The Project Gutenberg eBook of Orlóff and His Wife, by Maxim Gorky.

[4] "Prosperous and peaceful life" is a (sarcastic) quotation from the "Many Years" (Long Life), which is proclaimed in church, at the end of the service, on special occasions, in honor of royal or distinguished persons.—Translator.

"That's a big question, my dear soul.... Your fate will answer it for you, don't be uneasy,"—said the captain thoughtfully, as he went toward the lodging-house. The men with pasts moved slowly after him.

"We will await the critical moment," said the captain, as he walked along among them.—"When they pitch us out of this, we'll hunt up another den for ourselves. But, in the meanwhile, it doesn't pay to spoil life with such thoughts.... At critical moments, a man becomes more energetic ... and if life, with all its combinations, would make the critical moment more frequent, if a man were forced every second to tremble for the safety of his sound pate ... by God, life would be more lively, and people would be more interesting!"

"That is to say, they would gnaw at one another's throats with more fury,"—explained The Gnawed Bone, with a smile.

"Well, and what if they did?"—angrily exclaimed the captain, who was not fond of having his ideas explained.

"Why, nothing ... that's good. When people want to get anywhere more quickly, they lash the horses with the whip, and exasperate machines with fire."

"Well, that's it! Let everything gallop to the devil far away! It would please me if the earth were suddenly to blaze up, and bum to ashes, or explode into fragments ... on condition that I was the last to perish, and might look on at the others first...."

"What of it? I'm a man who has seen better days ... isn't that so? I'm an outcast—which means, that I'm free from all beaten paths and fetters.... It means, that I don't care a fig for anything! By the manner of my life, I'm bound to fling aside everything old ... all manners and modes of relations to folks who exist well-fed, and finely dressed, and who despise me because I've fallen behind them in the matter of enough food and of costume ... and I'm bound to breed within me something new—understand? The sort of thing, you know, which will make the lords of life, after the pattern of Judas Petúnnikoff, who pass me, feel a cold chill in their livers at the sight of my imposing form!"

"Ekh, you ... paltry creature...." Kuválda eyed him over disdainfully. "What do you understand? What do you know? Do you know how to think? But I have thought ... and I've read books, in which you wouldn't be able to understand a single word."

"I should think so! I couldn't sup cabbage-soup with a bast-slipper.... But though you have read books and thought, and I haven't done either, we've come out pretty close together...."

His conversations with The Gnawed Bone always wound up in this manner. On the whole, without the teacher—and he was aware of this himself—his speeches only spoiled the air, and were dispersed on it without bringing him either appreciation or attention; but he could not refrain from talking. And now, after swearing at his interlocutor, he felt himself alone among his own people. But he wanted to talk, and therefore he turned to Símtzoff with the question:

"I don't know ... I'll see about it! I'm of no great importance: I've had a good time, and I shall again!"

Símtzoff added, after a pause, that he would get settled more promptly than the rest, because the women were very fond of him. This was true: the old man always had two or three mistresses among the women of the town, who supported him, for two or three days at a stretch, on their scanty earnings. They frequently beat him, but he bore it stoically; for some reason or other, they could not hurt him much—perhaps, because they were sorry for him. He was a passionate lover of women, and was wont to relate, that women were the cause of all his misfortunes in life. The intimacy of his relations to women, and the character of their relations to him were confirmed, both by his frequent illnesses, and by his clothing, which was always well mended, and cleaner than the clothing of his comrades. And now, as he sat on the ground, at the door of the lodging-house, in a circle of his comrades, he began boastfully to relate, that he had long since been invited by The Radish to live with her, but he would not go to her, he did not wish to desert the company.

He was listened to with interest, and not without envy. They all knew The Radish—she lived not far away, under the hill, and only a short time before this had spent several months in prison for her second case of theft. She was a wet-nurse, who "had seen better days," a tall, plump country woman, with a pock-marked face, and very handsome, though always drunken, eyes.

"You don't say so, you old devil!"—swore The Gnawed Bone, as he gazed at Símtzoff, who was smiling conceitedly.

"I know how to make them feel sorry for me.... And when a woman feels compassion—she'll even go so far as to cut a throat out of compassion. Weep before her, beg her to kill you, she'll take compassion on you and kill you...."

"I want to go to Siberia ... I'm tired of this ... mean life.... But there a fellow will find out how he ought to live...."

