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ToMy welcom you to Ordinal BTCh!
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           id="tspan2119">I_say...U_say..._#7</tspan></text><rect
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           id="tspan2121">     bitliever.bitcoin</tspan></text><text
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al;font-variant-caps:normal;font-variant-numeric:normal;font-variant-east-asian:normal;text-align:center;text-anchor:middle;fill:#000000;stroke-width:0.264583"
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      id="tspan421">I say: &quot;What's properly decentralized?&quot;</tspan><tspan
           sodipodi:role="line"
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           dy="5">You say: &quot;The Bitcoin network.&quot;</tspan><tspan
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One morning, when Gregor Samsa woke from troubled dreams, he found
himself transformed in his bed into a horrible vermin. He lay on his
armour-like back, and if he lifted his head a little he could see his
brown belly, slightly domed and divided by arches into stiff sections.
The bedding was hardly able to cover it and seemed ready to slide off
any moment. His many legs, pitifully thin compared with the size of the
rest of him, waved about helplessly as he looked.M
 he thought. It wasn
t a dream. His room, a
proper human room although a little too small, lay peacefully between
its four familiar walls. A collection of textile samples lay spread out
Samsa was a travelling salesman
and above it there hung a
picture that he had recently cut out of an illustrated magazine and
housed in a nice, gilded frame. It showed a lady fitted out with a fur
hat and fur boa who sat upright, raising a heavy fur muff that covered
ole of her lower arm towards the viewer.
Gregor then turned to look out the window at the dull weather. Drops of
rain could be heard hitting the pane, which made him feel quite sad.
How about if I sleep a little bit longer and forget all this
, he thought, but that was something he was unable to do
because he was used to sleeping on his right, and in his present state
t get into that position. However hard he threw himself onto his
right, he always rolled back to where he was. He musM
hundred times, shut his eyes so that he wouldn
t have to look at the
floundering legs, and only stopped when he began to feel a mild, dull
pain there that he had never felt before.
what a strenuous career it is that I
Travelling day in and day out. Doing business like this takes much more
effort than doing your own business at home, and on top of that there
the curse of travelling, worries about making train connections, bad
food, contact with different people all the time so that
you can never get to know anyone or become friendly with them. It can
 He felt a slight itch up on his belly; pushed himself
slowly up on his back towards the headboard so that he could lift his
head better; found where the itch was, and saw that it was covered with
lots of little white spots which he didn
t know what to make of; and
when he tried to feel the place with one of his legs he drew it quickly
back because as soon as he tM
ouched it he was overcome by a cold
He slid back into his former position.
Getting up early all the time
it makes you stupid. You
ve got to get enough sleep. Other
travelling salesmen live a life of luxury. For instance, whenever I go
back to the guest house during the morning to copy out the contract,
these gentlemen are always still sitting there eating their breakfasts.
I ought to just try that with my boss; I
d get kicked out on the spot.
But who knows, maybe that woM
uld be the best thing for me. If I didn
have my parents to think about I
d have given in my notice a long time
d have gone up to the boss and told him just what I think, tell
him everything I would, let him know just what I feel. He
off his desk! And it
s a funny sort of business to be sitting up there
at your desk, talking down at your subordinates from up there,
especially when you have to go right up close because the boss is hard
of hearing. Well, there
together to pay off my parents
another five or six years I
change. First of all though, I
ve got to get up, my train leaves at
And he looked over at the alarm clock, ticking on the chest of drawers.
 he thought. It was half past six and the hands were
quietly moving forwards, it was even later than half past, more like
quarter to seven. Had the alarm cM
lock not rung? He could see from the
bed that it had been set for four o
clock as it should have been; it
certainly must have rung. Yes, but was it possible to quietly sleep
through that furniture-rattling noise? True, he had not slept
peacefully, but probably all the more deeply because of that. What
should he do now? The next train went at seven; if he were to catch
that he would have to rush like mad and the collection of samples was
still not packed, and he did not at all feel particularly fresh and
ively. And even if he did catch the train he would not avoid his
s anger as the office assistant would have been there to see the
clock train go, he would have put in his report about Gregor
not being there a long time ago. The office assistant was the boss
man, spineless, and with no understanding. What about if he reported
sick? But that would be extremely strained and suspicious as in five
years of service Gregor had never once yet been ill. His boss would
certainly come round withM
 the doctor from the medical insurance
company, accuse his parents of having a lazy son, and accept the
s recommendation not to make any claim as the doctor believed
that no-one was ever ill but that many were workshy. And what
would he have been entirely wrong in this case? Gregor did in fact,
apart from excessive sleepiness after sleeping for so long, feel
completely well and even felt much hungrier than usual.
He was still hurriedly thinking all this through, unable to decide to
out of the bed, when the clock struck quarter to seven. There was a
cautious knock at the door near his head.
s quarter to seven. Didn
 That gentle voice! Gregor was shocked when he heard his own
voice answering, it could hardly be recognised as the voice he had had
before. As if from deep inside him, there was a painful and
uncontrollable squeaking mixed in with it, the words could be made out
at first but then thereM
 was a sort of echo which made them unclear,
leaving the hearer unsure whether he had heard properly or not. Gregor
had wanted to give a full answer and explain everything, but in the
circumstances contented himself with saying:
 The change in Gregor
could not be noticed outside through the wooden door, as his mother was
satisfied with this explanation and shuffled away. But this short
conversation made the other members of the familyM
against their expectations was still at home, and soon his father came
knocking at one of the side doors, gently, but with his fist.
 And after a short while he called
again with a warning deepness in his voice:
other side door his sister came plaintively:
Do you need anything?
 Gregor answered to both sides:
making an effort to remove all the strangenM
ess from his voice by
enunciating very carefully and putting long pauses between each,
individual word. His father went back to his breakfast, but his sister
Gregor, open the door, I beg of you.
 Gregor, however, had
no thought of opening the door, and instead congratulated himself for
his cautious habit, acquired from his travelling, of locking all doors
at night even when he was at home.
The first thing he wanted to do was to get up in peace without being
disturbed, to get dressed, and mM
ost of all to have his breakfast. Only
then would he consider what to do next, as he was well aware that he
would not bring his thoughts to any sensible conclusions by lying in
bed. He remembered that he had often felt a slight pain in bed, perhaps
caused by lying awkwardly, but that had always turned out to be pure
imagination and he wondered how his imaginings would slowly resolve
themselves today. He did not have the slightest doubt that the change
in his voice was nothing more than the first sign of a seM
which was an occupational hazard for travelling salesmen.
It was a simple matter to throw off the covers; he only had to blow
himself up a little and they fell off by themselves. But it became
difficult after that, especially as he was so exceptionally broad. He
would have used his arms and his hands to push himself up; but instead
of them he only had all those little legs continuously moving in
different directions, and which he was moreover unable to control. If
he wanted to bend one of themM
, then that was the first one that would
stretch itself out; and if he finally managed to do what he wanted with
that leg, all the others seemed to be set free and would move about
This is something that can
t keep trying to do it
The first thing he wanted to do was get the lower part of his body out
of the bed, but he had never seen this lower part, and could not
imagine what it looked like; it turned out to be too hard to move; M
went so slowly; and finally, almost in a frenzy, when he carelessly
shoved himself forwards with all the force he could gather, he chose
the wrong direction, hit hard against the lower bedpost, and learned
from the burning pain he felt that the lower part of his body might
well, at present, be the most sensitive.
So then he tried to get the top part of his body out of the bed first,
carefully turning his head to the side. This he managed quite easily,
and despite its breadth and its weight, the bulk ofM
 his body eventually
followed slowly in the direction of the head. But when he had at last
got his head out of the bed and into the fresh air it occurred to him
that if he let himself fall it would be a miracle if his head were not
injured, so he became afraid to carry on pushing himself forward the
same way. And he could not knock himself out now at any price; better
to stay in bed than lose consciousness.
It took just as much effort to get back to where he had been earlier,
but when he lay there sighingM
, and was once more watching his legs as
they struggled against each other even harder than before, if that was
possible, he could think of no way of bringing peace and order to this
chaos. He told himself once more that it was not possible for him to
stay in bed and that the most sensible thing to do would be to get free
of it in whatever way he could at whatever sacrifice. At the same time,
though, he did not forget to remind himself that calm consideration was
much better than rushing to desperate conclusM
ions. At times like this
he would direct his eyes to the window and look out as clearly as he
could, but unfortunately, even the other side of the narrow street was
enveloped in morning fog and the view had little confidence or cheer to
, he said to himself when the clock
s still a fog like this.
he lay there quietly a while longer, breathing lightly as if he perhaps
expected the total stillness to bring things backM
But then he said to himself:
Before it strikes quarter past seven I
definitely have to have got properly out of bed. And by then somebody
will have come round from work to ask what
s happened to me as well, as
they open up at work before seven o
 And so he set himself to
the task of swinging the entire length of his body out of the bed all
at the same time. If he succeeded in falling out of bed in this way and
kept his head raised as he did so he coulM
d probably avoid injuring it.
His back seemed to be quite hard, and probably nothing would happen to
it falling onto the carpet. His main concern was for the loud noise he
was bound to make, and which even through all the doors would probably
raise concern if not alarm. But it was something that had to be risked.
When Gregor was already sticking half way out of the bed
was more of a game than an effort, all he had to do was rock back and
it occurred to him how simple everything wouM
came to help him. Two strong people
he had his father and the maid in
would have been more than enough; they would only have to push
their arms under the dome of his back, peel him away from the bed, bend
down with the load and then be patient and careful as he swang over
onto the floor, where, hopefully, the little legs would find a use.
Should he really call for help though, even apart from the fact that
all the doors were locked? Despite all the difficulty he was in, he
ot suppress a smile at this thought.
After a while he had already moved so far across that it would have
been hard for him to keep his balance if he rocked too hard. The time
was now ten past seven and he would have to make a final decision very
soon. Then there was a ring at the door of the flat.
, he said to himself, and froze very still, although
his little legs only became all the more lively as they danced around.
For a moment everything remained quiet.
 not opening the door
Gregor said to himself, caught in some nonsensical hope. But then of
s firm steps went to the door as ever and opened it.
Gregor only needed to hear the visitor
s first words of greeting and he
the chief clerk himself. Why did Gregor have to be the
only one condemned to work for a company where they immediately became
highly suspicious at the slightest shortcoming? Were all employees,
every one of them, louts, was there not one of them who was M
and devoted who would go so mad with pangs of conscience that he
t get out of bed if he didn
t spend at least a couple of hours
in the morning on company business? Was it really not enough to let one
of the trainees make enquiries
assuming enquiries were even
did the chief clerk have to come himself, and did they have
to show the whole, innocent family that this was so suspicious that
only the chief clerk could be trusted to have the wisdom to investigate
se these thoughts had made him upset than through any
proper decision, he swang himself with all his force out of the bed.
There was a loud thump, but it wasn
t really a loud noise. His fall was
softened a little by the carpet, and Gregor
s back was also more
elastic than he had thought, which made the sound muffled and not too
noticeable. He had not held his head carefully enough, though, and hit
it as he fell; annoyed and in pain, he turned it and rubbed it against
, said the chief clerk in the room on
the left. Gregor tried to imagine whether something of the sort that
had happened to him today could ever happen to the chief clerk too; you
had to concede that it was possible. But as if in gruff reply to this
question, the chief clerk
s firm footsteps in his highly polished boots
could now be heard in the adjoining room. From the room on his right,
s sister whispered to him to let him know:
, said Gregor to himself; but without
daring to raise his voice loud enough for his sister to hear him.
, said his father now from the room to his left,
clerk has come round and wants to know why you didn
t know what to say to him. And anyway, he wants to
speak to you personally. So please open up this door. I
good enough to forgive the untidiness of your room.
Good morning, Mr. SamsaM
mother to the chief clerk, while his father continued to speak through
t well, please believe me. Why else would Gregor have
missed a train! The lad only ever thinks about the business. It nearly
makes me cross the way he never goes out in the evenings; he
town for a week now but stayed home every evening. He sits with us in
the kitchen and just reads the paper or studies train timetables. His
idea of relaxation is working with his fretsaM
frame, for instance, it only took him two or three evenings, you
amazed how nice it is; it
s hanging up in his room; you
soon as Gregor opens the door. Anyway, I
t have been able to get Gregor to open the door by ourselves;
s so stubborn; and I
t well, he said this morning that
ll be there in a moment
, said Gregor slowly
and thoughtfully, but without moving so that hM
e would not miss any word
of the conversation.
t think of any other way of explaining
, said the chief clerk,
But on the other hand, I must say that if we people in commerce ever
become slightly unwell then, fortunately or unfortunately as you like,
we simply have to overcome it because of business considerations.
the chief clerk come in to see you now then?
impatiently, knocking at the door again.
d Gregor. In the room
on his right there followed a painful silence; in the room on his left
his sister began to cry.
So why did his sister not go and join the others? She had probably only
just got up and had not even begun to get dressed. And why was she
crying? Was it because he had not got up, and had not let the chief
clerk in, because he was in danger of losing his job and if that
happened his boss would once more pursue their parents with the same
demands as before? There was no need to worry aboutM
yet. Gregor was still there and had not the slightest intention of
abandoning his family. For the time being he just lay there on the
carpet, and no-one who knew the condition he was in would seriously
have expected him to let the chief clerk in. It was only a minor
discourtesy, and a suitable excuse could easily be found for it later
on, it was not something for which Gregor could be sacked on the spot.
And it seemed to Gregor much more sensible to leave him now in peace
bing him with talking at him and crying. But the
t know what was happening, they were worried, that would
excuse their behaviour.
The chief clerk now raised his voice,
what is wrong? You barricade yourself in your room, give us no more
than yes or no for an answer, you are causing serious and unnecessary
concern to your parents and you fail
and I mention this just by the
you fail to carry out your business duties in a way that is quite
m speaking here on behalf of your parents and of your
employer, and really must request a clear and immediate explanation. I
am astonished, quite astonished. I thought I knew you as a calm and
sensible person, and now you suddenly seem to be showing off with
peculiar whims. This morning, your employer did suggest a possible
reason for your failure to appear, it
it had to do with the
money that was recently entrusted to you
but I came near to giving him
my word of honour that that could notM
 be the right explanation. But now
that I see your incomprehensible stubbornness I no longer feel any wish
whatsoever to intercede on your behalf. And nor is your position all
that secure. I had originally intended to say all this to you in
private, but since you cause me to waste my time here for no good
t see why your parents should not also learn of it. Your
turnover has been very unsatisfactory of late; I grant you that it
not the time of year to do especially good business, we recogniM
but there simply is no time of year to do no business at all, Mr.
Samsa, we cannot allow there to be.
, called Gregor, beside himself and forgetting all else in the
ll open up immediately, just a moment. I
unwell, an attack of dizziness, I haven
t been able to get up. I
m quite fresh again now, though. I
out of bed. Just a moment. Be patient! It
s not quite as easy as I
s shocking, what can
suddenly happen to a person! I was quite alright last night, my parents
know about it, perhaps better than me, I had a small symptom of it last
night already. They must have noticed it. I don
you know at work! But you always think you can get over an illness
without staying at home. Please, don
t make my parents suffer! There
no basis for any of the accusations you
word to me about any of these thingsM
contracts I sent in. I
ll set off with the eight o
well, these few hours of rest have given me strength. You don
ll be in the office soon after you, and please be so good
as to tell that to the boss and recommend me to him!
And while Gregor gushed out these words, hardly knowing what he was
saying, he made his way over to the chest of drawers
done, probably because of the practise he had already had inM
he now tried to get himself upright. He really did want to open the
door, really did want to let them see him and to speak with the chief
clerk; the others were being so insistent, and he was curious to learn
what they would say when they caught sight of him. If they were shocked
then it would no longer be Gregor
s responsibility and he could rest.
If, however, they took everything calmly he would still have no reason
to be upset, and if he hurried he really could be at the station for
clock. The first few times he tried to climb up on the smooth
chest of drawers he just slid down again, but he finally gave himself
one last swing and stood there upright; the lower part of his body was
in serious pain but he no longer gave any attention to it. Now he let
himself fall against the back of a nearby chair and held tightly to the
edges of it with his little legs. By now he had also calmed down, and
kept quiet so that he could listen to what the chief clerk was saying.
 a word of all that?
 the chief clerk asked his
s not trying to make fools of us
called his mother, who was already in tears,
he could be seriously ill
re making him suffer. Grete! Grete!
his sister called from the other side. They communicated across
ll have to go for the doctor straight away. Gregor
is ill. Quick, get the doctor. Did you hear the way Gregor spoke just
, said the chief clerk, with a
calmness that was in contrast with his mother
his father called into the kitchen through the entrance hall, clapping
get a locksmith here, now!
 And the two girls, their skirts
swishing, immediately ran out through the hall, wrenching open the
front door of the flat as they went. How had his sister managed to get
dressed so quickly? There was no sound of the door banging shut again;
they must have left it open;M
 people often do in homes where something
Gregor, in contrast, had become much calmer. So they couldn
understand his words any more, although they seemed clear enough to
him, clearer than before
perhaps his ears had become used to the sound.
They had realised, though, that there was something wrong with him, and
were ready to help. The first response to his situation had been
confident and wise, and that made him feel better. He felt that he had
been drawn back in among people, aM
nd from the doctor and the locksmith
he expected great and surprising achievements
really distinguish one from the other. Whatever was said next would be
crucial, so, in order to make his voice as clear as possible, he
coughed a little, but taking care to do this not too loudly as even
this might well sound different from the way that a human coughs and he
was no longer sure he could judge this for himself. Meanwhile, it had
become very quiet in the next room. Perhaps his parents were sM
table whispering with the chief clerk, or perhaps they were all pressed
against the door and listening.
Gregor slowly pushed his way over to the door with the chair. Once
there he let go of it and threw himself onto the door, holding himself
upright against it using the adhesive on the tips of his legs. He
rested there a little while to recover from the effort involved and
then set himself to the task of turning the key in the lock with his
mouth. He seemed, unfortunately, to have no proper teetM
then, to grasp the key?
but the lack of teeth was, of course, made up
for with a very strong jaw; using the jaw, he really was able to start
the key turning, ignoring the fact that he must have been causing some
kind of damage as a brown fluid came from his mouth, flowed over the
key and dripped onto the floor.
, said the chief clerk in the
 Gregor was greatly encouraged by
this; but they all should have been calling to him, his father andM
, they should have cried,
keep hold of the lock!
 And with the idea that they were all excitedly
following his efforts, he bit on the key with all his strength, paying
no attention to the pain he was causing himself. As the key turned
round he turned around the lock with it, only holding himself upright
with his mouth, and hung onto the key or pushed it down again with the
whole weight of his body as needed. The clear sound of the lock as it
s sign that he could break his concentration,
and as he regained his breath he said to himself:
the locksmith after all
. Then he lay his head on the handle of the
door to open it completely.
Because he had to open the door in this way, it was already wide open
before he could be seen. He had first to slowly turn himself around one
of the double doors, and he had to do it very carefully if he did not
want to fall flat on his back before entering the room. He was stM
occupied with this difficult movement, unable to pay attention to
anything else, when he heard the chief clerk exclaim a loud
which sounded like the soughing of the wind. Now he also saw him
the nearest to the door
his hand pressed against his open mouth and
slowly retreating as if driven by a steady and invisible force.
s mother, her hair still dishevelled from bed despite the chief
s being there, looked at his father. Then she unfolded her arms,
rward towards Gregor and sank down onto the floor into
her skirts that spread themselves out around her as her head
disappeared down onto her breast. His father looked hostile, and
clenched his fists as if wanting to knock Gregor back into his room.
Then he looked uncertainly round the living room, covered his eyes with
his hands and wept so that his powerful chest shook.
So Gregor did not go into the room, but leant against the inside of the
other door which was still held bolted in place. In this way onlM
of his body could be seen, along with his head above it which he leant
over to one side as he peered out at the others. Meanwhile the day had
become much lighter; part of the endless, grey-black building on the
other side of the street
which was a hospital
clearly with the austere and regular line of windows piercing its
ade; the rain was still falling, now throwing down large, individual
droplets which hit the ground one at a time. The washing up from
breakfast lay on theM
 table; there was so much of it because, for
s father, breakfast was the most important meal of the day and
he would stretch it out for several hours as he sat reading a number of
different newspapers. On the wall exactly opposite there was photograph
of Gregor when he was a lieutenant in the army, his sword in his hand
and a carefree smile on his face as he called forth respect for his
uniform and bearing. The door to the entrance hall was open and as the
front door of the flat was also open he couM
ld see onto the landing and
the stairs where they began their way down below.
, said Gregor, well aware that he was the only one to have
ll get dressed straight away now, pack up my samples and
set off. Will you please just let me leave? You can see
m not stubborn and I like to do my job; being
a commercial traveller is arduous but without travelling I couldn
earn my living. So where are you going, in to the office? Yes? Will M
report everything accurately, then? It
s quite possible for someone to
be temporarily unable to work, but that
s just the right time to
s been achieved in the past and consider that later on,
once the difficulty has been removed, he will certainly work with all
the more diligence and concentration. You
re well aware that I
seriously in debt to our employer as well as having to look after my
parents and my sister, so that I
m trapped in a difficult situation,
y way out of it again. Please don
harder for me than they are already, and don
t take sides against me at
the office. I know that nobody likes the travellers. They think we earn
an enormous wage as well as having a soft time of it. That
prejudice but they have no particular reason to think better of it. But
you, sir, you have a better overview than the rest of the staff, in
fact, if I can say this in confidence, a better overview than the boss
s very easy for a bM
usinessman like him to make mistakes
about his employees and judge them more harshly than he should. And
re also well aware that we travellers spend almost the whole year
away from the office, so that we can very easily fall victim to gossip
and chance and groundless complaints, and it
s almost impossible to
defend yourself from that sort of thing, we don
about them, or if at all it
s when we arrive back home exhausted from a
s when we feel the harmful effectsM
on without even knowing what caused them. Please, don
least first say something to show that you grant that I
But the chief clerk had turned away as soon as Gregor had started to
speak, and, with protruding lips, only stared back at him over his
trembling shoulders as he left. He did not keep still for a moment
while Gregor was speaking, but moved steadily towards the door without
taking his eyes off him. He moved very gradually, as if M
some secret prohibition on leaving the room. It was only when he had
reached the entrance hall that he made a sudden movement, drew his foot
from the living room, and rushed forward in a panic. In the hall, he
stretched his right hand far out towards the stairway as if out there,
there were some supernatural force waiting to save him.
Gregor realised that it was out of the question to let the chief clerk
go away in this mood if his position in the firm was not to be put into
 That was something his parents did not understand very
well; over the years, they had become convinced that this job would
provide for Gregor for his entire life, and besides, they had so much
to worry about at present that they had lost sight of any thought for
the future. Gregor, though, did think about the future. The chief clerk
had to be held back, calmed down, convinced and finally won over; the
future of Gregor and his family depended on it! If only his sister were
here! She was clever; she was alreaM
dy in tears while Gregor was still
lying peacefully on his back. And the chief clerk was a lover of women,
surely she could persuade him; she would close the front door in the
entrance hall and talk him out of his shocked state. But his sister was
not there, Gregor would have to do the job himself. And without
considering that he still was not familiar with how well he could move
about in his present state, or that his speech still might not
be understood, he let go of the door; pusM
through the opening; tried to reach the chief clerk on the landing who,
ridiculously, was holding on to the banister with both hands; but
Gregor fell immediately over and, with a little scream as he sought
something to hold onto, landed on his numerous little legs. Hardly had
that happened than, for the first time that day, he began to feel
alright with his body; the little legs had the solid ground under them;
to his pleasure, they did exactly as he told them; they were even
making the effort tM
o carry him where he wanted to go; and he was soon
believing that all his sorrows would soon be finally at an end. He held
back the urge to move but swayed from side to side as he crouched there
on the floor. His mother was not far away in front of him and seemed,
at first, quite engrossed in herself, but then she suddenly jumped up
with her arms outstretched and her fingers spread shouting:
 The way she held her head suggested she wanted to
see Gregor better, but the unthM
inking way she was hurrying backwards
showed that she did not; she had forgotten that the table was behind
her with all the breakfast things on it; when she reached the table she
sat quickly down on it without knowing what she was doing; without even
seeming to notice that the coffee pot had been knocked over and a gush
of coffee was pouring down onto the carpet.
, said Gregor gently, looking up at her. He had
completely forgotten the chief clerk for the moment, but could not help
elf snapping in the air with his jaws at the sight of the flow of
coffee. That set his mother screaming anew, she fled from the table and
into the arms of his father as he rushed towards her. Gregor, though,
had no time to spare for his parents now; the chief clerk had already
reached the stairs; with his chin on the banister, he looked back for
the last time. Gregor made a run for him; he wanted to be sure of
reaching him; the chief clerk must have expected something, as he leapt
down several steps at once M
and disappeared; his shouts resounding all
around the staircase. The flight of the chief clerk seemed,
unfortunately, to put Gregor
s father into a panic as well. Until then
he had been relatively self controlled, but now, instead of running
after the chief clerk himself, or at least not impeding Gregor as he
ran after him, Gregor
s father seized the chief clerk
right hand (the chief clerk had left it behind on a chair, along with
his hat and overcoat), picked up a large newspaper from tM
his left, and used them to drive Gregor back into his room, stamping
his foot at him as he went. Gregor
s appeals to his father were of no
help, his appeals were simply not understood, however much he humbly
turned his head his father merely stamped his foot all the harder.
Across the room, despite the chilly weather, Gregor
open a window, leant far out of it and pressed her hands to her face. A
strong draught of air flew in from the street towards the stairway, the
tains flew up, the newspapers on the table fluttered and some of
them were blown onto the floor. Nothing would stop Gregor
he drove him back, making hissing noises at him like a wild man. Gregor
had never had any practice in moving backwards and was only able to go
very slowly. If Gregor had only been allowed to turn round he would
have been back in his room straight away, but he was afraid that if he
took the time to do that his father would become impatient, and there
was the threat of a lethM
al blow to his back or head from the stick in
s hand any moment. Eventually, though, Gregor realised that
he had no choice as he saw, to his disgust, that he was quite incapable
of going backwards in a straight line; so he began, as quickly as
possible and with frequent anxious glances at his father, to turn
himself round. It went very slowly, but perhaps his father was able to
see his good intentions as he did nothing to hinder him, in fact now
and then he used the tip of his stick to give direM
distance as to which way to turn. If only his father would stop that
unbearable hissing! It was making Gregor quite confused. When he had
nearly finished turning round, still listening to that hissing, he made
a mistake and turned himself back a little the way he had just come. He
was pleased when he finally had his head in front of the doorway, but
then saw that it was too narrow, and his body was too broad to get
through it without further difficulty. In his present mood, it
t occur to his father to open the other of the double
doors so that Gregor would have enough space to get through. He was
merely fixed on the idea that Gregor should be got back into his room
as quickly as possible. Nor would he ever have allowed Gregor the time
to get himself upright as preparation for getting through the doorway.
What he did, making more noise than ever, was to drive Gregor forwards
all the harder as if there had been nothing in the way; it sounded to
Gregor as if there was now more than oM
ne father behind him; it was not
a pleasant experience, and Gregor pushed himself into the doorway
without regard for what might happen. One side of his body lifted
itself, he lay at an angle in the doorway, one flank scraped on the
white door and was painfully injured, leaving vile brown flecks on it,
soon he was stuck fast and would not have been able to move at all by
himself, the little legs along one side hung quivering in the air while
those on the other side were pressed painfully against the ground. M
his father gave him a hefty shove from behind which released him from
where he was held and sent him flying, and heavily bleeding, deep into
his room. The door was slammed shut with the stick, then, finally, all
It was not until it was getting dark that evening that Gregor awoke
from his deep and coma-like sleep. He would have woken soon afterwards
anyway even if he hadn
t been disturbed, as he had had enough sleep and
felt fully rested. But he had the impression that some hurrieM
and the sound of the door leading into the front room being carefully
shut had woken him. The light from the electric street lamps shone
palely here and there onto the ceiling and tops of the furniture, but
down below, where Gregor was, it was dark. He pushed himself over to
the door, feeling his way clumsily with his antennae
now beginning to learn the value
in order to see what had been
happening there. The whole of his left side seemed like one, painfully
stretched scar, and hM
e limped badly on his two rows of legs. One of the
legs had been badly injured in the events of that morning
a miracle that only one of them had been
and dragged along lifelessly.
It was only when he had reached the door that he realised what it
actually was that had drawn him over to it; it was the smell of
something to eat. By the door there was a dish filled with sweetened
milk with little pieces of white bread floating in it. He was so
pleased he almost laughed, as he was even hungrieM
that morning, and immediately dipped his head into the milk, nearly
covering his eyes with it. But he soon drew his head back again in
disappointment; not only did the pain in his tender left side make it
difficult to eat the food
he was only able to eat if his whole body
worked together as a snuffling whole
but the milk did not taste at all
nice. Milk like this was normally his favourite drink, and his sister
had certainly left it there for him because of that, but he turned,
against his own will, away from the dish and crawled back into
the centre of the room.
Through the crack in the door, Gregor could see that the gas had been
lit in the living room. His father at this time would normally be sat
with his evening paper, reading it out in a loud voice to Gregor
mother, and sometimes to his sister, but there was now not a sound to
s sister would often write and tell him about this
reading, but maybe his father had lost the habit in recent times. It
o quiet all around too, even though there must have been somebody
What a quiet life it is the family lead
himself, and, gazing into the darkness, felt a great pride that he was
able to provide a life like that in such a nice home for his sister and
parents. But what now, if all this peace and wealth and comfort should
come to a horrible and frightening end? That was something that Gregor
did not want to think about too much, so he started to move about,
crawling up and downM
Once during that long evening, the door on one side of the room was
opened very slightly and hurriedly closed again; later on the door on
the other side did the same; it seemed that someone needed to enter the
room but thought better of it. Gregor went and waited immediately by
the door, resolved either to bring the timorous visitor into the room
in some way or at least to find out who it was; but the door was opened
no more that night and Gregor waited in vain. The previous morning
oors were locked everyone had wanted to get in there to him,
but now, now that he had opened up one of the doors and the other had
clearly been unlocked some time during the day, no-one came, and the
keys were in the other sides.
It was not until late at night that the gaslight in the living room was
put out, and now it was easy to see that his parents and sister had
stayed awake all that time, as they all could be distinctly heard as
they went away together on tip-toe. It was clear that no-one would come
s room any more until morning; that gave him plenty of time
to think undisturbed about how he would have to re-arrange his life.
For some reason, the tall, empty room where he was forced to remain
made him feel uneasy as he lay there flat on the floor, even though he
had been living in it for five years. Hardly aware of what he was doing
other than a slight feeling of shame, he hurried under the couch. It
pressed down on his back a little, and he was no longer able to lift
his head, but he nonM
etheless felt immediately at ease and his only
regret was that his body was too broad to get it all underneath.
He spent the whole night there. Some of the time he passed in a light
sleep, although he frequently woke from it in alarm because of his
hunger, and some of the time was spent in worries and vague hopes
which, however, always led to the same conclusion: for the time being
he must remain calm, he must show patience and the greatest
consideration so that his family could bear the unpleasantness thaM
in his present condition, was forced to impose on them.
Gregor soon had the opportunity to test the strength of his decisions,
as early the next morning, almost before the night had ended, his
sister, nearly fully dressed, opened the door from the front room and
looked anxiously in. She did not see him straight away, but when she
did notice him under the couch
he had to be somewhere, for God
she was so shocked that she lost control of
herself and slammed tM
he door shut again from outside. But she seemed to
regret her behaviour, as she opened the door again straight away and
came in on tip-toe as if entering the room of someone seriously ill or
even of a stranger. Gregor had pushed his head forward, right to the
edge of the couch, and watched her. Would she notice that he had left
the milk as it was, realise that it was not from any lack of hunger and
bring him in some other food that was more suitable? If she didn
it herself he would rather go hungry thM
an draw her attention to it,
although he did feel a terrible urge to rush forward from under the
couch, throw himself at his sister
s feet and beg her for something
good to eat. However, his sister noticed the full dish immediately and
looked at it and the few drops of milk splashed around it with some
surprise. She immediately picked it up
using a rag, not her bare
and carried it out. Gregor was extremely curious as to what she
would bring in its place, imagining the wildest possibilities, but hM
never could have guessed what his sister, in her goodness, actually did
bring. In order to test his taste, she brought him a whole selection of
things, all spread out on an old newspaper. There were old, half-rotten
vegetables; bones from the evening meal, covered in white sauce that
had gone hard; a few raisins and almonds; some cheese that Gregor had
declared inedible two days before; a dry roll and some bread spread
with butter and salt. As well as all that she had poured some water
into the dish, whicM
h had probably been permanently set aside for
s use, and placed it beside them. Then, out of consideration for
s feelings, as she knew that he would not eat in front of her,
she hurried out again and even turned the key in the lock so that
Gregor would know he could make things as comfortable for himself as he
s little legs whirred, at last he could eat. What
his injuries must already have completely healed as he found no
difficulty in moving. This amazed him, as mM
ore than a month earlier he
had cut his finger slightly with a knife, he thought of how his finger
had still hurt the day before yesterday.
Am I less sensitive than I
, he thought, and was already sucking greedily at the
cheese which had immediately, almost compellingly, attracted him much
more than the other foods on the newspaper. Quickly one after another,
his eyes watering with pleasure, he consumed the cheese, the vegetables
and the sauce; the fresh foods, on the other hand, he diM
all, and even dragged the things he did want to eat a little way away
from them because he couldn
t stand the smell. Long after he had
finished eating and lay lethargic in the same place, his sister slowly
turned the key in the lock as a sign to him that he should withdraw. He
was immediately startled, although he had been half asleep, and he
hurried back under the couch. But he needed great self-control to stay
there even for the short time that his sister was in the room, as
h food had rounded out his body a little and he could
hardly breathe in that narrow space. Half suffocating, he watched with
bulging eyes as his sister unselfconsciously took a broom and swept up
the left-overs, mixing them in with the food he had not even touched at
all as if it could not be used any more. She quickly dropped it all
into a bin, closed it with its wooden lid, and carried everything out.
She had hardly turned her back before Gregor came out again from under
the couch and stretched himself.
This was how Gregor received his food each day now, once in the morning
while his parents and the maid were still asleep, and the second time
after everyone had eaten their meal at midday as his parents would
sleep for a little while then as well, and Gregor
the maid away on some errand. Gregor
s father and mother certainly did
not want him to starve either, but perhaps it would have been more than
they could stand to have any more experience of his feeding than being
and perhaps his sister wanted to spare them what
distress she could as they were indeed suffering enough.
It was impossible for Gregor to find out what they had told the doctor
and the locksmith that first morning to get them out of the flat. As
nobody could understand him, nobody, not even his sister, thought that
he could understand them, so he had to be content to hear his sister
sighs and appeals to the saints as she moved about his room. It was
only later, when she had become a little more used toM
was, of course, no question of her ever becoming fully used to the
that Gregor would sometimes catch a friendly comment, or at
least a comment that could be construed as friendly.
, she might say when he had diligently cleared away all
the food left for him, or if he left most of it, which slowly became
more and more frequent, she would often say, sadly,
just been left there again
Although Gregor wasn
o hear any news directly he did listen to
much of what was said in the next rooms, and whenever he heard anyone
speaking he would scurry straight to the appropriate door and press his
whole body against it. There was seldom any conversation, especially at
first, that was not about him in some way, even if only in secret. For
two whole days, all the talk at every mealtime was about what they
should do now; but even between meals they spoke about the same subject
as there were always at least two members of thM
wanted to be at home by themselves and it was out of the question to
leave the flat entirely empty. And on the very first day the maid had
fallen to her knees and begged Gregor
s mother to let her go without
delay. It was not very clear how much she knew of what had happened but
she left within a quarter of an hour, tearfully thanking Gregor
mother for her dismissal as if she had done her an enormous service.
She even swore emphatically not to tell anyone the slightest about wM
had happened, even though no-one had asked that of her.
s sister also had to help his mother with the cooking;
although that was not so much bother as no-one ate very much. Gregor
often heard how one of them would unsuccessfully urge another to eat,
and receive no more answer than
something similar. No-one drank very much either. His sister would
sometimes ask his father whether he would like a beer, hoping for the
chance to go and fetch it herself. WM
hen his father then said nothing
she would add, so that he would not feel selfish, that she could send
the housekeeper for it, but then his father would close the matter with
, and no more would be said.
Even before the first day had come to an end, his father had explained
s mother and sister what their finances and prospects were.
Now and then he stood up from the table and took some receipt or
document from the little cash box he had saved from his business when
ollapsed five years earlier. Gregor heard how he opened the
complicated lock and then closed it again after he had taken the item
he wanted. What he heard his father say was some of the first good news
that Gregor heard since he had first been incarcerated in his room. He
had thought that nothing at all remained from his father
least he had never told him anything different, and Gregor had never
asked him about it anyway. Their business misfortune had reduced the
family to a state of total dM
s only concern at that
time had been to arrange things so that they could all forget about it
as quickly as possible. So then he started working especially hard,
with a fiery vigour that raised him from a junior salesman to a
travelling representative almost overnight, bringing with it the chance
to earn money in quite different ways. Gregor converted his success at
work straight into cash that he could lay on the table at home for the
benefit of his astonished and delighted family. TheyM
times and they had never come again, at least not with the same
splendour, even though Gregor had later earned so much that he was in a
position to bear the costs of the whole family, and did bear them. They
had even got used to it, both Gregor and the family, they took the
money with gratitude and he was glad to provide it, although there was
no longer much warm affection given in return. Gregor only remained
close to his sister now. Unlike him, she was very fond of music and a
pressive violinist, it was his secret plan to send her to
the conservatory next year even though it would cause great expense
that would have to be made up for in some other way. During Gregor
short periods in town, conversation with his sister would often turn to
the conservatory but it was only ever mentioned as a lovely dream that
could never be realised. Their parents did not like to hear this
innocent talk, but Gregor thought about it quite hard and decided he
would let them know what he planned witM
h a grand announcement of it on
That was the sort of totally pointless thing that went through his mind
in his present state, pressed upright against the door and listening.
There were times when he simply became too tired to continue listening,
when his head would fall wearily against the door and he would pull it
up again with a start, as even the slightest noise he caused would be
heard next door and they would all go silent.
, his father would say aftM
er a while, clearly having gone over to
the door, and only then would the interrupted conversation slowly be
When explaining things, his father repeated himself several times,
partly because it was a long time since he had been occupied with these
matters himself and partly because Gregor
s mother did not understand
everything the first time. From these repeated explanations Gregor
learned, to his pleasure, that despite all their misfortunes there was
still some money available from the M
old days. It was not a lot, but it
had not been touched in the meantime and some interest had accumulated.
Besides that, they had not been using up all the money that Gregor had
been bringing home every month, keeping only a little for himself, so
that that, too, had been accumulating. Behind the door, Gregor nodded
with enthusiasm in his pleasure at this unexpected thrift and caution.
He could actually have used this surplus money to reduce his father
debt to his boss, and the day when he could have freM
that job would have come much closer, but now it was certainly better
the way his father had done things.
This money, however, was certainly not enough to enable the family to
live off the interest; it was enough to maintain them for, perhaps, one
or two years, no more. That
s to say, it was money that should not
really be touched but set aside for emergencies; money to live on had
to be earned. His father was healthy but old, and lacking in self
confidence. During the five years that heM
 had not been working
first holiday in a life that had been full of strain and no success
had put on a lot of weight and become very slow and clumsy. Would
s elderly mother now have to go and earn money? She suffered
from asthma and it was a strain for her just to move about the home,
every other day would be spent struggling for breath on the sofa by the
open window. Would his sister have to go and earn money? She was still
a child of seventeen, her life up till then had been very enviabM
consisting of wearing nice clothes, sleeping late, helping out in the
business, joining in with a few modest pleasures and most of all
playing the violin. Whenever they began to talk of the need to earn
money, Gregor would always first let go of the door and then throw
himself onto the cool, leather sofa next to it, as he became quite hot
with shame and regret.
He would often lie there the whole night through, not sleeping a wink
but scratching at the leather for hours on end. Or he might go to all
he effort of pushing a chair to the window, climbing up onto the sill
and, propped up in the chair, leaning on the window to stare out of it.
