cast a glance at him,
and threw herself on his breast.
He held her in a close embrace, and remained
silent. There was no need for him to tell her that
he loved her. Elena could understand, from his
mere exclamation, from the instantaneous trans-
figuration of the whole man, from the way in which
the bosom to which she clung so confidingly rose
and fell, from the way in which the tips of his
fingers caressed her hair, that she was beloved.
He maintained silence, and she required no
words. " He is here, he loves .... What more
is needed? " The silence of bliss, the silence of a
tranquil harbour, of a goal attained, that heavenly
silence which imparts even to death itself both
meaning and beauty, filled her whole being with
its divine flood. She wished for nothing, because
she possessed everything. — " Oh, my brother, my
friend, my dear! " — whispered her lips, and she
herself did not know whose heart it was, his or
hers, which beat so sweetly and melted in her
breast.
And he stood motionless, he held in his strong
embrace this young life which had surrendered it-
self to him, he felt on his breast this new, infi-
nitely precious burden: a feeling of emotion, a
feeling of inexpressible gratitude, shattered his
firm soul to dust, and tears, which he had never
yet shed, welled up to his eyes
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ON THE EVE
But she did not weep ; she merely kept reiterat-
ing: " Oh, my friend,— oh, my brother! "
"So thou wilt follow me everywhere?" — he
said to her, a quarter of an hour later, still hold-
ing her, as before, in his embrace, and supporting
her.
" Everywhere, to the end of the world. Where
thou art, there I shall be."
" And thou art not deceiving thyself, thou
knowest that thy parents will never consent to
our marriage? "
" I am not deceiving myself; I know it."
" Thou knowest that I am poor, almost a
beggar? "
" Yes."
" That I am not a Russian, that it is not de-
creed that I shall dwell in Russia, that thou wilt
be compelled to break all thy ties with thy father-
land, with thy kin? "
" I know, I know."
" Thou knowest, also, that I have consecrated
myself to a difficult cause, an ungrateful cause,
that I . . . that we shall be forced to undergo
not only dangers, but even privations,— humilia-
tion, perchance? "
" I know, I know everything .... I love
thee I"
" That thou wilt be obliged to abandon all thy
habits,— that yonder, alone, among strangers,
thou mayest be compelled, perhaps, to toil . . . ."
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ON THE EVE
She laid her hand on his hps. — " I love thee,
my darling."
He began passionately to kiss her slender, rosy
hand. Elena did not remove it from his lips, and
with a sort of childlike joy, with laughing curi-
osity, she looked on while he covered now the
hand, now its fingers, with kisses. . . .
All at once she flushed scarlet, and hid her face
on his breast.
He raised her head caressingly, and gazed in-
tently into her eyes. — " Long live my wife, before
men and before God! " he said to her.
153
XIX
An hour later, Elena, with her hat on one arm,
her mantilla on the other, entered the drawing-
room of the villa. Her hair was slightly out of
curl, a tiny pink spot was visible on each cheek,
the smile refused to depart from her lips, her
eyes, blinking and half -shut, also smiled. She
could hardly walk from fatigue, but this fatigue
was agreeable to her, and everything pleased her.
Everything seemed to her fair and caressing.
Uvar Ivanovitch was sitting near the window;
she went up to him, laid her hand on his shoulder,
stretched herself a little, and laughed in an in-
voluntary sort of way.
" What is it? " he asked, in surprise.
She did not know what to say. She wanted to
kiss Uvar Ivanovitch.
" Splash, ker-flop! " she said at last.
But Uvar Ivanovitch did not move an eyelash,
and kept on staring in astonishment at Elena.
She dropped her hat and mantilla on him.
" My dear Uvar Ivanovitch," — she said, — " I
am sleepy, I am tired," — and again she began to
laugh, and dropped into an arm-chair beside him.
" H'm," — shouted Uvar Ivanovitch, and be-
gan to twiddle his fingers.
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ON THE EVE
And Elena looked around her, and thought:
— " I must soon part from all this . . . and it
is strange : I have no fear, no doubt, no pity. . . .
No, I am sorry for mamma! " Then again the
chapel rose up before her, again her voice rang
out, she felt his arms around her, her heart was
glad, but stirred feebly: the languor of happi-
ness lay upon it. She recalled the old beggar-
woman. " She really did carry away all my
woe," — she thought. " Oh, how happy I am!
how undeserved it is ! how sudden ! " If she had let
go of herself in the slightest degree, she would
have shed sweet, interminable tears. She re-
strained them only by laughing. Whatever atti-
tude she assumed, it seemed to her that there
could be none better, more easy : it was as though
she were being rocked to sleep. All her move-
ments were slow and soft; what had become of
her precipitation, her angularity? Zoya entered:
Elena decided that she had never beheld a more
charming little face; Anna Vasilievna entered:
Elena felt a prick of compunction, but with
what tenderness did she embrace her kind mother,
and kiss her on the brow, near the hair, which was
already beginning to turn grey ! Then she betook
herself to her own room: how everything smiled
at her there! With what a sensation of shame-
faced triumph and submission did she seat her-
self on her bed, where, three hours before, she had
spent such bitter moments ! " And, of course, I
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ON THE EVE
knew even then that he loved me," she thought,
— " yes, and before that . . . Ai, no! no! that is
a sin. ' Thou art my wife . . .' " she whispered,
covering her face with her hands, and flung her-
self on her knees.
Toward evening she became more pensive.
Sadness took possession of her at the thought
that she would not soon see InsaroiF again. He
could not remain with Berseneff without arous-
ing suspicion, so this is what he and Elena had
decided upon : Insaroif was to return to Moscow,
and come to visit them a couple of times before
the autmnn; she, on her side, had promised to
write him letters, and, if possible, appoint a
meeting somewhere in the neighbourhood of
Kiintzovo. At tea-time she descended to the
drawing-room, and found there all her own house-
hold, and Shiibin, who looked keenly at her as
soon as she made her appearance; she wanted to
chat with him, in a friendly way, but, as of old,
was afraid of his penetration, was afraid of her-
self. It struck her that not for nothing had he
left her in peace for more than two weeks. Ber-
seneff soon arrived, and transmitted to Anna
Vasilievna InsarofF's greeting, together with his
apologies for having returned to Moscow, with-
out having presented his respects to her. The
name InsarofF was uttered, for the first time that
day, in Elena's presence; she felt that she
blushed; she understood, at the same time, that
15G
ON THE EVE
it was proper for her to express her regret at the
departure of so good an acquaintance: but she
could not force herself to dissimulate, and con-
tinued to sit motionless and silent, while Anna
Vasilievna moaned and grieved. Elena tried
to keep near BersenefF: she was not afraid of
him, although he knew a part of her secret; she
sought refuge under his wing from Shiibin, who
continued to stare at her — not sneeringly, but at-
tentively. BersenefF, also, was overcome by sur-
prise in the course of the evening: he had ex-
pected to see Elena more melancholy. Happily
for her, a dispute about art arose between him
and Shiibin — she moved away, and listened to
their voices as though athwart a dream. Gradu-
ally, not only they, but the whole room, every-
thing which surrounded her, began to seem to her
like a dream — everything: the samovar on the
table, and Uvar Ivanovitch's short waistcoat, and
Zoya's smooth finger-nails, and the portrait in
oils on the wall of Grand Duke Konstantin Pav-
lovitch, everything retreated, everything became
shrouded in a mist, everything ceased to exist.
Only, she felt sorry for them all. " What do they
live for? " she thought.
" Art thou sleepy, Lenotchka? " — ^her mother
asked her. She did not hear her mother's ques-
tion.
" A half -just suggestion, dost thou say? "...
These words, sharply uttered by Shubin, sud-
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ON THE EVE
denly aroused Elena's attention. " Good gra-
cious," — he went on, — " that is what taste itself
consists of. A half -just suggestion evokes de-
spondency, — that is not according to Christian-
ity; man is indifferent to the unjust, — that is
stupid,— but he feels vexation and impatience
at the half -just. For instance, if I were to
say that Elena Nikolaevna is in love with one
of us, what sort of a suggestion would that
be, eh? "
"Akh, Monsieur Paul," — said Elena, "I would
like to show you my vexation, but really I cannot.
I am very tired."
" Why dost not thou go to bed? " — said Anna
Vasilievna, who always dozed in the evening her-
self, and therefore liked to send others to bed.
— " Bid me good-night, and go under God's pro-
tection, — Andrei Petrovitch will excuse thee."
Elena kissed her mother, bowed to all, and left
the room. Shiibin escorted her to the door. —
" Elena Nikolaevna," — he whispered to her
on the way : " You trample upon Monsieur
Paul, you walk pitilessly over him, but Mon-
sieur Paul blesses you, and your little feet,
and the shoes on your Httle feet, and the soles of
your shoes."
Elena shrugged her shoulders, unwillingly
offered him her hand — not the one which Insa-
roff had kissed — and, on reaching her room, she
158
ON THE EVE
undressed at once, went to bed, and fell asleep.
Her slumber was profound, tranquil
such as not even children have; only a convales-
cent child, whose mother is sitting beside his
cradle, gazing at him and listening to his breath-
ing, sleeps in that way.
159
XX
" Come to my room for a minute," — said Shu-
bin to Berseneff , as soon as he had bidden Anna
Vasilievna good-night: — " I have something to
show thee."
Berseneff went to his room in the wing. He
was surprised at the multitude of studies, statu-
ettes, and busts, enveloped in damp cloths, and
set about in all corners of the room.
" I see that thou art at work in earnest,"— he
remarked to Shubin.
" A fellow must do something," — replied the
latter. — " If one thing does n't succeed, another
must be tried. However, I, like a Corsican, oc-
cupy myself more with the vendetta than with
pure art. Treme Bisanzia! "
I do not understand thee," — said Berseneff.
Just wait. See here, please to inspect, my
dear friend and benefactor, my vengeance num-
ber one."
Shubin removed the wrappings from one
figure, and Berseneff beheld a capital bust of In-
saroff , with an excellent resemblance to the orig-
inal. Shubin had seized the features faithfully,
to the very smallest detail, and had imparted
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ON THE EVE
to him a magnificent expression: honourable,
noble, and bold.
Berseneff went into raptures.
" Why, this is simply splendid! " — he cried. —
" I congratulate thee. It is fit for the exhibition!
Why dost thou call this a magnificent product of
revenge? "
" Why, sir, because I intend to present this
magnificent product, as you are pleased to ex-
press it, to Elena Nikolaevna, on her name-day.
Do you understand this allegory? We are not
blind, we see what goes on around us, but we are
gentlemen, my dear sir, and we take our revenge
in a gentlemanly way."
" And here," — added Shubin, unveiling an-
other figure, — " since the artist, according to the
newest code of aesthetics, enjoys the enviable right
of incarnating in his own person all sorts of tur-
pitudes, elevating them to a pearl of creation,
so we, in elevating this pearl, number two, have
avenged ourselves not at all after a gentlemanly
fashion, but simply en canaille."
He cleverly pulled away the sheet, and there
presented itself to the eyes of Berseneff a statu-
ette, in Dantesque taste, of that same Insaroff .
Anything more malicious and witty it would have
been impossible to imagine. The young Bul-
garian was represented as a ram rearing on its
hind legs and inclining its horns to butt. Stupid
dignity, passion, stubbornness, awkwardness, lim-
101
ON THE EVE
itedness, were fairly stamped upon the physiog-
nomy of " the spouse of thin-legged sheep," and,
at the same time, the likeness was so striking,
so indubitable, that BersenefF could not help roar-
ing with laughter.
"Well? Is it amusing? "—said Shiibin;—
" hast recognised the hero? Dost thou advise me
to send that to the exhibition also ? This, my dear
fellow, I shall present to myself on my own name-
day Your High-Born, permit me to cut
a caper! "
And Shubin gave three leaps, hitting himself
behind with the soles of his shoes.
BersenefF picked up the sheet from the floor,
and threw it over the statuette.
" Okh, thou art magnanimous," began Shubin.
— " Who the deuce is it, in history, who is con-
sidered particularly magnanimous? Well, never
mind I But now,"— he went on, solemnly and
sadly unwrapping a third, rather large mass of
clay,—" thou shalt behold something which shall
prove to thee the meekness and perspicacity of
thy friend. Thou shalt convince thyself, once
more, how a true artist feels the need and the ben-
efit of boxing his own ears. Behold ! "
The sheet fluttered in the air, and Berseneff
beheld two heads, j)laced side by side and close
together, as though they had grown fast
He did not immediately comprehend the point;
but, on looking more closely, he recognised in one
of them Annushka, and in the other Shubin
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ON THE EVE
himself. They were, however, caricatures rather
than portraits. Annushka was represented as a
handsome, plump girl with a low brow, eyes
swimming in fat, and a saucily upturned nose.
Her large lips smiled brazenly; her whole face
expressed sensuality, heedlessness, and audacity
not devoid of good-nature. Shiibin had depicted
himself as a gaunt, lean reveller, with sunken
cheeks, feebly dangling wisps of thin hair, a
senseless expression in his dim eyes, and a nose
sharpened like that of a corpse.
BersenefF turned away in disgust.
" A pretty couple, is n't it, brother? "—said
Shubin.— " Wilt not thou condescend to write an
appropriate inscription? I have devised inscrip-
tions for the first two pieces. Under the bust
will stand : ' A Hero who intends to save his
Fatherland! '—Under the statuette: 'Sausage-
makers, beware!' And under this piece— what
thinkest thou of this?—' The future of the artist
Pavel Yakovleif Shubin.' .... Is that good? "
" Stop,"— returned BersenefF.—" Was it
worth while to waste time on such "he
could not immediately hit upon a fitting word.
"An odious thing, didst thou mean to say?
No, brother, pardon me, if anything is to go to
the exhibition, it should be this group."
" An odious thing, that 's precisely what it is,"
— repeated BersenefF. — " And why this non-
sense? Thou hast not in thee those pledges for
such a development wherewith, unhappily, our
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ON THE EVE
artists are so abundantly gifted. Thou hast sim-
ply calumniated thyself."
" Dost thou think so? " — said Shubin gloomily.
— " If they do not exist in me, and if I get inocu-
lated with them, ... a certain person will be
responsible for it. Art thou aware," — he added,
with a tragic frown, — " that I have already tried
to drink?"
"Art thou lying?"
" I have tried— by God! I have,"— returned
Shubin, and suddenly grinned and beamed,—
" and it tastes bad, brother, it gets into your
throat, and your head is like a drum afterward.
Even the great Lushtchikin— Kharlampy Lush-
tchikin, the greatest funnel in Moscow, and, ac-
cording to others, the ' Great-Russian Funnel '—
declared that I should never come to anything.
The bottle is nothing to me, according to his
words."
Berseneff tried to deal a blow at the group, but
Shubin withheld him. — " Enough, brother, don't
strike; it 's good as a lesson, as a scarecrow."
Berseneif began to laugh.
" In that case, all right, I '11 spare thy scare-
crow," — said he — " and long live eternal, pure
art!"
" Yes, long may it live! " — chimed in Shubin.
— " With it good is better, and bad is no ca-
lamity!"
The friends shook hands warmly, and parted.
164
XXI
Elena's first sensation, on awaking, was joyful
terror. "Is it possible? Is it possible?" she
asked herself, and her heart swooned with hap-
piness. Memories surged in upon her .... she
was submerged by them. Then again, that same
blissful, enraptured silence overshadowed her.
But in the course of the morning, Elena was
gradually invaded by uneasiness, and during the
days which followed she felt weary and bored.
She knew now what she wanted, it is true, but
that made it none the easier for her. That never-
to-be-forgotten meeting had wrenched her for-
ever out of the old rut: she no longer stood in
it, she was far away, and yet everything around
her went on in its customary routine, everything
took its course, as though nothing were changed ;
the former life moved on as before; as formerly,
Elena's sympathy and co-operation were counted
upon. She tried to begin a letter to InsarofF, but
even that did not succeed : the words came out on
the paper, not exactly dead, but false. She ended
her diary: underneath the last hne she drew a
large dash. That was the past, and with all her
thoughts, with all her being, she had gone on into
165
ON THE EVE
the future. She was ill at ease. To sit with her
mother, who suspected nothing, to listen to her,
to answer her — to talk with her — seemed to Elena
a sort of crime ; she was conscious of the presence
in herself of something false; she grew agitated,
although she had nothing to blush for ; more than
once there arose in her soul an almost uncon-
querable desire to reveal everything, without re-
serve, no matter what might happen afterward.
" Why," she thought, " did not Dmitry carry me
off then, from the chapel, whithersoever he
wished? Did not he tell me that I am his wife
in the sight of God? Why am I here?" She
suddenly began to avoid every one, even Uvar
Ivanovitch, who was more amazed and wiggled
his fingers more than ever. Nothing around her
seemed to her either pleasing, or nice, or even a
dream; like a nightmare it oppressed her breast
with an immovable, dead burden : it seemed to be
reproaching her, and raging at her, and wanting
to have nothing to do with her. ..." Thou
art ours, nevertheless," it seemed to say. Even
her poor nurslings, the persecuted birds and
beasts, gazed at her — at least, so it seemed to
her — distrustfully and in hostile wise. She be-
came remorseful and ashamed of her feelings.
" But this is my home, all the same," she thought;
" my family, my native land. . ." — " No, it is
no longer thy native land, it is not thy family,"
—another voice kept asserting. Terror took pos-
166
ON THE EVE
session of her, and she was vexed at her pusilla-
nimity. The mischief was only beginning, and
she had already lost patience. . . Was that what
she had promised?
She did not speedily regain control of herself.
But one week passed, then another. . . . Elena
had recovered her composure somewhat, and had
grown used to her new position. She wrote two
little notes to Insaroif , and carried them herself
to the post-office: not on any account— both be-
cause of bashfulness and from pride — could she
have made up her mind to confide in her maid.
She had already begun to expect him. . . But in
his stead, one fine morning, Nikolai Artemie-
vitch made his appearance.
