The Horse-Stealers and other stories

s tumbling down, the steps at the front-door are rotting away and overgrown with grass, and there are only traces left of the stucco. The front of t

he lodge itself, have that peculiar, desolate, God-forsaken

or, we walk into the entry. Here along the walls and by the stove every sort of hospital rubbish lies littered about. Mattresses, old tattered dressing-gowns, trouser

teppes, and a red nose; he is short and looks thin and scraggy, but he is of imposing deportment and his fists are vigorous. He belongs to the class of simple-hearted, practical, and dull-witted people, prompt in carrying out orders, who like discipli

ney—it is evident that in the winter the stove smokes and the room is full of fumes. The windows are disfigured by iron gratings on the inside. The wooden floor is grey and full of spl

pital dressing-gowns, and wearing nightcaps in the old st

tions; he eats and drinks mechanically when food is offered him. From his agonizing, throbbing cough, his thinness, and the flush on his cheeks, one may judge that he is in the first stage of consumption. Next to him is a little, alert, very lively old man, with a pointed beard and curly black hair like a negro’s. By day he walks up and down the ward from window to window, or sits on his bed, c

oys and dogs. In his wretched gown, in his absurd night-cap, and in slippers, sometimes with bare legs and even without trousers, he walks about the streets, stopping at the gates and little shops, and begging for a copper. In one place they will give him some kvass, in another some bread, in another a copper, so that he generally goes back t

him back a kopeck, and to make him a new cap; he feeds with a spoon his neighbour on the left, who is paralyzed. He acts in this way, not from co

from corner to corner as though for exercise; he very rarely sits down. He is always excited, agitated, and overwrought by a sort of vague, undefined expectation. The faintest rustle in the entry or shout in

cate lines traced on his face by profound, genuine suffering show intelligence and sense, and there is a warm and healthy light in his eyes. I like the man himself, courteous, anxious to be of use, and extraordinarily ge

ng very important, but, apparently reflecting that they would not listen, or would not understand him, he shakes his head impatiently and goes on pacing up and down. But soon the desire to speak gets the upper hand of every consideration, and he will let himself go and speak fervently and passionately. His talk is disordered and feverish like delirium, disconnected, and not always intelligible, but, on the other hand, something extremely fine may be felt i

fourth year he was taken ill with galloping consumption and died, and his death was, as it were, the first of a whole series of calamities which suddenly showered on the Gromov family. Within a week of Sergey’s funeral the old father wa

eption of poverty; now he had to make an abrupt change in his life. He had to spend his time from morning to night giving lessons for next to nothing, to work at copying, and with all

, was not liked by the boys, and soon gave up the post. His mother died. He was for six months without work, living on n

existence seemed to him loathsome and horrible. He spoke in a loud tenor, with heat, and invariably either with scorn and indignation, or with wonder and enthusiasm, and always with perfect sincerity. Whatever one talked to him about he always brought it round to the same subject: that life was dull and stifling in the town; that the townspeople had no lofty interests, but lived a dingy, meaningless life, diversified by violence, coarse profligacy, and hypocrisy; that scoundrels were well fed and clothed, wh

iness to be of service, his good breeding, his moral purity, and his shabby coat, his frail appearance and family misfortunes, aroused a kind, warm, sorrowful feeling

ee that he was not reading, but devouring the pages without giving himself time to digest what he read. It must be supposed that reading was one of his morbi

i

with their rifles out of his head all day, and an unaccountable inward agitation prevented him from reading or concentrating his mind. In the evening he did not light his lamp, and at night he could not sleep, but kept thinking that he might be arrested, put into fetters, and thrown into prison. He did not know of any harm he had done, and could be certain that he would never be guilty of murder, arson, or theft in the future either; but was it not easy to commit a crime by accident, unconsciously, and was not false witness always possible, and, indeed, miscarriage of justice? It was not without good reason that the agelong experience of the simple people teaches that beggary and prison are ills none can be safe from. A judicial mistake is very possible as legal proceedings are conducted nowadays, and there is nothing to be wondered at in it. People who have an official, professional relation to other men’s sufferings—for instance, judges, police officers, doctors —in course o

convinced that he might be arrested any minute. Since his gloomy thoughts of yesterday had haunted him so long, he thought,