"Ye-es, they'll show you there, in detail,"—assented the captain in a melancholy way.

Nothing more was said about Petúnnikoff, and their approaching expulsion from the night lodging-house. All of them were already convinced that this expulsion was near at hand—at a distance of two or three days, perhaps, and they regarded it as superfluous to bother themselves with discussions on that subject. Discussing the matter would not improve the situation, and, in conclusion, the weather was not cold yet, although the rains were beginning—it was still possible to sleep on any clod of earth, outside the town.

Arranging themselves in a circle on the grass, these men idly conducted a long conversation on various subjects, passing freely from one theme to another, and wasting just so much attention on the other man's words as was required to keep up the conversation without a break. It was tiresome to remain silent, but it was also tiresome to listen attentively. This company of men with pasts had one great merit: in it no one put any constraint upon himself, in the effort to appear better than he was, and no one incited the others to exercise such constraint over himself.

The August sun assiduously warmed the rags of these men, who had turned to it their backs and their uncombed heads—a chaotic combination of the vegetable kingdom with the mineral and the animal. In the corners of the courtyard the grass grew luxuriantly,—tall burdocks sown with clinging burs, and some other plants, which were of no use to anybody, delighted the eyes of the men who were of no use to anybody.

Petúnnikoff junior had entered it, in a leisurely manner, had looked about him, frowned fastidiously, and slowly removing from his head his gray hat, he had inquired of the tavern-keeper, who greeted him with a respectful bow, and an amiable grin:

"Exactly so!"[5] replied the non-commissioned officer, resting both hands on the counter, as though preparing to leap over it.

[5] The regulation reply, in the army, to a superior, is not plain "da" (yes), but "tótchno tak!" The negative is correspondingly regulated.—Translator.

They entered his rooms, and seated themselves—the visitor on the waxed-cloth divan in front of the round table, the host on a chair facing him. In one corner of the room burned a shrine-lamp in front of a huge, treble-panelled image-case, around which, on the wall, more holy pictures were also suspended. Their vestments were brilliantly polished, and shone like new ones. In the room, closely set with trunks, and ancient furniture of various sorts, there was an odor of olive oil, tobacco, and sour cabbage. Petúnnikoff surveyed things, and again made a grimace. Vavíloff, with a sigh, glanced at the holy pictures, and then they fixedly regarded each other, and both made a mutually good impression. Vavíloff's frankly-knavish eyes pleased Petúnnikoff. Petúnnikoff's open, cold, resolute face, with its broad, strong cheek-bones, and closely set white teeth, pleased Vavíloff.

Well, sir, you know me, of course, and you can guess what I am going to talk to you about!" began Petúnnikoff.

"About the suit ... I assume,"—said the non-commissioned officer deferentially.

"Precisely. It is pleasant to see that you make no pretences, but go straight to the point, like a man with a straight-forward soul,"—Petúnnikoff encouraged his interlocutor.

"That's evident. So, we will conduct the business in a simple, straight-forward manner, in order to get through with it the more promptly."

"Very good.... Your suit is entirely legal, and, as a matter of course, you will win it—that is the first thing which I consider it necessary to state to you."

"I thank you sincerely,"—said the non-commissioned officer, winking his eyes, in order to conceal the smile in them.

"But, tell me, why was it necessary for you to make acquaintance with us, your future neighbors, in so harsh a manner ... straight from the courts?..."

"It would have been simpler to come to us, and arrange everything peaceably ... wouldn't it? What do you think about it?"

"Of course, that would be more agreeable. But, you see ... there's one hitch about it.... I did not act of my own free will ... but I was instigated to do it.... Afterward, when I understood what would have been the better way, it was already too late."

"With the greatest pleasure!" exclaimed the soldier. Petúnnikoff paused, looked at him, and then inquired, coldly and dryly:

Vavíloff had not expected such a question, and could not reply at once. In his opinion, it was an absurd question, and the soldier, with a consciousness of his superiority, laughed in Petúnnikoff's face.

"Come,"—Petúnnikoff interrupted him,—"that's not precisely the fact. I perceive that you do not clearly understand why you wished to make peace with us.... I will tell you why."

The soldier was somewhat astonished. This young fellow, all clad in checked material, and presenting a rather ridiculous figure in it, talked just as company commander Rakshín had been wont to talk, after he had, with angry hand, knocked out the soldiers' teeth, three at a time.

