on horseback and wanted to speak to him. Tchertop-hanov went out on to the steps and recognised the Jew, riding a splendid horse of the Don breed, which stood proud and motionless in the middle of the courtyard. The Jew was bareheaded; he held his cap under his arm, and had thrust his feet into the stirrup-straps, not into the stirrups themselves; the ragged skirts of his long coat hung down on both sides of the saddle. On seeing Tchertop-hanov, he gave a smack with his lips, and ducked down with a twitch of the elbows and a bend of the legs. Tchertop-hanov, however, not only failed to respond to his greeting, but was even enraged by it; he was all on fire in a minute: a scurvy Jew dare to ride a magnificent horse like that!… It was positively indecent!

‘Hi, you Ethiopian fright!’ he shouted; ‘get off at once, if you don’t want to be flung off into the mud!’

The Jew promptly obeyed, rolled off the horse like a sack, and keeping hold of the rein with one hand, he approached Tchertop-hanov, smiling and bowing.

‘What do you want?’ Panteley Eremyitch inquired with dignity.

‘Your ex-shelency, deign to look what a horse!’ said the Jew, never ceasing to bow for an instant.

‘Er… well… the horse is all right. Where did you get it from? Stole it, I suppose?’

‘How can you say that, your ex-shelency! I’m an honest Jew. I didn’t steal it, but I obtained it for your ex-shelency—really! And the trouble, the trouble I had to get it? But, then, see what a horse it is! There’s not another horse like it to be found in all the Don country! Look, your ex-shelency, what a horse it is! Here, kindly step this way! Wo!… wo!… turn round, stand sideways! And we’ll take off the saddle. What do you think of him, your ex-shelency?’

‘The horse is all right,’ repeated Tchertop-hanov with affected indifference, though his heart was beating like a sledge-hammer in his breast. He was a passionate lover of ‘horse-flesh,’ and knew a good thing when he saw it.

‘Only take a look at him, your ex-shelency! Pat him on the neck! yes, yes, he-he-he-he! like this, like this!’

Tchertop-hanov, with apparent reluctance, laid his hand on the horse’s neck, gave it a pat or two, then passed his fingers from the forelock along the spine, and when he had reached a certain spot above the kidneys, like a connoisseur, he lightly pressed that spot. The horse instantly arched its spine, and looking round suspiciously at Tchertop-hanov with its haughty black eye, snorted and moved its hind legs.

The Jew laughed and faintly clapped his hands. ‘He knows his master, your ex-shelency, his master!’

‘Don’t talk nonsense,’ Tchertop-hanov interrupted with vexation. ‘To buy this horse from you… I haven’t the means, and as for presents, I not only wouldn’t take them from a Jew; I wouldn’t take a present from Almighty God Himself!’

‘As though I would presume to offer you a present, mercy upon me!’ cried the Jew: ‘you buy it, your ex-shelency… and as to the little sum—I can wait for it.’

Tchertop-hanov sank into thought.

‘What will you take for it?’ he muttered at last between his teeth.

The Jew shrugged his shoulders.

‘What I paid for it myself. Two hundred roubles.’

The horse was well worth twice—perhaps even three times that sum.

Tchertop-hanov turned away and yawned feverishly.

‘And the money… when?’ he asked, scowling furiously and not looking at the Jew.

‘When your ex-shelency thinks fit.’

Tchertop-hanov flung his head back, but did not raise his eyes. ‘That’s no answer. Speak plainly, son of Herod! Am I to be under an obligation to you, hey?’

‘Well, let’s say, then,’ the Jew hastened to add, ‘in six months’ time… Do you agree?’

Tchertop-hanov made no reply.

The Jew tried to get a look at his face. ‘Do you agree? You permit him to be led to your stable?’

‘The saddle I don’t want,’ Tchertop-hanov blurted out abruptly. ‘Take the saddle—do you hear?’

‘To be sure, to be sure, I will take it,’ faltered the delighted Jew, shouldering the saddle.

‘And the money,’ Tchertop-hanov pursued… ‘in six months. And not two hundred, but two hundred and fifty. Not a word! Two hundred and fifty, I tell you! to my account.’

Tchertop-hanov still could not bring himself to raise his eyes. Never had his pride been so cruelly wounded.

‘It’s plain, it’s a present,’ was the thought in his mind; ‘he’s brought it out of gratitude, the devil!’ And he would have liked to kiss the Jew, and he would have liked to beat him.

