A Gentle Spirit: A Fantastic Story....................................................................................................................1

Fyodor Dostoevsky..................................................................................................................................1

Oh, while she is still here, it is still all right; I go up and look at her every minute; but tomorrow they will

take her away and how shall I be left alone? Now she is on the table in the drawingroom, they put two

card tables together, the coffin will be here tomorrow white, pure white "gros de Naples" but that's not it .

I keep walking about, trying to explain it to myself. I have been trying for the last six hours to get it clear, but

Gentlemen, I am far from being a literary man and you will see that; but no matter, I'll tell it as I understand it

It was, if you care to know, that is to take it from the beginning, that she used to come to me simply to pawn

things, to pay for advertising in the VOICE to the effect that a governess was quite willing to travel, to give

lessons at home, and so on, and so on. That was at the very beginning, and I, of course, made no difference

between her and the others: "She comes," I thought, "like any one else," and so on.

But afterwards I began to see a difference. She was such a slender, fair little thing, rather tall, always a little

awkward with me, as though embarrassed (I fancy she was the same with all strangers, and in her eyes, of

course, I was exactly like anybody else that is, not as a pawnbroker but as a man).

As soon as she received the money she would turn round at once and go away. And always in silence. Other

women argue so, entreat, haggle for me to give them more; this one did not ask for more. . . .

Yes; I was struck first of all by the things she brought: poor little silver gilt earrings, a trashy little locket,

things not worth sixpence. She knew herself that they were worth next to nothing, but I could see from her

face that they were treasures to her, and I found out afterwards as a fact that they were all that was left her

Only once I allowed myself to scoff at her things. You see I never allow myself to behave like that. I keep up

a gentlemanly tone with my clients: few words, politeness and severity. "Severity, severity!"

But once she ventured to bring her last rag, that is, literally the remains of an old hareskin jacket, and I could

not resist saying something by way of a joke. My goodness! how she flared up! Her eyes were large, blue and

dreamy but how they blazed. But she did not drop one word; picking up her "rags" she walked out.

It was then for the first time I noticed her particularly, and thought something of the kind about her that it,

something of a particular kind. Yes, I remember another impression that is, if you will have it, perhaps the

chief impression, that summed up everything. It was that she was terribly young, so young that she looked

just fourteen. And yet she was within three months of sixteen. I didn't mean that, though, that wasn't what

summed it all up. Next day she came again. I found out later that she had been to Dobranravov's and to

Mozer's with that jacket, but they take nothing but gold and would have nothing to say to it. I once took some

stones from her (rubbishy little ones) and, thinking it over afterwards, I wondered: I, too, only lend on gold

and silver, yet from her I accepted stones. That was my second thought about her then; that I remember. That

time, that is when she came from Mozer's, she brought an amber cigarholder. It was a connoisseur's article,

not bad, but again, of no value to us, because we only deal in gold. As it was the day after her "mutiny", I

received her sternly. Sternness with me takes the form of dryness. As I gave her two roubles, however, I

could not resist saying, with a certain irritation, "I only do it for you, of course; Mozer wouldn't take such a

The word "for you" I emphasised particularly, and with a particular implication.

I was spiteful. She flushed up again when she heard that "for you", but she did not say a word, she did not

refuse the money, she took it that is poverty! But how hotly she flushed! I saw I had stung her. And when

she had gone out, I suddenly asked myself whether my triumph over her was worth two roubles. He! He!!

He!!! I remember I put that question to myself twice over, "was is worth it? was it worth it? "

And, laughing, I inwardly answered it in the affirmative. And I felt very much elated. But that was not an evil

feeling; I said it with design, with a motive; I wanted to test her, because certain ideas with regard to her had

suddenly come into my mind. That was the third thing I thought particularly about her. . . . Well, it was from

that time it all began. Of course, I tried at once to find out all her circumstances indirectly, and awaited her

coming with a special impatience. I had a presentiment that she would come soon. When she came, I entered

into affable conversation with her, speaking with unusual politeness. I have not been badly brought up and

The gentle and softhearted do not resist long, and though they are by no means very ready to reveal

themselves, they do not know how to escape from a conversation; they are niggardly in their answers, but

they do answer, and the more readily the longer you go on. Only, on your side you must not flag, if you want

them to talk. I need hardly say that she did not explain anything to me then. About the Voice and all that I

found out afterwards. She was at that time spending her last farthing on advertising, haughtily at first, of

course. "A governess prepared to travel and will send terms on application," but, later on: "willing to do

anything, to teach, to be a companion, to be a housekeeper, to wait on an invalid, plain sewing, and so on, and

so on", the usual thing! Of course, all this was added to the advertisement a bit at a time and finally, when she

was reduced to despair, it came to: "without salary in return for board." No, she could not find a situation. I

made up my mind then to test her for the last time. I suddenly took up the Voice of the day and showed her an

advertisement. "A young person, without friends and relations, seeks a situation as a governess to young

children, preferably in the family of a middleaged widower. Might be a comfort in the home."

"Look here how this lady has advertised this morning, and by the evening she will certainly have found a

Again she flushed crimson and her eyes blazed, she turned round and went straight out. I was very much

pleased, though by that time I felt sure of everything and had no apprehensions; nobody will take her

cigarholders, I thought. Besides, she has got rid of them all. And so it was, two days later, she came in

again, such a pale little creature, all agitation I saw that something had happened to her at home, and

something really had. I will explain directly what had happened, but now I only want to recall how I did

something chic, and rose in her opinion. I suddenly decided to do it. The fact is she was pawning the ikon

(she had brought herself to pawn it!) . . Ah! listen! listen! This is the beginning now, I've been in a muddle.

You see I want to recall all this, every detail, every little point. I want to bring them all together and look at

them as a whole and I cannot . . . It's these little things, these little things. . . . It was an ikon of the

Madonna. A Madonna with the Babe, and oldfashioned, homely one, and the setting was silver gilt, worth

well, six roubles perhaps. I could see the ikon was precious to her; she was pawning it whole, not taking it out

"You had better take it out of the setting, and take the ikon home; for it's not the thing to pawn."

"I tell you what. I will not take it out, but I'll set it here in the shrine with the other ikons," I said, on

reflection. "Under the little lamp" (I always had the lamp burning as soon as the shop was opened), "and you

"You don't want ten? The ikon's worth it," I added noticing that her eyes flashed again.

"Don't despise any one; I've been in such straits myself; and worse too, and that you see me here in this

"You're revenging yourself on the world? Yes?" she interrupted suddenly with rather sarcastic mockery,

which, however, was to a great extent innocent (that is, it was general, because certainly at that time she did

"Aha," thought I; "so that's what you're like. You've got character; you belong to the new movement."

"You see!" I remarked at once, halfjestingly, halfmysteriously, "I am part of that part of the Whole that

Quickly and with great curiosity, in which , however, there was something very childlike, she looked at me.

"Stay . . . what's that idea? Where does it come from? I've heard it somewhere . . ."

"Don't rack your brains. In those words Mephistopheles introduces himself to Faust. Have you read Faust?"

"That is, you have not read it at all. You must read it. But I see an ironical look in your face again. Please

don't imagine that I've so little taste as to try to use Mephistopheles to commend myself to you and grace the

She meant to say: "I didn't expect to find you were an educated man"; but she didn't say it; I knew, though,

"You see," I observed, "One may do good in any calling I'm not speaking of myself, of course. Let us grant

"Of course, one can do good in every position," she said, glancing at me with a rapid, profound look. "Yes, in

Oh, I remember, I remember all those moments! And I want to add, too, that when such young creatures,

such sweet young creatures want to say something so clever and profound, they show at once so truthfully

and naively in their faces, "Here I am saying something clever and profound now" and that is not from

vanity, as it is with any one like me, but one sees that she appreciates it awfully herself, and believes in it, and

thinks a lot of it, and imagines that you think a lot of all that, just as she does. Oh, truthfulness! it's by that

I remember it, I have forgotten nothing! As soon as she had gone, I made up my mind. That same day I made

my last investigations and found out every detail of her position at the moment; every detail of her past I had

learned already from Lukerya, at that time a servant in the family, whom I had bribed a few days before. This

position was so awful that I can't understand how she could laugh as she had done that day and feel interest in

the words of Mephistopheles, when she was in such horrible straits. But that's youth! That is just what I

thought about her at the time with pride and joy; for, you know, there's a greatness of soul in it to be able to

say, "Though I am on the edge of the abyss, yet Goethe's grand words are radiant with light." Youth always

has some greatness of soul, if its only a spark and that distorted. Though it's of her I am speaking, of her

alone. And, above all, I looked upon her then as mine and did not doubt of my power. You know, that's a

But what is the matter with me? If I go on like this, when shall I put it all together and look at it as a whole. I

The "details" I learned about her I will tell in one word: her father and mother were dead, they had died three

years before, and she had been left with two disreputable aunts: though it is saying too little to call them

disreputable. One aunt was a widow with a large family (six children, one smaller than another), the other a

horrid old maid. Both were horrid. Her father was in the service, but only as a copying clerk, and was only a

gentleman by courtesy; in fact, everything was in my favour. I came as though from a higher world; I was

anyway a retired lieutenant of a brilliant regiment, a gentleman by birth, independent and all the rest of it, and

as for my pawnbroker's shop, her aunts could only have looked on that with respect. She had been living in

slavery at her aunts' for those three years: yet she had managed to pass an examination somewhere she

managed to pass it, she wrung the time for it, weighed down as a she was by the pitiless burden of daily

drudgery, and that proved something in the way of striving for what was higher and better on her part! Why,

what made me want to marry her? Never mind me, though; of that later on . . . As though that mattered!