"You want to make peace with us, because our vicinity is very profitable to you! And it is profitable because we shall have not less than one hundred and fifty workmen in our factory,—in course of time, more. If one hundred of them drink a glass apiece after each weekly pay-day, you will sell, in the course of a month, four hundred glasses more than you are selling now. I have put it at the lowest figure. Moreover, you have your eating-house. Apparently, you are anything but stupid, and you are a man of experience; consider for yourself the advantages of our proximity."

"I am very glad that you make up your mind so promptly. Here, I have furnished myself with a notification to the courts of the withdrawal of your claims against my father. Read it over, and sign it."

Vavíloff stared, with round eyes, at his interlocutor, and trembled, foreseeing something very bad indeed.

"Simply, you are to write your baptismal name and your surname, and nothing more,"—explained Petúnnikoff, obligingly pointing out with his finger the place where he was to sign.

"No—what's the meaning of tha-at! I wasn't talking about that.... I meant to say—what compensation are you going to give me for my land?"

"I have the right ... I might even demand two thousand ... I can insist on your tearing down.... That's what I will do.... For the value of the suit is so small. I demand—that you shall tear the building down!"

"Go ahead.... Perhaps we will tear it down ... three years hence, after having involved you in great expense for the suit. And after we have paid, we'll open our own little dram-shop and eating-house,—better ones than yours—and you'll be ruined, like the Swede at Poltáva.[6] You shall be ruined, my good man, we'll take care of that. We might begin to take steps about the dram-shop now, only it's a bother, and time is valuable to us. And we're sorry for you—why take the bread away from a man, for no cause whatever?"

[6] Charles XII of Sweden, defeated at Poltáva by Peter the Great.—Translator.

Egór Teréntievitch set his teeth firmly, stared at his visitor, and felt conscious that the visitor was the master of his fate. Vavíloff commiserated himself, in the presence of this coldly-composed, implacable figure in the ridiculous checked costume.

"Being in such close vicinity to us, and living in peace with us, my old soldier, you might do a fine business. We would take care of that, also. For example, I will even recommend you on the spot, to open a little shop ... you know—cheap tobacco, matches, bread, cucumbers, and so on.... All that would have a ready sale."

Vavíloff listened, and being anything but a stupid young fellow, he comprehended that the very best thing he could do would be to yield to his magnanimous enemy. He ought, properly, to have begun with that. And, not knowing how to get rid of his wrath and sense of injury, he swore aloud at Kuválda:

"You're swearing at the lawyer who drew up your petition?"—calmly inquired Petúnnikoff, and added, with a sigh:—"as a matter of fact, he might have played you a sorry trick ... if we had not taken pity on you."

"Ekh!" and the mortified soldier waved his hand in despair. "There are two of them.... One planned, the other wrote.... The damned correspondent!"

"He writes in the newspapers.... They're your lodgers.... Nice people, truly! Get rid of them, drive them away, for Christ's sake! Robbers! They stir up everybody here in this street, they urge them on. There's no living for them ... they're desperate men—the first you know, they'll rob you or set fire to your house!"

"He? A drunkard! He used to be a teacher—they turned him out. He drank up all he owned,... and now he writes for the papers, and composes petitions. He's a very mean man!"

"Hm! And so he wrote your petition for you? Exactly so! Evidently, it was he, also, who wrote about the disorders in construction—he found that the scaffolding was not properly placed, or something of that sort."

"It was he! I know it, it was he, the dog! He read it here, himself, and bragged—'Here, I've caused Petúnnikoff a loss,' says he."

"Ekh, thou gloomy life of ours!"—he exclaimed, in an injured tone, as he scratched the nape of his neck.

"You must get some education," Petúnnikoff advised him, as he lighted a cigarette.

"Get some education? That's not the point, my good sir! There's no liberty, that's what's the trouble! No, look here, what sort of a life do I lead? I live in trepidation, ... continually looking around me ... completely deprived of freedom in the movements I wish to make! And why? I'm afraid ... that spectre of a teacher writes about me in the newspapers ... he brings the sanitary inspectors down on me, I have to pay fines.... The first you know, those lodgers of yours will bum down, murder, rob.... What can I do against them? They're not afraid of the police.... If the police locked them up, they'd even be glad of it—they'd get their bread for nothing...."