167
XXII
No one in the household had ever yet heheld re-
tired Ensign of the Guards Stakhoff so sour and,
at the same time, so self-confident and pompous
as on that day. He came into the drawing-room
in overcoat and hat,— came in slowly, planting his
legs w4de apart, and clicking his heels ; he walked
up to the mirror, and gazed long at himself, shak-
ing his head and biting his lips with calm severity.
Anna Vasilievna greeted him with outward ex-
citement and inward joy (she never greeted him
otherwise) ; he did not even take off his hat, did
not even bid her good-morning, and silently per-
mitted Elena to kiss his chamois-leather glove.
Anna Vasilievna began to question him about his
course of treatment — he made her no reply ; Uvar
Ivanovitch made his appearance, — he glanced at
him and said: " Ba! " As a rule, he treated Uvar
Ivanovitch coldly and condescendingly, although
he recognised in him " traces of the genuine Sta-
khoff blood." It is a well-known fact that almost
all Russian noble families are convinced of the
existence of exclusive race characteristics, pecu-
liar to them alone : more than once it has been our
lot to hear discussions " among our own people "
concerning " Podsalaskinsky " noses, and " Pe-
168
ON THE EVE
repryeevsky " napes. Zoya came in, and made
a curtsey before Nikolai Artemievitch. He
grunted, threw himself into an arm-chair, ordered
coffee, and only then did he take off his hat.
The coffee was brought to him; he drank a cup-
ful and, gazing at each person present in turn,
articulated through his teeth : " Soriez, sil vous
plait" and turning to his wife, he added: " Et
vous J madame, restez, je vous prie."
All left the room, with the exception of Anna
Vasilievna. Her head was trembling with ex-
citement. The solemnity of Nikolai Artemie-
vitch's mien impressed her. She expected some-
thing unusual.
" What is it? " she cried, as soon as the door
was shut.
Nikolai Artemievitch cast an indifferent
glance at Anna Vasilievna.
" Nothing in particular. What do you mean
by putting on the aspect of some sort of a vic-
tim? " he began, quite unnecessarily pulling
down the corners of his mouth at every word. —
'* I only wanted to warn you that you will have a
new guest at dinner to-day."
" Who is it? "
" Kurnatovsky, Egor Andreevitch. You do
not know him. Chief secretary in the Senate."
" Is he to dine with us to-day? "
" Yes."
" And it was merely for the purpose of saying
169
ON THE EVE
this to me that you have made every one leave the
room i
Again Nikolai Artemievitch cast a glance at
Anna Vasilievna, — this time an ironical glance.
" Does that surprise you? Wait a bit, before
you are surprised."
He relapsed into silence. Anna Vasilievna
also preserved silence for a while.
" I should like . . . ." she began ....
" I know that you have always regarded me as
an ' immoral ' man," — ^began Nikolai Artemie-
vitch suddenly.
"I!" murmured Anna Vasilievna, in amaze-
ment.
" And perhaps you are right. I do not wish to
deny that, as a matter of fact, I have some-
times given you just cause for dissatisfaction "
("The grey horses! " flashed through Anna Vasi-
lievna's head), — "although you must confess,
yourself, that with the well-known state of your
constitution . . . ."
" But I am not blaming you in the least, Niko-
lai Artemievitch."
"" C'est possible. At any rate, I have no inten-
tion of justifying myself to-day. Time will jus-
tify me. But I consider it my duty to assure
you that I know my obligations, and am capable
also of looking out .... for the interests of
.... the family which has been confided to my
care."
170
ON THE EVE
" What does all this mean? " thought Anna
Vasilievna. (She could not know that, on the
previous evening, in the English Club, in one cor-
ner of the divan-room, a dispute had arisen as to
the lack of capacity on the part of Russians to
make speeches. " Which of us knows how to
talk? Just name some one? " one of the dispu-
tants had exclaimed. — " Why, here 's Stakhoff,
for instance," — the other had replied, and had
pointed to Nikolai Artemievitch, who was stand-
ing near by, and who almost squeaked aloud with
satisfaction.)
" For example," — pursued Nikolai Artemie-
vitch, — " there 's my daughter Elena. Don't
you think that it is time for her to walk with
firm tread in the pathway ... to marry, I mean
to say. All these philosophisings and philan-
thropies are good enough in their way, but only
to a certain degree, only to a certain age. It is
time for her to come out of the clouds, to emerge
from the society of divers artists, scholars, and
some Montenegrins or other, and do as every-
body else does."
" How am I to understand your words? " asked
Anna Vasilievna.
" Here now, be so good as to listen to me," —
replied Nikolai Artemievitch, pulling down his
lips as before. — " I will tell you plainly, with-
out circumlocution: I have made acquaintance
with — I have become intimate with — this young
171
ON THE EVE
man, Mr. Kurnatovsky, in the hope of having
him for my son-in-law. I venture to think that,
when you have seen him, you will not accuse me
of partiality or of precipitancy of judgment."
(Nikolai Artemievitch admired his own elo-
quence as he talked.) "He is excellently edu-
cated, a lawyer, with fine manners, thirty-three
years of age, chief secretary, collegiate council-
lor, and wears the order of St. Stanislaus on his
neck. You will, I hope, do me the justice to
admit that I am not one of those peres de come-
die who rave over rank alone; but you yourself
have told me that Elena Nikolaevna likes active,
resolute men: Egor Andreevitch is the most
active man in his profession; now, on the other
hand, my daughter has a weakness for magnani-
mous deeds: so you must know that Egor An-
dreevitch, just as soon as he attained the possi-
bility—you understand me, the possibility— of
existing comfortably on his salary, immediately
refused, in the interests of his brothers, to make
use of the annual allowance assigned to him by
his father."
" And who is his father? " asked Anna Vasi-
lievna.
" His father? His father is also a famous man
in his way, of the highest integrity, un vrai sto-
ique, a retired major, I believe, and manager
of all the estates of the Counts B . . . ."
" Ah! " said Anna Vasilievna.
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ON THE EVE
" Ah! weU: what does ' Ah! ' mean? " Nikolai
Artemievitch caught her up. — " Do you mean
to say that you are infected with prejudices? "
" Why, I did not say anything," — began Anna
Vasilievna.
" Yes, you did; you said: ' Ah! ' ... At any
rate, I have considered it necessary to forewarn
you of my way of thinking, and I venture to
opine .... I venture to hope that Mr. Kurna-
tovsky will be received a hras ouverts. He 's no
obscure Montenegrin."
" Of course; only, I must summon Vanka, the
cook, and order him to add a course."
" You understand that I do not enter into
that," — said Nikolai Artemievitch, rising and
putting on his hat, and whistling as he went (he
had heard some one say that it is proper to whistle
only in one's own house in the country and in the
military-riding-school), he strode off for a stroll
in the garden. Shubin peeped at him from the
little window of his wing, and silently thrust out
his tongue at him.
At ten minutes to four, a posting-carriage
drove up to the door of the Stakhoffs' villa, and
a man still young, of comely aspect, simply and
elegantly attired, alighted from it and ordered
that his arrival be announced. He was Egor
Andreevitch Kurnatovsky.
This, among other things, was what Elena
wrote to Insaroff on the following day:
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ON THE EVE
" Congratulate me, dear Dmitry, I have a suitor. He
dined with us last night ; papa made his acquaintance at
the English Club, I believe, and invited him. Of course,
he did not come as a suitor yesterday. But kind mamma,
to whom papa had confided his hopes, whispered in my
ear what sort of a visitor he was. His name Is Egor
Andreevitch Kurnatovsky; he serves as chief secretary
in the Senate. I will first describe to thee his personal
appearance. He is short of stature, not so tall as thou
art, well built ; his features are regular, his hair is closely
cut, he wears large side-whiskers. His eyes are small
(like thine), brown, alert; his lips flat, broad; in his eyes
and on his lips is a perpetual smile, a sort of official
smile, as though it were his duty. His manner is very
simple, he speaks distinctly, and everything about him
is distinct: he walks, laughs, eats, as though he were
doing business. ' How she has studied him ! ' thou art
thinking, perchance, at this moment. Yes ; in order that
I might describe him to thee. And then, how can one
help studying one's suitor. There is something iron
about him . . . and something dull and empty at the
same time — and honourable; they say that he really is
very honourable. At table, he sat next to me, and op-
posite sat Shiibin. At first the conversation turned on
certain commercial enterprises: they say he is versed in
such things, and came near throwing up his position
in order to take charge of a large factory. He made a
mistake in not doing it ! Then Shiibin began to talk about
the theatre; Mr. Kurnatovsky declared — and, I must
admit, without any false modesty — that he understood
nothing about art. That reminded me of thee . . . but
I thought : ' No, after all, Dmitry and I fail to under-
174
ON THE EVE
stand art in another way.' This man seemed to be trying
to say : ' I do not understand it, and it is unnecessary,
but it is permitted in a well-ordered realm.' Toward
Petersburg, and the comme il faut, however, he is rather
indifferent: he once even called himself a proletarian.
* I 'm a common labourer,' he said. I thought: 'If
Dmitry had said that, it would not have pleased me, but
let this man have his say ! let him brag ! ' He was very
courteous toward me ; but it seemed to me, all the while,
as though a very, very condescending superior official
were talking to me. When he wishes to praise any one,
he says that So-and-so has principles, — that is his fa-
vourite expression. He must be self-confident, industri-
ous, capable of self-sacrifice (thou seest : I am impartial),
that is to say, in the matter of sacrificing his advantages,
but he is a great despot. It would be a calamity to
fall into his power ! After dinner, they talked about
bribes ....
" ' I can understand,' said he, ' that, in many cases,
the man who takes a bribe is not to blame : he could not
act otherwise. But, nevertheless, if he is caught he must
be crushed.'
*' I exclaimed : — ' Crush an innocent man ! '
" ' Yes, for the sake of the principle.'
" ' Which one ? ' inquired Shubin. Kurnatovsky was
not exactly disconcerted, nor yet precisely astonished,
and said : ' There 's no use in explaining it.'
" Papa, who appears to worship him, chimed in, and
said that, of course, it was useless, and, to my vexation,
that conversation came to an end. In the evening, Ber-
senefF came, and got into a frightful wrangle with him.
Never before have I beheld our kind Andrei Petrovitch
175
ON THE EVE
in such a state of excitement. Mr. Kurnatovsky did not
in the least deny the benefits of science, universities,
and so forth . . . yet I understood Andrei Petrovitch's
wrath. He looks on all that as a sort of gymnastics.
Shubin approached me after dinner, and said : ' This man,
and a certain other ' (he can never utter your name)
* are both practical persons, but behold, what a difference !
There is the genuine, living ideal, furnished by life ; while
here there is not even the sense of duty, but simply
official honesty and activity without underpinning.' —
Shubin is clever, and I remembered his words for thee;
but, in my opinion, what is there in common between you.''
Thou believest, and the other man does not, because it is
impossible to believe in one^s self alone.
" It was late when he went away, but mamma contrived
to inform me that he was pleased with me, that papa
was in raptures .... I wonder if he has not already
said of me that I ' have principles ' ? And I came near
answering mamma, that I was very sorry, but that I
already had a husband. Why is it that papa dislikes thee
so much.? Mamma might have managed, somehow or
other ....
" Oh, my dear one ! I have described this gentleman
to thee so circumstantially in order to stifle my anguish.
I cannot live without thee, — I see thee, hear thee con-
stantly .... I await thee, only not in our house, as
thou hast wished, — imagine, how painful and awkward
it would be for us! — but, thou knowest, where I wrote
thee, in that grove . . . Oh, my darling! How I love
thee!"
176
XXIII
Theee weeks after Kurnatovsky's first visit,
Anna Vasilievna, to the great joy of Elena, re-
moved to Moscow, to her great wooden house
near the Pretchistenka, — a house with columns,
white lyres and wreaths over every window, a
second partial storey, servants' quarters, a front
garden, and a huge, verdant courtyard with a
well in the yard and dog-kennels beside the well.
Anna Vasilievna had never returned from her
country villa so early, but that year there was
an epidemic of influenza when the first frosts of
autumn set in ; Nikolai Artemievitch, on his side,
having finished his course of treatment, had be-
gun to yearn for his wife; moreover, Augustina
Christianovna had gone away to visit her cousin
in Revel: some foreign family or other had
arrived in Moscow, and was exhibiting plastic
poses, des poses plastiques, the description
of which, in the Moscow News, had greatly
excited the curiosity of Anna Vasilievna. In
short, further sojourn in the villa was incon-
venient, and even, as Nikolai Artemievitch
phrased it, incompatible with the execution of his
177
ON THE EVE
" previous plans." The last two weeks seemed
very long to Elena. Kurnatovsky came a couple
of times, on Sundays : on other days he was occu-
pied. He came specifically for Elena, but talked
more with Zoya, who liked him very much.
^' Das ist ein Mannf she thought to herself, as
she gazed at his swarthy, manly countenance,
and listened to his self-confident, condescending
speeches. In her opinion, no one had such a won-
derfully fine voice, no one understood so wtII how
to utter: " I had the hon-n-nour! " or, " I am very
glad." InsarofF did not come to the Stakhoffs,
but Elena saw him once, by stealth, in the little
grove, close to the Moscow River, where she had
appointed the meeting. They barely managed
to exchange a few words with each other. Shu-
bin returned to Moscow in company with Anna
Vasilievna; BersenefF, a few days later.
InsarofF was sitting in his chamber, and for
the third time re-reading letters which had been
brought to Iiim from Bulgaria by private hand:
they were afraid to send them by the post. He
was greatty startled by them. Events were devel-
oping swiftly in the East: the occupation of the
principality by the Russian army had agitated
all minds; a thunder-storm was bre^\ang, the
breath of war, close at hand, inevitable, was al-
ready perceptible. The conflagration was in-
creasing round about, and no one could foresee
how far it would reach, where it would stop;
178
ON THE EVE
ancient griefs, long-cherished hopes — ever^iJiing
was beginning to stir. InsarofF's heart beat vio-
lently: and his hopes also had been reahzed.
"But is it not too early? is it not futile?" he
thought, as he clenched his hands. " We are not
ready yet.— But so be it! I must go."
There was a faint rattling outside the door,
it opened swiftly — and Elena entered the room.
InsarofF began to tremble all over, rushed to
her, fell on his knees before her, embraced her
waist, and pressed his head close to it.
" Thou didst not expect me? " — she said, pant-
ing for breath. ( She had run swiftly up-stairs. )
" My darling! my darling! — So this is where thou
livest? I found thee quickly. The daughter of
thy landlady showed me the way. We came to
town day before yesterday. I wanted to write
to thee, but thought it would be better to come
myself. I have come to thee for a quarter of an
hour. Rise, lock the door."
He rose, hurriedly locked the door, returned to
her, and took her hands. He could not speak,
he was suffocating with joy. She gazed into his
eyes with a smile There was so much
happiness in them .... She was abashed.
*' Wait," — she said affectionately, drawing her
hands away from him.
She untied the ribbons of her hat, flung it
aside, dropped the mantilla from her shoulders,
smoothed her hair, and seated herself on the small,
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ON THE EVE
ancient divan. Insaroff did not stir, and gazed
at her as though enchanted.
" Sit down," — said she, without raising her
eyes to his, and pointing to a place by her side.
Insaroff seated himself, only not on the divan,
but on the floor at her feet.
" Here, take off my gloves," — she said, in a
wavering voice. She was beginning to feel
alarmed.
He set to work first to unbutton, then to draw
off one glove, pulled it half-way off, and glued
his lips hungrily to the slender, delicate wrist
which shone white beneath it.
Elena trembled, and tried to push him away
with the other hand,— he began to kiss the other
hand. Elena drew it toward her, he threw back
his head, she looked into his face, bent forward —
and their lips melted together ....
A moment passed .... She tore herself away,
rose, whispered, " No, no," and walked swiftly to
the writing-table.
" I am the mistress of the house, here, so thou
must have no secrets from me,"— she said, en-
deavouring to appear at her ease, and standing
with her back toward him.—" What a lot of pa-
pers! What letters are these?"
Insaroff frowned. — " These letters? " — he
said, rising from the floor.—" Thou may est read
them."
Elena turned them over in her hand.— "There
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ON THE EVE
are so many of them, and they are written in such
fine script, and I must go away directly .... I
care nothing for them! They are not from my
rival? . . . Why, they are not in Russian," — she
added, as she looked over the thin sheets.
InsarofF approached her, and touched her
waist. She suddenly turned toward him, smiled
brightly at him, and leaned on his shoulder.
" These letters are from Bulgaria, Elena: my
friends write me, they summon me."
"Now? Thither?"
" Yes .... now. There is still time, it is
still possible to pass through."
Suddenly she flung both arms about his neck.
— " Thou wilt take me with thee, wilt thou not? "
He pressed her to his heart. — " O, my dear
girl, O my heroine, how hast thou uttered that
word ! But would not it be a sin, would not it be
madness on my part, for me, a homeless, solitary
man, to carry thee away with me? . . . And to
what a place, moreover! "
She put her hand on his mouth.— " Hush-sh!
... or I shall get angry, and never come to see
thee again. Is not everything settled, is not
everything finished between us? Am not I thy
wife? Does a wife part from her husband?"
" Wives do not go to war," — he said, with a
half -melancholy smile.
" Yes, when they can stay behind. But can
I remain here? "
181
ON THE EVE
"Elena, thou art an angel! . . . But reflect,
perhaps I shall be forced to leave Moscow ....
within a fortnight. I can no longer think of uni-
versity lectures or of completing my work."
"What of that?" interrupted Elena.— "Thou
must go away soon? Why, if thou wishest it, I
will remain with thee now, this very moment, for-
ever with thee, and I will not return home, — wilt
thou have it so ? Let us set off at once, shall we ? "
InsarofF clasped her in his arms with re-
doubled power. — " May God punish me," he
cried, — " if I am doing an evil deed! From this
day forth, we are united forever! "
" Am I to remain? " — asked Elena.