nounce that there was a very important criminal in the town. Ivan Dmitritch started at every ring at the bell and knock at the gate, and was agitated whenever he came upon anyone new at his landlady’s; when he met police officers and gendarmes he smiled and began whistling so as to seem unconcerned. He could not sleep for whole nights in succession expecting to be arrested, but he snored loudly and sighed as though in deep sleep, that his landlady might think he was asleep; for if he could not sleep it meant that he was tormented by the stings of conscience—what a piece of evidence! Facts and common sense persuaded h

ce him, or that he would accidentally make a mistake in official papers that would appear to be fraudulent, or would lose other people’s money. It is strange that his imagination had never at other times been so agile and inventive as now, when e

eak and defenceless. But this duplicity soon exhausted him, and after some reflection he decided that in his position the best thing to do was to hide in his landlady’s cellar. He sat in the cellar all day and then all night, then another day, was fearfully cold, and waiting till dusk, stole secretly like a thief back to his room. He stood in the middle of the room till daybreak, listening without stirring. Very early in the morning, before sunrise, some workmen came into the house. Ivan Dmitrit

y, telling the landlady he should not come again, as one should not interfere with people who are going out of their minds. As he had not the means to live at home and be nursed, Ivan Dmitritch was soon sent to the hospital,

in the town, and his books, heaped up by his landlady

sant so rolling in fat that he is almost spherical, with a blankly stupid face, utterly devoid of thought. This is a motionless, g

readful is not his being beaten—that one can get used to—but the fact that this stupefied creature does not respon

has some pleasant idea in his mind, and has some very important and agreeable secret. He has under his pillow and under his mattress something that he never shows anyone, not from fear of its being taken from him and stolen, but from modesty. Sometimes he goes to th

e with the star. The second degree with the star is only given to foreigners, but for some reason they want to make an

hing about that,” Ivan D

screwing up his eyes slyly. “I shall certainly get the Swedish ‘Polar Star.’ That’s an

ng-gowns; after that they drink tea out of tin mugs which Nikita brings them out of the main building. Everyone is allowed one mugful. At midday they have soup made out of sour cabbage and boiled grain, in the evening t

natic asylums are few in this world. Once every two months Semyon Lazaritch, the barber, appears in the ward. How he cuts the patients’ hair, and how N

the barber. The patients are condemned

s, however, been circulati

the doctor has begun

ange

udies at the high school in 1863 he intended to enter a theological academy, but that his father, a surgeon and doctor of medicine, jeered at him and declared point-blank that he would disown

lty he did not enter the priesthood. He showed no special devoutness, and wa

ld knock the life out of anyone, but his step is soft, and his walk is cautious and insinuating; when he meets anyone in a narrow passage he is always the first to stop and make way, and to say, not in a bass, as one would expect, but in a high, soft tenor: “I beg your pardon!” He has a little swelling on his neck which prevents him from wearing stiff starched collars, and so he always

ne thermometer in the whole hospital; potatoes were kept in the baths. The superintendent, the housekeeper, and the medical assistant robbed the patients, and of the old doctor, Andrey Yefimitch’s predecessor, people declared that he secretly sold the hospital alcohol, and that he kept a regular harem consisting of nurses and female patients. These disorderly proceedings were perfectly well known in the town, and were even exaggerated, but people took them calmly; some justified them on the ground that

that his will alone was not enough to do this, and that it would be useless; if physical and moral impurity were driven out of one place, they would only move to another; one must wait for it to wither away of itself Besides, if people open a hospital and put up with having it, it must be be

the hospital. He only asked the attendants and nurses not to sleep in the wards, and had two cupboards of instr

im to say. “Fetch” or “Bring”; when he wanted his meals he would cough hesitatingly and say to the cook, “How about tea?. . .” or “How about dinner? . . .” To dismiss the superintendent or to tell him to leave off stealing, or to abolish the unnecessary parasitic post altogether, was absolutely beyond his powers. When Andrey Yefimitch was deceived or flattered, or ac

twelve thousand patients were seen in a year it meant, if one looked at it simply, that twelve thousand men were deceived. To put those who were seriously ill into wards, and to treat them according to the principles of science, was impossible, too, because though there were principles there was no science; if he were to put aside philosophy and pedantically follow the rules as other doctors did, the things above all necessary were cleanliness and ventilation instead of dirt, wholesome nourishment instead of broth made of stinking, sour cabbage, and good assistants instead of thieves; and, indeed, why hinder people dying if death is the normal and legitimate end of everyone? What is gained if some shop-keeper or clerk lives an extra five