"Won't you take one hundred?"—inquired the merchant calmly, carefully scrutinizing his interlocutor, and smiling gently, he added:—"I won't give a ruble more."

After that, he removed his glasses, and began slowly to wipe them, with a handkerchief which he took from his pocket. Vavíloff gazed at him with grief in his heart, and, at the same time, was impressed with respect for him. In the calm countenance of young Petúnnikoff, in his gray eyes, in his broad cheek-bones, in the whole of his well-built figure, there was a great deal of strength, self-reliant and well disciplined by his brain. The way Petúnnikoff had talked to him also pleased Vavíloff: simply with friendly tones in his voice, without any pretensions to superiority, as though with his own brother, although Vavíloff understood that he, a soldier, was not the peer of that man. As he scrutinized him, almost admired him, the soldier, at last, could not hold out, and feeling within him an impulse of curiosity, which, for the moment, smothered all his sentiments, he deferentially asked Petúnnikoff:

"In the technological institute. Why?" and the latter turned smiling eyes upon him.

"Nothing, sir, I only ... excuse me!"—The soldier dropped his head, and suddenly, with ecstasy, envy, and even inspiration, he exclaimed:—"We-ell! Here's education for you! In one word—science—light! But people of my sort are like owls in the sunlight in this world.... Ekh-ma! Your Well-Born! Come on, let's finish that business!"

With a resolute gesture, he offered his hand to Petúnnikoff, and said in a suppressed way:

"Not more than one hundred, Egór Teréntievitch,"—as though regretting that he could not give more. Petúnnikoff shrugged his shoulders, as he slapped his large, white hand into the hairy hand of the soldier.

They soon concluded the business, for the soldier suddenly advanced to meet Petúnnikoff's wishes in great leaps, and the latter was immovably firm. And when Vavíloff had received one hundred rubles, and had signed the document, he flung the pen on the table, in exasperation, and exclaimed:

"Well, now it remains for me to deal with that golden horde! They'll ridicule me, and put me to shame, the devils!"

"Tell them that I have paid you the full sum mentioned in the suit,"—suggested Petúnnikoff, calmly emitting from his mouth slender streams of smoke and watching them.

"But will they believe that? They're clever scoundrels, also, just as bad as ..." Vavíloff halted in time, disconcerted by the comparison which he had almost uttered, and glanced in alarm at the merchant's son. The latter smoked on, and was entirely absorbed in that occupation. He soon took his departure, after promising Vavíloff, as he said farewell, that he would destroy the nest of those restless people. Vavíloff looked after him, and sighed, feeling strongly inclined to shout something spiteful and insulting at the back of this man, who, with firm steps, was mounting the hill along the road filled with pits and obstructed with rubbish.

In the evening, the captain presented himself in the tavern. His brows were severely contracted, and his right hand was energetically clenched into a fist. Vavíloff smiled apologetically as he greeted him.

"You're certainly lying.... But that's all the better for me.... Without further words, Egórka, pay me ten per cent for the discovery, four rubles to the teacher for writing your petition, a bucket of vódka to all of us, and a decent amount of luncheon. Hand over the money instantly, the vódka and the rest at eight o'clock."

"That's nonsense! That's robbery! I won't give it.... What are you thinking of, Aristíd Fómitch! No, you'd better restrain your appetite until the next feast-day! What a man you are! No, now I'm in a position not to fear you. Now I'm...."

"I'll give you, Egórka, ten minutes for your dirty conversation. Put an end to the wanderings of your tongue in that time, and give what I demand. If you don't give it—I'll eat you alive! Did The End sell you something? Did you read in the newspaper about the robbery at Básoff's? You understand? You won't succeed in hiding anything—we'll prevent that. And this very night.... Do you understand?"

"Aristíd Fómitch! What is this for?"—wailed the retired non-commissioned officer.

Tall, gray-haired Kuválda, with his brows impressively knit, spoke in an undertone, and his hoarse bass hummed ominously in the empty tavern. Vavíloff had always been a little afraid of him, both as a former military man and as a man who had nothing to lose. But now Kuválda presented himself in a new light to him: he did not talk much and hurriedly, as usual, and in what he did say in the tone of a commander, who is confident that he will be obeyed, there resounded a threat not uttered in jest. And Vavíloff felt that the captain would ruin him, if he chose, would ruin him with pleasure. He must yield to force. But, with a fierce trepidation in his heart, the soldier made one more effort to escape punishment. He heaved a deep sigh, and began submissively:

"Evidently, the saying is true: 'The peasant woman beats herself if she doesn't reap clean....' I told you a lie about myself, Aristíd Fómitch.... I wanted to appear cleverer than I am.... I received only one hundred rubles...."

