"No, Vasily Ivanovitch,"--Rogatchyoff interrupted him. "You will either kill me or maim me, I know; but I have no intention of losing my honour; if I must die, I will."

Eroshka entered and hurriedly handed Rogatchyoff a wretched little old sword, in a cracked, leather scabbard. At that time all n.o.bles wore swords when they had powdered hair; but the n.o.bles of the steppes only powdered their hair a couple of times a year. Eroshka retreated to the door, and fell to weeping. Pavel Afanasievitch thrust him out of the room.

"But, Vasily Ivanovitch,"--he remarked, with some agitation,--"I cannot fight with you instantly: permit me to defer our duel until to-morrow; my father is not at home; and it would not be a bad thing to put my affairs in order, in case of a catastrophe."

"I see that you are beginning to quail again, my dear sir."

"No, no, Vasily Ivanovitch; but judge for yourself...."

"Listen!"... shouted Lutchinoff:--"you are driving me out of patience.... Either give me your word to marry immediately, or fight .... or I will trounce you with a cudgel, like a coward, do you understand?"

"Let us go into the park,"--replied Rogatchyoff between his teeth.

But suddenly the door opened, and the old nurse Efimovna, all dishevelled, forced her way into the room, fell on her knees before Rogatchyoff and clasped his feet....

"My dear little father!"--she wailed:--"my child .... what is this thou art projecting? Do not ruin us miserable ones, dear little father! For he will kill thee, my dear little dove! But only give us the command, give us the command, and we 'll kill that insolent fellow with our caps.... Pavel Afanasievitch, my darling child, have the fear of G.o.d before thine eyes!"

A mult.i.tude of pale and agitated faces showed themselves in the doorway .... the red beard of the Elder even made its appearance....

"Let me go, Efimovna, let me go!"--muttered Rogatchyoff.

"I will not let thee go, my own one, I will not let thee go. What art thou doing, dear little father, what art thou doing? And what will Afanasy Lukitch say? Why, he will drive all of us out of the white world.... And why do ye stand there? Seize the unbidden guest by the arms, and lead him forth from the house, that no trace of him may remain...."

"Rogatchyoff!"--shouted Vasily Ivanovitch, menacingly.

"Thou hast gone crazy, Efimovna, thou art disgracing me,".... said Pavel Afanasievitch.--"Go away, go, with G.o.d's blessing, and begone, all of you, do you hear? Do you hear?..."

Vasily Ivanovitch walked swiftly to the open window, drew out a small silver whistle, and whistled lightly.... Boursier answered close at hand. Lutchinoff immediately turned to Pavel Afanasievitch.

"How is this comedy to end?"

"Vasily Ivanovitch, I will come to you to-morrow--what am I to do with this crazy woman?...."

"Eh! I see that it is useless to talk long with you,"--said Vasily, and swiftly raised his cane....

Pavel Afanasievitch dashed forward, thrust aside Efimovna, seized his sword, and rushed through the other door into the park.

Vasily darted after him. They both ran to a wooden arbour artfully painted in the Chinese manner, locked themselves in, and bared their swords. Rogatchyoff had once upon a time taken lessons in fencing; but he barely knew how to parry properly. The blades crossed. Vasily was, evidently, playing with Rogatchyoff's sword. Pavel Afanasievitch sighed, turned pale, and gazed with consternation into Lutchinoff's face. In the meanwhile, cries resounded in the park; a throng of people rushed to the arbour. Suddenly Rogatchyoff heard a heart-rending, senile roar .... he recognised his father's voice. Afanasy Lukitch, hatless, and with dishevelled locks, was running in front of all, waving his arms despairingly....

With a powerful and unexpected turn of his blade, Vasily knocked the sword from Pavel Afanasievitch's hand.

"Marry, brother,"--he said to him.--"Stop being a fool!"

"I will not marry!"--whispered Rogatchyoff, closed his eyes, and trembled all over.

Afanasy Lukitch began to pound on the door of the arbour.

