# Hours spent in Prison/Vladimir Korolenko

VLADIMIR KOROLENKO.
VLADIMIR KOROLENKO.
Korolenko was born on the 15th of June in the town of Getomer. His father was a Government official, and belonged to a noble family. His mother was a Pole, the daughter of a professor. Korolenko was first educated in Dubno. He finished at a public school there in 1870, having won a silver medal. He has described this small town in his work, “In Bad Society.”
In 1868 his father died. He was a man of exceptional honesty, and left his family in poverty. Thanks to his industrious and self-sacrificing mother, Korolenko could finish at the public school and enter the Technological Institute, but the subsidy granted by Government to his ​mother was very small, and was taken away from her when he entered the Technological Institute. Three years were passed in a great struggle in order to earn his living. He gave lessons, painted botanical atlases, corrected proofs. In 1874 Korolenko went to Moscow, having only twenty roubles (40 s.) of hard-earned money in his pocket. There he entered the Petrovskaya Academy. Having passed the examinations in the second course he received a Government scholarship, and he fancied that fortune now smiled on him, but the hope was of short duration. In 1876 he was expelled for taking part against the Director in a collective petition drawn up by the students, and was sent to Vologdd. While on his way there he was remanded to Cronstadt. There he was imprisoned for one year.
In 1887 appeared the first edition of his “Narrations” which was translated ​into the French, German, Polish, English, and Bohemian languages. His “Blind Musician” was published both in London and Boston.
A STRANGE CHARACTER.
(From Personal Remembrances.)
I.
“Is there a station near here, my fellow?”
“Well, it is doubtful if we shall arrive before the snow-drift; just look, what a cloud of dust is driving up from the north.”
“True! how can we arrive before the storm?”
Towards evening it begins to get cooler. One hears how the snow creaks under the runners: the cold becomes more intense, the north wind roars more lustily in the dark forest, and the branches of the fir-trees are spreading out towards the forest-path, swinging heavily at the fall of dusk. It is cold and uncomfortable. This small closed carriage is too narrow, ​so that it confines on both sides, and that serves to hinder us; the sabres and revolvers of the escorting gendarmes take up the space. The small bell sounds monotonously, joining the moans of the lamenting snowstorm. Fortunately a little solitary light can be seen at the station, which is situated on the edge of the roaring forest.
My “leaders,” jingling with different sorts of arms, shake off the snow in a hot room, which is dark and full of soot. This inn is poor and inhospitable. The hostess endeavoured to light up the room with the dull rays of smoky wood.
“Have you by any chance anything to eat, my good woman?”
“No, I have nothing….”
“Not even fish? yet the river is quite near….”
“Well, fish there has been some, but otters have swallowed it.”
​“Then perhaps you have some potatoes?”
“They have been blasted with the frost….”
There was no help for it; so bread alone was supplied. The hostess brought in the tea-urn (samovar) to our astonishment. Thank God for that! We were getting warm cups of tea brought, which we drank, and then ate bread with onions, which the hostess presented in a basket. In the meantime outside a raging snowstorm was going on. The snow beat against the window coming down copiously, and noisily striking against the wall, a flame of fire flickered and sometimes appeared inclined to go out.
“It is impossible for you people to drive farther,” she said—“remain here for the night!”
“What can we do? why not stay here!”
​“You gentlemen have been accustomed to hurry. You will arrive in time I suppose…. You see what this country is, and further north is a hundred times worse, believe my word!…”
All in the room became silent. Even the hostess left her distaff and yarn, and, having put out the fire went to bed. Darkness and silence prevailed everywhere, only occasionally interrupted by the roar of an approaching violent gust of wind!
I could not sleep for the hurricane raised sad thoughts in my mind and this continued….
“As I see sleep does not come to you”—said one of the “leaders.” He was an old man, pleasant enough, and prudent with an amiable face, one could almost call him intelligent, knew his duty very well, although he was not severe.
“It is true, I cannot go to sleep.”
​A certain time passed in silence, then I perceived that my neighbour also could not sleep—evidently in his head also sad thoughts were wandering. The second “leader,” a young assistant, is enjoying the sleep of a strong and very tired man, only from time to time he murmured indistinctly:
“I wonder at you gentlemen.” Again there rung out the loud voice of an older leader: “You are young men, well brought up, educated, and yet look how you are spoiling your life!”