" No, my pure girl ; no, my treasure. To-day
thou art to return home, but hold thyself in readi-
ness. This is an affair which cannot be executed
at once; it must be well thought out. Money
is needed, a passport "
"I have money,"— interrupted Elena: "eighty
rubles."
" Well, that is not much," — remarked Insa-
roff : — " but everything is useful."
"But I can get more, I can borrow, I can ask
mamma .... No, I will not ask her .... But
I can sell my watch .... I have earrings, two
bracelets, . . . lace."
" It is not a question of money, Elena ; the
passport, thy passport, what are we to do about
that? "
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ON THE EVE
" Yes, what are we to do about that? But is a
passport indispensably necessary? "
" Yes."
Elena burst out laughing. — " What an idea
has occurred to me ! I remember, when I was still
a little girl, .... a chambermaid left us. She
was caught and forgiven; she Hved a long time
with us ; . . . yet every one called her ' Tatyana
the Runaway.' I did not think, then, that per-
haps I should be a runaway also, like her."
" Art not thou ashamed of thyself, Elena! "
"Why? Of course, it is better to go with a
passport. But if that is impossible . . ."
" We will arrange all that hereafter, hereafter.
Wait,"— said InsarofF.— "Only give me a chance
to look about me, to think it over. We will dis-
cuss it all together, in proper fashion. And I
have money."
Elena pushed back with her hand the hair
which had fallen over his brow.—" Oh, Dmitry!
won't it be jolly to go away together? "
" Yes," — said InsarofF: " and yonder, whither
we are going . . . ."
"Well?"— interposed Elena: "will it not be
jolly to die together? but no, why should we die?
we shall live, we are young. How old art thou?
Twenty-six?"
" Yes."
" And I am twenty. We have a great deal of
time ahead of us. All! didst thou intend to run
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ON THE EVE
away from me? Thou didst not want Russian
love, thou Bulgarian ! Let us see now, how thou
wilt get rid of me ! But what would have hap-
pened to us, if I had not come to thee?"
"Elena, thou knowest what made me go away."
"I know: thou hadst fallen in love, and wert
frightened. But is it possible that thou didst not
suspect that thou wert beloved ? "
" I swear by my honour, Elena, I did not."
She gave him a swift and unexpected kiss. —
*' That 's why I love thee. And now, good-bye."
" Canst not thou remain longer? " asked In-
saroff.
" No, my darling. Dost thou think that it was
easy for me to get away alone ? The quarter of
an hour is long past." — She put on her mantilla
and hat. — " And do thou come to us to-morrow
evening. No, the day after to-morrow. It will
be constrained, tiresome, but there is no help for
it: at least, we shall see each other. Good-bye.
Let me go." — He embraced her for the last time.
— " Ai ! look, thou hast broken my chain. Oh,
how awkward ! Well, never mind. So much the
better. I will pass along the Smiths' Bridge,
and leave it to be repaired. If I am asked, I shall
say that I have been to the Smiths' Bridge." ^
— She grasped the door-handle. — *' By the way,
I forgot to tell thee : Monsieur Kurnatovsky will,
in all probability, propose to me in a few days.
• The fashionable shopping thoroughfare in Moscow. — Translatob.
184
ON THE EVE
But I shall do . . . this ... to him." — She
placed the thumb of her left hand to the tip of
her nose, and flourished the rest of her fingers
in the air. — " Good-bye. Until we meet again.
Now I know the way .... But do not waste
time "
Elena opened the door a little way, listened,
turned toward Insaroff*, nodded her head, and
flew out of the room.
For a minute, Insaroff stood in front of the
closed door, and listened also. The door below,
opening on the courtyard, slammed. He went
to the divan, sat down, and covered his eyes with
his hand. Nothing of the sort had ever happened
with him before. — " How have I deserved this
love?" — he thought. — "Is it not a dream?"
But a faint odour of mignonette which Elena
had left behind her in his poor, dark, little room
reminded him of her visit. In company with it,
there seemed to linger still in the air the accents
of a youthful voice, the sound of light young
footsteps, and the warmth and freshness of a
young, virgin body.
185
XXIV
Insaroff decided to wait for more decisive news,
and began to make preparations for departure.
It was a very difficult matter. So far as he him-
self was concerned, no obstacles awaited him: all
he had to do was to ask for his passport, — but
what was he to do about Elena? It was not pos-
sible to obtain a passport for her in a legal man-
ner. Marry her in secret, and then present him-
self with her before her parents? ..." Then
they would let us go," — he thought. " But what
if they did not? We shall go, all the same.
But if they enter complaint , . . if . . . No, it will
be better to obtain a passport, in some way."
He made up his mind to take counsel (of
course, without mentioning any names) with one
of his acquaintances, a retired — or, rather, a dis-
charged—procurator, an experienced, clever old
fellow in the line of secret affairs. This re-
spected man did not live near by: InsarofF jogged
along slowly, for a whole hour, in a wretched cab,
to him, and did not find him at home, to boot ; and
on the way back, he got drenched to the marrow,
thanks to a heavy shower which suddenly came
up. On the following morning, InsarofF, in spite
of a decidedly violent headache, again wended his
186
ON THE EVE
way to the retired procurator. The ex-procura-
tor listened to him attentively, taking snufF out
of a snufF-box adorned with the picture of a full-
busted nymph; and casting sidelong glances at
his visitor with his cunning little eyes, which also
were snufF-coloured, — listened, and demanded
" more circumstantiality in the exposition of the
facts"; and observing that InsarofF entered un-
willingly into details (he had come to him much
against his will), he confined himself to the
advice to arm himself, first of all, with " cash,"
and asked him to call again, "when," he added, in-
haling snuflF over his open snuff-box, " your con-
fidence shall have increased, and your distrust
shall have decreased " (he pronounced his o's
broadly/ " But a passport," he went on, as
though to himself, " is a work of — man's hands;
you are travelling, for instance : who knows whe-
ther you are Marya Bredikhin, or Karolina Vo-
gelmayer? " A feeling of disgust stirred in In-
saroff, but he thanked the procurator, and prom-
ised to return in a few days.
That evening he went to the Stakhoffs. Anna
Vasilievna received him caressingly, reproached
him for having completely forgotten them, and,
thinking him pale, inquired about his health;
^ A peculiarity of the clergy, and of those who have received their
education in ecclesiastical seminaries, which are open also to those
who do not intend to enter the priesthood, for a general education.
The Old Church Slavonic, used in the services of the Church, requires
that pronunciation. The o is also pronounced thus in certain dis-
tricts. — TSANSLATOB.
187
ON THE EVE
Nikolai Artemievitch did not speak a word to
him, but merely looked at him with a pensively-
careless curiosity ; Shubin treated him coldly, but
Elena amazed him. She was expecting him ; she
had put on the gown which she had worn on the
day of their first meeting in the chapel; but she
greeted him with so much composure, she was
so amiable and unconcernedly gay, that, to look
at her, no one would have thought that the fate
of that young girl was already settled, and that
the mere secret consciousness of happy love im-
parted animation to her features, lightness and
charm to all her movements. She poured tea, in
company with Zoya, jested, chattered; she knew
that Shubin would watch her, that Insaroff would
be incapable of donning a mask, would be incapa-
ble of feigning indifference, and she had armed
herself in advance. She was not mistaken: Shu-
bin never took his eyes from her, and InsarofF was
extremely taciturn and gloomy throughout the
evening. Elena felt so happy, that she took it
into her head to tease him.
"Well, how goes it?" — she suddenly asked
him: — " is your plan progressing? "
InsarofF was disconcerted.
"What plan? "-he said.
" Why, have you forgotten? " — she replied,
laughing in his face: he alone could understand
the meaning of that happy laugh: — " your selec-
tions from Bulgarian authors for Russians? "
188
ON THE EVE
" Quelle bourde! " muttered Nikolai Artemie-
vitch, through his teeth.
Zoya seated herself at the piano. Elena
shrugged her shoulders almost imperceptibly, and
indicated the door to InsarofF with her eyes, as
though sending him home. Then she touched the
table twice with her finger, making a pause be-
tween, and looked at him. He understood that
she was appointing a meeting two days hence, and
she smiled swiftly when she perceived that he
understood her. Insaroff rose, and began to take
leave : he felt ill. Kurnatovsky made his appear-
ance. Nikolai Artemievitch sprang to his feet,
raised his right hand above his head, and softly
lowered it into the palm of the chief secretary.
Insaroff tarried a few moments longer, in order
to have a look at his rival. Elena nodded her head
stealthily, slyly; the master of the house did not
consider it necessary to introduce them to each
other; and InsarofF went away, after having ex-
changed a final glance with Elena. Shiibin pon-
dered and pondered — and argued vehemently
with Kurnatovsky over a juridical question which
he knew nothing about.
Insaroff did not sleep all night, and in the
morning felt ill ; but he occupied himself with re-
ducing his papers to order, and with writing let-
ters, but his head was heavy and confused, some-
how. By dinner-time he was in a fever : he could
eat nothing. The fever augmented rapidly to-
189
ON THE EVE
ward evening; an aching pain made its appear-
ance in all his limbs, and he had a torturing head-
ache. InsarofF lay down on the same little divan
where Elena had so recently sat; he thought, " I
am rightly punished. Why did I betake myself
to that old scoundrel? " and tried to get to sleep
But the malady held him in its grasp. His
veins began to throb with fearful violence, his
blood blazed with sultry heat, his thoughts circled
round and round like birds. He became uncon-
scious. Like a man who has been crushed, he lay
prone, and, suddenly, it seemed to him that some
one was softly laughing and whispering over him.
With an effort he opened his eyes ; the light of the
candle, which needed snuffling, cut them like a
knife .... What was this ? The old procurator
was standing before him in a dressing-gown of
figured Oriental stuff, with a bandana handker-
chief, as he had seen him on the preceding day
. . . . " Karolina Vogelmayer," uttered the tooth-
less mouth. As InsarofF gazed, the old man
broadened out, swelled, grew, and now he was
no longer a man but a tree .... InsarofF must
climb up its branches. He got caught, fell
breast downward on a sharp stone, and Karolina
Vogelmayer squatted on her heels, in the shape of
a female peddler, and hsped: "Patties, patties,
patties,"— and then blood flowed, and swords
gleamed intolerably . . . . " Elena! "—and every-
thing vanished in a crimson chaos.
190
XXV
" Some one has come to you, I don't know what
he is, — a locksmith, or something of that sort,
seemingly," said his servant to BersenefF, on the
following evening: — the man was distinguished
for his stern treatment of his master, and for a
sceptical turn of mind, — " he wants to see you."
" Call him in," — said BersenefF.
The " locksmith " entered. BersenefF recog-
nised in him the tailor, the landlord of the lodg-
ings where InsarofF lived.
" What dost thou want? " he asked him.
" I have come to your grace," — began the tailor,
slowly shifting from foot to foot, and at times
flourishing his right hand, with the last three
fingers done up in a bandage.—" Our lodger,
whoever he is, is very ill."
" InsarofF? "
" Exactly so, — our lodger. I don't know, but
yesterday he was on his feet from early morning ;
in the evening, he only asked for a drink, and
my housewife carried water to him; but in the
night he began to be delirious, we could hear it
through the partition ; and this morning he could
not speak, and he lies there like a log, and such
191
ON THE EVE
a fever as he has! * My God! ' I thought, ' who
can tell?— the first thing you know, he will die;
and I shall have to give notice at the pohce-sta-
tion. For he is alone.' And my housewife she
says to me : ' Go,' says she, * to that person, from
whom our man hired quarters out of town: per-
haps he will tell thee what to do, or will come him-
self.' So I 've come to your grace, because we
cannot, that is . . . ."
BersenefF snatched up his cap, thrust a ruble
into the tailor's hand, and immediately drove with
him in hot haste to InsarofF's lodgings.
He found him lying on the divan unconscious,
fully dressed. His face was terribly distorted.
Berseneif immediately ordered the landlord and
landlady to undress him and carry him to his bed,
while he himself flew for a doctor and brought
him. The doctor prescribed leeches, Spanish
flies, and calomel simultaneously, and ordered
him to be bled.
" Is he dangerously ill? " asked Berseneff.
" Yes, very," — replied the doctor. — " The most
violent sort of inflammation of the lungs exists;
pneumonia is fully developed, the brain may
be implicated also, but the patient is young. His
very strength is directed against himself now.
I was sent for rather late in the day ; however, we
will do everything which science demands.
The doctor was still yoimg himself, and be-
lieved in science.
192
ON THE EVE
BerseneiF remained for the night. The land-
lord and landlady turned out to be kindly and
even active folk, as soon as a man was found
who took it upon him to tell them what ought to
be done. A doctor's assistant made his appear-
ance, and the medical tortures began.
Toward morning, InsarofF recovered con-
sciousness for a few minutes, recognised Berse-
nefF, inquired, " I am ill, apparently? " gazed
about him with the dull eyes and languid surprise
of a person who is seriously ill, and relapsed into
unconsciousness. BersenefF went home, changed
his clothing, gathered up some books, and re-
turned to InsarofF's lodgings. He had decided
to settle down there, for the present, at least. He
fenced ofF the bed with screens, and arranged a
little nook for himself near the divan. The day
passed neither cheerfully nor quickly. Berseneff
absented himself for the purpose of dining.
Evening came. He lighted a candle with a shade,
and began to read. Everything was quiet round
about. In the landlord's quarters, on the other
side of the partition, there was audible now a sup-
pressed whispering, now a yawn, now a sigh ....
One of the family sneezed, and was reproved in a
whisper: behind the screens resounded the heavy
and uneven breathing, occasionally broken by a
brief groan, and an anxious tossing of the head
upon the pillow .... Strange thoughts de-
scended upon BersenefF. He was in the chamber
193
ON THE EVE
of a man whose life hung on a thread, of a man
who, as he knew, loved Elena .... He recalled
the night when Shiibin had run after him and
declared to him that she loved him— BersenefF!
And now . . . . " What am I to do now? " he
asked himself. " Shall I inform Elena of his
illness? Shall I wait? This news is sadder than
that which I once imj)arted to her: 't is strange
how fate persists in placing me as a third person
between them! " He decided that it was better
to wait. His glance fell upon the table, covered
with heaps of papers .... "Will he carry out his
ideas? " thought BersenefF. " Can it be possible
that all will vanish? " And he felt sorry for the
young life which was being extinguished, and he
vowed to himself that he would save it ... .
It was a bad night. The sick man raved a great
deal. Several times BersenefF rose from his lit-
tle couch, approached the bed on tiptoe, and
listened sadly to his mutterings. Once only did
InsarofF enunciate, with sudden distinctness: " I
will not, I will not, thou must not . . ." Berse-
nefF started ^ and looked at InsarofF : his face,
anguished and ghastly at that moment, was im-
movable, and his hands lay helpless . . . . " I will
not," he repeated, almost inaudibly.
The doctor came early in the morning, shook
his head, and prescribed new remedies. — " The
1 In the Russian, it is plain that the " thou " refers
to a woman.— Translator.
194
ON THE EVE
crisis is still remote," — ^he said, as he put on his
hat.
" And after the crisis? " — asked Berseneff.
" After the crisis ? There are two issues: aut
Ccesar, aut nihil"
The doctor departed. Berseneff took a few
turns in the street: he needed fresh air. He re-
turned, and took up a book. He had finished
Raumer long ago : he was now studying Grote.
All at once, the door opened gently, and the
head of the landlady's little daughter, covered, as
usual, with a heavy kerchief, was thrust into the
room.
" Here," — she said in a low voice, " is the
young lady who gave me the ten kopeks that
time "
The head of the landlady's little daughter dis-
appeared, and in its place Elena made her ap-
pearance.
Berseneff sprang to his feet, as though he had
been scalded; but Elena did not move, did not
cry out. . . , She seemed to have comprehended
everything in an instant. A strange pallor over-
spread her face, she approached the screens,
glanced behind them, clasped her hands, and
stood rooted to the spot. Another moment, and
she would have flung herself on Insaroff, but
Berseneff restrained her: — "What are you
doing? "—he said in an agitated whisper.—
" You might kill him! "
195
ON THE EVE
She reeled. He led her to the little divan, and
seated her.
She looked into his face, then measured him
with a glance, then fixed her eyes on the floor.
"Is he dying?" — she asked so coldly and
calmly that BersenefF was frightened.
" For God's sake, Elena Nikolaevna," — he
began, " why do you ask that? He is ill, it is true,
— and quite dangerously .... But we will save
him; I will answer for that."
" He is unconscious? " — she asked, in the same
manner as before.
" Yes, he is insensible now .... That is al-
ways the case at the beginning of these illnesses ;
but that signifies nothing, — nothing, I assure you.
Drink this water."
She raised her eyes to his, and he understood
that she had not heard his replies.
" If he dies," — she said, still in the same voice,
— " I shall die also."
At that moment Insaroff moaned faintly; she
shuddered, clasped her head, then began to untie
her hat-strings.
" What are you doing? " Berseneff asked her.
She made no reply.
" What are you doing? " — ^he repeated.
" I shall stay here."
"What .... for long?"
" I don't know, perhaps all day, all night, for-
ever. . . I don't know."
196
ON THE EVE
" For God's sake, Elena Nikolaevna, come to
your senses. Of course I could not, in the least,
expect to see you here; but, nevertheless, ... I
assume that you have come hither for a short time.
Remember, they may miss you at home "
" And wha^t of that? "
" They will search for you .... they will
find you . . . ."
" And what of that? "
" Elena Nikolaevna 1 You see . . . he can-
not defend you now."
She dropped her head, as though meditating,
raised her handkerchief to her lips, and convulsive
sobs suddenly burst forth from her breast with
shattering force. . . . She flung herself face
down on the couch and tried to stifle them, but
her whole body heaved and throbbed hke a bird
which has just been caught.
*' Elena Nikolaevna .... for God's sake
. . . ." Berseneff* kept repeating over her.
"Ah? What is it? "—rang out Insarofl"s
voice.