Yefimitch relaxed his efforts and ga

ey Yefimitch knew that such surroundings were torture to feverish, consumptive, and impressionable patients; but what could be done? In the consulting-room he was met by his assistant, Sergey Sergeyitch—a fat little man with a plump, well-washed shaven face, with soft, smooth manners, wearing a new loosely cut suit, and looking more like a senator than a medical assistant. He had an immense practice in the town, wore a white tie, and considered himself more proficient than the doctor, who had no practice. In the corner of the consulting-room t

inistration of some drugs, such as castor-oil or volatile ointment. Andrey Yefimitch would sit with his cheek resting in his hand, lost i

uld say, “because we do not pray to

he had to open a child’s mouth in order to look at its throat, and the child cried and tried to defend itself with its little hands, the noise in hi

eyitch, by the portraits on the walls, and by his own questions which he had asked over and over again for twenty ye

best of all works on history and philosophy; the only medical publication to which he subscribed was The Doctor, of which he always read the last pages first. He would always go on reading for several hours without a break and without being weary. He did not read as rapidly and impulsively as Ivan Dmitritch had done in the past, but slowly and with concentration, often pausing over a pass

ly to the kitchen door; cough, and sa

h his arms folded, thinking. The clock would strike four, then five, and still he would be walking up and do

time for you to have your be

would answer. “I’ll wait a little

nd hearty appearance, luxuriant grey whiskers, the manners of a well-bred man, and a loud, pleasant voice. He was good-natured and emotional, but hot-tempered. When anyone in the post office made a protest, expressed disagreement, or even began to argue, Mihail Averyanitch would turn crimson, shake all over, and shout in a voice of

efimitch. “Good evening, my dear fellow! I’ll b

ghted,” said the doctor. “I

sofa in the study and for som

ut the beer?” Andrey

ihail Averyanitch with a gay and animated face, like a man who has something ve

ere are no people in our town who are capable of carrying on intelligent and interesting conversation, or care to do so. It is an immense privation for

ly true.

ls and man, suggests the divinity of the latter, and to some extent even takes the place of the immortality which does not exist. Consequently the intellect is the only possible source of enjoyment. We see and hear of no trace of intellect ab

ectly

chen and with an expression of blank dejection would stand

uld sigh. “To expect intell

y without an IOU, and it was thought a disgrace not to give a helping hand to a comrade in need; and what campaigns, what adventures, what skirmishes, what comrades, what women! And the Caucasus, what a marvellous country! The wife

Holy Mother...” Da

ow we ate! And what desp

en without hearing; he was

t and not eternal, but you know why I cherish a partiality for it. Life is a vexatious trap; when a thinking man reaches maturity and attains to full consciousness he cannot help feeling that he is in a trap from which there is no escape. Indeed, he is summoned without his choice by fortuitous circumstances from non-existence into life . . . what for? He tries to find out the meaning and object of his existence; he is told nothing, or he is told abs

ectly

d with pauses, talking about intellectual people and conversation with them,

the immortality of the so

h; I do not believe it, and hav

er die. Oh, I think to myself: ‘Old fogey, it is time you were dead!’ But t

ch would go away. As he put on his fur c

o, though, really! What’s most vexatious

i

od of the brain centres and convolutions, what is the good of sight, speech, self-consciousness, genius, if it is all destined to depart into the soil, and in the end to grow cold together with the earth’s crust, and then for millions of years to fly with the earth round the sun with no meaning and no object? To do that there was no need at all to draw man with his lofty, almost godlike intellect out of non-existence, and then, as though in mockery, to turn him into clay. The transmutation of substances! But what cowardice to comfort oneself with that cheap substitute f

her with the cooling earth round the sun, in the main building beside his abode people were suffering in sickness and physical impurity: someone perhaps could not sleep and was making war upon the insects, someone was being infected by erysipelas, or moaning over too tight a bandage; perhaps the patients were playing cards with the nurses and drinking vodka. According to the yearly return, twelve

touched him and excited his wonder, and even enthusiasm. What unexpected brilliance, what a revolution! Thanks to the antiseptic system operations were performed such as the great Pirogov had considered impossible even in spe. Ordinary Zemstvo doctors were venturing to perform the resection of the kneecap; of abdo