She taught her aunt's children; she made their clothes; and towards the end not only washed the clothes, but

with her weak chest even scrubbed the floors. To put it plainly, they used to beat her, and taunt her with

eating their bread. It ended by their scheming to sell her. Tfoo! I omit the filthy details. She told me all about

All this had been watched for a whole year by a neighbour, a fat shopkeeper, and not a humble one but the

owner of two grocer's shops. He had illtreated two wives and now he was looking for a third, and so he cast

his eye on her. "She's a quiet one," he thought; "she's grown up in poverty, and I am marrying for the sake of

He really had children. He began trying to make the match and negotiating with the aunts. He was fifty years

old, besides. She was aghast with horror. It was then she began coming so often to me to advertise in the

Voice. At last she began begging the aunts to give her just a little time to think it over. They granted her that

little time, but would not let her have more; they were always at her: "We don't know where to turn to find

I had found all this out already, and the same day, after what had happened in the morning, I made up my

mind. That evening the shopkeeper came, bringing with him a pound of sweets from the shop; she was sitting

with him, and I called Lukerya out of the kitchen and told her to go and whisper to her that I was at the gate

and wanted to say something to her without delay. I felt pleased with myself. And altogether I felt awfully

On the spot, at the gate, in the presence of Lukerya, before she had recovered from her amazement at my

sending for her, I informed her that I should look upon it as an honour and happiness . . . telling her, in the

next place, not to be surprised at the manner of my declaration and at my speaking at the gate, saying that I

was a straightforward man and had learned the position of affairs. And I was not lying when I said I was

straightforward. Well, hang it all. I did not only speak with propriety that is, showing I was a man of decent

breeding, but I spoke with originality and that was the chief thing. After all, is there any harm in admitting it?

I want to judge myself and am judging myself. I must speak pro and contra, and I do. I remembered

afterwards with enjoyment, though it was stupid, that I frankly declared, without the least embarrassment,

that, in the first place, I was not particularly talented, not particularly intelligent, not particularly

goodnatured, rather a cheap egoist (I remember that expression, I thought of it on the way and was pleased

with it) and that very probably there was a great deal that was disagreeable in me in other respects. All this

was said with a special sort of pride we all know how that sort of thing is said. Of course, I had good taste

enough not to proceed to enlarge on my virtues after honourably enumerating my defects, not to say "to make

up for that I have this and that and the other." I saw that she was still horrible frightened I purposely

exaggerated. I told her straight out that she would have enough to eat, but that fine clothes, theatres, balls

she would have none of, at any rate not till later on, when I had attained my object. this severe tone was a

positive delight to me. I added as cursorily as possible, that in adopting such a calling that is, in keeping a

pawnbroker's shop, I had one object, hinting there was a special circumstance . . . but I really had a right to

say so: I really had such an aim and there really was such a circumstance. Wait a minute, gentlemen; I have

always been the first to hate this pawnbroking business, but in reality, though it is absurd to talk about oneself

in such mysterious phrases, yet, you know, I was "revenging myself on society," I really was, I was, I was!

So that her gibe that morning at the idea of my revenging myself was unjust. that is, do you see, if I had said

to her straight out in words: "yes, I am revenging myself on society," she would have laughed as she did that

morning, and it would, in fact have been absurd. But by indirect hints, but dropping mysterious phrases, it

appeared that it was possible to work upon her imagination. Besides, I had no fears then: I knew that the fat

shopkeeper was anyway more repulsive to her than I was, and that I, standing at the gate, had appeared as a

deliverer. I understood that, of course. Oh, what is base a man understands particularly well! But was it base?

Wait a bit: of course, I didn't breathe a word to her of doing her a benefit; the opposite, oh, quite the opposite;

I made out that it was I that would be under an obligation to her, not she to me. Indeed, I said as much I

couldn't resist saying it and it sounded stupid, perhaps, for I noticed a shade flit across her face. But

altogether I won the day completely. Wait a bit, if I am to recall all that vileness, then I will tell of that worst

beastliness. As I stood there what was stirring in my mind was, "You are tall, a good figure, educated and

speaking without conceit goodlooking." That is what was at work in my mind. I need hardly say that, on

the spot, out there at the gate she said "yes." But . . . but I ought to add: that out there by the gate she thought

a long time before she said "yes." She pondered for so long that I said to her, "Well?" and could not even

And her little face was so serious, so serious that even then I might have read it! And I was mortified: "Can

she be choosing between me and the grocer!" I thought. Oh, I did not understand then! I did not understand

anything, anything, then! I did not understand till today! I remember Lukerya ran after me as I was going

away, stopped me on the road and said, breathlessly: "God will reward you, sir, for taking our dear young

Proud, is she! "I like proud people," I thought. Proud people are particularly nice when . . . well, when one

has no doubt of one's power over them, eh? Oh, base, tactless man! Oh, how pleased I was! You know, when

she was standing there at the gate, hesitating whether to say "yes" to me, and I was wondering at it, you

know, she may have had some such thought as this: "If it is to be misery either way, isn't it best to choose the

very worst" that is, let the fat grocer beat her to death when he was drunk! Eh! what do you think, could

And, indeed, I don't understand it now, I don't understand it at all, even now. I have only just said that she

may have had that thought: of two evils choose the worst that is the grocer. But which was the worst for her

then the grocer or I? The grocer or the pawnbroker who quoted Goethe? That's another question! What a

question! And even that you don't understand: the answer is lying on the table and you call it a question!

Never mind me, though. It's not a question of me at all . . . and, by the way, what is there left for me now

whether it's a question of me or whether it is not? That's what I am utterly unable to answer. I had better go to

I could not sleep. And how should I? There is a pulse throbbing in my head. One longs to master it all, all that

degradation. Oh, the degradation! Oh, what degradation I dragged her out of then! Of course, she must have

realized that, she must have appreciated my action! I was pleased, too, by various thoughts for instance, the

reflection that I was fortyone and she was only sixteen. that fascinated me, that feeling of inequality was

I wanted, for instance, to have a wedding a l'anglaise, that is only the two of us, with just te two necessary

witnesses, one of them Lukerya, and from the wedding straight to the train to Moscow (I happened to have

business there, by the way), and then a fortnight at the hotel. She opposed it, she would not have it, and I had

to visit her aunts and treat them with respect as though they were relations from whom I was taking her. I

gave way, and all befitting respect was paid the aunts. I even made the creatures a present of a hundred

roubles each and promised them more not telling her anything about it, of course, that I might not make her

feel humiliated by the lowness of her surroundings. the aunts were as soft as silk at once. There was a

wrangle about the trousseau too; she had nothing, almost literally, but she did not want to have anything. I

succeeded in proving to her, though, that she must have something, and I made up the trousseau, for who

would have given her anything? But there, enough of me. I did, however, succeed in communicating some of

my ideas to her then, so that she knew them anyway. I was in too great a hurry, perhaps. the best of it was

that, from the very beginning, she rushed to meet me with love, greeted me with rapture, when I went to see

her in the evening, told me in her chatter (the enchanting chatter of innocence) all about her childhood and

girlhood, her old home, her father and mother. But I poured cold water upon all that at once. that was my

idea. I met her enthusiasm with silence, friendly silence, of course . . . but, all the same, she could quickly see

that we were different and that I was an enigma. And being an enigma was what I made a point of most of

all! Why, it was just for the sake of being an enigma, perhaps that I have been guilty of all this stupidity.