Elena straightened up, Berseneif stood stock-
still on the spot .... After a pause, he ap-
proached the bed, InsaroiF's head was lying, as
before, helplessly on the pillow: his eyes were
closed.
" Is he delirious? " — whispered Elena.
"Apparently," replied Berseneff; "but that
is nothing; it is always so, especially if . . . ."
197
ON THE EVE
" When did he fall ill? "—interrupted Elena.
" Day before yesterday ; I have been here since
yesterday. Rely upon me, Elena Nikolaevna.
I will not leave him ; all means shall be employed.
If necessary, we will call a consultation of doc-
tors."
■" He will die withoi.1 me," — she exclaimed,
wringing her hands.
" I give you my word to send you news every
day about the progress of his malady; and if
actual danger should arise . , . ."
" Swear to me that you will send for me in-
stantly, whatever may be the time, by day or
night ; write a note straight to me .... I care for
nothing now. Do you hear? do you promise to do
this?"
" I promise, in the sight of God."
" Swear it."
I swear.
She suddenly seized his hand, and before he
could draw it away she pressed it to her lips.
" Elena Nikolaevna . . what are you doing? "
he whispered.
" No ... no ... it is not necessary . . . ."
muttered InsaroiF incoherently, and sighed
heavily.
Elena approached the screens, clenched her
handkerchief in her teeth, and gazed long, long at
the sick man. Dumb tears streamed down her
cheeks.
198
ON THE EVE
" Elena Nikolaevna," — said BersenefF to her,
—"he may come to himself and recognise you;
God knows whether that will be well. Besides,
I am expecting the doctor at any minute . . . ."
Elena took her hat from the divan, put it on,
and paused. Her eyes roved sadly over the room.
She seemed to be recalling ....
" I cannot go," — she whispered at last.
BersenefF pressed her hand. — " Collect your
forces," — he said, — " calm yourself; you are leav-
ing him in my care. I will go to see you this
very evening."
Elena glanced at him and said: — "Oh, my
kind friend! " burst out sobbing, and rushed out
of the room.
Berseneff leaned against the door. A sad and
bitter feeling, not devoid of a certain strange
pleasure, oppressed his heart. "My kind friend! "
he thought, and shrugged his shoulders.
" Who is there? " — rang out InsarofF's voice.
BersenefF went to him. — " I am here, Dmitry
Nikanorovitch. What do you want? How do
you feel? "
" Only you? " asked the sick man.
" Only I."
"And she?"
"What she?" said BersenefF, almost in af-
fright.
InsarofF remained silent. — " Mignonette," —
he whispered, and his eyes closed again.
199
XXVI
For eight whole days Insaroif hung between life
and death. The doctor came incessantly, feeling
an interest still, as a young man, in a difficult
patient. Shiibin heard of InsarofF's dangerous
condition, and visited him; his fellow-country-
men—the Bulgarians — made their appearance;
among them,BersenefF recognised the two strange
figures who had aroused his amazement by their
visit to the villa; all expressed their sincere sym-
pathy, and several offered to take BersenefF's
place at the bedside of the sick man ; but he did not
consent, remembering the promise he had made to
Elena. He saw her every day, and communi-
cated to her by stealth — sometimes in words,
sometimes in a tiny note— all the details of the
malady's course. With what heartfelt appre-
hension did she await him! How she listened to
him, and questioned him! She herself longed
constantly to go to Insaroff ; but BersenefF en-
treated her not to do so : Insaroff was rarely alone.
On the first day, when she barned of his illness,
she nearly fell ill herself ; as soon as she got home
she locked herself up in her room, but she was
called to dinner, and she presented herself in
200
ON THE EVE
the dining-room with such a face that Anna
Vasflievna was frightened, and insisted upon
putting her to bed. However, Elena suc-
ceeded in controlling herself. " If he dies,"
she kept reiterating, " I shall die also." This
thought soothed her, and gave her strength
to appear indifferent. Moreover, no one dis-
turbed her: Anna Vasflievna busied herself
with her influenza; Shiibin worked with exas-
peration; Zoya resigned herself to melancholy,
and made preparations for perusing " Werther";
Nikolai Artemievitch was greatly displeased by
the frequent visits of the " scholar," the more so
as his " views " with regard to Kurnatovsky made
but slow progress: the practical chief secretary
was perplexed and was waiting. Elena did not
even thank BersenefF: there are services for
which it is painful and mortifying to give thanks.
Only once, on her fourth meeting with him ( Insa-
roff had passed a very bad night, and the doctor
had hinted at a consultation) , — only at that meet-
ing did she remind him of his oath. " Well, in that
case let us go," he said to her. She rose, and
started to dress herself. " No," — he said ; " let us
wait until to-morrow." — Toward evening, Insa-
rofF was a little easier.
Eight days did this trial last. Elena seemed
calm, but could eat nothing, did not sleep at night.
A dull pain existed in all her limbs ; a sort of dry,
burning mist seemed to fill her head. " Our
201
ON THE EVE
young lady is melting away like a candle," her
maid remarked concerning her.
At last, on the ninth day, the crisis came.
Elena was sitting in the drawing-room beside
Anna Vasilievna, and, without knowing what she
was about, was reading to her the Moscow News.
BersenefF entered. Elena cast a glance at him
(how swift and timid and piercing and startled
was the first glance which she cast at him every
time!), and immediately divined that he had
brought good news. He smiled and gave her
a slight nod : she rose to greet him.
" He has come to himself, he is saved ; in a week
he will be entirely well," — he whispered to her.
Elena put out her hand, as though warding off
a blow, and said nothing; but her lips quivered
and a crimson flush overspread her whole face.
Berseneff entered into conversation with Anna
Vasilievna, and Elena went away to her own
room, fell on her knees, and began to pray, to
thank God .... Light, bright tears streamed
from her eyes. She suddenly became conscious
of an extreme lassitude, laid her head on her pil-
low, whispered, "Poor Andrei Petrovitch!"
and instantly fell asleep with moist eyelashes and
cheeks. It was long since she had slept and had
not wept.
202
XXVII
Berseneff^s words were realised only in part:
the danger was past, but Insaroff' s strength
returned slowly, and the doctor talked about a
profound and general shock to his whole organ-
ism. Nevertheless, the sick man left his bed and
began to walk about the room. BersenefF removed
to his own lodgings ; but he dropped in every day
to see his friend, who was still weak, and every
day, as before, he informed Elena as to the con-
dition of his health. InsaroiF did not dare to
write to her, and alluded to her only indirectly
in his conversations with BerseneiF; while Berse-
neff, with feigned indifference, told him about his
visits to the Staklioffs, endeavouring, however,
to give him to understand that Elena had been
greatly grieved, and that now she had recovered
her composure. Neither did Elena write to Insa-
roff ; she had something else in her head.
One day, when BersenefF had just informed
her, with a joyful countenance, that the doctor
had already given InsarofF permission to eat a
cutlet, and that now, probably, he would soon be
out, she became pensive and dropped her eyes . . .
" Guess what I want to say to you,"— she said.
BersenefF was disconcerted. He understood her.
203
ON THE EVE
" Probably,"— he replied, averting his eyes: —
" you want to tell me that you wish to see him."
Elena blushed, and in a barely audible tone
articulated: " Yes."
"Well, what then? I think you will find it
very easy."— (" Fie! " he thought,— " what a
hateful feeling is in my heart! ")
" You mean to say that I have done it al-
ready . . . . " said Elena. — " But I am afraid
now, you say, he is rarely alone."
" That is not a difficult matter to remedy," —
returned BersenefF, still without looking at her. —
" Of course I cannot forewarn him; but give me
a note. Who can prevent your writing to him
... to so good a friend, in whom you take an
interest? There is nothing reprehensible in that.
. . . Appoint . . . that is to say, write to him
when you will come."
" I am ashamed," — whispered Elena.
" Give me the note, I will carry it."
" That is not necessary; but I wanted to ask
you .... do not be angry with me, Andrei Pe-
trovitch .... not to go to him to-morrow ! "
Berseneff bit his lip.
"Ah! Yes, I understand; very good, very
good." — And adding two or three words more, he
hastily departed.
" So much the better, so much the better," —
he thought, as he hurried homeward. " I have not
learned anything new, but so much the better.
204
ON THE EVE
What 's the use of clinging to the rim of another
person's nest? I repent of nothing, I have done
what my conscience bade me, but now it is enough.
Let them go their way! Not without cause was
my father wont to say to me: 'You and I, my dear
fellow, are not sybarites, we are not aristocrats,
we are not the spoiled darlings of fate and of
nature, we are not even martyrs, — we are toil-
ers, toilers, and again toilers. Don thy leathern
apron, toiler, and take thyself to thy work-bench,
in thy dark workshop! But let the sun shine on
others ! Our dull life has a pride and a happiness
of its own also! ' "
On the following morning, Insaroif received
by the city post a brief note : " Expect me," wrote
Elena, and he gave orders that all callers should
be refused.
205
XXVIII
As soon as InsarofF read Elena's note, he imme-
diately began to put his room to rights, asked his
landlady to carry away the phials of medicine,
took off his dressing-gown, and put on his coat.
His head reeled with weakness and joy, and his
heart beat violently. His legs gave way beneath
him: he dropped on the divan, and began to look
at his watch. " It is now a quarter to twelve," —
he said to himself: — "she cannot possibly get
here before twelve ; I will think of something else
for a quarter of an hour, or I cannot bear it. She
cannot possibly come before twelve "
The door opened, and with the light rustle of a
silken gown, all pale and fresh, young and happy,
Elena entered, and fell upon his breast with a
faint cry of joy.
" Thou art alive, thou art mine," — she kept
repeating, as she embraced and caressed his head.
He was on the point of swooning ; he panted with
this proximity, these touches, this happiness.
She sat down beside him, nestled up to him,
and began to look at him with that laughing,
caressing, and tender glance which beams only in
the loving eyes of women.
Her face suddenly became overcast.
206
ON THE EVE
" How thin thou hast grown, my poor Dmi-
try," — she said, passing her hand over his neck,
— " what a beard thou hast! "
" And thou, too, hast grown thin, my poor
Elena," — ^he repHed, catching her fingers with
his Hps.
She shook back her curls merrily.
" That is nothing. Thou shalt see how we will
recover ! The storm has passed over, as on the day
when we met in the chapel ; it has rushed up and
passed away."
He replied to her only by a smile.
" Akh, what days, Dmitry, what cruel days !
How can people survive those they love ! I knew
beforehand, every time, what Andrei Petrovitch
was going to tell me, I really did: my life sank
and rose together with thine. Good morning, my
Dmitry!"
He did not know what to say to her. He
wanted to throw himself at her feet.
" I have also observed,"— she went on, tossing
back his hair—" I have been making a great many
observations during this time, in my leisure —
when a person is very, very unhappy, with what
stupid attention he watches everything which goes
on around him! Reallv, I sometimes stared at a
fly, and all the while, what cold and terror there
was in my own soul! But all that is over, it is
over, is it not? Everything is bright in future,
is it not?
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ON THE EVE
a
Thou art the future for me," — replied Insa-
roff, — " it is bright for me."
" And for me too! But dost thou remember,
when I was with thee then, the last time . . . .
no, not the last time,"— she repeated, with an in-
voluntary shudder, — " but when we talked to-
gether, I alluded to death, I know not why; I
did not then suspect that it was standing guard
over us. But thou art well now, art thou
not?"
" I am much better, I am almost well."
" Thou art well, thou didst not die. Oh, how
happy I am ! "
A brief silence ensued.
" Elena? " — InsarofF said interrogatively.
" What, my dear one? "
" Tell me, has it not occurred to you that this
illness was sent to us as a chastisement? "
Elena looked seriously at him.
" That thought has occurred to me, Dmitry.
But I thought: Why should I be chastised? What
duty have I violated, against what have I sinned ?
Perhaps my conscience is not like that of others,
but it was silent; or, perhaps, I am to blame to-
ward thee? — I hinder thee, I hold thee back . . . ."
" Thou art not holding me back, Elena; we will
go together."
" Yes, Dmitry, we will go together, I will fol-
low thee .... That is my duty. I love thee ....
I know no other dutJ^"
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ON THE EVE
" Oh, Elena! " — said Insaroff : — " what invin-
cible chains does thy word lay upon me! "
"Why talk about chains?" — she interposed.
— " We are free people. Yes," — she went on,
gazing thoughtfully at the floor, while with one
hand she continued to stroke his hair as before, —
" I have gone through a great deal of late, of
which I had never the least conception! If any
one had predicted to me that I, a well-born, well-
bred young lady, would leave the house alone,
under divers fictitious pretexts, and go whither be-
sides, — to a young man's lodgings! — how en-
raged I should have been ! And all that has come
to pass, and I do not feel the slightest indignation.
God is my witness that I do not ! " she added, and
turned toward Insaroif .
He gazed at her with such an expression of
adoration, that she gently lowered her hand from
his hair to his eyes.
" Dmitry! "—she began again,— " of course
thou dost not know, but I saw thee yonder, on that
dreadful bed,— I saw thee in the claws of death,
unconscious . . . ."
" Thou sawest me? "
" Yes."
He remained silent. — " And was Berseneff
here?"
She nodded her head.
Insaroff bent toward her.—" Oh, Elena!" he
whispered: — " I dare not look at thee."
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ON THE EVE
((
Why? Andrei Petrovitch is so kind ! I was
not ashamed before him. And what have I to be
ashamed of? I am ready to tell all the world that
I am thine And I trust Andrei Petro-
vitch like a brother."
" He saved me! "—cried Insaroff.— *' He is the
noblest, the best of men! "
" Yes And knowest thou, that I am
indebted to him for everything? Knowest thou,
that he was the first to tell me that thou lovedst
me? And if I could reveal all Yes, he
is a most noble man."
InsarofF looked intently at Elena. — " He is in
love with thee, is he not? "
Elena dropped her eyes.—" He did love me,"
she said, in a low voice.
Insaroff clasped her hand closely. — " Oh, you
Russians," — he said, — " you have hearts of gold!
And he— he nursed me, he did not sleep at night
.... And thou — thou, my angel .... No re-
proach, no wavering .... and all this for me,
for me !...."
" Yes, yes, all for thee, because thou art be-
loved. Akh, Dmitry ! How strange it is ! I think
I have already spoken to thee about it, — but never
mind, it is pleasant to me to repeat it, and it will
be pleasant for thee to hear it,— when I beheld
thee for the first time . . . ."
" Why are there tears in thine eyes? " — Insa-
roff interrupted her.
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ON THE EVE
" Tears? In my eyes? " — She wiped her eyes
with her handkerchief. — "Oh, the stupid! He
does not yet know that people weep for happiness.
As I was going to say: When I beheld thee for
the first time, I perceived nothing particular in
thee, truly. I remember, at first I liked Shiibin
much better, although I never loved him; and as
for Andrei Petrovitch,— oh! there was a moment
when I thought : Can he be the man? But thou —
I felt nothing ; on the other hand . . . afterward
.... afterward .... thou didst fairly seize
my heart with both hands ! "
" Spare me ! "—said Insaroff . He tried to rise,
but immediately sank back on the divan.
" What ails thee? " asked Elena anxiously.
" Nothing. ... I am still a little weak ....
This happiness is beyond my strength."
" Then sit quietly. Do not dare to stir, do not
get excited,"— she added, shaking her finger at
him.—" And why have you taken off your dress-
ing-gown? It is too early for you to put on
foppish airs! Sit still, and I will tell you stories.
Listen, and be silent. After your illness, it is in-
jurious for you to talk much."
She began to tell him about Shiibin, about Kur-
natovsky, about what she had been doing for the
last fortnight, — that, according to the news-
papers, war was inevitable, and consequently, as
soon as he should be entirely well, he must find
means for departure without wasting a moment's
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ON THE EVE
time. . . . She said all this, as she sat by his side,
leaning against his shoulder. . . .
He listened to her,— listened, now paling,
now flushing .... Several times he attempted
to stop her, and then he suddenly drew him-
self up.
" Elena," — he said to her, with a strange, harsh
sort of voice, — " leave me, go away."
" What,"— she said, with surprise. — *' Dost
thou feel ill? "—she added quickly.
" No ... I am all right .... but, leave me,
please."
" I do not understand thee. Thou art driving
me away? . . . What is it thou art doing? " —
she said suddenly: he had bent down from the
divan almost to the floor, and was pressing his
lips to her feet.—" Don't do that, Dmitry ....
Dmitry . . . ."
He raised himself up, part way.
" Then leave me ! Seest thou, Elena, when I
fell ill I did not at once lose consciousness, I
knew I was on the verge of destruction; even in
my fever, even in my delirium, I was dimly con-
scious that death was advancing toward me, that
I had bidden farewell to life, to thee, to every-
thing, I was parting with hope .... and all at
once, that revival, that light in the darkness, thou
thou wert by my side, in my room, ....
thy head, thy breath This is beyond my
strength! I feel that I love thee passionately, I
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ON THE EVE
hear thee caUing thyself mine, I can answer for
nothing. . . . Go away!"
" Dmitry . . . . " whispered Elena, and hid
her head on his shoulder. Only now did she un-
derstand him.
" Elena," — he went on, — " I love thee, thou
knowest it; I am ready to give my life for
thee . . . but why hast thou come to me now,
when I am weak, when I am not in control of my-
self, when all my blood is aflame? . . . Thou art
mine, thou say est .... thou lovest me . . . . "
"Dmitry," — she repeated, all flushed, and
pressing herself still more closely to him.
" Elena, have pity on me— go away! I feel I
may die — I cannot endure these attacks ....
my whole soul longs for thee . . . reflect, death
has almost parted us . . . and now thou art here,
in my arms .... Elena . . . . "
She trembled all over. . . " Then take me," she
whispered, almost inaudibly.
213
XXIX
•Nikolai Artemievitch was striding to and fro
in his study, with frowning brows. Shiibin was
sitting by the window, and, with one leg thrown
over the other, was cahnly smoking a cigar.