umanity, and even, so it was stated in the papers, got up balls and entertainments for them. Andrey Yefimitch knew that with modern tastes and views such an abomination as Ward No. 6 was possible only a hundred and fifty miles from a railway in a little town where the mayor and all the

and there is no difference in reality between the best Vienna clinic and my hospital.” But depression and a feeling akin to envy prevented him from feeling indifferent; it must have been owing to exhaustion. His heavy head sank on to the book, he put his hands under his face to make it softer, and thought: “I serve in a pernicious institution and receive a sala

put out his lamp and go into h

i

rom one of the many alien races of Russia. He arrived in the town without a farthing, with a small portmanteau, and a plain young woman whom he called his cook. This woman had a baby at the breast. Yevgeny Fyodoritch used to go about in a cap with a peak, and in high boots, and in the winter wore a sheepskin. He made great friends with Sergey Sergeyitch, the medical assistant, and with the treasurer, but held aloof from th

e cupping roused his indignation, but he did not introduce any new system, being afraid of offending Andrey Yefimitch. He regarded his colle

garden, the doctor went out to see his friend the postmaster as far as the gate. At that very moment the Jew Moiseika, returning with h

d shivering with cold. Andrey Yefimitch, who could nev

ing at the Jew’s bare feet with the

e behind the Jew, looking now at his bald head, now at his ankles. As the doc

mildly. “That Jew should be provided wit

nour. I’ll inform t

m in my name. Tell

o the unfamiliar voice, and suddenly recognized the doctor. He trembled all over with anger, jumped up, and

octor is honouring us with a visit! Cursed reptile!” he shrieked, and stamped in a frenzy such as had nev

looked into the ward from the en

sively wrapping himself in his dressing-gown. “What for? Thief!” he said with a lo

len anything; and as to the rest, most likely you greatly exaggerate. I see you are angr

ou keeping

e you a

from the sane. Why am I and these poor wretches to be shut up here like scapegoats for all the rest? You, your assistant, the superintendent, an

ay, and if anyone is not shut up he can walk about, that’s all. There is neither morality nor

” Ivan Dmitritch brought out in a hol

pieces of bread, bits of paper, and little bones, and, still shivering with cold, began rapidly i

Ivan Dmitritch, and

can

why,

it be to you if I do let you out? Go. The townspeop

tritch, and he rubbed his forehead. “I

oung face with its grimaces. He longed to be kind to the young man

ld be taken up. When society protects itself from the criminal, mentally deranged, or otherwise inconvenient people, it is

o use to

me third person. Wait till in the distant future prisons and madhouses no longer exist, and there wi

tch smiled

s will come! I may express myself cheaply, you may laugh, but the dawn of a new life is at hand; truth and justice will triumph, and—our turn will come! I shall not live t

and stretching his hands towards the wi

bless you! Hurrah for trut

l not be, and truth, as you have just expressed it, will triumph; but the reality of things, you know, will not change, the laws of nature will still remain the same. People wil

mmorta

come,

there had not been a God men would have invented him. And I firmly believe that if

a good thing you have faith. With such a belief one may live happil

e university, but did n

he comprehension of life, and complete contempt for the foolish bustle of the world—those are two blessings beyond any that man has ever known. A

e cried, growing suddenly angry and leaping up. “I love life; I love it passionately. I have the mania of persecution, a continual agonizing te

e ward in agitation, and

y I am walking through woods or by the seashore, and I long so passionately for movement, for

now about the tow

t about the town, a

one to say a word to, no one to listen to. There are no new

time. Well, he is a

ellectual stagnation in our capital cities; there is a movement—so there must be real people there to

h, and he laughed. “And how are things in general?