The first thing was sternness it was with an air of sternness that I took her into my house. In fact, as I went

about then feeling satisfied, I framed a complete system. Oh, it came of itself without any effort. And it could

not have been otherwise. I was bound to create that system owing to one inevitable fact why should I libel

myself indeed! The system was a genuine one. yes, listen; if you must judge a man, better judge him knowing

How am I to begin this, for it is very difficult. When you begin to justify yourself then it is difficult. You

see, for instance, young people despise money I made money of importance at once; I laid special stress on

money. And laid such stress on it that she became more and more silent. She opened her eyes wide, listened,

gazed and said nothing. you see, the young are heroic, that is the good among them are heroic and impulsive,

but they have little tolerance; if the least thing is not quite right they are full of contempt. And I wanted

breadth, I wanted to instil breadth into her very heart, to make it part of her inmost feeling, did I not? I'll take

a trivial example: how should I explain my pawnbroker's shop to a character like that? Of course, I did not

speak of it directly, or it would have appeared that I was apologizing, and I, so to speak, worked it through

with pride, I almost spoke without words, and I am masterly at speaking without words. all my life I have

spoken without words, and I have passed through whole tragedies on my own account without words. Why, I,

too, have been unhappy! I was abandoned by every one, abandoned and forgotten, and no one, no one knew

it! And all at once this sixteenyearold girl picked up details about me from vulgar people and thought she

knew all about me, and, meanwhile, what was precious remained hidden in this heart! I went on being silent,

with her especially I was silent, with her especially, right up to yesterday why was I silent? Because I was

proud. I wanted her to find out for herself, without my help, and not from the tales of low people; I wanted

her to divine of herself what manner of man I was and to understand me! Taking her into my house I wanted

all her respect, I wanted her to be standing before me in homage for the sake of my sufferings and I

deserved it. Oh, I have always been proud, I always wanted all or nothing! You see it was just because I am

not one who will accept half a happiness, but always wanted all, that I was forced to act like that then: it was

a much as to say, "See into me for yourself and appreciate me!" For you must see that if I had begun

explaining myself to her and prompting her, ingratiating myself and asking for her respect it would have

been as good as asking for charity . . . But . . . but why am I talking of that!

Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid! I explained to her than, in two words, directly, ruthlessly (and I emphasize the

fact that it was ruthlessly) that the heroism of youth was charming, but not worth a farthing. Why not?

Because it costs them so little, because it is not gained through life; it is, so to say, merely "first impressions

of existence," but just let us see you at work! Cheap heroism is always easy, and even to sacrifice life is easy

too; because it is only a case of hot blood and an overflow of energy, and there is such a longing for what is

beautiful! No, take the deed of heroism that is labourious, obscure, without noise or flourish, slandered, in

which there is a great deal of sacrifice and not one grain of glory in which you, a splendid man, are made to

look like a scoundrel before every one, though you might be the most honest man in the world you try that

sort of heroism and you'll soon give it up! While I have been bearing the burden of that all my life. At first

she argued ough, how she argued but afterwards she began to be silent, completely silent, in fact, only

opened her eyes wide as she listened, such big, big eyes, so attentive. And . . . and what is more, I suddenly

saw a smile, mistrustful, silent, an evil smile. Well, it was with that smile on her face I brought her into my

Neither. It began of itself from the very first. I have said that with sternness i brought her into the house.

From the first step, however, I softened it. Before she was married it was explained to her that she would

have to take pledges and pay out money, and she said nothing at the time (note that). What is more, she set to

work with positive zeal. Well, of course, my lodging, my furniture all remained as before. My lodging

consisted of two rooms, a large room from which the shop was partitioned off, and a second one, also large,

our living room and bedroom. My furniture is scanty: even her aunts had better things. My shrine of ikons

with the lamp was in the outer room where the shop is; in the inner room my bookcase with a few books in

and a trunk of which I keep the key; married I told her that one rouble a day and not more, was to be spent on

our board that is, on food for me, her and Lukerya whom I had enticed to come to us. "I must have thirty

thousand in three years," said I, "and we can't save the money if we spend more." She fell in with this, but I

raised the sum by thirty kopecks a day. It was the same with the theatre. I told her before marriage that she

would not go to the theatre, and yet I decided once a month to go to he theatre, and in a decent way, to the

stalls. We went together. We went three times and saw The Hunt after Happiness, and Singing Birds, I

believe. (Oh, what does it matter!) We went in silence and in silence we returned. Why, why, from the very

beginning, did we take to being silent? From the very first, you know, we had no quarrels, but always the

same silence. She was always, I remember, watching me stealthily in those days; as soon as I noticed it I

became more silent that before. It is true that it was I insisted on the silence, not she. On her part there were

one or two outbursts, she rushed to embrace me; but as these outbursts were hysterical, painful, and I wanted

secure happiness, with respect from her, I received them coldly. And indeed, I was right; each time the

Though, again, there were no quarrels, but there was silence and and on her side a more and more defiant

air. "Rebellion and independence," that's what it was, only she didn't know how to show it. yes, that gentle

creature was becoming more and more defiant. Would you believe it, I was becoming revolting to her? I

learned that. And there could be no doubt that she was moved to frenzy at times. think, for instance, of her

beginning to sniff at our poverty, after her coming from such sordidness and destitution from scrubbing the

floors! you see, there was no poverty; there was frugality, but there was abundance of what was necessary, of

linen, for instance, and the greatest cleanliness. I always used to dream that cleanliness in a husband attracts a

wife. It was not our poverty she was scornful of, but my supposed miserliness in the housekeeping: "he has

his objects," she seemed to say, "he is showing his strength of will." She suddenly refused to go to the theatre.

And more and more often an ironical look. . . . And I was more silent, more and more silent.

I could not begin justifying myself, could I? What was at the bottom of all this was the pawnbroking

business. Allow me, I knew that a woman, above all at sixteen, must be in complete subordination to a man.

Women have no originality. That that is an axiom; even now, even now, for me it is an axiom! What does it

prove that she is lying there in the outer room? Truth is truth, and even Mill is no use against it! And a

woman who loves, oh, a woman who loves idealizes even the vices, even the villainies of the man she loves.

He would not himself even succeed in finding such justification for his villanies as she will find for him. that

is generous but not original. it is the lack of originality alone that has been the ruin of women. and, I repeat,

what is the use of your point to that table? Why, what is there original in her being on that table? O O Oh!

Listen. I was convinced of her love at that time. Why, she used to throw herself on my neck in those days.

She loved me; that is, more accurately, she wanted to love. Yes, that's just what it was, she wanted to love;

she was trying to love. And the point was that in this case there were no villanies for which she had to find

justification. you will say, I'm a pawnbroker; and every one says the same. But what if I am a pawnbroker? It

follows that there must be reasons since the most generous of men had become a pawnbroker. You see,

gentlemen, there are ideas . . . that is, if one expresses some ideas, utters them in words, the effect is very

stupid. The effect is to make one ashamed. For what reason? For no reason. Because we are all wretched

creatures and cannot hear the truth, or I do not know why. I said just now, "the most generous of men" that

is absurd, and yet that is how it was. It's the truth, that is, the absolute, absolute truth! Yes, I had the right to

want to make myself secure and open that pawnbroker's shop: "You have rejected me, you people, I mean

you have cast me out with contemptuous silence. My passionate yearning towards you you have met with

insult all my life. Now I have the right to put up a wall against you, to save up that thirty thousand roubles

and end my life somewhere in the Crimea, on the south coast, among the mountains and vineyards, on my

own estate bought with that thirty thousand, and above everything, far away from you all, living without

malice against you, with an ideal in my soul, with a beloved woman at my heart, and a family, if God sends

Of course, it is quite right that I say this to myself now, but what could have been more stupid than describing

all that aloud to her? That was the cause of my proud silence, that's why we sat in silence. For what could she

have understood? Sixteen years old, the earliest youth yes, what could she have understood of my

justification, of my sufferings? Undeviating straightness, ignorance of life, the cheap convictions of youth,

the henlike blindness of those "noble hearts," and what stood for most was the pawnbroker's shop and

enough! (And was I a villain in the pawnbroker's shop? Did not she see how I acted? Did I extort too much?)

Oh, how awful is truth on earth! That exquisite creature, that gentle spirit, that heaven she was a tyrant, she

was the insufferable tyrant and torture of my soul! I should be unfair to myself if I didn't say so! You imagine

I didn't love her? Who can say that I did not love her! Do you see, it was a case of irony, the malignant irony

of fate and nature! We were under a curse, the life of men in general is under a curse! (mine in particular). Of

course, I understand now that I made some mistake! Something went wrong. Everything was clear, my plan

was clear as daylight: "Austere and proud, asking for no moral comfort, but suffering in silence." And that

was how it was. I was not lying, I was not lying! "She will see for herself, later on, that it was heroic, only

that she had not known how to see it, and when, some day, she divines, it she will prize me ten times more

and will abase herself in the dust and fold her hands in homage" that was my plan. But I forgot something

or lost sight of it. There was something I failed to manage. But, enough, enough! And whose forgiveness am I

to ask now? What is done is done. By bolder, man, and have some pride! It is not your fault! . . .

Well, I will tell the truth, I am not afraid to face the truth; it was her fault, her fault!

Quarrels began from her suddenly beginning to pay out loans on her own account, to price things above their

worth, and even, on two occasions, she deigned to enter into a dispute about it with me. I did not agree. But

This old widow brought a medallion a present from her dead husband, a souvenir, of course. I lent her

thirty roubles on it. She fell to complaining, begged me to keep the thing for her of course we do keep

things. Well, in short, she came again to exchange it for a bracelet that was not worth eight roubles; I, of

course, refused. She must have guessed something from my wife's eyes, anyway she came again when I was

Discovering it the same day, I spoke mildly but firmly and reasonably. She was sitting on the bed, looking at

the ground and tapping with her right foot on the carpet (her characteristic movement); there was an ugly

smile on her lips. Then, without raising my voice in the least, I explained calmly that the money was mine,

that I had a right to look at life with my own eyes and and that when I had offered to take her into my

She suddenly leapt up, suddenly began shaking all over and what do you think she suddenly stamped her

foot at me; it was a wild animal, it was a frenzy, it was the frenzy of a wild animal. I was petrified with

astonishment; I had never expected such an outburst. But I did not lose my head. I made no movement even,

and again, in the same calm voice, I announced plainly that from that time forth I should deprive her of the

The fact is, she had not the right to walk out of the house. Nowhere without me, such was the agreement

The next day, too, she went out in the morning, and the day after again. I shut the shop and went off to her

aunts. I had cut off all relations with them from the time of the wedding I would not have them to see me,

and I would not go to see them. But it turned out that she had not been with them. They listened to me with

curiosity and laughed in my face: "It serves you right," they said. But I expected their laughter. At that point,

then I bought over the younger aunt, the unmarried one, for a hundred roubles, giving her twentyfive in

advance. Two days later she came to me: "There's an officer called Efimovitch mixed up in this," she said; "a

I was greatly amazed. That Efimovitch had done me more harm than any one in the regiment, and about a

month ago, being a shameless fellow, he once or twice came into the shop with a pretence of pawning

something, and I remember, began laughing with my wife. I went up at the time and told him not to dare to

come to me, recalling our relations; but there was no thought of anything in my head, I simply thought that he

was insolent. Now the aunt suddenly informed me that she had already appointed to see him and that the

whole business had been arranged by a former friend of the aunt's, the widow of a colonel, called Yulia

I will cut the story short. The business cost me three hundred roubles, but in a couple of days it had been

arranged that I should stand in an adjoining room, behind closed doors, and listen to the first rendezvous

between my wife and Efimovitch, teteatete. Meanwhile, the evening before, a scene, brief but very

She returned towards evening, sat down on the bed, looked at me sarcastically, and tapped on the carpet with

her foot. Looking at her, the idea suddenly came into my mind that for the whole of the last month, or rather,

the last fortnight, her character had not been her own; one might even say that it had been the opposite of her

own; she had suddenly shown herself a mutinous, aggressive creature; I cannot say shameless, but regardless

of decorum and eager for trouble. She went out of her way to stir up trouble. Her gentleness hindered her,

though. When a girl like that rebels, however outrageously she may behave, one can always see that she is

forcing herself to do it, that she is driving herself to do it, and that it is impossible for her to master and

overcome her own modesty and shamefacedness. That is why such people go such lengths at times, so that

one can hardly believe one's eyes. One who is accustomed to depravity, on the contrary, always softens

things, acts more disgustingly, but with a show of decorum and seemliness by which she claims to be

"Is it true that you were turned out of the regiment because you were afraid to fight a duel?" she asked

"It is true that by the sentence of the officers I was asked to give up my commission, though, as a fact, I had

"Yes, they sentenced me as a coward. But I refused to fight a duel, not from cowardice, but because I would

not submit to their tyrannical decision and send a challenge when I did not consider myself insulted. You

know," I could not refrain from adding, "that to resist such tyranny and to accept the consequences meant

I could not resist it. I dropped the phrase, as it were, in selfdefence, and that was all she wanted, this fresh

"And is it true that for three years afterwards you wandered about the streets of Petersburg like a tramp,

"I even spent the night in Vyazemsky's House in the Haymarket. Yes, it is true; there was much disgrace and

degradation in my life after I left the regiment, but not moral degradation, because even at the time I hated

what I did more than any one. It was only the degradation of my will and my mind, and it was only caused by

A hint at the pawnbroker's shop. But by then I had succeeded in recovering my mastery of myself. I saw that

she was thirsting for explanations that be humiliating to me and I did not give them. A customer rang the

bell very opportunely, and I went out into the shop. An hour later, when she was dressed to go out, she stood

And so next day I was standing in that room, the other side of the door, listening to hear how my fate was

being decided, and in my pocket I had a revolver. She was dressed better than usual and sitting at a the table,

and Efimovitch was showing off before her. And after all, it turned out exactly (I say it to my credit) as I had

foreseen and had assumed it would, though I was not conscious of having foreseen and assumed it. I do not

I listened for a whole hour. For a whole hour I was present at a duel between a noble, lofty woman and a

worldly, corrupt, dense man with a crawling soul. And how, I wondered in amazement, how could that naive,

gentle, silent girl have come to know all that? The wittiest author of a society comedy could not have created

such a scene of mockery, of naive laughter, and of the holy contempt of virtue for vice. And how brilliant her

sayings, her little phrases were: what wit there was in her rapid answers, what truths in her condemnation.

And, at the same time, what almost girlish simplicity. She laughed in his face at his declarations of love, at

his gestures, at his proposals. Coming coarsely to the point at once, and not expecting to meet with

opposition, he was utterly nonplussed. At first I might have imagined that it was simply coquetry on her part

"the coquetry of a witty, though depraved creature to enhance her own value." But no, the truth shone out

like the sun, and to doubt was impossible. It was only an exaggerated and impulsive hatred for me that had

led her, in her inexperience, to arrange this interview, but, when it came off her eyes were opened at once.

She was simply in desperate haste to mortify me, come what might, but though she had brought herself to do

something so low she could not endure unseemliness. And could she, so pure and sinless, with an ideal in her

heart, have been seduced by Efimovitch or any worthless snob? On the contrary, she was only moved to

laughter by him. All her goodness rose up from her soul and her indignation roused her to sarcasm. I repeat,

the buffoon was completely nonplussed at last and sat frowning, scarcely answering, so much so that I began

to be afraid that he might insult her, from a mean desire for revenge. And I repeat again: to my credit, I

listened to that scene almost without surprise. I met, as it were, nothing but what I knew well. I had gone, as

it were, on purpose to meet it, believing not a word of it, not a word said against her, though I did take the

revolver in my pocket that is the truth. And could I have imagined her different? For what did I love her,

for what did I prize her, for what had I married her? Oh, of course, I was quite convinced of her hate for me,

but at the same time I was quite convinced of her sinlessness. I suddenly cut short the scene by opening the

door. Efimovitch leapt up. I took her by the hand and suggested she should go home with me. Efimovitch

"Oh, to sacred conjugal rights I offer no opposition; take her away, take her away! And you know," he

shouted after me, "though no decent man could fight you, yet from respect to your lady I am at your service .

After which not a word was said all the way home. I led her by the arm and she did not resist. On the

contrary, she was greatly impressed, and this lasted after she got home. On reaching home she sat down in a

chair and fixed her eyes upon me. She was extremely pale; though her lips were compressed ironically yet

she looked at me with solemn nd austere defiance and seemed convinced in earnest, for the minute, that I

should kill her with the revolver. But I took the revolver from my pocket without a word and laid it on the

table! She looked at me and at the revolver (note that the revolver was already an object familiar to her. I had

kept one loaded ever since I opened the shop. I made up my mind when I set up the shop that I would not

keep a huge dog or a strong manservant, as Mozer does, for instance. My cook opens the doors to my visitors.

But in our trade it is impossible to be without means of selfdefence in case of emergency, and I kept a

loaded revolver. In early days, when first she was living in my house, she took great interest in that revolver,

and asked questions about it, and I even explained its construction and working; I even persuaded her once to

fire at a target. Note all that). Taking no notice of her frightened eyes, I lay down on the bed, halfundressed.

I felt very much exhausted; it was by then about eleven o'clock. She went on sitting in the same place, not

stirring, for another hour. Then she put out the candle and she, too, without undressing, lay down on the sofa

near the wall. For the first time she did not sleep with me note that too. . . .

I woke up, I believe, before eight o'clock, and it was very nearly broad daylight. I woke up completely to full

consciousness and opened my eyes. She was standing at the table holding the revolver in her hand. She did

not see that I had woken up and was looking at her. And suddenly I saw that she had begun moving towards

me with the revolver in her hand. I quickly closed my eyes and pretended to be still asleep.

She came up to the bed and stood over me. I heard everything; though a dead silence had fallen I heard that

silence. All at once there was a convulsive movement and, irresistibly, against my will, I suddenly opened my

eyes. She was looking straight at me, straight into my eyes, and the revolver was at my temple. Our eyes met.

But we looked at each other for no more than a moment. With an effort I shut my eyes again, and at the same

instant I resolved that I would not stir and would not open my eyes, whatever might be awaiting me.

It does sometimes happen that people who are sound asleep suddenly open their eyes, even raise their heads

for a second and look about the room, then, a moment later, they lay their heads again on the pillow

unconscious, and fall asleep without understanding anything. When meeting her eyes and feeling the revolver

on my forehead, I closed my eyes and remained motionless, as though in a deep sleep she certainly might

have supposed that I really was asleep, and that I had seen nothing, especially as it was utterly improbable

that, after seeing what I had seen, I should shut my eyes again at such a moment.

Yes, it was improbable. But she might guess the truth all the same that thought flashed upon my mind at

once, all at the same instant. Oh, what a whirl of thoughts and sensations rushed into my mind in less than a

minute. Hurrah for the electric speed of thought! In that case (so I felt), if she guessed the truth and knew that

I was awake, I should crush her by my readiness to accept death, and her hand might tremble. Her

determination might be shaken by a new, overwhelming impression. They say that people standing on a

height have an impulse to throw themselves down. I imagine that many suicides and murders have been

committed simply because the revolver has been in the hand. It is like a precipice, with an incline of an angle

of fortyfive degrees, down which you cannot help sliding, and something impels you irresistibly to pull the

trigger. But the knowledge that I had seen, that I knew it all, and was waiting for death at her hands without a

The stillness was prolonged, and all at once I felt on my temple, on my hair, the cold contact of iron. You will

ask: did I confidently expect to escape? I will answer you as God is my judge: I had no hope of it, except one

chance in a hundred. Why did I accept death? But I will ask, what use was life to me after that revolver had

been raised against me by the being I adored? Besides, I knew with the whole strength of my being that there

was a struggle going on between us, a fearful duel for life and death, the duel fought be the coward of

yesterday, rejected by his comrades for cowardice. I knew that and she knew it, if only she guessed the truth

Perhaps that was not so, perhaps I did not think that then, but yet it must have been so, even without

conscious thought, because I've done nothing but think of it every hour of my life since.

But you will ask me again: why did you not save her from such wickedness? Oh! I've asked myself that

question a thousand times since every time that, with a shiver down my back, I recall that second. But at

that moment my soul was plunged in dark despair! I was lost, I myself was lost how could I save any one?

And how do you know whether I wanted to save any one then? How can one tell what I could be feeling

My mind was in a ferment, though; the seconds passed; she still stood over me and suddenly I shuddered

with hope! I quickly opened my eyes. She was no longer in the room: I got out of bed: I had conquered and

I went to the samovar. We always had the samovar brought into the outer room and she always poured out the

tea. I sat down at the table without a word and took a glass of tea from her. Five minutes later I looked at her.

She was fearfully pale, even paler than the day before, and she looked at me. And suddenly . . . and suddenly,

seeing that I was looking at her, she gave a pale smile with her pale lips, with a timid question in her eyes.

"So she still doubts and is asking herself: does he know or doesn't he know; did he see or didn't he?" I turned

my eyes away indifferently. After tea I close the shop, went to the market and bought an iron bedstead and a

screen. Returning home, I directed that the bed should be put in the front room and shut off with a screen. It

was a bed for her, but I did not say a word to her. She understood without words, through that bedstead, that I

"had seen and knew all," and that all doubt was over. At night I left the revolver on the table, as I always did.

At night she got into her new bed without a word: our marriage bond was broken, "she was conquered but not

forgiven." At night she began to be delirious, and in the morning she had brainfever. She was in bed for six

Lukerya has just announced that she can't go on living here and that she is going away as soon as her lady is

buried. I knelt down and prayed for five minutes. I wanted to pray for an hour, but I keep thinking and

thinking, and always sick thoughts, and my head aches what is the use of praying? it's only a sin! It is

strange, too, that I am not sleepy: in great, too great sorrow, after the first outbursts one is always sleepy. Men

condemned to death, they say, sleep very soundly on the last night. And so it must be, it si the law of nature,

otherwise their strength would not hold out . . . I lay down on the sofa but I did not sleep. . . .

. . . For the six weeks of her illness we were looking after her day and night Lukerya and I together with a

trained nurse whom I had engaged from the hospital. I spared no expense in fact, I was eager to spend my

money for her. I called in Dr. Shreder and paid him ten roubles a visit. When she began to get better I did not

show myself so much. But why am I describing it? When she got up again, she sat quietly and silently in my

room at a special table, which I had bought for her, too, about that time. . . . Yes, that's the truth, we were

absolutely silent; that is, we began talking afterwards, but only of the daily routine. I purposely avoided

expressing myself, but I noticed that she, too, was glad not to have to say a word more than was necessary. It

seemed to me that this was perfectly normal on her part: "She is too much shattered, too completely

conquered," I thought, "and I must let her forget and grow used to it." In this way we were silent, but every

minute I was preparing myself for the future. I thought that she was too, and it was fearfully interesting to me

to guess what she was thinking about to herself then. I will say more: oh! of course, no one knows what I

went through, moaning over her in her illness. But I stifled my moans in my own heart, even from Lukerya. I

could not imagine, could not even conceive of her dying without knowing the whole truth. When she was out

of danger and began to regain her health, I very quickly and completely, I remember, recovered my

tranquillity. What is more, I made up my mind to defer out future as long as possible, and meanwhile to leave

things just as they were. Yes, something strange and peculiar happened to me then, I cannot call it anything

else: I had triumphed, and the mere consciousness of that was enough for me. So the whole winter passes.

You see, there had been a terrible external circumstance in my life which, up till then that is, up to the

catastrophe with my wife had weighed upon me every day and every hour. I mean the loss of my reputation

and my leaving the regiment. In two words, I was treated with tyrannical injustice. It is true my comrades did

not love me because of my difficult character, and perhaps because of my absurd character, though it often

happens that what is exalted, precious and of value to one, for some reason amuses the herd of one's

companions. Oh, I was never liked, not even at school! I was always and everywhere disliked. Even Lukerya

cannot like me. What happened in the regiment, though it was the result of their dislike to me, was in a sense

accidental. I mention this because nothing is more mortifying and insufferable than to be ruined by an

accident, which might have happened or not have happened, from an unfortunate accumulation of

circumstances which might have passed over like a cloud. For an intelligent being it is humiliating. This is

In an interval, at a theatre, I went out to the refreshment bar. A hussar called A came in and began,

before all the officers present and the public, loudly talking to two other hussars, telling them that Captain

Bezumtsev, of our regiment, was making a disgraceful scene in the passage and was, "he believed, drunk."

The conversation did not go further and, indeed, it was a mistake, for Captain Bezumtsev was not drunk and

the "disgraceful scene" was not really disgraceful. The hussars began talking of something else, and the

matter ended there, but the next day the story reached our regiment, and then they began saying at once that I

was the only officer of our regiment in the refreshment bar at the time, and that when A the hussar,

had spoken insolently of Captain Bezumtsev, I had not gone up to A and stopped him by

remonstrating. But on what grounds could I have done so? If he had a grudge against Bezumtsev, it was their

personal affair and why should I interfere? Meanwhile, the officers began to declare that it was not a personal

affair, but that it concerned the regiment, and as I was the only officer of the regiment present I had thereby

shown all the officers and other people in the refreshment bar that there could be officers in our regiment who

were not oversensitive on the score of their own honour and the honour of their regiment. I could not agree

with this view. they let me know that I could set everything right if I were willing, even now, late as it was, to

demand a formal explanation from A. I was not willing to do this, and as I was irritated I refused with

pride. And thereupon I forthwith resigned my commission that is the whole story. I left the regiment, proud

but crushed in spirit. I was depressed in will and mind. Just then it was that my sister's husband in Moscow

squandered all our little property and my portion of it, which was tiny enough, but the loss of it left me

homeless, without a farthing. I might have taken a job in a private business, but I did not. After wearing a

distinguished uniform I could not take work in a railway office. And so if it must be shame, let it be shame;

if it must be disgrace, let it be disgrace; if it must be degradation, let it be degradation (the worse it is, the

better) that was my choice. Then followed three years of gloomy memories, and even Vyazemsky's House. A

year and a half ago my godmother, a wealthy old lady, died in Moscow, and to my surprise left me three

thousand in her will. I thought a little and immediately decided on my course of action. I determined on

setting up as a pawnbroker, without apologizing to any one: money, then a home, as far as possible from

memories of the past, that was my plan. Nevertheless, the gloomy past and my ruined reputation fretted me

every day, every hour. But then I married. Whether it was by chance or not I don't know. but when I brought

her into my home I thought I was bringing a friend, and I needed a friend so much. But I saw clearly that the

friend must be trained, schooled, even conquered. Could I have explained myself straight off to a girl of

sixteen with her prejudices? How, for instance, could I, without the chance help of the horrible incident with

the revolver, have made her believe I was not a coward, and that I had been unjustly accused of cowardice in

the regiment? But that terrible incident came just in the nick of time. Standing the test of the revolver, I

scored off all my gloomy past. And though no one knew about it, she knew, and for me that was everything,

because she was everything for me, all the hope of the future that I cherished in my dreams! She was the one

person I had prepared for myself, and I needed no one else and here she knew everything; she knew, at any

rate, that she had been in haste to join my enemies against me unjustly. That thought enchanted me. In her

eyes I could not be a scoundrel now, but at most a strange person, and that thought after all that had happened

was by no means displeasing to me; strangeness is not a vice on the contrary, it sometimes attracts the

feminine heart. In fact, I purposely deferred the climax: what had happened was meanwhile, enough for my

peace of mind and provided a great number of pictures and materials for my dreams. That is what is wrong,

that I am a dreamer: I had enough material for my dreams, and about her, I thought she could wait.

So the whole winter passed in a sort of expectation. I liked looking at her on the sly, when she was sitting at

her little table. She was busy at her needlework, and sometimes in the evening she read books taken from my

bookcase. The choice of books in the bookcase must have had an influence in my favour too. She hardly ever

went out. Just before dusk, after dinner, I used to take her out every day for a walk. We took a constitutional,

but we were not absolutely silent, as we used to be. I tried, in fact, to make a show of our not being silent, but

talking harmoniously, but as I have said already, we both avoided letting ourselves go. I did it purposely, I

thought it was essential to "give her time." Of course, it was strange that almost till the end of the winter it

did not once strike me that, though I love to watch her stealthily, I had never once, all the winter, caught her

glancing at me! I thought it was timidity in her. Besides, she had an air of such timid gentleness, such

weakness after her illness. Yes, better to wait and "she will come to you all at once of herself. . . ."

That thought fascinated me beyond all words. I will add one thing; sometimes, as it were purposely, I worked

myself up and brought my mind and spirit to the point of believing she had injured me. And so it went on for

some time. But my anger could never be very real or violent. And I felt myself as though it were only acting.

And though I had broken off out marriage by buying that bedstead and screen, I could never, never look upon

her as a criminal. And not that I took a frivolous view of her crime, but because I had the sense to forgive her

completely, from the very first day, even before I bought the bedstead. In fact, it is strange on my part, for I

am strict in moral questions. On the contrary, in my eyes, she was so conquered, so humiliated, so crushed,

that sometimes I felt agonies of pity for her, though sometimes the thought of her humiliation was actually

I intentionally performed several acts of kindness that winter. I excused two debts, I have one poor woman

money without any pledge. And I said nothing to my wife about it, and I didn't do it in order that she should

know; but the woman came to thank me, almost on her knees. And in that way it became public property; it

But spring was coming, it was midApril, we took out the double windows and the sun began lighting up our

silent room with its bright beams. but there was, as it were, a veil before my eyes and a blindness over my

mind. A fatal, terrible veil! How did it happen that the scales suddenly fell from my eyes, and I suddenly saw

and understood? Was it a chance, or had the hour come, or did the ray of sunshine kindle a thought, a

conjecture, in my dull mind? No, it was not a thought, not a conjecture. But a chord suddenly vibrated, a

feeling that had long been dead was stirred and came to life, flooding all my darkened soul and devilish pride

with light. It was as though I had suddenly leaped up from my place. And, indeed, it happened suddenly and

Two words first. A month ago I noticed a strange melancholy in her, not simply silence, but melancholy.

That, too, I noticed suddenly. She was sitting at her work, her head bent over her sewing, and she did not see

that I was looking at her. And it suddenly struck me that she had grown so delicatelooking, so thin, that her

face was pale, her lips were white. All this, together with her melancholy, struck me all at once. I had already

heard a little dry cough, especially at night. I got up at once and went off to ask Shreder to come, saying

Shreder came next day. She was very much surprised and looked first at Shreder and then at me.

Shreder did not examine her very carefully (these doctors are sometimes superciliously careless), he only said

to me in the other room, that it was just the result of her illness, and that it wouldn't be amiss to go for a trip

to the sea in the spring, or, if that were impossible to take a cottage out of town for the summer. In fact, he

said nothing except that there was weakness, or something of that sort. When Shreder had gone, she said

But as she said this she suddenly flushed, apparently from shame. Apparently it was shame. Oh! now I

understand: she was ashamed that I was still her husband, that I was looking after her still as though I were a

real husband. But at the time I did not understand and put down her blush to humility (the veil!).

And so, a month later, in April, at five o'clock on a bright sunny day, I was sitting in the shop making up my

accounts. Suddenly I heard her, sitting in our room, at work at her table, begin softly, softly . . . singing. This

novelty made an overwhelming impression upon me, and to this day I don't understand it. Till then I had

hardly ever heard her sing, unless, perhaps, in those first days, when we were still able to be playful and

practise shooting at a target. Then her voice was rather strong, resonant; though not quit true it was very

sweet and healthy. now her little song was so faint it was not that it was melancholy (it was some sort of

ballad), but in her voice there was something jangled, broken, as though her voice were not equal to it, as

though the song itself were sick. She sang in an undertone, and suddenly, as her voice rose, it broke such a

poor little voice, it broke so pitifully; she cleared her throat and again began softly, softly singing. . . .

My emotions will be ridiculed, but no one will understand why I was so moved! No, I was still not sorry for

her, it was still something quite different. At the beginning, for the first minute, at any rate, I was filled with

sudden perplexity and terrible amazement a terrible and strange, painful and almost vindictive amazement:

Completely overwhelmed, I remained where I was, then I suddenly got up, took my hat and went out, as it

were, without thinking. At least I don't know why or where I was going. Lukerya began giving me my

"She is singing?" I said to Lukerya involuntarily. She did not understand, and looked at me still without

I remember everything. I went downstairs, went out into the street and walked along at random. I walked to

the corner and began looking into the distance. People were passing by, the pushed against me. I did not feel

it. I called a cab and told the man, I don't know why, to drive to Politseysky Bridge. Then suddenly changed

"That's for my having troubled you," I said, with a meaningless laugh, but a sort of ecstasy was suddenly

I returned home, quickening my steps. The poor little jangled, broken note was ringing in my heart again. My

breath failed me. The veil was falling, was falling from my eyes! Since she sang before me, she had forgotten

me that is what was clear and terrible. My heart felt it. But rapture was glowing in my soul and it overcame

Oh! the irony of fate! Why, there had been nothing else, and could have been nothing else but that rapture in

my soul all the winter, but where had I been myself all the winter? Had I been there together with my soul? I

ran up the stairs in great haste, I don't know whether I went in timidly. I only remember that the whole floor

seemed to be rocking and I felt as though I were floating on a river. I went into the room. She was sitting in

the same place as before, with her head cursorily and without interest at me; it was hardly a look but just a

I went straight up and sat down beside her in a chair abruptly, as though I were mad. She looked at me

quickly, seeming frightened; I took her hand and I don't remember what I said to her that is, tried to say, for

I could not even speak properly. My voice broke and would not obey me and I did not know what to say. I

"Let us talk . . . you know . . . tell me something!" I muttered something stupid. Oh! how could I help being

stupid? She started again and drew back in great alarm, looking at my face, but suddenly there was an

expression of stern surprise in her eyes. Yes, surprise and stern. She looked at me with wideopen eyes. That

sternness, that stern surprise shattered me at once: "So you still expect love? Love?" that surprise seemed to

be asking, though she said nothing. But I read it all, I read it all. Everything within me seemed quivering, and

I simply fell down at her feet. Yes, I grovelled at her feet. She jumped up quickly, but I held her forcibly by

And I fully understood my despair I understood it! But, would you believe it? ecstasy was surging up in my

head so violently that I thought I should die. I kissed her feet in delirium and rapture. Yes, in immense,

infinite rapture, and that, in spite of understanding all the hopelessness of my despair. I wept, said something,

but could not speak. Her alarm and amazement were followed by some uneasy misgiving, some grave

question, and she looked at me strangely, wildly even; she wanted to understand something quickly and she

smiled. She was horribly ashamed at my kissing her feet and she drew them back. But I kissed the place on

the floor where her foot had rested. She saw it and suddenly began laughing with shame (you know how it is

when people laugh with shame). She became hysterical, I saw that her hands trembled I did not think about

that but went on muttering that I loved her, that I would not get up. "Let me kiss your dress . . . and worship

you like this all my life." . . . I don't know, I don't remember but suddenly she broke into sobs and trembled

I carried her to the bed. When the attack had passed off, sitting on the edge of the bed, with a terribly

exhausted look, she took my two hands and begged me to calm myself: "Come, come, don't distress yourself,

be calm!" and she began crying again. All that evening I did not leave her side. I kept telling her I should take

her to Boulogne to bathe in the sea now, at once, in a fortnight, that she had such a broken voice, I had heard

it that afternoon, that I would shut up the shop, that I would sell it Dobronravov, that everything should begin

afresh and, above all, Boulogne, Boulogne! She listened and was still afraid. She grew more and more afraid.

But that was not what mattered most for me: what mattered most to me was the more and more irresistible

longing to fall at her feet again, and again to kiss and kiss the spot where her foot had rested, and to worship

her; and "I ask nothing, nothing more of you," I kept repeating, "do not answer me, take no notice of me,

only let me watch you from my corner, treat me as your dog, your thing. . . ." She was crying.

"I thought you would let me go on like that," suddenly broke from her unconsciously, so unconsciously that,

perhaps, she did not notice what she had said, and yet oh, that was the most significant, momentous phrase

she uttered that evening, the easiest for me to understand, and it stabbed my heart as though with a knife! It

explained everything to me, everything, but while she was beside me, before my eyes, I could not help

hoping and was fearfully happy. Oh, I exhausted her fearfully that evening. I understood that, but I kept

thinking that I should alter everything directly. At last, towards night, she utterly exhausted. I persuaded her

to go to sleep and she fell sound asleep at once. I expected her to be delirious, she was a little delirious, but

very slightly. I kept getting up every minute in the night and going softly in my slippers to look at her. I

wrung my hands over her, looking at that frail creature in that wretched little iron bedstead which I had

bought for three roubles. I knelt down, but did not dare to kiss her feet in her sleep (without her consent). I

began praying but leapt up again. Lukerya kept watch over me and came in and out from the kitchen. I went

in to her, and told her to go to bed, and that tomorrow "things would be quite different."

Oh, I was brimming over with rapture, rapture! I was eager for the next day. Above all, I did not believe that

anything could go wrong, in spite of the symptoms. Reason had not altogether come back to me, though the

veil had fallen from my eyes, and for a long, long time it did not come back not till today, not till this very

day! Yes, and how could it have come back then: why, she was still alive then; why, she was here before my

eyes, and I was before her eyes: "Tomorrow she will wake up and I will tell her all this, and she will see it

all." That was how I reasoned then, simply and clearly, because I was in an ecstasy! My great idea was the

trip to Boulogne. I kept thinking for some reason that Boulogne would be everything, that there was

something final and decisive about Boulogne. "To Boulogne, to Boulogne!" . . . I waited frantically for the

But you know that was only a few days ago, five days, only five days ago, last Tuesday! Yes, yes, if there had

only been a little longer, if she had only waited a little and I would have dissipated the darkness! It was

not as though she had not recovered her calmness. The very next day she listened to me with a smile, in spite

of her confusion. . . . All this time, all these five days, she was either confused or ashamed. She was afraid,

too, very much afraid. I don't dispute it, I am not so mad as to deny it. It was terror, but how could she help

being frightened? We had so long been strangers to one another, had grown so alienated from one another,

and suddenly all this. . . . But I did not look at her terror. I was dazzled by the new life beginning! . . . It is

true, it is undoubtedly true that I made a mistake. There were even, perhaps, many mistakes. When I woke up

next day, the first thing in the morning (that was on Wednesday), I made a mistake: I suddenly made her my

friend. I was in too great a hurry, but a confession was necessary, inevitable more than a confession! I did

not even hide what I had hidden from myself all my life. I told her straight out that the whole winter I had

been doing nothing but brood over the certainty of her love. I made clear to her that my moneylending had

been simply the degradation of my will and my mind, my personal idea of selfcastigation and

selfexaltation. I explained to her that I really had been cowardly that time in the refreshment bar, that it was

owing to my temperament, to my selfconsciousness. I was impressed by the surroundings, by the theatre: I

was doubtful how I should succeed and whether it would be stupid. I was not afraid of a duel, but of its being

stupid . . . and afterwards I would not own it and tormented every one and had tormented her for it, and had

married her so as to torment her for it. In fact, for the most part I talked as though in delirium. She herself

took my hands and made me leave off. "You are exaggerating . . . you are distressing yourself," ad again

there were tears, again almost hysterics! She kept begging me not to say all this, not to recall it.

I took no notice of her entreaties, or hardly noticed them: "Spring, Boulogne! There there would be sunshine,

there our new sunshine," I kept saying that! I shut up the shop and transferred it to Dobronravov. I suddenly

suggested to her giving all our money to the poor except the three thousand left me by my godmother, which

we would spend on going to Boulogne, and then we would come back and begin a new life of real work. So

we decided, for she said nothing. . . . She only smiled. And I believe she smiled chiefly from delicacy, for

fear of disappointing me. I saw, of course, that I was burdensome to her, don't imagine I was so stupid or

egoistic as not to see it. I saw it all, all, to the smallest detail, I saw better than any one; all the hopelessness

I told her everything about myself and about her. And about Lukerya. I told her that I had wept. . . . Oh, of

course, I changed the conversation. I tried, too, not to say a word more about certain things. And, indeed, she

did revive once or twice I remember it, I remember it! Why do you say I looked at her and saw nothing?

And if only this had not happened, everything would have come to life again. Why, only the day before

yesterday, when we were talking of reading and what she had been reading that winter, she told me

something herself, and laughed as she told me, recalling the scene of Gil Blas and the Archbishop of

Granada. And with that sweet, childish laughter, just as in old days when we were eager (one instant! one

instant!); how glad I was! I was awfully struck, though, by the story of the Archbishop; so she had found

peace of mind and happiness enough to laugh at that literary masterpiece while she was sitting there in the

winter. So then she had begun to be fully at rest, had begun to believe confidently "that I should leave her like

that. I thought you would leave me like that," those were the word she uttered then on Tuesday! Oh! the

thought of a child of ten! And you know she believed it, she believed that really everything would remain like

that: she at her table and I at mine, and we both should go on like that till we were sixty. And all at once I

come forward, her husband, and the husband wants love! Oh, the delusion! Oh, my blindness!