" Please stop pacing from corner to corner,"
he said, knocking the ashes from his cigar. " I
am still waiting to hear what you have to say,
I am watching you— and my neck is tired.
Moreover, there is something forced, melodra-
matic, about your stride."
" You want to do nothing but jest,"— replied
Nikolai Artemievitch. " You will not enter into
my position, you will not understand that I have
become accustomed to that woman, that I
am attached to her— in short, that her absence
must torture me. Here it is almost December,
winter is at the end of our noses. . . . What can
she be doing in Revel? "
" She must be knitting stockings . . . for
herself; for herself— not for you."
" Laugh away, laugh away; but let me tell
you, that I do not know such another woman.
Such honesty, such disinterestedness . . . ."
" Has she put in that note for collection? " in-
quired Shiibin.
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ON THE EVE
" Such disinterestedness,"— repeated Nikolai
Artemievitch, raising his voice, — " is wonderful.
They tell me that there are a million other
women in the world; but I say: Show me that
million ; show me that million, I say : ces femmes,
quon me les montre! And she does not write,
—that is what is deadly! "
" You are as eloquent as Insaroff," — re-
marked Shiibin:— "but do you know what I
would advise you to do? "
"When?"
" When Augustina Christianovna returns . . .
you understand me?"
"Well, yes; what then?"
" When you see her .... Do you follow the
development of my idea?"
" Well, yes, yes."
" Try to beat her: what will be the result? "
Nikolai Artemievitch turned away in wrath.
" I thought he really would give me some
practical advice. But what can one expect
from him! An artist, a man devoid of prin-
ciples . . . ."
"Devoid of principles! Why, they say that
your favourite, Mr. Kurnatovsky, a man with
principles, cleaned a hundred rubles out of you
yesterday. That is not delicate, you must ad-
mit."
" What of it? We were playing a commer-
cial game. Of course, I might have expected
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ON THE EVE
. . . But people are so incapable of appreciating
liim in this house . . . ."
" That he thought: ' Here goes! ' " put in Shu-
bin:— "' Whether he is to be my father-in-law
or not, is a matter which is still hidden in the
urn of fate, but a hundred rubles are good for a
man who does not take bribes.' "
" Father-in-law! What the devil do you
mean by being a father-in-law? — Vous revez,
mon cher. Of course, any other girl would have
been delighted with such a suitor. Judge for
yourself: he 's a dashing, clever man, he has
made his own way in the world, he has toiled
hard for a livelihood in two governments . . . ."
" In the Government of * * * *, he led the
Governor by the nose,"— remarked Shubin.
" Very likely. Evidently, that was as it
should be. He 's practical, energetic . . . ."
" And plays cards well,"— remarked Shubin
again.
" Well, yes, he does play cards well. But
Elena Nikolaevna .... Can she understand?
I want to know where is the man who will un-
dertake to understand what she wants? Some-
times she is merry, again she is bored; suddenly,
she grows so thin that one does not wish to look
at her, and then, all of a sudden, she recovers,
and all this without any visible cause "
A homely footman entered with a cup of cof-
fee, a cream- jug, and rusks on a tray.
" The father is pleased with the suitor,"— went
216
ON THE EVE
on Nikolai Artemievitch, waving a rusk, — " but
what does the daughter care about that? That
was all right in former, patriarchal times, but
now we have changed all that. Nous avons
change tout pa. Now a young lady talks with
whomsoever she pleases; she goes about Moscow
without a lackey, without a maid, as in Paris;
and all that is accepted. The other day I asked :
' Where is Elena Nikolaevna? ' I am told, ' She
has been pleased to go out.' Whither? No one
knows. Is that— proper? "
" Do take your cup, and dismiss the man," —
said Shubin. — " You yourself say that one
should not talk devant les domestiques" — he
added in an undertone.
The footman cast a sidelong glance at Shu-
bin, but Nikolai Artemievitch took his cup,
poured himself some cream, and clutched up
half a score of rusks.
" What I meant to say," he began, as soon
as the servant had left the room, — " is that I am
of no account in this house. That 's all. Be-
cause, in our day, every one judges by the ex-
terior: one man is empty and stupid, but has
a pompous mien, — and he is respected; while
another, perhaps, is possessed of talents which
might .... might be of great service, but ow-
ing to his modesty "
"Are you a statesman, Nikolinka?" inquired
Shubin, in a very subtle voice.
" Have done with your clownish pranks I " ex-
217
ON THE EVE
claimed Nikolai Artemievitch angrily. You
forget yourself! Here's a fresh proof for
you that I count for nothing in this house,
nothing! "
" Anna Vasilievna persecutes you, poor fel-
low!" said Shiibin, stretching himself. " Ekh,
Nikolai Artemievitch, you and I ought to be
ashamed of ourselves! You had better prepare
some little gift for Anna Vasilievna. Her birth-
day comes shortly, and you know how she prizes
the smallest token of attention on your part."
" Yes, yes," replied Nikolai Artemievitch
hastily: — " I am very much obliged to you for
reminding me of it. Of course, of course ; with-
out fail. And here, I have a trifle ; a little clasp,
which I purchased a few days ago at Rosen-
strauch's; only, I don't know whether it is suit-
able?"
" I suppose you bought it for the other one,
the resident of Revel? "
" That is . . . I . . . yes ... I thought . . . ."
" Well, in that case, it certainly is suitable."
Shubin rose from his chair.
" Where shall we spend the evening, Pa-
vel Yakovlevitch, hey? " Nikolai Artemievitch
asked him, looking him amiably in the eye.
" Why, I suppose you are going to the club.'*
" After the club .... after the club."
Again Shubin stretched himself.
" No, Nikolai Artemievitch, I must work to-
218
ON THE EVE
morrow. Some other time."— And he left the
room.
Nikolai Artemievitch frowned, paced up and
down the room a couple of times, took from a
bureau a small velvet case with the " little clasp,"
and for a long time gazed at it and rubbed it
up with his silk handkerchief. Then he sat
down in front of the mirror, and began carefully
to brush his thick black hair, pompously in-
clining his head now to the right, now to the
left, thrusting his tongue into his cheek, and
never taking his eyes from his parting. Some
one coughed behind him: he glanced round, and
beheld the footman who had brought the coffee.
" Why hast thou come? " he asked him.
" Nikolai Artemievitch ! " said the lackey, not
without considerable solemnity — " you are our
master! "
*' I know it: what next? "
" Nikolai Artemievitch, please do not be
angry with me; only, as I have been in your
grace's service since my youth, it is my duty, out
of slavish zeal, to inform you "
"Well, what is it?"
The lackey shifted from foot to foot.
" You were pleased to say just now," — he
began, — " that you did not know where Elena
Nikolaevna is pleased to go. I have become
acquainted with it."
" What lies art thou telling, fool? "
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ON THE EVE
" I can't help it : only three days ago I saw
her entering a certain house."
" Where? what? what house? "
" In the * * * alley, near Povarskaya Street.
Not far from here. And I asked the yard-
porter. ' What lodgers have you? ' says I."
Nikolai Artemievitch began to stamp his feet.
" Hold thy tongue, rascal! How darest thou?
. . . Elena Nikolaevna, in her kindness of heart,
is visiting the poor, and thou .... Begone,
fool!"
The frightened lackey started for the door
with a rush.
"Stop!" shouted Nikolai Artemievitch.
" What did the yard-porter say? "
" Why, no ... . thing, — he said nothing.
' A stu . . . student,' says he."
" Hold thy tongue, rascal! Listen, scoundrel:
if thou darest to speak of this to any one, even
in thy sleep . . . ."
"Have mercy, sir! . . . ."
" Silence! if thou so much as utter est a sound
.... if any one .... if I hear .... thou
shalt not find refuge from me even under the
earth! Dost hear? Take thyself off! "
The lackey vanished.
"O Lord my God! What is the meaning
of this?" thought Nikolai Artemievitch, when
he found himself alone:— "what was it that
lii'^okhead told me? Hey? But I must find out
220
ON THE EVE
what house it is, and who lives there. I must go
myself. A pretty pass things have come to, upon
my word! .... JJn laquais! .Quelle humilia-
tion! "
And repeating aloud, '' JJn laquais! " Nikolai
Artemievitch locked up the clasp in his bureau,
and betook himself to Anna Vasilievna. He
found her in bed, with her cheek in a bandage.
But the sight of her sufferings merely irritated
him, and he speedily reduced her to tears.
221
XXX
In the meantime, the storm which had been
brewing in the East broke. Turkey declared
war on Russia; the date set for the evacuation
of the principaUties had already passed; the
day of the uprising of Sinope was not far dis-
tant. The last letters received by Insaroff sum-
moned him importunately to his native land.
His health was not yet restored : he coughed, felt
weak, and had light attacks of fever, but he
hardly remained in the house at all. His soul
was on fire; he no longer thought of his illness.
He was incessantly going about Moscow ; he met
various persons by stealth; many a time he wrote
all night long ; he disappeared for days together ;
he announced to his landlord that he was going
away soon, and presented him, in advance, with
his simple furniture. Elena, on her side, was
also making preparations to depart. One stormy
evening, she was sitting in her own chamber, and
as she hemmed a handkerchief she involuntarily
listened with sadness to the howling of the wind.
Her maid entered, and told her that her papa
was in her mamma's bedroom, and requested her
to go thither . . . . " Your mamma is crying,"
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ON THE EVE
— she whispered after the departing Elena, —
" and your papa is in a rage . . . ."
Elena shrugged her shoulders slightly, and
entered Anna Vasilievna's bedroom. Nikolai
Artemievitch's good-natured wife was half -re-
clining in a lounging-chair and sniffing at a
handkerchief scented with eau de Cologne; he
himself was standing by the fireplace, with his
coat buttoned up to the throat, in a tall, stiff
neckcloth, and with stiffly-starched cuffs, and
dimly suggested by his carriage some parlia-
mentary orator. With an oratorical wave of his
hand, he motioned his daughter to a chair, and
when she, not understanding his gesture, looked
inquiringly at him, he said with dignity, but
without turning his head: " I beg that you will
be seated." (Nikolai Artemievitch addressed his
wife as you always and his daughter on extraor-
dinary occasions.)
Elena sat down.
Anna Vasilievna blew her nose tearfully.
Nikolai Artemievitch thrust his right hand into
the breast of his coat.
" I have summoned you, Elena Nikolaevna,"
— he began, after a prolonged silence, " for the
purpose of having an explanation with you— or,
I had better say, for the purpose of demanding
an explanation from you. I am displeased with
you,— or, no: that is putting it too mildly; your
conduct afflicts, shocks me- me and your mother
223
ON THE EVE
.... your mother, whom you see here before
you."
Nikolai Artemievitch set in action only the
bass notes of his voice. Elena gazed at him
in silence, then at Anna Vasilievna, and turned
pale.
" There was a time,"— began Nikolai Ar-
temievitch again,— "when daughters did not
permit themselves to look down upon their par-
ents,— when the parental authority made the dis-
obedient tremble. That time is past, unfortu-
nately,— so, at least, many persons think: but, be-
lieve me, there still exist laws which do not
permit .... do not permit .... in short, laws
still exist. I beg that you will direct your atten-
tion to this point: laws exist."
" But, papa,"— Elena was beginning.
" I request that you will not interrupt me.
Let us return, in thought, to the past. Anna
Vasilievna and I have performed our duty.
Anna Vasilievna and I have spared nothing on
your education: neither expense nor solicitude.
What profit you have drawn from all this solici-
tude, from all this expenditure— is another
question; but I had a right to think . . . Anna
Vasilievna and I had a right to think that you
would, at least, sacredly preserve those princi-
ples of morahty which .... which we have
.... which, as our only daughter .... que
nous vous avons inculques — which we have incul-
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ON THE EVE
cated in you. We had the right to think that
no new ' ideas ' would touch that, so to speak,
stipulated inviolability. And what is the result?
I am not now referring to the frivolity inherent
in your sex, in your age .... but who could
have expected that you would so far forget
yourself "
" Papa," — said Elena, — " I know what you
want to say "
" No, thou dost not know what I want to
say!" — shouted Nikolai Artemievitch in a fal-
setto voice, suddenly abandoning the majesty of
his parliamentary demeanour, and his suave dig-
nity of speech, and his bass tones:—" Thou dost
not know, audacious chit ! . . . ."
" For God's sake, Nicolas'' hsped Anna
Vasilievna, — ''^ vous me faites mourir."
" Don't tell me thaX—que je vous fais mourir,
Anna Vasilievna! you have not the slightest
idea what you are about to hear ! Prepare your-
self for the worst, I warn you! "
Anna Vasilievna was fairly dumfounded.
" No," — went on Nikolai Artemievitch, turn-
ing to Elena: — "thou dost not know what I
want to say to thee ! "
" I am to blame before you ..." she began.
"Hey, at last, then?"
" I am to blame before you," — went on Elena,
— " in that I did not, long ago confess "
" But dost thou know," Nikolai Artemievitch
225
ON THE EVE
interrupted her, — " that I can annihilate thee
with a single word? "
Elena raised her eyes to his.
"Yes, madam, with a single word! You
need n't look like that! " (He folded his arms on
his chest.) " Permit me to ask you, Are you ac-
quainted with a certain house in * * * alley, near
Povarskaya Street? Have you visited that
house? " (He stamped his foot.) " Answer me,
wretched girl, and do not try to deceive me!
People, people, lackeys, madam, de vils laquais,
have seen you going in there to your "
Elena flushed all over, and her eyes began to
sparkle.
" I have no occasion to deceive you," she said;
" yes, I have visited that house."
" Very fine ! you hear, you hear, Anna Vasi-
lievna. And, probably, you know who lives
there?"
" Yes, I know: my husband."
Nikolai Artemievitch stared.
" Thy "
" My husband,"— repeated Elena.—" I am
married to Dmitry Nikanorovitch Insaroff."
"Thou? . . . Married! ..." Anna Vasi-
lievna articulated with difficulty.
" Yes, mamma. . . . Forgive me I We were
married secretly, a fortnight ago."
Anna Vasilievna fell back in her chair; Niko-
lai Artemievitch retreated a couple of paces.
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ON THE EVE
"Married! To that tiiimpery fellow, that
Montenegrin! The daughter of Nikolai Stak-
hoiF, a member of the ancient hereditary nobility,
married to a tramp, to a man of no caste ! With-
out the parental blessing! And dost thou think
that I will leave matters thus? that I shall not
make complaint? that I shall permit thee . . .
that thou .... that .... I '11 send thee to a
convent, and him to the galleys, to the peniten-
tiary battalion! Anna Vasilievna, be so good
as to tell her at once that you will deprive her of
her inheritance! "
"Nikolai Artemievitch, for God's sake!"
moaned Anna Vasilievna.
" And when, in what way, did this take place?
Who performed the marriage ceremony for
you? Where? My God! What will all our ac-
quaintances, what will everybody say now ! And
thou, shameless hypocrite, couldst dwell under
the parental roof -tree after such a deed! Hast
thou not feared a thunderbolt from heaven? "
"Papa," — said Elena (she was trembling all
over, from head to foot, but her voice was firm),
— " you are at liberty to do what you like with
me, but you accuse me without cause of shame-
lessness and hypocrisy. I did not wish ....
to grieve you any sooner than was necessary ; but
I would have told you everything, myself, per-
force, in a few days, because my husband and I
are going away from here next week."
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ON THE EVE
" Going away? Whither? "
" To his native land,— to Bulgaria."
" To the Turks! " cried Anna Vasilievna, and
fell in a swoon.
Elena darted to her mother.
"Away!" roared Nikolai Artemievitch, and
seized his daughter by the arm:—" Begone, uii'
worthy one! "
But, at that moment, the bedroom door
opened, and a pale head, with glittering eyes,
made its appearance; it was the head of Shubin.
"Nikolai Artemievitch!" he shouted at the
top of his voice:— " Augustina Christianovna
has arrived, and summons you to her!"
Nikolai Artemievitch wheeled round in a tow-
ering rage, shook his fist at Shubin, stood still
for a moment, then swiftly left the room.
Elena fell at her mother's feet, and embraced
her knees.
UvAR IvANOviTCH was lying on his bed. A
shirt devoid of collar, with a big stud, encircled
his fat neck, and fell in broad, loose folds on his
almost feminine breast, leaving a large cypress-
wood cross and an amulet disclosed to view. A
light quilt covered his vast limbs. A candle
burned dimly on the night-stand, beside a jug
of home-brewed beer, and at Uvar Ivanovitch's
feet, on the bed, sat the dejected Shubin.
"Yes,"— he was saying thoughtfully,— " she
228
ON THE EVE
is married, and preparing to depart. Your nice
little nephew kicked up a row, and roared so that
everybody in the house could hear him ; he locked
himself into the bedroom, for the sake of privacy,
but not only the lackeys and the maids,— the
very coachmen could hear him! Now he is tear-
ing and flinging about, he almost came to blows
with me, and he is rushing around nursing his
parental malediction, like a bear his sore head;
but there 's no force in him. Anna Vasihevna
is overwhelmed, but she is far more grieved over
her daughter's departure than over her marriage."
Uvar Ivanovitch wiggled his fingers.
"A mother," — said he: — "well . . . you
know . . . ."
" Your nice little nephew," — pursued Shiibin,
" threatens to complain to the Metropolitan, to
the Governor-General, to the Minister, but it will
end in her departure. Who finds it a cheerful
matter to ruin his only daughter! He '11 crow
for a while, and then lower his tail."
" They have ... no right," remarked Uvar
Ivanovitch, and took a drink from the jug.
" Exactly, exactly. And what a thunder-
cloud of condemnation, of rumors, of gossip,
will arise in Moscow! She was not afraid of
them .... However, she is above them. She
is going away — and whither! it is terrible even
to think of it! To what a distance, to what a
God-forsaken place! What awaits her there?