ussia, and the tendency of thought that could be noticed now. Ivan Dmitritch listened attentively and put questions, but s

tter?” asked A

rd from me,” said Ivan Dmitri

y s

me alone. Why the d

d went out. As he crossed the entry he said: “You might cl

ly, your

ll the years I have been living here I do believe he is the first I have met with whom

tritch, and when he woke next morning he remembered that he had the day before made the acquaint

the previous day, with his head clutched in both h

id Andrey Yefimitch. “You

h articulated into the pillow; “and in the second, your e

for some reason you took offence and broke off all at once. . . . Probably I expressed myself awk

ith irony and uneasiness. His eyes were red. “You can go and spy and probe somewh

hed the doctor. “So you

doctor who has been charged t

at a queer fellow

stool near the bed and sh

lice. You would be arrested and then tried. But would you be any worse off being tried and in prison than you are here? If you are banished to a settlement

an effect on Ivan Dmitri

Yefimitch usually walked up and down his rooms, and Daryushka ask

and here I have come, as you see,”

t? March?” asked

e end of

very

re are already pat

s as though he were just awake, “then to come home to a warm, snug study, and . . . and to have a decent doctor to cure

listless, and spoke unwillingly. His fingers twitched, and f

and this ward,” said Andrey Yefimitch. “A man’s peace an

do you

xternal things— that is, in carriages, in stud

fragrant with the scent of pomegranates, but here it is not suited to t

th me ye

ie in your tub and eat oranges and olives. But bring him to Russia to live: he’d be be

will to change that idea, dismiss it, cease to complain, and the pain will disappear.’ That is true. The wise man, or simply the ref

fer and am discontented and surp

derstand how insignificant is all that external world that agitates us. One

th indignation, to filth with loathing. To my mind, that is just what is called life. The lower the organism, the less sensitive it is, and the more feebly it reacts to stimulus; and the higher it is, the more responsively and vigorously it reacts to reality. How is it you don’t know that? A doctor, and not know such trifles! To despise suffering, to be always contented, and to be surprised at nothi

y, your reasoni

trine which advocates indifference to wealth and to the comforts of life, and a contempt for suffering and death, is quite unintelligible to the vast majority of men, since that majority has never known wealth or the comforts of life; and to despise suffering would mean to it despising life itself, since the whole existence of man is made up of the sensations of hunger, cold,

hread of his thoughts, stopped, an

us act as the destruction of oneself for the sake of one’s neighbour, he must have had a soul capable of pity and indignation. Here in prison I have forgotten everything I have learned, or else I could have recalled something else. Take Christ, for instance:

ch laughed a

said, “granted that one must despise suffering and not be surprised at anythin

but everyone ought to preach

prehension,’ contempt for suffering, and so on. Have you ever suffered? Have you an

an aversion for co

at the doctor’s red nose) “with boozing; in fact, you have seen nothing of life, you know absolutely nothing of it, and are only theoretically acquainted with reality; you despise suffering and are surprised at nothing for a very simple reason: vanity of vanities, the external and the internal, contempt for life, for suffering and for death, comprehension, true happiness—that’s the philosophy that suits the Russian sluggard best. You see a peasant beating his wife, for instance. Why interfere? Let him beat her, they will both die sooner or later, anyway; and, besides, he who beats injures by his blows, not the person he is beating, but himself. To get drunk is stupid and unseemly, but if you drink you die, and if you don’t drink you die. A peasant woman comes with toothache . . . well, what of it? Pain is the idea of pain, and besides ‘there is no living in this world without illness; we shall all die, an

howl,” said Andrey Yefimi

tage of his position and rank to insult you in public, and if you knew he could do it with impunity

nclination for drawing generalizations, and the sketch of my character you have just drawn is simply brilliant. I must c

e in the mornings and after dinner, and often the dusk of evening found him in conversation with Ivan Dmitritch. At first Ivan Dmitritch held aloof from him, su

e went there, why he stayed there for hours together, what he was talking about, and why he did not write prescriptions. His actions seemed strange. Often Mihail Averyanitch did not fi

at home, he proceeded to look for him in the yard; there he was told that the old doctor had gone to see t

nd you have never known suffering, but have only like a leech fed beside the sufferings of others, while I have been in continual suffering from the day of m

ered and I have not. Joy and suffering are passing; let us leave them, never mind them. What matters is that you and I think; we see in each other people who are capable of thinking and reasoning, and that is a common bond betwe

on the bed. The madman was grimacing, twitching, and convulsively wrapping himself in his gown, while the doctor sat motionless with bowed head, an

