others. There's one from Siberia. Here, read this.'
I read the letters. They were very affectionate, even tender. In one of them, the first one from Siberia, Pasinkov called Masha his best friend, promised to send her the money for the journey to Siberia, and ended with the following words—'I kiss your pretty little hands; the girls here have not hands like yours; and their heads are no match for yours, nor their hearts either…. Read the books I gave you, and think of me, and I'll not forget you. You are the only, only girl that ever cared for me; and so I want to belong only to you….'
'I see he was very much attached to you,' I said, giving the letters back to her.
'He was very fond of me,' replied Masha, putting the letters carefully into her pocket, and the tears flowed slowly down her cheeks. 'I always trusted in him; if the Lord had vouchsafed him long life, he would not have abandoned me. God grant him His heavenly peace!'…
She wiped her eyes with a corner of her kerchief.
'Where are you living now?' I inquired.
'I'm here now, in Moscow; I came here with my mistress, but now I'm out of a place. I did go to Yakov Ivanitch's aunt, but she is very poor herself. Yakov Ivanitch used often to talk of you,' she added, getting up and bowing; 'he always loved you and thought of you. I met Elisei Timofeitch the day before yesterday, and wondered whether you wouldn't be willing to assist me, as I'm out of a place just now….'
'With the greatest pleasure, Maria … let me ask, what's your name from your father?'
'Petrovna,' answered Masha, and she cast down her eyes.
'I will do anything for you I can, Maria Petrovna,' I continued; 'I am only sorry that I am a visitor here, and know few good families.'
Masha sighed.
'If I could get a situation of some sort … I can't cut out, but I can sew, so I'm always doing sewing … and I can look after children too.'
'Give her money,' I thought; 'but how's one to do it?'
'Listen, Maria Petrovna,' I began, not without faltering; 'you must, please, excuse me, but you know from Pasinkov's own words what a friend of his I was … won't you allow me to offer you—for the immediate present—a small sum?' …
Masha glanced at me.
'What?' she asked.
'Aren't you in want of money?' I said.
Masha flushed all over and hung her head.
'What do I want with money?' she murmured; 'better get me a situation.'
'I will try to get you a situation, but I can't answer for it for certain; but you ought not to make any scruple, really … I'm not like a stranger to you, you know…. Accept this from me, in memory of our friend….'
I turned away, hurriedly pulled a few notes out of my pocket-book, and handed them to her.
Masha was standing motionless, her head still more downcast.
'Take it,' I persisted.
She slowly raised her eyes to me, looked me in the face mournfully, slowly drew her pale hand from under her kerchief and held it out to me.
I laid the notes in her cold fingers. Without a word, she hid the hand again under her kerchief, and dropped her eyes.
'In future, Maria Petrovna,' I resumed, 'if you should be in want of anything, please apply directly to me. I will give you my address.'
'I humbly thank you,' she said, and after a short pause she added: 'He did not speak to you of me?'
'I only met him the day before his death, Maria Petrovna. But I'm not sure … I believe he did say something.'
Masha passed her hand over her hair, pressed her cheek lightly, thought a moment, and saying 'Good-bye,' walked out of the room.
I sat at the table and fell into bitter musings. This Masha, her relations with Pasinkov, his letters, the hidden love of Sophia Nikolaevna's sister for him…. 'Poor fellow! poor fellow!' I whispered, with a catching in my breath. I thought of all Pasinkov's life, his childhood, his youth, Fraulein Frederike…. 'Well,' I thought, 'much fate gave to thee! much cause for joy!'
Next day I went again to see Sophia Nikolaevna. I was kept waiting in the ante-room, and when I entered, Lidia was already seated by her mother. I understood that Sophia Nikolaevna did not wish to renew the conversation of the previous day.
We began to talk—I really don't remember what about—about the news of the town, public affairs…. Lidia often put in her little word, and looked slily at me. An amusing air of importance had suddenly become apparent on her mobile little visage…. The clever little girl must have guessed that her mother had intentionally stationed her at her side.
I got up and began taking leave. Sophia Nikolaevna conducted me to the door.
'I made you no answer yesterday,' she said, standing still in the doorway; 'and, indeed, what answer was there to make? Our life is not in our own hands; but we all have one anchor, from which one can never, without one's own will, be torn—a sense of duty.'
Without a word I bowed my head in sign of assent, and parted from the youthful Puritan.
All that evening I stayed at home, but I did not think of her; I kept thinking and thinking of my dear, never- to-be-forgotten Pasinkov—the last of the idealists; and emotions, mournful and tender, pierced with sweet anguish into my soul, rousing echoes on the strings of a heart not yet quite grown old…. Peace to your ashes, unpractical man, simple-hearted idealist! and God grant to all practical men—to whom you were always incomprehensible, and who, perhaps, will laugh even now over you in the grave—God grant to them to experience even a hundredth part of those pure delights in which, in spite of fate and men, your poor and unambitious life was so rich!
ANDREI KOLOSOV
In a small, decently furnished room several young men were sitting before the fire. The winter evening was only just beginning; the samovar was boiling on the table, the conversation had hardly taken a definite turn, but passed lightly from one subject to another. They began discussing exceptional people, and in what way they differed from ordinary people. Every one expounded his views to the best of his abilities; they raised their voices and began to be noisy. A small, pale man, after listening long to the disquisitions of his companions, sipping tea and smoking a cigar the while, suddenly got up and addressed us all (I was one of the disputants) in the following words:—
'Gentlemen! all your profound remarks are excellent in their own way, but unprofitable.
Every one, as usual, hears his opponent's views, and every one retains his own convictions. But it's not the first time we have met, nor the first time we have argued, and so we have probably by now had ample opportunity for expressing our own views and learning those of others. Why, then, do you take so much trouble?'
Uttering these words, the small man carelessly flicked the ash off his cigar into the fireplace, dropped his eyelids, and smiled serenely. We all ceased speaking.
'Well, what are we to do then, according to you?' said one of us; 'play cards, or what? go to sleep? break up and go home?'
'Playing cards is agreeable, and sleep's always salutary,' retorted the small man; 'but it's early yet to break up and go home. You didn't understand me, though. Listen: I propose, if it comes to that, that each of you should describe some exceptional personality, tell us of any meeting you may have had with any remarkable man. I can assure you even the feeblest description has far more sense in it than the finest argument.'
We pondered.
'It's a strange thing,' observed one of us, an inveterate jester; 'except myself I don't know a single exceptional person, and with my life you are all, I fancy, familiar already. However, if you insist—'
'No!' cried another, 'we don't! But, I tell you what,' he added, addressing the small man, 'you begin. You have put a stopper on all of us, you're the person to fill the gap. Only mind, if we don't care for your story, we shall hiss