229
ON THE EVE
I behold her, as it were, leaving a posting-station
by night, in a snow-storm, with the temperature
thirty degrees below zero. She is parting with
her native land, with her family; but I under-
stand her. Whom is she leaving behind her
here? Whom has she seen? Kurnatovskys, and
BersenefFs, and the like of us; and they are the
best of the lot. Why regret it? One thing is
bad; they say that her husband— the devil
knows, my tongue can hardly get around that
word— they say that Insaroff spits blood; that
is bad. I saw him the other day; his face was
such that one might model Brutus straight from
it Do you know who Brutus was, Uvar
Ivanovitch? "
"Why shouldn't I know? A man."
" Precisely: ' he was a man.' Yes, a magnifi-
cent face, but unhealthy, very unhealthy."
" For fighting ... it makes no difference,"
said Uvar Ivanovitch.
" For fighting, it makes no difference, ex-
actly so; you are pleased to express yourself
with perfect justice to-day; but for living,
it does make a difference. And I suppose he and
she wish to live together."
" It 's the way of young people," replied Uvar
Ivanovitch.
" Yes, it 's a young, splendid, fearless way.
Death, life, struggle, fall, triumph, love, free-
dom, fatherland .... Good, good. God grant
230
ON THE EVE
it to every one ! That 's quite another thing from
sitting in a marsh up to your neck, and trying
to assume an air of not caring, when, as a mat-
ter of fact, in reahty you do care. But there —
the strings are stretched taut; ring out, so that
all the world may hear, or break! "
Shiibin dropped his head on his breast.
" Yes," he went on after a long silence, — " In-
sarofF is worthy of her. But what nonsense!
No one is worthy of her. InsarofF .... In-
saroiF .... Why this false submission? Well,
let us admit that he is young, he will stand up
for himself, although, so far, he has done just
the same as the rest of us sinners, and it can't be
possible, can it, that we are such complete trash?
Come now, take me, for instance, — am I trash,
Uvar Ivanovitch? Has God denied me every
good quality? Has He bestowed on me no abiU-
ties, no talents whatever? Who knows, per-
haps the name of Pavel Shubin will become a
glorious name in the course of time? Here, a
copper coin is lying on your table. Who knows,
perhaps, some time or other, a century hence, that
coin may become part of a statue of Pavel Shii-
bin, erected in his honour by a grateful poster-
ity? "
Uvar Ivanovitch propped himself on his el-
bow, and riveted his eyes on the artist, who had
talked himself into a fever-heat.
" 'T is a long cry,"— he said, at last, twiddling
231
ON THE EVE
his fingers, as usual: "it is a question of other
people; but thou . . . seest thou? . . . talkest
about thyself."
"O great philosopher of the Russian land!"
exclaimed Shubin.— " Every word of yours is
pure gold, and not to me, but to you, should the
statue be erected, and I shall set about it myself.
Here now, just as you are lying at the present
moment, in this pose, — as to which one cannot
say whether it contains most of laziness or of
strength — just so will I cast you. You have
staggered me with your just reproof for my
egotism and my self-conceit I Yes! yes! there 's
no use in talking about one's self ; there 's no use
in bragging. There is no one, as yet, among
us; there are no men, look where you will. All
are either small fry, or squabblers, petty Ham-
lets, cannibals, either underground gloom and
thicket, or bullies, empty triflers, and drum-
sticks! And there 's still another sort of men
for you: they have studied themselves with dis-
graceful minuteness; they are incessantly feel-
ing the pulse of their every sensation, and re-
porting to themselves. ' Here,' say they, ' is what
I feel ; this is what I think.' A useful, practical
occupation! No, if we had any able men, that
young girl, that sensitive soul, would not be
leaving us, would not have slipped from us, like
a fish into the water! What does it mean, Uvar
232
ON THE EVE
Ivanovitch? When is our time coming? When
shall we bring forth men in our land? "
" Give us time,"— replied Uvar Ivanovitch,—
" they will come."
"They will come? O thou soil! thou black-
earth force! thou hast said: ' They will come? '
Behold, I shall put thy words on record. But
why do you extinguish your candle? "
" I 'm sleepy,— good-bye."
233
XXXI
Shubin spoke the truth. The unexpected news
of Elena's marriage had almost killed Anna
Vasilievna. She took to her bed. Nikolai Arte-
mievitch required of her, that she should not
admit her daughter within her sight; he seemed
to rejoice at the opportunity to display himself
in his complete importance as master of the
house, in all the powers of the head of the fam-
ily: he blustered and thundered uninterruptedly
at the servants, constantly adding: "I '11 show
you who I am, I '11 let you know — just wait!"
As long as he remained in the house, Anna Vasi-
lievna did not see Edena, and contented herself
with the presence of Zoya, who waited upon her
with great assiduity, and meanwhile thought
to herself: " Diesen Insdroff vorziehen—und
mem? " But no sooner did Nikolai Artemie-
vitch absent himself (and this happened with
tolerable frequency: Augustma Christianovna
really had returned ) , than Elena presented her-
self before her mother,— and the latter gazed at
her long, silently, with tears in her eyes. This
mute reproach pierced Elena's heart more
deeply than any other; she did not feel repen-
234
ON THE EVE
tance then, but profound, infinite compunction,
akin to repentance.
"Mamma, dear mamma!" — she kept repeat-
ing, as she kissed her hands: "what could I
do? I am not to blame, I fell in love with
him, I could not act otherwise. Blame fate: it
brought me into connection with a man whom
papa does not like, who will take me away from
you."
" Okli ! " Anna Vasilievna interrupted her :
— " do not remind me of that. When I remem-
ber where it is that thou wishest to go, my heart
fairly sinks in my breast! "
" Dear mamma," replied Elena,—" console
thyself at least with this, that things might be
still worse: I might have died."
" But, as it is, I have no hope of ever seeing
thee again. Either thou wilt end thy life yon-
der, somewhere, in a wigwam " (Anna Vasi-
lievna pictured Bulgaria to herself as something
in the natui'e of the Siberian marshy fens), " or
I shall not survive the separation "
" Do not say that, my kind mamma; we shall
see each other again, God willing. But there
are towns in Bulgaria, just like those here."
"Towns, indeed! War is in progress there
now; now, I think, wherever one may go, they
are firing cannon .... Art thou preparing to
start soon? "
" Yes ... if only papa .... He means
235
ON THE EVE
to lodge a complaint, he threatens to separate
us."
Anna Vasilievna raised her eyes to heaven.
" No, Lenotchka, he will not lodge a com-
plaint. I myself would not have consented, on
any terms whatsoever, to this marriage, I would
sooner have died; but what is done cannot be
undone, and I will not allow my daughter to
be disgraced."
Several days passed thus. At last Anna Vasi-
lievna plucked up her courage, and one evening
she shut herself up alone with her husband in her
bedroom. Everybody in the house became si-
lent, and lent an ear. At first, nothing was au-
dible; then Nikolai Artemievitch's voice began
to boom out, then a wrangle ensued, shouts arose,
the listeners even thought that they heard
groans Shiibin, in company with Zoya
and the maids, was already on the point of going
to the rescue, but the uproar in the bedroom
began gradually to diminish, lapsed into conver-
sation, and ceased. Only from time to time did
faint sobs resound— then these came to an end.
The key rattled, the squeak of a bureau being
opened resounded. . . . The door opened, and
Nikolai Artemievitch made his appearance. He
stared morosely at all whom he encountered, and
betook himself to his club; but Anna Vasilievna
summoned Elena to her, embraced her warmly,
and, shedding bitter tears, said :
236
ON THE EVE
" Everything is settled, he will not make a
scandal, and nothing now hinders thee from
going away .... from abandoning us."
" Will you permit Dmitry to come and thank
you,"— Elena asked her mother, as soon as the
latter had regained a little composure.
"Wait, my darling; I cannot see the man
who is separating us yet. There is plenty of
time before your departure."
" Before our departure," repeated Elena
sadly.
Nikolai Artemievitch had consented " not to
make a scandal " ; but Anna Vasilievna did not
tell her daughter what a price he had set upon his
consent. She did not tell her that she had prom-
ised to pay all his debts, and had given him in
hand one thousand rubles. Over and above this,
he had informed Anna Vasilievna, with decision,
that he did not wish to meet InsarofF, whom he
continued to call a Montenegrin; and when he
arrived at his club, he began, without the slight-
est necessity for it, to talk with his partner,
a retired general, about Elena's marriage.
" Have you heard," said he, with feigned care-
lessness,—" that my daughter, owing to her
great erudition, has married some sort of stu-
dent? " The general looked at him through his
spectacles, muttered, "H'ml" and asked him
what was his play.
237
XXXII
But the day of departure was drawing near.
November was already past; the last days of
grace had expired. InsarofF had long ago com-
pleted all his preparations, and was burning with
the desire to tear himself away from Moscow as
speedily as possible. And the doctor urged him
to haste. *' You require a warm climate," he said
to him; " you will not recover your health here."
Elena was overcome with impatience also; Insa-
roff's pallor, his thinness, troubled her. She
often gazed with involuntary alarm at his al-
tered features. Her position in her father's
house had become intolerable. Her mother
wailed over her, as over a corpse, while her fa-
ther treated her with scornful coldness: the ap-
proaching parting secretly tortured him also, but
he regarded it as his duty, the duty of an in-
jured father, to conceal his feelings, his weak-
ness. At last, Anna Vasilievna expressed a wish
to see Insaroff . He was brought to her quietly,
by the back door. When he entered her room,
she was unable, for a long time, to speak to him,
she could not even bring herself to look at him;
238
ON THE EVE
he sat down beside her arm-chair, and with calm
respect awaited her first word. Elena sat there
also, holding her mother's hand in hers. At last,
Anna Vasilievna raised her eyes, said, " God is
your judge, Dmitry Nikanorovitch ..." and
stopped short : the reproaches died on her lips.
"Why, you are ill," — she cried: — "Elena, he
is ill!"
" I have been ill, Anna Vasilievna," replied
InsarofF, — "and I have not quite recovered my
health yet ; but I hope that my native air will set
me eventually on my feet."
" Yes . . . Bulgaria," stammered Anna Va-
silievna, and thought: "My God, a Bulgarian,
a dying man, a voice as hollow as though it
came from a cask, eyes sunk in his head; a
regular skeleton, his coat hangs on him as
though it were made for some one else ; yellow as
camomile — and she is his wife, she loves him
. . . . why, this is a dream! . . ." But she
immediately recovered herself. — "Dmitry Ni-
kanorovitch," — she said: — "is it indispensably
— indispensably necessary that you should go? "
" Yes, Anna Vasilievna."
Anna Vasilievna looked at him.
" Okh, Dmitry Nikanorovitch, God grant that
you may never experience what I am now ex-
periencing! . . . But you will promise me to
take good care of her, to love her .... You
shall never suffer want as long as I am living! "
239
ON THE EVE
Tears choked her voice. She opened her arms,
and Elena and InsaroiF fell on her breast.
The fatal day arrived at last. It was arranged
that Elena should say good-bye to her parents
at home, and should set out on the journey from
InsarofF's lodgings. The departure was ap-
pointed for twelve o'clock. A quarter of an
hour before that time, BerseneiF arrived. He
had supposed that he would find at InsarofF's
lodgings his fellow-countrymen who would wish
to see him off ; but they had all already gone on
ahead; the two mysterious persons with whom
the reader is already acquainted (they had
served as witnesses at InsarofF's wedding) had
also departed. The tailor greeted " the kind
gentleman " with a bow ; he had been drinking
heavily, it must have been from grief, or, pos-
sibly, from joy that he was to get the furniture;
his wife speedily led him away. Everything was
already in order in the room; a trunk, corded
with a rope, stood on the floor. BersenefF fell into
thought: many memories passed through his
soul.
It was long after twelve o'clock, and the pos-
tilion had already brought the horses to the door,
but " the young pair " still did not make their
appearance. At last, hurried footsteps became
audible on the stairs, and Elena entered, accom-
panied by InsarofF and Shubin. Elena's eyes
240
ON THE EVE
were red: she had left her mother lying in a
swoon; their parting had been extremely pain-
ful. It was more than a week since Elena had
seen BerseneiF: of late, he had gone seldom
to the StakhofFs. She had not expected to
meet him, exclaimed, "You! thanks!" and
threw herself on his neck; Insaroff also em-
braced him. A harrowing silence ensued. What
could those three persons say, what were those
three hearts feeling? Shubin comprehended the
imperative necessity of putting an end to this
anguish by a living sound, a word.
" Our trio has assembled together once more,"
—he said— "for the last time! Let us submit
to the decree of fate, let us bear in mind the
good times that are past, and enter upon the new
hf e with God's blessing ! ' God bless you on
your distant road,' " he struck up, and stopped.
He suddenly felt ashamed and awkward. It
is a sin to sing where a corpse is lying; and, at
that moment, in that room, that past died to
which he had alluded, the past of the people who
were assembled there. It died for the regenera-
tion of a new life, let us assume ; . . . but, never-
theless, it died.
" Well, Elena," began InsaroiF, addressing
his wife,—" everything is ready, I think.
Everything is paid for, packed. Nothing re-
mains to be done, except to carry out this trunk.
Landlord!"
241
ON THE EVE
The landlord entered the room, accompanied
by his wife and daughter. He listened, reeling
slightly as he did so, to Insaroff' s order, threw
the trunk on his shoulders, and ran swiftly down
the stairs, clattering his boots as he went.
" Now, according to the Russian custom, we
must sit down," remarked Insaroff.
They all seated themselves: Berseneff placed
himself on the little old couch; Elena sat down
beside him; the landlady and her little daughter
squatted down on the threshold. All became si-
lent; all were smiling in a constrained way, and
no one knew why he was smiling; each one
wanted to say something by way of good-bye,
and each one (with the exception, of course, of
the landlady and her daughter: they merely
stared with all their might) —each felt that at
such moments it is permissible to say nothing
but commonplaces, that any significant, or witty,
or even cordial word would be, somehow, out of
place, would almost have a false ring. Insaroff
was the first to rise to his feet and begin to
cross himself . . . . " Farewell, our dear little
room! " he exclaimed.
Kisses resounded, the loud but cold kisses of
parting, good wishes for the journey half ut-
tered, promises to write, the last, half -stifled
words of farewell ....
Elena, all bathed in tears, had already taken
her seat in the travelling-sledge; Insaroff was
242
ON THE EVE
carefully tucking the lap -robe around her feet;
Shiibin, BersenefF, the landlord, his wife, his
little daughter with the inevitable kerchief on
her head, the yard-porter, a strange artisan in
a striped kaftan — were all standing on the front
steps, when, suddenly, into the courtyard dashed
an elegant sledge, di'awn by a high-stepping
trotter, and from the sledge, shaking the snow
from the collar of his coat, sprang out Nikolai
Artemievitch.
"I have found you still here, thank God!"
he exclaimed, and hurried to the travelling-
sledge.— " Here, Elena, is our last parental
blessing for thee," — he said, bending down
under the hood, and pulling from the pocket of
his coat a small holy picture, sewn into a velvet
bag, he put it round her neck. She burst out
sobbing, and began to kiss his hands, and in the
meantime his coaclmian drew out from the front
part of the sledge a bottle of champagne and
three glasses.
"Come!" said Nikolai Artemievitch,— but
his own tears were fairly trickling down on the
beaver collar of his coat, — " we must give you
a send-ofF . . . and wish . . . ." he began to
pour out the champagne; his hands shook, the
foam rose over the rim and dripped on the snow.
He took one glass, and gave the other two to
Elena and InsarofF, who had already taken his
place by her side.—" God grant you ..." be-
243
ON THE EVE
gan Nikolai Artemievitch, and could not finish
his sentence— and drank off his wine; they also
drank theirs.—" Now it is your turn, gentle-
men," he said, addressing Shiibin and BersenefF,
—but at that moment the postilion started his
horses. Nikolai Artemievitch ran along by the
side of the sledge. "See that thou writest to
us," — he said in a broken voice. Elena thrust
out her head, said, " Good-bye, papa, Andrei
Petrovitch, Pavel Yakovlevitch ; good-bye, all;
good-bye, Russia! " and threw herself back. The
postilion flourished his whip and whistled; the
travelling-sledge turned to the right after it had
passed the gate, its runners squeaking as it did
so, and vanished.
244
XXXIII
It was a brilliant April day. Along the broad
lagoon which separates Venice from the narrow
strip of alluvial sea-sand called the Lido, a sharp-
beaked gondola was skimming along, rocking in
cadence at every surge which fell on the gondo-
lier's long oar. Beneath its low roof, on soft
leather cushions, sat Elena and Insaroff .
Elena's features had not altered much since
the day of her departure from Moscow ; but their
expression had become different: it was more
thoughtful and stern, and her eyes looked forth
more boldly. Her whole body had blossomed
out, and her hair seemed to lie in more splendid
and luxuriant masses along her white brow and
her rosy cheeks. Only in her lips, when she was
not smiling, there was expressed, by a barely per-
ceptible fold, the presence of a secret, ever-pres-
ent anxiety. The expression of InsarofF's face,
on the other hand, had remained the same as of
yore, but his features had undergone a cruel
change. He had grown haggard and old, he
had grown pale and bent; he coughed almost in-
cessantly, with a short, dry cough; and his
sunken eyes shone with a strange glare.
245
ON THE EVE
On the road from Russia, Insaroff had lain
ill for nearly two months at Vienna, and only at
the end of March had he arrived with his wife
at Venice: thence he hoped to make his way
through Zara to Servia and Bulgaria; all other
roads were closed to him. War was already rag-
ing on the Danube,— England and France had
declared war on Russia,— all the Slavonic lands
were seething and preparing to rise in revolt.
The gondola landed on the inner edge of the
Lido. Elena and Insaroff wended their way
along the narrow sandy path, planted with con-
sumptive little trees (they are planted every
year, and every year they die ) , to the outer edge
of the Lido, to the sea.
They strolled along the shore. The Adriatic
rolled before them its dull-blue waves; they
were foaming, hissing, running up on the shore,
and flowing back, leaving behind them on the
sand tiny shells and fragments of seaweed.