, accompanied by the assistant. Bo

lean off his chump!” said Hobot

pulously avoiding the puddles that he might not muddy his polished boots. “I m

i

e postmaster no longer said, “Perfectly true,” as he listened to him, but in unaccountable confusion muttered, “Yes, yes, yes . . .” and looked at him with a grieved and thoughtful expression; for some reason he took to advising his friend to give up vodka and beer, but as a man of delicate feeling he did not say this directly, but hinted it, telling him first about the commanding off

Yefimitch found there the military commander, the superintendent of the district school, a member of the town council, Hobotov, and a plump, fair gentleman who was intro

and sat down to the table. “Here Yevgeny Fyodoritch says that there is not room for the dispensary in the main building, and that it ought to

ught. “If the corner lodge, for instance, were fitted up as a dispensary, I im

as silent

is a luxury for the town beyond its means. It was built in the forties, but things were different then. The town spends too much on unn

system, then!” the member of

to you that the medical department should be

Zemstvo and they will steal it,”

o,” the member of the council

c, lustreless eyes at the fair-haired

uched Andrey Yefimitch’s hand across the table and said: “You have quite forgotten us, doctor. But of cou

sic, and at the last dance at the club there had been about twenty ladies and only two gentlemen. The

hearts, and their minds on cards and gossip, and should have neither the power nor the inclination to spend their time in interesting conversation and reading, and should refuse to take adv

h, what day of t

eir lack of skill, began asking Andrey Yefimitch what was the day of the week, how many days there

h turned rather red and said: “Yes, he is mental

him no othe

he entry, the military commander laid a

r us old fell

enquire into his mental condition. He recalled the questions that had been asked him, flushed crim

ve only lately been hearing lectures on mental pathology; they had passed an examination—wha

in his life he felt ins

e him. The postmaster went up to him without waiting to gree

rofession compel the doctors to conceal the truth from you, but I blurt out the plain truth like a soldier. You are not well! Excuse me, my dear fellow, but it is the truth; everyone about you has been noticing it for a long time. Dr. Yevgeny Fyodoritch has just told me that it is essential

fter a moment’s thought. “I can’t go away. Allow

years—the idea for the first minute struck him as wild and fantastic, but he remembered the conversation at the Zemstvo committee and the depressing feeli

ely do you intend

nt the five happiest years of my life in Warsaw.

i

carriage driving to the nearest railway station. The days were cool and bright, with a blue sky and a transparent distance. They were two days driving the hundred and fifty miles to the railway station, and stayed two nights on

tongue! D

what meetings! He talked loudly and opened his eyes so wide with wonder that he might well be thought to be lying. Moreover, as he talked he b

hat they ought not to travel by these appalling lines. It was a regular swindle! A very different thing riding on a good horse: one could do over seventy miles a day and feel fresh and well after it. And our bad harvests were due to the draining

urb my fellow-passengers in any way, or this egoist who thinks that he is clev

d kept only what was bad of all the characteristics of a country gentleman that he had once possessed. He liked to be waited on even when it was quite unnecessary. The matches would be lying before him on the table, and he would see them and shout to the waiter to give him the matches; he

adonna. He prayed fervently, shedding tears and bowing down to

kes one somehow easier when one prays a

er, and again tears came into his eyes. Then they went to the Kremlin and looked there at the Tsar-cannon and the Tsar-bell

g time at the menu, stroking his whiskers, and said in t

t you give us to

i

o days Andrey Yefimitch endured it, but on the third he announced to his friend that he was ill and wanted to stay at home for the whole day; his friend replied that in that case he would stay too—that really he needed rest, for he was run off his legs already. Andrey Yefimitch lay on the sofa, with his face to the back, and clenching his teeth, listened to his friend, who assured him with heat that sooner or later France would certai

in the room! Real happiness is impossible without solitude. The fallen angel betrayed God probably because he longed for solitude, of which the angels know

worse than this friendly supervision. I suppose he is good-natured and generous and a lively fellow, but he is a bore. An insufferable bo

d agonies of weariness when his friend entertained him with conversation, or rested when his friend was absent. He was vexed with himself for having come,

he thought, angry at his own pettiness. “It’s of no consequence, thou

e days together he did not leave the hotel room,

ch was all haste

d Andrey Yefimitch in an imploring voice. “You

ed Mihail Averyanitch. “

obstinately refused to understand Russian; while Mihail Averyanitch, healthy, hearty, and full of spirits as usual, went about the town from morning to night, looking for his old acquaintances. Several times he did not return home at night. After

efore eve

honour before everything! Accursed be the moment when the idea first entered my head to visit this Babylon! My dear

tter, still crimson with shame and anger, incoherently articulated some useless vow, put on his cap,