“How is it?”
“Ah, sir. You think we do not even understand that?… We understand well that you were not born to such a life, and you have not been used to it from your childhood. Are you, sir, indeed glad of that?”—he pronounced these words in a tone of doubt.
“Not very—it is true. And you,—are you cheerful?”
​“Silence!” Gavriloff (such was the name of my companion) seems to me to have some secret design in view.
“No, sir, I will tell you something…. Believe me, upon my word, there comes to me such a moment that I wish not to look at the world at all…. Its origin I do not know. I only am aware that such a time comes well, then just like a knife piercing my heart, and that is all.”
“Perhaps your service is too toilsome?”
“Service is service…. It is true that it is no pleasure; the authorities also are said to be severe, but, there, nothing of that should be spoken of.”
“What is it then?”
“Who knows that?”
Again silence reigned.
“Still, now having suffered already so much, I grew familiarised with my fate. Well, and the authorities took notice of me, and I was promoted as a ​non-commissioned officer; no punishment was laid upon me, but I was even soon to be dismissed….”
“What was it for?”
“Well, I will tell you, sir, what happened to me….”
II.
“I entered the army in 1874. It was a squadron of recruits, and I fulfilled my duties, I can say, very well. I did everything with much zeal, according to order. As I knew how to write and read fairly well the authorities kept eye upon me. Our major was my compatriot, and he, seeing my grief, called me one day to him and said, “Now, Gavriloff, I will introduce you as a candidate for becoming a non-commissioned officer: have you ever been in commissions?”
“No, never, your highness,” I answered.
​“Well,” said he, “next time I will present you as an assistant.”
“I am listening to your highness,” I said. “I have not been as yet in any expeditions.”
Although it is not necessary to be very wise to do that, one can say, but no, it is not so easy, and much discretion is needed. Yes, well…. After a week they called me before the chief, and also before this non-commissioned officer.
“We appoint you,” said the chief, “to an expedition, and it is necessary to set out at once. This is your assistant,” and he pointed to me. He had not yet been appointed, remember. He said: “Not to gape; show that you are no roistering blade if it happens that you have to drive out a young lady from a palace. Here you have the instructions,” he said, “and go with God’s help.”
The non-commissioned officer Ivanoff ​drove off with me as his superior officer. All instructions were given into his hands, he received all money, gave all information, and a private soldier was appointed to help him when needed, to be sent anywhere, or to watch anything, to do this or that….
Very well…. In the early morning at day-break, going out from my chief, I looked and found my Ivanoff had already been drinking whisky. He was a man, in truth, not at all suitable for his office. In the presence of authority he behaved as he ought to an officer, but he told stories about others: he had already rendered bad service to others. But when he got out he at once secured a glass of whisky—that was his first duty. We came to the “palace,” and, as was necessary, delivered the paper; then we stood and waited. Curiosity seized me as to which young lady would drive out, ​and, according to the instructions, I was obliged to drive her far away, for she was not destined to live in the town, only in the country. So I was exceedingly curious; at first I could hardly stand…. Having waited in this manner almost one hour, until her dresses were packed, her all was put into a very small trunk—one dress only, a few other articles, altogether it seemed nothing. She had only a few books, nothing more; evidently she had poor parents, at least I think so. At once they led her out. I looked at her, such a young girl, she seemed to me almost a child! She had long fair hair plaited in one plait, her cheeks were flushed, but soon afterwards I noticed that she was exceedingly pale during the whole journey. Then such a yearning overwhelmed me; I pitied her so much! so much!…
She began to put on her overcoat and ​goloshes. We were ordered to examine all her belongings. That was legal according to our instructions, and we were obliged to carry them out.
“Have you any money about you?” we asked. One rouble and twenty kopecks (1 s. 6 d.) were found on her, and the “senior” took the cash. “Then,” he said, “Miss, I must search you.” Then her anger burst forth, her eyes inflamed, and her colour deepened. When she looked at us, will you believe, sir, I could not move from the spot. Well, but the “senior,” as he was drunk, approached her directly…. “I am obliged,” he said, “I have instructions… I have.” Then she cried out, so that even the drunken Ivanoff retired from her. I looked at her, her face was very pale, without a drop of blood, and her eyes became quite black, and she was exceedingly angry…. She stamped with her ​feet, spoke very quickly, only I will confess I did not much listen to what she said. The superintendent was afraid, and brought her some water in a glass.