"What a melancholy place!" remarked
Elena. " I 'm afraid it is too cold for thee, but
I can guess why thou hast wished to come
hither."
"Cold!" returned Insaroff, with a swift but
bitter laugh. " A pretty soldier I shall be, if I
am to fear the cold. And I have come hither . . .
I will tell thee why. I gaze at this sea, and it
seems to me that from here my native land is
nearer. It lies yonder, thou knowest,"— he
246
ON THE EVE
added, stretching out his hand toward the East.
— " And the wind is blowing from that direc-
tion."
" Is not this wind bringing in the vessel which
thou art expecting?" said Elena: — " yonder is
a sail gleaming white, — can that be it? "
InsarofP gazed out on the distant sea, in the
direction indicated by Elena.
" Renditch promised that he would arrange
everything for us in the course of a week," he
remarked. " I think we can rely upon him ....
Hast thou heard, Elena? " he added, with sudden
animation: — "they say that the poor Dalmatian
fishermen have contributed their lead sinkers—
thou knowest, those weights which make the net
fall to the bottom— for bullets! They had no
money, and their only means of livelihood is
their fishing; but they joyfully surrendered their
last resource, and now they are starving. What
a race! "
" Aufgepasst!" shouted an arrogant voice
behind them. The dull trampling of horses'
hoofs resounded, and an Austrian officer, in
a short grey tunic and a green military cap,
galloped past them .... They barely managed
to get out of the way.
Insaroff stared gloomily after him.
" He is not to blame,"— said Elena,—" thou
knowest, they have no other place here where
they can ride."
247
ON THE EVE
" He is not to blame,"— returned InsarofF,—
" but he has set my blood to boiling with his shout,
his moustache, his cap, with liis whole appearance.
Let us go back."
" Yes, let us go back, Dmitry. Besides, it
really is windy here. Thou didst not take care
of thyself after thy Moscow illness, and didst
pay for it in Vienna. Thou must be more care-
ful now."
InsarofF made no reply, but the same bitter
sneer as before flitted across his lips.
" Let us have a row on the Canal Grande,
shall we not? "—went on Elena. " For during
all the time we have been here, we have never yet
had a good look at Venice. And let us go to
the theatre this evening: I have two tickets for
a box. We will devote this day to each other,
we will forget politics, war, everything, we will
know only one thing : that we are living, breath-
ing, thinking together, that we are united for-
ever Shall we? "
" Thou wishest it, Elena,"— replied Insaroff,
— " consequently, I wish it also."
" I knew it,"— remarked Elena, with a smile.
— " Come along, come along."
They returned to the gondola, seated them-
selves in it, and ordered the man to row them, in
a leisurely way, along the Canal Grande.
Any one who has not seen Venice in April
can hardly be said to be acquainted with all the
248
ON THE EVE
indescribable charms of that enchanted city.
The mildness and softness of spring become
Venice, as the brilliant summer sun becomes
magnificent Genoa, as the gold and purple of au-
tumn become the grand old city,— Rome. Like
the spring, the beauty of Venice touches and
arouses the desire: it pains and torments the in-
experienced heart, like the promise of a non-
enigmatic but mysterious happiness near at
hand. Everything in it is bright, comprehen-
sible, and everything is enwrapped in a dreamy
haze of a sort of love-stricken silence: every-
thing in it holds its peace, and everything
breathes a welcome; everything in it is feminine,
beginning with its very name: not for nothing
has to it alone been given the title of " The
Beautiful." The huge masses of the palaces
and churches stand light and splendid, like the
beautiful dream of a young god; there is some-
thing fabulous, something enchantingly strange
in the green-grey gleam and the silken play
of hues of the dumb water in the canals, in
the noiseless flight of the gondolas, in the ab-
sence of harsh city sounds, of coarse pounding,
rattling, and uproar. " Venice is dying, Venice
is deserted," its inhabitants say to you; but per-
chance all she needs is this very last charm,
the charm of fading in the very bloom and tri-
umph of her beauty. He wlio has not seen her,
does not know her: neither Canaletto nor
249
ON THE EVE
Guardi— not to mention the more modern ar-
tists — is capable of reproducing that silvery
tenderness of the air, that fleeting and near-
lying distance, that wonderful combination of
the most elegant outlines and melting beauties.
It is useless for the man who has ended his
career, who has been broken by life, to visit
Venice: it will be bitter to him, like the memory
of unfulfilled dreams of his earliest days; but
it will be sweet for him in whom the forces are
still seething, who feels himself fortunate; let
him bring his happiness beneath her enchanted
sky, and no matter how radiant it may be, she
will gild it still more with her never-fading aure-
ole. The gondola in which sat InsarofF and
Elena floated softly past the Riva dei Schiavoni,
the Palace of the Doges, the Piazzetta, and en-
tered the Canal Grande. On both sides stretched
marble palaces ; they appeared to be gliding softly
past, hardly affording the glance an opportu-
nity to embrace and comprehend their beauties.
Elena felt profoundly happy; in the azure of
her heaven one dark cloud had hung — and it
had departed: InsarofF was much better that
day. They went as far as the sharp arch of the
Rialto, and turned back. Elena was afraid of
the cold in the churches, for Insaroff ; but she
remembered the Accademia delle Belle Arti,
and ordered the gondolier to proceed thither.
They had soon made the round of all the halls
250
ON THE EVE
of that small museum. Being neither connois-
seurs nor dilettanti, they did not pause before
every picture, they did not force themselves: a
sort of brilliant cheerfulness had unexpectedly
taken possession of them. Everything suddenly
seemed to them very amusing. (Children are
familiar with that feeling.) To the great scan-
dal of three English visitors, Elena laughed
aloud, until tears came, over Tintoretto's " Saint
Mark" leaping down from heaven into the water,
like a frog, to the rescue of a tortured slave; on
his side, InsarofF went into ecstasies over the
back and calves of the energetic man in the
green mantle who stands in the foreground of
Titian's " Ascension," and raises his hand after
the Madonna ; on the other hand, that same Ma-
donna, a beautiful robust woman calmly and
majestically ascending to the bosom of God the
Father, impressed both InsarofF and Elena;
they liked also the severe and holy picture of the
old man Cima da Conegliano. On emerging
from the academy, they once more glanced
round at the Englishmen, with long, rabbit's
teeth and drooping side-whiskers, who were
walking behind them, — and broke out laughing;
they caught sight of their gondolier with his bob-
tailed jacket and short trousers,— and laughed;
they saw a huckstress with a little knot of grey
hair on the crown of her head,— and laughed
harder than ever; at last, they looked one an-
251
ON THE EVE
other in the face,— and roared with laughter; and
as soon as they had taken their seats in the gon-
dola, they clasped each other's hands very, very
tight. They reached the hotel, ran to their room,
and ordered dinner to be served. Their mer-
riment did not desert them even at table. They
helped each other to food, they drank to the
health of their Moscow friends, they clapped
their hands at the cameriere for the savoury dish
of fish, and kept demanding of him live frutti di
mare; the cameriere shrugged his shoulders and
bowed, but when he left the room he shook his
head, and even whispered with a sigh: '' Pover-
etti!" ("Poor things!") After dinner they
went to the theatre.
At the theatre one of Verdi's operas was being
played, a decidedly commonplace affair, to tell
the truth, but one which had already managed to
make the round of all the stages in Europe, and is
well known to us Russians—" Traviata." The
season in Venice was over, and none of the sing-
ers rose above the level of mediocrity; each one
shrieked with all his might. The part of Vio-
letta was sung by a petty artist who had no
reputation, and, judging by the coldness of the
audience toward her, she was not a favourite, al-
though not devoid of talent. She was a young,
not very pretty, black - eyed girl, with a
voice which was not quite even and already
cracked. Her costume was motley and bad to
252
ON THE EVE
the point of absurdity: a red net covered her
hair, her gown of faded blue satin compressed
her bosom, thick undressed kid gloves reached
to her sharp elbows ; and how was she, the daugh-
ter of some Bergamo shepherd, to know how the
demi-mondaines of Paris dress! And she did
not know how to carry herself on the stage ; but
there was a great deal of truth and artless sim-
plicity in her acting, and she sang with that
peculiar passion of expression and rhythm of
which Italians alone are capable. Elena and In-
sarofF sat alone in a dark box, close to the stage ;
the frolicsome mood which had come over them in
the Accademia delle Belle Arti had not yet passed
off. When the father of the unhappy young man
who had fallen into the toils of the temptress
made his appearance on the stage, in a greenish-
grey dress-suit and a rmnpled white wig,
opened his mouth askew, and, seized in advance
with stage-fright, emitted a mournful bass trem-
olo, both of them came near bursting with
laughter But Violettas acting affected
them.
" They hardly applaud that poor girl at all,"
said Elena, — " but I prefer her a thousand times
over to any self-confident, second-rate celebrity,
who would put on airs, and writhe, and strive
after effect. Apparently, this one does not take
it as a jest herself; see, she does not perceive the
audience."
253
ON THE EVE
Insaroff leaned on the edge of the box, and
gazed intently at Violetta.
" Yes,"— he muttered,— " she is not jesting:
she reeks of death."
Elena held her peace.
The third act began. The curtain rose
Elena shuddered at sight of the bed, of the
curtains hung about it, of the medicine-bottles,
of the shaded lamp . . . She recalled the recent
past . . . . " And the future? And the pres-
ent? " flashed through her mind. As though ex-
pressly in reply to the simulated cough of the
singer, InsarofF's dull, unfeigned cough rang
out in the box Elena shot a stealthy
glance at him, and immediately imparted to her
features a tranquil, composed expression. In-
saroff understood her, and he himself began to
smile, and almost to hum an accompaniment to
the singing.
But he soon stopped. Violetta s acting grew
better and better, more and more free. She re-
jected everything irrelevant, everything that
was not necessary, and found herself: rare and
loftiest happiness of the artist! She suddenly
crossed the line which it is impossible to define,
but on the farther side of which dwells beauty.
The audience was startled, amazed. The homely
girl with the cracked voice was beginning to get
them into her hands, to take possession of them.
And the singer's voice no longer sounded
254>
ON THE EVE
cracked: it had warmed up and grown strong.
Alfredo made his appearance; Violettas joyful
cry aknost aroused that storm whose name
is fanatis7riOj, and in the presence of which
all our Northern howls are as nothing .... A
moment more— and the audience subsided. The
duet began, the best number in the opera, in
which the composer has succeeded in expressing
all the regrets of madly wasted youth, the last
struggle of desperate and impotent love. Car-
ried away, swept on by the breath of general
sympathy, with tears of artistic joy and of
genuine suffering in her eyes, the songstress sur-
rendered herself to the flood which had raised
her on its crest, her face became transfigured,
and in the presence of suddenly approaching
death, with an outburst of entreaty which
reached to heaven, the words were wrung from
her : " Lascia mi vivere . . . morir si giovane! "
(" Let me live ... to die so young! ") , and the
whole theatre pealed with the applause of fren-
zied clapping and rapturous shouts.
Elena had turned cold all over. She began
gently to seek with her hand the hand of In-
sarofF, found it, and clasped it tightly. He re-
turned her pressure ; but she did not look at him,
neither did he look at her. This pressure did
not resemble the one with which, a few hours
earlier, they had greeted each other in the gon-
dola.
255
ON THE EVE
They rowed to their hotel along the Canal
Grande again. Night had already set in,— the
bright, soft night. The same palaces stretched
forth to meet them, but they seemed different.
Those of them which were illmninated by the
moon shone golden white, and in that very white-
ness the details of the decorations and the out-
lines of windows and balconies seemed to dis-
appear; they stood out more distinctly on the
buildings flooded with the light mist of the level
shadow. The gondolas, with their tiny red
lights, seemed to glide along more inaudibly and
swiftly than ever; mysteriously gleamed their
steel beaks, mysteriously did the oars rise and
fall on the troubled ripples like tiny silver fishes ;
here and there, the gondoHers uttered brief, not
loud cries (they never sing nowadays) ; almost
no other sounds were audible. The hotel where
InsarofF and Elena were living was on the Riva
dei Schiavoni; before reaching it, they left the
gondola, and walked several times around the
Square of San Marco beneath the arcade, where,
in front of the tiny cafes, a multitude of holiday-
makers was thronging. There is something
peculiarly agreeable about walking alone, with
a beloved being, in a strange city, among stran-
gers : everything seems most beautiful and signif-
icant, one wishes everybody good, and peace, and
the same happiness wherewith one is one's self
filled. But Elena could no longer give herself
256
ON THE EVE
up without anxiety to the consciousness of her
happiness: her heart, shaken by recent impres-
sions, could not recover its composure; and In-
sarofF, as they passed the Palace of the Doges,
pointed, in silence, to the mouths of the Austrian
cannon, peeping out from beneath the low-
browed arches, and pulled his hat down over his
eyes. Besides, he felt fatigued,— and, bestow-
ing a last glance on the Church of San Marco, on
its domes, where, beneath the rays of the moon
spots of phosphorescent light were kindled on
the bluish leads, they slowly wended their way
homeward.
The windows of their little chamber looked
out on the broad lagoon which extends from the
Riva dei Schiavoni to the Giudecca. Almost
directly opposite their hotel rose the sharp-
pointed tower of San Giorgio ; on the right, high
in the air, glittered the golden globe of the
Dogana; and decked out like bride stood the
most beautiful of churches, the Redentore of
Palladius; on the left the masts and yards of
ships, the smoke-stacks of steamers, were out-
lined in black; here and there, like a huge wing,
hung a half -reefed sail, the pennants barely stir-
ring. Insaroff seated himself at the window,
but Elena did not permit him to enjoy the view
for long; fever suddenly made its appearance,
and a sort of devouring weakness seized upon
him. She put him to bed, and waiting until he
257
ON THE EVE
fell asleep, she softly returned to the window.
Oh, how still and caressing was the night, what
dovelike gentleness did the azure air breathe
forth, how ought every suffering, every sorrow,
to hold its peace and lapse into slumber beneath
these holy innocent rays! "Oh, my God!"
thought Elena,— "why does death exist, why is
there parting, illness, tears? or why this beauty,
this delightful feeling of hope, why the soothing
consciousnss of a sure refuge, of deathless pro-
tection? What means this smiling, benevolent
heaven, this happy, resting earth? Can it be
that this is only in us, and that outside of us
is eternal cold and silence? Can it be that we
are alone .... alone .... while yonder,
everywhere, in all those impenetrable abysses
and depths, — everything, everything is alien to
us? Why then this yearning for and delight
in prayer? " {'' Moiir si giovane!" resounded in
her soul. ) . . . . " Can it be, that it is impossible
to implore, to bring back happiness? . . . O
God ! can it be, that it is impossible to believe in a
miracle?" She bowed her head on her clasped
hands. " Is it ended? " she whispered. "Can it be
that it is at an end ! I have been happy, not min-
utes, not hours, not whole days— no, whole weeks
in succession. And by what right? " Her happi-
ness frightened her. " And what if it cannot
be?" she thought. "What if this is not to be
had without paying for it? For it has been hea-
258
ON THE EVE
ven .... and we mortals, poor, sinful mortals
.... Morir si giovane! . . . O, dark spectre,
begone ! not for me alone is his life necessary !
" But what if this is — a punishment? " — she
thought again; "what if we must now pay the
full price for our fault? My conscience held
its peace, it is silent now, but is that any proof
of innocence? O God, can we have been so
very wicked? Can it be that Thou, who hast
created this night, this sky, wilt chastise us for
having loved? And if it be so, if he be guilty,
if I am guilty," — she added, in an involuntary
outburst, — " then grant, O God, that he may die,
that we may both die, at least an honourable,
a glorious death — yonder, in the fields of his
fatherland, but not here, not in this obscure
room!
" And how about the grief of my poor, lonely
mother?" she asked herself, and became con-
fused, and found no reply to her own question.
Elena did not know that the happiness of every
mortal is founded on the unhappiness of another,
that even his advantage and comfort demand —
as a stature demands a pedestal— the disadvan-
tage and discomfort of others.
"Renditch!" muttered InsaroiF in his sleep.
Elena went to him on tiptoe, bent over him,
and wiped the perspiration from his brow. He
tossed about a little on his pillow, and quieted
down.
259
ON THE EVE
She returned to the window, and again medi-
tations engrossed her. She began to persuade
herself, and assure herself that there was no
cause for alarm. She even felt ashamed of her
weakness. " Can there be any danger? Is not
he better? " she whispered. " Why, if we had
not been to the theatre to-night, all this would
never have entered my mind." At that moment
she espied, high above the water, a white sea-gull ;
some fisherman had, probably, frightened it,
and it was soaring silently, with uneven flight,
as though looking out for a place where it could
alight. " There now, if it flies hither," thought
Elena, " it will be a good sign." .... The sea-
gull circled slowly in one spot, folded its wings,
and, as though it had been shot, fell, with a
pitiful cry, somewhere far away, on a dark ship.
Elena shuddered, and then felt ashamed for
having shuddered. And, without undressing,
she lay down on the bed beside Insaroff, who
was breathing fast and heavily.
260
XXXIV
Insaroff awoke late, with a dull pain in his
head, with a feeling, as he expressed it, of horri-
ble weakness all over his body. Nevertheless,
he rose.
" Renditch has not come? " was his first ques-
tion.
" Not yet," replied Elena, and gave him the
last number of the Osservatore Triestino, in
which a great deal was said about the war, about
the Slavonic lands, about the principalities. In-
saroff began to read ; she busied herself with pre-
paring coffee for him .... Some one knocked
at the door.
" Renditch," thought both of them, but the
person who had knocked said in Russian: " May
I come in?" Elena and Insaroff exchanged a
glance of astonishment, and, without waiting
for their answer, there entered the room a fop-
pishly-attired man with a small, pointed face
and bold little eyes. He was beaming all over,
as though he had just won a huge sum of money
or had heard a pleasing piece of news.
Insaroff half -rose from his chair.