"Thou wilt not?"--shouted Vasily.

Rogatchyoff shook his head in the negative.

"Well, then, the devil take thee!"

Poor Pavel Afanasievitch fell dead: Lutchinoff's sword had pierced his heart.... The door burst open, old Rogatchyoff rushed into the arbour, but Vasily had already managed to spring out of the window...

Two hours later, he entered Olga Ivanovna's room... She darted to meet him in affright.... He silently bowed to her, drew out his sword, and pierced Pavel Afanasievitch's portrait at the place of the heart. Olga shrieked, and fell senseless on the floor.... Vasily directed his steps to Anna Pavlovna. He found her in the room of the holy pictures.

"Mamma,"--he said,--"we are avenged."

The poor old woman shuddered and went on praying.

A week later, Vasily took his departure for Petersburg,--and two years afterward he returned to the country, crippled with paralysis, and speechless. He no longer found either Anna Pavlovna or Olga Ivanovna alive, and soon died himself in the arms of Yuditch, who fed him like a baby, and was the only person who could understand his incoherent babble.

FOOTNOTES:

[16] A ruble, at the present time, is worth, on an average, about fifty-two cents. At the period here referred to, the silver ruble would purchase more than a ruble nowadays, while the paper ruble was worth very little.--TRANSLATOR.

[17] A very good preserve, with a slightly wild or bitter taste, is made from these berries in Russia. It is a favourite preserve for putting in tea.--TRANSLATOR.

[18] Except during Lent, and for special prayers on Christmas Day, New Year's Day and Pentecost (Trinity Sunday), hardly any kneeling is prescribed by the rubrics of the Eastern Catholic Church. During Easter-tide and on all Sundays it is forbidden by the rubrics, on the ground that joy in the resurrection should overpower the sense of sin and contrition. These rules are not always regarded. But a person who kneels much is conspicuous, and spectators a.s.sume that the posture indicates great grief or contrition--as above.--TRANSLATOR.

[19] Many exiles caused by the French Revolution found refuge in Russia as tutors. Some founded families there, intermarrying with Russians, and their Russified names are easily recognisable.--TRANSLATOR.

THREE MEETINGS

(1851)

I

Pa.s.sa que' colli e vieni allegramente; Non ti curar di tanta compania-- Vieni pensando a me segretamente-- Ch'io t'accompagna per tutta la via.[20]

During the whole course of the summer, I had gone a-hunting nowhere so frequently as to the large village of Glinnoe, situated twenty versts from my hamlet. In the environs of this village there are, in all probability, the very best haunts of game in all our county. After having tramped through all the adjacent bush-plots and fields, I invariably, toward the end of the day, turned aside into the neighbouring marsh, almost the only one in the countryside, and thence returned to my cordial host, the Elder of Glinnoe, with whom I always stopped. It is not more than two versts from the marsh to Glinnoe; the entire road runs through a valley, and only midway of the distance is one compelled to cross a small hillock. On the crest of this hillock lies a homestead, consisting of one uninhabited little manor-house and a garden. It almost always happened that I pa.s.sed it at the very acme of the sunset glow, and I remember, that on every such occasion, this house, with its hermetically-sealed windows, appeared to me like a blind old man who had come forth to warm himself in the sunlight. He is sitting, dear man, close to the highway; the splendour of the sunlight has long since been superseded for him by eternal gloom; but he feels it, at least, on his upturned and outstretched face, on his flushed cheeks. It seemed as though no one had lived in the house itself for a long time; but in a tiny detached wing, in the courtyard, lodged a decrepit man who had received his freedom, tall, stooping, and grey-haired, with expressive and impa.s.sive features. He was always sitting on a bench in front of the wing's solitary little window, gazing with sad pensiveness into the distance, and when he caught sight of me, he rose a little way and saluted, with that deliberate gravity which distinguishes old house-serfs who have belonged not to the generation of our fathers, but to our grandfathers. I sometimes entered into conversation with him, but he was not loquacious; all I learned from him was that the farm on which he dwelt belonged to the granddaughter of his old master, a widow, who had a younger sister; that both of them lived in towns, and beyond the sea, and never showed themselves at home; that he was anxious to finish his life as speedily as possible, because "you eat and eat bread so that you get melancholy: so long do you eat." This old man's name was Lukyanitch.