He had used to feel a great sense of freedom from doing this, but doing
it now was obviously something more remembered than experienced, as
what he actually saw in this way was becoming less distinct every day,
even things that were quite near; he had used to curse the ever-present
view of the hospital across the street, but now he could not see it at
d not known that he lived in Charlottenstrasse, which
was a quiet street despite being in the middle of the city, he could
have thought that he was looking out the window at a barren waste where
the grey sky and the grey earth mingled inseparably. His observant
sister only needed to notice the chair twice before she would always
push it back to its exact position by the window after she had tidied
up the room, and even left the inner pane of the window open from then
If Gregor had only been able to spM
eak to his sister and thank her for
all that she had to do for him it would have been easier for him to
bear it; but as it was it caused him pain. His sister, naturally, tried
as far as possible to pretend there was nothing burdensome about it,
and the longer it went on, of course, the better she was able to do so,
but as time went by Gregor was also able to see through it all so much
better. It had even become very unpleasant for him, now, whenever she
entered the room. No sooner had she come in than she woM
close the door as a precaution so that no-one would have to suffer the
s room, then she would go straight to the window and
pull it hurriedly open almost as if she were suffocating. Even if it
was cold, she would stay at the window breathing deeply for a little
while. She would alarm Gregor twice a day with this running about and
noise making; he would stay under the couch shivering the whole while,
knowing full well that she would certainly have liked to spare him this
, but it was impossible for her to be in the same room with him
with the windows closed.
One day, about a month after Gregor
s transformation when his sister no
longer had any particular reason to be shocked at his appearance, she
came into the room a little earlier than usual and found him still
staring out the window, motionless, and just where he would be most
horrible. In itself, his sister
s not coming into the room would have
been no surprise for Gregor as it would have been difficult for her to
immediately open the window while he was still there, but not only did
she not come in, she went straight back and closed the door behind her,
a stranger would have thought he had threatened her and tried to bite
her. Gregor went straight to hide himself under the couch, of course,
but he had to wait until midday before his sister came back and she
seemed much more uneasy than usual. It made him realise that she still
found his appearance unbearable and would continue to do so, she
probably even had to overM
come the urge to flee when she saw the little
bit of him that protruded from under the couch. One day, in order to
spare her even this sight, he spent four hours carrying the bedsheet
over to the couch on his back and arranged it so that he was completely
covered and his sister would not be able to see him even if she bent
down. If she did not think this sheet was necessary then all she had to
do was take it off again, as it was clear enough that it was no
pleasure for Gregor to cut himself off so completelyM
sheet where it was. Gregor even thought he glimpsed a look of gratitude
one time when he carefully looked out from under the sheet to see how
his sister liked the new arrangement.
For the first fourteen days, Gregor
s parents could not bring
themselves to come into the room to see him. He would often hear them
say how they appreciated all the new work his sister was doing even
though, before, they had seen her as a girl who was somewhat useless
and frequently been annoyed with her. But noM
w the two of them, father
and mother, would often both wait outside the door of Gregor
while his sister tidied up in there, and as soon as she went out again
she would have to tell them exactly how everything looked, what Gregor
had eaten, how he had behaved this time and whether, perhaps, any
slight improvement could be seen. His mother also wanted to go in and
visit Gregor relatively soon but his father and sister at first
persuaded her against it. Gregor listened very closely to all this, and
proved fully. Later, though, she had to be held back by force, which
Let me go and see Gregor, he is my unfortunate son!
t you understand I have to see him?
, and Gregor would think to
himself that maybe it would be better if his mother came in, not every
day of course, but one day a week, perhaps; she could understand
everything much better than his sister who, for all her courage, was
still just a child after all, and really might not have had an adult
appreciation of the M
burdensome job she had taken on.
s wish to see his mother was soon realised. Out of consideration
for his parents, Gregor wanted to avoid being seen at the window during
the day, the few square meters of the floor did not give him much room
to crawl about, it was hard to just lie quietly through the night, his
food soon stopped giving him any pleasure at all, and so, to entertain
himself, he got into the habit of crawling up and down the walls and
ceiling. He was especially fond of hanging from thM
quite different from lying on the floor; he could breathe more freely;
his body had a light swing to it; and up there, relaxed and almost
happy, it might happen that he would surprise even himself by letting
go of the ceiling and landing on the floor with a crash. But now, of
course, he had far better control of his body than before and, even
with a fall as great as that, caused himself no damage. Very soon his
sister noticed Gregor
s new way of entertaining himself
left traces of the adhesive from his feet as he crawled about
got it into her head to make it as easy as possible for him by removing
the furniture that got in his way, especially the chest of drawers and
the desk. Now, this was not something that she would be able to do by
herself; she did not dare to ask for help from her father; the sixteen
year old maid had carried on bravely since the cook had left but she
certainly would not have helped in this, she had even asked to be
allowed to keep the kitcheM
n locked at all times and never to have to
open the door unless it was especially important; so his sister had no
choice but to choose some time when Gregor
s father was not there and
fetch his mother to help her. As she approached the room, Gregor could
hear his mother express her joy, but once at the door she went silent.
First, of course, his sister came in and looked round to see that
everything in the room was alright; and only then did she let her
mother enter. Gregor had hurriedly pulled the sheet dM
couch and put more folds into it so that everything really looked as if
it had just been thrown down by chance. Gregor also refrained, this
time, from spying out from under the sheet; he gave up the chance to
see his mother until later and was simply glad that she had come.
, said his sister, obviously leading her
in by the hand. The old chest of drawers was too heavy for a pair of
feeble women to be heaving about, but Gregor listened as they pushedM
from its place, his sister always taking on the heaviest part of the
work for herself and ignoring her mother
s warnings that she would
strain herself. This lasted a very long time. After labouring at it for
fifteen minutes or more his mother said it would be better to leave the
chest where it was, for one thing it was too heavy for them to get the
job finished before Gregor
s father got home and leaving it in the
middle of the room it would be in his way even more, and for another
 even sure that taking the furniture away would really
be any help to him. She thought just the opposite; the sight of the
bare walls saddened her right to her heart; and why wouldn
feel the same way about it, he
d been used to this furniture in his
room for a long time and it would make him feel abandoned to be in an
empty room like that. Then, quietly, almost whispering as if wanting
Gregor (whose whereabouts she did not know) to hear not even the tone
of her voice, as she was convinced that hM
e did not understand her
and by taking the furniture away, won
ve given up all hope of improvement and we
abandoning him to cope for himself? I think it
d be best to leave the
room exactly the way it was before so that when Gregor comes back to us
ll find everything unchanged and he
ll be able to forget the
time in between all the easier
Hearing these words from his mother made Gregor realise that the lack
 human communication, along with the monotonous life led
by the family during these two months, must have made him confused
could think of no other way of explaining to himself why he had
seriously wanted his room emptied out. Had he really wanted to
transform his room into a cave, a warm room fitted out with the nice
furniture he had inherited? That would have let him crawl around
unimpeded in any direction, but it would also have let him quickly
forget his past when he had still been human. He had comM
forgetting, and it had only been the voice of his mother, unheard for
so long, that had shaken him out of it. Nothing should be removed;
everything had to stay; he could not do without the good influence the
furniture had on his condition; and if the furniture made it difficult
for him to crawl about mindlessly that was not a loss but a great
His sister, unfortunately, did not agree; she had become used to the
idea, not without reason, that she was Gregor
arents about the things that concerned him. This meant that his
s advice now was sufficient reason for her to insist on removing
not only the chest of drawers and the desk, as she had thought at
first, but all the furniture apart from the all-important couch. It was
more than childish perversity, of course, or the unexpected confidence
she had recently acquired, that made her insist; she had indeed noticed
that Gregor needed a lot of room to crawl about in, whereas the
furniture, as far as anyone coM
uld see, was of no use to him at all.
Girls of that age, though, do become enthusiastic about things and feel
they must get their way whenever they can. Perhaps this was what
tempted Grete to make Gregor
s situation seem even more shocking than
it was so that she could do even more for him. Grete would probably be
the only one who would dare enter a room dominated by Gregor crawling
about the bare walls by himself.
So she refused to let her mother dissuade her. Gregor
 his room, she soon stopped speaking and helped
s sister to get the chest of drawers out with what strength she
had. The chest of drawers was something that Gregor could do without if
he had to, but the writing desk had to stay. Hardly had the two women
pushed the chest of drawers, groaning, out of the room than Gregor
poked his head out from under the couch to see what he could do about
it. He meant to be as careful and considerate as he could, but,
unfortunately, it was his mother who came back fiM
rst while Grete in the
next room had her arms round the chest, pushing and pulling at it from
side to side by herself without, of course, moving it an inch. His
mother was not used to the sight of Gregor, he might have made her ill,
so Gregor hurried backwards to the far end of the couch. In his
startlement, though, he was not able to prevent the sheet at its front
from moving a little. It was enough to attract his mother
She stood very still, remained there a moment, and then went back out
Gregor kept trying to assure himself that nothing unusual was
happening, it was just a few pieces of furniture being moved after all,
but he soon had to admit that the women going to and fro, their little
calls to each other, the scraping of the furniture on the floor, all
these things made him feel as if he were being assailed from all sides.
With his head and legs pulled in against him and his body pressed to
the floor, he was forced to admit to himself that he could not stand
longer. They were emptying his room out; taking away
everything that was dear to him; they had already taken out the chest
containing his fretsaw and other tools; now they threatened to remove
the writing desk with its place clearly worn into the floor, the desk
where he had done his homework as a business trainee, at high school,
even while he had been at infant school
he really could not wait any
longer to see whether the two women
s intentions were good. He had
nearly forgotten they were there anyway,M
 as they were now too tired to
say anything while they worked and he could only hear their feet as
they stepped heavily on the floor.
So, while the women were leant against the desk in the other room
catching their breath, he sallied out, changed direction four times not
knowing what he should save first before his attention was suddenly
caught by the picture on the wall
which was already denuded of
everything else that had been on it
of the lady dressed in copious fur.
He hurried up onto the picture M
and pressed himself against its glass,
it held him firmly and felt good on his hot belly. This picture at
least, now totally covered by Gregor, would certainly be taken away by
no-one. He turned his head to face the door into the living room so
that he could watch the women when they came back.
They had not allowed themselves a long rest and came back quite soon;
Grete had put her arm around her mother and was nearly carrying her.
What shall we take now, then?
, said Grete and looked around. Her eyes
met those of Gregor on the wall. Perhaps only because her mother was
there, she remained calm, bent her face to her so that she would not
look round and said, albeit hurriedly and with a tremor in her voice:
s go back in the living room for a while?
see what Grete had in mind, she wanted to take her mother somewhere
safe and then chase him down from the wall. Well, she could certainly
try it! He sat unyielding on his picture. He would rather jump at
s words had made her mother quite worried, she stepped to one
side, saw the enormous brown patch against the flowers of the
wallpaper, and before she even realised it was Gregor that she saw
 Arms outstretched, she fell onto the couch
as if she had given up everything and stayed there immobile.
shouted his sister, glowering at him and shaking her fist. That was the
first word she had spoken to him directly since his transformation. She
ran into the other roM
om to fetch some kind of smelling salts to bring
her mother out of her faint; Gregor wanted to help too
his picture later, although he stuck fast to the glass and had to pull
himself off by force; then he, too, ran into the next room as if he
could advise his sister like in the old days; but he had to just stand
behind her doing nothing; she was looking into various bottles, he
startled her when she turned round; a bottle fell to the ground and
broke; a splinter cut Gregor
 of caustic medicine
splashed all over him; now, without delaying any longer, Grete took
hold of all the bottles she could and ran with them in to her mother;
she slammed the door shut with her foot. So now Gregor was shut out
from his mother, who, because of him, might be near to death; he could
not open the door if he did not want to chase his sister away, and she
had to stay with his mother; there was nothing for him to do but wait;
and, oppressed with anxiety and self-reproach, he began to crawl about,
he crawled over everything, walls, furniture, ceiling, and finally in
his confusion as the whole room began to spin around him he fell down
into the middle of the dinner table.
He lay there for a while, numb and immobile, all around him it was
quiet, maybe that was a good sign. Then there was someone at the door.
The maid, of course, had locked herself in her kitchen so that Grete
would have to go and answer it. His father had arrived home.
 were his first words; Grete
everything clear to him. She answered him with subdued voice, and
openly pressed her face into his chest:
better now. Gregor got out.
just as I always said, but you women wouldn
t listen, would you.
was clear to Gregor that Grete had not said enough and that his father
took it to mean that something bad had happened, that he was
responsible for some act of violence. That meant Gregor would now have
o try to calm his father, as he did not have the time to explain
things to him even if that had been possible. So he fled to the door of
his room and pressed himself against it so that his father, when he
came in from the hall, could see straight away that Gregor had the best
intentions and would go back into his room without delay, that it would
not be necessary to drive him back but that they had only to open the
door and he would disappear.
His father, though, was not in the mood to notice subtleties liM
, he shouted as he came in, sounding as if he were both angry and
glad at the same time. Gregor drew his head back from the door and
lifted it towards his father. He really had not imagined his father the
way he stood there now; of late, with his new habit of crawling about,
he had neglected to pay attention to what was going on the rest of the
flat the way he had done before. He really ought to have expected
things to have changed, but still, still, was that really his father?
red man as used to be laying there entombed in his bed when
Gregor came back from his business trips, who would receive him sitting
in the armchair in his nightgown when he came back in the evenings; who
was hardly even able to stand up but, as a sign of his pleasure, would
just raise his arms and who, on the couple of times a year when they
went for a walk together on a Sunday or public holiday wrapped up
tightly in his overcoat between Gregor and his mother, would always
labour his way forward a little morM
e slowly than them, who were already
walking slowly for his sake; who would place his stick down carefully
and, if he wanted to say something would invariably stop and gather his
companions around him. He was standing up straight enough now; dressed
in a smart blue uniform with gold buttons, the sort worn by the
employees at the banking institute; above the high, stiff collar of the
coat his strong double-chin emerged; under the bushy eyebrows, his
piercing, dark eyes looked out fresh and alert; his normallyM
white hair was combed down painfully close to his scalp. He took his
cap, with its gold monogram from, probably, some bank, and threw it in
an arc right across the room onto the sofa, put his hands in his
trouser pockets, pushing back the bottom of his long uniform coat, and,
with look of determination, walked towards Gregor. He probably did not
even know himself what he had in mind, but nonetheless lifted his feet
unusually high. Gregor was amazed at the enormous size of the soles of
t wasted no time with that
he knew full well, right from
the first day of his new life, that his father thought it necessary to
always be extremely strict with him. And so he ran up to his father,
stopped when his father stopped, scurried forwards again when he moved,
even slightly. In this way they went round the room several times
without anything decisive happening, without even giving the impression
of a chase as everything went so slowly. Gregor remained all this time
on the floor, largely because he M
feared his father might see it as
especially provoking if he fled onto the wall or ceiling. Whatever he
did, Gregor had to admit that he certainly would not be able to keep up
this running about for long, as for each step his father took he had to
carry out countless movements. He became noticeably short of breath,
even in his earlier life his lungs had not been very reliable. Now, as
he lurched about in his efforts to muster all the strength he could for
running he could hardly keep his eyes open; his thougM
slow for him to think of any other way of saving himself than running;
he almost forgot that the walls were there for him to use although,
here, they were concealed behind carefully carved furniture full of
notches and protrusions
then, right beside him, lightly tossed,
something flew down and rolled in front of him. It was an apple; then
another one immediately flew at him; Gregor froze in shock; there was
no longer any point in running as his father had decided to bombard
ed his pockets with fruit from the bowl on the
sideboard and now, without even taking the time for careful aim, threw
one apple after another. These little, red apples rolled about on the
floor, knocking into each other as if they had electric motors. An
apple thrown without much force glanced against Gregor
off without doing any harm. Another one however, immediately following
it, hit squarely and lodged in his back; Gregor wanted to drag himself
away, as if he could remove the surprising,M
 the incredible pain by
changing his position; but he felt as if nailed to the spot and spread
himself out, all his senses in confusion. The last thing he saw was the
door of his room being pulled open, his sister was screaming, his
mother ran out in front of her in her blouse (as his sister had taken
off some of her clothes after she had fainted to make it easier for her
to breathe), she ran to his father, her skirts unfastened and sliding
one after another to the ground, stumbling over the skirts she pusheM
herself to his father, her arms around him, uniting herself with him
now Gregor lost his ability to see anything
s head begging him to spare Gregor
No-one dared to remove the apple lodged in Gregor
remained there as a visible reminder of his injury. He had suffered it
there for more than a month, and his condition seemed serious enough to
remind even his father that Gregor, despite his current sad and
revolting form, was a famM
ily member who could not be treated as an
enemy. On the contrary, as a family there was a duty to swallow any
revulsion for him and to be patient, just to be patient.
Because of his injuries, Gregor had lost much of his mobility
permanently. He had been reduced to the condition of an ancient invalid
and it took him long, long minutes to crawl across his room
over the ceiling was out of the question
but this deterioration in his
condition was fully (in his opinion) made up for by theM
living room being left open every evening. He got into the habit of
closely watching it for one or two hours before it was opened and then,
lying in the darkness of his room where he could not be seen from the
living room, he could watch the family in the light of the dinner table
and listen to their conversation
s permission, in a way,
and thus quite differently from before.
They no longer held the lively conversations of earlier times, of
course, the ones that Gregor alwayM
s thought about with longing when he
was tired and getting into the damp bed in some small hotel room. All
of them were usually very quiet nowadays. Soon after dinner, his father
would go to sleep in his chair; his mother and sister would urge each
other to be quiet; his mother, bent deeply under the lamp, would sew
fancy underwear for a fashion shop; his sister, who had taken a sales
job, learned shorthand and French in the evenings so that she might be
able to get a better position later on. Sometimes his M
up and say to Gregor
re doing so much sewing again
, as if he did not know that he had been dozing
would go back to sleep again while mother and sister would exchange a
With a kind of stubbornness, Gregor
s father refused to take his
uniform off even at home; while his nightgown hung unused on its peg
s father would slumber where he was, fully dressed, as if always
ready to serve and expecting to hear the voice of his supeM
here. The uniform had not been new to start with, but as a result of
this it slowly became even shabbier despite the efforts of Gregor
mother and sister to look after it. Gregor would often spend the whole
evening looking at all the stains on this coat, with its gold buttons
always kept polished and shiny, while the old man in it would sleep,
highly uncomfortable but peaceful.
As soon as it struck ten, Gregor
s mother would speak gently to his
father to wake him and try to persuade him to M
go to bed, as he couldn
sleep properly where he was and he really had to get his sleep if he
was to be up at six to get to work. But since he had been in work he
had become more obstinate and would always insist on staying longer at
the table, even though he regularly fell asleep and it was then harder
than ever to persuade him to exchange the chair for his bed. Then,
however much mother and sister would importune him with little
reproaches and warnings he would keep slowly shaking his head for a
r of an hour with his eyes closed and refusing to get up.
s mother would tug at his sleeve, whisper endearments into his
s sister would leave her work to help her mother, but
nothing would have any effect on him. He would just sink deeper into
his chair. Only when the two women took him under the arms he would
abruptly open his eyes, look at them one after the other and say:
a life! This is what peace I get in my old age!
 And supported by the
two women he would lift himself M
up carefully as if he were carrying the
greatest load himself, let the women take him to the door, send them
off and carry on by himself while Gregor
s mother would throw down her
needle and his sister her pen so that they could run after his father
and continue being of help to him.
Who, in this tired and overworked family, would have had time to give
more attention to Gregor than was absolutely necessary? The household
budget became even smaller; so now the maid was dismissed; an enormous,
 charwoman with white hair that flapped around her head came
every morning and evening to do the heaviest work; everything else was
looked after by Gregor
s mother on top of the large amount of sewing
work she did. Gregor even learned, listening to the evening
conversation about what price they had hoped for, that several items of
jewellery belonging to the family had been sold, even though both
mother and sister had been very fond of wearing them at functions and
celebrations. But the loudest complaint waM
s that although the flat was
much too big for their present circumstances, they could not move out
of it, there was no imaginable way of transferring Gregor to the new
address. He could see quite well, though, that there were more reasons
than consideration for him that made it difficult for them to move, it
would have been quite easy to transport him in any suitable crate with
a few air holes in it; the main thing holding the family back from
their decision to move was much more to do with their total despaM
and the thought that they had been struck with a misfortune unlike
anything experienced by anyone else they knew or were related to. They
carried out absolutely everything that the world expects from poor
s father brought bank employees their breakfast, his
mother sacrificed herself by washing clothes for strangers, his sister
ran back and forth behind her desk at the behest of the customers, but
they just did not have the strength to do any more. And the injury in
 to hurt as much as when it was new. After they had
come back from taking his father to bed Gregor
would now leave their work where it was and sit close together, cheek
to cheek; his mother would point to Gregor
, and then, when he was in the dark again, they would sit
in the next room and their tears would mingle, or they would simply sit
there staring dry-eyed at the table.
Gregor hardly slept at all, either night or day. Sometimes he wouM
think of taking over the family
s affairs, just like before, the next
time the door was opened; he had long forgotten about his boss and the
chief clerk, but they would appear again in his thoughts, the salesmen
and the apprentices, that stupid teaboy, two or three friends from
other businesses, one of the chambermaids from a provincial hotel, a
tender memory that appeared and disappeared again, a cashier from a hat
shop for whom his attention had been serious but too slow,
m, mixed together with strangers and others he had
forgotten, but instead of helping him and his family they were all of
them inaccessible, and he was glad when they disappeared. Other times
he was not at all in the mood to look after his family, he was filled
with simple rage about the lack of attention he was shown, and although
he could think of nothing he would have wanted, he made plans of how he
could get into the pantry where he could take all the things he was
entitled to, even if he was not hungry. M
thought about how she could please him but would hurriedly push some
food or other into his room with her foot before she rushed out to work
in the morning and at midday, and in the evening she would sweep it
away again with the broom, indifferent as to whether it had been eaten
had been left totally untouched. She still
cleared up the room in the evening, but now she could not have been any
quicker about it. Smears of dirt were left on the walls, here aM
were little balls of dust and filth. At first, Gregor went into one of
the worst of these places when his sister arrived as a reproach to her,
but he could have stayed there for weeks without his sister doing
anything about it; she could see the dirt as well as he could but she
had simply decided to leave him to it. At the same time she became
touchy in a way that was quite new for her and which everyone in the
s room was for her and her alone.
ther did once thoroughly clean his room, and needed to use
several bucketfuls of water to do it
although that much dampness also
made Gregor ill and he lay flat on the couch, bitter and immobile. But
his mother was to be punished still more for what she had done, as
hardly had his sister arrived home in the evening than she noticed the
s room and, highly aggrieved, ran back into the living
room where, despite her mothers raised and imploring hands, she broke
into convulsive tears. Her faM
ther, of course, was startled out of his
chair and the two parents looked on astonished and helpless; then they,
too, became agitated; Gregor
s father, standing to the right of his
mother, accused her of not leaving the cleaning of Gregor
sister; from her left, Gregor
s sister screamed at her that she was
never to clean Gregor
s room again; while his mother tried to draw his
father, who was beside himself with anger, into the bedroom; his
sister, quaking with tears, thumped on the tableM
 with her small fists;
and Gregor hissed in anger that no-one had even thought of closing the
door to save him the sight of this and all its noise.
s sister was exhausted from going out to work, and looking after
Gregor as she had done before was even more work for her, but even so
his mother ought certainly not to have taken her place. Gregor, on the
other hand, ought not to be neglected. Now, though, the charwoman was
here. This elderly widow, with a robust bone structure that made her
withstand the hardest of things in her long life, wasn
repelled by Gregor. Just by chance one day, rather than any real
curiosity, she opened the door to Gregor
s room and found herself face
to face with him. He was taken totally by surprise, no-one was chasing
him but he began to rush to and fro while she just stood there in
amazement with her hands crossed in front of her. From then on she
never failed to open the door slightly every evening and morning and
look briefly in on him. At first sheM
 would call to him as she did so
with words that she probably considered friendly, such as
then, you old dung-beetle!
look at the old dung-beetle there!
Gregor never responded to being spoken to in that way, but just
remained where he was without moving as if the door had never even been
opened. If only they had told this charwoman to clean up his room every
day instead of letting her disturb him for no reason whenever she felt
like it! One day, early in the morning while a heavy rainM
windowpanes, perhaps indicating that spring was coming, she began to
speak to him in that way once again. Gregor was so resentful of it that
he started to move toward her, he was slow and infirm, but it was like
a kind of attack. Instead of being afraid, the charwoman just lifted up
one of the chairs from near the door and stood there with her mouth
open, clearly intending not to close her mouth until the chair in her
hand had been slammed down into Gregor
, she asked when Gregor turned round again, and she
calmly put the chair back in the corner.
Gregor had almost entirely stopped eating. Only if he happened to find
himself next to the food that had been prepared for him he might take
some of it into his mouth to play with it, leave it there a few hours
and then, more often than not, spit it out again. At first he thought
it was distress at the state of his room that stopped him eating, but
he had soon got used to the changes made there. They M
habit of putting things into this room that they had no room for
anywhere else, and there were now many such things as one of the rooms
in the flat had been rented out to three gentlemen. These earnest
all three of them had full beards, as Gregor learned peering
through the crack in the door one day
were painfully insistent on
 being tidy. This meant not only in their own room but, since
they had taken a room in this establishment, in the entire flat and
 the kitchen. Unnecessary clutter was something they could
not tolerate, especially if it was dirty. They had moreover brought
most of their own furnishings and equipment with them. For this reason,
many things had become superfluous which, although they could not be
sold, the family did not wish to discard. All these things found their
s room. The dustbins from the kitchen found their way
in there too. The charwoman was always in a hurry, and anything she
t use for the time being M
she would just chuck in there. He,
fortunately, would usually see no more than the object and the hand
that held it. The woman most likely meant to fetch the things back out
again when she had time and the opportunity, or to throw everything out
in one go, but what actually happened was that they were left where
they landed when they had first been thrown unless Gregor made his way
through the junk and moved it somewhere else. At first he moved it
because, with no other room free where he could crawl about, M
forced to, but later on he came to enjoy it although moving about in
that way left him sad and tired to death, and he would remain immobile
for hours afterwards.
The gentlemen who rented the room would sometimes take their evening
meal at home in the living room that was used by everyone, and so the
door to this room was often kept closed in the evening. But Gregor
found it easy to give up having the door open, he had, after all, often
failed to make use of it when it was open and, without the famiM
having noticed it, lain in his room in its darkest corner. One time,
though, the charwoman left the door to the living room slightly open,
and it remained open when the gentlemen who rented the room came in in
the evening and the light was put on. They sat up at the table where,
formerly, Gregor had taken his meals with his father and mother, they
unfolded the serviettes and picked up their knives and forks. Gregor
mother immediately appeared in the doorway with a dish of meat and soon
e his sister with a dish piled high with potatoes. The
food was steaming, and filled the room with its smell. The gentlemen
bent over the dishes set in front of them as if they wanted to test the
food before eating it, and the gentleman in the middle, who seemed to
count as an authority for the other two, did indeed cut off a piece of
meat while it was still in its dish, clearly wishing to establish
whether it was sufficiently cooked or whether it should be sent back to
the kitchen. It was to his satisfactioM
sister, who had been looking on anxiously, began to breathe again and
The family themselves ate in the kitchen. Nonetheless, Gregor
came into the living room before he went into the kitchen, bowed once
with his cap in his hand and did his round of the table. The gentlemen
stood as one, and mumbled something into their beards. Then, once they
were alone, they ate in near perfect silence. It seemed remarkable to
Gregor that above all the various noises of eatiM
ng their chewing teeth
could still be heard, as if they had wanted to show Gregor that you
need teeth in order to eat and it was not possible to perform anything
with jaws that are toothless however nice they might be.
, said Gregor anxiously,
but not anything like they
eating. They do feed themselves. And here I am, dying!
Throughout all this time, Gregor could not remember having heard the
violin being played, but this evening it began to be heard from the
chen. The three gentlemen had already finished their meal, the one
in the middle had produced a newspaper, given a page to each of the
others, and now they leant back in their chairs reading them and
smoking. When the violin began playing they became attentive, stood up
and went on tip-toe over to the door of the hallway where they stood
pressed against each other. Someone must have heard them in the
s father called out:
Is the playing perhaps
unpleasant for the gentlemen? We can stopM
, said the middle gentleman,
would the young lady not like to
come in and play for us here in the room, where it is, after all, much
more cosy and comfortable?
s father as if he had been the violin player himself. The
gentlemen stepped back into the room and waited. Gregor
appeared with the music stand, his mother with the music and his sister
with the violin. She calmly prepared everything forM
playing; his parents, who had never rented a room out before and
therefore showed an exaggerated courtesy towards the three gentlemen,
did not even dare to sit on their own chairs; his father leant against
the door with his right hand pushed in between two buttons on his
uniform coat; his mother, though, was offered a seat by one of the
leaving the chair where the gentleman happened to
out of the way in a corner.
His sister began to play; father and motheM
r paid close attention, one
on each side, to the movements of her hands. Drawn in by the playing,
Gregor had dared to come forward a little and already had his head in
the living room. Before, he had taken great pride in how considerate he
was but now it hardly occurred to him that he had become so thoughtless
about the others. What
s more, there was now all the more reason to
keep himself hidden as he was covered in the dust that lay everywhere
in his room and flew up at the slightest movement; he carriedM
hairs, and remains of food about on his back and sides; he was much too
indifferent to everything now to lay on his back and wipe himself on
the carpet like he had used to do several times a day. And despite this
condition, he was not too shy to move forward a little onto the
immaculate floor of the living room.
No-one noticed him, though. The family was totally preoccupied with the
violin playing; at first, the three gentlemen had put their hands in
their pockets and come up far too close behinM
d the music stand to look
at all the notes being played, and they must have disturbed Gregor
sister, but soon, in contrast with the family, they withdrew back to
the window with their heads sunk and talking to each other at half
volume, and they stayed by the window while Gregor
them anxiously. It really now seemed very obvious that they had
expected to hear some beautiful or entertaining violin playing but had
been disappointed, that they had had enough of the whole performance
it was only now out of politeness that they allowed their peace to
be disturbed. It was especially unnerving, the way they all blew the
smoke from their cigarettes upwards from their mouth and noses. Yet
s sister was playing so beautifully. Her face was leant to one
side, following the lines of music with a careful and melancholy
expression. Gregor crawled a little further forward, keeping his head
close to the ground so that he could meet her eyes if the chance came.
Was he an animal if music couldM
 captivate him so? It seemed to him that
he was being shown the way to the unknown nourishment he had been
yearning for. He was determined to make his way forward to his sister
and tug at her skirt to show her she might come into his room with her
violin, as no-one appreciated her playing here as much as he would. He
never wanted to let her out of his room, not while he lived, anyway;
his shocking appearance should, for once, be of some use to him; he
wanted to be at every door of his room at once to hiss anM
attackers; his sister should not be forced to stay with him, though,
but stay of her own free will; she would sit beside him on the couch
with her ear bent down to him while he told her how he had always
intended to send her to the conservatory, how he would have told
everyone about it last Christmas
had Christmas really come and gone
if this misfortune hadn
t got in the way, and refuse to let
anyone dissuade him from it. On hearing all this, his sister would
break out in tears M
of emotion, and Gregor would climb up to her
shoulder and kiss her neck, which, since she had been going out to
work, she had kept free without any necklace or collar.
, shouted the middle gentleman to Gregor
pointing, without wasting any more words, with his forefinger at Gregor
as he slowly moved forward. The violin went silent, the middle of the
three gentlemen first smiled at his two friends, shaking his head, and
then looked back at Gregor. His father seemed to think it morM
important to calm the three gentlemen before driving Gregor out, even
though they were not at all upset and seemed to think Gregor was more
entertaining than the violin playing had been. He rushed up to them
with his arms spread out and attempted to drive them back into their
room at the same time as trying to block their view of Gregor with his
body. Now they did become a little annoyed, and it was not clear
whether it was his father
s behaviour that annoyed them or the dawning
realisation that they haM
d had a neighbour like Gregor in the next room
without knowing it. They asked Gregor
s father for explanations, raised
their arms like he had, tugged excitedly at their beards and moved back
towards their room only very slowly. Meanwhile Gregor
overcome the despair she had fallen into when her playing was suddenly
interrupted. She had let her hands drop and let violin and bow hang
limply for a while but continued to look at the music as if still
playing, but then she suddenly pulled herself M
instrument on her mother
s lap who still sat laboriously struggling for
breath where she was, and ran into the next room which, under pressure
from her father, the three gentlemen were more quickly moving toward.
s experienced hand, the pillows and covers on the beds
flew up and were put into order and she had already finished making the
beds and slipped out again before the three gentlemen had reached the
s father seemed so obsessed with what he was doinM
forgot all the respect he owed to his tenants. He urged them and
pressed them until, when he was already at the door of the room, the
middle of the three gentlemen shouted like thunder and stamped his foot
and thereby brought Gregor
s father to a halt.
, he said, raising his hand and glancing at Gregor
sister to gain their attention too,
that with regard to the repugnant
conditions that prevail in this flat and with this family
iefly but decisively at the floor
I give immediate notice on
my room. For the days that I have been living here I will, of course,
pay nothing at all, on the contrary I will consider whether to proceed
with some kind of action for damages from you, and believe me it would
be very easy to set out the grounds for such an action.
and looked straight ahead as if waiting for something. And indeed, his
two friends joined in with the words:
And we also give immediate
e took hold of the door handle and slammed the
s father staggered back to his seat, feeling his way with his
hands, and fell into it; it looked as if he was stretching himself out
for his usual evening nap but from the uncontrolled way his head kept
nodding it could be seen that he was not sleeping at all. Throughout
all this, Gregor had lain still where the three gentlemen had first
seen him. His disappointment at the failure of his plan, and perhaps
also because he was weak from hunger, mM
ade it impossible for him to
move. He was sure that everyone would turn on him any moment, and he
waited. He was not even startled out of this state when the violin on
s lap fell from her trembling fingers and landed loudly on
, said his sister, hitting the table with her hand as
t carry on like this. Maybe you can
t want to call this monster my brother, all I can say is:
we have to try and get rid of it. M
possible to look after it and be patient, I don
t think anyone could
accuse us of doing anything wrong.
s father to himself. His mother,
who still had not had time to catch her breath, began to cough dully,
her hand held out in front of her and a deranged expression in her
s sister rushed to his mother and put her hand on her forehead.
Her words seemed to give Gregor
s father some more definite ideas. HM
sat upright, played with his uniform cap between the plates left by the
three gentlemen after their meal, and occasionally looked down at
Gregor as he lay there immobile.
We have to try and get rid of it
s sister, now speaking
only to her father, as her mother was too occupied with coughing to
ll be the death of both of you, I can see it coming. We
t all work as hard as we have to and then come home to be tortured
broke out so heavily in tears that they flowed down the face of her
mother, and she wiped them away with mechanical hand movements.
, said her father with sympathy and obvious understanding,
His sister just shrugged her shoulders as a sign of the helplessness
and tears that had taken hold of her, displacing her earlier certainty.
If he could just understand us
, said his father almost as a question;
his sister shook her hand vigoroM
usly through her tears as a sign that
of that there was no question.
If he could just understand us
s father, closing his
eyes in acceptance of his sister
s certainty that that was quite
then perhaps we could come to some kind of arrangement
with him. But as it is ...
, shouted his sister,
s the only way, Father.
ve got to get rid of the idea that that
ourselves by believing it for so long.M
 How can that be Gregor? If it
were Gregor he would have seen long ago that it
human beings to live with an animal like that and he would have gone of
his own free will. We wouldn
t have a brother any more, then, but we
could carry on with our lives and remember him with respect. As it is
this animal is persecuting us, it
s driven out our tenants, it
obviously wants to take over the whole flat and force us to sleep on
the streets. Father, look, just look
, she suddenly screamed,
 In her alarm, which was totally beyond Gregor
comprehension, his sister even abandoned his mother as she pushed
herself vigorously out of her chair as if more willing to sacrifice her
own mother than stay anywhere near Gregor. She rushed over to behind
her father, who had become excited merely because she was and stood up
half raising his hands in front of Gregor
s sister as if to protect
But Gregor had had no intention of frightening anyone, least of all his
 All he had done was begin to turn round so that he could go
back into his room, although that was in itself quite startling as his
pain-wracked condition meant that turning round required a great deal
of effort and he was using his head to help himself do it, repeatedly
raising it and striking it against the floor. He stopped and looked
round. They seemed to have realised his good intention and had only
been alarmed briefly. Now they all looked at him in unhappy silence.
His mother lay in her chair with herM
 legs stretched out and pressed
against each other, her eyes nearly closed with exhaustion; his sister
sat next to his father with her arms around his neck.
ll let me turn round
, thought Gregor and went back to
work. He could not help panting loudly with the effort and had
sometimes to stop and take a rest. No-one was making him rush any more,
everything was left up to him. As soon as he had finally finished
turning round he began to move straight ahead. He was amazed at the
istance that separated him from his room, and could not
understand how he had covered that distance in his weak state a little
while before and almost without noticing it. He concentrated on
crawling as fast as he could and hardly noticed that there was not a
word, not any cry, from his family to distract him. He did not turn his
head until he had reached the doorway. He did not turn it all the way
round as he felt his neck becoming stiff, but it was nonetheless enough
to see that nothing behind him had chanM
ged, only his sister had stood
up. With his last glance he saw that his mother had now fallen
He was hardly inside his room before the door was hurriedly shut,
bolted and locked. The sudden noise behind Gregor so startled him that
his little legs collapsed under him. It was his sister who had been in
so much of a rush. She had been standing there waiting and sprung
forward lightly, Gregor had not heard her coming at all, and as she
turned the key in the lock she said loudly to her parenM
, Gregor asked himself as he looked round in the
darkness. He soon made the discovery that he could no longer move at
all. This was no surprise to him, it seemed rather that being able to
actually move around on those spindly little legs until then was
unnatural. He also felt relatively comfortable. It is true that his
entire body was aching, but the pain seemed to be slowly getting weaker
and weaker and would finally disappear altogether. He could already
el the decayed apple in his back or the inflamed area around
it, which was entirely covered in white dust. He thought back of his
family with emotion and love. If it was possible, he felt that he must
go away even more strongly than his sister. He remained in this state
of empty and peaceful rumination until he heard the clock tower strike
three in the morning. He watched as it slowly began to get light
everywhere outside the window too. Then, without his willing it, his
head sank down completely, and his laM
st breath flowed weakly from his
When the cleaner came in early in the morning
not to keep slamming the doors but with her strength and in her hurry
she still did, so that everyone in the flat knew when she
from then on it was impossible to sleep in peace
brief look in on Gregor and at first found nothing special. She thought
he was laying there so still on purpose, playing the martyr; she
attributed all possible understanding to hiM
m. She happened to be
holding the long broom in her hand, so she tried to tickle Gregor with
it from the doorway. When she had no success with that she tried to
make a nuisance of herself and poked at him a little, and only when she
found she could shove him across the floor with no resistance at all
did she start to pay attention. She soon realised what had really
happened, opened her eyes wide, whistled to herself, but did not waste
time to yank open the bedroom doors and shout loudly into the darkness
ave a look at this, it
Mr. and Mrs. Samsa sat upright there in their marriage bed and had to
make an effort to get over the shock caused by the cleaner before they
could grasp what she was saying. But then, each from his own side, they
hurried out of bed. Mr. Samsa threw the blanket over his shoulders,
Mrs. Samsa just came out in her nightdress; and that is how they went
s room. On the way they opened the door to the livM
where Grete had been sleeping since the three gentlemen had moved in;
she was fully dressed as if she had never been asleep, and the paleness
of her face seemed to confirm this.
, asked Mrs. Samsa, looking
at the charwoman enquiringly, even though she could have checked for
herself and could have known it even without checking.
, replied the cleaner, and to prove it she gave Gregor
another shove with the broom, sending it sideways across the floor.
 Samsa made a movement as if she wanted to hold back the broom, but
did not complete it.
. He crossed himself, and the three women followed his
example. Grete, who had not taken her eyes from the corpse, said:
look how thin he was. He didn
t eat anything for so long. The food came
out again just the same as when it went in
completely dried up and flat, they had not seen it until then, but now
was not lifted up on his little legs, nor did he do anything to make
Grete, come with us in here for a little while
, said Mrs. Samsa with
a pained smile, and Grete followed her parents into the bedroom but not
without looking back at the body. The cleaner shut the door and opened
the window wide. Although it was still early in the morning the fresh
air had something of warmth mixed in with it. It was already the end of
The three gentlemen stepped out of their roomM
 and looked round in
amazement for their breakfasts; they had been forgotten about.
, the middle gentleman asked the cleaner irritably.
She just put her finger on her lips and made a quick and silent sign to
the men that they might like to come into Gregor
s room. They did so,
and stood around Gregor
s corpse with their hands in the pockets of
their well-worn coats. It was now quite light in the room.