"Which signifies nothing. I don't know when you were lying—a while ago, or now. I get sixty-five rubles from you. That's moderate.... Well?..."

"Ekh, oh Lord my God! Aristíd Fómitch! I have always shown regard for Your Well-Born, as far as was in my power."

"Hold your tongue, you rotten pimple on the face of the earth!"—bawled the captain, rolling his eyes ferociously.—"I am chastised by God.... He has placed me under the necessity of seeing you, of talking with you.... I'll mash you on the spot, like a fly!" He shook his fist under Vavíloff's nose, and gnashed his teeth, displaying them in a snarl.

When he went away, Vavíloff began to grin awry, and wink his eyes at frequent intervals. Then, down his cheeks trickled two big tears. They were of a grayish hue, and when they disappeared in his mustache, two others made their appearance to replace them. Then Vavíloff went off to his own room, took up his stand there in front of the holy pictures, and there he stood for a long time, without moving or wiping away the tears from his wrinkled, cinnamon-brown cheeks.

Deacon Tarás, who was always drawn to the forests and fields, proposed to the men with pasts that they should go out on the plain, to a certain ravine, and there, in the lap of Nature, drink up Vavíloff's vódka. But the captain and all the others unanimously cursed the deacon and Nature, and decided to drink it at home, in their own courtyard.

"One, two, three ..." counted Aristíd Fómitch,—"our sum total is thirteen; the teacher isn't here ... well, and several jolly dogs will join us. We'll reckon it at twenty persons. At two cucumbers and a half per brother, and a pound of bread and meat apiece—it won't be so bad! We must have a bottle of vódka apiece ... there's sour cabbage, and apples, and three watermelons. The question is, what the devil more do we need, my fellow-scoundrels? So we'll make ready to devour Egórka Vavíloff, for all this is his flesh and blood!"

They spread out the remains of some garments or other on the ground, on them laid out the viands and liquor, and seated themselves around them,—seated themselves sedately and in silence, with difficulty restraining their greedy desire to drink which beamed in their eyes.

Evening drew near, its shadows descended upon the ground in the courtyard of the lodging-house, disfigured with scraps, and the last rays of the sun lighted up the roof of the half-ruined edifice. It was cool and still.

"Let's start in, brothers!"—the captain gave the word of command.—"How many cups have we? Six ... and there are thirteen of us.... Alexéi Maxímovitch! Pour! Ready? Co-ome on, first platoon ... fire!"

"And the teacher isn't here ... this is the third day that I haven't seen him. Has anybody seen him?"—inquired Kuválda.

"That's not like him! Well, no matter. Let's have another drink!... Let's drink to the health of Aristíd Kuválda, my only friend, who, all my life long, has never left me alone for a minute. Although, devil take him, I should have been the gainer if he had deprived me of his society for a while!"

The captain, with a consciousness of his superiority, gazed at his comrade, but said nothing, for he was eating.

After taking two drinks, the company grew lively all of a sudden—the portions were inspiring. Tarás-and-a-Half expressed a desire to listen to a story, but the deacon had got into a dispute with The Peg-top about the advantages of thin women over fat ones, and paid no attention to the other man's words, but demonstrated his views to The Peg-top with the obduracy and heat of a man who is profoundly convinced of the justice of his views. The ingenuous face of The Meteor, who was lying on his stomach beside him, expressed emotion, as he relished the heady little words of the deacon. Martyánoff, clasping his knees with his huge hands, overgrown with black hair, stared silently and gloomily at a bottle of vódka, and fished for his mustache with his tongue, in the endeavor to bite it with his teeth. The Gnawed Bone was teasing Tyápa.

These people bored Kuválda: there was not among them a single companion worthy to listen to his eloquence and capable of comprehending him.

