Part 4

"I opened the door and stood there, hardly seeing anything at first. A stout woman was standing with her back to me, near the single small window of dull green glass. She was bending over a smoky paraffin stove. The room was filled with the odour of paraffin and burning fat. The woman turned round and saw me, and from a corner a barefooted boy, wearing a loose-belted blouse, jumped up and ran quickly towards me. I looked closely at him, and saw at once that he was an idiot, and, though I did not recoil before him, in reality there was a feeling in my heart like that of fear. The idiot looked unintelligently at me, uttering strange sounds, something like _oorli, oorli, oorli...._

"'Don't be afraid, he won't touch it,' said the woman to the idiot, coming forward. And then to me--'What can I do for you?' she added.

"I gave my name and reminded her of my father. She was glad to see me, her face brightened up, she exclaimed in surprise and began to apologise for not having the room in order. The idiot boy came closer to me, and cried out more loudly, _oorli, oorli...._

"'This is my boy, he's been like that from birth,' said Alexandra Ivanovna with a sad smile. 'What of it.... It's the will of God. His name is Stepan.'

"Hearing his name the idiot cried out in a shrill, bird-like voice:

"_'Papan!'_

"Alexandra Ivanovna patted him caressingly on the shoulder.

"'Yes, yes, Stepan, Stepan.... You see, he guessed we were speaking about him and so he introduced himself.'

"_'Papan!'_ cried the idiot again, turning his eyes first on his mother and then on me.

"In order to show some interest in the boy I said to him, 'How do you do, Stepan,' and took him by the hand. It was cold, puffy, lifeless. I felt a certain aversion, and only out of politeness went on:

"'I suppose he's about sixteen.'

"'Oh, no,' answered the mother. 'Everybody thinks he's about sixteen, but he's over twenty-nine. ... His beard and moustache have never grown.'

"We talked together. Alexandra Ivanovna was a quiet, timid woman, weighed down by need and misfortune. Her sharp struggle against poverty had entirely killed all boldness of thought in her and all interest in anything outside the narrow bounds of this struggle. She complained to me of the high price of meat, and about the impudence of the cab drivers; told me of some people who had won money in a lottery, and envied the happiness of rich people. All the time of our conversation Stepan kept his eyes fixed on me. He was apparently struck by and interested in my military overcoat. Three times he put out his hand stealthily to touch the shining buttons, but drew it back each time as if he were afraid.

"'Is it possible your Stepan cannot say even one word?' I asked.

"Alexandra Ivanovna shook her head sadly.

"'No, he can't speak. He has a few words of his own, but they're not really words--just mutterings. For example, he calls himself _Papan_; when he wants something to eat he says _mnya_; he calls money _teki_. Stepan,' she continued, turning to her son, 'where is your _teki_; show us your _teki._'

"Stepan jumped up quickly from his chair, ran into a dark corner, and crouched down on his heels. I heard the jingling of some copper coins and the boy's voice saying _oorli, oorli,_ but this time in a growling, threatening tone.

"'He's afraid,' explained the mother; 'though he doesn't understand what money is, he won't let anyone touch it ... he won't even let me.... Well, well, we won't touch your money, we won't touch it,' she went to her son and soothed him....

"I began to visit them frequently. Stepan interested me, and an idea came to me to try and cure him according to the system of a certain Swiss doctor, who tried to cure his feeble-minded patients by the slow road of logical development. 'He has a few weak impressions of the outer world and of the connection between phenomena,' I thought. 'Can one not combine two or three of these ideas, and so give a fourth, a fifth, and so on? Is it not possible by persistent exercise to strengthen and broaden this poor mind a little?'

"I brought him a doll dressed as a coachman. He was much pleased with it, and laughed and exclaimed, showing the doll and saying _Papan!_ The doll, however, seemed to awaken some doubt in his mind, and that same evening Stepan, who was usually well-disposed to all that was small and weak, tried to break the doll's head on the floor. Then I brought him pictures, tried to interest him in boxes of bricks, and talked to him, naming the different objects and pointing them out to him. But either the Swiss doctor's system was not a good one or I didn't know how to put it into practice--Stepan's development seemed to make no progress at all.