Then the door of the bedroom opened and Mr. Samsa appeared in his
m with his wife on one arm and his daughter on the other. All of
them had been crying a little; Grete now and then pressed her face
, said Mr. Samsa, indicating the door and without
letting the women from him.
, asked the middle of
the three gentlemen somewhat disconcerted, and he smiled sweetly. The
other two held their hands behind their backs and continually rubbed
them together in gleeful anticipation of a loud quarrel which coM
only end in their favour.
I mean just what I said
Samsa, and, with his two companions, went in a straight line towards
the man. At first, he stood there still, looking at the ground as if
the contents of his head were rearranging themselves into new
, he said, and looked up at Mr.
Samsa as if he had been suddenly overcome with humility and wanted
permission again from Mr. Samsa for his decision. Mr. Samsa merely
opened his eyes wide and brieflM
y nodded to him several times. At that,
and without delay, the man actually did take long strides into the
front hallway; his two friends had stopped rubbing their hands some
time before and had been listening to what was being said. Now they
jumped off after their friend as if taken with a sudden fear that Mr.
Samsa might go into the hallway in front of them and break the
connection with their leader. Once there, all three took their hats
from the stand, took their sticks from the holder, bowed without a woM
and left the premises. Mr. Samsa and the two women followed them out
onto the landing; but they had had no reason to mistrust the men
intentions and as they leaned over the landing they saw how the three
gentlemen made slow but steady progress down the many steps. As they
turned the corner on each floor they disappeared and would reappear a
few moments later; the further down they went, the more that the Samsa
family lost interest in them; when a butcher
s boy, proud of posture
with his tray on hisM
 head, passed them on his way up and came nearer
than they were, Mr. Samsa and the women came away from the landing and
went, as if relieved, back into the flat.
They decided the best way to make use of that day was for relaxation
and to go for a walk; not only had they earned a break from work but
they were in serious need of it. So they sat at the table and wrote
three letters of excusal, Mr. Samsa to his employers, Mrs. Samsa to her
contractor and Grete to her principal. The cleaner came in while they
were writing to tell them she was going, she
d finished her work for
that morning. The three of them at first just nodded without looking up
from what they were writing, and it was only when the cleaner still did
not seem to want to leave that they looked up in irritation.
asked Mr. Samsa. The charwoman stood in the doorway with a smile on her
face as if she had some tremendous good news to report, but would only
do it if she was clearly asked to. The almost vertical little ostrich
her hat, which had been a source of irritation to Mr. Samsa
all the time she had been working for them, swayed gently in all
What is it you want then?
, asked Mrs. Samsa, whom the
cleaner had the most respect for.
, she answered, and broke into a
friendly laugh that made her unable to speak straight away,
that thing in there, you needn
t worry about how you
s all been sorted out.
 Mrs. Samsa and Grete bent down
 as if intent on continuing with what they were
writing; Mr. Samsa saw that the cleaner wanted to start describing
everything in detail but, with outstretched hand, he made it quite
clear that she was not to. So, as she was prevented from telling them
all about it, she suddenly remembered what a hurry she was in and,
clearly peeved, called out
Cheerio then, everyone
sharply and left, slamming the door terribly as she went.
Tonight she gets sacked
, said Mr. Samsa, but he received nM
from either his wife or his daughter as the charwoman seemed to have
destroyed the peace they had only just gained. They got up and went
over to the window where they remained with their arms around each
other. Mr. Samsa twisted round in his chair to look at them and sat
there watching for a while. Then he called out:
Come here, then. Let
forget about all that old stuff, shall we. Come and give me a bit of
. The two women immediately did as he said, hurrying over to
 kissed him and hugged him and then they quickly finished
After that, the three of them left the flat together, which was
something they had not done for months, and took the tram out to the
open country outside the town. They had the tram, filled with warm
sunshine, all to themselves. Leant back comfortably on their seats,
they discussed their prospects and found that on closer examination
they were not at all bad
until then they had never asked each other
about their work but all three M
had jobs which were very good and held
particularly good promise for the future. The greatest improvement for
the time being, of course, would be achieved quite easily by moving
house; what they needed now was a flat that was smaller and cheaper
than the current one which had been chosen by Gregor, one that was in a
better location and, most of all, more practical. All the time, Grete
was becoming livelier. With all the worry they had been having of late
her cheeks had become pale, but, while they were talkiM
Samsa were struck, almost simultaneously, with the thought of how their
daughter was blossoming into a well built and beautiful young lady.
They became quieter. Just from each other
s glance and almost without
knowing it they agreed that it would soon be time to find a good man
for her. And, as if in confirmation of their new dreams and good
intentions, as soon as they reached their destination Grete was the
first to get up and stretch out her young body.
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text/plain;charset=utf-8
Success is counted sweetest
By those who ne'er succeed.
To comprehend a nectar
Requires sorest need.
Not one of all the purple host
Who took the flag to-day
Can tell the definition,
So clear, of victory,
As he, defeated, dying,
On whose forbidden ear
The distant strains of triumph
Break, agonized and clear!
Our share of night to bear,
Our share of morning,
Our blank in bliss to fill,
Here a star, and there a star,
Some lose their way.
Here a mist, and there a mist,
Soul, wilt thou toss again?
By just such a hazard
Hundreds have lost, indeed,
But tens have won an all.
Angels' breathless ballot
Lingers to record thee;
Imps in eager caucus
'T is so much joy! 'T is so much joy!
If I should fail, what poverty!
And yet, as poor as I
Have ventured all upon a throw;M
Have gained! Yes! Hesitated so
This side the victory!
Life is but life, and death but death!
Bliss is but bliss, and breath but breath!
And if, indeed, I fail,
At least to know the worst is sweet.
Defeat means nothing but defeat,
No drearier can prevail!
And if I gain, -- oh, gun at sea,
Oh, bells that in the steeples be,
At first repeat it slow!
For heaven is a different thing
Conjectured, and waked sudden in,
And might o'erwhelm me so!
Glee! The great storm is over!
Forty gone down together
Into the boiling sand.
Ring, for the scant salvation!
Toll, for the bonnie souls, --
Neighbor and friend and bridegroom,
Spinning upon the shoals!
How they will tell the shipwreck
When winter shakes the door,
Till the children ask, "But the forty?
Did they come back no more?"
Then a silence suffuses the story,
And a softness the teller's eye;
And the children no further question,
And only the waves reply.
If I can stop one heart fromM
I shall not live in vain;
If I can ease one life the aching,
Or help one fainting robin
Unto his nest again,
I shall not live in vain.
I could have touched!
I might have chanced that way!
Soft sauntered through the village,
Sauntered as soft away!
So unsuspected violets
Within the fields lie low,
Too late for striving fingers
That passed, an hour ago.
A wounded deer leaps highest,
I've heard the hunter telM
'T is but the ecstasy of death,
And then the brake is still.
The smitten rock that gushes,
The trampled steel that springs;
A cheek is always redder
Just where the hectic stings!
Mirth is the mail of anguish,
In which it cautions arm,
Lest anybody spy the blood
And "You're hurt" exclaim!
The heart asks pleasure first,
And then, excuse from pain;
And then, those little anodynes
That deaden suffering;
And then, to go to sleep;
And then, if it should be
The will of its InquisM
A precious, mouldering pleasure 't is
To meet an antique book,
In just the dress his century wore;
A privilege, I think,
His venerable hand to take,
And warming in our own,
A passage back, or two, to make
To times when he was young.
His quaint opinions to inspect,
His knowledge to unfold
On what concerns our mutual mind,
The literature of old;
What interested scholars most,
What competitions ran
When Plato was a certainty.
When Sappho was a living girl,
The gown that Dante deified.
Facts, centuries before,
He traverses familiar,
As one should come to town
And tell you all your dreams were true;
He lived where dreams were sown.
His presence is enchantment,
You beg him not to go;
Old volumes shake their vellum heads
And tantalize, just so.
Much madness is divinest sense
To a discerning eye;
Much sense the starkest madness.
In this, as all, prevails.
Assent, and you are sane;
Demur, -- you're straightway dangerous,
And handled with a chain.
I asked no other thing,
No other was denied.
I offered Being for it;
The mighty merchant smiled.
Brazil? He twirled a button,
Without a glance my way:
"But, madam, is there nothing else
That we can show to-day?"
The soul selects her own society,
Then shuts the door;
On her divine majority
Unmoved, she notes the chariot's pausing
Unmoved, an emperor is kneeling
I've known her from an ample nation
Then close the valves of her attention
Some things that fly there be, --
Birds, hours, the bumble-bee:
Some things that stay there be, --
Grief, hills, eternity:
Nor this behooveth me.
There are, that resting, rise.
Can I expound the skies?
How still the riddle lies!
I know some lonely houses off the rM
A robber 'd like the look of, --
And windows hanging low,
Where two could creep:
To make sure all's asleep.
Not easy to surprise!
How orderly the kitchen 'd look by night,
With just a clock, --
But they could gag the tick,
And mice won't bark;
And so the walls don't tell,
A pair of spectacles ajar just stir --
Was it the mat winked,
There's plunder, -- where?
A watch, some ancient brooch
To match the grandmamma,
Staid sleeping there.
The sun has got as far
As the third sycamore.
Screams chanticleer,
And echoes, trains away,
While the old couple, just astir,
Fancy the sunrise left the door ajar!
To fight aloud is very brave,
But gallanter, I know,
Who win, and nations do not see,
Who fall, and none observe,
Whose dying eyes no country
Regards with patriot love.
We trust, in plumed procession,
For such the angels go,
Rank after rank, with even feet
And uniforms of snow.
When night is almost done,
And sunrise grows so near
That we can touch the spaces,
It 's time to smooth the hair
And get the dimples ready,
And wonder we could care
For that old faded midnight
THE BOOK OF MARTYRS.
Read, sweet, how others strove,
Till we are stouter;
What they renounced,
Till we are less afraid;
How many times they bore
The faithful witness,
As if a kingdom cared!
That shone above the fagot;
Clear strains of hymn
The river could not drown;
And celestial women,
Passed out of record
THE MYSTERY OF PAIN.
Pain has an element of blank;
When it began, or if there were
A day when it was not.
It has no future but itself,
Its infinite realms contain
Its past, enlightened to perceive
New periods of pain.
I taste a liquor never brewed,
From tankards scooped in pearl;
Not all the vats upon the Rhine
Yield such an alcohol!
Inebriate of air am I,
And debauchee of dew,
Reeling, through endless summer days,
From inns of molten blue.
When landlords turn the drunken bee
Out of the foxglove's door,
ies renounce their drams,
I shall but drink the more!
Till seraphs swing their snowy hats,
And saints to windows run,
To see the little tippler
Leaning against the sun!
He ate and drank the precious words,
His spirit grew robust;
He knew no more that he was poor,
Nor that his frame was dust.
He danced along the dingy days,
And this bequest of wings
Was but a book. What liberty
A loosened spirit brings!
I had no time to hate, because
And life was not so ample I
Could finish enmity.
Nor had I time to love; but since
Some industry must be,
The little toil of love, I thought,
Was large enough for me.
'T was such a little, little boat
That toddled down the bay!
'T was such a gallant, gallant sea
That beckoned it away!
'T was such a greedy, greedy wave
That licked it from the coast;
Nor ever guessed the stately sails
My little craft was lost!
Whether my bark went downM
Whether she met with gales,
Whether to isles enchanted
She bent her docile sails;
By what mystic mooring
She is held to-day, --
This is the errand of the eye
Belshazzar had a letter, --
He never had but one;
Belshazzar's correspondent
In that immortal copy
The conscience of us all
Can read without its glasses
On revelation's wall.
The brain within its groove
Runs evenly and true;
But let a splinter swerve,
To put the water back
When floods have slit the hills,
And scooped a turnpike for themselves,
And blotted out the mills!
Mine by the right of the white election!
Mine by the royal seal!
Mine by the sign in the scarlet prison
Bars cannot conceal!
Mine, here in vision and in veto!
Mine, by the grave's repeal
Titled, confirmed, -- delirious charter!
Mine, while the ages steal!
You left me, sweet, two legacies, --
A Heavenly Father would content,
Had He the offer of;
You left me boundaries of pain
Capacious as the sea,
Between eternity and time,
Your consciousness and me.
Alter? When the hills do.
Falter? When the sun
Question if his glory
Surfeit? When the daffodil
Even as herself, O friend!
Elysium is as far as to
The very nearest room,
If in that room a friend await
What fortitude the soul contains,
That it can so endure
The accent of a coming foot,
The opening of a door!
Doubt me, my dim companion!
Why, God would be content
With but a fraction of the love
Poured thee without a stint.
The whole of me, forever,
What more the woman can, --
Say quick, that I may dower thee
With last delight I own!
It cannot be my spirit,
For that was thine before;
I ceded all of dust I knew, --
What opulence the more
Had I, a humble maiden,
Some distant heaven,
Dwell timidly with thee!
If you were coming in the fall,
I'd brush the summer by
With half a smile and half a spurn,
As housewives do a fly.
If I could see you in a year,
I'd wind the months in balls,
And put them each in separate drawers,
Until their time befalls.
If only centuries delayed,
I'd count them on my hand,
Subtracting till my fingers dropped
Into Van Diemen's land.
If certain, when this life was out,
 yours and mine should be,
I'd toss it yonder like a rind,
But now, all ignorant of the length
Of time's uncertain wing,
It goads me, like the goblin bee,
That will not state its sting.
I hide myself within my flower,
That wearing on your breast,
You, unsuspecting, wear me too --
And angels know the rest.
I hide myself within my flower,
That, fading from your vase,
You, unsuspecting, feel for me
Almost a loneliness.
That I did always love,
I did not love enough.
That I shall love alway,
And life hath immortality.
This, dost thou doubt, sweet?
Have you got a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,
And blushing birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so?
And nobody knows, so still it flows,
That any brook is there;
And yet your little draught of life
Then look out for the little brook in March,
When the rivers overflow,
And the snows come hurrying from the hills,
And the bridges often go.
And later, in August it may be,
When the meadows parching lie,
Beware, lest this little brook of life
Some burning noon go dry!
As if some little Arctic flower,
Went wandering down the latitudes,
Until it puzzled came
To continents of summer,
To firmaments of sun,
To strange, bright croM
And birds of foreign tongue!
I say, as if this little flower
To Eden wandered in --
What then? Why, nothing, only,
Your inference therefrom!
My river runs to thee:
Blue sea, wilt welcome me?
My river waits reply.
Oh sea, look graciously!
I'll fetch thee brooks
From spotted nooks, --
I cannot live with you,
And life is over there
The sexton keeps the key to,
Our life, his porcelain,
Discarded of the housewife,
A newer Sevres pleases,
I could not die with you,
To shut the other's gaze down, --
And I, could I stand by
Without my right of frost,
Nor could I rise with you,
Would put out Jesus',
Glow plain and foreign
Except that you, than he
y'd judge us -- how?
For you served Heaven, you know,
Because you saturated sight,
And I had no more eyes
For sordid excellence
And were you lost, I would be,
On the heavenly fame.
And I condemned to be
That self were hell to me.
So we must keep apart,
With just the door ajar
And that pale sustenance,
There came a day at summer's full
I thought that such were for the saints,
Where revelations be.
The sun, as common, went abroad,
The flowers, accustomed, blew,
As if no soul the solstice passed
That maketh all things new.
The time was scarce profaned by speech;
The symbol of a word
Was needless, as at sacrament
The wardrobe of our Lord.
Each was to each the sealed church,
Permitted to commune this time,
Lest we too awkward show
At supper of the Lamb.
s slid fast, as hours will,
Clutched tight by greedy hands;
So faces on two decks look back,
Bound to opposing lands.
And so, when all the time had failed,
Without external sound,
Each bound the other's crucifix,
We gave no other bond.
Sufficient troth that we shall rise --
Deposed, at length, the grave --
To that new marriage, justified
Through Calvaries of Love!
I'm ceded, I've stopped being theirs;
The name they dropped upon my face
With water, in the countrM
Is finished using now,
And they can put it with my dolls,
My childhood, and the string of spools
I've finished threading too.
Baptized before without the choice,
But this time consciously, of grace
Unto supremest name,
Called to my full, the crescent dropped,
Existence's whole arc filled up
With one small diadem.
My second rank, too small the first,
Crowned, crowing on my father's breast,
A half unconscious queen;
But this time, adequate, erect,
With will to choose or to reject.
choose -- just a throne.
'T was a long parting, but the time
For interview had come;
Before the judgment-seat of God,
The last and second time
These fleshless lovers met,
A heaven of heavens, the privilege
Of one another's eyes.
No lifetime set on them,
Apparelled as the new
Unborn, except they had beheld,
Born everlasting now.
Was bridal e'er like this?
A paradise, the host,
And cherubim and seraphim
The most familiar guest.
I'm wife; I've finished that,
I'm Czar, I'm woman now:
How odd the girl's life looks
Behind this soft eclipse!
I think that earth seems so
To those in heaven now.
This being comfort, then
That other kind was pain;
I'm wife! stop there!
She rose to his requirement, dropped
The playthings of her life
To take the honorable work
Of woman and of wife.
If aught she missed in her new day
Or first prospective, or the gold
It lay unmentioned, as the sea
Develops pearl and weed,
But only to himself is known
The fathoms they abide.
Lips unused to thee,
Bashful, sip thy jasmines,
As the fainting bee,
Reaching late his flower,
Round her chamber hums,
Counts his nectars -- enters,
And is lost in balms!
New feet within my garden go,
New fingers stir the sod;
A troubadour upon the elm
Betrays the solitude.
New children play upon the green,
New weary sleep below;
And still the pensive spring returns,
And still the punctual snow!
Pink, small, and punctual,
In every human soul.
A witchcraft yieldeth me.
'T were easier to die
The red upon the hill
Taketh away my will;
Take care, for God is here,
The breaking of the day
Addeth to my degree;
Artist, who drew me so,
Perhaps you'd like to buy a flower?
But I could never sell.
If you would like to borrow
Unties her yellow bonnet
Beneath the village door,
Until the bees, from clover rows
Their hock and sherry draw,
y, I will lend until just then,
But not an hour more!
The pedigree of honey
Does not concern the bee;
A clover, any time, to him
Some keep the Sabbath going to church;
I keep it staying at home,
With a bobolink for a chorister,
And an orchard for a dome.
Some keep the Sabbath in surplice;
I just wear my wings,
And instead of tolling the bell for church,
Our little sexton sings.
God preaches, -- a noted clergyman, --
So instead of getting to heaven at last,
I'm going all along!
The bee is not afraid of me,
I know the butterfly;
The pretty people in the woods
Receive me cordially.
The brooks laugh louder when I come,
The breezes madder play.
Wherefore, mine eyes, thy silver mists?
Wherefore, O summer's day?
Some rainbow coming from the fair!
Some vision of the world Cashmere
Or else a peacock's purple train,
y feather, on the plain
Fritters itself away!
The dreamy butterflies bestir,
Lethargic pools resume the whir
Of last year's sundered tune.
From some old fortress on the sun
Baronial bees march, one by one,
In murmuring platoon!
The robins stand as thick to-day
As flakes of snow stood yesterday,
On fence and roof and twig.
The orchis binds her feather on
For her old lover, Don the Sun,
Without commander, countless, still,
The regiment of wood and hill
In bright detachment stM
Behold! Whose multitudes are these?
The children of whose turbaned seas,
Or what Circassian land?
The grass so little has to do, --
A sphere of simple green,
With only butterflies to brood,
And bees to entertain,
And stir all day to pretty tunes
The breezes fetch along,
And hold the sunshine in its lap
And bow to everything;
And thread the dews all night, like pearls,
And make itself so fine, --
A duchess were too common
For such a noticing.
As lowly spices gone to sleep,
And then to dwell in sovereign barns,
And dream the days away, --
The grass so little has to do,
I wish I were the hay!
A little road not made of man,
Accessible to thill of bee,
Or cart of butterfly.
If town it have, beyond itself,
'T is that I cannot say;
I only sigh, -- no vehicle
Bears me along that way.
A drop fell on the apple tree,
A half a dozen kissed the eaves,
And made the gables laugh.
A few went out to help the brook,
That went to help the sea.
Myself conjectured, Were they pearls,
What necklaces could be!
The dust replaced in hoisted roads,
The birds jocoser sung;
The sunshine threw his hat away,
The orchards spangles hung.
The breezes brought dejected lutes,
And bathed them in the glee;
The East put out a single flag,
And signed the fete away.
As slow her flambeaux burn away,
Which solemnizes me.
A something in a summer's noon, --
An azure depth, a wordless tune,
Transcending ecstasy.
And still within a summer's night
A something so transporting bright,
I clap my hands to see;
Then veil my too inspecting face,
Lest such a subtle, shimmering grace
Flutter too far for me.
The wizard-fingers never rest,
The purple brook within the breast
Still chafes its narrow bed;
Still rears the East her amber flag,
ll the sun along the crag
Like flowers that heard the tale of dews,
But never deemed the dripping prize
Awaited their low brows;
Or bees, that thought the summer's name
Some rumor of delirium
No summer could for them;
Or Arctic creature, dimly stirred
By tropic hint, -- some travelled bird
Imported to the wood;
Or wind's bright signal to the ear,
Making that homely and severe,
Contented, known, before
The heaven unexpected came,
To lives that thought their worshipping
 too presumptuous psalm.
This is the land the sunset washes,
These are the banks of the Yellow Sea;
Where it rose, or whither it rushes,
These are the western mystery!
Night after night her purple traffic
Strews the landing with opal bales;
Merchantmen poise upon horizons,
Dip, and vanish with fairy sails.
There is a flower that bees prefer,
And butterflies desire;
To gain the purple democrat
The humming-birds aspire.
whatsoever insect pass,
Proportioned to his several dearth
Her face is rounder than the moon,
And ruddier than the gown
Of orchis in the pasture,
Or rhododendron worn.
She doth not wait for June;
Before the world is green
Her sturdy little countenance
Against the wind is seen,
Contending with the grass,
Near kinsman to herself,
For privilege of sod and sun,
Sweet litigants for life.
And when the hills are full,
And newer fashions blow,
For pang of jealousy.
Her public is the noon,
Her providence the sun,
Her progress by the bee proclaimed
In sovereign, swerveless tune.
The bravest of the host,
Surrendering the last,
Nor even of defeat aware
When cancelled by the frost.
Like trains of cars on tracks of plush
I hear the level bee:
A jar across the flowers goes,
Their velvet masonry
Withstands until the sweet assault
Their chivalry consumes,
While he, victorious, tilts away
His feet are shod with gauze,
His helmet is of gold;
His breast, a single onyx
With chrysoprase, inlaid.
His labor is a chant,
His idleness a tune;
Oh, for a bee's experience
Of clovers and of noon!
Presentiment is that long shadow on the lawn
Indicative that suns go down;
The notice to the startled grass
That darkness is about to pass.
As children bid the guest good-night,
And then reluctant turn,
My flowers raise their pretty lips,
 their nightgowns on.
As children caper when they wake,
Merry that it is morn,
My flowers from a hundred cribs
Will peep, and prance again.
Angels in the early morning
May be seen the dews among,
Stooping, plucking, smiling, flying:
Do the buds to them belong?
Angels when the sun is hottest
May be seen the sands among,
Stooping, plucking, sighing, flying;
Parched the flowers they bear along.
So bashful when I spied her,
So pretty, so ashamed!
So breathless till I passed her,
So helpless when I turned
And bore her, struggling, blushing,
Her simple haunts beyond!
For whom I robbed the dingle,
For whom betrayed the dell,
Many will doubtless ask me,
But I shall never tell!
It makes no difference abroad,
The seasons fit the same,
The mornings blossom into noons,
And split their pods of flame.
Wild-flowers kindle in the woods,
The brooks brag all the day;
No blackbird bates hiM
For passing Calvary.
Auto-da-fe and judgment
Are nothing to the bee;
His separation from his rose
To him seems misery.
The mountain sat upon the plain
In his eternal chair,
His observation omnifold,
His inquest everywhere.
The seasons prayed around his knees,
Like children round a sire:
Grandfather of the days is he,
Of dawn the ancestor.
I'll tell you how the sun rose, --
The steeples swam in amethysM
The news like squirrels ran.
The hills untied their bonnets,
The bobolinks begun.
Then I said softly to myself,
"That must have been the sun!"
But how he set, I know not.
There seemed a purple stile
Which little yellow boys and girls
Were climbing all the while
Till when they reached the other side,
Put gently up the evening bars,
And led the flock away.
The butterfly's assumption-gown,
In chrysoprase apartments hung,
How condescending to descend,
And be of buttercups the friend
  In a New England town!
Of all the sounds despatched abroad,
There's not a charge to me
Like that old measure in the boughs,
That phraseless melody
The wind does, working like a hand
Whose fingers brush the sky,
Then quiver down, with tufts of tune
Permitted gods and me.
When winds go round and round in bands,
And thrum upon the door,
And birds take places overhead,
To bear them orchestra,
I crave him grace, of summer boughs,
If such an outcast be,
He never heard that fleshless chant
Rise solemn in the tree,
As if some caravan of sound
On deserts, in the sky,
Then knit, and passed
In seamless company.
Apparently with no surprise
To any happy flower,
The frost beheads it at its play
In accidental power.
The blond assassin passes on,
The sun proceeds unmoved
To measure off another day
For an approving God.
AS later when the summer went
Than when the cricket came,
And yet we knew that gentle clock
Meant nought but going home.
'T was sooner when the cricket went
Than when the winter came,
Yet that pathetic pendulum
Keeps esoteric time.
These are the days when birds come back,
A very few, a bird or two,
To take a backward look.
These are the days when skies put on
The old, old sophistries of June, --
A blue and gold mistake.
Oh, fraud that cannot cheat the bee,
Almost thy plausibility
Till ranks of seeds their witness bear,
And softly through the altered air
Hurries a timid leaf!
Oh, sacrament of summer days,
Oh, last communion in the haze,
Permit a child to join,
Thy sacred emblems to partake,
Thy consecrated bread to break,
Taste thine immortal wine!
The morns are meeker than they were,
The nuts are getting brown;
The berry's cheek is plumper,
The rose is out of town.
The maple wears a gayer scarfM
The field a scarlet gown.
Lest I should be old-fashioned,
I'll put a trinket on.
The sky is low, the clouds are mean,
A travelling flake of snow
Across a barn or through a rut
Debates if it will go.
A narrow wind complains all day
How some one treated him;
Nature, like us, is sometimes caught
I think the hemlock likes to stand
Upon a marge of snow;
It suits his own austerity,
And satisfies an awe
st slake in wilderness,
Or in the desert cloy, --
An instinct for the hoar, the bald,
Lapland's necessity.
The hemlock's nature thrives on cold;
The gnash of northern winds
Is sweetest nutriment to him,
His best Norwegian wines.
To satin races he is nought;
But children on the Don
Beneath his tabernacles play,
And Dnieper wrestlers run.
There's a certain slant of light,
On winter afternoons,
That oppresses, like the weight
Heavenly hurt it gives us;
But internal difference
Where the meanings are.
None may teach it anything,
'T is the seal, despair, --
An imperial affliction
When it comes, the landscape listens,
Shadows hold their breath;
When it goes, 't is like the distance
On the look of death.
IV. TIME AND ETERNITY.
One dignity delays for all,
One mitred afternoon.
None can avoid this purple,
None evade this crown.
Coach it insures, and footmen,
Chamber and state and throng;
lls, also, in the village,
As we ride grand along.
What dignified attendants,
What service when we pause!
How loyally at parting
Their hundred hats they raise!
How pomp surpassing ermine,
When simple you and I
Present our meek escutcheon,
And claim the rank to die!
Delayed till she had ceased to know,
Delayed till in its vest of snow
   Her loving bosom lay.
An hour behind the fleeting breath,
Later by just an hour than death, --
   Oh, lagging yesterday!
e have guessed that it would be;
Could but a crier of the glee
   Have climbed the distant hill;
Had not the bliss so slow a pace, --
Who knows but this surrendered face
   Were undefeated still?
Oh, if there may departing be
Any forgot by victory
   In her imperial round,
Show them this meek apparelled thing,
That could not stop to be a king,
   Doubtful if it be crowned!
Departed to the judgment,
Great clouds like ushers leaning,
The flesh surrendered, cancelled,
Two worlds, like audiences, disperse
And leave the soul alone.
Safe in their alabaster chambers,
Untouched by morning and untouched by noon,
Sleep the meek members of the resurrection,
Rafter of satin, and roof of stone.
Light laughs the breeze in her castle of sunshine;
Babbles the bee in a stolid ear;
Pipe the sweet birds in ignorant cadence, --
Ah, what sagacity perished here!
Grand go the years in the crescent aboM
Worlds scoop their arcs, and firmaments row,
Diadems drop and Doges surrender,
Soundless as dots on a disk of snow.
On this long storm the rainbow rose,
On this late morn the sun;
The clouds, like listless elephants,
Horizons straggled down.
The birds rose smiling in their nests,
The gales indeed were done;
Alas! how heedless were the eyes
On whom the summer shone!
The quiet nonchalance of death
No daybreak can bestir;
The slow archangel's syllables
My cocoon tightens, colors tease,
I'm feeling for the air;
A dim capacity for wings
Degrades the dress I wear.
A power of butterfly must be
The aptitude to fly,
Meadows of majesty concedes
And easy sweeps of sky.
So I must baffle at the hint
And cipher at the sign,
And make much blunder, if at last
I take the clew divine.
Exultation is the going
Of an inland soul to sea, --
Past the houses, past the headlands,
Bred as we, among the mountains,
Can the sailor understand
The divine intoxication
Of the first league out from land?
Look back on time with kindly eyes,
He doubtless did his best;
How softly sinks his trembling sun
In human nature's west!
A train went through a burial gate,
A bird broke forth and sang,
And trilled, and quivered, and shook his throat
Till all the churchyard rang;
And then adjusted his little notes,
And bowed and sang again.
ought it meet of him
To say good-by to men.
I died for beauty, but was scarce
Adjusted in the tomb,
When one who died for truth was lain
In an adjoining room.
He questioned softly why I failed?
"For beauty," I replied.
"And I for truth, -- the two are one;
We brethren are," he said.
And so, as kinsmen met a night,
We talked between the rooms,
Until the moss had reached our lips,
And covered up our names.
"TROUBLED ABOUT MANY THINGS."
How many times these low feeM
Only the soldered mouth can tell;
Try! can you stir the awful rivet?
Try! can you lift the hasps of steel?
Stroke the cool forehead, hot so often,
Lift, if you can, the listless hair;
Handle the adamantine fingers
Never a thimble more shall wear.
Buzz the dull flies on the chamber window;
Brave shines the sun through the freckled pane;
Fearless the cobweb swings from the ceiling --
Indolent housewife, in daisies lain!
I like a look of agony,
Men do not sham convulsion,
Nor simulate a throe.
The eyes glaze once, and that is death.
The beads upon the forehead
By homely anguish strung.
That short, potential stir
That each can make but once,
That bustle so illustrious
'T is almost consequence,
Is the eclat of death.
Oh, thou unknown renown
That not a beggar would accept,
Had he the power to spurn!
I went to thank her,
Her bed a funnelled sM
With nosegays at the head and foot,
That travellers had thrown,
Who went to thank her;
'T was short to cross the sea
To look upon her like, alive,
But turning back 't was slow.
I've seen a dying eye
Run round and round a room
In search of something, as it seemed,
Then cloudier become;
And then, obscure with fog,
And then be soldered down,
Without disclosing what it be,
'T were blessed to have seen.
The clouds their backs together lM
The north begun to push,
The forests galloped till they fell,
The lightning skipped like mice;
The thunder crumbled like a stuff --
How good to be safe in tombs,
Where nature's temper cannot reach,
Nor vengeance ever comes!
I never saw the sea;
Yet know I how the heather looks,
And what a wave must be.
I never spoke with God,
Nor visited in heaven;
Yet certain am I of the spot
As if the chart were given.
I met one, -- forgot my school-mates,
All, for him, straightway.
God calls home the angels promptly
I missed mine. How dreary marbles,
After playing Crown!
To know just how he suffered would be dear;
To know if any human eyes were near
To whom he could intrust his wavering gaze,
Until it settled firm on Paradise.
To know if he was patient, part content,
Was dying as he thought, or different;
Was it a pleasant day to die,
 did the sunshine face his way?
What was his furthest mind, of home, or God,
Or what the distant say
At news that he ceased human nature
And wishes, had he any?
Just his sigh, accented,
Had been legible to me.
And was he confident until
Ill fluttered out in everlasting well?
And if he spoke, what name was best,
What one broke off with
Was he afraid, or tranquil?
How conscious consciousness could grow,
Till love that was, and love toM
Meet -- and the junction be Eternity?
The last night that she lived,
It was a common night,
Except the dying; this to us
Made nature different.
We noticed smallest things, --
Things overlooked before,
By this great light upon our minds
Italicized, as 't were.
That others could exist
While she must finish quite,
A jealousy for her arose
We waited while she passed;
It was a narrow time,
Too jostled were our souls to speak,
At length the noticeM
She mentioned, and forgot;
Then lightly as a reed
Bent to the water, shivered scarce,
Consented, and was dead.
And we, we placed the hair,
And drew the head erect;
And then an awful leisure was,
Our faith to regulate.
Not in this world to see his face
Sounds long, until I read the place
Where this is said to be
But just the primer to a life
Unopened, rare, upon the shelf,
Clasped yet to him and me.
And yet, my primer suits me so
I would not choose M
Than that, be sweeter wise;
Might some one else so learned be,
And leave me just my A B C,
Himself could have the skies.
The bustle in a house
The morning after death
Is solemnest of industries
Enacted upon earth, --
The sweeping up the heart,
And putting love away
We shall not want to use again
I reason, earth is short,
And anguish absolute,
I reason, we could die:
I reason that in heaven
Somehow, it will be even,
Some new equation given;
Afraid? Of whom am I afraid?
Not death; for who is he?
The porter of my father's lodge
As much abasheth me.
Of life? 'T were odd I fear a thing
That comprehendeth me
In one or more existences
Of resurrection? Is the east
Afraid to trust the morn
With her fastidious forehead?
As soon impeach my crown!
sun kept setting, setting still;
Upon the village I perceived, --
From house to house 't was noon.
The dusk kept dropping, dropping still;
No dew upon the grass,
But only on my forehead stopped,
And wandered in my face.
My feet kept drowsing, drowsing still,
My fingers were awake;
Yet why so little sound myself
Unto my seeming make?
How well I knew the light before!
I could not see it now.
'T is dying, I am doing; but
I'm not afraid to know.
wrestled on the spar
Until the morning sun,
When one turned smiling to the land.
O God, the other one!
The stray ships passing spied a face
Upon the waters borne,
With eyes in death still begging raised,
And hands beseeching thrown.
Because I could not stop for Death,
He kindly stopped for me;
The carriage held but just ourselves
We slowly drove, he knew no haste,
My labor, and my leisure too,
he school where children played,
Their lessons scarcely done;
We passed the fields of gazing grain,
We passed the setting sun.
We paused before a house that seemed
A swelling of the ground;
The roof was scarcely visible,
The cornice but a mound.
Since then 't is centuries; but each
Feels shorter than the day
I first surmised the horses' heads
Were toward eternity.
She went as quiet as the dew
From a familiar flower.
Not like the dew did she return
At the accustomed hour!
he dropt as softly as a star
From out my summer's eve;
Less skilful than Leverrier
It's sorer to believe!
At last to be identified!
At last, the lamps upon thy side,
The rest of life to see!
Past midnight, past the morning star!
Past sunrise! Ah! what leagues there are
Between our feet and day!
Except to heaven, she is nought;
Except for angels, lone;
Except to some wide-wandering bee,
A flower superfluous blown;
Except for winds, provincial;
Unnoticed as a single dew
That on the acre lies.
The smallest housewife in the grass,
Yet take her from the lawn,
And somebody has lost the face
That made existence home!
Death is a dialogue between
The spirit and the dust.
"Dissolve," says Death. The Spirit, "Sir,
I have another trust."
Death doubts it, argues from the ground.
The Spirit turns away,
Just laying off, for evidence,
An overcoat of clay.
It was too late for man,
Creation impotent to help,
But prayer remained our side.
How excellent the heaven,
When earth cannot be had;
How hospitable, then, the face
Of our old neighbor, God!
When I was small, a woman died.
Went up from the Potomac,
His face all victory,
To look at her; how slowly
The seasons must have turned
Till bullets clipt an angle,
And he passed quickly round!
If pride shall be in Paradise
No person testified.
But proud in apparition,
That woman and her boy
Pass back and forth before my brain,
The daisy follows soft the sun,
And when his golden walk is done,
   Sits shyly at his feet.
He, waking, finds the flower near.
"Wherefore, marauder, art thou here?"
   "Because, sir, love is sweet!"
We are the flower, Thou the sun!
Forgive us, if as days decline,
   We nearer steal to Thee, --
Enamoured of the parting west,
flight, the amethyst,
   Night's possibility!
No rack can torture me,
My soul's at liberty
Behind this mortal bone
There knits a bolder one
You cannot prick with saw,
Nor rend with scymitar.
Two bodies therefore be;
Bind one, and one will flee.
The eagle of his nest
Except thyself may be
Captivity is consciousness,
I lost a world the other day.
You'll know it by the row of stars
Around its forehead bound.
A rich man might not notice it;
Yet to my frugal eye
Of more esteem than ducats.
Oh, find it, sir, for me!
If I shouldn't be alive
When the robins come,
Give the one in red cravat
If I couldn't thank you,
You will know I'm trying
With my granite lip!
Sleep is supposed to be,
The shutting of the eye.
Down which on either hand
The hosts of witness stand!
Morn is supposed to be,
By people of degree,
The breaking of the day.
Morning has not occurred!
That shall aurora be
One with the banner gay,
One in the red array, --
That is the break of day.
I shall know why, when time is over,
And I have ceased to wonder why;
Christ will explain each separate anguish
In the fair schoolroom of the sky.
He will tell me what Peter promised,
I shall forget the drop of anguish
That scalds me now, that scalds me now.
I never lost as much but twice,
And that was in the sod;
Twice have I stood a beggar
Before the door of God!
Angels, twice descending,
Reimbursed my store.
Burglar, banker, father,
I am poor once more!
I'm nobody!  Who are you?
Are you nobody, too?
Then there 's a pair of us -- don't tell!
They 'd banish us, you know.
How dreary to be somebodM
How public, like a frog
To tell your name the livelong day
I bring an unaccustomed wine
To lips long parching, next to mine,
And summon them to drink.
Crackling with fever, they essay;
I turn my brimming eyes away,
And come next hour to look.
The hands still hug the tardy glass;
The lips I would have cooled, alas!
Are so superfluous cold,
I would as soon attempt to warm
The bosoms where the frost has lain
Ages beneath the mould.
Some other thirsty therM
To whom this would have pointed me
Had it remained to speak.
And so I always bear the cup
If, haply, mine may be the drop
Some pilgrim thirst to slake, --
If, haply, any say to me,
"Unto the little, unto me,"
When I at last awake.
The nearest dream recedes, unrealized.
      The heaven we chase
      Like the June bee
      Before the school-boy
      Invites the race;
      Stoops to an easy clover --
Dips -- evades -- teases -- deploys;
      Then to the royal cloudsM
      Lifts his light pinnace
      Heedless of the boy
Staring, bewildered, at the mocking sky.
      Homesick for steadfast honey,
      Ah! the bee flies not
That brews that rare variety.
Till qualified for pearl,
Then drop the paste,
And deem ourself a fool.
The shapes, though, were similar,
I found the phrase to every thought
I ever had, but one;
And that defies me, -- as a hand
To races nurtured in the dark; --
How would your own begin?
Can blaze be done in cochineal,
Hope is the thing with feathers
That perches in the soul,
And sings the tune without the words,
And never stops at all,
And sweetest in the gale is heard;
And sore must be the storm
That could abash the little bird
That kept so many warm.
I 've heard it in the chillest land,
And on the strangest sea;
Yet, never, in extremity,
Dare you see a soul at the white heat?
   Then crouch within the door.
Red is the fire's common tint;
   But when the vivid ore
Has sated flame's conditions,
   Its quivering substance plays
Without a color but the light
   Of unanointed blaze.
Least village boasts its blacksmith,
   Whose anvil's even din
Stands symbol for the finer forge
   That soundless tugs within,
Refining these impatient ores
   With hammer and with blaze,
   Repudiate the forge.
Who never lost, are unprepared
Who never thirsted, flagons
And cooling tamarind.
Who never climbed the weary league --
Can such a foot explore
The purple territories
How many legions overcome?
The emperor will say.
How many colors taken
How many bullets bearest?