“Be quiet,” said he, “be so kind and have pity upon yourself.” And she—she came forward and pounced upon him! “Rascals,” she shouted, and indulged in still more audacious epithets. “As you like—but against authority, it is not well….”
The chief surveyor led her out to the other room, but soon she appeared with the chief inspectress, who said, “She has nothing.” Meanwhile the girl looked at the surveyor, laughed straight in his face, and her eyes were furious….
We drove farther, and passed through the town. She was continually looking out of the carriage window—one might say that she was bidding farewell, or wanted to see an acquaintance. So Ivanoff drew ​the curtain down and covered the window. Then she hid herself in the depths, pressed against the side of the carriage, and looked at us. And I must confess I could not endure it longer, so I pulled back the curtain as if I myself wished to look out a little, and uncovered the window so that she could have light…. But she did not look any more through the window, but continued to sit back in the corner appearing very angry. She bit her lips till they bled.
III.
We started by railway. The weather that day was very fine: it was autumn, in September. The sun shone, and a fresh autumnal breeze was blowing. The young lady opened the window of the compartment and leant out and sat thus. According to instruction, you know, one was not allowed to open the window, and ​my Ivanoff, as he entered the carriage, began at once to swear, and I did not dare then to say anything to her about it. Afterwards I ventured to approach her, and said, “Will you, Miss, please close the window.” She did not answer or pay any attention any more than if I had not spoken to her, yet I knew well she had heard all. I waited a little, then addressed her again: “You will catch cold, Miss; it is very cold.” She turned her face towards me and looked as if she was astonished. Again she looked at me and said in a very low voice: “Leave me alone!” And again she leant out of the window, and I waved my hand and retired. She then became calmer. She closed the window, wrapped herself in her overcoat—to keep warm, I think, for the wind was fresh and cold. Afterwards she approached the window and again looked out; evidently, after having been in prison, ​she could enjoy the air enough. She became a little brighter, looked round, and seemed to smile, and then I looked kindly at her. I tell you candidly that if the authorities would have permitted me, it seems to me, I should have married her at once instead of sending her into exile….
Leaving the town we were obliged to drive with three horses. My Ivanoff was extremely drunk. He slept a little, and then again began to drink. He got out of the train and staggered. Well that I think is very bad if at the same time he did not waste the governmental money. He climbed at last upon the post-chaise and began to loll and to sneer. She sat close to him, and was ill-humoured. She looked at him, as if she regarded him as a reptile. She placed herself in such a manner as not to touch him at all, sat far back right in the corner, while I sat on the coach-box.
​As we drove out a dreadfully cold wind caught us and I shook all over my body, and she also. I saw how cold she looked: she coughed terribly and held her handkerchief to her mouth. I looked at the handkerchief, blood was to be seen upon it. At once, as if a pin pricked me, “Oh, Miss,” I said, “how can you do thus? You are very ill, and look in what weather you are driving, the cold is dreadful. How can you?” I said. She threw upon me a glance for one moment, and then, as if boiling over with passion, she exclaimed: “What is the matter with you? Are you a fool? Don’t you understand that I am not driving of my own free will. You are splendid!” she said. “He drives me himself, and still he appears to have some sympathy….”
“Could you not let the authorities know your state?” I asked, “it would be better to stay in hospital than to drive in such weather as this. ​The journey is still a very long one!”
“And where to?” she asked.
“We are, as you know, not allowed to give such explanations to offenders—that is, to tell them to what part they are being driven.”
She saw my hesitation and turned towards me. “It is not necessary,” said she. “I only asked…. Do not speak to me any more, and do not interfere with me.”
Yet I could not help saying: “The place we are driving to, Miss, is certainly not near….”
Again she bit her lips, knitted her brows, and did not answer. I shook my head. “Well, well, Miss, you are young and do not know what it means.”
I felt very sorry, and she looked at me, saying: “In vain, you think so. I know well what it means, but notwithstanding that I will not go into the hospital. Thank you…. I prefer already to die at liberty than in your prison hospital. You think, ​perhaps,” she said, “that I feel ill from the wind or that I am catching cold, but is it so…?”
“Are any of your relations living?” I asked her that question because she seemed to express a wish to join her own people and establish her health.
“No,” she replied, “I have neither family nor acquaintances. And the town is also strange to me, but surely there I shall find some companions my equals.”
I was very astonished that she could call these strange people her own. Is it possible, I thought to myself, that someone would care to feed you, poor thing, without money, and still more you being a stranger…. But I did not ask her, I saw that she knitted her brows, and was not evidently pleased that I inquired about her.
The evening was coming on. I saw. clouds drawing up, the cold wind blew, and rain fell in abundance. The mud ​had not dried, and now such a shower came on. The whole of my back was splashed with mud, and the girl, too, suffered a great deal from it. In short, the weather became most dreadful, the rain cut straight into one’s face, and, although the vehicle was covered and I had covered her with a rush-mat, yet all was in vain. Everywhere it ran through. I looked and she was shivering all over her body, and she even shut her eyes. Down her face the drops of rain were flowing, her cheeks became pale, and she did not move, and appeared to be in a swoon. I became very frightened, and could see it was a very difficult affair with her, very difficult….
IV.
We arrived at the town of Yaroslaff towards evening. I awoke Ivanoff, and we went to the station. I ordered them ​to heat the samovar (tea-urn). From that town vessels are allowed to pass only according to instructions, and we were not permitted to drive on. But although for such persons as ourselves it was more convenient to exercise thereby some economy, yet it was not quite safe. In the harbour, as you know, policemen are stationed, and the “friend” (gendarme) is always ready to lay some intrigue.
And now our young lady said: “I will not drive with a post-chaise any longer; if you wish,” she added, “then drive me to a vessel.” And my Ivanoff, rubbing his eyes after his drunken fit, became ill-humoured and furious….
“You,” he said to the girl, “are not allowed to reason about it, they will drive you where they like; you must go this way.”
She answered nothing, but to me she said thus: “Did you hear what I said? I will not drive in a post-chaise.”
I took Ivanoff aside. ​“It is necessary,” I said, “to drive her to a vessel, it is even more convenient, for you will make more out of it….”
He accepted it, looking like a coward.
“The colonel lives here,” he said; “in order that nothing should happen to us, go,” he said, “ask, inquire of him; I cannot go, I feel unwell.”
“The colonel does not live very far off, let us go,” I added. “Let us take the young lady with us.” My reason for this was that Ivanoff being drunk I was afraid he would fall asleep again, and then it might turn out bad for our lady. She might go away by stealth in the meanwhile, I thought, or do herself some harm. Then we should have to answer for it.
We went to the colonel’s house. He came out to us.
“What do you want?” asked he.
Then she explained to him, but not speaking very politely. If she had asked nicely: “So and so, may I ​ask a favour of you.” But she began to speak as she did with us. “By what law,” she repeated continually, and soon he perceived how proudly she expressed herself, and with what arrogant words.
The colonel listened to her, and then answered calmly: “I cannot, I can do nothing to alter the law; what you desire is not allowed.”
I looked at the girl; she turned red, and her eyes, one might say, were like burning coals. “Law?” she shouted, and she laughed sarcastically as usual, and both angrily and loudly.
“It is true,” answered the colonel, “there is such a law.”
I must confess here I forgot myself, and said: “It is true, your highness, that there is such a law, only this young person, your highness, is ill.”
He looked at me sternly. “What is your name?” he asked. “And if you, miss, are ill,” said the colonel, “then perhaps you will kindly go into the prison hospital?”
​She turned back and went out without a word. And we followed. She did not wish to go to the hospital, and if she had not remained in the hospital here in a strange country, especially as she had no money, what could she have done?
Ivanoff became enraged with me. “What now,” he said, “we must now infallibly suffer through you, blockhead?”
He ordered the horses to be put to the post-chaise immediately, and did not allow us to pass the night in that quarter, so we were obliged to drive out during the night.
We approached her. “Be so kind, Miss, as to come,” we said, “the horses are waiting.”
She was resting on a sofa with the intention of warming herself. She jumped at once to her feet, stood before us, drew herself up, looked straight at us, and I could tell you it was for me dreadful to look at her. “Vile wretches!” she cried, and added something more, which ​was unintelligible. Then she spoke vehemently and woefully. “Well!” she cried out: “Now, if you wish, you can murder me: do with me what you like, I start!”
On the table stood the tea-urn, but she had not yet taken tea. We then made the tea, and I poured it out and gave her also a cup. There was white bread and I cut her a piece. “Taste,” I said, “eat some, for the journey is long, and warm yourself a little.”
But she put on her goloshes, turned, and gave me such a look, shrugging her shoulders. Then she said: “What a strange man? You are quite foolish. You think I will take your tea?”
Can you imagine, sir, how her words affected me? When I think even now of them my heart aches. Well, sir, then you know it is not an abomination to eat with us either bread or salt. We drove the squire, Rudakoff, and he did not ​despise us, but she did! Afterwards she ordered the tea-urn to be put on the other table. She paid thrice! Strange girl!
The narrator ceased to speak and for a certain time silence reigned in the room, only disturbed by the even breathing of a young gendarme.
“Do not you sleep yet?” asks Gavriloff.
“No, speak on please, I am listening.”
V.
After a moment of silence the narrator went on—I felt much for her. During the journey it rained continually all through the nights; the weather was very bad. We drove through the forest. I drove but I did not see her, for the nights were very dark. Nothing could be seen, but will you believe me, this young lady is continually before my eyes to such a ​degree that all day and night I see her before me. There is her pale face full of anger; I see her when she sits frozen gazing somewhere far away, as if some thought was imprinted on her mind. When we drove from the station I wished to cover her with a fur. “Put on this fur,” I said, “it will keep you warm.”
She threw it away.
“It is yours,” she said, “you can wear it.”
Certainly the fur was mine, but I guessed she would not take it if she knew that. I said: “It is not mine, I tell you, according to the law it belongs to you.” Well, she put it on… but it did not help very much. At day-break I looked at her again; all the blood had gone from her face. When we passed the station again she ordered Ivanoff to sit on the coach-box. He murmured, but dared not contradict. He was less tipsy ​now. I sat beside her. We drove on for three days and nights without staying anywhere. The first instruction was: Do not stop for a night’s lodging, only in case of great fatigue and then only in towns in which there is a guard. Well, you know what towns are like here. Still she hurried continually, for she wished to be at her place of destination as soon as possible. At last we came to the end of our journey; it was like a burden lifted off my shoulders when we saw in the distance the town. I wish to say that near the end of the drive she lay almost supported by my arms… I saw she lay in the coach senseless,—when the coach was shaken on the rough road she struck her head against the arm of the coach. I held her up with my right hand, and in that manner we drove on. The position was easier for her, yet at first she pushed me away: “Go away!” ​she cried—“do not touch me.” But afterwards she said nothing…. Perhaps for this reason that she became senseless…. Her eyes were shut, her eyelids looked dark, and her face became more serene; she was not so angry as before. And even in her sleep she smiled. Surely she dreamt about something very pleasant.
When we arrived at the town she recovered herself, and got up. The weather became beautiful and the sun appeared, cheering us all.
But her sojourn at this place was not a long one. They sent her farther still, and again I was obliged to drive her, because those gendarmes were on other routes. And, although she was exceedingly tired, she set out joyfully. When the time for departure came the people flew to her—the young girls and students, certainly all political offenders…. And ​all seemed to be acquainted with her, spoke to her, and shook hands. They brought her some money and a shawl for the journey, and went to see her off. We drove now more cheerfully. She often coughed and did not look at us, acting as if we were not there. We drove at last to a small town, where she was to live. When they noted her at the police-office she asked after some name. “Does so and so live here?” she said, “such and such a gentleman?”
“Yes,” they answered.
The chief of the gendarmes came. “Where will you live?” he asked. “I do not know,” she answered, “but now I will go to Mr. Rozanoff.” He shook his head once again, while she went away without even bidding us farewell….
VI.
“Did you ever see her again?”
​“I saw her, but it would have been better not to have seen her at all….”
Very soon I saw her. When I returned from this expedition a new order came, and we were again sent by the same route. This time we conducted a student—he was cheerful, sang various songs, and knew well how to swallow whisky. He was sent still farther. We drove through the same town in which we had left the girl, and curiosity induced me to try to learn what had become of her.
“Does the young lady live here?” I inquired.
They said: “Yes, but she acted strangely when she first came here; she went at once to see one of the ‘offenders,’ and from that time nobody has seen her; she is living with him…. Some say she is ill, while others gossip and affirm that she is pregnant, and that she is living with him as unmarried…. How people can invent!”
And I knew, then, why she ​lived with him; I recollected that she had said once: “I desire only to die among my own people.” Such curiosity overwhelmed me; it was not curiosity alone, but something more, which drew me towards her…. I will go, I think; I will see her at least.
I set out, and a good man showed me the road. These people lived at the other end of the town. It was a small house, its doors being very low. I entered. It was the home of an offender. I looked in, it was very tidy, only a small room, but very bright; in a corner stood a bed which was screened from the other part of the apartment, and there, close beside it, stood a work-table, and on a bench other bedding was spread. As I entered she was sitting on her bed, wrapped in a shawl, and was sewing; and the offender was sitting close by her on the bench, and reading a book. She was sewing ​and listening. I knocked at the door, and when she saw me she jumped up, caught the young man by the hand, and almost expired from fright…. Her eyes enlarged, darkened, and she became angry as before; she seemed to grow paler. When she squeezed the young man’s hand very tight he, too, was frightened, and asked her:
“What was the matter?” He said, “Be calm.”
He did not see me at all at the door. Then she dropped his hand, and wished to get up from the bed.
“Good-bye!” she said, “they evidently regretted that I should die calmly; good-bye!” At that he turned, saw me… how he jumped to his feet!… I thought certainly he was going to kill me….
Do you know they thought I had come to take her away, but he perceived that I was standing half dead with fear, and that I was alone. He turned towards her, took her hand and, laughing, said: “But ​be calm!” “and you”—he addressed me—“What do you want?”
I was exceedingly sorry that I had frightened them; I said so, and that I came to visit her. She recognised me, and I saw she was as angry as before. Her blood boiled within her, and it seemed to me that I should like to have served her in some way. She looked at me as if I was a reptile.
At last he understood my thoughts, and, smiling, began to whisper something to her. I couldn’t understand, because, like you, gentlemen, they spoke among themselves. It was very strange. He spoke so quietly, so softly, while she talked angrily and roughly.
The prisoner said: “Think a little ; this is a man who has come to you, not a gendarme….”
But she replied: “But what does he want here?”
Jesus! I think, am I not a man in her ​estimation? Have I done her wrong? Such a bitterness overcame me! “Excuse me, please,” I said, “that I frightened you!
“It does not matter that you frightened me,” was her reply, “that does not matter to me.”
I felt very moved. “Good-bye,” she said, and the young man addressed me, gave me his hand, and asked where we were driving to now.
“When you drive back come in, I pray you.”
But she looked at him and smiled. “I do not understand,” she said.
“Ah, but you will understand sometime, for you have a good heart,” the young man replied.
On the return drive the inspector called “the elder,” and said: “You will remain here for new orders; I received a telegram to wait for the paper at the post-office.” We remained.
Then, again, I went in their direction, that is, near their house, but on my way I thought to myself: “I ​will visit their landlord, and ask about them.” I went.
“It was going badly with her,” said the landlord; “I trust she may not die. I am afraid that the authorities might make me responsible. I hope she will not wish to call in the Greek priest.”
We stood talking thus. In that very moment came out the convict. This young man saw me, greeted me, and said:
“Again you are here? Well, come in, please.”
Then I entered on tip-toe, and he followed me. She looked and asked:
“Has this man come again? Did you call him?”
“No,” he said, “I did not call him; he came of his own free will.”
Here I could not help saying: “Miss, why have you no heart for me, am I your enemy?”
“Enemy! do not you know yourself? Enemy!” Her voice became weak, then she was silent; her cheeks burnt, and her face was so sweet for me that, in fact, it seemed to me like the face ​of an angel in church!
I at once recognised that she was not going to live long in this cold world, and began to ask her forgiveness, just as she herself, I thought, would not like to die without forgiveness….
“Forgive me,” I said, “if I have done you any harm.” Again I noticed a certain inward excitement.
“To forgive you? Do you ask again, I will never forgive you, never!”
The narrator ceased speaking and began again to muse. Soon afterwards he recommenced, almost recapitulating.
This conversation ensued: You are an educated man, and ought to understand their speech: now I will tell you what I have retained. When they began to talk more calmly and softly I listened to them. These words fell into my soul, and still to-day I remember them, only I do not know their exact meaning. The young man addressed her with these words:
​“You ought to understand,” he said, “that the forgiveness does not matter, but that a man’s acknowledgment does signify. To forgive is another thing,” he added; “he himself, perhaps, would not forgive.”
Afterwards they began to speak incoherently. Each looked at the other; they looked, as it were, into each other’s hearts, and continued to dispute….
He to her: “You,” he said, “you are sectarian.”
“And you,” she to him, “you are a cold, indifferent man.”
No sooner had she pronounced these words than he jumped up at once on the spot. “Indifferent!” he exclaimed, “but you yourself know that you did tell an untruth!”
“Let it be so,” she responded, and smiled at him, “and you, you spoke truth, perhaps?”
“But I,” he said, “I told the truth.”
She thought for a while, and afterwards put out her hand to him. He took it, while she looked straight into his ​face and said: “Yes, perhaps you are right.”
And I stood dumb like a post, staring! and a bitter feeling rent my breast and tore my heart, and tears stood in my eyes. Slowly she turned towards me, looked up at me without anger, and gave me her hand.
“But let me tell you,” she said, “I must tell you that never, never, will I forgive you. Do you hear? We are enemies! Yet I will give you my hand because I wish you to become a man.”
“Now I am tired,” she spoke to the young man, and I went out.
VII.
She died very soon afterwards. When they buried her I did not know, for the inspector called me away. But the next day I met this convict; as I approached him I looked him in the face. Good gracious! how changed he was! He was ​tall, with a very serious expression; formerly he looked at me benevolently, but now he evidently regarded me as a beast. He gave me his hand, but soon dropped mine suddenly, and, turning round:
“I cannot,” he said, “see you now, go away, my brother, for Jesus’ sake—go away! If you remain in the town, come to me later on, please.” He bowed and turned away.
I sought my lodging, and all these sorrowful circumstances so oppressed me that for two entire days I could not eat any food. Sad grief filled my mind! On the third day the inspector called me forward and ordered me to start. The paper came with the order to drive her farther on, but God Himself had taken pity on her and removed her. The gendarme was pleased and began to cross himself thrice.
Now as to what happened to me finally. It was not the end of me. Driving back ​we came to a little station. I entered the waiting-room. On the table was the tea-urn boiling and there was a good supply of refreshments, with an old woman sitting by and the landlady appeared to be treating her with some tea. She was short, very clean, cheerful and talkative, continually speaking to the landlady about her business.
“Well,” she said, “I have gathered all my things together, sold my house, and have driven over to see my darling daughter. How glad she will be! She will scold me a little certainly, will be angry, I know it, but however she will be very glad…. She wrote to me but told me not to come to see her in any case…. Well, but never mind!”
Here I felt as if someone pushed my left side. I went out into the kitchen. “Who is that lady?” I asked the servant.
“She is the mother of that girl whom you drove away, not long ago.”
Can you ​imagine how something shook me?
The girl saw that I changed colour and asked, “What is the matter with you, soldier, tell me?”
“Be silent,” I said, “That young lady is dead!”
This servant was usually very gay and liked to flirt with the passing travellers, but on hearing that news, she wrung her hands and burst into tears, and ran out of the kitchen!
I took my cap and went out also, and in passing heard how this old woman was still chattering with the landlady. And I recollect even now how I was frightened at that old woman, I cannot express it even to you. I stole slowly along the road, and the cart overtaking me with Ivanoff I got into it.
VIII.
Now see how the matter stood! The inspector evidently let the authorities ​know that I had visited the political offenders and the colonel of the town, Yaroslaff, had also communicated the fact that I took her, and both conspired together against the government. That heaped up the measure of their anger.
The chief gendarme did not now wish to promote me. “Which of you is the non-commissioned officer?” he asked.
“I,” I answered.
“You are like a woman! You ought to be taken as a blockhead to prison!”
Just then I felt to be in a state of such indifference that I did not regret anything!… Only that wretchedly sad young woman, I could not forget her, and now I feel the same; she lingers ever before my eyes. What could it mean? Who could explain this?… But don’t you go to sleep, sir?… I could not fall asleep…. A mysterious misgiving stole over me as I again contemplated her in the twilight. ​That humble cottage in the forest tormented my soul, and the mournful figure of the dead girl stood like a fair marble pillar—motionless, immaculate, and, at the same time, invulnerable to the sobbing tempest around her.