"He was very fond of me in those days. When I came to visit them he ran to meet me, uttering rapturous cries. He never took his eyes off me, and when I ceased to pay him special attention he came up and licked my hands, my shoes, my uniform, just like a dog. When I went away he stood at the window for a long time, and cried so pitifully that the other lodgers in the house complained of him to the landlady.

"But my personal affairs were in a bad way. I failed at the examination, failed unusually badly in the last but one examination in fortifications. Nothing remained but to collect my belongings and go back to my regiment. I don't think that in all my life I shall ever forget that dreadful moment when, coming out of the lecture-hall, I walked across the great vestibule of the Academy. Good Lord! I felt so small, so pitiful and so humbled, walking down those broad steps covered with grey felt carpet, having a crimson stripe at the side and a white linen tread down the middle.

"It was necessary to get away as quickly as possible. I was urged to this by financial considerations--in my purse I had only ten copecks and one ticket for a dinner at a student's restaurant.

"I thought to myself: 'I must get my "dismissal" quickly and set out at once. Oh, the irony of that word "dismissal."' But it seemed the most difficult thing in the world. From the Chancellor of the Academy I was sent to the General Staff, thence to the Commandant's office, then to the local intendant, then back to the Academy, and at last to the Treasury. All these places were open only at special times: some from nine to twelve, some from three to five. I was late at all of them, and my position began to appear critical.

"When I used my dinner ticket I had thoughtlessly squandered my ten copecks also. Next day, when I felt the pangs of hunger, I resolved to sell my text-books. Thick 'Baron Bego,' adapted by Bremiker, bound, I sold for twenty-five copecks; 'Professor Lobko' for twenty; solid 'General Durop' no one would buy.

"For two days I was half starved. On the third day there only remained to me three copecks. I screwed up my courage and went to ask a loan from some of my companions, but they all excused themselves by saying there was a Torricellian vacuum in their pockets, and only one acknowledged having a few roubles, but he never lent money. As he explained, with a gentle smile, '"Loan oft loses both itself and friend," as Shakspeare says in one of his immortal works.'

"Three copecks! I indulged in tragic reflections. Should I spend them all at once on a box of ten cigarettes, or should I wait until my hunger became unbearable, and then buy bread?

"How wise I was to decide on the latter! Towards evening I was as hungry as Robinson Crusoe on his island, and I went out on to the Nevsky Prospect. Ten times I passed and repassed Philipof's the baker's, devouring with my eyes the immense loaves of bread in the windows. Some had yellow crust, some red, and some were strewn with poppy-seed. At last I resolved to go in. Some schoolboys stood there eating hot pies, holding them in scraps of grey greasy paper. I felt a hatred against them for their good fortune.

"'What would you like?' asked the shopman.

"I put on an indifferent air, and answered superciliously:

"'Cut me off a pound of black bread....'

"I was far from being at my ease while the man skilfully cut the bread with his broad knife. And suddenly I thought to myself: 'Suppose it's more than two and a half copecks a pound, what shall I do if the man cuts it overweight? I know it's possible to owe five or ten roubles in a restaurant, and say to the waiter, "Put it down to my account, please," but what can one do if one hasn't enough by _one_ copeck?'

"Hurrah! The bread cost exactly three copecks. I shifted about from one foot to another while it was being wrapped up in paper. As soon as I got out of the shop and felt in my pocket the soft warmth of the bread, I wanted to cry out for joy and begin to munch it, as children do those crusts which they steal from the table after a long day's romping, to eat as they lie in their beds. And I couldn't restrain myself. Even in the street I thrust into my mouth two large tasty morsels.

"Yes. I tell you all this in almost a cheerful tone. But I was far from cheerful then. Add to my torture of hunger the stinging shame of failure; the near prospect of being the laughing-stock of my regimental companions; the charming amiability of the official on whom depended my cursed 'dismissal'.... I tell you frankly, in those days I was face to face all the time with the thought of suicide.