‘Your ex-shelency,’ began the Jew, gaining a little courage, and grinning all over his face, ‘should, after the Russian fashion, take from hand to hand….’

‘What next? what an idea! A Hebrew… and Russian customs! Hey! you there! Take the horse; lead him to the stable. And give him some oats. I’ll come myself and look after him. And his name is to be—Malek-Adel!’

Tchertop-hanov turned to go up the steps, but turning sharply back, and running up to the Jew, he pressed his hand warmly. The latter was bending down to kiss his hand, but Tchertop-hanov bounded back again, and murmuring, ‘Tell no one!’ he vanished through the door.

V

From that very day the chief interest, the chief occupation, the chief pleasure in the life of Tchertop-hanov, was Malek-Adel. He loved him as he had not loved even Masha; he became more attached to him than even to Nedopyuskin. And what a horse it was! All fire—simply explosive as gunpowder—and stately as a boyar! Untiring, enduring, obedient, whatever you might put him to; and costing nothing for his keep; he’d be ready to nibble at the ground under his feet if there was nothing else. When he stepped at a walking pace, it was like being lulled to sleep in a nurse’s arms; when he trotted, it was like rocking at sea; when he galloped, he outstripped the wind! Never out of breath, perfectly sound in his wind. Sinews of steel: for him to stumble was a thing never recorded! To take a ditch or a fence was nothing to him—and what a clever beast! At his master’s voice he would run with his head in the air; if you told him to stand still and walked away from him, he would not stir; directly you turned back, a faint neigh to say, ‘Here I am.’ And afraid of nothing: in the pitch-dark, in a snow-storm he would find his way; and he would not let a stranger come near him for anything; he would have had his teeth in him! And a dog dare never approach him; he would have his fore-leg on his head in a minute! and that was the end of the beast. A horse of proper pride, you might flourish a switch over him as an ornament—but God forbid you touched him! But why say more?—a perfect treasure, not a horse!

If Tchertop-hanov set to describing his Malek-Adel, he could not find words to express himself. And how he petted and pampered him! His coat shone like silver—not old, but new silver—with a dark polish on it; if one passed one’s hand over it, it was like velvet! His saddle, his cloth, his bridle—all his trappings, in fact, were so well-fitted, in such good order, so bright—a perfect picture! Tchertop-hanov himself—what more can we say?—with his own hands plaited his favourite’s forelocks and mane, and washed his tail with beer, and even, more than once, rubbed his hoofs with polish. Sometimes he would mount Malek-Adel and ride out, not to see his neighbours—he avoided them, as of old—but across their lands, past their homesteads… for them, poor fools, to admire him from a distance! Or he would hear that there was to be a hunt somewhere, that a rich landowner had arranged a meet in some outlying part of his land: he would be off there at once, and would canter in the distance, on the horizon, astounding all spectators by the swiftness and beauty of his horse, and not letting any one come close to him. Once some hunting landowner even gave chase to him with all his suite; he saw Tchertop-hanov was getting away, and he began shouting after him with all his might, as he galloped at full speed: ‘Hey, you! Here! Take what you like for your horse! I wouldn’t grudge a thousand! I’d give my wife, my children! Take my last farthing!’

Tchertop-hanov suddenly reined in Malek-Adel. The hunting gentleman flew up to him. ‘My dear sir!’ he shouted, ‘tell me what you want? My dear friend!’

‘If you were the Tsar,’ said Tchertop-hanov emphatically (and he had never heard of Shakespeare), ‘you might give me all your kingdom for my horse; I wouldn’t take it!’ He uttered these words, chuckled, drew Malek-Adel up on to his haunches, turned him in the air on his hind legs like a top or teetotum, and off! He went like a flash over the stubble. And the hunting man (a rich prince, they said he was) flung his cap on the ground, threw himself down with his face in his cap, and lay so for half an hour.

And how could Tchertop-hanov fail to prize his horse? Was it not thanks to him, he had again an unmistakable superiority, a last superiority over all his neighbours?

VI

Meanwhile time went by, the day fixed for payment was approaching; while, far from having two hundred and fifty roubles, Tchertop-hanov had not even fifty. What was to be done? how could it be met? ‘Well,’ he decided at last, ‘if the Jew is relentless, if he won’t wait any