"I'm convinced that he'll come—but he won't drive up in a carriage. Future convict, let's drink to your future. If you murder a man with money, share it with me.... Then, my dear fellow, I'll go to America, to those ... what's their name? Lampas?... Pampas! I'll go there, and I'll wind up as president of the states. Then I'll declare war on all Europe, and give it a sound drubbing. I'll buy an army ... in Europe, also ... I'll invite the French, the Germans, the Turks, and so forth, and with them I'll beat their own relatives ... as Ilyá of Muróm beat the Tatár with a Tatár.... With money, one can be an Ilyá also ... and annihilate Europe, and hire Judas Petúnnikoff as a lackey.... He'll do it ... give him a hundred rubles a month, and he'll do it! But he'll make a bad lackey, for he'll begin to steal...."

"And a thin woman is better than a fat one in this respect also, she comes cheaper,"—said the deacon argumentatively. "My first wife used to buy twelve arshíns for a dress, the second bought ten.... And so it was with the food, also...."

Tarás-and-a-Half laughed apologetically, turned his head toward the deacon, fixed his eyes on the latter's face, and said, in confusion:

"No, by God I didn't! She overate herself on sturgeon,"—said Tarás-and-a-Half.

"And I tell you—that you poisoned her!"—reiterated The Gnawed Bone, decisively.

It often happened thus with him: when he had once uttered some piece of folly, he began to reiterate it, without quoting any grounds in confirmation, and though he talked, at first, in a capriciously-childish tone, he gradually worked up almost to a state of frenzy.

"Hold your tongues!"—shouted the captain menacingly. His ill-humor had been converted into morose wrath. He stared at his friends with savage eyes, and not descrying in their ugly physiognomies, already half-drunk, anything which could supply further food for his wrath, he hung his head on his breast, sat thus for a few minutes, and then lay down on the ground, face upward. The Meteor was nibbling at a cucumber. He had taken the cucumber into his hand, without looking at it, thrust it up to the middle in his mouth, and immediately began to chew it with his large, yellow teeth, so that the brine from the cucumber spattered in all directions, bedewing his cheeks. Evidently, he was not hungry, but this process of eating diverted him. Martyánoff sat motionless as a statue, in the same attitude in which he had seated himself on the ground, and he, also, was staring in a concentrated, gloomy way, at a six-quart bottle of vódka, which was already half empty. Tyápa was staring at the ground, and noisily chewing meat, which did not yield to his aged teeth. The Gnawed Bone lay on his stomach, and coughed, with his whole tiny body curled up in a ball. The rest—all taciturn, obscure figures—were sitting and lying in various attitudes, and all these men together, clad in their rags and the evening twilight, were hardly distinguishable from the heaps of rubbish scattered over the courtyard and overgrown with tall grass. Their ungainly attitudes and their rags made them resemble deformed animals, created by a rough, fantastic power, as a travesty on man.

"There lived and dwelt in Súzdal town
A gentlewoman of no account.
And she was seized with a fit of cramps,
Of mo-st unpleasant cramps!"

the deacon began to hum, in an undertone, as he embraced Alexéi Maxímovitch, smiling beatifically into the latter's face. Tarás-and-a-Half giggled voluptuously.

Night was at hand. In the sky, the stars were quietly kindling—up on the hill, in the town, the lights in the street-lamps. The mournful whistles of the steamers were wafted from the river, the door of Vavíloff's tavern opened with a creaking and crashing of glass. Two dark figures entered the courtyard, approached the group of men gathered round the bottle, and one of them asked, hoarsely:

Then a hand was extended across the head of the deacon, and grasped the bottle, and the characteristic gurgling of vódka became audible, as it was poured from the bottle into a cup. Then there was a loud grunting noise ...

"Well, this is melancholy!"—ejaculated the deacon.—"Cock-eye! Let's call to mind days of yore, let's sing 'By the rivers of Babylon!'"

"He? He used to be a soloist in the Bishop's choir, my good fellow.... Come on, Cock-eye.... O-on-the-e-ri-i-iv-ers ...."

The deacon's voice was wild, hoarse, cracked, and his friend sang in a squeaking falsetto.

Enveloped in the gloom, the empty house seemed to have increased in size, or to have moved its whole mass of half-decayed wood nearer to these men, who were awaking in it a dull echo by their wild singing. A cloud, magnificent and dark, was slowly floating across the sky above it. Some one of the men with pasts was snoring, the rest, still not sufficiently intoxicated, were either eating and drinking in silence, or chatting in an undertone, broken with prolonged pauses. None of them were accustomed to this dejected mood at a banquet, which was rare as to the abundance of vódka and of viands. For some reason or other, the boisterous animation characteristic of the lodging-house's inhabitants over a bottle did not flare up for a long time.