One day, for some reason or other, I tarried long in the fields; a very fair amount of game had presented itself, and the day had turned out fine for hunting--from early morning it had been still and grey, as though thoroughly permeated with evening. I wandered far a-field, and it was not only already completely dark, but the moon had risen and night had long been standing in the sky, as the expression runs, when I reached the familiar farm. I had to pa.s.s along the garden... All around lay such tranquillity...

I crossed the broad road, cautiously made my way through the dusty nettles, and leaned against the low, wattled hedge.[21] Motionless before me lay the small garden all illuminated and, as it were, soothed to stillness by the silvery rays of the moon,--all fragrant and humid; laid out in ancient fashion, it consisted of a single oblong gra.s.s-plot.

Straight paths came together exactly in the centre, in a circular flower-bed, thickly overgrown with asters; tall lindens surrounded it in an even border. In one spot only was this border, a couple of fathoms in length, broken, and through the gap a part of the low-roofed house was visible, with two windows lighted, to my amazement. Young apple-trees reared themselves here and there over the meadow; athwart their slender branches the nocturnal sky gleamed softly blue, and the dreamy light of the moon streamed down; in front of each apple-tree, on the whitening gra.s.s, lay its faint, mottled shadow. On one side of the garden the lindens were confusedly green, inundated with motionless, palely-brilliant light; on the other, they stood all black and opaque; a strange, repressed rustling arose at times in their dense foliage; they seemed to be calling to the paths which vanished under them, as though luring them beneath their dim canopy. The whole sky was studded with stars; mysteriously did their soft blue scintillations stream down from on high; they seemed to be gazing with quiet intentness at the distant earth. Small, thin clouds now and then sailed across the moon, momentarily converting its tranquil gleam into an obscure but luminous mist.... Everything was dreaming. The air, all warm, all perfumed, did not even vibrate; it only shivered now and then, as water shivers when disturbed by a falling branch.... One was conscious of a certain thirst, a certain swooning in it... I bent over the fence: a wild scarlet poppy reared its erect little stalk before me from the matted gra.s.s; a large, round drop of night dew glittered with a dark gleam in the heart of the open blossom. Everything was dreaming; everything was taking its ease luxuriously round about; everything seemed to be gazing upward, stretching itself out, motionless, expectant... What was it that that warm, not yet sleeping night, was waiting for?

It was waiting for a sound; that sensitive stillness was waiting for a living voice--but everything maintained silence. The nightingales had long since ceased their song ... and the sudden booming of a beetle as it flew past, the light smacking of a tiny fish in the fish-pond behind the lindens at the end of the garden, the sleepy whistle of a startled bird, a distant cry in the fields,--so far away that the ear could not distinguish whether it was a man, or a wild animal, or a bird which had uttered it,--a short, brisk trampling of hoofs on the road: all these faint sounds, these rustlings, only rendered the stillness more profound... My heart yearned within me, with an indefinite feeling, akin not precisely to expectation, nor yet to a memory of happiness. I dared not stir; I was standing motionless before this motionless garden steeped in moonlight and in dew, and, without myself knowing why, was staring importunately at those two windows, which shone dimly red in the soft half-darkness, when suddenly a chord rang out of the house,--rang out and rolled forth in a flood.... The irritatingly-resonant air thundered back an echo.... I gave an involuntary start.

The chord was followed by the sound of a woman's voice... I began to listen eagerly--and ... can I express my amazement?... two years previously, in Italy, at Sorrento, I had heard that selfsame song, that selfsame voice.... Yes, yes...

"Vieni pensando a me segretamente ..."