The Party and other stories

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arded damages” and “won the suit.” She knew that it was impossible to do without the law, but for some reason, whenever Nazaritch, the manager of the factory, or the bailiff of her villa in the country, both of whom frequently went to law, use

ing the whole evening till midnight, but wait till she was sleepy; and tomorrow they would all day long be coming with Christmas greetings and asking for favours; and the day after tomorrow there would certainly be some scandal at the factory — some one would be beaten or would die of drinking too much vodka, and she would be fretted by pangs of conscience; and after the holidays Nazaritch would turn off some twenty

own by large families, sick, degraded, despised . . . . Anna Akimovna had already noted on each letter, three roubles to be paid to one, five to another; thes

gs, numb with cold, hungry and already drunk, in husky voices calling down blessings upon Anna Akimovna, their benefactress, and her parents: those at the back would press upon those in front, and those in front would abuse them with bad language. The clerk would get tired of the noise, the swearing, and the sing-song whi

der of beggars than they are of their own workp

e might, perhaps, pick out one of the writers of those begging letters — some luckless man who had long ago lost all hope of anything better, and give him the fifteen hundred. The money would come upon the poor creature like a thunder-clap, and perhaps for the first time in his life he would feel happy. This idea struck Anna Akimovna as original and amusing, and it fascinated h

self to prevent unnecessary talk. Yes,” she reflected, as she put the fifteen hundred roubles in

rang the bell and ordered th

ildings were brightly lighted up, and that made the huge courtyard seem very dark: at the gates, and at

lves away from their fastenings to crush the men, while the men, not hearing one another, ran about with anxious faces, and busied themselves about the machines, trying to stop their terrible movement. They showed Anna Akimovna something and respectfully explained it to her. She remembered how in the forge a piece of red-hot iron was pulled out of the furnace; and how an old man with a strap round his head, and another, a young man in a blue shirt with a chain on his breast, and an angry face, probably one of the foremen, struck the piece of iron with hammers; and how the golden sparks had been scattered in all directions; and how, a little afterwards, they had dragged out a huge piece of sheet-iron with a clang. The old man had stoo

anarchy. It was an astonishing thing: a thousand roubles were spent annually on keeping the barracks in good order, yet

na, as she drove out of the yard, “because he had been a workm

young people, and she suddenly felt a longing for a plain rough life among a crowd. She recalled vividly that far-away time when she used to be called Anyutka, when she was a little girl and used to lie under the same quilt with her mother, while a washerwoman who lodged with them used to wash clothes in the next room; while through the thin walls there came from the neighbouring flats sounds of laughter, swearing, children’s crying, the accordion, and the whirr of carpenters’ lathes and sewing-machines; while her father, Akim Ivanovitch, who was clever at almost every craft, would be soldering something near the stove, or drawing or planing, taking no notice whatever of the noise and stuffiness

used to say that a working man had no time to keep the holy-days and go to church; and if it had not been for his wife, he would probably never have gone to confession, taken the sacrament or kept the fasts. While her uncle, Ivan Ivanovitch, on the contrary, was like flint; in everything relating to religion, politics, and morality, he was harsh and relentless, and kept a strict watch, not only over himself, but also over all his servants and acquaintances. God forbid that one should go into his room without crossing oneself before the ikon! The luxurious mansion in which Anna Akimovna now lived he had always kept locked up, and only opened it on great holidays for important visitors, while he lived himself in the office, in a little room covered with ikons. He h

e was still the same loathsome smell as under the archway. In Anna Akimovna’s childhood, when her father was a simple workman, she used to live in a building like that, and afterwards, when their circumstances were different, she had often visited them in the character of a Lady Bountiful. The narrow stone staircase with its steep dirty steps, with landings at every story; the greasy swinging lanterns; the s

smell. This disgusting smell enveloped Anna Akimovna on all sides, and as yet she was only on the threshold. A man in a black coat, no doubt Tchalikov himself, was sitting in a corner at the table with his back to the door, and with him were five little girls. The eldest, a broad-faced thin girl with a comb in her h

a,” the man was saying reproachfully. “Fie, fie

e doorway, the thin woman st

er a pause, in a hollow voice, as t

nd hollow with dark rings round them, he had a wide mouth, and a long nose like a bird’s beak — a little bit bent to the right. His

ov live here?” as

ng Anna Akimovna, he cried: “Anna Akimovna!” and all at once he gasp

aralyzed — there was cabbage on his beard and he smelt of vodka — pres

ht out breathlessly. “It’s a dream, a

le and said in a sobbing

our angel, has come! We are saved! Chil

, except the youngest one, began for

kimovna, and she felt ashamed and annoyed. “I am not

had gone to his head. “Here she is, unhappy creature! With one foot in the grave! But

nna Akimovna with annoyance. “One can see a

an being,” she said. “I

other’s coffin with funeral candles — that’s a fa

s not been tidied up, madam,” she said, addressing Anna Akimovna; “please excuse it

em the fifteen hundred,” A

ht out her purse and made up her mind to leave them twenty-five roubles, not more; but

s a friend of mine to come and see you,” she said, flushing red. “He

was hastening t

ully. “Take her to the lodger’s room! I make bold to ask you, madam, to step i

go into his room!” said one

s clean. A neat-looking bed with a red woollen quilt, a pillow in a white pillow-case, even a slipper for the watch, a table covered with a hempen cloth and on it, an inkstand of milky-looking glass, pens, paper, photographs in frames — everything as it ought to be; and another table for

na saw facing her on the table the photographs o

ere with you

, Pimenov. He work

t he must be

vately, in his leisure

e ticking of the clocks and the scratching of the pen on the pap

de in your cap and a noble title, but nothing to eat. To my thinking, if any one of humble class he

anwhile she had finished her letter and had sealed it up. The letter would be thrown away and the money would not be spent on medicine — that she knew, but she put twenty-five roubles on th

ut a helping hand to me also . . . and the children!” he added with a sob. “My unhappy children

med that people should be standing before her, looking at her hands and waiting, and most likely at the bottom of the

come in,” said M

ned things to her. Evidently he had come in straight from the factory; his face looked dark and grimy, and on one cheek near his nose was a smudge of soot. His hands were perfectly black, and his unbelted shirt shone with oil and grease. He was a man of thirty, of medium height, with black hair and broad shoulders, and a look of great physical strength. At the first glance Anna Akimovna perceived that he must be a foreman, who must be receiving at least thirty-five roubles a month, an

me in here in your absen

in surprise, smiled in c

halikov softly. “When Mr. Pimenov comes home from the f

thing more for her to do here; she nodded to them and w

loyment?” she asked in a loud

I entered the factory

he workpeople, and I know hardly any of them. I had see

lf before him, to pretend that she had just

s and working days, and still there is no sense in it. I be

will drink it all away. And now the husband and wife will be snatchin

But still, you must agree, one can’t sit with one’s hand in one’s lap; on

rse and inhuman that he did not venture to put it into words. And the Tchalikovs were to him so utterly uninteresting and worthless, that a moment later he had forgotten them; looking into Anna Akimovna’s eyes, he smiled with

bles!” she thought, but for some reason this idea

work, and you come to the door with me,” she

nto the street, he ran on ahead, unfastened the cove

appy Christmas!