you stay here and

good luck to you; I shall not stay here. It’s a good thing we have no

children, and I shall be all right, I dare say, alone. There’s always

enough for one.»

«What will you do, Semyonitch? Take up driving again?»

Akim laughed bitterly.

«I should be a fine driver, no mistake! You have pitched on the right

man for it! No, Arefyenva, that’s a job not like getting married, for

instance; an old man is no good for the job. I don’t want to stay

here, just because I don’t want them to point the finger at me—do you

understand? I am going to pray for my sins, Arefyevna, that’s what I

am going to do.»

«What sins have you, Semyonitch?» Avdotya pronounced timidly.

«Of them I know best myself, wife.»

«But are you leaving me all alone, Semyonitch? How can I live without

a husband?»

«Leaving you alone? Oh, Arefyevna, how you do talk, really! Much you

need a husband like me, and old, too, and ruined as well! Why, you got

on without me in the past, you can get on in the future. What property

is left us, you can take; I don’t want it.»

«As you like, Semyonitch,» Avdotya replied mournfully. «You know

best.»

«That’s better. Only don’t you suppose that I am angry with you,

Arefyevna. No, what’s the good of being angry when … I ought to have

been wiser before. I’ve been to blame. I am punished.» (Akim sighed.)

«As you make your bed so you must lie on it. I am old, it’s time to

think of my soul. The Lord himself has brought me to understanding.

Like an old fool I wanted to live for my own pleasure with a young

wife…. No, the old man had better pray and beat his head against the

earth and endure in patience and fast…. And now go along, my dear. I

am very weary, I’ll sleep a little.»

And Akim with a groan stretched himself on the bench.

Avdotya wanted to say something, stood a moment, looked at him, turned

away and went out.

«Well, he didn’t beat you then?» asked Petrovitch sitting bent up on

the ledge when she was level with him. Avdotya passed by him without

speaking. «So he didn’t beat her,» the old man said to himself; he

smiled, ruffled up his beard and took a pinch of snuff.

       *       *       *       *       *

Akim carried out his intention. He hurriedly arranged his affairs and

a few days after the conversation we have described went, dressed

ready for his journey, to say goodbye to his wife who had settled for

a time in a little lodge in the mistress’s garden. His farewell did

not take long. Kirillovna, who happened to be present, advised Akim to

see his mistress; he did so, Lizaveta Prohorovna received him with

some confusion but graciously let him kiss her hand and asked him

where he meant to go. He answered he was going first to Kiev and after

that where it would please the Lord. She commended his decision and

dismissed him. From that time he rarely appeared at home, though he

never forgot to bring his mistress some holy bread…. But wherever

Russian pilgrims gather his thin and aged but always dignified and

handsome face could be seen: at the relics of St. Sergey; on the

shores of the White Sea, at the Optin hermitage, and at the far-away

Valaam; he went everywhere.

This year he has passed by you in the ranks of the innumerable

people who go in procession behind the ikon of the Mother of God to

the Korennaya; last year you found him sitting with a wallet on

his shoulders with other pilgrims on the steps of Nikolay, the

wonder-worker, at Mtsensk … he comes to Moscow almost every spring.

From land to land he has wandered with his quiet, unhurried, but

never-resting step—they say he has been even to Jerusalem. He seems

perfectly calm and happy and those who have chanced to converse with

him have said much of his piety and humility. Meanwhile, Naum’s

fortunes prospered exceedingly. He set to work with energy and good

sense and got on, as the saying is, by leaps and bounds. Everyone in

the neighbourhood knew by what means he had acquired the inn, they

knew too that Avdotya had given him her husband’s money; nobody liked

Naum because of his cold, harsh disposition…. With censure they told

the story of him that once when Akim himself had asked alms under his

window he answered that God would give, and had given him nothing; but

everyone agreed that there never had been a luckier man; his corn came

better than other people’s, his bees swarmed more frequently; even his

hens laid more eggs; his cattle were never ill, his horses did not go

lame…. It was a long time before Avdotya could bear to hear his name

(she had accepted Lizaveta Prohorovna’s invitation and had reentered

her service as head sewing-maid), but in the end her aversion was

somewhat softened; it was said that she had been driven by poverty to

appeal to him and he had given her a hundred roubles…. She must not

be too severely judged: poverty breaks any will and the sudden and

violent change in her life had greatly aged and humbled her: it was

hard to believe how quickly she lost her looks, how completely she let

herself go and lost heart….