The royal scar hast thou?
Angels, write "Promoted"
On this soldier's brow!
Whole pools of it, --
But the least push of joy
And I tip -- drunken.
Let no pebble smile,
'T was the new liquor, --
Stranded, through discipline,
Till weights will hang.
Give balm to giants,
And they 'll wilt, like men.
I never hear the word "escape"
Without a quicker blood,
A sudden expectation,
I never hear of prisons M
By soldiers battered down,
But I tug childish at my bars, --
For each ecstatic instant
We must an anguish pay
In keen and quivering ratio
For each beloved hour
Sharp pittances of years,
Bitter contested farthings
And coffers heaped with tears.
Through the straight pass of suffering
The martyrs even trod,
Their feet upon temptation,
Their faces upon God.
A stately, shriven company;
vulsion playing round,
Harmless as streaks of meteor
Upon a planet's bound.
Their faith the everlasting troth;
Their expectation fair;
The needle to the north degree
Wades so, through polar air.
I meant to have but modest needs,
Such as content, and heaven;
Within my income these could lie,
And life and I keep even.
But since the last included both,
It would suffice my prayer
But just for one to stipulate,
And grace would grant the pair.
And so, upon this wise I M
Great Spirit, give to me
A heaven not so large as yours,
But large enough for me.
A smile suffused Jehovah's face;
The cherubim withdrew;
Grave saints stole out to look at me,
And showed their dimples, too.
I left the place with all my might, --
My prayer away I threw;
The quiet ages picked it up,
And Judgment twinkled, too,
That one so honest be extant
As take the tale for true
That "Whatsoever you shall ask,
Itself be given you."
But I, grown shrewder, scan the skies
As children, swindled for the first,
All swindlers be, infer.
The thought beneath so slight a film
Is more distinctly seen, --
As laces just reveal the surge,
Or mists the Apennine.
The soul unto itself
Is an imperial friend, --
Or the most agonizing spy
An enemy could send.
Secure against its own,
No treason it can fear;
Itself its sovereign, of itself
The soul should stand in awe.
Surgeons must be very careful
Underneath their fine incisions
Stirs the culprit, -- Life!
I like to see it lap the miles,
And lick the valleys up,
And stop to feed itself at tanks;
And then, prodigious, step
Around a pile of mountains,
And, supercilious, peer
In shanties by the sides of roads;
And then a quarry pare
To fit its sides, and crawl between,
Complaining all the while
In horrid, hooting stanza;
Then chase itself down hill
And neigh like Boanerges;
Stop -- docile and omnipotent --
At its own stable door.
The show is not the show,
Delight becomes pictorial
When viewed through pain, --
More fair, because impossible
The mountain at a given distance
Approached, the amber flits a little, --
And that 's the skies!
A thought went up my mind to-day
But did not finish, -- some way back,
I could not fix the year,
Nor where it went, nor why it came
The second time to me,
Nor definitely what it was,
Have I the art to say.
But somewhere in my soul, I know
I 've met the thing before;
It just reminded me -- 't was all --
And came my way no more.
Is Heaven a physician?
They say that He can heal,
But medicine posthumous
Is Heaven an exchequer?
   They speak of what we owe;
But that negotiation
I 'm not a party to.
Though I get home how late, how late!
So I get home, 't will compensate.
Better will be the ecstasy
That they have done expecting me,
When, night descending, dumb and dark,
They hear my unexpected knock.
Transporting must the moment be,
Brewed from decades of agony!
To think just how the fire will burn,
Just how long-cheated eyes will turn
To wonder what myself will say,
And what itself will say to me,
Beguiles the centuries of way!
A poor torn heart, a tattered heart,
That sat it down to rest,
Nor noticed that the ebbing day
Flowed silver to the west,
Nor noticed night did soft descend
Nor constellation burn,
Intent upon the vision
Of latitudes unknown.
The angels, happening that way,
This dusty heart espied;
Tenderly took it up from toil
And carried it to God.
There, -- sandals for the barefoot;
There, -- gathered from the gales,
Do the blue havens by the hand
Lead the wandering sails.
I should have been too glad, I see,
Too lifted for the scant degree
   Of life's penurious round;
My little circuit would have shamed
This new circumference, have blamed
   The homelier time behind.
I should have been too saved, I see,
Too rescued; fear too dim to me
   That I could spell the prayer
I knew so perfect yesterday, --
That scalding one, "Sabachthani,"
   Recited fluent here.
Earth would have been too much, I see,
And heaven not enough for me;
   I should have had the joy
e fear to justify, --
The palm without the Calvary;
   So, Saviour, crucify.
Defeat whets victory, they say;
The reefs in old Gethsemane
   Endear the shore beyond.
'T is beggars banquets best define;
'T is thirsting vitalizes wine, --
   Faith faints to understand.
It tossed and tossed, --
A little brig I knew, --
And groped delirious, for morn.
It slipped and slipped,
As one that drunken stepped;
Its white foot tripped,
 dropped from sight.
Ah, brig, good-night
The ocean's heart too smooth, too blue,
And is held low to freezing lips
How sweet it would have tasted,
Was God so economical?
His table 's spread too high for us
Unless we dine on tip-toe.
Crumbs fit such little mouths,
Cherries suit robins;
The eagle's golden breakfast
God keeps his oath to sparrows,
God gave a loaf to every bird,
But just a crumb to me;
I dare not eat it, though I starve, --
To own it, touch it, prove the feat
That made the pellet mine, --
Too happy in my sparrow chance
For ampler coveting.
It might be famine all around,
I could not miss an ear,
Such plenty smiles upon my board,
My garner shows so fair.
I wonder how the rich may feel, --
An Indiaman -- an Earl?
I deem that I with but a crumb
Is every one I meet.
If it contain a kernel?
Presents upon a tree,
But meat within is requisite,
To squirrels and to me.
MY COUNTRY'S WARDROBE.
My country need not change her gown,
Her triple suit as sweet
As when 't was cut at Lexington,
And first pronounced "a fit."
Great Britain disapproves "the stars;"
Disparagement discreet, --
There 's something in their attitude
Faith is a fine invention
For gentlemen who see;
But microscopes are prudent
Except the heaven had come so near,
So seemed to choose my door,
The distance would not haunt me so;
I had not hoped before.
But just to hear the grace depart
I never thought to see,
Afflicts me with a double loss;
'T is lost, and lost to me.
Portraits are to daily faces
To a fine, pedantic sunshine
I took my power in my hand.
And went against the world;
'T was not so much as David had,
But I was twice as bold.
I aimed my pebble, but myself
Was all the one that fell.
Was it Goliath was too large,
Or only I too small?
A shady friend for torrid days
Than one of higher temperature
For frigid hour of mind.
The vane a little to the east
Scares muslin souls away;
If broadcloth breasts are firmer
Than those of organdy,
o blame? The weaver?
Ah! the bewildering thread!
The tapestries of paradise
So notelessly are made!
Each life converges to some centre
Exists in every human nature
Admitted scarcely to itself, it may be,
For credibility's temerity
Adored with caution, as a brittle heaven,
Were hopeless as the rainbow's raiment
Yet persevered toward, surer for the distance;
Unto the saints' slow diligenceM
Ungained, it may be, by a life's low venture,
Eternity enables the endeavoring
Before I got my eye put out,
I liked as well to see
As other creatures that have eyes,
And know no other way.
But were it told to me, to-day,
That I might have the sky
For mine, I tell you that my heart
Would split, for size of me.
The meadows mine, the mountains mine, --
All forests, stintless stars,
As much of noon as I could take
Between my finite eyes.
The motions of the dipping birds,
The lightning's jointed road,
For mine to look at when I liked, --
The news would strike me dead!
So safer, guess, with just my soul
Upon the window-pane
Where other creatures put their eyes,
Incautious of the sun.
Talk with prudence to a beggar
Of 'Potosi' and the mines!
Reverently to the hungry
Of your viands and your wines!
Cautious, hint to any captive
You have passed enfranchised feet!
Anecdotes of air in dungeons
Have sometimes proved M
He preached upon "breadth" till it argued him narrow, --
The broad are too broad to define;
And of "truth" until it proclaimed him a liar, --
The truth never flaunted a sign.
Simplicity fled from his counterfeit presence
As gold the pyrites would shun.
What confusion would cover the innocent Jesus
To meet so enabled a man!
Good night! which put the candle out?
A jealous zephyr, not a doubt.
   Ah! friend, you little knew
 at that celestial wick
The angels labored diligent;
   Extinguished, now, for you!
It might have been the lighthouse spark
Some sailor, rowing in the dark,
   Had importuned to see!
It might have been the waning lamp
That lit the drummer from the camp
   To purer reveille!
When I hoped I feared,
Since I hoped I dared;
Spectre cannot harm,
Serpent cannot charm;
Who hath suffered him.
And then it knocks at will.
That is the manufacturing spot,
And will at home and well.
It then goes out an act,
Or is entombed so still
That only to the ear of God
Its doom is audible.
Mine enemy is growing old, --
I have at last revenge.
The palate of the hate departs;
If any would avenge, --
Let him be quick, the viand flits,
Anger as soon as fed is dead;
'T is starving makes it fat.
Her companies astir, --
A presence of departed acts
At window and at door.
It's past set down before the soul,
And lighted with a match,
Perusal to facilitate
Of its condensed despatch.
Remorse is cureless, -- the disease
Not even God can heal;
For 't is his institution, --
The complement of hell.
The body grows outside, --
The more convenient way, --
That if the spirit like to hide,
Its temple stands alway
Ajar, secure, inviting;
The soul that asked its shelter
Undue significance a starving man attaches
Far off; he sighs, and therefore hopeless,
Partaken, it relieves indeed, but proves us
In the receipt. It was the distance
Heart not so heavy as mine,
As it passed my window
Whistled itself a tune, --
A careless snatch, a ballad,
A ditty of the street;
Yet to my irritated ear
It was as if a bobolink,
Sauntering this way,
Carolled and mused and carolled,
Then bubbled slow away.
It was as if a chirping brook
Set bleeding feet to minuets
Without the knowing why.
To-morrow, night will come again,
Weary, perhaps, and sore.
Ah, bugle, by my window,
I pray you stroll once more!
I many times thought peace had come,
When peace was far away;
As wrecked men deem they sight the land
At centre of the sea,
slacker, but to prove,
How many the fictitious shores
Before the harbor lie.
Unto my books so good to turn
Far ends of tired days;
It half endears the abstinence,
And pain is missed in praise.
As flavors cheer retarded guests
With banquetings to be,
So spices stimulate the time
Till my small library.
It may be wilderness without,
Far feet of failing men,
But holiday excludes the night,
And it is bells within.
I thank these kinsmen of the shelf;
Enamour in prospective,
And satisfy, obtained.
This merit hath the worst, --
When Fate hath taunted last
And thrown her furthest stone,
The maimed may pause and breathe,
And glance securely round.
The deer invites no longer
Than it eludes the hound.
I had been hungry all the years;
My noon had come, to dine;
I, trembling, drew the table near,
And touched the curious wine.
'T was this on tables I had seen,
rning, hungry, lone,
I looked in windows, for the wealth
I could not hope to own.
I did not know the ample bread,
'T was so unlike the crumb
The birds and I had often shared
In Nature's dining-room.
The plenty hurt me, 't was so new, --
Myself felt ill and odd,
As berry of a mountain bush
Transplanted to the road.
Nor was I hungry; so I found
That hunger was a way
Of persons outside windows,
The entering takes away.
      By climbing slow,
By catching at the tM
Between the bliss and me.
      It hung so high,
      As well the sky
      Attempt by strategy.
I said I gained it, --
Look, how I clutch it,
Unfitted by an instant's grace
For the contented beggar's face
To learn the transport by the pain,
As blind men learn the sun;
To die of thirst, suspecting
That brooks in meadows run;
To stay the homesick, homesick feet
Upon a foreign shoreM
Haunted by native lands, the while,
And blue, beloved air --
This is the sovereign anguish,
This, the signal woe!
These are the patient laureates
Whose voices, trained below,
Ascend in ceaseless carol,
To us, the duller scholars
Of the mysterious bard!
I years had been from home,
And now, before the door,
I dared not open, lest a face
Stare vacant into mine
And ask my business there.
My business, -- just a life I left,
as such still dwelling there?
I fumbled at my nerve,
I scanned the windows near;
The silence like an ocean rolled,
And broke against my ear.
I laughed a wooden laugh
That I could fear a door,
Who danger and the dead had faced,
But never quaked before.
I fitted to the latch
My hand, with trembling care,
Lest back the awful door should spring,
And leave me standing there.
I moved my fingers off
As cautiously as glass,
And held my ears, and like a thief
Fled gasping from the house.
Prayer is the little implement
Through which men reach
Where presence is denied them.
They fling their speech
By means of it in God's ear;
This sums the apparatus
Comprised in prayer.
I know that he exists
Somewhere, in silence.
He has hid his rare life
From our gross eyes.
'T is an instant's play,
'T is a fond ambush,
Earn her own surprise!
Prove piercing earnest,
Should the glee glaze
Have crawled too far?
Musicians wrestle everywhere:
All day, among the crowded air,
  I hear the silver strife;
And -- waking long before the dawn --
Such transport breaks upon the town
  I think it that "new life!"
It is not bird, it has no nest;
Nor band, in brass and scarlet dressed,
  Nor tambourine, nor man;
It is not hymn from pulpit read, --
The morning stars the treble led
Some say it is the spheres at play!
Some say that bright majority
  Of vanished dames and men!
Some think it service in the place
Where we, with late, celestial face,
  Please God, shall ascertain!
Just lost when I was saved!
Just felt the world go by!
Just girt me for the onset with eternity,
When breath blew back,
And on the other side
I heard recede the disappointed tide!
Therefore, as one returned, I feel,
Odd secrets of the line to tell!
Some sailor, skirting foreign shores,
Some pale reporter from the awful doors
Next time, the things to see
Unscrutinized by eye.
Next time, to tarry,
While the ages steal, --
Slow tramp the centuries,
And the cycles wheel.
Of all the souls that stand create
When sense from spirit files away,
And subterfuge is done;
When that which is and that which was
Apart, intrinsic, stand,
And this brief tragedy of flesh
Is shifted like a sand;
When figures show their royal front
And mists are carved away, --
Behold the atom I preferred
To all the lists of clay!
I have no life but this,
Nor any death, but lest
Dispelled from there;
Nor tie to earths to come,
Except through this extent,
Your riches taught me poverty.
Myself a millionnaire
In little wealths, -- as girls could boast, --
You drifted your dominions
And I esteemed all poverty,
For life's estate with you.
Of mines I little know, myself,
But just the names of gems, --
The colors of the commonest;
And scarce of diadems
So much that, did I meet the queen,
Her glory I should know:
But this must be a different wealth,
To miss it beggars so.
I 'm sure 't is India all day
To those who look on you
Without a stint, without a blame, --
Might I but be the Jew!
I 'm sure it is Golconda,M
Beyond my power to deem, --
To have a smile for mine each day,
How better than a gem!
At least, it solaces to know
That there exists a gold,
Although I prove it just in time
Its distance to behold!
It 's far, far treasure to surmise,
And estimate the pearl
That slipped my simple fingers through
While just a girl at school!
I gave myself to him,
And took himself for pay.
The solemn contract of a life
Was ratified this way.
The wealth might disappoint,
Than this great purchaser suspect,
The daily own of Love
Depreciate the vision;
But, till the merchant buy,
Still fable, in the isles of spice,
The subtle cargoes lie.
At least, 't is mutual risk, --
Some found it mutual gain;
Sweet debt of Life, -- each night to owe,
Insolvent, every noon.
"GOING to him! Happy letter! Tell him --
Tell him the page I didn't write;
Tell him I only said the syntax,
And left the verb and the pronoun out.
w the fingers hurried,
Then how they waded, slow, slow, slow;
And then you wished you had eyes in your pages,
So you could see what moved them so.
"Tell him it wasn't a practised writer,
You guessed, from the way the sentence toiled;
You could hear the bodice tug, behind you,
As if it held but the might of a child;
You almost pitied it, you, it worked so.
Tell him -- No, you may quibble there,
For it would split his heart to know it,
And then you and I were silenter.
"Tell him night finished before M
And the old clock kept neighing 'day!'
And you got sleepy and begged to be ended --
What could it hinder so, to say?
Tell him just how she sealed you, cautious,
But if he ask where you are hid
Until to-morrow, -- happy letter!
Gesture, coquette, and shake your head!"
The way I read a letter 's this:
'T is first I lock the door,
And push it with my fingers next,
For transport it be sure.
And then I go the furthest off
To counteract a knock;
Then draw my little letter forM
And softly pick its lock.
Then, glancing narrow at the wall,
And narrow at the floor,
For firm conviction of a mouse
Not exorcised before,
Peruse how infinite I am
To -- no one that you know!
And sigh for lack of heaven, -- but not
The heaven the creeds bestow.
Wild nights! Wild nights!
Wild nights should be
To a heart in port, --
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart.
The night was wide, and furnished scant
With but a single star,
That often as a cloud it met
Blew out itself for fear.
The wind pursued the little bush,
And drove away the leaves
November left; then clambered up
And fretted in the eaves.
No squirrel went abroad;
A dog's belated feet
Like intermittent plush were heard
Adown the empty street.
To feel if blinds be fast,
And closer to the fire
Her little rocking-chair to draw,
And shiver for the pooM
The housewife's gentle task.
"How pleasanter," said she
Unto the sofa opposite,
"The sleet than May -- no thee!"
Did the harebell loose her girdle
Would the bee the harebell hallow
Did the paradise, persuaded,
Yield her moat of pearl,
Would the Eden be an Eden,
Or the earl an earl?
A charm invests a face
Imperfectly beheld, --
The lady dare not lift her veil
For fear it be dispelled.
But peers beyond her meM
And wishes, and denies, --
Lest interview annul a want
That image satisfies.
The rose did caper on her cheek,
Her bodice rose and fell,
Her pretty speech, like drunken men,
Did stagger pitiful.
Her fingers fumbled at her work, --
Her needle would not go;
What ailed so smart a little maid
It puzzled me to know,
Till opposite I spied a cheek
That bore another rose;
Just opposite, another speech
That like the drunkard goes;
A vest that, like the bodice, danced
To the immortal tune, --
Till those two troubled little clocks
Ticked softly into one.
In lands I never saw, they say,
Immortal Alps look down,
Whose bonnets touch the firmament,
Whose sandals touch the town, --
Meek at whose everlasting feet
A myriad daisies play.
Which, sir, are you, and which am I,
The moon is distant from the sea,
And yet with amber hands
She leads him, docile as a boy,
Along appointed sands.
He never misses a degree;
Obedient to her eye,
He comes just so far toward the town,
Just so far goes away.
Oh, Signor, thine the amber hand,
And mine the distant sea, --
Obedient to the least command
Thine eyes impose on me.
He put the belt around my life, --
I heard the buckle snap,
And turned away, imperial,
My lifetime folding up
Deliberate, as a duke would do
A kingdom's title-deed, --
Henceforth a dedicated sort,
A member of the cloud.
Yet not too far to come at call,
And do the little toils
t make the circuit of the rest,
And deal occasional smiles
To lives that stoop to notice mine
And kindly ask it in, --
Whose invitation, knew you not
For whom I must decline?
I held a jewel in my fingers
The day was warm, and winds were prosy;
I said: "'T will keep."
I woke and chid my honest fingers, --
And now an amethyst remembrance
What if I say I shall not wait?
What if I burst the fleshly M
And pass, escaped, to thee?
What if I file this mortal off,
See where it hurt me, -- that 's enough, --
And wade in liberty?
They cannot take us any more, --
Dungeons may call, and guns implore;
Unmeaning now, to me,
As laughter was an hour ago,
Or laces, or a travelling show,
Or who died yesterday!
Nature, the gentlest mother,
Impatient of no child,
The feeblest or the waywardest, --
In forest and the hill
Restraining rampant squirrel
Or too impetuous bird.
How fair her conversation,
A summer afternoon, --
Her household, her assembly;
And when the sun goes down
Her voice among the aisles
Incites the timid prayer
Of the minutest cricket,
The most unworthy flower.
When all the children sleep
She turns as long away
As will suffice to light her lamps;
Then, bending from the sky
With infinite affection
Her golden finger on her lip,
Wills silence everywhere.
Will there really be a morning?
Is there such a thing as day?
Could I see it from the mountains
If I were as tall as they?
Has it feet like water-lilies?
Has it feathers like a bird?
Is it brought from famous countries
Of which I have never heard?
Oh, some scholar! Oh, some sailor!
Oh, some wise man from the skies!
Please to tell a little pilgrim
Where the place called morning lies!
At half-past three a single bird
nded but a single term
At half-past four, experiment
Had subjugated test,
And lo! her silver principle
Supplanted all the rest.
At half-past seven, element
Nor implement was seen,
And place was where the presence was,
Circumference between.
The day came slow, till five o'clock,
Then sprang before the hills
Like hindered rubies, or the light
A sudden musket spills.
The purple could not keep the east,
The sunrise shook from fold,
s of topaz, packed a night,
The lady just unrolled.
The happy winds their timbrels took;
The birds, in docile rows,
Arranged themselves around their prince
(The wind is prince of those).
The orchard sparkled like a Jew, --
How mighty 't was, to stay
A guest in this stupendous place,
The parlor of the day!
The sun just touched the morning;
The morning, happy thing,
Supposed that he had come to dwell,
And life would be all spring.
She felt herself supremer, --
A raised, ethereal thing;
Henceforth for her what holiday!
Meanwhile, her wheeling king
Trailed slow along the orchards
His haughty, spangled hems,
Leaving a new necessity, --
The want of diadems!
The morning fluttered, staggered,
Felt feebly for her crown, --
Her unanointed forehead
Henceforth her only one.
The robin is the one
That interrupts the morn
With hurried, few, express reports
When March is scarcely on.
The robin is the one
That overflows the noon
With her cherubic quantity,
The robin is the one
That speechless from her nest
Submits that home and certainty
And sanctity are best.
THE BUTTERFLY'S DAY.
From cocoon forth a butterfly
As lady from her door
Emerged -- a summer afternoon --
Repairing everywhere,
Without design, that I could trace,
Except to stray abroad
On miscellaneous enterprise
The clovers understood.
Her pretty parasol was seen
Contracting in a field
Where men made hay, then struggliM
With an opposing cloud,
Where parties, phantom as herself,
To Nowhere seemed to go
In purposeless circumference,
As 't were a tropic show.
And notwithstanding bee that worked,
And flower that zealous blew,
This audience of idleness
Disdained them, from the sky,
Till sundown crept, a steady tide,
And men that made the hay,
And afternoon, and butterfly,
Extinguished in its sea.
Before you thought of spring,
Except as a surmise,
You see, God bless his sM
A fellow in the skies
Of independent hues,
A little weather-worn,
Inspiriting habiliments
Of indigo and brown.
With specimens of song,
As if for you to choose,
Discretion in the interval,
With gay delays he goes
To some superior tree
Without a single leaf,
And shouts for joy to nobody
But his seraphic self!
An altered look about the hills;
A Tyrian light the village fills;
A wider sunrise in the dawn;
A deeper twilight on the lawn;
A print of a vermilion fooM
A purple finger on the slope;
A flippant fly upon the pane;
A spider at his trade again;
An added strut in chanticleer;
A flower expected everywhere;
An axe shrill singing in the woods;
Fern-odors on untravelled roads, --
All this, and more I cannot tell,
A furtive look you know as well,
And Nicodemus' mystery
Receives its annual reply.
THE SLEEPING FLOWERS.
"Whose are the little beds," I asked,
"Which in the valleys lie?"
Some shook their heads, and others smiled,
"Perhaps they did not hear," I said;
"I will inquire again.
Whose are the beds, the tiny beds
So thick upon the plain?"
"'T is daisy in the shortest;
A little farther on,
Nearest the door to wake the first,
"'T is iris, sir, and aster,
Batschia in the blanket red,
And chubby daffodil."
Meanwhile at many cradles
Her busy foot she plied,
Humming the quaintest lullaby
That ever rocked a child.
"Hush! Epigea wakens! --
The crocus stirs her lids,
Rhodora's cheek is crimson, --
She's dreaming of the woods."
Then, turning from them, reverent,
"Their bed-time 't is," she said;
"The bumble-bees will wake them
When April woods are red."
Pigmy seraphs gone astray,
Velvet people from Vevay,
Belles from some lost summer day,
Bees' exclusive coterie.
Paris could not lay the fold
Belted down with emerald;
Venice could not show a cheek
Of a tint so lustrous meek.
Never such an ambuscade
As of brier and leaf displayed
 my little damask maid.
I had rather wear her grace
Than an earl's distinguished face;
I had rather dwell like her
Than be Duke of Exeter
Royalty enough for me
To subdue the bumble-bee!
THE ORIOLE'S SECRET.
To hear an oriole sing
May be a common thing,
It is not of the bird
Who sings the same, unheard,
The fashion of the ear
Attireth that it hear
So whether it be rune,
Or whether it be none,
The sceptic showeth me;
One of the ones that Midas touched,
Who failed to touch us all,
Was that confiding prodigal,
The blissful oriole.
So drunk, he disavows it
With badinage divine;
So dazzling, we mistake him
For an alighting mine.
A pleader, a dissembler,
An epicure, a thief, --
Betimes an oratorio,
An ecstasy in chief;
The Jesuit of orchards,
He cheats as he enchants
For his decamping wants.
The meteor of birds,
Departing like a pageant
Of ballads and of bards.
I never thought that Jason sought
For any golden fleece;
But then I am a rural man,
With thoughts that make for peace.
But if there were a Jason,
Behold his lost emolument
Upon the apple-tree.
I dreaded that first robin so,
But he is mastered now,
And I 'm accustomed to him grown, --
He hurts a little, though.
I thought if I could only live
Not all pianos in the woods
Had power to mangle me.
I dared not meet the daffodils,
For fear their yellow gown
Would pierce me with a fashion
So foreign to my own.
I wished the grass would hurry,
So when 't was time to see,
He 'd be too tall, the tallest one
Could stretch to look at me.
I could not bear the bees should come,
I wished they 'd stay away
In those dim countries where they go:
What word had they for me?
They 're here, though; not a creature failed,
In gentle deference to me,
The Queen of Calvary.
Each one salutes me as he goes,
And I my childish plumes
Lift, in bereaved acknowledgment
Of their unthinking drums.
A route of evanescence
With a revolving wheel;
A resonance of emerald,
A rush of cochineal;
And every blossom on the bush
Adjusts its tumbled head, --
The mail from Tunis, probably,
An easy morning's ride.
The skies can't keep their secret!
The hills just tell the orchards --
And they the daffodils!
A bird, by chance, that goes that way
Soft overheard the whole.
If I should bribe the little bird,
Who knows but she would tell?
I think I won't, however,
It's finer not to know;
If summer were an axiom,
What sorcery had snow?
So keep your secret, Father!
I would not, if I could,
Know what the sapphire fellows do,
In your new-fashioned world!
Who robbed the woods,
Brought out their burrs and mosses
His fantasy to please.
He scanned their trinkets, curious,
He grasped, he bore away.
What will the solemn hemlock,
What will the fir-tree say?
Two butterflies went out at noon
And waltzed above a stream,
Then stepped straight through the firmament
And rested on a beam;
And then together bore away
Upon a shining sea, --
Though never yet, in any port,
Their coming mentioned be.
If spoken by the distant bird,
By frigate or by merchantman,
Report was not to me.
I started early, took my dog,
And visited the sea;
The mermaids in the basement
Came out to look at me,
And frigates in the upper floor
Extended hempen hands,
Presuming me to be a mouse
Aground, upon the sands.
But no man moved me till the tide
Went past my simple shoe,
And past my apron and my belt,
And past my bodice too,
And made as he would eat me up
Upon a dandelion's sleeve --
And then I started too.
And he -- he followed close behind;
I felt his silver heel
Upon my ankle, -- then my shoes
Would overflow with pearl.
Until we met the solid town,
No man he seemed to know;
And bowing with a mighty look
At me, the sea withdrew.
Arcturus is his other name, --
I'd rather call him star!
It's so unkind of science
To go and interfere!
I pull a flower from the woods, --
A monster with a glass
Computes the stamens in a breath,
Whereas I took the butterfly
Aforetime in my hat,
He sits erect in cabinets,
The clover-bells forgot.
What once was heaven, is zenith now.
Where I proposed to go
When time's brief masquerade was done,
Is mapped, and charted too!
What if the poles should frisk about
And stand upon their heads!
I hope I 'm ready for the worst,
Whatever prank betides!
Perhaps the kingdom of Heaven 's changed!
I hope the children there
Won't be new-fashioned when I come,
And laugh at me, and stare!
I hope the father in the skies
Will lift his little girl, --
Old-fashioned, naughty, everything, --
Over the stile of pearl!
An awful tempest mashed the air,
The clouds were gaunt and few;
A black, as of a spectre's cloak,
Hid heaven and earth from view.
The creatures chuckled on the roofs
And whistled in the air,
And shook their fists and gnashed their teeth.
And swung their frenzied hair.
The morning lit, the birds arose;
The monster's faded eyes
And peace was Paradise!
An everywhere of silver,
To keep it from effacing
The track called land.
A bird came down the walk:
He did not know I saw;
He bit an angle-worm in halves
And ate the fellow, raw.
And then he drank a dew
From a convenient grass,
And then hopped sidewise to the wall
To let a beetle pass.
He glanced with rapid eyes
That hurried all abroad, --
They looked like frightened M
He stirred his velvet head
Like one in danger; cautious,
I offered him a crumb,
And he unrolled his feathers
And rowed him softer home
Than oars divide the ocean,
Too silver for a seam,
Or butterflies, off banks of noon,
Leap, splashless, as they swim.
A narrow fellow in the grass
You may have met him, -- did you not,
His notice sudden is.
The grass divides as with a comb,
A spotted shaft is seen;
And then it closes at yourM
And opens further on.
He likes a boggy acre,
A floor too cool for corn.
Yet when a child, and barefoot,
I more than once, at morn,
Have passed, I thought, a whip-lash
Unbraiding in the sun, --
When, stooping to secure it,
It wrinkled, and was gone.
Several of nature's people
I know, and they know me;
I feel for them a transport
But never met this fellow,
Without a tighter breathing,
And zero at the bone.
m is the elf of plants,
At evening it is not;
At morning in a truffled hut
It stops upon a spot
As if it tarried always;
And yet its whole career
Is shorter than a snake's delay,
And fleeter than a tare.
'T is vegetation's juggler,
Doth like a bubble antedate,
And like a bubble hie.
I feel as if the grass were pleased
To have it intermit;
The surreptitious scion
Of summer's circumspect.
Had nature any outcast face,
Could she a son contemn,
Had nature an Iscariot,
ushroom, -- it is him.
There came a wind like a bugle;
It quivered through the grass,
And a green chill upon the heat
We barred the windows and the doors
As from an emerald ghost;
The doom's electric moccason
That very instant passed.
On a strange mob of panting trees,
And fences fled away,
And rivers where the houses ran
The living looked that day.
The bell within the steeple wild
The flying tidings whirled.
d yet abide the world!
A spider sewed at night
Upon an arc of white.
If ruff it was of dame
Himself, himself inform.
I know a place where summer strives
With such a practised frost,
She each year leads her daisies back,
Recording briefly, "Lost."
But when the south wind stirs the pools
And struggles in the lanes,
Her heart misgives her for her vow,
Into the lap of adamant,
And spices, and the dew,
That stiffens quietly to quartz,
Upon her amber shoe.
The one that could repeat the summer day
Were greater than itself, though he
Minutest of mankind might be.
And who could reproduce the sun,
At period of going down --
The lingering and the stain, I mean --
When Orient has been outgrown,
And Occident becomes unknown,
The wind tapped like a tired man,
I boldly answered; entered then
A rapid, footless guest,
To offer whom a chair
Were as impossible as hand
No bone had he to bind him,
His speech was like the push
Of numerous humming-birds at once
From a superior bush.
His countenance a billow,
His fingers, if he pass,
Let go a music, as of tunes
Blown tremulous in glass.
He visited, still flitting;
Then, like a timid man,
Again he tapped -- 't was flurriedly --
And I became alone.M
Nature rarer uses yellow
   Than another hue;
Saves she all of that for sunsets, --
   Prodigal of blue,
Spending scarlet like a woman,
   Yellow she affords
Only scantly and selectly,
   Like a lover's words.
The leaves, like women, interchange
  Sagacious confidence;
Somewhat of nods, and somewhat of
  Portentous inference,
The parties in both cases
  Enjoining secrecy, --
How happy is the little stone
That rambles in the road alone,
And doesn't care about careers,
And exigencies never fears;
Whose coat of elemental brown
A passing universe put on;
And independent as the sun,
Associates or glows alone,
Fulfilling absolute decree
In casual simplicity.
It sounded as if the streets were running,
And then the streets stood still.
Eclipse was all we could see at the window,
And awe was all we could feel.
By and by the boldest stole out of hisM
To see if time was there.
Nature was in her beryl apron,
The rat is the concisest tenant.
Repudiates the obligation,
To sound or circumvent,
Frequently the woods are pink,
Frequently are brown;
Frequently the hills undress
Behind my native town.
Oft a head is crested
Where it used to be.
And the earth, they tell me,
On its axis turned, --
By but twelve performed!
The wind begun to rock the grass
With threatening tunes and low, --
He flung a menace at the earth,
A menace at the sky.
The leaves unhooked themselves from trees
And started all abroad;
The dust did scoop itself like hands
And throw away the road.
The wagons quickened on the streets,
The lightning showed a yellow beak,
And then a livid claw.
The birds put up the bars to nests,
The cattle fled to barns;
There came one drop of giant rain,
And then, as if the hands
That held the dams had parted hold,
The waters wrecked the sky,
But overlooked my father's house,
Just quartering a tree.
South winds jostle them,
Drink, and are gone.
On their passage Cashmere;
I, softly plucking,M
Where ships of purple gently toss
On seas of daffodil,
Fantastic sailors mingle,
And then -- the wharf is still.
She sweeps with many-colored brooms,
And leaves the shreds behind;
Oh, housewife in the evening west,
Come back, and dust the pond!
You dropped a purple ravelling in,
You dropped an amber thread;
And now you 've littered all the East
With duds of emerald!
And still she plies her spotted brooms,
And still the aprons flyM
Till brooms fade softly into stars --
And then I come away.
Like mighty footlights burned the red
At bases of the trees, --
The far theatricals of day
Exhibiting to these.
'T was universe that did applaud
While, chiefest of the crowd,
Enabled by his royal dress,
Myself distinguished God.
Bring me the sunset in a cup,
Reckon the morning's flagons up,
   And say how many dew;
Tell me how far the morning leaps,
Tell me what time the weaver sleeps
 Who spun the breadths of blue!
Write me how many notes there be
In the new robin's ecstasy
   Among astonished boughs;
How many trips the tortoise makes,
How many cups the bee partakes, --
   The debauchee of dews!
Also, who laid the rainbow's piers,
Also, who leads the docile spheres
   By withes of supple blue?
Whose fingers string the stalactite,
Who counts the wampum of the night,
   To see that none is due?
Who built this little Alban house
And shut the windows down so close
Who 'll let me out some gala day,
With implements to fly away,
   Passing pomposity?
Blazing in gold and quenching in purple,
Leaping like leopards to the sky,
Then at the feet of the old horizon
Laying her spotted face, to die;
Stooping as low as the otter's window,
Touching the roof and tinting the barn,
Kissing her bonnet to the meadow, --
And the juggler of day is gone!
Farther in summer than the birds,
A minor nation celebrates
Its unobtrusive mass.
No ordinance is seen,
So gradual the grace,
A pensive custom it becomes,
Enlarging loneliness.
Antiquest felt at noon
When August, burning low,
Calls forth this spectral canticle,
Remit as yet no grace,
No furrow on the glow,
Yet a druidic difference
Enhances nature now.
As imperceptibly as grief
The summer lapsed away, --
Too imperceptible, at last,
To seem like perfidy.
As twilight long begun,
Or Nature, spending with herself
Sequestered afternoon.
The dusk drew earlier in,
The morning foreign shone, --
A courteous, yet harrowing grace,
As guest who would be gone.
And thus, without a wing,
Or service of a keel,
Our summer made her light escape
It can't be summer, -- that got through;
It 's early yet for spring;
There 's that long town of white to cross
Before the blackbirds sing.
It can't be dying, -- it's too rougeM
The dead shall go in white.
So sunset shuts my question down
With clasps of chrysolite.
The gentian weaves her fringes,
The maple's loom is red.
My departing blossoms
A brief, but patient illness,
And one, below this morning,
Is where the angels are.
It was a short procession, --
The bobolink was there,
An aged bee addressed us,
And then we knelt in prayer.
We trust that she was willing, --
We ask that we may M
Summer, sister, seraph,
Let us go with thee!
In the name of the bee
And of the butterfly
And of the breeze, amen!
God made a little gentian;
It tried to be a rose
And failed, and all the summer laughed.
But just before the snows
There came a purple creature
That ravished all the hill;
And summer hid her forehead,
And mockery was still.
The frosts were her condition;
The Tyrian would not come
Until the North evoked it.
"Creator! shall I bloom?"
Besides the autumn poets sing,
A little this side of the snow
And that side of the haze.
A few incisive mornings,
A few ascetic eyes, --
Gone Mr. Bryant's golden-rod,
And Mr. Thomson's sheaves.
Still is the bustle in the brook,
Sealed are the spicy valves;
Mesmeric fingers softly touch
The eyes of many elves.
Perhaps a squirrel may remain,
My sentiments to share.
Grant me, O Lord, a sunny mind,
Thy windy will to bear!
sifts from leaden sieves,
It powders all the wood,
It fills with alabaster wool
The wrinkles of the road.
It makes an even face
Of mountain and of plain, --
Unbroken forehead from the east
Unto the east again.
It reaches to the fence,
It wraps it, rail by rail,
Till it is lost in fleeces;
It flings a crystal veil
On stump and stack and stem, --
The summer's empty room,
Acres of seams where harvests were,
Recordless, but for them.
It ruffles wrists of posts,
As ankles of a queen, --
ills its artisans like ghosts,
Denying they have been.
No brigadier throughout the year
So civic as the jay.
A neighbor and a warrior too,
With shrill felicity
Pursuing winds that censure us
The brother of the universe
Was never blown away.
The snow and he are intimate;
I 've often seen them play
When heaven looked upon us all
I felt apology were due
Whose pompous frown was nutriment
The pillow of this daring head
Is pungent evergreens;
His larder -- terse and militant --
Unknown, refreshing things;
His character a tonic,
His future a dispute;
Unfair an immortality
That leaves this neighbor out.
IV. TIME AND ETERNITY.
Let down the bars, O Death!
The tired flocks come in
Whose bleating ceases to repeat,
Whose wandering is done.
Thine is the stillest night,
Thine the securest fold;
Too near thou art for seeking thee,
Too tender to be told.
Pray do not ask me how, --
Indeed, I 'm too astonished
To think of answering you!
And yet it will be done
As sure as flocks go home at night
Unto the shepherd's arm!
Perhaps you 're going too!
If you should get there first,
Save just a little place for me
Close to the two I lost!
The smallest "robe" will fit me,
And just a bit of "crown;"
For you know we do not mind our dress
When we are going home.
 'm glad I don't believe it,
For it would stop my breath,
And I 'd like to look a little more
At such a curious earth!
I am glad they did believe it
Whom I have never found
Since the mighty autumn afternoon
I left them in the ground.
At least to pray is left, is left.
I know not which thy chamber is, --
I 'm knocking everywhere.
Thou stirrest earthquake in the South,
And maelstrom in the sea;
Say, Jesus Christ of Nazareth,
Hast thou no arm for me?
Step lightly on this narrow spot!
The broadest land that grows
Is not so ample as the breast
These emerald seams enclose.
Step lofty; for this name is told
As far as cannon dwell,
Or flag subsist, or fame export
Her deathless syllable.
Morns like these we parted;
Noons like these she rose,
Fluttering first, then firmer,
Never did she lisp it,
And 't was not for me;
She was mute from transport,
Till the evening, nearing,
Quick! a sharper rustling!
And this linnet flew!
A death-blow is a life-blow to some
Who, till they died, did not alive become;
Who, had they lived, had died, but when
They died, vitality begun.
I read my sentence steadily,
Reviewed it with my eyes,
To see that I made no mistake
In its extremest clause, --
The date, and manner of the shame;
And then the pious form
That "God have mercy" on the soul
I made my soul familiar
That at the last it should not be
But she and Death, acquainted,
Meet tranquilly as friends,
Salute and pass without a hint --
And there the matter ends.
