"So you are writing a novel? On what subject?"

"I have not yet quite decided."

"Don't at all events describe this pettifogging, miserable existence which stares us in the face without the medium of art. Our contemporary literature squeezes every worm, every peasant-girl, and I don't know what else, into the novel. Choose a historical subject, worthy of your vivacious imagination and your clean-cut style. Do you remember how you used to write of old Russia? Now it is the fashion to choose material from the ant-heap, the talking shop of everyday life. This is to be the stuff of which literature is made. Bah! it is the merest journalism."

"There we are again on the old controversy. If you once mount that horse, there will be no calling you back. Let us leave this question for the moment, and go back to my question. Are you satisfied to spend your life here, as you are now doing, with no desires for anything further?"

Leonti looked at him in astonishment, with wide opened eyes.

"You do nothing for your generation," Raisky went on, "but creep backwards like a crab. Why are you for ever talking of the Greeks and Romans? Their work is done, and ours is to bring life into these cemeteries, to shake the slumbering ghosts out of their twilight dreams."

"And how is the task to be begun?"

"I mean to draw a picture of this existence, to reflect it as in a mirror. And you...."

"I too accomplish something. I have prepared several boys for the University," remarked Leonti with hesitation, for he was not sure whether this was meritorious or not. "You imagine that I go into my cla.s.s, then home, and forget about everything. That is not the case.

Young people gather round me, attach themselves to me, and I show them drawings of old buildings, utensils, make sketches and give explanations, as I once did for you. What I know myself I communicate to others, explain the ancient ideals of virtue, expound cla.s.sical life, just as our own cla.s.sics are explained. Is that no longer essential?"

"Certainly it has its advantage. But it has nothing to do with real life.

One cannot live like that to-day. So much has disappeared, so many things have arisen that the Greeks and Romans never knew. But we need models from contemporary life, we must educate ourselves and others to be men. That is our task."

"No, I do not take that upon my shoulders; it is sufficient for one to take the models of ancient virtue from books. I myself live for and through myself. You see I live quietly and modestly, eat my vermicelli soup...."

"Life for and through yourself is not life at all, it is a pa.s.sive condition, and man is a fighting animal."

"I have already told you that I do my duty and do not interfere in anybody else's business; and no one interferes with mine."

"Life's arm is long, and will not spare even you. And how will you meet her blows--unprepared."

"What has Life to do with a humble man like me? I shall pa.s.s unnoticed.

I have books, although they are not mine," he said glancing hesitatingly at Raisky, "but you give me free use of them. My needs are small, I feel no boredom. I have a wife who loves me...."

Raisky looked away.

"And," he added in a whisper, "I love her."

It was plain that as his mind nourished itself on the books, so his heart had found a warm refuge; he himself did not even know what bound him to life and books, and did not guess that he might keep his books and lose his life, and that his life would be maimed if his "Roman head"

was stolen from him.

Happy child, thought Raisky. In his learned sleep he does not notice the darkness that is hidden in that dear Roman head, nor how empty the woman's heart is. He is helpless as far as she is concerned, and will never convince her of the virtues of the ancient ideals.

CHAPTER VIII

The sun was setting when Raisky returned home, and was received at the door by Marfinka.

"Where did you get lost, Cousin?" she asked him. "Grandmother is very angry, and is grumbling...."

"I was with Leonti," returned Raisky indifferently.

"I thought so, and told Grandmother so, but she won't listen and will hardly speak even to Tiet Nikonich. He is with her now and Paulina Karpovna too. Go to Grandmother, and it will be all right. Are you afraid. Does your heart beat fast?"

Raisky had to laugh.

"She is very angry. We had prepared so many dishes."

"We will eat them up for supper."

"Will you? Grandmother, Grandmother," she cried happily, "Cousin has come and wants his supper."

His aunt sat severely there, and did not look up when Raisky entered.

Tiet Nikonich embraced him. He received an elegant bow from Paulina Karpovna, an elaborately got-up person of forty-five in a low cut muslin gown, with a fine lace handkerchief and a fan, which she kept constantly in motion although there was no heat.

"What a man you have grown! I should hardly have known you," said Tiet Nikonich, beaming with kindness and pleasure.

"He has grown very, very handsome," said Paulina Karpovna Kritzki.

"You have not altered, Tiet Nikonich," remarked Raisky. "You have hardly aged at all, and are as gay, as fresh, as kind and amiable...."

"Thank G.o.d! there is nothing worse than rheumatism the matter with me, and my digestion is no longer quite as good as it was. That is age, age.

But how glad I am that you, our guest, have arrived in such good spirits.

Tatiana Markovna was anxious about you. You will be staying here for some time?"

"Of course you will spend the summer with us," said Paulina Karpovna.

"Here is nature, and fine air, and so many people are interested in you."

He looked at her askance, and said nothing.

"Do you remember me?" she asked. Boris's aunt noticed with displeasure that Paulina Karpovna was ogling her nephew.

"No, I must confess I forgot."

"Yes, impressions are quickly forgotten in the capital," she said in a languishing tone. She looked him up and down and then added, "What an admirable travelling suit."

"That reminds me I am still in my travelling clothes. Egor must be sent for and must take my clothes and linen out of the trunk. For you, Granny, and for you, my dear sisters, I have brought some small things for remembrance."

Marfinka grew crimson with pleasure.

"Granny, where are you going to put me up?"

"The house belongs to you. Where you will," she returned coldly.

"Don't be angry, Granny," he laughed. "It won't happen twice."

"You may laugh, you may laugh, Boris Pavlovich. Here, in the presence of our guests, I tell you you have behaved badly. You have hardly put your nose inside the house, and straightway vanish. That is an insult to your Grandmother."