"Next day my hunger again seemed unbearable. I went along to Alexandra Ivanovna. As soon as Stepan saw me he went into an ecstasy. He cried out, jumped about me, and licked my coat-sleeve. When at length I sat down he placed himself near me on the floor and pressed up against my legs. Alexandra Ivanovna was obliged to send him away by force.

"It was very unpleasant to have to ask a loan from this poor woman, who herself found life so difficult, but I resolved I must do so.

"'Alexandra Ivanovna,' said I. 'I've nothing to eat. Lend me what money you can, please.'

"She wrung her hands.

"'My dear boy, I haven't a copeck. Yesterday I pawned my brooch.... To-day I was able to buy something in the market, but to-morrow I don't know what I shall do.'

"'Can't you borrow a little from your sister?' I suggested.

"Alexandra Ivanovna looked round with a frightened air, and whispered, almost in terror:

"'What are you saying? What! Don't you know I live here on her charity? No, we'd better think of some other way of getting it.'

"But the more we thought the more difficult it appeared. After a while we became silent. Evening came on, and the room was filled with a heavy wearisome gloom. Despair and hate and hunger tortured me. I felt as if I were abandoned on the edge of the world, alone and humiliated.

"Suddenly something touched my side. I turned. It was Stepan. He held out to me on his palm a little pile of copper money, and said: '_Teki, teki, teki...._'

"I did not understand. Then he threw his money on to my knee, called out once more--_teki_--and ran off into his corner.

"Well, why should I hide it? I wept like a child; sobbed out, long and loudly. Alexandra Ivanovna wept also, out of pity and tenderness, and from his far corner Stepan uttered his pitiful, unmeaning cry of _oorli, oorli, oorli._

"When I became quieter I felt better. The unexpected sympathy of the idiot boy had suddenly warmed and soothed my heart, and shown me that it is possible to live, and that one ought to live, as long as there is love and compassion in the world."

"That is why," concluded Zimina, finishing his story, "that is why I pity all these unfortunates, and why I can't deny that they are human beings." Yes, and by the way, his sympathy brought me happiness. Now I'm very glad I didn't become a "moment"--that's our nickname for the officers of the General Staff. Since that time I have had a full and broad life, and promises to be as full in the future. I'm superstitious about it.

V

THE PICTURE

I

One evening, at the house of a well-known literary man, after supper, there arose among the company an unusually heated discussion as to whether there could exist in this time of ours, so barren of exalted feelings, a lasting and unalterable friendship. Everyone said that such friendship did not exist; that there were many trials which the friendship of our days was quite unable to support. It was in the statement of the causes through which friendship was broken, that the company disagreed. One said that money stood in the way of friendship; another that woman stood in the way; a third, similarity of character; a fourth, the cares of family life, and so on.

When the talking and shouting had died down, and the people were tired, though nothing had been explained and no conclusion arrived at, one respected guest, who till that moment had not taken part in the discussion, suddenly broke silence and took up the conversation.

"Yes, gentlemen, all that you have said is both weighty and remarkable. Still I could give you an example from life where friendship triumphed over all the obstacles which you have mentioned, and remained inviolate."

"And do you mean," asked the host, "that this friendship endured to the grave?"

"No, not to the grave. But it was broken off for a special reason."

"What sort of a reason?" asked the host.

"A very simple reason, and at the same time an astonishing one. The friendship was broken by St. Barbara."

None of the company could understand how, in our commercial days, St. Barbara could sever a friendship, and they all begged Afanasy Silitch--for such was the respected man's name--to explain his enigmatical words.

Afanasy Silitch smiled as he answered:

"There's nothing enigmatical about the matter. It's a simple and sad story, the story of the suffering of a sick heart. And if you would really like to hear, I'll tell you about it at once with pleasure."

Everyone prepared to listen, and Afanasy Silitch began his tale.