"You're ... dogs! Stop your howling," said the captain to the singers, raising his head from the ground, and listening.—"Someone is driving in this direction ... in a drozhky...."

A drozhky at that hour in Vyézhaya Street could not fail to arouse general attention. Who from the town would run the risk of driving over the ruts and pit-holes of the street—who was it, and why? All raised their heads and listened. In the nocturnal silence the rumbling of the wheels, as they came in contact with the splashers, was plainly audible. It grew nearer and nearer. A voice rang out, roughly inquiring:

"Wait! I'll help you ... he's very ill. He has been lying ill in my house for two days. Grasp him under the arm-pits.... The doctor has been. He's in a very bad way...."

Tyápa rose, and slowly walked to the gate, but The Gnawed Bone grinned and took a drink.

The Meteor went into the lodging-house and lighted the lamp. Then from the door of the house a broad streak of light streamed across the courtyard, and the captain, in company with a small man, led the teacher along it to the lodging-house. His head hung flabbily on his breast, his legs dragged along the ground, and his arms dangled in the air, as though they were broken. With the aid of Tyápa, they laid him in a heap on the sleeping-shelf, and he, trembling all over, stretched himself out on it, with a quiet groan.

"He and I have been working on the same newspaper.... He's very unfortunate. I said:—'Pray lie at my house, you will not incommode me ...' But he entreated me—'Take me home!' He got excited.... I thought that was injurious to him, and so I have brought him ... home! He really belongs here, does he?"

"And, in your opinion, has he a home somewhere else?" asked Kuválda roughly, as he stared intently at his friend. "Tyápa, go and fetch some cold water!"

The little man was dressed in a sack-coat, much the worse for wear, and carefully buttoned clear up to the chin. There was fringe on the edges of his trousers, his hat was red with age and crumpled, as was also his gaunt, hungry face.

"No, he doesn't need you ... there are a great many of your sort here...." said the captain, turning away from the little man.

"Farewell for the present, then!"—The little man went to the door, and from that spot he quietly asked:

"If anything should happen ... please give notice at the editorial office.... My name is Rýzhoff. I should like to write a brief obituary ... for, after all, you know, he was a worker on the press...."

"Hm! An obituary, you say? Twenty lines—twenty kopéks? I'll do better: when he dies, I'll cut off one of his legs and send it to the editorial office, addressed to you. That will be more profitable to you than an obituary, It'll last you for two or three days ... his legs are thick.... You've all been devouring him alive, surely you will eat him when he's dead ... also,...."

The man gave a queer sort of snort, and vanished. The captain sat down on the sleeping-shelf beside the teacher, felt the latter's brow and breast with his hand, and called him by name:

The dull sound re-echoed from the dirty walls of the night lodging-house, and died away.

"This is awkward, brother!"—said the captain, softly smoothing the dishevelled hair of the teacher with his hand. Then the captain listened to his breathing, which was hot and spasmodic, scrutinized his face, which was sunken and earthy in hue, sighed, and frowning harshly, glanced around. The lamp was a bad one: its flame flickered, and black shadows danced silently over the walls of the lodging-house. The captain began to stare stubbornly at their silent play, and to stroke his beard.

Tyápa arrived with a bucket of water, set it on the sleeping-shelf by the teacher's head, and, taking his hand, he raised it on his own hand, as though weighing it.

Tyápa turned his back on the teacher, and both of them went out into the courtyard, to their company.

"What's going on there?"—inquired The Gnawed Bone, turning his sharp face to the captain.

"Nothing in particular.... The man is dying ...." the captain curtly informed him.

"It seems as though he knew that we have something wherewith to hold a feast in commemoration of him," said The Gnawed Bone, as he lighted a cigarette.

Someone laughed, someone else sighed deeply. But, on the whole, the conversation between the captain and The Gnawed Bone did not produce upon these men any perceptible impression; at all events, it could not be seen that it had disturbed anyone, interested anyone, or set anyone to thinking. All of them had treated the teacher as though he were a remarkable man, but now many were already drunk, while others still remained calm outwardly. The deacon alone suddenly straightened himself up, made a noise with his lips, rubbed his forehead, and howled wildly: