The teacher ofliterature

Antón Chekhov

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I

THERE was the thud of horses' hoofs on thewooden floor; they brought out of the stable theblack horse, Count Nulin; then the white, Gi-ant; then his sister Maika. They were all mag-nificent, expensive horses. Old Shelestov sad-dled Giant and said, addressing his daughterMasha:

"Well, Marie Godefroi, come, get on! Hopla!"

Masha Shelestov was the youngest of the fam-ily; she was eighteen, but her family could notget used to thinking that she was not a littlegirl, and so they still called her Manya and Ma-nyusa; and after there had been a circus in thetown which she had eagerly visited, every onebegan to call her Marie Godefroi.

"Hop-la!" she cried, mounting Giant. Her sisterVarya got on Maika, Nikitin on Count Nulin,the officers on their horses, and the long pictur-

esque cavalcade, with the officers in white tu-nics and the ladies in their riding habits, movedat a walking pace out of the yard.

Nikitin noticed that when they were mountingthe horses and afterwards riding out into thestreet, Masha for some reason paid attention tono one but himself. She looked anxiously athim and at Count Nulin and said:

"You must hold him all the time on the curb,Sergey Vassilitch.Don't let him shy. He's pretending."

And either because her Giant was very friendlywith Count Nulin, or perhaps by chance, sherode all the time beside Nikitin, as she haddone the day before, and the day before that.And he looked at her graceful little figure sit-ting on the proud white beast, at her delicateprofile, at the chimney-pot hat, which did notsuit her at all and made her look older than herage—looked at her with joy, with tenderness,

with rapture; listened to her, taking in little ofwhat she said, and thought:

"I promise on my honour, I swear to God, Iwon't be afraid and I'll speak to her today."

It was seven o'clock in the evening—the timewhen the scent of white acacia and lilac is sostrong that the air and the very trees seemheavy with the fragrance. The band was al-ready playing in the town gardens. The horsesmade a resounding thud on the pavement, onall sides there were sounds of laughter, talk,and the banging of gates. The soldiers they metsaluted the officers, the schoolboys bowed toNikitin, and all the people who were hurryingto the gardens to hear the band were pleased atthe sight of the party. And how warm it was!How soft-looking were the clouds scatteredcarelessly about the sky, how kindly and com-forting the shadows of the poplars and the aca-cias, which stretched across the street and

reached as far as the balconies and second sto-ries of the houses on the other side.

They rode on out of the town and set off at atrot along the highroad. Here there was noscent of lilac and acacia, no music of the band,but there was the fragrance of the fields, therewas the green of young rye and wheat, themarmots were squeaking, the rooks were caw-ing. Wherever one looked it was green, withonly here and there black patches of bareground, and far away to the left in the cemeterya white streak of apple-blossom.

They passed the slaughter-houses, then thebrewery, and overtook a military band hasten-ing to the suburban gardens.

"Polyansky has a very fine horse, I don't denythat," Masha said to Nikitin, with a glance to-wards the officer who was riding beside Varya."But it has blemishes. That white patch on itsleft leg ought not to be there, and, look, it tosses

its head. You can't train it not to now; it willtoss its head till the end of its days."

Masha was as passionate a lover of horses asher father. She felt a pang when she saw otherpeople with fine horses, and was pleased whenshe saw defects in them. Nikitin knew nothingabout horses; it made absolutely no differenceto him whether he held his horse on the bridleor on the curb, whether he trotted or galloped;he only felt that his position was strained andunnatural, and that consequently the officerswho knew how to sit in their saddles mustplease Masha more than he could. And he wasjealous of the officers.

As they rode by the suburban gardens someone suggested their going in and getting someseltzer-water. They went in. There were notrees but oaks in the gardens; they had only justcome into leaf, so that through the young foli-age the whole garden could still be seen withits platform, little tables, and swings, and the

crows' nests were visible, looking like big hats.The party dismounted near a table and askedfor seltzer-water. People they knew, walkingabout the garden, came up to them. Amongthem the army doctor in high boots, and theconductor of the band, waiting for the musi-cians. The doctor must have taken Nikitin for astudent, for he asked: "Have you come for thesummer holidays?"

"No, I am here permanently," answered Nikitin."I am a teacher at the school."

"You don't say so?" said the doctor, with sur-prise. "So young and already a teacher?"

"Young, indeed! My goodness, I'm twenty-six!

"You have a beard and moustache, but yet onewould never guess you were more thantwenty-two or twenty-three. How young-looking you are!"

"What a beast!" thought Nikitin. "He, too, takesme for a whipper-snapper!"

He disliked it extremely when people referredto his youth, especially in the presence ofwomen or the schoolboys. Ever since he hadcome to the town as a master in the school hehad detested his own youthful appearance. Theschoolboys were not afraid of him, old peoplecalled him "young man," ladies preferred danc-ing with him to listening to his long arguments,and he would have given a great deal to be tenyears older.

From the garden they went on to the She-lestovs' farm. There they stopped at the gateand asked the bailiff's wife, Praskovya, to bringsome new milk. Nobody drank the milk; theyall looked at one another, laughed, and gal-loped back. As they rode back the band wasplaying in the suburban garden; the sun wassetting behind the cemetery, and half the skywas crimson from the sunset.

Masha again rode beside Nikitin. He wanted totell her how passionately he loved her, but hewas afraid he would be overheard by the offi-cers and Varya, and he was silent. Masha wassilent, too, and he felt why she was silent andwhy she was riding beside him, and was sohappy that the earth, the sky, the lights of thetown, the black outline of the brewery—allblended for him into something very pleasantand comforting, and it seemed to him asthough Count Nulin were stepping on air andwould climb up into the crimson sky.

They arrived home. The samovar was alreadyboiling on the table, old Shelestov was sittingwith his friends, officials in the Circuit Court,and as usual he was criticizing something.

"It's loutishness!" he said. "Loutishness andnothing more. Yes!"

Since Nikitin had been in love with Masha,everything at the Shelestovs' pleased him: the

house, the garden, and the evening tea, and thewickerwork chairs, and the old nurse, and eventhe word "loutishness," which the old man wasfond of using. The only thing he did not likewas the number of cats and dogs and the Egyp-tian pigeons, who moaned disconsolately in abig cage in the verandah. There were so manyhouse-dogs and yard-dogs that he had onlylearnt to recognize two of them in the course ofhis acquaintance with the Shelestovs: Mushkaand Som. Mushka was a little mangy dog witha shaggy face, spiteful and spoiled. She hatedNikitin: when she saw him she put her head onone side, showed her teeth, and began: "Rrr . . .nga-nga-nga . . . rrr . . . !" Then she would getunder his chair, and when he would try todrive her away she would go off into piercingyaps, and the family would say: "Don't befrightened. She doesn't bite. She is a good dog."

Som was a tall black dog with long legs and atail as hard as a stick. At dinner and tea he usu-

ally moved about under the table, andthumped on people's boots and on the legs ofthe table with his tail. He was a good-natured,stupid dog, but Nikitin could not endure himbecause he had the habit of putting his head onpeople's knees at dinner and messing theirtrousers with saliva. Nikitin had more thanonce tried to hit him on his head with a knife-handle, to flip him on the nose, had abusedhim, had complained of him, but nothing savedhis trousers.

After their ride the tea, jam, rusks, and butterseemed very nice. They all drank their firstglass in silence and with great relish; over thesecond they began an argument. It was alwaysVarya who started the arguments at tea; shewas good-looking, handsomer than Masha, andwas considered the cleverest and most culturedperson in the house, and she behaved withdignity and severity, as an eldest daughtershould who has taken the place of her dead

mother in the house. As the mistress of thehouse, she felt herself entitled to wear a dress-ing-gown in the presence of her guests, and tocall the officers by their surnames; she lookedon Masha as a little girl, and talked to her asthough she were a schoolmistress. She used tospeak of herself as an old maid—so she wascertain she would marry.

Every conversation, even about the weather,she invariably turned into an argument. Shehad a passion for catching at words, pouncingon contradictions, quibbling over phrases. Youwould begin talking to her, and she wouldstare at you and suddenly interrupt: "Excuseme, excuse me, Petrov, the other day you saidthe very opposite!"

Or she would smile ironically and say: "I notice,though, you begin to advocate the principles ofthe secret police. I congratulate you."

If you jested or made a pun, you would hearher voice at once: "That's stale," "That's point-less." If an officer ventured on a joke, she wouldmake a contemptuous grimace and say, "Anarmy joke!"

And she rolled the r so impressively that Mush-ka invariably answered from under a chair,"Rrr . . . nga-nga-nga . . . !"

On this occasion at tea the argument beganwith Nikitin's mentioning the school examina-tions.

"Excuse me, Sergey Vassilitch," Varya inter-rupted him. "You say it's difficult for the boys.And whose fault is that, let me ask you? Forinstance, you set the boys in the eighth class anessay on 'Pushkin as a Psychologist.' To beginwith, you shouldn't set such a difficult subject;and, secondly, Pushkin was not a psychologist.Shtchedrin now, or Dostoevsky let us say, is a

different matter, but Pushkin is a great poetand nothing more."

"Shtchedrin is one thing, and Pushkin is an-other," Nikitin answered sulkily.

"I know you don't think much of Shtchedrin atthe high school, but that's not the point. Tellme, in what sense is Pushkin a psychologist?"

"Why, do you mean to say he was not a psy-chologist? If you like,I'll give you examples."

And Nikitin recited several passages from "On-yegin" and then from"Boris Godunov."

"I see no psychology in that." Varya sighed."The psychologist is the man who describes therecesses of the human soul, and that's fine po-etry and nothing more."

"I know the sort of psychology you want," saidNikitin, offended. "You want some one to sawmy finger with a blunt saw while I howl at thetop of my voice—that's what you mean by psy-chology."

"That's poor! But still you haven't shown me inwhat sense Pushkin is a psychologist?"

When Nikitin had to argue against anythingthat seemed to him narrow, conventional, orsomething of that kind, he usually leaped upfrom his seat, clutched at his head with bothhands, and began with a moan, running fromone end of the room to another. And it was thesame now: he jumped up, clutched his head inhis hands, and with a moan walked round thetable, then he sat down a little way off.

The officers took his part. Captain Polyanskybegan assuring Varya that Pushkin really was apsychologist, and to prove it quoted two linesfrom Lermontov; Lieutenant Gernet said that if

Pushkin had not been a psychologist theywould not have erected a monument to him inMoscow.

"That's loutishness!" was heard from the otherend of the table."I said as much to the governor: 'It's loutish-ness, your Excellency,'I said."

"I won't argue any more," cried Nikitin. "It'sunending. . . . Enough! Ach, get away, you nas-ty dog!" he cried to Som, who laid his head andpaw on his knee.

"Rrr . . . nga-nga-nga!" came from under thetable.

"Admit that you are wrong!" cried Varya. "Ownup!"

But some young ladies came in, and the argu-ment dropped of itself. They all went into the

drawing-room. Varya sat down at the pianoand began playing dances. They danced first awaltz, then a polka, then a quadrille with agrand chain which Captain Polyansky ledthrough all the rooms, then a waltz again.

During the dancing the old men sat in the dra-wing-room, smoking and looking at the youngpeople. Among them was Shebaldin, the direc-tor of the municipal bank, who was famed forhis love of literature and dramatic art. He hadfounded the local Musical and Dramatic Soci-ety, and took part in the performances himself,confining himself, for some reason, to playingcomic footmen or to reading in a sing-song voi-ce "The Woman who was a Sinner." His nick-name in the town was "the Mummy," as he wastall, very lean and scraggy, and always had asolemn air and a fixed, lustreless eye. He wasso devoted to the dramatic art that he evenshaved his moustache and beard, and thismade him still more like a mummy.

After the grand chain, he shuffled up to Nikitinsideways, coughed, and said:

"I had the pleasure of being present during theargument at tea. I fully share your opinion. Weare of one mind, and it would be a great pleas-ure to me to talk to you. Have you read Lessingon the dramatic art of Hamburg?"

"No, I haven't."

Shebaldin was horrified, and waved his handsas though he had burnthis fingers, and saying nothing more, staggeredback from Nikitin.Shebaldin's appearance, his question, and hissurprise, struckNikitin as funny, but he thought none the less:

"It really is awkward. I am a teacher of litera-ture, and to this day I've not read Lessing. Imust read him."

Before supper the whole company, old andyoung, sat down to play "fate." They took twopacks of cards: one pack was dealt round to thecompany, the other was laid on the table facedownwards.

"The one who has this card in his hand," oldShelestov began solemnly, lifting the top cardof the second pack, "is fated to go into the nurs-ery and kiss nurse."

The pleasure of kissing the nurse fell to the lotof Shebaldin. They all crowded round him,took him to the nursery, and laughing andclapping their hands, made him kiss the nurse.There was a great uproar and shouting.

"Not so ardently!" cried Shelestov with tears oflaughter. "Not so ardently!"

It was Nikitin's "fate" to hear the confessions ofall. He sat on a chair in the middle of the draw-ing-room. A shawl was brought and put over

his head. The first who came to confess to himwas Varya.

"I know your sins," Nikitin began, looking inthe darkness at her stern profile. "Tell me, ma-dam, how do you explain your walking withPolyansky every day? Oh, it's not for nothingshe walks with an hussar!"

"That's poor," said Varya, and walked away.

Then under the shawl he saw the shine of bigmotionless eyes, caught the lines of a dear pro-file in the dark, together with a familiar, pre-cious fragrance which reminded Nikitin ofMasha's room.

"Marie Godefroi," he said, and did not know hisown voice, it was so soft and tender, "what areyour sins?"

Masha screwed up her eyes and put out the tipof her tongue at him, then she laughed and

went away. And a minute later she was stand-ing in the middle of the room, clapping herhands and crying:

"Supper, supper, supper!"

And they all streamed into the dining-room. Atsupper Varya had another argument, and thistime with her father. Polyansky ate stolidly,drank red wine, and described to Nikitin howonce in a winter campaign he had stood allnight up to his knees in a bog; the enemy wasso near that they were not allowed to speak orsmoke, the night was cold and dark, a piercingwind was blowing. Nikitin listened and stoleside-glances at Masha. She was gazing at himimmovably, without blinking, as though shewas pondering something or was lost in a rev-erie. . . . It was pleasure and agony to him bothat once.

"Why does she look at me like that?" was thequestion that fretted him. "It's awkward. People

may notice it. Oh, how young, how naïve sheis!"

The party broke up at midnight. When Nikitinwent out at the gate, a window opened on thefirst-floor, and Masha showed herself at it.

"Sergey Vassilitch!" she called.

"What is it?"

"I tell you what . . ." said Masha, evidentlythinking of something to say. "I tell you what. .. Polyansky said he would come in a day or twowith his camera and take us all. We must meethere."

"Very well."

Masha vanished, the window was slammed,and some one immediately began playing thepiano in the house.

"Well, it is a house!" thought Nikitin while hecrossed the street. "A house in which there is nomoaning except from Egyptian pigeons, andthey only do it because they have no othermeans of expressing their joy!"

But the Shelestovs were not the only festivehousehold. Nikitin had not gone two hundredpaces before he heard the strains of a pianofrom another house. A little further he met apeasant playing the balalaika at the gate. In thegardens the band struck up a potpourri of Rus-sian songs.

Nikitin lived nearly half a mile from the She-lestoys' in a flat of eight rooms at the rent ofthree hundred roubles a year, which he sharedwith his colleague Ippolit Ippolititch, a teacherof geography and history. When Nikitin wentin this Ippolit Ippolititch, a snub-nosed, mid-dle-aged man with a reddish beard, with acoarse, good-natured, unintellectual face like aworkman's, was sitting at the table correcting

his pupils' maps. He considered that the mostimportant and necessary part of the study ofgeography was the drawing of maps, and of thestudy of history the learning of dates: he wouldsit for nights together correcting in blue pencilthe maps drawn by the boys and girls hetaught, or making chronological tables.

"What a lovely day it has been!" said Nikitin,going in to him. "I wonder at you—how canyou sit indoors?"

Ippolit Ippolititch was not a talkative person;he either remained silent or talked of thingswhich everybody knew already. Now what heanswered was:

"Yes, very fine weather. It's May now; we soonshall have real summer. And summer's a verydifferent thing from winter. In the winter youhave to heat the stoves, but in summer you cankeep warm without. In summer you have yourwindow open at night and still are warm, and

in winter you are cold even with the doubleframes in."

Nikitin had not sat at the table for more thanone minute before he was bored.

"Good-night!" he said, getting up and yawning."I wanted to tell you something romantic con-cerning myself, but you are—geography! If onetalks to you of love, you will ask one at once,'What was the date of the Battle of Kalka?' Con-found you, with your battles and your capes inSiberia!"

"What are you cross about?"

"Why, it is vexatious!"

And vexed that he had not spoken to Masha,and that he had no one to talk to of his love, hewent to his study and lay down upon the sofa.It was dark and still in the study. Lying gazinginto the darkness, Nikitin for some reason be-

gan thinking how in two or three years hewould go to Petersburg, how Masha would seehim off at the station and would cry; in Peters-burg he would get a long letter from her inwhich she would entreat him to come home asquickly as possible. And he would write to her.. . . He would begin his letter like that: "Mydear little rat!"

"Yes, my dear little rat!" he said, and he laug-hed.

He was lying in an uncomfortable position. Heput his arms under his head and put his left legover the back of the sofa. He felt more comfort-able. Meanwhile a pale light was more andmore perceptible at the windows, sleepy cockscrowed in the yard. Nikitin went on thinkinghow he would come back from Petersburg,how Masha would meet him at the station, andwith a shriek of delight would fling herself onhis neck; or, better still, he would cheat her andcome home by stealth late at night: the cook

would open the door, then he would go on tip-toe to the bedroom, undress noiselessly, andjump into bed! And she would wake up and beoverjoyed.

It was beginning to get quite light. By nowthere were no windows, no study. On the stepsof the brewery by which they had ridden thatday Masha was sitting, saying something. Thenshe took Nikitin by the arm and went with himto the suburban garden. There he saw the oaksand, the crows' nests like hats. One of the nestsrocked; out of it peeped Shebaldin, shoutingloudly: "You have not read Lessing!"

Nikitin shuddered all over and opened hiseyes. Ippolit Ippolititch was standing before thesofa, and throwing back his head, was puttingon his cravat.

"Get up; it's time for school," he said. "Youshouldn't sleep in your clothes; it spoils your

clothes. You should sleep in your bed, un-dressed."

And as usual he began slowly and emphaticallysaying what everybody knew.

Nikitin's first lesson was on Russian languagein the second class. When at nine o'clock punc-tually he went into the classroom, he saw writ-ten on the blackboard two large letters—M. S.That, no doubt, meant Masha Shelestov.

"They've scented it out already, the rascals . . ."thought Nikitin."How is it they know everything?"

The second lesson was in the fifth class. Andthere two letters, M. S., were written on theblackboard; and when he went out of the class-room at the end of the lesson, he heard theshout behind him as though from a theatre gal-lery:

"Hurrah for Masha Shelestov!"

His head was heavy from sleeping in his clot-hes, his limbs were weighted down with iner-tia. The boys, who were expecting every day tobreak up before the examinations, did nothing,were restless, and so bored that they got intomischief. Nikitin, too, was restless, did not no-tice their pranks, and was continually going tothe window. He could see the street brilliantlylighted up with the sun; above the houses theblue limpid sky, the birds, and far, far away,beyond the gardens and the houses, vast in-definite distance, the forests in the blue haze,the smoke from a passing train. . . .

Here two officers in white tunics, playing withtheir whips, passed in the street in the shade ofthe acacias. Here a lot of Jews, with greybeards, and caps on, drove past in a waggon-ette. . . . The governess walked by with the di-rector's granddaughter. Som ran by in thecompany of two other dogs. . . . And then

Varya, wearing a simple grey dress and redstockings, carrying the "Vyestnik Evropi" in herhand, passed by. She must have been to thetown library. . . .

And it would be a long time before lessonswere over at three o'clock! And after school hecould not go home nor to the Shelestovs', butmust go to give a lesson at Wolf's. This Wolf, awealthy Jew who had turned Lutheran, did notsend his children to the high school, but hadthem taught at home by the high-school mas-ters, and paid five roubles a lesson.

He was bored, bored, bored.

At three o'clock he went to Wolf's and spentthere, as it seemed to him, an eternity. He leftthere at five o'clock, and before seven he had tobe at the high school again to a meeting of themasters —to draw up the plan for the viva voceexamination of the fourth and sixth classes.

When late in the evening he left the high schooland went to the Shelestovs', his heart was beat-ing and his face was flushed. A month before,even a week before, he had, every time that hemade up his mind to speak to her, prepared awhole speech, with an introduction and a con-clusion. Now he had not one word ready; eve-rything was in a muddle in his head, and all heknew was that today he would certainly de-clare himself, and that it was utterly impossibleto wait any longer.

"I will ask her to come to the garden," hethought; "we'll walk about a little and I'llspeak."

There was not a soul in the hall; he went intothe dining-room and then into the drawing-room. . . . There was no one there either. Hecould hear Varya arguing with some one up-stairs and the clink of the dressmaker's scissorsin the nursery.

There was a little room in the house which hadthree names: the little room, the passage room,and the dark room. There was a big cupboardin it where they kept medicines, gunpowder,and their hunting gear. Leading from this roomto the first floor was a narrow wooden staircasewhere cats were always asleep. There were twodoors in it—one leading to the nursery, one tothe drawing-room. When Nikitin went into thisroom to go upstairs, the door from the nurseryopened and shut with such a bang that it madethe stairs and the cupboard tremble; Masha, ina dark dress, ran in with a piece of blue mate-rial in her hand, and, not noticing Nikitin,darted towards the stairs.

"Stay . . ." said Nikitin, stopping her. "Good-evening, Godefroi. . . . Allow me. . . ."

He gasped, he did not know what to say; withone hand he held her hand and with the other

the blue material. And she was half frightened,half surprised, and looked at him with big eyes.

"Allow me . . ." Nikitin went on, afraid shewould go away. "There's something I must sayto you. . . . Only . . . it's inconvenient here. Icannot, I am incapable. . . . Understand, Gode-froi, I can't —that's all . . . ."

The blue material slipped on to the floor, andNikitin took Masha by the other hand. She tur-ned pale, moved her lips, then stepped backfrom Nikitin and found herself in the cornerbetween the wall and the cupboard.

"On my honour, I assure you . . ." he said softly."Masha, on my honour. . . ."

She threw back her head and he kissed her lips,and that the kiss might last longer he put hisfingers to her cheeks; and it somehow hap-pened that he found himself in the corner be-tween the cupboard and the wall, and she put

her arms round his neck and pressed her headagainst his chin.

Then they both ran into the garden. The She-lestoys had a garden of nine acres. There wereabout twenty old maples and lime-trees in it;there was one fir-tree, and all the rest werefruit-trees: cherries, apples, pears, horse-chestnuts, silvery olive-trees. . . . There wereheaps of flowers, too.

Nikitin and Masha ran along the avenues insilence, laughed, asked each other from time totime disconnected questions which they did notanswer. A crescent moon was shining over thegarden, and drowsy tulips and irises were stret-ching up from the dark grass in its faint light,as though entreating for words of love forthem, too.

When Nikitin and Masha went back to the hou-se, the officers and the young ladies were al-ready assembled and dancing the mazurka.

Again Polyansky led the grand chain throughall the rooms, again after dancing they played"fate." Before supper, when the visitors hadgone into the dining-room, Masha, left alonewith Nikitin, pressed close to him and said:

"You must speak to papa and Varya yourself; Iam ashamed."

After supper he talked to the old father. Afterlistening to him,Shelestov thought a little and said:

"I am very grateful for the honour you do meand my daughter, but let me speak to you as afriend. I will speak to you, not as a father, butas one gentleman to another. Tell me, why doyou want to be married so young? Only peas-ants are married so young, and that, of course,is loutishness. But why should you? Where'sthe satisfaction of putting on the fetters at yourage?"

"I am not young!" said Nikitin, offended. "I amin my twenty-seventh year."

"Papa, the farrier has come!" cried Varya fromthe other room.

And the conversation broke off. Varya, Masha,and Polyansky sawNikitin home. When they reached his gate, Var-ya said:

"Why is it your mysterious Metropolit Metro-polititch never shows himself anywhere? Hemight come and see us."

The mysterious Ippolit Ippolititch was sittingon his bed, taking off his trousers, when Nikitinwent in to him.

"Don't go to bed, my dear fellow," said Nikitinbreathlessly. "Stop a minute; don't go to bed!"

Ippolit Ippolititch put on his trousers hurriedlyand asked in a flutter:

"What is it?"

"I am going to be married."

Nikitin sat down beside his companion, andlooking at him wonderingly, as though sur-prised at himself, said:

"Only fancy, I am going to be married! ToMasha Shelestov! I made an offer today."

"Well? She seems a good sort of girl. Only she isvery young."

"Yes, she is young," sighed Nikitin, and shrug-ged his shoulders with a careworn air. "Very,very young!"

"She was my pupil at the high school. I knowher. She wasn't bad at geography, but she wasno good at history. And she was inattentive inclass, too."

Nikitin for some reason felt suddenly sorry forhis companion, and longed to say somethingkind and comforting to him.

"My dear fellow, why don't you get married?"he asked. "Why don't you marry Varya, forinstance? She is a splendid, first-rate girl! It'strue she is very fond of arguing, but a heart . . .what a heart! She was just asking about you.Marry her, my dear boy! Eh?"

He knew perfectly well that Varya would notmarry this dull, snub-nosed man, but still per-suaded him to marry her—why?

"Marriage is a serious step," said Ippolit Ip-polititch after a moment's thought. "One has tolook at it all round and weigh things thor-oughly; it's not to be done rashly. Prudence isalways a good thing, and especially in mar-riage, when a man, ceasing to be a bachelor,begins a new life."

And he talked of what every one has known forages. Nikitin did not stay to listen, said good-night, and went to his own room. He undressedquickly and quickly got into bed, in order to beable to think the sooner of his happiness, ofMasha, of the future; he smiled, then suddenlyrecalled that he had not read Lessing.

"I must read him," he thought. "Though, afterall, why should I?Bother him!"

And exhausted by his happiness, he fell asleepat once and went on smiling till the morning.

He dreamed of the thud of horses' hoofs on awooden floor; he dreamed of the black horseCount Nulin, then of the white Giant and itssister Maika, being led out of the stable.

II

"It was very crowded and noisy in the church,and once some one cried out, and the headpriest, who was marrying Masha and me, loo-ked through his spectacles at the crowd, andsaid severely: 'Don't move about the church,and don't make a noise, but stand quietly andpray. You should have the fear of God in yourhearts.'

"My best men were two of my colleagues, andMasha's best men were Captain Polyansky andLieutenant Gernet. The bishop's choir sang su-perbly. The sputtering of the candles, the bril-liant light, the gorgeous dresses, the officers,the numbers of gay, happy faces, and a specialethereal look in Masha, everything together—the surroundings and the words of the wed-ding prayers—moved me to tears and filled mewith triumph. I thought how my life had blos-somed, how poetically it was shaping itself!Two years ago I was still a student, I was livingin cheap furnished rooms, without money,

without relations, and, as I fancied then, withnothing to look forward to. Now I am a teacherin the high school in one of the best provincialtowns, with a secure income, loved, spoiled. Itis for my sake, I thought, this crowd is col-lected, for my sake three candelabra have beenlighted, the deacon is booming, the choir is do-ing its best; and it's for my sake that this youngcreature, whom I soon shall call my wife, is soyoung, so elegant, and so joyful. I recalled ourfirst meetings, our rides into the country, mydeclaration of love and the weather, which, asthough expressly, was so exquisitely fine all thesummer; and the happiness which at one timein my old rooms seemed to me possible only innovels and stories, I was now experiencing inreality—I was now, as it were, holding it in myhands.

"After the ceremony they all crowded in disor-der round Masha and me, expressed their ge-nuine pleasure, congratulated us and wished us

joy. The brigadier-general, an old man of sev-enty, confined himself to congratulating Masha,and said to her in a squeaky, aged voice, soloud that it could be heard all over the church:

"'I hope that even after you are married youmay remain the rose you are now, my dear.'

"The officers, the director, and all the teacherssmiled from politeness, and I was conscious ofan agreeable artificial smile on my face, too.Dear Ippolit Ippolititch, the teacher of historyand geography, who always says what everyone has heard before, pressed my hand warmlyand said with feeling:

"'Hitherto you have been unmarried and havelived alone, and now you are married and nolonger single.'

"From the church we went to a two-storiedhouse which I am receiving as part of thedowry. Besides that house Masha is bringing

me twenty thousand roubles, as well as a pieceof waste land with a shanty on it, where I amtold there are numbers of hens and duckswhich are not looked after and are turningwild. When I got home from the church, Istretched myself at full length on the low sofain my new study and began to smoke; I feltsnug, cosy, and comfortable, as I never had inmy life before. And meanwhile the weddingparty were shouting 'Hurrah!' while a wretchedband in the hall played flourishes and all sortsof trash. Varya, Masha's sister, ran into thestudy with a wineglass in her hand, and with aqueer, strained expression, as though hermouth were full of water; apparently she hadmeant to go on further, but she suddenly burstout laughing and sobbing, and the wineglasscrashed on the floor. We took her by the armsand led her away.

"'Nobody can understand!' she muttered after-wards, lying on the old nurse's bed in a back

room. 'Nobody, nobody! My God, nobody canunderstand!'

"But every one understood very well that shewas four years older than her sister Masha, andstill unmarried, and that she was crying, notfrom envy, but from the melancholy conscious-ness that her time was passing, and perhapshad passed. When they danced the quadrille,she was back in the drawing-room with a tear-stained and heavily powdered face, and I sawCaptain Polyansky holding a plate of ice beforeher while she ate it with a spoon.

"It is past five o'clock in the morning. I took upmy diary to describe my complete and perfecthappiness, and thought I would write a goodsix pages, and read it tomorrow to Masha; but,strange to say, everything is muddled in myhead and as misty as a dream, and I can re-member vividly nothing but that episode withVarya, and I want to write, 'Poor Varya!' I couldgo on sitting here and writing 'Poor Varya!' By

the way, the trees have begun rustling; it willrain. The crows are cawing, and my Masha,who has just gone to sleep, has for some reasona sorrowful face."

For a long while afterwards Nikitin did notwrite his diary. At the beginning of August hehad the school examinations, and after the fif-teenth the classes began. As a rule he set off forschool before nine in the morning, and beforeten o'clock he was looking at his watch andpining for his Masha and his new house. In thelower forms he would set some boy to dictate,and while the boys were writing, would sit inthe window with his eyes shut, dreaming;whether he dreamed of the future or recalledthe past, everything seemed to him equallydelightful, like a fairy tale. In the senior classesthey were reading aloud Gogol or Pushkin'sprose works, and that made him sleepy; people,trees, fields, horses, rose before his imagination,

and he would say with a sigh, as though fasci-nated by the author:

"How lovely!"

At the midday recess Masha used to send himlunch in a snow-white napkin, and he wouldeat it slowly, with pauses, to prolong the en-joyment of it; and Ippolit Ippolititch, whoselunch as a rule consisted of nothing but bread,looked at him with respect and envy, and gaveexpression to some familiar fact, such as:

"Men cannot live without food."

After school Nikitin went straight to give hisprivate lessons, and when at last by six o'clockhe got home, he felt excited and anxious, asthough he had been away for a year. He wouldrun upstairs breathless, find Masha, throw hisarms round her, and kiss her and swear that heloved her, that he could not live without her,declare that he had missed her fearfully, and

ask her in trepidation how she was and whyshe looked so depressed. Then they would dinetogether. After dinner he would lie on the sofain his study and smoke, while she sat besidehim and talked in a low voice.

His happiest days now were Sundays and holi-days, when he was at home from morning tillevening. On those days he took part in the na-ïve but extraordinarily pleasant life which re-minded him of a pastoral idyl. He was neverweary of watching how his sensible and practi-cal Masha was arranging her nest, and anxiousto show that he was of some use in the house,he would do something useless— for instance,bring the chaise out of the stable and look at itfrom every side. Masha had installed a regulardairy with three cows, and in her cellar she hadmany jugs of milk and pots of sour cream, andshe kept it all for butter. Sometimes, by way ofa joke, Nikitin would ask her for a glass of milk,and she would be quite upset because it was

against her rules; but he would laugh andthrow his arms round her, saying:

"There, there; I was joking, my darling! I wasjoking!"

Or he would laugh at her strictness when, find-ing in the cupboard some stale bit of cheese orsausage as hard as a stone, she would say seri-ously:

"They will eat that in the kitchen."

He would observe that such a scrap was onlyfit for a mousetrap, and she would replywarmly that men knew nothing about house-keeping, and that it was just the same to theservants if you were to send down a hundred-weight of savouries to the kitchen. He wouldagree, and embrace her enthusiastically. Every-thing that was just in what she said seemed tohim extraordinary and amazing; and what did

not fit in with his convictions seemed to himnaïve and touching.

Sometimes he was in a philosophical mood,and he would begin to discuss some abstractsubject while she listened and looked at his facewith curiosity.

"I am immensely happy with you, my joy," heused to say, playing with her fingers or plaitingand unplaiting her hair. "But I don't look uponthis happiness of mine as something that hascome to me by chance, as though it haddropped from heaven. This happiness is a per-fectly natural, consistent, logical consequence. Ibelieve that man is the creator of his own hap-piness, and now I am enjoying just what I havemyself created. Yes, I speak without false mod-esty: I have created this happiness myself and Ihave a right to it. You know my past. My un-happy childhood, without father or mother; mydepressing youth, poverty—all this was a

struggle, all this was the path by which I mademy way to happiness. . . ."

In October the school sustained a heavy loss:Ippolit Ippolititch was taken ill with erysipelason the head and died. For two days before hisdeath he was unconscious and delirious, buteven in his delirium he said nothing that wasnot perfectly well known to every one.

"The Volga flows into the Caspian Sea. . . .Horses eat oats and hay. . . ."

There were no lessons at the high school on theday of his funeral. His colleagues and pupilswere the coffin-bearers, and the school choirsang all the way to the grave the anthem "HolyGod." Three priests, two deacons, all his pupilsand the staff of the boys' high school, and thebishop's choir in their best kaftans, took part inthe procession. And passers-by who met thesolemn procession, crossed themselves andsaid:

"God grant us all such a death."

Returning home from the cemetery much mo-ved, Nikitin got out his diary from the tableand wrote:

"We have just consigned to the tomb IppolitIppolititch Ryzhitsky. Peace to your ashes, mo-dest worker! Masha, Varya, and all the womenat the funeral, wept from genuine feeling, per-haps because they knew this uninteresting,humble man had never been loved by awoman. I wanted to say a warm word at mycolleague's grave, but I was warned that thismight displease the director, as he did not likeour poor friend. I believe that this is the firstday since my marriage that my heart has beenheavy."

There was no other event of note in the scholas-tic year.

The winter was mild, with wet snow and nofrost; on Epiphany Eve, for instance, the windhowled all night as though it were autumn, andwater trickled off the roofs; and in the morning,at the ceremony of the blessing of the water, thepolice allowed no one to go on the river, be-cause they said the ice was swelling up andlooked dark. But in spite of bad weatherNikitin's life was as happy as in summer. And,indeed, he acquired another source of pleasure;he learned to play vint. Only one thing trou-bled him, moved him to anger, and seemed toprevent him from being perfectly happy: thecats and dogs which formed part of his wife'sdowry. The rooms, especially in the morning,always smelt like a menagerie, and nothingcould destroy the odour; the cats frequentlyfought with the dogs. The spiteful beastMushka was fed a dozen times a day; she stillrefused to recognize Nikitin and growled athim: "Rrr . . . nga-nga-nga!"

One night in Lent he was returning home fromthe club where he had been playing cards. Itwas dark, raining, and muddy. Nikitin had anunpleasant feeling at the bottom of his heartand could not account for it. He did not knowwhether it was because he had lost twelve rou-bles at cards, or whether because one of theplayers, when they were settling up, had saidthat of course Nikitin had pots of money, withobvious reference to his wife's portion. He didnot regret the twelve roubles, and there wasnothing offensive in what had been said; but,still, there was the unpleasant feeling. He didnot even feel a desire to go home.

"Foo, how horrid!" he said, standing still at alamp-post.

It occurred to him that he did not regret thetwelve roubles because he got them for noth-ing. If he had been a working man he wouldhave known the value of every farthing, andwould not have been so careless whether he

lost or won. And his good-fortune had all, hereflected, come to him by chance, for nothing,and really was as superfluous for him as medi-cine for the healthy. If, like the vast majority ofpeople, he had been harassed by anxiety for hisdaily bread, had been struggling for existence,if his back and chest had ached from work,then supper, a warm snug home, and domestichappiness, would have been the necessity, thecompensation, the crown of his life; as it was,all this had a strange, indefinite significance forhim.

"Foo, how horrid!" he repeated, knowing per-fectly well that these reflections were in them-selves a bad sign.

When he got home Masha was in bed: she wasbreathing evenly and smiling, and was evi-dently sleeping with great enjoyment. Near herthe white cat lay curled up, purring. WhileNikitin lit the candle and lighted his cigarette,

Masha woke up and greedily drank a glass ofwater.

"I ate too many sweets," she said, and laughed."Have you been home?" she asked after apause.

"No."

Nikitin knew already that Captain Polyansky,on whom Varya had been building great hopesof late, was being transferred to one of the wes-tern provinces, and was already making hisfarewell visits in the town, and so it was de-pressing at his father-in-law's.

"Varya looked in this evening," said Masha,sitting up. "She did not say anything, but onecould see from her face how wretched she is,poor darling! I can't bear Polyansky. He is fatand bloated, and when he walks or dances hischeeks shake. . . . He is not a man I would

choose. But, still, I did think he was a decentperson."

"I think he is a decent person now," said Niki-tin.

"Then why has he treated Varya so badly?"

"Why badly?" asked Nikitin, beginning to feelirritation against the white cat, who was stret-ching and arching its back. "As far as I know,he has made no proposal and has given her nopromises."

"Then why was he so often at the house? If hedidn't mean to marry her, he oughtn't to havecome."

Nikitin put out the candle and got into bed. Buthe felt disinclined to lie down and to sleep. Hefelt as though his head were immense andempty as a barn, and that new, peculiarthoughts were wandering about in it like tall

shadows. He thought that, apart from the softlight of the ikon lamp, that beamed upon theirquiet domestic happiness, that apart from thislittle world in which he and this cat lived sopeacefully and happily, there was anotherworld. . . . And he had a passionate, poignantlonging to be in that other world, to work him-self at some factory or big workshop, to addressbig audiences, to write, to publish, to raise astir, to exhaust himself, to suffer. . . . He wantedsomething that would engross him till he forgothimself, ceased to care for the personal happi-ness which yielded him only sensations so mo-notonous. And suddenly there rose vividlybefore his imagination the figure of Shebaldinwith his clean-shaven face, saying to him withhorror: "You haven't even read Lessing! Youare quite behind the times! How you have goneto seed!"

Masha woke up and again drank some water.He glanced at her neck, at her plump shoulders

and throat, and remembered the word thebrigadier-general had used in church—"rose."

"Rose," he muttered, and laughed.

His laugh was answered by a sleepy growlfrom Mushka under the bed:"Rrr . . . nga-nga-nga . . . !"

A heavy anger sank like a cold weight on hisheart, and he felt tempted to say somethingrude to Masha, and even to jump up and hither; his heart began throbbing.

"So then," he asked, restraining himself, "since Iwent to your house, I was bound in duty tomarry you?"

"Of course. You know that very well."

"That's nice." And a minute later he repeated:"That's nice."

To relieve the throbbing of his heart, and toavoid saying too much, Nikitin went to his stu-dy and lay down on the sofa, without a pillow;then he lay on the floor on the carpet.

"What nonsense it is!" he said to reassure him-self. "You are a teacher, you are working in thenoblest of callings. . . . What need have you ofany other world? What rubbish!"

But almost immediately he told himself withconviction that he was not a real teacher, butsimply a government employé, as common-place and mediocre as the Czech who taughtGreek. He had never had a vocation for teach-ing, he knew nothing of the theory of teaching,and never had been interested in the subject; hedid not know how to treat children; he did notunderstand the significance of what he taught,and perhaps did not teach the right things.Poor Ippolit Ippolititch had been frankly stu-pid, and all the boys, as well as his colleagues,knew what he was and what to expect from

him; but he, Nikitin, like the Czech, knew howto conceal his stupidity and cleverly deceivedevery one by pretending that, thank God, histeaching was a success. These new ideas fright-ened Nikitin; he rejected them, called themstupid, and believed that all this was due to hisnerves, that he would laugh at himself.

And he did, in fact, by the morning laugh athimself and call himself an old woman; but itwas clear to him that his peace of mind waslost, perhaps, for ever, and that in that littletwo-story house happiness was henceforth im-possible for him. He realized that the illusionhad evaporated, and that a new life of unrestand clear sight was beginning which was in-compatible with peace and personal happiness.

Next day, which was Sunday, he was at theschool chapel, and there met his colleagues andthe director. It seemed to him that they wereentirely preoccupied with concealing their ig-norance and discontent with life, and he, too, to

conceal his uneasiness, smiled affably and tal-ked of trivialities. Then he went to the stationand saw the mail train come in and go out, andit was agreeable to him to be alone and not tohave to talk to any one.

At home he found Varya and his father-in-law,who had come to dinner. Varya's eyes were redwith crying, and she complained of a headache,while Shelestov ate a great deal, saying thatyoung men nowadays were unreliable, and thatthere was very little gentlemanly feeling amongthem.

"It's loutishness!" he said. "I shall tell him so tohis face: 'It's loutishness, sir,' I shall say."

Nikitin smiled affably and helped Masha tolook after their guests, but after dinner he wentto his study and shut the door.

The March sun was shining brightly in at thewindows and shedding its warm rays on the

table. It was only the twentieth of the month,but already the cabmen were driving withwheels, and the starlings were noisy in the gar-den. It was just the weather in which Mashawould come in, put one arm round his neck,tell him the horses were saddled or the chaisewas at the door, and ask him what she shouldput on to keep warm. Spring was beginning asexquisitely as last spring, and it promised thesame joys. . . . But Nikitin was thinking that itwould be nice to take a holiday and go to Mos-cow, and stay at his old lodgings there. In thenext room they were drinking coffee and talk-ing of Captain Polyansky, while he tried not tolisten and wrote in his diary: "Where am I, myGod? I am surrounded by vulgarity and vul-garity. Wearisome, insignificant people, pots ofsour cream, jugs of milk, cockroaches, stupidwomen. . . . There is nothing more terrible,mortifying, and distressing than vulgarity. Imust escape from here, I must escape today, orI shall go out of my mind!"