II

In the beginning of the present century there was a family of princes, Belokon Belonogof, famous on account of their illustrious birth, their riches and their pride. But fate destined this family to die out, so that now there is hardly any remembrance of them. The last of these princes, and he was not of the direct line, finished his worldly career quite lately in the Arzhansky, a well-known night house and gambling den in Moscow, among a set of drunkards, wastrels and thieves. But my story is not about him, but about Prince Andrey Lvovitch, with whom the direct line ended.

During his father's lifetime--this was before the emancipation of the serfs--Prince Andrey had a commission in the Guards, and was looked upon as one of the most brilliant officers. He had plenty of money, was handsome, and a favourite with the ladies, a good dancer, a duellist--and what not besides? But when his father died, Prince Andrey threw up his commission in spite of all entreaties from his comrades to remain. "No," said he, "I shall be lost among you, and I'm curious to know all that fate has in store for me."

He was a strange man, of peculiar and, one might say, fantastic habits. He flattered himself that his every dream could at once be realised. As soon as he had buried his father he took himself off abroad. Astonishing to think of the places he went to! Money was sent to him through every agency and banking house, now in Paris, now in Calcutta, then in New York, then Algiers. I know all this on unimpeachable authority, I must tell you, because my father was the chief steward of his estate of two hundred thousand desiatines.[1]

[1] A desiatin is 2.7 acres.

After four years the prince returned, thin, his face overgrown with a beard and brown from sunburn--it was difficult to recognise him. As soon as he arrived he established himself on his estate at Pneestcheva. He went about in his dressing-gown. He found it very dull on the whole.

I was always welcome in his house at that time, for the prince liked my cheerful disposition, and as I had received some sort of education I could be somewhat of a companion to him. And then again, I was a free person, for my father had been ransomed in the old prince's time.

The prince always greeted me affectionately, and made me sit down with him. He even treated me to cigars. I soon got used to sitting down in his presence, but I could never accustom myself to smoking the cigars--they always gave me a kind of sea-sickness.

I was very curious to see all the things which the prince had brought back with him from his travels. Skins of lions and tigers, curved swords, idols, stuffed animals of all kinds, precious stones and rich stuffs. The prince used to lie on his enormous divan and smoke, and though he laughed at my curiosity he would explain everything I asked about. Then, if he could get himself into the mood, he would begin to talk of his adventures until, as you may well believe, cold shivers ran down my back. He would talk and talk, and then all at once would frown and become silent. I would be silent also. And then he would say, all of a sudden:

"It's dull for me, Afanasy. See, I've been all round the world and seen everything; I've caught wild horses in Mexico and hunted tigers in India; I've journeyed on the sea and been in danger of drowning; I've crossed deserts and been buried in sand--what more is there for me? Nothing, I say; there's nothing new under the sun."

I said to him once, quite simply, "You might get married, prince."

But he only laughed.

"I might marry if I could find the woman whom I could love and honour. I've seen all nations and all classes of women, and since I'm not ugly, not stupid, and I'm a rich man, they have all shown me special attention, but I've never seen the sort of woman that I need. All of them were either mercenary or depraved, or stupid or just a little too much given to good works. But the fact remains, that I feel bored with life. It would be another matter if I had any sort of talent or gift."

And to this I generally used to answer: "But what more talent do you want, prince? Thank God for your good looks, for your land--which, as you say yourself, is more than belongs to any German prince--and for the powers with which God has blessed you. I shouldn't ask for any other talent."

The prince laughed at this, and said: "You're a stupid, Afanasy, and much too young as yet. Live a little longer, and if you don't become an utter scoundrel, you'll remember these words of mine."

III

Prince Andrey had, however, a gift of his own, in my opinion, a very great gift, for painting, which had been evident even in his childhood. During his stay abroad he had lived for nearly a year in Rome, and had there learnt to paint pictures. He had even thought at one time, he told me, that he might become a real artist, but for some reason he had given up the idea, or he had become idle. Now he was living on his estate at Pneestcheva, he called to mind his former occupation and took to painting pictures again. He painted the river, the mill, an ikon of St. Nicholas for the church--and painted them very well.