261
ON THE EVE
" You do not recognise me," — began the
stranger, advancing to him in a free and easy
manner, and bowing amiably to Elena. — " Lu-
poyarofF, you remember ? We met in Moscow, at
the E . . . s."
" Yes, at the E . . . s," said InsarofF.
" Of course, of course! I beg that you will
present me to your wife. Madame, I have al-
ways cherished a profound respect for Dmitry
Vasilievitch . . . . "— (he corrected himself) :
" Nikanor Vasilievitch,— and am very happy
that, at last, I have the honour of making your
acquaintance. Just imagine," he went on, turn-
ing to Insaroff — " I learned only last night that
you were here. I, also, am stopping in this ho-
tel. What a city this Venice is— poetry itself,
and that 's all there is to it ! There 's one fright-
ful thing about it: these cursed Austrians at
every step! — I can't abide the Austrians! By
the way, have you heard that a decisive battle
has taken place on the Danube: three hundred
Turkish officers have been killed, Silistria has
been captured, Servia has already declared her-
self independent, — you, as a patriot, ought to be
in raptures, ought n't you? The Slavonic blood
in me is fairly boiling! But I would advise you
to be extremely cautious; I am convinced that
you are being watched. The spying here is aw-
ful! yesterday a suspicious sort of man ap-
proached me and asked : ' Are j^ou a Russian ? '
262
ON THE EVE
I told him I was a Dane. . . . But you must be
ill, my dearest Nikanor Vasilievitch. You
ought to take a course of treatment; madame,
you ought to doctor your husband .... Yester-
day, I was running about the palaces and churches
like a madman — you have been in the Palace of
the Doges, of course ? What wealth everywhere !
Especially that great hall, and the Place of Ma-
rino Faliero; there it stands: decapitati pro
criminibus. I have been in the famous prisons:
that 's where my soul was troubled — I have al-
ways been fond — as perhaps you will remem-
ber — of occupying myself with social problems,
and have rebelled against the aristocracy — that 's
where I would have taken the defenders of the
aristocracy: to those prisons; justly did Byron
say: ' I stood in Venice, on the Bridge of Sighs ';
however, he was an aristocrat too. I always was
for progress. The young generation is all for
progress. But how about the Anglo-French?
Let us see whether they will accomplish much:
Bustrapa and Palmerston. Palmerston has be-
come Prime Minister, you know. No, — whatever
you may say, a Russian usurer is no joke. That
Bustrapa is a frightful scoundrel! I '11 give
you Victor Hugo's ' Les Chatiments ' if you
would like it— it 's wonderful! ' UAvenir le
gendarme de Dieu' is rather boldly put— but
it 's strong, strong. Prince Vyazemsky also said
well : ' Europe keeps reiterating : Bash-Kadyk
263
ON THE EVE
Lar,* never taking its eyes from Sinope! ' I love
poetry. I also have Prud'hon's last book, I have
everything. I don't know how you feel about it,
but I am glad of the war,— if only they don't
order me home, for I am planning to go from
here to Florence — to Rome: it 's impossible to go
to France— so I am thinking of going to Spain
— the women are wonderful there, they say, only
there 's a lot of poverty and insects. I would
take a flying trip to California, — we Russians
can do everything without an effort, — only, I
promised an editor that I would study in detail
the question of commerce in the Mediterranean.
It is not an interesting subject, you will say,
it is a special subject, but we need — we need spe-
cialists, we have philosophised enough, and now
we must have practice, practice. . . . But you
are very ill, Nikanor Vasilievitch, perhaps I am
tiring you; but never mind, I will stay a little
longer "
And Lupoyaroff continued to chatter on in
the same strain for a good while longer, and
when he went away he promised to come again.
Exhausted by the unexpected visit, InsarofF
lay down on the couch. — " There," — he said,
with a glance at Elena,—" there 's our young
generation for you! Some of them put on airs
1 Near this settlement in the Government of Kars, in November,
1853, a force of ten thousand Russian troops won a brilliant victory
over a force of thirty-six thousand Turks. Sinope was the scene
of another victory in the same year.— Translator.
264
ON THE EVE
of dignity and show off, but in their souls they
are just such empty whistlers as that gentle-
man."
Elena made no reply to her husband: at that
moment, she was much more disquieted over In-
sarofF's feebleness than by the condition of the
rising generation in Russia. . . . She seated
herself by his side, and took up her work. He
closed his eyes, and lay motionless, all pale and
gaunt. Elena glanced at his sharply outlined
profile, at his drawn hands, and a sudden terror
gripped her heart.
" Dmitry . . . ." she began.
He started.— " Well, has Renditch come?'*
" Not yet .... but thou hast fever, thou
really art not quite well, shall not I send for a
doctor? What thinkest thou? "
" That gabbler has alarmed thee. It is not
necessary. I will rest a little, and it will all pass
off. After dinner, we will go out again ....
somewhere."
Two hours passed. . . . Insaroff still lay on
the couch, but could not get to sleep, although
he did not open his eyes. Elena did not leave
him: she dropped her work on her knees, and
did not stir.
'* Why dost not thou go to sleep? " she asked
him at last.
" Why, here, wait." — He took her hand, and
laid it under his head. — " There, that 's . . . .
265
ON THE EVE
good. Wake me immediately, when Renditch
comes. If he says that the vessel is ready, we
will set out immediately. . . . Everything
must be packed."
" It will not take long to pack," replied Elena.
" But that man babbled about a battle, about
Servia," — said Insaroff, a little while later. —
" He must have invented the whole of it. But we
must go, we must. We must lose no time. . . .
Be ready."
He fell asleep, and everything became silent
in the room.
Elena leaned her head against the back of her
chair, and gazed for a long time out of the win-
dow. The weather had changed for the worse;
the wind had risen. Large, white clouds were
sweeping swiftly athwart the sky, a slender mast
was swaying in the distance, a long pennant
with a red cross rose and fell incessantly, rose
and fell again. The pendulum of the ancient
clock beat heavily, with a sort of mournful, hiss-
ing sound. Elena closed her eyes. She had
slept badly all night; gradually she sank into
a doze.
She dreamed a strange dream. It seems to
her that she is floating in a boat on the Tzari-
tzyn pond, with some people whom she does not
know. They maintain silence, and sit motion-
less; no one is rowing; the boat moves along of
its own volition. Elena does not feel afraid, but
266
ON THE EVE
she finds it dull; she wants to discover who the
people are, and why she is with them. She
gazes, the pond widens out, the banks disappear
— it is no longer a pond, but a troubled sea: vast,
azure, silent waves rock the boat majestically;
something rumbling and menacing rises from
the bottom; her unknown fellow-travellers sud-
denly jump up, shout, flourish their arms
Elena recognises their faces: her father is one
of them. But some sort of a white whirlwind
sweeps over the waves .... everything reels,
grows confused
Elena surveys her surroundings; as before,
everything round about is white. But it is snow,
snow, a boundless expanse of snow. And she
is no longer in a boat, she is driving in a travel-
ling-sledge, as she did out of Moscow; she is
not alone : by her side sits a tiny being, wrapped
up in an old sleeved cloak. Elena scrutinises
it closely: it is Katya, her poor little friend.
Elena grows frightened. " Is n't she dead? "
she thinks.
" Katya, whither are thou and I going? "
Katya makes no reply, and wraps herself
still more closely in her miserable little cloak.
Elena feels cold also; she gazes along the road:
the town is visible far away, athwart a veil of
snow-dust, — the lofty white towers with their
silver domes . . . . " Katya, Katya, is this Mos-
cow? " " No," thinks Elena, " it is the Solovet-
267
ON THE EVE
zk Monastery : ^ there are a great many tiny,
cramped cells there, as in a beehive; it is stifling,
crowded there,— Dmitry is imprisoned there. I
must set him free " . . . . All at once, a gray,
yawning abyss opens in front of her. The trav-
elling-sledge falls, Katya laughs. " Elena,
Elena!" a voice from the chasm makes itself
heard.
"Elena!" rang distinctly in her ears. She
raised her head quickly, turned round, and was
stupefied: InsarofF, white as snow — the snow
of her dream— had half -raised himself from the
couch, and was gazing at her with brilliant,
dreadful eyes. His hair lay dishevelled on his
brow, his lips were open in a strange fashion.
Horror, mingled with a sort of painful emotion,
was expressed on his suddenly altered face.
"Elena!"— he articulated;— " I am dying."
With a shriek she fell upon her knees, and
pressed herself to his breast.
"All is over! "—repeated InsaroiF:— " I am
dying! . . . Farewell, my poor child! Fare-
well, my own darling!" . . .
And he fell back at full length on the couch.
Elena flew out of the room and began to call
for help ; the cameriere ran for the doctor. Elena
leaned over Insaroff*.
At that moment, on the threshold of the door,
a broad-shouldered, sun-burned man made his
1 In the White Sea.— Traxslatoe.
268
ON THE EVE
appearance, clad in a thick frieze coat and a
low-crowned oil-skin hat. He halted in per-
plexity.
" Renditch! "—exclaimed Elena— "it is you!
Look, for God's sake, he is in a swoon! What
ails him? O God! O God! He was out of doors
yesterday, he has just been talking to me . . . ."
Renditch said nothing, and merely moved aside.
Past him slipped briskly a tiny figure in a wig
and spectacles: he was a doctor who lived in the
hotel. He went up to InsarofF.
" Signora,"— he said, a few moments later,—
" the stranger is dead— il signore forestiere e
morto — from an aneurism, coupled with a mal-
ady of the lungs."
269
XXXV
On the following day, Renditch was standing
at the window of that same room; in front of
him, enveloped in a shawl, sat Elena. In the
adjoining room, InsarofF was lying in his coffin.
Elena's face was both terrified and inanimate;
two wrinkles had made their appearance on her
forehead, between her eyebrows: they imparted
a strained expression to her immovable eyes.
On the window-sill lay an open letter from Anna
Vasilievna. She invited her daughter to come
to Moscow, if only for a month, complained of
her loneliness, of Nikolai Artemievitch, sent her
regards to Insaroff, inquired about his health,
and begged him to let his wife come.
Renditch was a Dalmatian, a sailor, with
whom Insaroff had become acquainted during
his journey to his native land, and whom he had
hunted up in Venice. He was a surly, rough,
old man, and devoted to the Slavonic cause. He
despised the Turks, and hated the Austrians.
" How long are you going to remain in
Venice? " Elena asked him in Italian. And her
voice was as lifeless as her face.
*' One day, in order to take on freight, and not
270
ON THE EVE
to arouse suspicion, and then I go straight to
Zara. I shall not gladden my fellow-country-
men. They have been waiting for him this long
while; their hopes were set on him."
" Their hopes were set on him,"— repeated
Elena mechanically.
"When shall you bury him?" asked Ren-
ditch.
Elena did not reply at once.—" To-morrow."
"To-morrow? I will remain: I wish to cast
a handful of earth into his grave. And I must
help you. But it would be better to lay him in
Slavonic earth."
Elena glanced at Renditch.
" Captain,"— she said,—" take me with him,
and carry us to the other side of the sea, far
away from here. Can it be done? "
Renditch reflected.—" It can, only it will be
bothersome. We shall have trouble with the
cursed authorities here. But, assuming that we
can arrange all that, and that we bury him yon-
der; how am I to get you back here? "
" You need not bring me back."
"What? Where will you stay? "
" I will find a place for myself; only take us—
take me."
Renditch scratched the back of his head.—
" As you like, but this is all very bothersome. I
will go and find out : and do you await me here,
a couple of hours hence."
271
ON THE EVE
He left the room. Elena passed into the ad-
joining chamber, leaned against the wall,
and stood there a long time, as though she had
been turned to stone. Then she sank on her
knees, but could not pray. In her soul there was
no repining; she did not dare to ask God why
He had not spared, why He had not shown com-
passion, had not saved; why He had chastised
from on high the fault, if fault there had been.
Each of us is guilty through the mere fact that
he lives, and there is no thinker so great, there
is no benefactor of mankind who, by virtue of
the benefits he has conferred, can rely upon the
right to live .... But Elena could not pray:
she was turned to stone.
That same night, a broad boat rowed away
from the hotel where the InsarofFs had resided.
In the boat sat Elena and Renditch, and a long
box stood there covered with a black cloth.
They sailed for about an hour, and finally
reached a small, two-masted vessel which was
riding at anchor at the very mouth of the harbor.
Elena and Renditch boarded the vessel; the sail-
ors carried the box on board. About midnight
a storm arose, but by early morning the ship had
passed the Lido. In the course of the day the
storm raged with frightful violence, and the ex-
perienced sailors in the offices of " Lloyd's "
shook their heads, and expected nothing good.
The Adriatic Sea, between Venice, Trieste,
272
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and the Dalmatian shore, is extremely dan-
gerous.
Three weeks after Elena's departure from
Venice, Anna Vasilievna received in Moscow the
following letter:
((
My dear parents, I am bidding you farewell forever.
You will never see me more. Dmitry died yesterday. All
is at an end for me. To-day I am setting out for Zara
with his body. I shall bury him, and what will become of
me, I do not know ! But I have no longer any fatherland
except D's fatherland. An insurrection is in preparation
there, they are making ready for war; I shall go as a
sister of mercy : I shall nurse the sick, the wounded. I
do not know what will become of me, but even after
Dmitry's death I shall remain faithful to his memory, to
his life''s work. I have learned Bulgarian and Servian.
Probably I shall not survive all this — so much the better.
I have been brought to the verge of the abyss, and must
fall in. Not in vain did Fate unite us: perhaps I killed
him, who knows ; now it is his turn to draw me after him.
I sought happiness — and perchance I shall find death.
Evidently, so it had to be; evidently, there was a fault
.... But death palliates and reconciles all things, —
does it not ? Forgive me for all the sorrow I have caused
you: it was against my will. But why should I return
to Russia ? What is there to do in Russia ?
' 'Accept my last kisses and blessings, and do not con-
demn me." E.
About five years have passed since then, and
no further news has arrived of Elena. All let-
273
ON THE EVE
ters and inquiries have been fruitless: in vain
did Nikolai Artemievitch himself, after the con-
clusion of peace, travel to Venice — to Zara; in
Venice he learned what is already known to the
reader, but in Zara no one could give him any
decisive information concerning Renditch and
the vessel which he had hired. Obscure rumours
were in circulation, to the effect that, several
years previously, the sea, after a violent storm,
had cast up on the shore a coffin in which had
been found the corpse of a man .... Accord-
ing to other, more trustworthy information, the
coffin in question had not been cast up by the
sea at all, but had been brought and interred
close to the shore by a foreign lady who had
come from Venice; some persons added that
that lady had afterward been seen in Herze-
govina with the army which was then assem-
bling; they even described her attire, black from
head to foot. At any rate, all trace of Elena has
vanished forever and irretrievably, and no one
knows whether she is still alive, whether she is
hiding herself somewhere, or whether the little
game of life has already come to an end, whether
the slight fermentation is ended, and death's turn
has come. It sometimes happens that a man, on
awaking, will ask himself, with involuntary
terror:—" Can it be that I am already thirty . . .
forty .... fifty years of age? How has life
274
ON THE EVE
passed so swiftly? How has death approached
so near? " Death is hke a fisherman who has
caught a fish in his net, and leaves it there for
a while in the water: the fish still swims, but the
net is about it, and the fisherman will haul it in —
when he sees fit.
What has become of the other personages of
our story?
Anna Vasilievna is still alive; she has aged
greatly since the blow which overtook her; she
grumbles less, but grieves much more. Nikolai
Artemievitch also has grown old and gray, and
has parted from Augustina Christianovna. . . .
He now curses everything foreign. His house-
keeper, a handsome woman, a Russian, thirty
years of age, goes about in silken gowns, and
wears gold finger-rings and earrings. Kurna-
tovsky, like a man with a temperament, and in
his quality of an energetic dark-complexioned
person, an admirer of fair-haired women, has
married Zoya; he keeps her in strict subjection,
and she has even ceased to think in German.
BersenefF is in Heidelberg: he was sent abroad
at the expense of the Government; he has vis-
ited Berlin and Paris, and is not wasting his
time; he will turn out a clever philosopher. The
learned public has taken notice of his articles
" Concerning certain Peculiarities of the Old
275
ON THE EVE
Germanic Law, in the Matter of Judicial Punish-
ments" and " Concerning the Significance of
the Town Principle in the Question of Civili-
sation"; only it is a pity that both articles
should be written in rather a heavy style and
mottled with foreign words. Shiibin is in Rome ;
he has consecrated himself wholly to his art, and
is regarded as one of the most remarkable and
promising of the young sculptors. Strict tour-
ists think that he has not sufficiently studied the
ancients, that he has not " style," and reckon
him as belonging to the French school; he has
multitudes of orders from the English and the
Americans. One of his bacchantes created
a great sensation recently; the Russian Count
Boboshkin, the well-known plutocrat, was on
the point of purchasing it for one thousand
scudi, but preferred to give three thousand to
another sculptor, a Frenchman pur sang^ for a
group representing " A young Peasant-girl dy-
ing of love on the breast of the Genius of
Spring." Shubin now and then corresponds
with Uvar Ivanovitch, who alone has not
changed in the least or in any way. " Do you
remember," he wrote to him, lately, " what you
said to me on the night when poor Elena's mar-
riage became known, when I was sitting on your
bed and chatting with you? Do you remember,
how I asked you then whether there would be
men among us, and you answered me : * There
276
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will.' O black - earth force ! And now, here,
from this place, from my ' most beautiful dis-
tance,' once more I ask you:— Well, how now,
Uvar Ivanovitch, will there be any? "
Uvar Ivanovitch wiggled his fingers, and riv-
eted his enigmatic gaze on the distance.
277
Z'^^ T 'i -^^
A A 000 338 362 7
CENTRAL UNIVERSITY LIBRARY
University of California, San Diego
DATE DUE
DEC 01 1972
NOV 7 197?
UtU 08 1972
WOV 2 7 fifcu
*?9
UCSD Libr.