I have not told my garden yet,
Lest that should conquer me;
I have not quite the strength now
To break it to the bee.
I will not name it in the street,
For shops would stare, that I,
So shy, so very ignorant,
Should have the face to die.
The hillsides must not know it,
Where I have rambledM
Nor tell the loving forests
The day that I shall go,
Nor lisp it at the table,
Nor heedless by the way
Hint that within the riddle
One will walk to-day!
They dropped like flakes, they dropped like stars,
   Like petals from a rose,
When suddenly across the June
   A wind with fingers goes.
They perished in the seamless grass, --
   No eye could find the place;
But God on his repealless list
   Can summon every face.
The only ghost I ever M
Was dressed in mechlin, -- so;
He wore no sandal on his foot,
And stepped like flakes of snow.
His gait was soundless, like the bird,
But rapid, like the roe;
His fashions quaint, mosaic,
Or, haply, mistletoe.
His conversation seldom,
His laughter like the breeze
That dies away in dimples
Among the pensive trees.
Our interview was transient,--
Of me, himself was shy;
And God forbid I look behind
Since that appalling day!
Some, too fragile for winter winds,
The thoughtful gravM
Tenderly tucking them in from frost
Before their feet are cold.
Never the treasures in her nest
The cautious grave exposes,
Building where schoolboy dare not look
And sportsman is not bold.
This covert have all the children
Early aged, and often cold, --
Sparrows unnoticed by the Father;
Lambs for whom time had not a fold.
As by the dead we love to sit,
Become so wondrous dear,
As for the lost we grapple,
Though all the rest are here, --
In broken mathematics
e estimate our prize,
Vast, in its fading ratio,
To our penurious eyes!
Death sets a thing significant
The eye had hurried by,
Except a perished creature
To ponder little workmanships
In crayon or in wool,
With "This was last her fingers did,"
The thimble weighed too heavy,
The stitches stopped themselves,
And then 't was put among the dust
Upon the closet shelves.
A book I have, a friend gave,
Whose pencil, here and there,M
Had notched the place that pleased him, --
At rest his fingers are.
Now, when I read, I read not,
For interrupting tears
Obliterate the etchings
Too costly for repairs.
I went to heaven, --
'T was a small town,
Stiller than the fields
Beautiful as pictures
People like the moth,
ir height in heaven comforts not,
Their glory nought to me;
'T was best imperfect, as it was;
I 'm finite, I can't see.
The house of supposition,
The glimmering frontier
That skirts the acres of perhaps,
To me shows insecure.
The wealth I had contented me;
If 't was a meaner size,
Then I had counted it until
It pleased my narrow eyes
Better than larger values,
However true their show;
This timid life of evidence
Keeps pleading, "I don't know."
There is a shame of nobleness
onfronting sudden pelf, --
A finer shame of ecstasy
Convicted of itself.
A best disgrace a brave man feels,
Acknowledged of the brave, --
One more "Ye Blessed" to be told;
But this involves the grave.
Triumph may be of several kinds.
There 's triumph in the room
When that old imperator, Death,
By faith is overcome.
There 's triumph of the finer mind
When truth, affronted long,
Advances calm to her supreme,
Her God her only throng.
A triumph when temptation's bribeM
Is slowly handed back,
One eye upon the heaven renounced
And one upon the rack.
Severer triumph, by himself
Experienced, who can pass
Acquitted from that naked bar,
Jehovah's countenance!
Pompless no life can pass away;
    The lowliest career
To the same pageant wends its way
    As that exalted here.
How cordial is the mystery!
    The hospitable pall
A "this way" beckons spaciously, --
    A miracle for all!
I noticed people disappeared,
Supposed they visited remote,
Or settled regions wild.
Now know I they both visited
And settled regions wild,
But did because they died, -- a fact
Withheld the little child!
I had no cause to be awake,
My best was gone to sleep,
And morn a new politeness took,
And failed to wake them up,
But called the others clear,
And passed their curtains by.
Sweet morning, when I over-sleep,
Knock, recollect, for me!
I looked at sunrise once,
And then I looked at tM
And wishfulness in me arose
For circumstance the same.
'T was such an ample peace,
It could not hold a sigh, --
'T was Sabbath with the bells divorced,
'T was sunset all the day.
So choosing but a gown
And taking but a prayer,
The only raiment I should need,
I struggled, and was there.
If anybody's friend be dead,
It 's sharpest of the theme
The thinking how they walked alive,
At such and such a time.
Their costume, of a Sunday,
Some manner of the hair, --
Lost, in the sepulchre.
How warm they were on such a day:
You almost feel the date,
So short way off it seems; and now,
They 're centuries from that.
How pleased they were at what you said;
You try to touch the smile,
And dip your fingers in the frost:
When was it, can you tell,
You asked the company to tea,
Acquaintance, just a few,
And chatted close with this grand thing
That don't remember you?
Past bows and invitations,
Past interview, and vow,
Past what ourselves can esM
That makes the quick of woe!
Our journey had advanced;
Our feet were almost come
To that odd fork in Being's road,
Our pace took sudden awe,
Our feet reluctant led.
Before were cities, but between,
The forest of the dead.
Retreat was out of hope, --
Behind, a sealed route,
Eternity's white flag before,
And God at every gate.
Ample make this bed.
Make this bed with awe;
In it wait till judgmenM
Be its mattress straight,
Be its pillow round;
Let no sunrise' yellow noise
Interrupt this ground.
On such a night, or such a night,
If such a little figure
Slipped quiet from its chair,
So quiet, oh, how quiet!
That nobody might know
But that the little figure
Rocked softer, to and fro?
On such a dawn, or such a dawn,
That such a little figure
Too sound asleep did lie
For chanticleer to wake it,M
Or stirring house below,
Or giddy bird in orchard,
Or early task to do?
There was a little figure plump
For every little knoll,
Busy needles, and spools of thread,
And trudging feet from school.
Playmates, and holidays, and nuts,
And visions vast and small.
Strange that the feet so precious charged
Should reach so small a goal!
Essential oils are wrung:
The attar from the rose
Is not expressed by suns alone,
It is the gift of screws.
The general rose decays;
Makes summer when the lady lies
In ceaseless rosemary.
I lived on dread; to those who know
The stimulus there is
In danger, other impetus
Is numb and vital-less.
As 't were a spur upon the soul,
A fear will urge it where
To go without the spectre's aid
Were challenging despair.
And you should live,
And time should gurgle on,
And morn should beam,
And noon should burn,
As it has usual done;
If birds should build as early,
ees as bustling go, --
One might depart at option
From enterprise below!
'T is sweet to know that stocks will stand
When we with daisies lie,
That commerce will continue,
And trades as briskly fly.
It makes the parting tranquil
And keeps the soul serene,
That gentlemen so sprightly
Conduct the pleasing scene!
Her final summer was it,
And yet we guessed it not;
If tenderer industriousness
Pervaded her, we thought
A further force of life
Developed from within, --
When Death lit all the shortness up,
And made the hurry plain.
We wondered at our blindness, --
When nothing was to see
But her Carrara guide-post, --
When, duller than our dullness,
The busy darling lay,
So busy was she, finishing,
So leisurely were we!
One need not be a chamber to be haunted,
One need not be a house;
The brain has corridors surpassing
Far safer, of a midnight meeting
Than an interior confronting
Far safer through an Abbey gallop,
Than, moonless, one's own self encounter
Ourself, behind ourself concealed,
Should startle most;
Assassin, hid in our apartment,
The prudent carries a revolver,
O'erlooking a superior spectre
She died, -- this was the way she died;
And when her breath was done,
Took up her simple wardrobe
And started for the sun.
le figure at the gate
The angels must have spied,
Since I could never find her
Upon the mortal side.
Wait till the majesty of Death
Invests so mean a brow!
Almost a powdered footman
Might dare to touch it now!
Wait till in everlasting robes
This democrat is dressed,
Then prate about "preferment"
And "station" and the rest!
Around this quiet courtier
Obsequious angels wait!
Full royal is his retinue,
Full purple is his state!
A lord might dare to lift the hat
To such a modest clay,
Since that my Lord, "the Lord of lords"
Receives unblushingly!
Went up a year this evening!
I recollect it well!
Amid no bells nor bravos
The bystanders will tell!
Cheerful, as to the village,
Tranquil, as to repose,
Chastened, as to the chapel,
This humble tourist rose.
Did not talk of returning,
When, were the gales propitious,
We might look for him;
Was grateful for the roses
In life's diverse bouquet,
Talked softly of new spM
To pick another day.
Beguiling thus the wonder,
The wondrous nearer drew;
Hands bustled at the moorings --
The crowd respectful grew.
Ascended from our vision
To countenances new!
A difference, a daisy,
Is all the rest I knew!
Taken from men this morning,
Carried by men to-day,
Met by the gods with banners
Who marshalled her away.
One little maid from playmates,
One little mind from school, --
There must be guests in Eden;
All the rooms are full.
 the east from even,
Dim as the border star, --
Courtiers quaint, in kingdoms,
Peculiar traveller comes?
Who is the landlord?
Behold, what curious rooms!
No ruddy fires on the hearth,
No brimming tankards flow.
Necromancer, landlord,
Who are these below?
It was not death, for I stood up,
And all the dead lie down;
It was not night, for all the bells
Put out their tongues, for noon.
as not frost, for on my flesh
I felt siroccos crawl, --
Nor fire, for just my marble feet
Could keep a chancel cool.
And yet it tasted like them all;
The figures I have seen
Set orderly, for burial,
Reminded me of mine,
As if my life were shaven
And fitted to a frame,
And could not breathe without a key;
And 't was like midnight, some,
When everything that ticked has stopped,
And space stares, all around,
Or grisly frosts, first autumn morns,
Repeal the beating ground.
But most like chaos, -M
- stopless, cool, --
Without a chance or spar,
Or even a report of land
I should not dare to leave my friend,
Because -- because if he should die
While I was gone, and I -- too late --
Should reach the heart that wanted me;
If I should disappoint the eyes
That hunted, hunted so, to see,
And could not bear to shut until
They "noticed" me -- they noticed me;
If I should stab the patient faith
So sure I 'd come -- so sure I 'd come,
g, listening, went to sleep
Telling my tardy name, --
My heart would wish it broke before,
Since breaking then, since breaking then,
Were useless as next morning's sun,
Where midnight frosts had lain!
Great streets of silence led away
To neighborhoods of pause;
Here was no notice, no dissent,
No universe, no laws.
By clocks 't was morning, and for night
The bells at distance called;
But epoch had no basis here,
A hurry in the breath,
An ecstasy of parting
Denominated "Death," --
An anguish at the mention,
Which, when to patience grown,
I 've known permission given
Of tribulation these are they
Denoted by the white;
The spangled gowns, a lesser rank
Of victors designate.
All these did conquer; but the ones
Who overcame most times
Wear nothing commoner than snow,
No ornament but palms.
Surrender is a sort unknown
On this superior soil;
t, an outgrown anguish,
Remembered as the mile
Our panting ankle barely gained
When night devoured the road;
But we stood whispering in the house,
And all we said was "Saved"!
I think just how my shape will rise
When I shall be forgiven,
Till hair and eyes and timid head
Are out of sight, in heaven.
I think just how my lips will weigh
With shapeless, quivering prayer
That you, so late, consider me,
The sparrow of your care.
I mind me that of anguish sent,
Some drifts were movedM
Before my simple bosom broke, --
And why not this, if they?
And so, until delirious borne
I con that thing, -- "forgiven," --
Till with long fright and longer trust
I drop my heart, unshriven!
THE FORGOTTEN GRAVE.
After a hundred years
Nobody knows the place, --
Agony, that enacted there,
Motionless as peace.
Weeds triumphant ranged,
Strangers strolled and spelled
At the lone orthography
Winds of summer fields
Recollect the way, --
Lay this laurel on the one
Too intrinsic for renown.
Laurel! veil your deathless tree, --
Him you chasten, that is he!
'T is little I could care for pearls
  Who own the ample sea;
Or brooches, when the Emperor
  With rubies pelteth me;
Or gold, who am the Prince of Mines;
  Or diamonds, when I see
A diadem to fit a dome
  Continual crowning me.
SUPERIORITY TO FATE.
  Is difficult to learn.
'T is not conferred by any,
  But possible to earn
A pittance at a time,
  Until, to her surprise,
The soul with strict economy
  Subsists till Paradise.
Hope is a subtle glutton;
  He feeds upon the fair;
And yet, inspected closely,
  What abstinence is there!
His is the halcyon table
  That never seats but one,
And whatsoever is consumed
  The same amounts remain.
  That lawful orchards mocks;
How luscious lies the pea within
  The pod that Duty locks!
Heaven is what I cannot reach!
  The apple on the tree,
Provided it do hopeless hang,
  That 'heaven' is, to me.
The color on the cruising cloud,
  The interdicted ground
Behind the hill, the house behind, --
  There Paradise is found!
To venerate the simple days
  Which lead the seasons by,
Needs but to remember
  That from you or me
They may take the trifle
To invest existence with a stately air,
Needs but to remember
  That the acorn there
Is the egg of forests
  For the upper air!
It's such a little thing to weep,
  So short a thing to sigh;
And yet by trades the size of these
  We men and women die!
Drowning is not so pitiful
Three times, 't is said, a sinking man
  Comes up to face the skies,
And then declines forever
  To that abhorred abode
Where hope and he part company, --
  For he is grasped of God.
The Maker's cordial visage,
  However good to see,
Is shunned, we must admit it,
  Like an adversity.
How still the bells in steeples stand,
  Till, swollen with the sky,
They leap upon their silver feet
  In frantic melody!
If the foolish call them 'flowers,'
If the savans 'classify' them,
  It is just as well!
Those who read the Revelations
  Must not criticise
Those who read the same edition
  With beclouded eyes!
Could we stand with that old Moses
Scan, like him, the stately landscape
  On the other side, --
Doubtless we should deem superfluous
Not pursued by learn
  In scholastic skies!
Low amid that glad _Belles lettres_
  Grant that we may stand,
Stars, amid profound Galaxies,
hat grand 'Right hand'!
Could mortal lip divine
  The undeveloped freight
Of a delivered syllable,
  'T would crumble with the weight.
My life closed twice before its close;
  It yet remains to see
If Immortality unveil
  A third event to me,
So huge, so hopeless to conceive,
  As these that twice befell.
Parting is all we know of heaven,
  And all we need of hell.
We never know how high we are
 are called to rise;
And then, if we are true to plan,
  Our statures touch the skies.
The heroism we recite
  Would be a daily thing,
Did not ourselves the cubits warp
  For fear to be a king.
While I was fearing it, it came,
  But came with less of fear,
Because that fearing it so long
  Had almost made it dear.
There is a fitting a dismay,
  A fitting a despair.
'Tis harder knowing it is due,
  Than knowing it is here.
The trying on the utmost,
Is terribler than wearing it
  A whole existence through.
There is no frigate like a book
  To take us lands away,
Nor any coursers like a page
  Of prancing poetry.
This traverse may the poorest take
  Without oppress of toll;
How frugal is the chariot
  That bears a human soul!
Who has not found the heaven below
  Will fail of it above.
God's residence is next to mine,
  His furniture is love.
  A hateful, hard, successful face,
A face with which a stone
  Would feel as thoroughly at ease
As were they old acquaintances, --
  First time together thrown.
I HAD A GUINEA GOLDEN.
I had a guinea golden;
  I lost it in the sand,
And though the sum was simple,
  And pounds were in the land,
Still had it such a value
  Unto my frugal eye,
That when I could not find it
  I sat me down to sigh.
I had a crimson robin
  Who sang full many a day,
  He, too, did fly away.
Time brought me other robins, --
  Their ballads were the same, --
Still for my missing troubadour
  I kept the 'house at hame.'
I had a star in heaven;
  One Pleiad was its name,
And when I was not heeding
  It wandered from the same.
And though the skies are crowded,
  And all the night ashine,
I do not care about it,
  Since none of them are mine.
My story has a moral:
  I have a missing friend, --
Pleiad its name, and robin,
  And guinea in the saM
And when this mournful ditty,
  Accompanied with tear,
Shall meet the eye of traitor
  In country far from here,
Grant that repentance solemn
  May seize upon his mind,
And he no consolation
  Beneath the sun may find.
From all the jails the boys and girls
  Ecstatically leap, --
Beloved, only afternoon
  That prison doesn't keep.
They storm the earth and stun the air,
  A mob of solid bliss.
Alas! that frowns could lie in wait
  For such a foe as thiM
Few get enough, -- enough is one;
  To that ethereal throng
Have not each one of us the right
  To stealthily belong?
Upon the gallows hung a wretch,
  Too sullied for the hell
To which the law entitled him.
  As nature's curtain fell
The one who bore him tottered in,
  For this was woman's son.
''T was all I had,' she stricken gasped;
  Oh, what a livid boon!
I felt a clearing in my mind
  As if my brain had split;
ied to match it, seam by seam,
  But could not make them fit.
The thought behind I strove to join
  Unto the thought before,
But sequence ravelled out of reach
  Like balls upon a floor.
The reticent volcano keeps
  His never slumbering plan;
Confided are his projects pink
  To no precarious man.
If nature will not tell the tale
  Jehovah told to her,
Can human nature not survive
  Without a listener?
Admonished by her buckled lips
  Let every babbler be.
nly secret people keep
If recollecting were forgetting,
  Then I remember not;
And if forgetting, recollecting,
  How near I had forgot!
And if to miss were merry,
  And if to mourn were gay,
How very blithe the fingers
  That gathered these to-day!
The farthest thunder that I heard
  Was nearer than the sky,
And rumbles still, though torrid noons
  Have lain their missiles by.
The lightning that preceded it
  Struck no one but mM
But I would not exchange the bolt
  For all the rest of life.
Indebtedness to oxygen
  The chemist may repay,
But not the obligation
It founds the homes and decks the days,
  And every clamor bright
Is but the gleam concomitant
  Of that waylaying light.
The thought is quiet as a flake, --
  A crash without a sound;
How life's reverberation
  Its explanation found!
On the bleakness of my lot
  Bloom I strove to raise.
Late, my acre of a rock
Soil of flint if steadfast tilled
  Will reward the hand;
Seed of palm by Lybian sun
  Fructified in sand.
A door just opened on a street --
  I, lost, was passing by --
An instant's width of warmth disclosed,
  And wealth, and company.
The door as sudden shut, and I,
  I, lost, was passing by, --
Lost doubly, but by contrast most,
  Enlightening misery.
Are friends delight or pain?
  Could bounty but remain
But if they only stay
Ashes denote that fire was;
  Respect the grayest pile
For the departed creature's sake
  That hovered there awhile.
Fire exists the first in light,
  And then consolidates, --
Only the chemist can disclose
  Into what carbonates.
Fate slew him, but he did not drop;
  She felled -- he did not fall --
Impaled him on her fiercest stakes --
  He neutralized them all.
he stung him, sapped his firm advance,
  But, when her worst was done,
And he, unmoved, regarded her,
  Acknowledged him a man.
Finite to fail, but infinite to venture.
  For the one ship that struts the shore
Many's the gallant, overwhelmed creature
  Nodding in navies nevermore.
I measure every grief I meet
  With analytic eyes;
I wonder if it weighs like mine,
  Or has an easier size.
I wonder if they bore it long,
I could not tell the date of mine,
  It feels so old a pain.
I wonder if it hurts to live,
  And if they have to try,
And whether, could they choose between,
  They would not rather die.
I wonder if when years have piled --
  Some thousands -- on the cause
Of early hurt, if such a lapse
  Could give them any pause;
Or would they go on aching still
  Through centuries above,
Enlightened to a larger pain
  By contrast with the love.
The grieved are many, I am told;
  The reason deeper liM
Death is but one and comes but once,
  And only nails the eyes.
There's grief of want, and grief of cold, --
  A sort they call 'despair;'
There's banishment from native eyes,
  In sight of native air.
And though I may not guess the kind
  Correctly, yet to me
A piercing comfort it affords
  In passing Calvary,
To note the fashions of the cross,
  Of those that stand alone,
Still fascinated to presume
  That some are like my own.
I have a king who does not speak;
 wondering, thro' the hours meek
  I trudge the day away,--
Half glad when it is night and sleep,
If, haply, thro' a dream to peep
  In parlors shut by day.
And if I do, when morning comes,
It is as if a hundred drums
  Did round my pillow roll,
And shouts fill all my childish sky,
And bells keep saying 'victory'
  From steeples in my soul!
And if I don't, the little Bird
Within the Orchard is not heard,
  And I omit to pray,
'Father, thy will be done' to-day,
For my will goes the other way,
It dropped so low in my regard
  I heard it hit the ground,
And go to pieces on the stones
  At bottom of my mind;
Yet blamed the fate that fractured, less
  Than I reviled myself
For entertaining plated wares
  Upon my silver shelf.
To lose one's faith surpasses
  The loss of an estate,
Because estates can be
  Replenished, -- faith cannot.
Inherited with life,
  Belief but once can be;
  And Being's beggary.
  I half indifferent viewed,
Till sudden I perceived it stir, --
  It grew as I pursued,
Till when, around a crag,
  It wasted from my sight,
Enlarged beyond my utmost scope,
  I learned its sweetness right.
I worked for chaff, and earning wheat
  Was haughty and betrayed.
What right had fields to arbitrate
  In matters ratified?
I tasted wheat, -- and hated chaff,
  And thanked the ampleM
Wisdom is more becoming viewed
  At distance than at hand.
Life, and Death, and Giants
  Such as these, are still.
Minor apparatus, hopper of the mill,
Beetle at the candle,
  Or a fife's small fame,
Maintain by accident
  That they proclaim.
Our lives are Swiss, --
  So still, so cool,
  Till, some odd afternoon,
The Alps neglect their curtains,
  And we look farther on.
Italy stands the other side,
  While, like a guard between,
  Forever intervene!
Remembrance has a rear and front, --
  'T is something like a house;
It has a garret also
  For refuse and the mouse,
Besides, the deepest cellar
  That ever mason hewed;
Look to it, by its fathoms
  Ourselves be not pursued.
To hang our head ostensibly,
  And subsequent to find
That such was not the posture
  Of our immortal mind,
Affords the sly presumption
  That, in so dense a fuzz,
oo, take cobweb attitudes
  Upon a plane of gauze!
The brain is wider than the sky,
  For, put them side by side,
The one the other will include
  With ease, and you beside.
The brain is deeper than the sea,
  For, hold them, blue to blue,
The one the other will absorb,
  As sponges, buckets do.
The brain is just the weight of God,
  For, lift them, pound for pound,
And they will differ, if they do,
  As syllable from sound.
The bone that has noM
  What ultimate for that?
It is not fit for table,
  For beggar, or for cat.
A bone has obligations,
  A being has the same;
A marrowless assembly
  Is culpabler than shame.
But how shall finished creatures
  A function fresh obtain? --
Old Nicodemus' phantom
  Confronting us again!
The past is such a curious creature,
  To look her in the face
A transport may reward us,
Unarmed if any meet her,
  I charge him, fly!
Her rusty ammunitioM
To help our bleaker parts
  Salubrious hours are given,
Which if they do not fit for earth
  Drill silently for heaven.
What soft, cherubic creatures
  These gentlewomen are!
One would as soon assault a plush
  Or violate a star.
Such dimity convictions,
  A horror so refined
Of freckled human nature,
  Of Deity ashamed, --
It's such a common glory,
  A fisherman's degree!
Redemption, brittle lady,
  Be so, ashamed of thee.
Who never wanted, -- maddest joy
  Remains to him unknown:
The banquet of abstemiousness
  Surpasses that of wine.
Within its hope, though yet ungrasped
  Desire's perfect goal,
No nearer, lest reality
  Should disenthrall thy soul.
  To fail with land in sight,
Than gain my blue peninsula
  To perish of delight.
You cannot put a fire out;
  A thing that can ignite
Can go, itself, without a fan
on the slowest night.
You cannot fold a flood
  And put it in a drawer, --
Because the winds would find it out,
  And tell your cedar floor.
A modest lot, a fame petite,
  A brief campaign of sting and sweet
  Is plenty! Is enough!
A sailor's business is the shore,
  A soldier's -- balls. Who asketh more
Must seek the neighboring life!
Is bliss, then, such abyss
I must not put my foot amiss
For fear I spoil my shoe?
I'd rather suit my foot
r yet to buy another pair
But bliss is sold just once;
None buy it any more.
I stepped from plank to plank
  So slow and cautiously;
The stars about my head I felt,
  About my feet the sea.
I knew not but the next
  Would be my final inch, --
This gave me that precarious gait
  Some call experience.
One day is there of the series
  Termed Thanksgiving day,
Celebrated part at table,
Neither patriarch nor pussy,
  I dissect the play;
Seems it, to my hooded thinking,
Had there been no sharp subtraction
  From the early sum,
Not an acre or a caption
  Where was once a room,
Not a mention, whose small pebble
  Wrinkled any bay, --
Unto such, were such assembly,
  'T were Thanksgiving day.
Softened by Time's consummate plush,
  How sleek the woe appears
That threatened childhood's citadel
Bisected now by bleaker griefs,
  We envy the despair
That devastated childhood's realm,
  So easy to repair.
Proud of my broken heart since thou didst break it,
  Proud of the pain I did not feel till thee,
Proud of my night since thou with moons dost slake it,
  Not to partake thy passion, my humility.
My worthiness is all my doubt,
  His merit all my fear,
Contrasting which, my qualities
Lest I should insufficient prove
  For his beloved need,
The chiefest apprehension
  Within my loving creed.
So I, the undivine abode
  Of his elect content,
Conform my soul as 't were a church
  Unto her sacrament.
Love is anterior to life,
  Posterior to death,
Initial of creation, and
  The exponent of breath.
One blessing had I, than the rest
  So larger to my eyes
That I stopped gauging, satisfied,
  For this enchanted size.
It was the limit of my dream,
  The focus of my prayer, --
A perfect, paralyzing bliss
  Contented as despair.
I knew no more of want or cold,
  Phantasms both become,
For this new value in the soul,
  Supremest earthly sum.
The heaven below the heaven above
  Obscured with ruddier hue.
Life's latitude leant over-full;
  The judgment perished, too.
Why joys so scantily disburse,
  Why Paradise defer,
Why floods are served to us in bowls, --
  I speculate no more.
When roses cease to bloom, dear,
  And violets are done,
When bumble-bees in solemn flight
  Have passed beyond the sun,
The hand that paused to gather
  Upon this summer's day
Will idle lie, in Auburn, --
  Then take my flower, pray!
Summer for thee grant I may be
  When summer days are flown!
Thy music still when whippoorwill
  And oriole are done!
For thee to bloom, I'll skip the tomb
  And sow my blossoms o'er!
Pray gather me, Anemone,
  Thy flower forevermoreM
Split the lark and you'll find the music,
  Bulb after bulb, in silver rolled,
Scantily dealt to the summer morning,
  Saved for your ear when lutes be old.
Loose the flood, you shall find it patent,
  Gush after gush, reserved for you;
Scarlet experiment! sceptic Thomas,
  Now, do you doubt that your bird was true?
To lose thee, sweeter than to gain
  All other hearts I knew.
'T is true the drought is destitute,
  But then I had the dew!
an has its realms of sand,
  Its other realm of sea;
Without the sterile perquisite
  No Caspian could be.
  Poor little heart!
  Did they forget thee?
Then dinna care! Then dinna care!
  Proud little heart!
  Did they forsake thee?
Be debonair! Be debonair!
  Frail little heart!
  I would not break thee:
Could'st credit me? Could'st credit me?
  Like morning glory
Thou'll wilted be; thou'll wilted be!
  Can pierce an armed man.
It hurls its barbed syllables,--
  At once is mute again.
Some epauletted brother
  Gave his breath away.
Wherever runs the breathless sun,
  Wherever roams the day,
There is its noiseless onset,
  There is its victory!
Behold the keenest marksman!
  The most accomplished shot!
Time's sublimest target
  Is a soul 'forgot'!
I've got an arrow here;
  Loving the hand that sent it,
Fell, they will say, in 'skirmish'!
  Vanquished, my soul will know,
By but a simple arrow
  Sped by an archer's bow.
He fumbles at your spirit
  As players at the keys
Before they drop full music on;
  He stuns you by degrees,
Prepares your brittle substance
  For the ethereal blow,
By fainter hammers, further heard,
  Then nearer, then so slow
Your breath has time to straighten,
  Your brain to bubble cool, --
Deals one imperial thunderbolt
  That scalps your naked soul.
Heart, we will forget him!
  You and I, to-night!
You may forget the warmth he gave,
  I will forget the light.
When you have done, pray tell me,
  That I my thoughts may dim;
Haste! lest while you're lagging,
  I may remember him!
Father, I bring thee not myself, --
  That were the little load;
I bring thee the imperial heart
  I had not strength to hold.
The heart I cherished in my own
  Till mine too heavy grew,
, heavier since it went,
  Is it too large for you?
We outgrow love like other things
  And put it in the drawer,
Till it an antique fashion shows
  Like costumes grandsires wore.
Not with a club the heart is broken,
    Nor with a stone;
A whip, so small you could not see it.
To lash the magic creature
Yet that whip's name too noble
    By boy descried,
To sing unto the stone
My friend must be a bird,
    Because it flies!
Mortal my friend must be,
    Because it dies!
Barbs has it, like a bee.
    Thou puzzlest me!
He touched me, so I live to know
That such a day, permitted so,
  I groped upon his breast.
It was a boundless place to me,
And silenced, as the awful sea
  Puts minor streams to rest.
And now, I'm different from before,
As if I breathed superior air,
  Or brushed a royal gown;
feet, too, that had wandered so,
My gypsy face transfigured now
  To tenderer renown.
Let me not mar that perfect dream
  By an auroral stain,
But so adjust my daily night
  That it will come again.
I live with him, I see his face;
For visitor, or sundown;
  Death's single privacy,
The only one forestalling mine,
  And that by right that he
Presents a claim invisible,
  No wedlock granted me.
I live with him, I hearM
  I stand alive to-day
To witness to the certainty
Taught me by Time, -- the lower way,
  Conviction every day, --
That life like this is endless,
  Be judgment what it may.
I envy seas whereon he rides,
  I envy spokes of wheels
Of chariots that him convey,
  I envy speechless hills
That gaze upon his journey;
  How easy all can see
What is forbidden utterly
  As heaven, unto me!
I envy nests of sparrows
  That dot his distant eaves,M
The wealthy fly upon his pane,
  The happy, happy leaves
That just abroad his window
  Have summer's leave to be,
The earrings of Pizarro
  Could not obtain for me.
I envy light that wakes him,
  And bells that boldly ring
To tell him it is noon abroad, --
  Myself his noon could bring,
Yet interdict my blossom
  And abrogate my bee,
Lest noon in everlasting night
  Drop Gabriel and me.
A solemn thing it was, I said,
  A woman white to be,
And wear, if God shoulM
  Her hallowed mystery.
A timid thing to drop a life
  Into the purple well,
Too plummetless that it come back
The springtime's pallid landscape
  Will glow like bright bouquet,
Though drifted deep in parian
  The village lies to-day.
The lilacs, bending many a year,
  With purple load will hang;
The bees will not forget the tune
  Their old forefathers sang.
The rose will redden in the bog,
Her everlasting fashion set,
  And covenant gentians frill,
Till summer folds her miracle
  As women do their gown,
Or priests adjust the symbols
  When sacrament is done.
She slept beneath a tree
  Remembered but by me.
I touched her cradle mute;
She recognized the foot,
Put on her carmine suit, --
A light exists in spring
  Not present on the year
At any other period.
  When March is scarcely here
A color stands abroM
That science cannot overtake,
  But human nature feels.
It waits upon the lawn;
  It shows the furthest tree
Upon the furthest slope we know;
  It almost speaks to me.
Then, as horizons step,
  Or noons report away,
Without the formula of sound,
  It passes, and we stay:
  Affecting our content,
As trade had suddenly encroached
A lady red upon the hill
  Her annual secret keeps;
  In placid lily sleeps!
The tidy breezes with their brooms
  Sweep vale, and hill, and tree!
Prithee, my pretty housewives!
  Who may expected be?
The neighbors do not yet suspect!
  The woods exchange a smile --
Orchard, and buttercup, and bird --
  In such a little while!
And yet how still the landscape stands,
  How nonchalant the wood,
As if the resurrection
  Were nothing very odd!
Dear March, come in!
I looked for you before.
You must have walked --
How out of breath you are!
Dear March, how are you?
Did you leave Nature well?
Oh, March, come right upstairs with me,
I have so much to tell!
I got your letter, and the birds';
The maples never knew
That you were coming, -- I declare,
How red their faces grew!
But, March, forgive me --
You left for me to hue;
There was no purple suitable,
You took it all with you.
Who knocks? That April!
He stayed away a year, to call
But trifles look so trivial
As soon as you have come,
That blame is just as dear as praise
And praise as mere as blame.
We like March, his shoes are purple,
  He is new and high;
Makes he mud for dog and peddler,
  Makes he forest dry;
Knows the adder's tongue his coming,
  And begets her spot.
Stands the sun so close and mighty
  That our minds are hot.
News is he of all the others;
  Bold it were to die
he blue-birds buccaneering
  On his British sky.
Not knowing when the dawn will come
  I open every door;
Or has it feathers like a bird,
  Or billows like a shore?
A murmur in the trees to note,
  Not loud enough for wind;
A star not far enough to seek,
  Nor near enough to find;
A long, long yellow on the lawn,
  A hubbub as of feet;
Not audible, as ours to us,
  But dapperer, more sweet;
A hurrying home of little men
  To houses unperceived, --
this, and more, if I should tell,
  Would never be believed.
Of robins in the trundle bed
Whose nightgowns could not hide the wings,
  Although I heard them try!
But then I promised ne'er to tell;
  How could I break my word?
So go your way and I'll go mine, --
  No fear you'll miss the road.
Morning is the place for dew,
  Corn is made at noon,
After dinner light for flowers,
  Dukes for setting sun!
To my quick ear the leaves conferred;
ushes they were bells;
I could not find a privacy
  From Nature's sentinels.
In cave if I presumed to hide,
  The walls began to tell;
Creation seemed a mighty crack
  To make me visible.
A sepal, petal, and a thorn
  Upon a common summer's morn,
A flash of dew, a bee or two,
A caper in the trees, --
High from the earth I heard a bird;
  He trod upon the trees
As he esteemed them trifles,
  And then he spied a breeze,
  Upon a pile of wind
Which in a perturbation
  Nature had left behind.
A joyous-going fellow
  I gathered from his talk,
Which both of benediction
  And badinage partook,
Without apparent burden,
  I learned, in leafy wood
He was the faithful father
  Of a dependent brood;
And this untoward transport
  His remedy for care, --
A contrast to our respites.
  How different we are!
The spider as an artist
  Has never been employed
Though his surpassing meriM
  Is freely certified
By every broom and Bridget
  Throughout a Christian land.
Neglected son of genius,
  I take thee by the hand.
What mystery pervades a well!
  The water lives so far,
Like neighbor from another world
  Residing in a jar.
The grass does not appear afraid;
Can stand so close and look so bold
  At what is dread to me.
Related somehow they may be, --
  The sedge stands next the sea,
Where he is floorless, yet of fear
But nature is a stranger yet;
  The ones that cite her most
Have never passed her haunted house,
  Nor simplified her ghost.
To pity those that know her not
  Is helped by the regret
That those who know her, know her less
  The nearer her they get.
To make a prairie it takes a clover and one bee, --
One clover, and a bee,
The revery alone will do
It's like the light, --
  A fashionless delight
  A dateless melody.
It's like the woods,
  Private like breeze,
Phraseless, yet it stirs
  The proudest trees.
It's like the morning, --
  Best when it's done, --
The everlasting clocks
A dew sufficed itself
  And satisfied a leaf,
And felt, 'how vast a destiny!
  How trivial is life!'
The sun went out to work,
  The day went out to play,
But not again that dew was seen
Whether by day abducted,
  Or emptied by the sun
  Eternally unknown.
His bill an auger is,
  His head, a cap and frill.
He laboreth at every tree, --
  A worm his utmost goal.
Sweet is the swamp with its secrets,
  Until we meet a snake;
'T is then we sigh for houses,
  And our departure take
At that enthralling gallop
  That only childhood knows.
A snake is summer's treason,
  And guile is where it goes.
Could I but ride indefinite,
And visit only where I liked,
  And no man visit me,
And flirt all day with buttercups,
  And marry whom I may,
And dwell a little everywhere,
  Or better, run away
With no police to follow,
  Or chase me if I do,
Till I should jump peninsulas
  To get away from you, --
I said, but just to be a bee
  Upon a raft of air,
And row in nowhere all day long,
  And anchor off the bar,--
What liberty! So captives deem
  Who tight in dungeons are.
on was but a chin of gold
  A night or two ago,
And now she turns her perfect face
  Upon the world below.
Her forehead is of amplest blond;
  Her cheek like beryl stone;
Her eye unto the summer dew
  The likest I have known.
Her lips of amber never part;
  But what must be the smile
Upon her friend she could bestow
  Were such her silver will!
And what a privilege to be
  But the remotest star!
For certainly her way might pass
  Beside your twinkling door.
Her bonnet is the firmament,
e universe her shoe,
The stars the trinkets at her belt,
  Her dimities of blue.
The bat is dun with wrinkled wings
  Like fallow article,
And not a song pervades his lips,
  Or none perceptible.
His small umbrella, quaintly halved,
  Describing in the air
An arc alike inscrutable, --
  Elate philosopher!
Deputed from what firmament
  Of what astute abode,
Empowered with what malevolence
  Auspiciously withheld.
To his adroit Creator
  Ascribe no less the praise;M
Beneficent, believe me,
  His eccentricities.
You've seen balloons set, haven't you?
  So stately they ascend
It is as swans discarded you
  For duties diamond.
Their liquid feet go softly out
  Upon a sea of blond;
They spurn the air as 't were too mean
  For creatures so renowned.
Their ribbons just beyond the eye,
  They struggle some for breath,
And yet the crowd applauds below;
  They would not encore death.
The gilded creature strains and spins,
ps frantic in a tree,
Tears open her imperial veins
  And tumbles in the sea.
The crowd retire with an oath
  The dust in streets goes down,
And clerks in counting-rooms observe,
  ''T was only a balloon.'
And workmen finished, one by one,
  Their seam the day upon.
The low grass loaded with the dew,
The twilight stood as strangers do
With hat in hand, polite and new,
  To stay as if, or go.
A vastness, as a neighbor, came, --
 wisdom without face or name,
A peace, as hemispheres at home, --
  And so the night became.
Drab habitation of whom?
Or some elf's catacomb?
A sloop of amber slips away
  Upon an ether sea,
And wrecks in peace a purple tar,
  The son of ecstasy.
  The north, to-night!
  So adequate its forms,
So preconcerted with itself,
An unconcern so sovereign
  To universe, or me,
It paints my simple spirit
  With tints of majesty,
Till I take vaster attitudes,
  And strut upon my stem,
Disdaining men and oxygen,
  For arrogance of them.
My splendors are menagerie;
  But their competeless show
Will entertain the centuries
  When I am, long ago,
An island in dishonored grass,
  Whom none but daisies know.
THE COMING OF NIGHT.
How the old mountains drip with sunset,
  And the brake of dun!
 the hemlocks are tipped in tinsel
  By the wizard sun!
How the old steeples hand the scarlet,
  Till the ball is full, --
Have I the lip of the flamingo
  That I dare to tell?
Then, how the fire ebbs like billows,
  Touching all the grass
With a departing, sapphire feature,
  As if a duchess pass!
How a small dusk crawls on the village
  Till the houses blot;
And the odd flambeaux no men carry
  Glimmer on the spot!
Now it is night in nest and kennel,
  And where was the wood,
These are the visions baffled Guido;
  Titian never told;
Domenichino dropped the pencil,
  Powerless to unfold.
The murmuring of bees has ceased;
  But murmuring of some
Posterior, prophetic,
  Has simultaneous come, --
The lower metres of the year,
  When nature's laugh is done, --
The Revelations of the book
  Whose Genesis is June.
IV. TIME AND ETERNITY.
This world is not conclusion;
Invisible, as music,
  But positive, as sound.
It beckons and it baffles;
  Philosophies don't know,
And through a riddle, at the last,
To guess it puzzles scholars;
  To gain it, men have shown
Contempt of generations,
  And crucifixion known.
We learn in the retreating
Was recently among us.
Endears in the departure
Than all the golden presence
  Time never did assuage;
An actual suffering strengthens,
  As sinews do, with age.
Time is a test of trouble,
If such it prove, it prove too
  There was no malady.
We cover thee, sweet face.
  Not that we tire of thee,
But that thyself fatigue of us;
  Remember, as thou flee,
We follow thee until
  Thou notice us no more,
And then, reluctant, turn away
  To con thee o'er and o'er,
And blame the scanty love
  We were content to show,
ted, sweet, a hundred fold
  If thou would'st take it now.
That is solemn we have ended, --
Or a glee among the garrets,
Or a leaving home; or later,
  Parting with a world
We have understood, for better
  Still it be unfurled.
The stimulus, beyond the grave
  His countenance to see,
Supports me like imperial drams
Given in marriage unto thee,
  Oh, thou celestial host!
e Father and the Son,
  Bride of the Holy Ghost!
Other betrothal shall dissolve,
  Wedlock of will decay;
Only the keeper of this seal
  Conquers mortality.
That such have died enables us
  The tranquiller to die;
That such have lived, certificate
They won't frown always, -- some sweet day
  When I forget to tease,
They'll recollect how cold I looked,
  And how I just said 'please.'
Then they will hasten to the door
  To call the little chiM
Who cannot thank them, for the ice
  That on her lisping piled.
It is an honorable thought,
  And makes one lift one's hat,
As one encountered gentlefolk
  Upon a daily street,
That we've immortal place,
  Though pyramids decay,
And kingdoms, like the orchard,
  Flit russetly away.
The distance that the dead have gone
  Does not at first appear;
Their coming back seems possible
  For many an ardent year.
And then, that we have followed them
We more than half suspect,
So intimate have we become
  With their dear retrospect.
How dare the robins sing,
  When men and women hear
Who since they went to their account
  Have settled with the year! --
Paid all that life had earned
  In one consummate bill,
And now, what life or death can do
Insulting is the sun
  To him whose mortal light,
Beguiled of immortality,
  Bequeaths him to the night.
  Extinct be every hum,
Whose garden wrestles M
  At daybreak overcome!
Death is like the insect
  Menacing the tree,
Competent to kill it,
  But decoyed may be.
Bait it with the balsam,
  Seek it with the knife,
Baffle, if it cost you
  Everything in life.
Then, if it have burrowed
  Out of reach of skill,
Ring the tree and leave it, --
  'T is the vermin's will.
'T is sunrise, little maid, hast thou
  No station in the day?
'T was not thy wont to hinder so, --
ieve thine industry.
'T is noon, my little maid, alas!
  And art thou sleeping yet?
The lily waiting to be wed,
  The bee, dost thou forget?
My little maid, 't is night; alas,
  That night should be to thee
Instead of morning! Hadst thou broached
  Thy little plan to me,
Dissuade thee if I could not, sweet,
  I might have aided thee.
Each that we lose takes part of us;
  A crescent still abides,
Which like the moon, some turbid night,
  Is summoned by the tides.
Not any higher stands the grave
  For heroes than for men;
Not any nearer for the child
  Than numb three-score and ten.
This latest leisure equal lulls
  The beggar and his queen;
Propitiate this democrat
  By summer's gracious mien.
As far from pity as complaint,
  As cool to speech as stone,
As numb to revelation
  As if my trade were bone.
As far from time as history,
  As near yourself to-day
As children to the rainbow's scarf,
  Or sunset's yellow play
yelids in the sepulchre.
  How still the dancer lies,
While color's revelations break,
  And blaze the butterflies!
'T is whiter than an Indian pipe,
  'T is dimmer than a lace;
No stature has it, like a fog,
  When you approach the place.
Not any voice denotes it here,
  Or intimates it there;
A spirit, how doth it accost?
  What customs hath the air?
This limitless hyperbole
  Each one of us shall be;
'T is drama, if (hypothesis)
  It be not tragedy!
She laid her docile crescent down,
  And this mechanic stone
Still states, to dates that have forgot,
  The news that she is gone.
So constant to its stolid trust,
  The shaft that never knew,
It shames the constancy that fled
  Before its emblem flew.
Bless God, he went as soldiers,
  His musket on his breast;
Grant, God, he charge the bravest
  Of all the martial blest.
Please God, might I behold him
  In epauletted white,
I should not fear the foe theM
  I should not fear the fight.
Immortal is an ample word
  When what we need is by,
But when it leaves us for a time,
  'T is a necessity.
Of heaven above the firmest proof
  We fundamental know,
Except for its marauding hand,
  It had been heaven below.
Where every bird is bold to go,
  And bees abashless play,
The foreigner before he knocks
  Must thrust the tears away.
The grave my little cottage is,
  Where, keeping house for thee,
make my parlor orderly,
  And lay the marble tea,
For two divided, briefly,
  A cycle, it may be,
Till everlasting life unite
  In strong society.
This was in the white of the year,
  That was in the green,
Drifts were as difficult then to think
  As daisies now to be seen.
Looking back is best that is left,
  Or if it be before,
Retrospection is prospect's half,
  Sometimes almost more.
Sweet hours have perished here;
  This is a mighty room;
incts hopes have played, --
  Now shadows in the tomb.
Me! Come! My dazzled face
In such a shining place!
Me! Hear! My foreign ear
The sounds of welcome near!
The saints shall meet
That they remember me;
My paradise, the fame
That they pronounce my name.
From us she wandered now a year,
  Her tarrying unknown;
If wilderness prevent her feet,
  Or that ethereal zone
No eye hath seen and lived,
We only know what time of year
  We took the mystery.
I wish I knew that woman's name,
  So, when she comes this way,
To hold my life, and hold my ears,
  For fear I hear her say
She's 'sorry I am dead,' again,
  Just when the grave and I
Have sobbed ourselves almost to sleep, --
Bereaved of all, I went abroad,
  No less bereaved to be
Upon a new peninsula, --
  The grave preceded me,
  And when I sought my bed,
The grave it was, reposed upon
  The pillow for my head.
I waked, to find it first awake,
  I rose, -- it followed me;
I tried to drop it in the crowd,
  To lose it in the sea,
In cups of artificial drowse
  To sleep its shape away, --
The grave was finished, but the spade
  Remained in memory.
I felt a funeral in my brain,
  And mourners, to and fro,
Kept treading, treading, till it seemed
  That sense was breaking through.
 when they all were seated,
  A service like a drum
Kept beating, beating, till I thought
  My mind was going numb.
And then I heard them lift a box,
  And creak across my soul
With those same boots of lead, again.
  Then space began to toll
As all the heavens were a bell,
  And Being but an ear,
And I and silence some strange race,
  Wrecked, solitary, here.
I meant to find her when I came;
  Death had the same design;
But the success was his, it seems,
  And the discomfit minM
I meant to tell her how I longed
  For just this single time;
But Death had told her so the first,
  And she had hearkened him.
To wander now is my abode;
  To rest, -- to rest would be
A privilege of hurricane
I sing to use the waiting,
  My bonnet but to tie,
And shut the door unto my house;
  No more to do have I,
Till, his best step approaching,
  We journey to the day,
And tell each other how we sang
  To keep the dark away.
A sickness of this world it most occasions
  When best men die;
A wishfulness their far condition
A chief indifference, as foreign
Themselves forsake contented,
Superfluous were the sun
  When excellence is dead;
He were superfluous every day,
  For every day is said
That syllable whose faith
  Just saves it from despair,
And whose 'I'll meet you' hesitates
  If love inquire, 'Where?'
Upon his dateless fame
As stars that drop anonymous
  From an abundant sky.
So proud she was to die
  It made us all ashamed
That what we cherished, so unknown
  To her desire seemed.
  Where none of us should be,
Immediately, that anguish stooped
  Almost to jealousy.
Tie the strings to my life, my Lord,
  Then I am ready to go!
Just a look at the horses --
  Rapid! That will do!
Put me in on the firmest side,
  So I shall never fallM
For we must ride to the Judgment,
  And it's partly down hill.
But never I mind the bridges,
  And never I mind the sea;
Held fast in everlasting race
  By my own choice and thee.
Good-by to the life I used to live,
  And the world I used to know;
And kiss the hills for me, just once;
  Now I am ready to go!
The dying need but little, dear, --
  A glass of water's all,
A flower's unobtrusive face
  To punctuate the wall,
A fan, perhaps, a friend's regret,
No color in the rainbow
  Perceives when you are gone.
There's something quieter than sleep
  Within this inner room!
It wears a sprig upon its breast,
  And will not tell its name.
Some touch it and some kiss it,
  Some chafe its idle hand;
It has a simple gravity
  I do not understand!
While simple-hearted neighbors
  Chat of the 'early dead,'
We, prone to periphrasis,
  Remark that birds have fled!
The soul should always stand ajar,
  That if the heaven inquire,
He will not be obliged to wait,
  Or shy of troubling her.
Depart, before the host has slid
  The bolt upon the door,
To seek for the accomplished guest, --
  Her visitor no more.
Three weeks passed since I had seen her, --
  Some disease had vexed;
'T was with text and village singing
  I beheld her next,
And a company -- our pleasure
  To discourse alone;
Gracious now to me as any,
  Gracious unto none.
Borne, without dissent of either,
Of the separated people
  Which are out of sight?
I breathed enough to learn the trick,
  And now, removed from air,
I simulate the breath so well,
  That one, to be quite sure
The lungs are stirless, must descend
  Among the cunning cells,
And touch the pantomime himself.
  How cool the bellows feels!
I wonder if the sepulchre
  Is not a lonesome way,
When men and boys, and larks and June
  Go down the fields to hay!
If tolling bell I ask the cause.
  'A soul has gone to God,'
I'm answered in a lonesome tone;
  Is heaven then so sad?
That bells should joyful ring to tell
  A soul had gone to heaven,
Would seem to me the proper way
  A good news should be given.
If I may have it when it's dead
  I will contented be;
If just as soon as breath is out
  It shall belong to me,
Until they lock it in the grave,
  'T is bliss I cannot weigh,
For though they lock thee in the grave,
Think of it, lover! I and thee
  Permitted face to face to be;
After a life, a death we'll say, --
  For death was that, and this is thee.
Before the ice is in the pools,
  Before the skaters go,
Or any cheek at nightfall
  Is tarnished by the snow,
Before the fields have finished,
  Before the Christmas tree,
  Will arrive to me!
What we touch the hems of
  On a summer's day;
What is only walking
  Just a bridge away;
  When there's no one here, --
Will the frock I wept in
  Answer me to wear?
I heard a fly buzz when I died;
  The stillness round my form
Was like the stillness in the air
  Between the heaves of storm.
The eyes beside had wrung them dry,
  And breaths were gathering sure
For that last onset, when the king
  Be witnessed in his power.
I willed my keepsakes, signed away
  What portion of me I
Could make assignable, -- and then
  There interposed a fly,M
With blue, uncertain, stumbling buzz,
  Between the light and me;
And then the windows failed, and then
  I could not see to see.
Adrift! A little boat adrift!
  And night is coming down!
Will no one guide a little boat
  Unto the nearest town?
So sailors say, on yesterday,
  Just as the dusk was brown,
One little boat gave up its strife,
  And gurgled down and down.
But angels say, on yesterday,
  Just as the dawn was red,
One little boat o'erspent with gales
s masts, redecked its sails
  Exultant, onward sped!
There's been a death in the opposite house
  As lately as to-day.
I know it by the numb look
  Such houses have alway.
The neighbors rustle in and out,
  The doctor drives away.
A window opens like a pod,
  Abrupt, mechanically;
Somebody flings a mattress out, --
  The children hurry by;
They wonder if It died on that, --
  I used to when a boy.
The minister goes stiffly in
  As if the house were his,
And he owned all thM
  And little boys besides;
And then the milliner, and the man
  Of the appalling trade,
To take the measure of the house.
  There'll be that dark parade
Of tassels and of coaches soon;
  It's easy as a sign, --
The intuition of the news
  In just a country town.
We never know we go, -- when we are going
  We jest and shut the door;
Fate following behind us bolts it,
  And we accost no more.
It struck me every day
As if the cloud that instant slit
  And let the fire through.
It burned me in the night,
  It blistered in my dream;
It sickened fresh upon my sight
  With every morning's beam.
I thought that storm was brief, --
  The maddest, quickest by;
But Nature lost the date of this,
  And left it in the sky.
Water is taught by thirst;
Land, by the oceans passed;
  Transport, by throe;
Peace, by its battles told;
Love, by memorial mould;
  Birds, by the snow.
We thirst at first, -- 't is Nature's act;
  And later, when we die,
A little water supplicate
  Of fingers going by.
It intimates the finer want,
  Whose adequate supply
Is that great water in the west
  Termed immortality.
A clock stopped -- not the mantel's;
  Geneva's farthest skill
Can't put the puppet bowing
  That just now dangled still.
An awe came on the trinket!
  The figures hunched with pain,
Then quivered out of decimals
  Into degreeless noon.
ll not stir for doctors,
  This pendulum of snow;
The shopman importunes it,
  While cool, concernless No
Nods from the gilded pointers,
  Nods from the seconds slim,
Decades of arrogance between
  The dial life and him.
All overgrown by cunning moss,
  All interspersed with weed,
The little cage of 'Currer Bell,'
  In quiet Haworth laid.
This bird, observing others,
  When frosts too sharp became,
Retire to other latitudes,
  Quietly did the same,
But differed in returning;
  Since Yorkshire hills are green,
Yet not in all the nests I meet
  Can nightingale be seen.
Gathered from many wanderings,
  Gethsemane can tell
Through what transporting anguish
  She reached the asphodel!
Soft fall the sounds of Eden
  Upon her puzzled ear;
Oh, what an afternoon for heaven,
A toad can die of light!
Death is the common right
  Of toads and men, --
The gnat's supremacy
Far from love the Heavenly Father
  Leads the chosen child;
Oftener through realm of briar
  Than the meadow mild,
Oftener by the claw of dragon
  Than the hand of friend,
Guides the little one predestined
  To the native land.
A long, long sleep, a famous sleep
  That makes no show for dawn
By stretch of limb or stir of lid, --
  An independent one.
Was ever idleness like this?
  Within a hut of stone
To bask the centuries away
  Nor once look up for noon?
'T was just this time last year I died.
  I know I heard the corn,
When I was carried by the farms, --
  It had the tassels on.
I thought how yellow it would look
  When Richard went to mill;
And then I wanted to get out,
  But something held my will.
I thought just how red apples wedged
  The stubble's joints between;
And carts went stooping round the fields
  To take the pumpkins in.
I wondered which wouM
  And when Thanksgiving came,
If father'd multiply the plates
  To make an even sum.
And if my stocking hung too high,
  Would it blur the Christmas glee,
That not a Santa Claus could reach
  The altitude of me?
But this sort grieved myself, and so
  I thought how it would be
When just this time, some perfect year,
  Themselves should come to me.
On this wondrous sea,
Knowest thou the shore
Where no breakers roarM
  Where the storm is o'er?
  Their anchors fast;
Thither I pilot thee, --
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 4006a93bfda649cc785dab5215ef1da0H0E
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I was returning home by the fields. It was midsummer, the hay harvest was over and they were just beginning to reap the rye. At that season of the year there is a delightful variety of flowers -- red, white, and pink scented tufty clover; milk-white ox-eye daisies with their bright yellow centers and pleasant spicy smell; yellow honey-scented rape blossoms; tall campanulas with white and lilac bells, tulip-shaped; creeping vetch; yellow, red, and pink scabious; faintlM
y scented, neatly arranged purple plaintains with blossoms slightly tinged with pink; cornflowers, the newly opened blossoms bright blue in the sunshine but growing paler and redder towards evening or when growing old; and delicate almond-scented dodder flowers that withered quickly. I gathered myself a large nosegay and was going home when I noticed in a ditch, in full bloom, a beautiful thistle plant of the crimson variety, which in our neighborhood they call "Tartar" and carefully avoid when mowing -- or, if theM
y do happen to cut it down, throw out from among the grass for fear of pricking their hands. Thinking to pick this thistle and put it in the center of my nosegay, I climbed down into the ditch, and after driving away a velvety bumble-bee that had penetrated deep into one of the flowers and had there fallen sweetly asleep, I set to work to pluck the flower. But this proved a very difficult task. Not only did the stalk prick on every side -- even through the handkerchief I wrapped round my hand -- but it was so toughM
 that I had to struggle with it for nearly five minutes, breaking the fibers one by one; and when I had at last plucked it, the stalk was all frayed and the flower itself no longer seemed so fresh and beautiful. Moreover, owing to a coarseness and stiffness, it did not seem in place among the delicate blossoms of my nosegay. I threw it away feeling sorry to have vainly destroyed a flower that looked beautiful in its proper place.
"But what energy and tenacity! With what determination it defended itself, and how M
dearly it sold its life!" thought I, remembering the effort it had cost me to pluck the flower. The way home led across black-earth fields that had just been plowed up. I ascended the dusty path. The plowed field belonged to a landed proprietor and was so large that on both sides and before me to the top of the hill nothing was visible but evenly furrowed and moist earth. The land was well tilled and nowhere was there a blade of grass or any kind of plant to be seen, it was all black. "Ah, what a destructive creatuM
re is man....How many different plant-lives he destroys to support his own existence!" thought I, involuntarily looking around for some living thing in this lifeless black field. In front of me to the right of the road I saw some kind of little clump, and drawing nearer I found it was the same kind of thistle as that which I had vainly plucked and thrown away. This "Tartar" plant had three branches. One was broken and stuck out like the stump of a mutilated arm. Each of the other two bore a flower, once red but nowM
 blackened. One stalk was broken, and half of it hung down with a soiled flower at its tip. The other, though also soiled with black mud, still stood erect. Evidently a cartwheel had passed over the plant but it had risen again, and that was why, though erect, it stood twisted to one side, as if a piece of its body had been torn from it, its bowels drawn out, an arm torn off, and one of its eyes plucked out. Yet it stood firm and did not surrender to man who had destroyed all its brothers around it....
ality!" I thought. "Man has conquered everything and destroyed millions of plants, yet this one won't submit." And I remembered a Caucasian episode of years ago, which I had partly seen myself, partly heard of from eye-witnesses, and in part imagined.
The episode, as it has taken shape in my memory and imagination, was as follows.
It happened towards the end of 1851.
On a cold November evening Hadji Murat rode into Makhmet, a hostile Chechen aoul that lay some fifteen miles from Russian territory M
and was filled with the scented smoke of burning Kizyak. The strained chant of the muezzin had just ceased, and though the clear mountain air, impregnated with kizyak smoke, above the lowing of the cattle and the bleating of the sheep that were dispersing among the saklyas (which were crowded together like the cells of honeycomb), could be clearly heard the guttural voices of disputing men, and sounds of women's and children's voices rising from near the fountain below.
This Hadji Murat was Shamil's naib, famousM
 for his exploits, who used never to ride out without his banner and some dozens of murids, who caracoled and showed off before him. Now wrapped in a hood and burka, from under which protruded a rifle, he rode, a fugitive with one murid only, trying to attract as little attention as possible and peering with his quick black eyes into the faces of those he met on his way.
When he entered the aoul, instead of riding up the road leading to the open square, he turned to the left into a narrow side street, and on reaM
ching the second saklya, which was cut into the hill side, he stopped and looked round. There was no one under the penthouse in front, but on the roof of the saklya itself, behind the freshly plastered clay chimney, lay a man covered with a sheepskin. Hadji Murat touched him with the handle of his leather-plaited whip and clicked his tongue, and an old man, wearing a greasy old beshmet and a nightcap, rose from under the sheepskin. His moist red eyelids had no lashes, and he blinked to get them unstuck. Hadji MuratM
, repeating the customary "Selaam aleikum!" uncovered his face. "aleikum, selaam!" said the old man, recognizing him, and smiling with his toothless mouth. And raising himself on his thin legs he began thrusting his feet into the wooden-heeled slippers that stood by the chimney. Then he leisurely slipped his arms into the sleeves of his crumpled sheepskin, and going to the ladder that leant against the roof he descended backwards, while he dressed and as he climbed down he kept shaking his head on its thin, shrivelM
ed sunburnt neck and mumbling something with his toothless mouth. As soon as he reached the ground he hospitably seized Hadji Murat's bridle and right stirrup; but the strong active murid had quickly dismounted and motioning the old man aside, took his place. Hadji Murat also dismounted, and walking with a slight limp, entered under the penthouse. A boy of fifteen, coming quickly out of the door, met him and wonderingly fixed his sparkling eyes, black as ripe sloes, on the new arrivals.
"run to the mosque and caM
ll your father," ordered the old man as he hurried forward to open the thin, creaking door into the saklya.
As Hadji Murat entered the outer door, a slight, spare, middle-aged woman in a yellow smock, red beshmet, and wide blue trousers came through an inner door carrying cushions.
"May thy coming bring happiness!" said she, and bending nearly double began arranging the cushions along the front wall for the guest to sit on.
"May thy sons live!" answered Hadji Murat, taking off his burka, his rifle, and hisM
 sword, and handing them to the old man who carefully hung the rifle and sword on a nail beside the weapons of the master of the house, which were suspended between two large basins that glittered against the clean clay-plastered and carefully whitewashed wall.
Hadji Murat adjusted the pistol at his back, came up to the cushions, and wrapping his Circassian coat closer round him, sat down. The old man squatted on his bare heels beside him, closed his eyes, and lifted his hands palms upwards. Hadji Murat did the M
same; then after repeating a prayer they both stroked their faces, passing their hands downward till the palms joined at the end of their beards.
"Ne habar?" ("Is there anything new?") asked Hadji Murat, addressing the old man.
"Habar yok" ("Nothing new"), replied the old man, looking with his lifeless red eyes not at Hadji Murat's face but at his breast. "I live at the apiary and have only today come to see my son....He knows."
Hadji Murat, understanding that the old man did not wish to say what he knew aM
nd what Hadji Murat wanted to know, slightly nodded his head and asked no more questions.
"There is no good news," said the old man. "The only news is that the hares keep discussing how to drive away the eagles, and the eagles tear first one and then another of them. The other day the Russian dogs burnt the hay in the Mitchit aoul....May their faces be torn!" he added hoarsely and angrily.
Hadji Murat's murid entered the room, his strong legs striding softly over the earthen floor. Retaining only his dagger aM
nd pistol, he took off his burka, rifle, and sword as Hadji Murat had done, and hung them up on the same nails as his leader's weapons.
"Who is he?" asked the old man, pointing to the newcomer.
"My murid. Eldar is his name," said Hadji Murat.
"That is well," said the old man, and motioned Eldar to a place on a piece of felt beside Hadji Murat. Eldar sat down, crossing his legs and fixing his fine ram-like eyes on the old man who, having now started talking, was telling how their brave fellows had caught twM
o Russian soldiers the week before and had killed one and sent the other to Shamil in Veden.
Hadji Murat heard him absently, looking at the door and listening to the sounds outside. Under the penthouse steps were heard, the door creaked, and Sado, the master of the house, came in. He was a man of about forty, with a small beard, long nose, and eyes as black, though not as glittering, as those of his fifteen-year-old son who had run to call him home and who now entered with his father and sat down by the door. ThM
e master of the house took off his wooden slippers at the door, and pushing his old and much-worn cap to the back of his head (which had remained unshaved so long that it was beginning to be overgrown with black hair), at once squatted down in front of Hadji Murat.
He too lifted his palms upwards, as the old man had done, repeated a prayer, and then stroked his face downward. Only after that did he begin to speak. He told how an order had come from Shamil to seize Hadji Murat alive or dead, that Shamil's envoys M
had left only the day before, that the people were afraid to disobey Shamil's orders, and that therefore it was necessary to be careful.
"In my house," said Sado, "no one shall injure my kunak while I live, but how will it be in the open fields?...We must think it over."
Hadji Murat listened with attention and nodded approvingly. When Sado had finished he said:
"Very well. Now we must send a man with a letter to the Russians. My murid will go but he will need a guide."
"I will send brother Bata," said SM
ado. "Go and call Bata," he added, turning to his son.
The boy instantly bounded to his nimble feet as if he were on springs, and swinging his arms, rapidly left the saklya. Some ten minutes later he returned with a sinewy, short-legged Chechen, burnt almost black by the sun, wearing a worn and tattered yellow Circassian coat with frayed sleeves, and crumpled black leggings.
Hadji Murat greeted the newcomer, and again without wasting a single word, immediately asked:
"Canst thou conduct my murid to the RusM
"I can," gaily replied Bata. "I can certainly do it. There is not another Chechen who would pass as I can. Another might agree to go and might promise anything, but would do nothing; but I can do it!"
"All right," said Hadji Murat. "Thou shalt receive three for thy trouble," and he held up three fingers.
Bata nodded to show that he understood, and added that it was not money he prized, but that he was ready to serve Hadji Murat for the honor alone. Every one in the mountains knew Hadji Murat, and hM
ow he slew the Russian swine.
"Very well....A rope should be long but a speech short," said Hadji Murat.
"Well then I'll hold my tongue," said Bata.
"Where the river Argun bends by the cliff," said Hadji Murat, "there are two stacks in a glade in the forest -- thou knowest?"
"There my four horsemen are waiting for me," said Hadji Murat.
"Aye," answered Bata, nodding.
"Ask for Khan Mahoma. He knows what to do and what to say. Canst thou lead him to the Russian Commander, Prince VorontsM
"Yes, I'll take him."
"Canst thou take him and bring him back again?"
"then take him there and return to the wood. I shall be there too."
"I will do it all," said Bata, rising, and putting his hands on his heart he went out.
Hadji Murat turned to his host.
"A man must also be sent to Chekhi," he began, and took hold of one of the cartridge pouches of his Circassian coat, but let his hand drop immediately and became silent on seeing two women enter the saklya.
e -- the thin middle-aged woman who had arranged the cushions. The other was quite a young girl, wearing red trousers and a green beshmet. A necklace of silver coins covered the whole front of her dress, and at the end of the short but thick plait of hard black hair that hung between her thin shoulder-blades a silver ruble was suspended. Her eyes, as sloe- black as those of her father and brother, sparkled brightly in her young face which tried to be stern. She did not look at the visitors, but evidently felt theirM
Sado's wife brought in a low round table on which stood tea, pancakes in butter, cheese, churek (that is, thinly rolled out bread), and honey. The girl carried a basin, a ewer, and a towel.
Sado and Hadji Murat kept silent as long as the women, with their coin ornaments tinkling, moved softly about in their red soft-soled slippers, setting out before the visitors the things they had brought. Eldar sat motionless as a statue, his ram-like eyes fixed on his crossed legs, all the time the women were iM
n the saklya. Only after they had gone and their soft footsteps could no longer be heard behind the door, did he give a sigh of relief.
Hadji Murat having pulled out a bullet from one of the cartridge-pouches of his Circassian coat, and having taken out a rolled-up note that lay beneath it, held it out, saying:
"To be handed to my son."
"Where must the answer be sent?"
"To thee; and thou must forward it to me."
"It shall be done," said Sado, and placed the note in the cartridge-pocket of his own coatM
. Then he took up the metal ewer and moved the basin towards Hadji Murat.
Hadji Murat turned up the sleeves of his beshmet on his white muscular arms, held out his hands under the clear cold water which Sado poured from the ewer, and having wiped them on a clean unbleached towel, turned to the table. Eldar did the same. While the visitors ate, Sado sat opposite and thanked them several times for their visit. The boy sat by the door never taking his sparkling eyes off Hadji Murat's face, and smiled as if in confiM
rmation of his father's words.
Though he had eaten nothing for more than twenty-four hours Hadji Murat ate only a little bread and cheese; then, drawing out a small knife from under his dagger, he spread some honey on a piece of bread.
"Our honey is good," said the old man, evidently pleased to see Hadji Murat eating his honey. "This year, above all other years, it is plentiful and good."
"I thank thee," said Hadji Murat and turned from the table. Eldar would have liked to go on eating but he followed his M
leader's example, and having moved away from the table, handed him the ewer and basin.
Sado knew that he was risking his life by receiving such a guest in his house, for after his quarrel with Shamil the latter had issued a proclamation to all the inhabitants of Chechnya forbidding them to receive Hadji Murat on pain of death. He knew that the inhabitants of the aoul might at any moment become aware of Hadji Murat's presence in his house and might demand his surrender. But this not only did not frighten Sado, itM
 even gave him pleasure with himself because he was doing his duty.
"Whilst thou are in my house and my head is on my shoulders no one shall harm thee," he repeated to Hadji Murat.
Hadji Murat looked into his glittering eyes and understanding that this was true, said with some solemnity --
"Mayst thou receive joy and life!"
Sado silently laid his hand on his heart in token of thanks for these kind words.
Having closed the shutters of the saklya and laid some sticks in the fireplace, Sado, in an excepM
tionally bright and animated mood, left the room and went into that part of his saklya where his family all lived. The women had not yet gone to sleep, and were talking about the dangerous visitors who were spending the night in their guest chambers.
At Vozvizhensk, the advanced fort situated some ten miles from the aoul in which Hadji Murat was spending the night, three soldiers and a noncommissioned officer left the fort and went beyond the Shahgirinsk Gate. The soldiers, dressed as Caucasian soM
ldiers used to be in those days, wore sheepskin coats and caps, and boots that reached above their knees, and they carried their cloaks tightly rolled up and fastened across their shoulders. Shouldering arms, they first went some five hundred paces along the road and then turned off it and went some twenty paces to the right -- the dead leaves rustling under their boots -- till they reached the blackened trunk of a broken plane tree just visible through the darkness. There they stopped. It was at this plane tree thM
at an ambush party was usually placed.
The bright stars, that had seemed to be running along the tree tops while the soldiers were walking through the forest, now stood still, shining brightly between the bare branches of the trees.
"A good job it's dry," said the noncommissioned officer Panov, bringing down his long gun and bayonet with a clang from his shoulder and placing it against the plane tree.
The three soldiers did the same.
"Sure enough I've lost it!" muttered Panov crossly. "Must have left itM
 behind or I've dropped it on the way."
"What are you looking for?" asked one of the soldiers in a bright, cheerful voice.
"The bowl of my pipe. Where the devil has it got to?"
"Have you got the stem?" asked the cheerful voice.
"Then why not stick it straight into the ground?"
"Not worth bothering!"
"We'll manage that in a minute."
smoking in ambush was forbidden, but this ambush hardly deserved the name. It was rather an outpost to prevent the mountaineers from bringing up a cM
annon unobserved and firing at the fort as they used to. Panov did not consider it necessary to forego the pleasure of smoking, and therefore accepted the cheerful soldier's offer. the latter took a knife from his pocket and made a small round hole in the ground. Having smoothed it, he adjusted the pipe stem to it, then filled the hole with tobacco and pressed it down, and the pipe was ready. A sulfur match flared and for a moment lit up the broadcheeked face of the soldier who lay on his stomach, the air whistled M
in the stem, and Panov smelt the pleasant odor of burning tobacco.
"Fixed ut up?" said he, rising to his feet.
"What a smart chap you are, Avdeev!...As wise as a judge! Now then, lad."
Avdeev rolled over on his side to make room for Panov, letting smoke escape from his mouth.
Panov lay down prone, and after wiping the mouthpiece with his sleeve, began to inhale.
When they had had their smoke the soldiers began to talk.
"They say the commander has had his fingers in the cashboxM
 again," remarked one of them in a lazy voice. "He lost at cards, you see."
"He'll pay it back again," said Panov.
"Of course he will! He's a good officer," assented Avdeev.
"Good! good!" gloomily repeated the man who had started the conversation. "In my opinion the company ought to speak to him. 'If you've taken the money, tell us how much and when you'll repay it.'"
"That will be as the company decides," said Panov, tearing himself away from the pipe.
"Of course. 'The community is a strong man,'" aM
ssented Avdeev, quoting a proverb.
"There will be oats to buy and boots to get towards spring. the money will be wanted, and what shall we do if he's pocketed it?" insisted the dissatisfied one.
"I tell you it will be as the company wishes," repeated Panov. "It's not the first time; he takes it and gives it back."
In the Caucasus in those days each company chose men to manage its own commissariat. they received 6 rubles 50 kopecks a month per man from the treasury, and catered for the company. They plantedM
 cabbages, made hay, had their own carts, and prided themselves on their well-fed horses. The company's money was kept in a chest of which the commander had the key, and it often happened that he borrowed from the chest. This had just happened again, and the soldiers were talking about it. The morose soldier, Nikitin, wished to demand an account from the commander, while Panov and Avdeev considered that unnecessary.
After Panov, Nikitin had a smoke, and then spreading his cloak on the ground sat down on it leaniM
ng against the trunk of the plane tree. The soldiers were silent. Far above their heads the crowns of the trees rustled in the wind and suddenly, above this incessant low rustling, rose the howling, whining, weeping and chuckling of jackals.
"Just listen to those accursed creatures -- how they caterwaul!"
"They're laughing at you because your mouth's all on one side," remarked the high voice of the third soldier, an Ukrainian.
All was silent again, except for the wind that swayed the branches, now revealinM
g and now hiding the stars.
"I say, Panov," suddenly asked the cheerful Avdeev, "do you ever feel dull?"
"Dull, why?" replied Panov reluctantly.
"Well, I do....I feel so dull sometimes that I don't know what I might not be ready to do to myself."
"There now!" was all Panov replied.
"That time when I drank all the money it was from dullness. It took hold of me...took hold of me till I thought to myself, 'I'll just get blind drunk!'"
"But sometimes drinking makes it still worse."
pened to me too. But what is a man to do with himself?"
"But what makes you feel so dull?"
"What, me? ... Why, it's the longing for home."
"Is yours a wealthy home then?"
"No; we weren't wealthy, but things went properly -- we lived well." And Avdeev began to relate what he had already told Panov many times.
"You see, I went as a soldier of my own free will, instead of my brother," he said. "He has children. They were five in family and I had only just married. Mother began begging me to go. So I thoM
ught, 'Well, maybe they will remember what I've done.' So I went to our proprietor ... he was a good master and he said, 'You're a fine fellow, go!' So I went instead of my brother."
"Well, that was right," said Panov.
"And yet, will you believe me, Panov, it's chiefly because of that that I feel so dull now? 'Why did you go instead of your brother?' I say to myself. 'He's living like a king now over there, while you have to suffer here;' and the more I think of it the worse I feel. ... It seems just a piece M
"Perhaps we'd better have another smoke," said he after a pause.
"Well then, fix it up!"
But the soldiers were not to have their smoke. Hardly had Avdeev risen to fix the pipe stem in its place when above the rustling of the trees they heard footsteps along the road. Panov took his gun and pushed Nikitin with his foot.
Nikitin rose and picked up his cloak.
The third soldier, Bondarenko, rose also, and said:
"And I have dreamed such a dream, mates...."
aid Avdeev, and the soldiers held their breath, listening. The footsteps of men in soft-soled boots were heard approaching. The fallen leaves and dry twigs could be heard rustling clearer and clearer through the darkness. Then came the peculiar guttural tones of Chechen voices. The soldiers could now not only hear men approaching, but could see two shadows passing through a clear space between the trees; one shadow taller than the other. When these shadows had come in line with the soldiers, Panov, gun in hand, steM
pped out on to the road, followed by his comrades.
"Who goes there?" cried he.
"Me, friendly Chechen," said the shorter one. This was Bata. "Gun, yok!...sword, yok!" said he, pointing to himself. "Prince, want!"
The taller one stood silent beside his comrade. He too was unarmed.
"He means he's a scout, and wants the Colonel," explained Panov to his comrades.
"Prince Vorontsov...much want! Big business!" said Bata.
"All right, all right! We'll take you to him," said Panov. "I say, you'd better takeM
 them," said he to Avdeev, "you and Bondarenko; and when you've given them up to the officer on duty come back again. Mind," he added, "be careful to make them keep in front of you!"
"and what of this?" said Avdeev, moving his gun and bayonet as though stabbing someone. "I's just give a dig, and let the steam out of him!"
"What'll he be worth when you've stuck him?" remarked Bondarenko.
When the steps of the two soldiers conducting the scouts could no longer be heard, Panov and Nikitin retM
urned to their post.
"What the devil brings them here at night?" said Nikitin.
"Seems it's necessary," said panov. "But it's getting chilly," he added, and unrolling his cloak he put it on and sat down by the tree.
About two hours later Avdeev and Bondarenko returned.
"Well, have you handed them over?"
"Yes. They weren't yet asleep at the Colonel's -- they were taken straight in to him. And do you know, mates, those shaven- headed lads are fine!" continued Avdeev. "Yes, really. What a talk I had withM
"Of course you'd talk," remarked Nikitin disapprovingly.
"Really they're just like Russians. One of them is married. 'Molly,' says I, 'bar?' 'Bar,' he says. Bondarenko, didn't I say 'bar'? 'Many bar?' 'A couple,' says he. A couple! Such a good talk we had! Such nice fellows!"
"Nice, indeed!" said Nikitin. "If you met him alone he'd soon let the guts out of you."
"It will be getting light before long." said panov.
"Yes, the stars are beginning to go out," said Avdeev, sitting down and making hM
And the soldiers were silent again.
The windows of the barracks and the soldiers' houses had long been dark in the fort; but there were still lights in the windows of the best house.
In it lived Prince Simon Mikhailovich Vorontsov, Commander of the Kurin Regiment, an Imperial Aide-de-Camp and son of the Commander-in-Chief. Vorontsov's wife, Marya Vasilevna, a famous Petersburg beauty, was with him and they lived in this little Caucasian fort more luxuriously than any one M
had ever lived there before. To Vorontsov, and even more to his wife, it seemed that they were not only living a very modest life, but one full of privations, while to the inhabitants of the place their luxury was surprising and extraordinary.
Just now, at midnight, the host and hostess sat playing cards with their visitors, at a card table lit by four candles, in the spacious drawing room with its carpeted floor and rich curtains drawn across the windows. Vorontsov, who had a long face and wore the insignia andM
 gold cords of an aide-de-camp, was partnered by a shaggy young man of gloomy appearance, a graduate of Petersburg University whom Princess Vorontsov had lately had sent to the Caucasus to be tutor to her little son (born of her first marriage). Against them played two officers: one a broad, red- faced man, Poltoratsky, a company commander who had exchanged out of the Guards; and the other the regimental adjutant, who sat very straight on his chair with a cold expression on his handsome face.
Princess Marya VasiM
levna, a large-built, large-eyed, black- browed beauty, sat beside Poltoratsky -- her crinoline touching his lets -- and looked over his cards. In her words, her looks, her smile, her perfume, and in every movement of her body, there was something that reduced Poltoratsky to obliviousness of everything except the consciousness of her nearness, and he made blunder after blunder, trying his partner's temper more and more.
"No ... that's too bad! You've wasted an ace again," said the regimental adjutant, flushing aM
ll over as Poltoratsky threw out an ace.
Poltoratsky turned his kindly, wide-set black eyes towards the dissatisfied adjutant uncomprehendingly, as though just aroused from sleep.
"Do forgive him!" said Marya Vasilevna, smiling. "There, you see! Didn't I tell you so?" she went on, turning to Poltoratsky.
"But that's not at all what you said," replied Poltoratsky, smiling.
"Wasn't it?" she queried, with an answering smile, which excited and delighted Poltoratsky to such a degree that he blushed crimson aM
nd seeing the cards began to shuffle.
"It isn't your turn to deal," said the adjutant sternly, and with his white ringed hand he began to deal himself, as though he wished to get rid of the cards as quickly as possible.
The prince's valet entered the drawing room and announced that the officer on duty wanted to speak to him.
"Excuse me, gentlemen," said the prince speaking Russian with an English accent. "Will you take my place, marya?"
"Do you all agree?" asked the princess, rising quickly and lightly M
to her full height, rustling her silks, and smiling the radiant smile of a happy woman.
"I always agree to everything," replied the adjutant, very pleased that the princess -- who could not play at all -- was now going to play against him.
Poltoratsky only spread out his hands and smiled.
The rubber was nearly finished when the prince returned to the drawing room, animated and obviously very pleased.
"Do you know what I propose?"
"That we have some champagne."
"I am always ready for thaM
t," said Poltoratsky.
"Why not? We shall be delighted!" said the adjutant.
"Bring some, Vasili!" said the prince.
"What did they want you for?" asked Marya Vasilevna.
"It was the officer on duty and another man."
"Who? What about?" asked Marya Vasilevna quickly.
"I mustn't say," said Vorontsov, shrugging his shoulders.
"You mustn't say!" repeated Marya Vasilevna. "We'll see about that."
When the champagne was brought each of the visitors drank a glass, and having finished the game and settleM
d the scores they began to take their leave.
"Is it your company that's ordered to the forest tomorrow?" the prince asked Poltoratsky as they said goodbye.
"Then we shall meet tomorrow," said the prince, smiling slightly.
"Very pleased," replied Poltoratsky, not quite understanding what Vorontsov was saying to him and preoccupied only by the thought that he would in a minute be pressing Marya Vasilevna's hand.
Marya Vasilevna, according to her wont, not only pressed his hand firmlyM
 but shook it vigorously, and again reminding him of his mistake in playing diamonds, she gave him what he took to be a delightful, affectionate, and meaning smile.
Poltoratsky went home in an ecstatic condition only to be understood by people like himself who, having grown up and been educated in society, meet a woman belonging to their own circle after months of isolated military life, and moreover a woman like Princess Vorontsov.
When he reached the little house in which he and his comrade lived he pushed M
the door, but it was locked. He knocked, with no result. He felt vexed, and began kicking the door and banging it with his sword. Then he heard a sound of footsteps and Vovilo -- a domestic serf of his -- undid the cabin hook which fastened the door.
"What do you mean by locking yourself in, blockhead?"
"But how is it possible, sir...?"
"You're tipsy again! I'll show you 'how it is possible!'" and Poltoratsky was about to strike Vovilo but changed his mind. "Oh, go to the devil! ... Light a candle."
Vovilo was really tipsy. He had been drinking at the name day party of the ordnance sergeant, Ivan Petrovich. On returning home he began comparing his life with that of the latter. Ivan Petrovich had a salary, was married, and hoped in a year's time to get his discharge.
Vovilo had been taken "up" when a boy -- that is, he had been taken into his owner's household service -- and now although he was already over forty he was not married, but lived a campaigning life with his harum-scarum young mastM
er. He was a good master, who seldom struck him, but what kind of a life was it? "He promised to free me when we return from the Caucasus, but where am I to with my freedom? ... It's a dog's life!" thought Vovilo, and he felt so sleepy that, afraid lest someone should come in and steal something, he fastened the hook of the door and fell asleep.
Poltoratsky entered the bedroom which he shared with his comrade Tikhonov.
"Well, have you lost?" asked Tikhonov, waking up.
"No, as it happens, I haveM
n't. I've won seventeen rubles, and we drank a bottle of Cliquot!"
"And you've looked at Marya Vasilevna?"
"Yes, and I have looked at Marya Vasilevna," repeated Poltoratsky.
"It will soon be time to get up," said Tikhonov. "We are to start at six."
"Vovilo!" shouted Poltoratsky, "see that you wake me up properly tomorrow at five!"
"How can I wake you if you fight?"
"I tell you you're to wake me! Do you hear?"
"All right." Vovilo went out, taking Poltoratsky's boots and clothes with him. PoltoraM
tsky got into bed and smoked a cigarette and put out his candle smiling the while. In the dark he saw before him the smiling face of Marya Vasilevna.
The Vorontsovs did not go to bed at once. When the visitors had left, Marya Vasilevna went up to her husband and standing in front of him, said severely --
"Eh bien! vous allez me dire ce que c'est."
"Pas de 'ma chere'! C'etait un emissaire, n'est-ce pas?"
"Quand meme, je ne puis pas vous le dire."
"Vous ne pouvez pas?M
 Alors, c'est moi qui vais vous le dire!"
"It was Hadji Murat, wasn't it?" said Marya Vasilevna, who had for some days past heard of the negotiations and thought that Hadji Murat himself had been to see her husband. Vorontsov could not altogether deny this, but disappointed her by saying that it was not Hadji Murat himself but only an emissary to announce that Hadji Murat would come to meet him next day at the spot where a wood- cutting expedition had been arranged.
In the monotonous life of the foM
rtress the young Vorontsovs -- both husband and wife -- were glad of this occurrence, and it was already past two o'clock when, after speaking of the pleasure the news would give his father, they went to bed.
After the three sleepless nights he had passed flying from the murids Shamil had sent to capture him, Hadji Murat fell asleep as soon as Sado, having bid him goodnight, had gone out of the saklya.
He slept fully dressed with his head on his hand, his elbow sinking deep into the red down-cuM
shions his host had arranged for him.
At a little distance, by the wall, slept Eldar. He lay on his back, his strong young limbs stretched out so that his high chest, with the black cartridge-pouches sewn into the front of his white Circassian coat, was higher than his freshly shaven, blue-gleaming head, which had rolled off the pillow and was thrown back. His upper lip, on which a little soft down was just appearing, pouted like a child's, now contracting and now expanding, as though he were sipping something. M
Like Hadji Murat he slept with pistol and dagger in his belt. the sticks in the grate burnt low, and a night light in a niche in the wall gleamed faintly.
In the middle of the night the floor of the guest-chamber creaked, and Hadji Murat immediately rose, putting his hand to his pistol. Sado entered, treading softly on the earthen floor.
"What is it?" asked Hadji Murat, as if he had not been asleep at all.
"We must think," replied Sado, squatting down in front of him.
"A woman from her roof saw you arriM
ve and told her husband, and now the whole aoul knows. A neighbor has just been to tell my wife that the Elders have assembled in the mosque and want to detain you."
"I must be off!" said Hadji Murat.
"The horses are saddled," said Sado, quickly leaving the saklya.
"Eldar!" whispered Hadji Murat. And Eldar, hearing his name, and above all his master's voice, leaped to his feet, setting his cap straight as he did so.
Hadji Murat put on his weapons and then his burka. Eldar did the same, and they both wenM
t silently out of the saklya into the penthouse. The black-eyed boy brought their horses. Hearing the clatter of hoofs on the hard-beaten road, someone stuck his head out of the door of a neighboring saklya and a man ran up the hill towards the mosque, clattering with his wooden shoes. There was no moon, but the stars shone brightly in the black sky so that the outlines of the saklya roofs could be seen in the darkness, the mosque with its minarets in the upper part of the village rising above the other buildings. M
From the mosque came a hum of voices.
quickly seizing his gun, Hadji Murat placed his foot in the narrow stirrup, and silently and easily throwing his body across, swung himself onto the high cushion of the saddle.
"May God reward you!" he said, addressing his host while his right foot felt instinctively for the stirrup, and with his whip he lightly touched the lad who held his horse, as a sign that he should let go. The boy stepped aside, and the horse, as if it knew what it had to do, started at a brisk pacM
e down the lane towards the principal street. Eldar rode behind him. Sado in his sheepskin followed, almost running, swinging his arms and crossing now to one side and now to the other of the narrow sidestreet. At the place where the streets met, first one moving shadow and then another appeared in the road.
"Stop...who's that? Stop!" shouted a voice, and several men blocked the path.
Instead of stopping, Hadji Murat drew his pistol from his belt and increasing his speed rode straight at those who blocked theM
 way. They separated, and without looking round he started down the road at a swift canter. Eldar followed him at a sharp trot. Two shots cracked behind them and two bullets whistled past without hitting either Hadji Murat or Eldar. Hadji Murat continued riding at the same pace, but having gone some three hundred yards he stopped his slightly panting horse and listened.
In front of him, lower down, gurgled rapidly running water. Behind him in the aoul cocks crowed, answering one another. Above these sounds he heM
ard behind him the approaching tramp of horses and the voices of several men. Hadji Murat touched his horse and rode on at an even pace. Those behind him galloped and soon overtook him. They were some twenty mounted men, inhabitants of the aoul, who had decided to detain Hadji Murat or a least to make a show of detaining him in order to justify themselves in Shamil's eyes. When they came near enough to be seen in the darkness, Hadji Murat stopped, let go his bridle, and with an accustomed movement of his bridle, anM
d with an accustomed movement of his left hand unbuttoned the cover of his rifle, which he drew forth with his right. Eldar did the same.
"What do you want?" cried Hadji Murat. "Do you wish to take me?...Take me, then!" and he raised his rifle. The men form the aoul stopped, and Hadji Murat, rifle in hand, rode down into the ravine. the mounted men followed him but did not draw any nearer. When Hadji Murat had crossed to the other side of the ravine the men shouted to him that he should hear what they had to sayM
. In reply he fired his rifle and put his horse to a gallop. When he reined it in his pursuers were no longer within hearing and the crowing of the cocks could also no longer be heard; only the murmur of the water in the forest sounded more distinctly and now and then came the cry of an owl. The black wall of the forest appeared quite close. It was in the forest that his murids awaited him.
On reaching it Hadji Murat paused, and drawing much air into his lungs he whistled and then listened silently. the next minM
ute he was answered by a similar whistle from the forest. Hadji Murat turned from the road and entered it. When he had gone about a hundred paces he saw among the trunks of the trees a bonfire, the shadows of some men sitting round it, and, half lit-up by the firelight, a hobbled horse which was saddled. Four men were sitting by the fire.
One of them rose quickly, and coming up to Hadji Murat took hold of his bridle and stirrup. This was Hadji Murat's sworn brother who managed his household affairs for him.
Put out the fire," said Hadji Murat, dismounting.
The men began scattering the pile and trampling on the burning branches.
"Has Bata been here?" asked Hadji Murat, moving towards a burka that was spread on the ground.
"Yes, he went away long ago with Khan Mahoma."
"Which way did they go?"
"That way," answered Khanefi pointing in the opposite direction to that from which Hadji Murat had come.
"All right," said Hadji Murat, and unslinging his rifle he began to load it.
"We must take care -- I havM
e been pursued," he said to a man who was putting out the fire.
This was Gamzalo, a Chechen. Gamzalo approached the barka, took up a rifle that lay on it wrapped in its cover, and without a word went to that side of the glade from which Hadji Murat had come.
When Eldar had dismounted he took Hadji Murat's horse, and having reined up both horses's heads high, tied them to two trees. Then he shouldered his rifle as Gamzalo had done and went to the other side of the glade. The bonfire was extinguished, the foresM
t no longer looked as black as before, but in the sky the stars still shone, thought faintly.
Lifting his eyes to the stars and seeing that the Pleiades had already risen half-way up in the sky, Hadji Murat calculated that it must be long past midnight and that his nightly prayer was long overdue. He asked Khanefi for a ewer (they always carried one in their packs), and putting on his barka went to the water.
Having taken off his shoes and performed his ablutions, Hadji Murat stepped onto the burka with bare M
feet and then squatted down on his calves, and having first placed his fingers in his ears and closed his eyes, he turned to the south and recited the usual prayer.
When he had finished he returned to the place where the saddle bags lay, and sitting down on the burka he leant his elbows on his knees and bowed his head and fell into deep thought.
Hadji Murat always had great faith in his own fortune. When planning anything he always felt in advance firmly convinced of success, and fate smiled on him. It had beM
en so, with a few rare exceptions, during the whole course of his stormy militray life; and so he hoped it would be now. He pictured to himself how -- with the army vorontsov would place at his disposal -- he would march against Shamil and take him prisoner, and revenge himself on him; and how the russian Czar would reward him and how he would again rule not only over Avaria, but over the whole of Chechnya, which would submit to him. With these thoughts he unwittingly fell asleep.
He dreamed how he and his braveM
 followers rushed at Shamil with songs and with the cry, "Hadji Murat is coming!" and how they seized him and his wifes and how he heard the wives crying and sobbing. He woke up. The song, Lya-il-allysha, and the cry "Hadji Murat is coming!" and the weeping of shamil's wives, was the howling, weeping and laughter of jackals that awoke him. Hadji Murat lifted his head, glanced at the sky which, seen between the trunks of the trees, was already growing light in the east and inquired after Khan Mahoma of a murid who sM
at at some distance from him. On hearing that Khan Mahoma had not yet returned, Hadji Murat again bowed his head and at once fell asleep.
He was awakened by the merry voice of Khan Mahoma returning from his mission with Bata. Khan Mahoma at once sat down beside Hadji Murat and told him how the soldiers had met them and had led them to the prince himself, and how pleased the prince was and how he promised to meet them in the morning where the Russians would be felling trees beyond the Mitchik in the Shalin glade.M
 Bata interrupted his fellow-envoy to add details of his own.
Hadji Murat asked particularly for the words with which Vorontsov had answered his offer to go over to the russians, and Khan Mahoma and Bata replied with one voice that the prince promised to receive Hadji Murat as a guest, and to act so that it should be well for him.
Then Hadji Murat questioned them about the road, and when Khan Mahoma assured him that he knew the way well and would conduct him straight to the spot, Hadji Murat took out some monM
ey and gave Bata the promised three rubles. Then he ordered his men to take out of the saddle bags his gold-ornamented weapons and his turban, and to clean themselves up so as to look well when they arrived among the Russians.
While they cleaned their weapons, harness, and horses, the stars faded away, it became quite light, and an early morning breeze sprang up.
Early in the morning, while it was still dark, two companies carrying axes and commanded by Poltoratsky marched six miles beyond the M
Shagirinsk Gate, and having thrown out a line of sharpshooters set to work to fell trees as soon as the day broke. Towards eight o'clock the mist which had mingled with the perfumed smoke of the hissing and crackling damp green branches on the bonfires began to rise and the wood-fellers -- who till then had not seen five paces off but had only heard one another -- began to see both the bonfires and the road through the forest, blocked with falled trees. The sun now appeared like a bright spot in the fog and now agaM
In the glade, some way from the road, Poltoratsky, his subaltern Tikhonov, two officers of the Third Company, and Baron Freze, an ex-officer of the Guards and a fellow student of Poltoratsky at the Cadet College, who had been reduced to the ranks for fighting a duel, were sitting on drums. Bits of paper that had contained food, cigarette stumps, and empty bottles, lat scattered around them. The officers had had some vodka and were now eating, and drinking porter. A drummer was uncorking their thirM
Poltoratsky, although he had not had enough sleep, was in that peculiar state of elation and kindly careless gaiety which he always felt when he found himself among his soldiers and with his comrades where there was a possibility of danger.
The officers were carrying on an animated conversation, the subject of which was the latest news: the death of General Sletpsov. None of them saw in this death that most important moment of a life, its termination and return to the source when it sprang -- they sM
aw in it only the valor of a gallant officer who rushed at the mountaineers sword in hand and hacked them desperately.
Though all of them -- and especially those who had been in action -- knew and could not help knowing that in those days in the Caucasus, and in fact anywhere and at any time, such hand-to- hand hacking as is always imagined and described never occurs (or if hacking with swords and bayonets ever does occur, it is only those who are running away that get hacked), that fiction of hand- to-hand fighM
ting endowed them with the calm pride and cheerfulness with which they say on the drums -- some with a jaunty air, others on the contrary in a very modest pose, and drank and joked without troubling about death, which might overtake them at any moment as it had overtaken Sleptsov. And in the midst of their talk, as if to confirm their expectations, they heard to the left of the road the pleasant stirring sound of a rifle shot; and a bullet, merrily whistling somewhere in the misty air, flew past and crashed into a M
"Hullo!" exclaimed Poltoratsky in a merry voice; "Why that's at our line. ... There now, Kostya," and he turned to Freze, "now's your chance. Go back to the company. I will lead the whole company to support the cordon and we'll arrange a battle that will be simply delightful ... and then we'll make a report."
Freze jumped to his feet and went at a quick pace towards the smoke-enveloped spot where he had left his company.
Poltoratsky's little Kabarda dapple-bay was brought to him, and he mounted and dM
rew up his company and led it in the direction whence the shots were fired. The outposts stood on the skirts of the forest in front of the bare descending slope of a ravine. The wind was blowing in the direction of the forest, and not only was it possible to see the slope of the ravine, but the opposite side of it was also distinctly visible. When Poltoratsky rode up to the line the sun came out from behind the mist, and on the other side of the ravine, by the outskirts of a young forest, a few horsemen could be seM
en at a distance of a quarter of a mile. These were the Chechens who had pursued Hadji Murat and wanted to see him meet the Russians. One of them fired at the line. Several soldiers fired back. The Chechens retreated and the firing ceased.
But when Poltoratsky and his company came up he nevertheles gave orders to fire, and scarcely had the word been passed than along the whole line of sharpshooters the incessant, merry, stirring rattle of our rifles began, acompanied by pretty dissolving cloudlets of smoke. The M
soldiers, pleased to have some distraction, hastened to load and fired shot after shot. The Chechens evidently caught the feeling of excitement, and leaping forward one after another fired a few shots at our men. One of these shots wounded a soldier. It was the same Avdeev who had lain in ambush the night before.
When his comrades approached him he was lying prone, holding his wounded stomach with both hands, and rocking himself with a rhythmic motion moaned softly. He belonged to Poltoratsky's company, and PoltM
oratsky, seeing a group of soldiers collected, rode up to them.
"What is it, lad? Been hit?" said Poltoratsky. "Where?"
Avdeev did not answer.
"I was just going to load, your honor, when I heard a click," said a soldier who had been with Avdeef; "and I look and see he's dropped his gun."
"Tut, tut, tut!" Poltoratsky clicked his tongue. "Does it hurt much, Avdeev?"
"It doesn't hurt but it stops me walking. A dropu of vodka now, your honor!"
Some vodka (or rather the spirit drunk by the soldiers in M
the Caucasus) was found, and Panov, severely frowning, brought Avdeev a can-lid full. Avdeev tried to drink it but immediately handed back the lid.
"My soul truns against it," he said. "Drink it yourself."
Panov drank up the spirit.
Avdeev raised himself but sank back at once. They spread out a cloak and laid him on it.
"Your honor, the colonel is coming," said the sergeant-major to Poltoratsky.
"All right. then will you see to him?" said Poltoratsky, and flourishing his whip he rode at a fast trot tM
Vorontsov was riding his thoroughbred English chestnut gelding, and was accompanied by the adjutant, a Cossack, and a Chechen interpreter.
"What's happening here?" asked Vorontsov.
"Why, a skirmishing party attacked our advanced line," Poltoratsky answered.
"Come, come -- you arranged the whole thing yourself!"
"Oh no, Prince, not I," said Poltoratsky with a smile; "they pushed forward of their own accord."
"I hear a soldier has been wounded?"
"Yes, it's a great pity. He's a gM
"Seriously, I believe ... in the stomach."
"And do you know where I am going?" vorontsov asked.
"Hadji Murat has surrendered and we are now going to meet him."
"You don't mean to say so?"
"His envoy came to me yesterday," said Vorontsov, with difficulty repressing a smile of pleasure. "He will be waiting for me at the Shalin glade in a few minutes. Place sharpshooters as far as the glade, and then come and join me."
rstand," said Poltoratsky, lifting his hand to his cap, and rode back to his company. He led the sharp shooters to the right himself, and ordered the seargeant-major to do the same on the left side.
The wounded Avdeev had meanwhile been taken back to the fort by some of the soldiers.
On his way back to rejoin vorontsov, Poltoratsky noticed behind him several horsemen who were overtaking him. In front on a white-maned horse rode a man of imposing appearance. He wore a turban and carried weapons with gold ornamM
ents. This man was Hadji Murat. He approached Poltoratsky and said something to him in Tartar. Raising his eyebrows, Poltoratsky made a gesture with his arms to show that he did not understand, and smiled. Hadji Murat gave him smile for smile, and that smile struck Poltoratsky by its childlike kindliness. Poltoratsky had never expected to see the terrible mountain chief look like that. He had expected to see a morose, hard-featured man, and here was a vivacious person whose smile was so kindly that Poltoratsky feltM
 as if he were an old acquaintance. He had only one peculiarity: his eyes, set wide apart, which gazed from under their black brows calmly, attentively, and penetratingly into the eyes of others.
Hadji Murat's suit consisted of five men, among them was Khan Mahoma, who had been to see Prince Vorontsov that night. He was a rosy, round-faced fellow with black lashless eyes and a beaming expression, full of the joy of life. Then there was the Avar Khanefi, a thick-set, hairy man, whose eyebrows met. He was in chargM
e of all Hadji Murat's property and led a stud-bred horse which carried tightly packed saddle bags. Two men of the suite were particularly striking. The first was a Lesghian: a youth, broad-shouldered but with a waist as slim as a woman's, beautiful ram-like eyes, and the beginnings of a brown beard. This was Eldar. The other, Gamzalo, was a Chechen with a short red beard and no eyebrows or eyelashes; he was blind in one eye and had a scar across his nose and face. Poltoratsky pointed out Vorontsov, who had just apM
peared on the road. Hadji Murat rode to meet him, and putting his right hand on his heart said something in Tartar and stopped. The Chechen interpreter translated.
"He says, 'I surrender myself to the will of the Russian Czar.
I wish to serve him,' he says.  'I wished to so do long ago but Shamil would not let me.'"
Having heard what the interpreter said, Vorontsov stretched out his hand in its wash-leather glove to Hadji Murat. Hadji Murat looked at it hestitatingly for a moment and then pressed it firmlyM
, again saying something and looking first at the interpreter and then at Vorontsov.
"He says he did not wish to surrender to any one but you, as you are the son of the Sirdar and he respects you much."
Vorontsov nodded to express his thanks. Hadji Murat again said something, pointing to his suite.
"He says that these men, his henchmen, will serve the Russians as well as he."
Vorontsov turned towards then and nodded to them too. The merry, black-eyed, lashless Chechen, Khan Mahoma, also nodded and said M
something which was probably amusing, for the hairy Avar drew his lips into a smile, showing his ivory-white teeth. But the red- haired Gamzalo's one red eye just glanced at Vorontsov and then was again fixed on the ears of his horse.
When Vorontsov and Hadji Murat with their retinues rode back to the fort the soldiers released form the lines gathered in groups and made their own comments.
"What a lot of men that damned fellow has destroyed! And now see what a fuss they will make of him!"
s Shamil's right hand, and now -- no fear!"
"Still there's no denying it! he's a fine fellow -- a regular dzhigit!"
"And the red one! He squints at you like a beast!"
"Ugh! He must be a hound!"
They had all specially noticed the red one. Where the wood- felling was going on the soldiers nearest to the road ran out to look. Their officer shouted to them, but Vorontsov stopped him.
"Let them have a look at their old friend."
"You know who that is?" he added, turning to the nearest soldier, and speakM
ing the words slowly with his English accent.
"No, your Excellency."
"Hadji Murat. ... Heard of him?"
"How could we help it, your Excellency? We've beaten him many a time!"
"Yes, and we've had it hot from him too."
"Yes, that's true, your Excellency," answered the soldier, pleased to be talking with his chief.
Hadji Murat understood that they were speaking about him, and smiled brightly with his eyes.
Vornotsov returned to the fort in a very cheerful mood.
Young Vorontsov was M
much pleased that it was he, and no one else, who had succeeded in winning over and receiving Hadji Murat -- next to Shamil Russia's chief and most active enemy. There was only one unpleasant thing about it: General Meller- Zakomelsky was in command of the army at Vozdvizhenski, and the whole affair ought to have been carried out through him. As Vorontsov had done everything himself without reporting it there might be some unpleasantness, and this thought rather interfered with his satisfaction. On reaching his houM
se he entrusted Hadji Murat's henchmen to the regimental adjutant and himself showed Hadji Murat into the house.
Princess Marya Vasilevna, elegantly dressed and smiling, and her little son, a handsome curly-headed child of six, met Hadji Murat in the drawing room. The latter placed his hands on his heart, and through the interpreter -- who had entered with him -- said with solemnity that he regarded himself as the prince's kunak, since the prince had brought him into his own house; and that a kunak's whole familM
y was as sacred as the kunak himself.
Hadji Murat's appearance and manners pleased Marya Vasilevna, and the fact that he flushed when she held out her large white hand to him inclined her still more in his favor. She invited him to sit down, and having asked him whether he drank coffee, had some served. He, however, declined it when it came. He understood a little Russian but could not speak it. When something was said which he could not understand he smiled, and his smile pleased Marya Vasilevna just as it had M
pleased Poltoratsky. The curly-haired, keen-eyed little boy (whom his mother called Bulka) standing beside her did not take his eyes off Hadji Murat, whom he had always heard spoken of as a great warrior.
Leaving Hadji Murat with his wife, Vorontsov went to his office to do what was necessary about reporting the fact of Hadji Murat's having cove over to the Russians. When he had written a report to the general in command of the left flank -- General Kozlovsky -- at Grozny, and a letter to his father, Vorontsov hM
urried home, afraid that his wife might be vexed with him for forcing on her this terrible stranger, who had to be treated in such a way that he should not take offense, and yet not too kindly. But his fears were needless. Hadji Murat was sitting in an armchair with little Bulka, Vorontsov's stepson, on his knee, and with bent head was listening attentively to the interpreter who was translating to him the words of the laughing marya Vasilevna. Marya Vasilevna was telling him that if every time a kunak admired anytM
hing of his he made him a present of it, he would soon have to go about like Adam. ...
When the prince entered, Hadji Murat rose at once and, surprising and offending Bulka by putting him off his knee, changed the playful expression of his face to a stern and serious one. He only sat down again when Vorontsov had himself taken a seat.
Continuing the conversation he answered Marya Vasilevna by telling her that it was a law among his people that anything your kunak admired must be presented to him.
 kunak?" he said in Russian, patting the curly head of the boy who had again climbed on his knee.
"He is delightful, your brigand!" said Marya Vasilevna to her husband in french. "Bulka has been admiring his dagger, and he has given it to him."
Bulka showed the dagger to his father. "C'est un objet de prix!" added she.
"Il faudra trouver l'occasion de lui faire cadeau," said Vorontsov.
Hadji Murat, his eyes turned down, sat stroking the boy's curly hair and saying: "Dzhigit, dzhigit!"
eautiful dagger," said Vorontsov, half drawing out the sharpened blade which had a ridge down the center. "I thank thee!"
"Ask him what I can do for him," he said to the interpreter.
The interpreter translated, and Hadji Murat at once replied that he wanted nothing but that he begged to be taken to a place where he could say his prayers.
Vorontsov called his valet and told him to do what Hadji Murat desired.
As soon as Hadji Murat was alone in the room allotted to him his face altered. The pleased expreM
ssion, now kindly and now stately, vanished, and a look of anxiety showed itself. Vorontsov had received him far better than Hadji Murat had expected. But the better the reception the less did Hadji Murat trust Vorontsov and his officers. He feared everything: that he might be seized, chained, and sent to Siberia, or simply killed; and therefore he was on his guard. He asked Eldar, when the latter entered his room, where his murids had been put and whether their arms had been taken from them, and where the horses wM
ere. Eldar reported that the horses were in the prince's stables; that the men had been placed in a barn; that they retained their arms, and that the interpreter was giving them food and tea.
Hadji Murat shook his head in doubt, and after undressing said his prayers and told Eldar to bring him his silver dagger. He then dressed, and having fastened his belt, sat down on the divan with his legs tucked under him, to await what might befall him.
At four in the afternoon the interpreter came to call him to dine wM
At dinner he hardly ate anything except some pilaf, to which he helped himself from the very part of the dish from which Marya Vasilevna had helped herself.
"He is afraid we shall poison him," Marya Vasilevna remarked to her husband. "He has helped himself from the place where I took my helping." Then instantly turning to Hadji Murat she asked him through the interpreter when he would pray again. Hadji Murat lifted five fingers and pointed to the sun. "Then it will soon be time," and VorontsovM
 drew out his watch and pressed a spring. The watch struck four and one quarter. This evidently surprised Hadji Murat, and he asked to hear it again and to be allowed to look at the watch.
"Voila l'occasion! Donnez-lui la montre," said the princess to her husband.
Vorontsov at once offered the watch to Hadji Murat.
The latter placed his hand on his breast and took the watch. He touched the spring several times, listened, and nodded his head approvingly.
After dinner, Meller-Zakomelsky's aide-de-camp wasM
The aide-de-camp informed the prince that the general, having heard of Hadji Murat's arrival, was highly displeased that this had not been reported to him, and required Hadji Murat to be brought to him without delay. Vorontsov replied that the general's command should be obeyed, and through the interpreter informed Hadji Murat of these orders and asked him to go to Meller with him.
When Marya Vasilevna heard what the aide-de-camp had come about, she at once understood that unpleasantness might ariM
se between her husband and the general, and in spite of all her husband's attempts to dissuade her, decided to go with him and Hadji Murat.
"Vous feriez blen mieux de rester -- c'est mon affaire, non pas la votre. ..."
"Vous ne pouvez pas m'empecher d'aller voir madame la generale!"
"You could go some other time."
"But I wish to go now!"
There was no help for it, so Vorontsov agreed, and they all three went.
When they entered, Meller with somber politeness conducted Marya Vasilevna to his wife andM
 told his aide-de-camp to show Hadji Murat to the waiting room and not let him out till further orders.
"Please..." he said to Vorontsov, opening the door of his study and letting the prince enter before him.
Having entered the study he stopped in front of Vorontsov and, without offering him a seat, said:
"I am in command here and therefore all negotiations with the enemy have to be carried on through me! Why did you not report to me that Hadji Murat had come over?"
"An emissary came to me and announcedM
 his wish to capitulate only to me," replied Vorontsov growing pale with excitement, expecting some rude expression from the angry general and at the same time becoming infected with his anger.
"I ask you why was I not informed?"
"I intended to inform you, Baron, but..."
"You are not to address me as 'Baron,' but as 'Your Excellency'!" And here the baron's pent-up irritation suddenly broke out and he uttered all that had long been boiling in his soul.
"I have not served my sovereign twenty-seven years iM
n order that men who began their service yesterday, relying on family connections, should give orders under my very nose about matters that do not concern them!"
"Your Excellency, I request you not to say things that are incorrect!" interrupted Vorontsov.
"I am saying what is correct, and I won't allow..." said the general, still more irritably.
But at that moment Marya Vasilevna entered, rustling with her skirts and followed by a model-looking little lady, Meller- Zakomelsky's wife.
"Come, come, Baron!M
 Simon did not wish to displease you," began Marya Vasilevna.
"I am not speaking about that, Princess. ..."
"Well, well, let's forget it all!... You know, 'A bad peace is better than a good quarrel!' ... Oh dear, what am I saying?" and she laughed.
The angry general capitulated to the enchanting laugh of the beauty. A smile hovered under his mustache.
"I confess I was wrong," said Vorontsov, "but--"
"And I too got rather carried away," said Meller, and held out his hand to the prince.
established, and it was decided to leave Hadji Murat with the general for the present, and then to send him to the commander of the left flank.
Hadji Murat sat in the next room and though he did not understand what was said, he understood what it was necessary for him to understand -- namely, that they were quarreling about him, that his desertion of Shamil was a matter of immense importance to the Russians, and that therefore not only would they not exile or kill him, but that he would be able to demand much frM
om them. He also understood that though Meller-Zakomelsky was the commanding officer, he had not as much influence as his subordinate Vorontsov, and that Vorontsov was important and Meller-Zakomelsky unimportant; and therefore when Meller- Zakomelsky sent for him and began to question him, Hadji Murat bore himself proudly and ceremoniously, saying that he had come from the mountains to serve the White Czar and would give account only to his Sirdar, meaning the commander-in-chief, Prince Vorontsov senior, in Tiflis.M
The wounded Avdeev was taken to the hospital -- a small wooden building roofed with boards at the entrance of the fort -- and was placed on one of the empty beds in the common ward. There were four patients in the ward: one ill with typhus and in high fever; another, pale, with dark shadows under his eyes, who had ague, was just expecting attack and yawned continually; and two more who had been wounded in a raid three weeks before: one in the hand -- he was up -- and the other in the shoulder. ThM
e latter was sitting on a bed. All of them except the typhus patient surrounded and questioned the newcomer and those who had brought him.
"Sometimes they fire as if they were spilling peas over you, and nothing happens ... and this time only about five shots were fired," related one of the bearers.
"Each man get what fate sends!"
"Oh!" groaned Avdeev loudly, trying to master his pain when they began to place him on the bed; but he stopped groaning when he was on it, and only frowned and moved his feet conM
tinually. He held his hands over his wound and looked fixedly before him.
The doctor came, and gave orders to turn the wounded man over to see whether the bullet had passed out behind.
"What's this?" the doctor asked, pointing to the large white scars that crossed one another on the patient's back and loins.
"That was done long ago, your honor!" replied Avdeev with a groan.
They were scars left by the flogging Avdeev had received for the money he drank.
Avdeev was again turned over, and the doctor prM
obed in his stomach for a long time and found the bullet, but failed to extract it. He put a dressing on the wound, and having stuck plaster over it went away. During the whole time the doctor was probing and bandaging the wound Avdeev lay with clenched teeth and closed eyes, but when the doctor had gone he opened them and looked around as though amazed. His eyes were turned on the other patients and on the surgeon's orderly, though he seemed to see not them but something else that surprised him.
ov and Serogin came in, but Avdeev continued to lie in the same position looking before him with surprise. It was long before he recognized his comrades, though his eyes gazed straight at them.
"I say, Peter, have you no message to send home?" said Panov.
Avdeev did not answer, though he was looking Panov in the face.
"I say, haven't you any orders to send home?" again repeated Panov, touching Avdeev's cold, large-boned hand.
Avdeev seemed to come to.
"Yes, I'm here. ... I've comeM
! Have you nothing for home? Serogin would write a letter."
"Serogin ... " said Avdeev moving his eyes with difficulty towards Serogin, "will you write? ... Well then, wrote so: 'Your son,' say 'Peter, has given orders that you should live long. He envied his brother' ... I told you about that today ... ' and now he is himself glad. Don't worry him. ... Let him live. God grant it him. I am glad!' Write that."
Having said this he was silent for some time with his eyes fixed on Panov.
"And did you find your M
pipe?" he suddenly asked.
Panov did not reply.
"Your pipe ... your pipe! I mean, have you found it?" Avdeev repeated.
"That's right! ... Well, and now give me a candle to hold ... I am going to die," said Avdeev.
Just then Poltoratsky came in to inquire after his soldier.
"How goes it, my lad! Badly?" said he.
Avdeev closed his eyes and shook his head negatively. His broad-cheeked face was pale and stern. He did not reply, but again said to Panov:
"Bring a candle. ... I aM
A wax taper was placed in his hand but his fingers would not bend, so it was placed between them and held up for him.
Poltoratsky went away, and five minutes later the orderly put his ear to Avdeev's heart and said that all was over.
Avdeev's death was described in the following manner in the report sent to Tiflis:
"23rd Nov. -- Two companies of the Kurin regiment advanced from the fort on a wood-felling expedition. At mid-day a considerable number of mountaineers suddenly attacked the M
wood- fellers. The sharpshooters began to retreat, but the 2nd Company charged with the bayonet and overthrew the mountaineers. In this affair two privates were slightly wounded and one killed. The mountaineers lost about a hundred men killed and wounded."
On the day Peter Avdeev died in the hospital at Vozdvizhensk, his old father with the wife of the brother in whose stead he had enlisted, and that brother's daughter -- who was already approaching womanhood and almost of age to get married -- weM
re threshing oats on the hard-frozen threshing floor.
There had been a heavy fall of snow the previous night followed towards morning by a severe front. The old man woke when the cocks were crowing for the third time, and seeing the bright moonlight through the frozen windowpanes got down from the stove, put on his boots, his sheepskin coat and cap, and went out to the threshing floor. Having worked there for a couple of hours he returned to the hut and awoke his son and the women. When the woman and girl came tM
o the threshing floor they found it ready swept, with a wooden shovel sticking in the dry white snow, beside which were birch brooms with the twigs upwards and two rows of oat sheaves laid ears to ears in a long line the whole length of the clean threshing floor. They chose their flails and started threshing, keeping time with their triple blows. The old man struck powerfully with his heavy flail, breaking the straw, the girl struck the ears from above with measured blows, and the daughter-in-law turned the oats ovM
The moon had set, dawn was breaking, and they were finishing the line of sheaves when Akim, the eldest son, in his sheepskin and cap, joined the threshers.
"What are you lazing about for?" shouted his father to him, pausing in his work and leaning on his flail.
"The horses had to be seen to."
"'Horses seen to!'" the father repeated, mimicking him. "The old woman will look after them. ... Take your flail! You're getting too fat, you drunkard!"
"Have you been standing me treat?" muttM
"What?" said the old man, frowning sternly and missing a stroke.
The son silently took a flail and they began threshing with four flails.
"Trak, tapatam...trak, tapatam...trak ..." came down the old man's heavy flail after the three others.
"Why, you've got a nape like a goodly gentleman! ... Look here, my trousers have hardly anything to hand on!" said the old man, omitting his stroke and only swinging his flail in the air so as not to get out of time.
They had finished the row, and thM
e women began removing the straw with rakes.
"Peter was a fool to go in your stead. They'd have knocked the nonsense out of you in the army, and he was worth five of such as you at home!"
"That's enough, father," said the daughter-in-law, as she threw aside the binders that had come off the sheaves.
"Yes, feed the six of you and get no work out of a single one! Peter used to work for two. He was not like ..."
Along the trodden path from the house came the old man's wife, the frozen snow creaking under tM
he new bark shoes she wore over her tightly wound woolen leg-bands. The men were shoveling the unwinnowed grain into heaps, the woman and the girl sweeping up what remained.
The Elder has been and orders everybody to go and work for the master, carting bricks," said the old woman. "I've got breakfast ready. ... Come along, won't you?"
"All right. ... Harness the roan and go," said the old man to Akim, "and you'd better look out that you don't get me into trouble as you did the other day! ... I can't help regrM
"When he was at home you used to scold him," retorted Akim. "Now he's away you keep nagging at me."
"That shows you deserve it," said his mother in the same angry tones. "You'll never be Peter's equal."
"Oh, all right," said the son.
"'All right,' indeed! You've drunk the meal, and now you say 'all right!'"
"Let bygones be bygones!" said the daughter-in-law.
The disagreements between father and son had begun long ago -- almost from the time Peter went as a soldier. Even then the oldM
 man felt that he had parted with an eagle for a cuckoo. It is true that it was right -- as the old man understood it -- for a childless man to go in place of a family man. Akin had four children and Peter had none; but Peter was a worker like his father, skillful, observant, strong, enduring, and above all industrious. He was always at work. If he happened to pass by where people were working he lent a helping hand as his father would have done, and took a turn or two with the scythe, or loaded a cart, or felled aM
 tree, or chopped some wood. The old man regretted his going away, but there was no help for it. Conscription in those days was like death. A soldier was a severed branch, and to think about him at home was to tear one's heart uselessly. Only occasionally, to prick his elder son, did the father mention him, as he had done that day. But his mother often thought of her younger son, and for a long time -- more than a year now -- she had been asking her husband to send Peter a little money, but the old man had made no M
The Kurenkovs were a well-to-do family and the old man had some savings hidden away, but he would on no account have consented to touch what he had laid by. Now however the old woman having heard him mention their younger son, made up her mind to ask him again to send him at least a ruble after selling the oats. This she did. As soon as the young people had gone to work for the proprietor and the old folks were left alone together, she persuaded him to send Peter a ruble out of the oats-money.
en ninety-six bushels of the winnowed oats had been packed onto three sledges lined with sacking carefully pinned together at the top with wooden skewers, she gave her husband a letter the church clerk had written at her dictation, and the old man promised when he got to town to enclose a ruble and send it off to the right address.
The old man, dressed in a new sheepskin with homespun cloak over it, his legs wrapped round with warm white woolen leg- bands, took the letter, placed it in his wallet, said a prayer,M
 got into the front sledge, and drove to town. His grandson drove in the last sledge. When he reached town the old man asked the innkeeper to read the letter to him, and listened to it attentively and approvingly.
In her letter Peter's mother first sent him her blessing, then greetings from everybody and the news of his godfather's death, and at the end she added that Aksinya (Peter's wife) had not wished to stay with them but had gone into service, where they heard she was living honestly and well. Then came a M
reference to the present of a ruble, and finally a message which the old woman, yielding to her sorrows, had dictated with tears in her eyes and the church clerk had taken down exactly, word for word:
"One thing more, my darling child, my sweet dove, my own Peterkin! I have wept my eyes out lamenting for thee, thou light of my eyes. To whom has thou left me?..." At this point the old woman had sobbed and wept, and said: "That will do!" So the words stood in the letter; but it was not fated that Peter should receM
ive the news of his wife's having left home, nor the present of the ruble, nor his mother's last words. The letter with the money in it came back with the announcement that Peter had been killed in the war, "defending his Czar, his Fatherland, and the Orthodox Faith." That is how the army clerk expressed it.
The old woman, when this news reached her, wept for as long as she could spare time, and then set to work again. The very next Sunday she went to church and had a requiem chanted and Peter's name entered amoM
ng those for whose souls prayers were to be said, and she distributed bits of holy bread to all the good people in memory of Peter, the servant of God.
Aksinya, his widow, also lamented loudly when she heard of the death of her beloved husband with whom she had lived but one short year. She regretted her husband and her own ruined life, and in her lamentations mentioned Peter's brown locks and his love, and the sadness of her life with her little orphaned Vanka, and bitterly reproached Peter for having had pity M
on his brother but none on her -- obliged to wander among strangers!
But in the depth of her soul Aksinya was glad of her husband's death. She was pregnant a second time by the shopman with whom she was living, and no one would now have a right to scold her, and the shopman could marry her as he had said he would when he was persuading her to yield.