Besides this occupation the prince had one other diversion--bear hunting. In our neighbourhood there were a fearful number of these animals. He always went as a mouzhik, with hunting pole and knife, and only took with him the village hunter Nikita Dranny. They called him Dranny because on one occasion a bear had torn a portion of his scalp from his skull, and his head had remained ragged ever since.[1]

[1] "Dranny," means torn or ragged.

With the peasants the prince was quite simple and friendly. He was so easy to approach that if a man wanted wood for his cottage, or if his horse had had an accident, all he had to do was to go straight to the prince and ask for what he wanted. He knew that he would not be refused. The only things the prince could not stand were servility and lying. He never forgave a lie.

And, moreover, the serfs loved him because he made no scandals with their women folk. The maids of our countryside had a name for their good looks, and there were landowners in those days who lived worse than Turks, with a harem for themselves and for their friends. But with us, no--no, nothing of that sort. That is, of course, nothing scandalous. There were occasions, as there always must be, man being so weak, but these were quiet and gentle affairs of the heart, and no one was offended.

But though Prince Andrey was simple and friendly towards his inferiors, he was proud and insolent in his bearing towards his equals and to those in authority, even needlessly so. He especially disliked officials. Sometimes an official would come to our estate to see about the farming arrangements, or in connection with the police or with the excise department--at that time the nobility reckoned any kind of service, except military service, as a degradation--and he would act as a person new to office sometimes does: he would strut about with an air of importance, and ask "Why aren't things _so_ and _so_?" The steward would inform him politely that everything was in accordance with the prince's orders and mustn't be altered. That meant, of course--You take your regulation bribe and be off with you. But the official would not be daunted. "And what's your prince to me?" he would say. "I'm the representative of the law here." And he would order the steward to take him at once to the prince. My father would warn him out of pity. "Our prince," he would say, "has rather a heavy hand." But the official would not listen. "Where is the prince?" he would cry. And he would rush into the prince's presence exclaiming, "Mercy on us, what's all this disorder on your estate! Where else can one see such a state of things? I ... we ..." The prince would let him go on, and say nothing, then suddenly his face would become purple and his eyes would flash--he was terrible to look at when he was angry. "Take the scoundrel to the stables!" he would cry. And then the official would naturally receive a flogging. At that time many landowners approved of this, and for some reason or other the floggings always took place in the stables, according to the custom of their ancestors. But after two or three days the prince would secretly send my father into the town with a packet of bank-notes for the official who had been chastised. I used to dare to say to him sometimes, "You know, prince, the official will complain about you, and you'll have to answer for your doings." And he would say: "Well, how can that be? Let me be brought to account before God and my Emperor, but I'm bound to punish impudence."

But better than this, if you please, was his behaviour towards the Governor at one time. One day a workman from the ferry came running up to him to tell him that the Governor was on the other side of the river.

"Well, what of it?" said the prince.

"He wants the ferry-boat, your Excellency," said the peasant. He was a sensible man, and knew the prince's character.

"How did he ask for it?" said the prince.

"The captain of the police sent to say that the ferry-boat was wanted immediately."

The prince at once gave the order:

"Don't let him have it."

And he didn't. Then the Governor guessed what had happened, and he wrote a little note and sent it, asking dear Andrey Lvovitch--they were really distant cousins--to be so kind as to let him use the ferry, and signing the note simply with his Christian and surname. On this the prince himself kindly went down to the river to meet the Governor, and gave him such a feast in welcome that he couldn't get away from Pneestcheva for a whole week.

To people of his own class, even to the most impoverished of them, the prince never refused to "give satisfaction" in cases where a misunderstanding had arisen. But people were generally on their guard, knowing his indomitable character and that he had fought in his time eighteen duels. Duels among the aristocracy were very common at that time.

IV