I do not care to remain another hour in thi

v had Andrey Yefimitch’s post; he was still living in his old lodgings, waiting for Andrey Yefimitch to arrive and clea

n had quarrelled with the superintendent, and that the latter had crawled on his knees before her b

timidly, “excuse an indiscreet questio

ord, counted out his money an

rought out in confusion, misunderstanding

-six roubles . . .

ulated a fortune of at least twenty thousand. Now learning that Andrey Yefimitch was a beggar, tha

with her three children lived in the third room and the kitchen. Sometimes the landlady’s lover, a drunken peasant who was rowdy and reduced the children and Daryushka to terror, would come for the night. When he arrived and estab

d his thoughts to sleep in some unaccountable way, and the time passed quickly while he thought of nothing. Even sitting in the kitchen, peeling potatoes with Daryushka or picking over the buckwheat grain, seemed to him interesting. On Saturdays and Sundays he went to church. Standing near the wall and half closing his eyes, he listened to the singing and thought of his father, of his mother, of the university, of the religions of the world; he felt calm and melancholy, and as he went out of the church afterwards he regretted tha

to h

now whether to go to him for the t

nor any assistance. It is true that he had not done his work honestly, but, then, all who are in the Service get a pension without distinction whether they are honest or not. Contemporary justice lies precisely in the bestowal of grades, orders, and pensions, not for moral qualities or capacities, but for service whatever it may have been like. Why was he

ught it his duty to look in on his sick colleague from time to time. Everything about him was revolting to Andrey Yefimitch—his well-fed face and vulgar, condescending tone, and his use of the word “colleague,” and h

s looking very well today, and that, thank God, he was on the highroad to recovery, and from this it might be concluded that he looked on his friend’s condition as hopeless. He had not yet repaid his Warsaw debt

with his teeth clenched; his soul was oppressed with rankling disgust, and after every visit fr

it flying by the earthly globe in space in a million years he would see nothing but clay and bare rocks. Everything—culture and the moral law—would pass away and not even a burdock would grow out of the

in his high top-boots or Mihail Averyanitch with his forced laugh would appear from behind a bare rock, and he even hea

v

the sofa. It so happened that Hobotov arrived at the same time with his bromid

d yesterday, my dear man,” began Mihail Averyani

league,” said Hobotov, yawning. “I’ll b

Averyanitch cheerfully. “We shall li

aid reassuringly. “It’s all right, all right, collea

d, we shall be off to the Caucasus, and we will ride all over it on horseback—trot, trot, trot! And when we are back from the Caucasus I sho

e rising disgust had mounted to his th

and walking away to the window. “Don’t you un

ut against his will he suddenly clenched

unlike his own, blushing crimson and s

ot up and stared at him first wi

upid people! Foolish people! I don’t want either your f

red to the door and went out. Andrey Yefimitch snatched up the bottle of brom

n a tearful voice, running out

he sofa, trembling as though in a fever, and went on for

fearfully ashamed and depressed now, and that it was all dreadful. Nothing like this had ever happened to him befor

tion with himself, and at ten o’clock next morning he w

uted so loud that all the postmen and other persons present started, “hand a chair; and you wait,” he shouted to a peasant woman who was stretching out a registered letter to him

ked his knees in sil

use me speaking openly as a friend,” whispered Mihail Averyanitch. “You live in the most unfavourable surroundings, in a crowd, in uncleanliness, no one to look after you, no money for proper treatment. . . . My dear friend, the doctor and I implore you with all our hearts,

tmaster’s genuine sympathy and the tear

lness is only that in twenty years I have only found one intelligent man in the whole town, and he is mad. I am not ill at all,

hospital, my

if it were i

man, that you will obey Yevg

enchanted circle. Now everything, even the genuine sympathy of my friends, leads to the

llow, you w

mething such as diseased kidneys or enlarged heart, and you begin being treated for it, or are told you are mad or a criminal —that is, in fact, when people suddenly turn their attention to you—you may

eir way, Andrey Yefimitch got up and began to take leave. Mihail Averyanitch

high top-boots, suddenly made his appearance, and said to Andrey

I have come to ask you whether you wo

and went out with him into the street. He was glad of the opportunity to smooth over his fault of the previous day and to be reconciled, and in his heart tha