It was a mistake, too, that I looked at her with rapture; I ought to have controlled myself, as it was my rapture

frightened her. But, indeed, I did control myself, I did not kiss her feet again. I never made a sign of . . . well,

that I was her husband oh, there was no thought of that in my mind, I only worshipped her! But, you know,

I couldn't be quite silent, I could not refrain from speaking altogether! I suddenly said to her frankly, that I

enjoyed her conversation and that I thought her incomparably more cultured and developed than I. She

flushed crimson and said in confusion that I exaggerated. Then, like a fool, I could not resist telling her how

delighted I had been when I had stood behind the door listening to her duel, the duel of innocence with that

low cad, and how I had enjoyed her cleverness, the brilliance of her wit, and, at the same time, her childlike

simplicity. She seemed to shudder all over, was murmuring again that I exaggerated, but suddenly her whole

face darkened, she hit it in her hands and broke into sobs. . . . Then I could not restrain myself: again I fell at

her feet, again I began kissing her feet, and again it ended in a fit of hysterics, just as on Tuesday. That was

Listen and try to understand: why, when we met by the samovar (it was after yesterday's hysterics), I was

actually struck by her calmness, that is the actual fact! And all night I had been trembling with terror over

what happened yesterday. But suddenly she came up to me and, clasping her hands (this morning, this

morning!) began telling me that she was a criminal, that she knew it, that her crime had been torturing her all

the winter, was torturing her now. . . . That she appreciated my generosity. . . . "I will be your faithful wife, I

Then I leapt up and embraced her like a madman. I kissed her, kissed her face, kissed her lips like a husband

for the first time after a long separation. And why did I go out this morning, only two hours . . . our passports

for abroad. . . . Oh, God! if only I had come back five minutes, only five minutes earlier! . . . That crowd at

Lukerya says (oh! I will not let Lukerya go now for anything. She knows all about it, she has been here all the

winter, she will tell me everything!), she says that when I had gone out of the house and only about twenty

minutes before I came back she suddenly went into our room to her mistress to ask her something, I don't

remember what, and saw that her ikon (that same ikon of the Mother of God) had been taken down and was

standing before her on the table, and her mistress seemed to have only just been praying before it. "What are

you doing, mistress?" "Nothing, Lukerya, run along." "Wait a minute, Lukerya." "She came up and kissed

me." "Are you happy, mistress?" I said. "Yes, Lukerya," and she smiled, but so strangely. So strangely that

"She was standing by the wall, close to the window, she had laid her arm against the wall, and her head was

pressed on her arm, she was standing like that thinking. And she was standing so deep in thought that she did

not hear me come and look at her from the other room. She seemed to be smiling standing, thinking and

smiling. I looked at her, turned softly and went out wondering to myself, and suddenly I heard the window

opened. I went in at once to say: 'It's fresh, mistress; mind you don't catch cold,' and suddenly I saw she had

got on the window and was standing there, her full height, in the open window, with her back to me, holding

the ikon in her hand. My heart sank on the spot. I cried, 'Mistress, mistress.' She heard, made a movement to

turn back to me, but, instead of turning back, took a step forward, pressed the ikon to her bosom, and flung

I only remember that when I went in at the gate she was still warm. The worst of it was they were all looking

at me. At first they shouted and then suddenly they were silent, and then all of them moved away from me . . .

and she was lying there with the ikon. I remember, as it were, in a darkness, that I went up to her in silence

and looked at her a long while. But all came round me and said something to me. Lukerya was there too, but I

did not see her. She says she said something to me. I only remember that workman. He kept shouting to me

that, "Only a handful of blood came from her mouth, a handful, a handful!" and he pointed to the blood on a

stone. I believe I touched the blood with my finger, I smeared my finger, I looked at my finger (that I

"What do you mean by a handful?" I yelled with all my might, I am told, and I lifted up my hands and rushed

Is it not so? Is it likely? Can one really say it was possible? What for, why did this woman die?

Oh, believe me, I understand, but why she dies is still a question. She was frightened of my love, asked

herself seriously whether to accept it or not, could not bear the question and preferred to die. I know, I know,

no need to rack my brains: she had made too many promises, she was afraid she could not keep them it is

For why did she die? That is still a question, after all. The question hammers, hammers at my brain. I would

have left her like that if she had wanted to remain like that. She did not believe it, that's what it was! No no.

I am talking nonsense, it was not that at all. It was simply because with me she had to be honest if she loved

me, she would have had to love me altogether, and not as she would have loved the grocer. And as she was

too chaste, too pure, to consent to such love as the grocer wanted she did not want to deceive me. Did not

want to deceive me with half love, counterfeiting love, or a quarter love. They are honest, too honest, that is

what it is! I wanted to instil breadth of heart in her, in those days, do you remember? A strange idea.

It is awfully interesting to know: did she respect me or not? I don't know whether she despised me or not. I

don't believe she did despise me. It is awfully strange: why did it never once enter my head all the winter that

she despised me? I was absolutely convinced of the contrary up to that moment when she looked at me with

stern surprise. Stern it was. I understood once for all, for ever! Ah, let her, let her despise me all her life even,

only let her be living! Only yesterday she was walking about, talking. I simply can't understand how she

threw herself out of window! And how could I have imagined it five minutes before? I have called Lukerya. I

Oh, we might still have understood each other! We had simply become terribly estranged from one another

during the winter, but couldn't we have grown used to each other again? Why, why, couldn't we have come

together again and begun a new life again? I am generous, she was too that was a point in common! Only a

few more words, another two days no more, and she would have understood everything.

What is most mortifying of all is that it is chance simply a barbarous, lagging chance. that is what is

mortifying! Five minutes, only five minutes too late! Had I come five minutes earlier, the moment would

have passed away like a cloud, and it would never have entered her head again. And it would have ended by

her understanding it all. But now again empty rooms, and me alone. Here the pendulum is ticking; it does not

I keep walking about, I keep walking about. I know, I know, you need not tell me; it amuses you, you think it

absurd that I complain of chance and those five minutes. But it is evident. Consider one thing: she did not

even leave a note, to say, "Blame no one for my death," as people always do. Might she not have thought that

Lukerya might get into trouble. "She was alone with her," might have been said, "and pushed her out." In any

case she would have been taken up by the police if it had not happened that four people, from the windows,

from the lodge, and from the yard, had seen her stand with the ikon in her hands and jump out of herself. But

that, too, was a chance, that te people were standing there and saw her. No, it was all a moment, only an

irresponsible moment. A sudden impulse, a fantasy! What if she did pray before the ikon? It does not follow

that she was facing death. The whole impulse lasted, perhaps, only some ten minutes; it was all decided,

perhaps, while she stood against the wall with her head on her arm, smiling. The idea darted into her brain,

Say what you will, it was clearly misunderstanding. It could have been possible to live with me. And what if

it were anaemia? Was it simply from poorness of blood, from the flagging of vital energy? She had grown

How thin she is in her coffin, how sharp her nose has grown! Her eyelashes lie straight as arrows. And, you

know, when she fell, nothing was crushed, nothing was broken! Nothing but that "handful of blood." A

dessertspoonful, that is. From internal injury. A strange thought: if only it were possible not to bury her? For

if they take her away, then . . . oh, no, it is almost incredible that they take her away! I am not mad and I am

not raving on the contrary, my mind was never so lucid but what shall I do when again there is no one,

only the two rooms, and me alone with the pledges? Madness, madness, madness! I worried her to death, that

What are your laws to me now? What do I car for your customs, your morals, your life, your state, your faith!

Let your judge judge me, let me be brought before your court, let me be tried by jury, and I shall say that I

admit nothing. the judge will shout, "Be silent, officer." And I will shout to him, "What power have you now

that I will obey? Why did blind, inert force destroy that which was dearest of all? What are your laws to me

She was blind, blind! She is dead, she does not hear! You do not know with what paradise I would have

surrounded you. There was paradise in my soul, I would have made it blossom around you! Well, you

wouldn't have loved me so be it, what of it? Things should still have been like that, everything should have

remained like that. You should only have talked to me as a friend we could have rejoiced and laughed with

joy looking at one another. And so we should have lived. And if you had loved another well, so be it, so be

it! You should have walked with him laughing, and I should have watched you from the other side of the

street. . . . Oh, anything, anything, if only she would open her eyes just once! For one instant, only one! If she

would look at me as she did this morning, when she stood before me and made a vow to be a faithful wife!

Oh, blind force! Oh, nature! Men are alone on earth that is what is dreadful! "Is there a living man in the

country?" cried the Russian hero. I cry the same, though I am not a hero, and no one answers my cry. They

say the sun gives life to the universe. The sun is rising and look at it, is it not dead? Everything is dead and

everywhere there are dead. Men are alone around them is silence that is the earth! "Men, love one

another" who said that? Whose commandment is that? The pendulum ticks callously, heartlessly. Two

o'clock at night. Her little shoes are standing by the little bed, as though waiting for her. . . . No, seriously,