How did it all end? the reader will ask. Why, like this: Naum, after

having kept the inn successfully for about fifteen years, sold it

advantageously to another townsman. He would never have parted from

the inn if it had not been for the following, apparently

insignificant, circumstance: for two mornings in succession his dog,

sitting before the windows, had kept up a prolonged and doleful howl.

He went out into the road the second time, looked attentively at the

howling dog, shook his head, went up to town and the same day agreed

on the price with a man who had been for a long time anxious to

purchase it. A week later he had moved to a distance—out of the

province; the new owner settled in and that very evening the inn was

burnt to ashes; not a single outbuilding was left and Naum’s successor

was left a beggar. The reader can easily imagine the rumours that this

fire gave rise to in the neighbourhood…. Evidently he carried his

«luck» away with him, everyone repeated. Of Naum it is said that he

has gone into the corn trade and has made a great fortune. But will it

last long? Stronger pillars have fallen and evil deeds end badly

sooner or later. There is not much to say about Lizaveta Prohorovna.

She is still living and, as is often the case with people of her sort,

is not much changed, she has not even grown much older—she only seems

to have dried up a little; on the other hand, her stinginess has

greatly increased though it is difficult to say for whose benefit she

is saving as she has no children and no attachments. In conversation

she often speaks of Akim and declares that since she has understood

his good qualities she has begun to feel great respect for the Russian

peasant. Kirillovna bought her freedom for a considerable sum and

married for love a fair-haired young waiter who leads her a dreadful

life; Avdotya lives as before among the maids in Lizaveta Prohorovna’s

house, but has sunk to a rather lower position; she is very poorly,

almost dirtily dressed, and there is no trace left in her of the

townbred airs and graces of a fashionable maid or of the habits of a

prosperous innkeeper’s wife…. No one takes any notice of her and she

herself is glad to be unnoticed; old Petrovitch is dead and Akim is

still wandering, a pilgrim, and God only knows how much longer his

pilgrimage will last!

1852.

LIEUTENANT YERGUNOV’S STORY

I

That evening Kuzma Vassilyevitch Yergunov told us his story again. He

used to repeat it punctually once a month and we heard it every time

with fresh satisfaction though we knew it almost by heart, in all its

details. Those details overgrew, if one may so express it, the

original trunk of the story itself as fungi grow over the stump of a

tree. Knowing only too well the character of our companion, we did not

trouble to fill in his gaps and incomplete statements. But now Kuzma

Vassilyevitch is dead and there will be no one to tell his story and

so we venture to bring it before the notice of the public.

II

It happened forty years ago when Kuzma Vassilyevitch was young. He

said of himself that he was at that time a handsome fellow and a dandy

with a complexion of milk and roses, red lips, curly hair, and eyes

like a falcon’s. We took his word for it, though we saw nothing of

that sort in him; in our eyes Kuzma Vassilyevitch was a man of very

ordinary exterior, with a simple and sleepy-looking face and a heavy,

clumsy figure. But what of that? There is no beauty the years will not

mar! The traces of dandyism were more clearly preserved in Kuzma

Vassilyevitch. He still in his old age wore narrow trousers with

straps, laced in his corpulent figure, cropped the back of his head,

curled his hair over his forehead and dyed his moustache with Persian

dye, which had, however, a tint rather of purple, and even of green,

than of black. With all that Kuzma Vassilyevitch was a very worthy

gentleman, though at preference he did like to «steal a peep,» that

is, look over his neighbour’s cards; but this he did not so much from

greed as carefulness, for he did not like wasting his money. Enough of

these parentheses, however; let us come to the story itself.

III

It happened in the spring at Nikolaev, at that time a new town, to

which Kuzma Vassilyevitch had been sent on a government commission.

(He was a lieutenant in the navy.) He had, as a trustworthy and

prudent officer, been charged by the authorities with the task of

looking after the construction of ship-yards and from time to time

received considerable sums of money, which for security he invariably

carried in a leather belt