nvalid?” asked A

e long wanted to show him to

the lodge where the mental cases were kept, and all this, for some reason, in sile

in an undertone, going into the yard with Andrey Yefimitch. “Yo

e wen

v

unto his pillow; the paralytic was sitting motionless, crying quietly and mo

hour passed, and instead of Hobotov, Nikita came into the ward with a dr

me this way,” he added, pointing to an empty bedstead which had obviously recen

t down; seeing that Nikita was standing waiting, he undressed entirely and he felt ashamed. Then he put on the

and he gathered up Andrey Yefimitch’s clothes int

amefaced way and feeling that he looked like a convict in his new costume. “It’s no matte

somehow strange and even incomprehensible at first. Andrey Yefimitch was even now convinced that there was no difference between his landlady’s house and Ward No. 6, that everything in this world was nonsense and vanity of vanities

ek, and even years like these people? Why, he had been sitting here, had walked about and sat down again; he could get up and look out o

cold sweat from his brow with his sleeve and felt that hi

ng out the palms of his hands in perplexity. “It

s. He spat. Then he glanced lazily at the doctor, and apparently for the first

e husky from sleepiness, screwing up one eye. “Very glad to see you. Yo

out, frightened by Ivan Dmitritch’s words; he shrugged

h spat again

would in an opera, but with death; peasants will come and drag one’s dead body by the arms and the legs to the cellar. Ugh! Well, it does not matter. . . . W

nd, seeing the docto

little kope

v

n the horizon to the right a cold crimson moon was mounting upwards. Not far from the hospital fence, not m

thought Andrey Yefimitch

re all terrible. Behind him there was the sound of a sigh. Andrey Yefimitch looked round and saw a man with

ons wear orders, and that everything in time will decay and turn to earth, but he was suddenly overcome with desi

o dreadful he went to Ivan

he muttered, trembling and wiping awa

sophical,” said Ivan

said Andrey Yefimitch in a tone as if he wanted to cry and complain. “Why, then, that malignant laugh, my friend, and how can these paltry creatures help philosophizing if they are not satisfied? For an intelligent, educated man, made in

on’t like being a doctor you should

touch of life upon me I have lost heart. . . . Prostration. . . . . We are weak, we are poor creatures . . . and you, too, my dear friend, you are intellige

by another persistent sensation besides terror and the feeling of rese

l tell them to bring a light; I can’t put up

r and opened it, but at once Nik

ou can’t, you can’t!” h

a minute to walk about the y

; it’s forbidden. You

ed Andrey Yefimitch, shrugging his shoulders. “I don’t understan

it’s not right,” Nik

as he not to let you out? How dare they keep us here? I believe it is clearly laid down in

ncouraged by Ivan Dmitritch’s outburst. “I must go

mitritch, and he banged on the door with his fist.

ndrey Yefimitch, trembli

nswered through the d

y Fyodoritch! Say that I be

ll come of him

ere really be no hell in the next world, and will these wretches be forgiven? Where is justice? Open the door, you wre

ed to Andrey Yefimitch as though a huge salt wave enveloped him from his head downwards and dragged him to the bed; there really was a salt taste in his mouth: most likely the

loud scream. He must

h the chaos in his brain there flashed the terrible unbearable thought that these people, who seemed now like black shadows in the moonlight, had to endure such pain day by day for years. How could it have happened that for more than twenty years he had not known it and had refused to know it? He knew nothing of pain, had no conception of it, so he was not to blame, but his conscience, as inexorable and as rough

i

ss the day before. He had been cowardly, had even been afraid of the moon, had openly expressed thoughts and feelings such as he had not expected

ank nothing. He lay m

n they asked him questions. “I am not goin

ushka came too and stood for a whole hour by the bed with an expression of dull grief on her face. Dr.

was a greenness before his eyes. Andrey Yefimitch understood that his end had come, and remembered that Ivan Dmitritch, Mihail Averyanitch, and millions of people believed in immortality. And what if it really existed? But he did not want immortality—and he thought of it only for one instant. A he

him by his arms and legs, and

ight upon him at night. In the morning Sergey Sergeyitch came, pra

d. Mihail Averyanitch and Daryushka