Michael Semenovich Vorontsov, being the son of the Russian Ambassador, had been educated in England and possessed a European education quite exceptM
ional among the higher Russian officials of his day. He was ambitious, gentle and kind in his manner with inferiors, and a finished courtier with superiors. He did not understand life without power and submission. He had obtained all the highest ranks and decorations and was looked upon as a clever commander, and even as the conqueror of Napoleon at Krasnoe.
In 1852 he was over seventy, but young for his age, he moved briskly, and above all was in full possession of a facile, refined, and agreeable intellect whiM
ch he used to maintain his power and strengthen and increase his popularity. He possessed large means -- his own and his wife's (who had been a countess Branitski) -- and received an enormous salary as Viceroy, and he spent a great part of his means on building a palace and laying out a garden on the south coast of the Crimea.
On the evening of December the 4th, 1852, a courier's troika drew up before his palace in Tiflis. an officer, tired and black with dust, sent by General Kozlovski with the news of Hadji MuM
rat's surrender to the Russians, entered the wide porch, stretching the stiffened muscles of his legs as he passed the sentinel. It was six o'clock, and Vorontsov was just going in to dinner when he was informed of the courier's arrival. He received him at once, and was therefore a few minutes late for dinner.
When he entered the drawing room the thirty persons invited to dine, who were sitting beside Princess Elizabeth Ksaverevna Vorontsova, or standing in groups by the windows, turned their faces towards him. M
Vorontsov was dressed in his usual black military coat, with shoulderstraps but no epaulets, and wore the White Cross of the Order of St. George at his neck.
His clean shaven, foxlike face wore a pleasant smile as, screwing up his eyes, he surveyed the assembly. Entering with quick soft steps he apologized to the ladies for being late, greeted the men, and approaching Princess Manana Orbelyani -- a tall, fine, handsome woman of Oriental type about forty-five years of age -- he offered her his arm to take her in M
to dinner. Princess Elizabeth Ksaverevna Vorontsova gave her arm to a red- haired general with bristly mustaches who was visiting Tiflis. A Georgian prince offered his arm to Princess Vorontsova's friend, Countess Choiseuil. Doctor Andreevsky, the aide-de-camp, and others, with ladies or without, followed these first couples. Footmen in livery and knee-breeches drew back and replaced the guests' chairs when they sat down, while the major-domo ceremoniously ladled out steaming soup from a silver tureen.
 took his place in the center of one side of the long table, and wife sat opposite, with the general on her right. On the prince's right sat his lady, the beautiful Orbelyani; and on his left was a graceful, dark, red-cheeked Georgian woman, glittering with jewels and incessantly smiling.
"Excellentes, chere amie!" replied Vorontsov to his wife's inquiry about what news the courier had brought him. "Simon a eu de la chance!" And he began to tell aloud, so that everyone could hear, the striking news (for him alonM
e not quite unexpected, because negotiations had long been going on) that Hadji Murat, the bravest and most famous of Shamil's officers, had come over to the Russians and would in a day or two be brought to Tiflis.
Everybody -- even the young aides-de-camp and officials who sat at the far ends of the table and who had been quietly laughing at something among themselves -- became silent and listened.
"And you, General, have you ever met this Hadji Murat?" asked the princess of her neighbor, the carroty generalM
 with the bristly mustaches, when the prince had finished speaking.
"More than once, Princess."
And the general went on to tell how Hadji Murat, after the mountaineers had captured Gergebel in 1843, had fallen upon General Pahlen's detachment and killed Colones Zolotukhin almost before their very eyes.
Vorontsov listened to the general and smiled amiably, evidently pleased that the latter had joined in the conversation. But suddenly his face assumed an absent-minded and depressed expression.
, having started talking, had begun to tell of his second encounter with Hadji Murat.
"Why, it was he, if your Excellency will please remember," said the general, "who arranged the ambush that attacked the rescue party in the 'Biscuit' expedition."
"Where?" asked Vorontsov, screwing up his eyes.
What the brave general spoke of as the "rescue" was the affair in the unfortunate Dargo campaign in which a whole detachment, including Prince Vorontsov who commanded it, would certainly have perished had it not beM
en rescued by the arrival of fresh troops. Every one knew that the whole Dargo campaign under Vorontsov's command -- in which the Russians lost many killed and wounded and several cannon -- had been a shameful affair, and therefore if any one mentioned it in Vorontsov's presence they did so only in the aspect in which Vorontsov had reported it to the Czar -- as a brilliant achievement of the Russian army. But the word "rescue" plainly indicated that it was not a brilliant victory but a blunder costing many lives. EM
verybody understood this and some pretended not to notice the meaning of the general's words, others nervously waited to see what would follow, while a few exchanged glances, and smiled. Only the carroty general with the bristly mustaches noticed nothing, and carried away by his narrative quietly replied:
"At the rescue, your Excellency."
Having started on his favorite theme, the general recounted circumstantially how Hadji Murat had so cleverly cut the detachment in two that if the rescue party had not arrivM
ed (he seemed to be particularly fond of repeating the word "rescue") not a man in the division would have escaped, because...He did not finish his story, for Manana Orbelyani, having understood what was happening, interrupted him by asking if he had found comfortable quarters in Tiflis. The general, surprised, glanced at everybody all round and saw his aides-de-camp from the end of the table looking fixedly and significantly at him, and he suddenly understood! Without replying to the princess's question, he frowneM
d, became silent, and began hurriedly swallowing the delicacy that lay on his plate, the appearance and taste of which both completely mystified him.
Everybody felt uncomfortable, but the awkwardness of the situation was relieved by the Georgian prince -- a very stupid man but an extraordinarily refined and artful flatterer and courtier -- who sat on the other side of Princess Vorontsova. Without seeming to have noticed anything he began to relate how Hadji Murat had carried off the widow of Akhmet Khan of MekhtM
"He came into the village at night, seized what he wanted, and galloped off again with the whole party."
"Why did he want that particular woman?" asked the princess.
"Oh, he was her husband's enemy, and pursued him but could never once succeed in meeting him right up to the time of his death, so he revenged himself on the widow."
The princess translated this into French for her old friend Countess Choiseuil, who sat next to the Georgian prince.
"Quelle horreur!" said the countess, closing her eyM
es and shaking her head.
"Oh no!" said Vorontsov, smiling. "I have been told that he treated his captive with chivalrous respect and afterwards released her."
"Yes, for a ransom!"
"Well, of course. But all the same he acted honorably."
These words of Vorontsov's set the tone for the further conversation. The courtiers understood that the more importance was attributed to Hadji Murat the better the prince would be pleased.
"The man's audacity is amazing. A remarkable man!"
"Why, in 1849 he dashed iM
nto Temir Khan Shura and plundered the shops in broad daylight."
An Armenian sitting at the end of the table, who had been in Temir Khan Shura at the time, related the particulars of that exploit of Hadji Murat's.
In fact, Hadji Murat was the sole topic of conversation during the whole dinner.
Everybody in succession praised his courage, his ability, and his magnanimity. Someone mentioned his having ordered twenty six prisoners to be killed, but that too was met by the usual rejoinder, "What's to be done? M
A la guerre, comme al la guerre!"
"He is a great man."
"Had he been born in Europe he might have been another Napoleon," said the stupid Georgian prince with a gift of flattery.
He knew that every mention of Napoleon was pleasant to Vorontsov, who wore the White Cross at his neck as a reward for having defeated him.
"Well, not Napoleon perhaps, but a gallant cavalry general if you like," said Vorontsov.
"If not Napoleon, then Murat."
"And his name is Hadji Murat!"
"Hadji Murat has surrendered aM
nd now there'll be an end to Shamil too," someone remarked.
"They feel that now" (this "now" meant under Vorontsov) "they can't hold out," remarked another.
"Tout cela est grace a vous!" said Manana Orbelyani.
Prince Vorontsov tried to moderate the waves of flattery which began to flow over him. Still, it was pleasant, and in the best of spirits he led his lady back into the drawing room.
After dinner, when coffee was being served in the drawing room, the prince was particularly amiable to everybody, anM
d going up to the general with the red bristly mustaches he tried to appear not to have noticed his blunder.
Having made a round of the visitors he sat down to the card table. He only played the old-fashioned game of omber. His partners were the Georgian prince, an Armenia general (who had learned the game of omber from Prince Vorontsov's valet), and Doctor Andreevsky, a man remarkable for the great influence he exercised.
Placing beside him his gold snuff-box with a portrait of Aleksandr I on the lid, the prM
ince tore open a pack of highly glazed cards and was going to spread them out, when his Italian valet brought him a letter on a silver tray.
"Another courier, your Excellency."
Vorontsov laid down the cards, excused himself, opened the letter, and began to read.
The letter was from his son, who described Hadji Murat's surrender and his own encounter with Meller-Zakomelsky.
The princess came up and inquired what their son had written.
"It's all about the same matter. ... Il a eu quelques desagrements M
avec le commandant de la place. Simon a eu tort. ... But 'All's well that ends well,'" he added in English, handing the letter to his wife; and turning to his respectfully waiting partners he asked them to draw cards.
When the first round had been dealt Vorontsov did what he was in the habit of doing when in a particularly pleasant mood: with his white, wrinkled old hand he took out a pinch of French snuff, carried it to his nose, and released it.
When Hadji Murat appeared at the prince's palaM
ce next day, the waiting room was already full of people. Yesterday's general with the bristly mustaches was there in full uniform with all his decorations, having come to take leave. There was the commander of a regiment who was in danger of being court martialed for misappropriating commisarriat money, and there was a rich Armenian (patronized by Doctor Andreevsky) who wanted to obtain from the Government a renewal of his monopoly for the sale of vodka. There, dressed in black, was the widow of an officer who hadM
 been killed in action. She had come to ask for a pension, or for free education for her children. There was a ruined Georgian prince in a magnificent Georgian costume who was trying to obtain for himself some confiscated Church property. There was an official with a large roll of paper containing a new plan for subjugating the Caucasus. There was also a Khan who had come solely to be able to tell his people at home that he had called on the prince.
They all waited their turn and were one by one shown into the pM
rince's cabinet and out again by the aide-de-camp, a handsome, fair-haired youth.
When Hadji Murat entered the waiting room with his brisk though limping step all eyes were turned towards him and he heard his name whispered from various parts of the room.
He was dressed in a long white Circassian coat over a brown beshmet trimmed round the collar with fine silver lace. He wore black leggings and soft shoes of the same color which were stretched over his instep as tight as gloves. On his head he wore a high caM
p draped turban-fashion -- that same turban for which, on the denunciation of Akhmet Khan, he had been arrested by General Klugenau and which had been the cause of his going over to Shamil.
He stepped briskly across the parquet floor of the waiting room, his whole slender figure swaying slightly in consequence of his lameness in one leg which was shorter than the other. His eyes, set far apart, looked calmly before him and seemed to see no one.
The handsome aide-de-camp, having greeted him, asked him to take M
a seat while he went to announce him to the prince, but Hadji Murat declined to sit down and, putting his hand on his dagger, stood with one foot advanced, looking round contemptuously at all those present.
The prince's interpreter, Prince Tarkhanov, approached Hadji Murat and spoke to him. Hadji Murat answered abruptly and unwillingly. A Kumyk prince, who was there to lodge a complaint against a police official, came out of the prince's room, and then the aide-de-camp called Hadji Murat, led him to the door of M
the cabinet, and showed him in.
The Commander-in-Chief received Hadji Murat standing beside his table, and his old white face did not wear yesterday's smile but was rather stern and solemn.
On entering the large room with its enormous table and great windows with green venetian blinds, Hadji Murat placed his small sunburnt hands on his chest just where the front of his white coat overlapped, and lowering his eyes began, without hurrying, to speak distinctly and respectfully, using the Kumyk dialect which he sM
"I place myself under the powerful protection of the great Czar and of yourself," said he, "and promise to serve the White Czar in faith and truth to the last drop of my blood, and I hope to be useful to you in the war with Shamil who is my enemy and yours."
Having the interpreter out, Vorontsov glanced at Hadji Murat and Hadji Murat glanced at Vorontsov.
The eyes of the two men met, and expressed to each other much that could not have been put into words and that was not at all what the interprM
eter said. Without words they told each other the whole truth. Vorontsov's eyes said that he did not believe a single word Hadji Murat was saying, and that he knew he was and always would be an enemy to everything Russian and had surrendered only because he was obliged to. Hadji Murat understood this and yet continued to give assurances of his fidelity. His eyes said, "That old man ought to be thinking of his death and not of war, but though he is old he is cunning, and I must be careful." Vorontsov understood thisM
 also, but nevertheless spoke to Hadji Murat in the way he considered necessary for the success of the war.
"Tell him," said Vorontsov, "that our sovereign is as merciful as he is mighty and will probably at my request pardon him and take him into his service. ... Have you told him?" he asked looking at Hadji Murat. ... "Until I receive my master's gracious decision, tell him I take it on myself to receive him and make his sojourn among us pleasant."
Hadji Murat again pressed his hands to the center of his chM
est and began to say something with animation.
"He says," the interpreter translated, "that formerly, when he governed Avaria in 1839, he served the Russians faithfully and would never have deserted them had not his enemy, Akhmet Khan, wishing to ruin him, calumniated him to General Klugenau."
"I know, I know," said Vorontsov (though if he had ever known he had long forgotten it). "I know," he repeated, sitting down and motioning Hadji Murat to the divan that stood beside the wall. But Hadji Murat did not sitM
 down. Shrugging his powerful shoulders as a sign that he could not bring himself to sit in the presence of so important a man, he went on, addressing the interpreter:
"Akhmet Khan and Shamil are both my enemies. Tell the prince that Akhmet Khan is dead and I cannot revenge myself on him, but Shamil lives and I will not die without taking vengeance on him," said he, knitting his brows and tightly closing his mouth.
"Yes, yes; but how does he want to revenge himself on Shamil?" said Vorontsov quietly to the inM
terpreter. "And tell him he may sit down."
Hadji Murat again declined to sit down, and in answer to the question replied that his object in coming over to the Russians was to help them to destroy Shamil.
"Very well, very well," said Vorontsov; "but what exactly does he wish to do? ... Sit down, sit down!"
Hadji Murat sat down, and said that if only they would send him to the Lesghian line and would give him an army, he would guarantee to raise the whole of Daghestan and Shamil would then be unable to hold M
"That would be excellent. ... I'll think it over," said Vorontsov.
The interpreter translated Vorontsov's words to Hadji Murat.
Hadji Murat pondered.
"Tell the Sirdar one thing more," Hadji Murat began again, "that my family are in the hands of my enemy, and that as long as they are in the mountains I am bound and cannot serve him. Shamil would kill my wife and my mother and my children if I went openly against him. Let the prince first exchange my family for the prisoners he has, and then I will dM
estroy Shamil or die!"
"All right, all right," said Vorontsov. "I will think it over. ... Now let him go to the chief of the staff and explain to him in detail his position, intentions, and wishes."
Thus ended the first interview between Hadji Murat and Vorontsov.
That even an Italian opera was performed at the new theater, which was decorated in Oriental style. Vorontsov was in his box when the striking figure of the limping Hadji Murat wearing a turban appeared in the stalls. He came in with Loris-MelikoM
v, Vorontsov's aide-de-cam;, in whose charge he was placed, and took a seat in the front row. Having sat through the first act with Oriental Mohammedan dignity, expressing no pleasure but only obvious indifference, he rose and looking calmly round at the audience went out, drawing to himself everybody's attention.
The next day was Monday and there was the usual evening party at the Vorontsovs'. In the large brightly lighted hall a band was playing, hidden among trees. Young women and women not very young wearingM
 dresses that displayed their bare necks, arms, and breasts, turned round and round in the embrace of men in bright uniforms. At the buffet, footmen in red swallow-tail coats and wearing shoes and knee-breeches, poured out champagne and served sweetmeats to the ladies. The "Sirdar's" wife also, in spite of her age, went about half-dressed among the visitors smiling affably, and through the interpreter said a few amiable words to Hadji Murat who glanced at the visitors with the same indifference he had shown yesterdM
ay in the theater. After the hostess, other half-naked women came up to him and all of them stood shamelessly before him and smilingly asked him the same question: How he liked what he saw? Vorontsov himself, wearing gold epaulets and gold shoulder-knots with his white cross and ribbon at his neck, came up and asked him the same question, evidently feeling sure, like all the others, that Hadji Murat could not help being pleased at what he saw. Hadji Murat replied to Vorontsov as he had replied to them all, that amoM
ng his people nothing of the kind was done, without expressing an opinion as to whether it was good or bad that it was so.
Here at the ball Hadji Murat tried to speak to Vorontsov about buying out his family, but Vorontsov, pretending that he had not heard him, walked away, and Loris-Melikov afterwards told Hadji Murat that this was the place to talk about business.
When it struck eleven Hadji Murat, having made sure of the time by the watch the Vorontsovs had given him, asked Loris- Melikov whether he might M
now leave. Loris-Melikov said he might, though it would be better to stay. In spite of this Hadji Murat did not stay, but drove in the phaeton placed at his disposal to the quarters that had been assigned to him.
On the fifth day of Hadji Murat's stay in Tiflis Loris- Melikov, the Viceroy's aide-de-camp, came to see him at the latter's command.
"My head and my hands are glad to serve the Sirdar," said Hadji Murat with his usual diplomatic expression, bowing his head and putting his hands to hiM
s chest. "Command me!" said he, looking amiably into Loris-Melikov's face.
Loris-Melikov sat down in an arm chair placed by the table and Hadji Murat sank onto a low divan opposite and, resting his hands on his knees, bowed his head and listened attentively to what the other said to him.
Loris-Melikov, who spoke Tartar fluently, told him that though the prince knew about his past life, he yet wanted to hear the whole story from himself.
Tell it me, and I will write it down and translate it into Russian andM
 the prince will send it to the Emperor."
Hadji Murat remained silent for a while (he never interrupted anyone but always waited to see whether his interlocutor had not something more to say), then he raised his head, shook back his cap, and smiled the peculiar childlike smile that had captivated Marya Vasilevna.
"I can do that," said he, evidently flattered by the thought that his story would be read by the Emperor.
"Thou must tell me" (in Tartar nobody is addressed as "you") "everything, deliberately froM
m the beginning," said Loris Melikov drawing a notebook from his pocket.
"I can do that, only there is much -- very much -- to tell! Many events have happened!" said Hadji Murat.
"If thou canst not do it all in one day thou wilt finish it another time," said Loris-Melikov.
"Shall I begin at the beginning?"
"Yes, at the very beginning ... where thou wast born and where thou didst live."
Hadji Murat's head sank and he sat in that position for a long time. Then he took a stick that lay beside the divan,M
 drew a little knife with an ivory gold-inlaid handle, sharp as a razor, from under his dagger, and started whittling the stick with it and speaking at the same time.
"Write: Born in Tselmess, a small aoul, 'the size of an ass's head,' as we in the mountains say," he began. "not far from it, about two cannon-shots, lies Khunzakh where the Khans lived. Our family was closely connected with them.
"My mother, when my eldest brother Osman was born, nursed the eldest Khan, Abu Nutsal Khan. Then she nursed the secoM
nd son of the Khan, Umma Khan, and reared him; but Akhmet my second brother died, and when I was born and the Khansha bore Bulach Khan, my mother would not go as wet-nurse again. My father ordered her to, but she would not. She said: 'I should again kill my own son, and I will not go.' Then my father, who was passionate, struck her with a dagger and would have killed her had they not rescued her from him. So she did not give me up, and later on she composed a song ... but I need not tell that."
ll everything. It is necessary," said Loris-Melikov.
Hadji Murat grew thoughtful. He remembered how his mother had laid him to sleep beside her under a fur coat on the roof of the saklya, and he had asked her to show him the place in her side where the scar of her wound was still visible.
He repeated the song, which he remembered:
"My white bosom was pierced by the blade of bright steel,
But I laid my bright sun, my dear boy, close upon it
Till his body was bathed in the stream of my blood.
the wound healed without aid of herbs or of grass.
As I feared not death, so my boy will ne'er fear it."
"My mother is now in Shamil's hands," he added, "and she must be rescued."
He remembered the fountain below the hill, when holding on to his mother's sarovary (loose Turkish trousers) he had gone with her for water. He remembered how she had shaved his head for the first time, and how the reflection of his round bluish head in the shining brass vessel that hung on the wall had astonished him. He rememM
bered a lean dog that had licked his face. He remembered the strange smell of the lepeshki (a kind of flat cake) his mother had given him -- a smell of smoke and of sour milk. He remembered how his mother had carried him in a basket on her back to visit his grandfather at the farmstead. He remembered his wrinkled grandfather with his gray hairs, and how he had hammered silver with his sinewy hands.
"Well, so my mother did not go as nurse," he said with a jerk of his head, "and the Khansha took another nurse but M
still remained fond of my mother, and my mother used to take us children to the Khansha's palace, and we played with her children and she was fond of us.
"There were three young Khans: Abu Nutsal Khan my brother Osman's foster-brother; Umma Khan my own sworn brother; and Bulach Khan the youngest -- whom Shamil threw over the precipice. But that happened later.
"I was about sixteen when murids began to visit the aouls. They beat the stones with wooden scimitars and cried 'Mussulmans, Ghazavat!' The Chechens alM
l went over to Muridism and the Avars began to go over too. I was then living in the palace like a brother of the Khans. I could do as I liked, and I became rich. I had horses and weapons and money. I lived for pleasure and had no care, and went on like that till the time when Kazi-Mulla, the Imam, was killed and Hamzad succeeded him. Hamzad sent envoys to the Khans to say that if they did not join the Ghazavat he would destroy Khunzakh.
"This needed consideration. The Khans feared the Russians, but were also afM
raid to join in the Holy War. The old Khansha sent me with her second son, Umma Khan, to Tiflis to ask the Russian Commander-in-Chief for help against Hamzad. The Commander-in-Chief at Tiflis was Baron Rosen. He did not receive either me or Umma Khan. He sent word that he would help us, but did nothing. Only his officers came riding to us and played cards with Umma Khan. They made him drunk with wine and took him to bad places, and he lost all he had to them at cards. His body was as strong as a bull's and he was aM
s brave as a lion, but his soul was weak as water. He would have gambled away his last horses and weapons if I had not made him come away.
"After visiting Tiflis my ideas changed and I advised the old Khansha and the Khans to join the Ghazavat...."
What made you change your mind?" asked Loris-Melikov. "Were you not pleased with the Russians?"
"No, I was not pleased," he answered decidedly, closing his eyes. "and there was also another reason why I wished to join the Ghazavat."
"Why, near Tselmess the Khan and I encountered three murids, two of whom escaped but the third one I shot with my pistol.
"He was still alive when I approached to take his weapons. He looked up at me, and said, 'Thou has killed me...I am happy; but thou are a Mussulman, young and strong. Join the Ghazavat! God wills it!'"
"And did you join it?"
"I did not, but it made me think," said Hadji Murat, and he went on with his tale.
"When Hamzad approached Kunzakh we sent our Elders to him to M
say that we would agree to join the Ghazavat if the Imam would sent a learned man to explain it to us. Hamzad had our Elders' mustaches shaved off, their nostrils pierced, and cakes hung to their noses, and in that condition he sent them back to us.
"The Elders brought word that Hamzad was ready to send a sheikh to teach us the Ghazavat, but only if the Khansha sent him her youngest son as a hostage. She took him at his word and sent her youngest son, Bulach Khan. Hamzad received him well and sent to invite the M
two elder brothers also. He sent word that he wished to serve the Khans as his father had served their father. ... The Khansha was a weak, stupid, and conceited woman, as all women are when they are not under control. She was afraid to send away both sons and sent only Umma Khan. I went with him. We were met by murids about a mile before we arrived and they sang and shot and caracoled around us, and when we drew near, Hamzad came out of his tent and went up to Umma Khan's stirrup and received him as a Khan. He saidM
, 'I have not done any harm to thy family and do not wish to do any. Only do not kill me and do not prevent my bringing the people over to the Ghazavat, and I will serve you with my whole army as my father served your father! Let me live in your house and I will help you with my advice, and you shall do as you like!'
"Umma Khan was slow of speech. He did not know how to reply and remained silent. Then I said that if this was so, Let Hamzad come to Khunzakh and the Khansha and the Khans would receive him with honM
or. ... but I was not allowed to finish -- and here I first encountered Shamil, who was beside the Imam. He said to me, 'Thou has not been asked. ... It was the Khan!'
"I was silent, and Hamzad led Umma Khan into his tent. Afterwards Hamzad called me and ordered me to go to Kunzakh with his envoys. I went. The envoys began persuading the Khansha to send her eldest son also to Hamzad. I saw there was treachery and told her not to send him; but a woman has as much sense in her head as an egg has hair. She ordered M
her son to go. Abu Nutsal Khan did not wish to. Then she said, 'I see thou are afraid!' Like a bee she knew where to sting him most painfully. Abu Nutsal Khan flushed and did not speak to her any more, but ordered his horse to be saddled. I went with him.
"Hamzad met us with even greater honor than he had shown Umma Khan. He himself rode out two rifle-shot lengths down the hill to meet us. A large party of horsemen with their banners followed him, and they too sang, shot, and caracoled.
"When we reached the cM
amp, Hamzad led the Khan into his tent and I remained with the horses....
"I was some way down the hiss when I heard shots fired in Hamzad's tent. I ran there and saw Umma Khan lying prone in a pool of blood, and Abu Nutsal was fighting the murids. One of his cheeks had been hacked off and hung down. He supported it with one hand and with the other stabbed with his dagger at all who came near him. I saw him strike down Hamzad's brother and aim a blow at another man, but then the murids fired at him and he fell."M
Hadji Murat stopped and his sunburnt face flushed a dark red and his eyes became bloodshot.
"I was seized with fear and ran away."
"Really? ... I thought thou never wast afraid," said Loris- Melikov.
"Never after that. ... Since then I have always remembered that shame, and when I recalled it I feared nothing!"
"But enough! It is time for me to pray," said Hadji Murat drawing from an inner breast-pocket of his Circassian coat Vorontsov's repeater watch and carefully pressing the spriM
ng. The repeater struck twelve and a quarter. Hadji Murat listened with his head on one side, repressing a childlike smile.
"Kunak Vorontsov's present," he said, smiling.
"It is a good watch," said Loris-Melikov. "Well then, to thou and pray, and I will wait."
"Yakshi. Very well," said Hadji Murat and went to his bedroom.
Left by himself, Loris-Melikov wrote down in his notebook the chief things Hadji Murat had related, and then lighting a cigarette began to pace up and down the room. On reaching the doM
or opposite the bedroom he heard animated voices speaking rapidly in Tartar. He guessed that the speakers were Hadji Murat's murids, and opening the door he went to them.
The room was impregnated with that special leathery acid smell peculiar to the mountaineers. On a burka spread out on the floor sat the one-eyed, red-haired Gamzalo, in a tattered greasy beshmet, plaiting a bridle. He was saying something excitedly, speaking in a hoarse voice, but when Loris-Melikov entered he immediately became silent and contM
inued his work without paying any attention to him.
In front of Gamzalo stood the merry Khan Mahoma showing his white teeth, his black lashless eyes glittering, and saying something over and over again. The handsome Eldar, his sleeves turned up on his strong arms, was polishing the girths of a saddle suspended from a nail. Khanefi, the principal worker and manager of the household, was not there, he was cooking their dinner in the kitchen.
"What were you disputing about?" asked Loris-Melikov after greeting thM
"Why, he keeps on praising Shamil," said Khan Mahoma giving his hand to Loris-Melikov. "He says Shamil is a great man, learned, holy, and a dzhigit."
"How is it that he has left him and still praises him?"
"He has left him and still praises him," repeated Khan Mahoma, his teeth showing and his eyes glittering.
"And does he really consider him a saint?" asked Loris- Melikov.
"If he were not a saint the people would not listen to him," said Gamzalo rapidly.
"Shamil is no saint, but Mansur was!" M
replied Khan Mahoma. "He was a real saint. When he was Imam the people were quite different. He used to ride through the aouls and the people used to come out and kiss the him of his coat and confess their sins and vow to do no evil. Then all the people -- so the old men say -- lived like saints: not drinking, nor smoking, nor neglecting their prayers, and forgiving one another their sins even when blood had been spilled. If anyone then found money or anything, he tied it to a stake and set it up by the roadside. IM
n those days God gave the people success in everything -- not as now."
"In the mountains they don's smoke or drink now," said Gamzalo.
"Your Shamil is a lamorey," said Khan Mahoma, winking at Loris-Melikov. (Lamorey was a contemptuous term for a mountaineer.)
"Yes, lamorey means mountaineer," replied Gamzalo. "It is in the mountains that the eagles dwell."
"Smart fellow! Well hit!" said Khan Mahoma with a grin, pleased at his adversary's apt retort.
Seeing the silver cigarette-case in Loris Melikov'sM
 hand, Khan Mahoma asked for a cigarette, and when Loris=Melikov remarked that they were forbidden to smoke, he winded with one eye and jerking his head in the direction of Hadji Murat's bedroom replied that they could do it as long as they were not seen. He at once began smoking -- not inhaling -- and pouting his red lips awkwardly as he blew out the smoke.
"That is wrong!" said Gamzalo severely, and left the room. Khan Mahoma winked in his direction, and while smoking asked Loris-Melikov where he could best buM
y a silk beshmet and a white cap.
"Why, has thou so much money?"
"I have enough," replied Khan Mahoma with a wink.
"Ask him where he got the money," said Eldar, turning his handsome smiling face towards Loris-Melikov.
"Oh, I won it!" said Khan Mahoma quickly, and related how while walking in Tiflis the day before he had come upon a group of men -- Russians and Armenians -- playing at orlyanka (a kind of heads-and-tails). the stake was a large one: three gold ;pieces and much silver. Khan Mahoma at once M
saw what the game consisted in, and jingling the coppers he had in his pocket he went up to the players and said he would stake the whole amount.
"How couldst thou do it? Hadst thou so much?" asked Loris- Melikov.
"I had only twelve kopecks," said Khan Mahoma, grinning.
"But if thou hadst lost?"
"Why, this!" said Khan Mahoma pointing to his pistol.
"Wouldst thou have given that?"
"Give it indeed! I should have run away, and if anyone had tried to stop me I should have killed him -- that's all!"
"Well, and didst thou win?"
"Aye, I won it all and went away!"
Loris-Melikov quite understood what sort of men Khan Mahoma and Eldar were. Khan Mahoma was a merry fellow, careless and ready for any spree. He did not know what to do with his superfluous vitality. He was always gay and reckless, and played with his own and other people's lives. For the sake of that sport with life he had now come over to the Russians, and for the same sport he might go back to Shamil tomorrow.
Eldar was also quite easy to uM
nderstand. He was a man entirely devoted to his Murshid; calm, strong, and firm.
The red-haired Gamzalo was the only one Loris-Melikov did not understand. He saw that that man was not only loyal to Shamil but felt an insuperable aversion, contempt, repugnance, and hatred for all Russians, and Loris-Melikov could therefore not understand why he had come over to them. It occurred to him that, as some of the higher officials suspected, Hadji Murat's surrender and his tales of hatred of Shamil might be false, and thM
at perhaps he had surrendered only to spy out the Russians' weak spots that, after escaping back to the mountains, he might be able to direct his forces accordingly. Gamzalo's whole person strengthened this suspicion.
"The others, and Hadji Murat himself, know how to hid their intentions, but this one betrays them by his open hatred," thought he.
Loris-Melikov tried to speak to him. He asked whether he did not feel dull. "No, I don't!" he growled hoarsely without stopping his work, and glancing at his questioM
ner out of the corner of his one eye. He replied to all Loris-Melikov's other questions in a similar manner.
While Loris-Melikov was in the room Hadji Murat's fourth murid came in, the Avar Khanefi; a man with a hairy face and neck and an arched chest as rough as if it were overgrown with moss. He was strong and a hard worker, always engrossed in his duties, and like Eldar unquestioningly obedient to his master.
When he entered the room to fetch some rice, Loris-Melikov stopped him and asked where he came froM
m and how long he had been with Hadji Murat.
"Five years," replied Khanefi. "I come from the same aoul as he. My father killed his uncle and they wished to kill me." he said calmly, looking from under his joined eyebrows straight into Loris-Melikov's face. "Then I asked them to adopt me as a brother."
"What do you mean by 'adopt as a brother'?"
"I did not shave my head nor cut my nails for two months, and then I came to them. They let me in to Patimat, his mother, and she gave me the breast and I became hiM
Hadji Murat's voice could be heard from the next room and Eldar, immediately answering his call, promptly wiped his hands and went with large strides into the drawing room.
"He asks thee to come," said he, coming back.
Loris-Melikov gave another cigarette to the merry Khan Mahoma and went into the drawing room.
When Loris-Melikov entered the drawing room Hadji Murat received him with a bright face.
"Well, shall I continue?" he asked, sitting down comfortably on the divan.
"Yes, certainly," said Loris-Melikov. "I have been in to have a talk with thy henchmen. ... One is a jolly fellow!" he added.
"Yes, Khan Mahoma is a frivolous fellow," said Hadji Murat.
"I liked the young handsome one."
"Ah, that's Eldar. He's young but firm -- made of iron!"
They were silent for a while.
"I told the how the Khans were killed. ... Well, having killed them Hamzad rode into Khunzakh and took up his quarters in their palace. The Khansha was the onlyM
 one of the family left alive. Hamzad sent for her. She reproached him, so he winked to his murid Aseldar, who struck her from behind and killed her."
"Why did he kill her?" asked Loris-Melikov.
"What could he do? ... Where the forelegs have gone the hind legs must follow! He killed off the whole family. Shamil killed the youngest son -- threw him over a precipice. ...
"Then the whole of Avaria surrendered to Hamzad. But my brother and I would not surrender. We wanted his blood for the blood of the Khans. M
We pretended to yield, but our only thought was how to get his blood. We consulted our grandfather and decided to await the time when he would come out of his palace, and then to kill him from an ambush. Someone overheard us and told Hamzad, who sent for grandfather and said, 'Mind, if it be true that thy grandsons are planning evil against me, thou and they shall hang from one rafter. I do God's work and cannot be hindered. ... To, and remember what I have said!'
"Our grandfather came home and told us.
 we decided not to wait but to do the deed on the first day of the feast in the mosque. Our comrades would not take part in it but my brother and I remained firm.
"We took two pistols each, put on our burkas, and went to the mosque. Hamzad entered the mosque with thirty murids. They all had drawn swords in their hands. Aseldar, his favorite murid (the one who had cut off Khansha's head), saw us, shouted to us to take off our burkas, and came towards me. I had my dagger in my hand and I killed him with it and rusM
hed at Hamzad; but my brother Osman had already shot him. He was still alive and rushed at my brother dagger in hand, but I have him a finishing blow on the head. There were thirty murids and we were only two. They killed my brother Osman, but I kept them at bay, leaped through the window, and escaped.
"When it was known that Hamzad had been killed all the people rose. The murids fled and those of them who did not flee were killed."
Hadji Murat paused, and breathed heavily.
"That was very good," he continuM
ed, "but afterwards everything was spoiled.
"Shamil succeeded Hamzad. He sent envoys to me to say that I should join him in attacking the Russians, and that if I refused he would destroy Kunzakh and kill me.
"I answered that I would not join him and would not let him come to me. ..."
"Why didst thou not go with him?" asked Loris-Melikov.
Hadji Murat frowned and did not reply at once.
"I could not. The blood of my brother Osman and of Abu Nutsal Khan was on his hands. I did not go to him. General RoseM
n sent me an officer's commission and ordered me to govern Avaria. All this would have been well, but that Rosen appointed as Khan of Kazi-Kumukh, first Mahomet-Murza, and afterwards Akhmet Khan, who hated me. He had been trying to get the Khansha's daughter, Sultanetta, in marriage for his son, but she would not giver her to him, and he believed me to be the cause of this. ... Yes, Akhmet Khan hated me and sent his henchmen to kill me, but I escaped from them. Then he spoke ill of me to General Klugenau. He said tM
hat I told the Avars not to supply wood to the Russian soldiers, and he also said that I had donned a turban -- this one" (Hadji Murat touched his turban) "and that this meant that I had gone over to Shamil. The general did not believe him and gave orders that I should not be touched. But when the general went to Tiflis, Akhmet Khan did as he pleased. He sent a company of soldiers to seize me, put me in chains, and tied me to a cannon.
"So they kept me six days," he continued. "On the seventh day they untied me M
and started to take me to Temir-Khan-Shura. Forty soldiers with loaded guns had me in charge. My hands were tied and I knew that they had orders to kill me if I tried to escape.
"As we approached Mansokha the path became narrow, and on the right was an abyss about a hundred and twenty yards deep. I went to the right -- to the very edge. A soldier wanted to stop me, but I jumped down and pulled him with me. He was killed outright but I, as you see, remained alive.
"Ribs, head, arms, and leg -- all were broken!M
 I tried to crawl but grew giddy and fell asleep. I awoke wet with blood. A shepherd saw me and called some people who carried me to an aoul. My ribs and head healed, and my leg too, only it has remained short," and Hadji Murat stretched out his crooked leg. "It still serves me, however, and that is well," said he.
"The people heard the news and began coming to me. I recovered and went to Tselmess. The Avars again called on me to rule over them," he went on, with tranquil, confident pride, "and I agreed."
rose quickly and taking a portfolio out of a saddlebag, drew out two discolored letters and handed one of them to Loris- Melikov. They were from General Klugenau. Loris-Melikov read the first letter, which was as follows:
"Lieutenant Hadji Murat, thou has served under me and I was satisfied with thee and considered thee a good man.
"Recently Akhmet Khan informed me that thou are a traitor, that thou has donned a turban and has intercourse with Shamil, and that thou has taught the people to disobey the RussianM
 Government. I ordered thee to be arrested and brought before me but thou fledst. I do not know whether this is for thy good or not, as I do not know whether thou art guilty or not.
"Now hear me. If thy conscience is pure, if thou are not guilty in anything towards the great Czar, come to me, fear no one. I am thy defender. The Khan can do nothing to thee, he is himself under my command, so thou has nothing to fear."
Klugenau added that he always kept his word and was just, and he again exhorted Hadji Murat tM
o appear before him.
When Loris-Melikov had read this letter Hadji Murat, before handing him the second one, told him what he had written in reply to the first.
"I wrote that I wore a turban not for Shamil's sake but for my soul's salvation; that I neither wished nor could go over to Shamil, because he had cause the death of my father, my brothers, and my relations; but that I could not join the Russians because I had been dishonored by them. (In Khunzakh, a scoundrel had spat on me while I was bound, and I cM
ould not join your people until that man was killed.) But above all I feared that liar, Akhmet Khan.
"Then the general sent me this letter," said Hadji Murat, handing Loris-Melikov the other discolored paper.
"Thou has answered my first letter and I thank thee," read Loris-Melikov. "Thou writest that thou are not afraid to return but that the insult done thee by a certain giarou prevents it, but I assure thee that the Russian law is just and that thou shalt see him who dared to offend thee punished before thiM
ne eyes. I have already given orders to investigate the matter.
"Hear me, Hadji Murat! I have a right to be displeased with thee for not trusting me and my honor, but I forgive thee, for I know how suspicious mountaineers are in general. If thy conscience is pure, if thou hast put on a turban only for they soul's salvation, then thou art right and mayst look me and the Russian Government boldly in the eye. He who dishonored thee shall, I assure thee, be punished and thy property shall be restored to thee, and thM
ou shalt see and know what Russian law is. Moreover we Russians look at things differently, and thou hast not sunk in our eyes because some scoundrel has dishonored thee.
"I myself have consented to the Chimrints wearing turbans, and I regard their actions in the right light, and therefore I repeat that thou hast nothing to fear. Come to me with the man by whom I am sending thee this letter. He is faithful to me and is not the slave of thy enemies, but is the friend of a man who enjoys the special favor of the GM
Further on Klugenau again tried to persuade Hadji Murat to come over to him.
"I did not believe him," said Hadji Murat when Loris-Melikov had finished reading, "and did not go to Klugenau. The chief thing for me was to revenge myself on Akhmet Khan, and that I could not do through the Russians. Then Akhmet Khan surrounded Tselmess and wanted to take me or kill me. I had too few men and could not drive him off, and just then came an envoy with a letter from Shamil promising to help me to defeat andM
 kill Akhmet Khan and making me ruler over the whole of Avaria. I considered the matter for a long time and then went over to Shamil, and from that time I have fought the Russians continually."
Here Hadji Murat related all his military exploits, of which there were very many and some of which were already familiar to Loris-Melikov. all his campaigns and raids had been remarkable for the extraordinary rapidity of his movements and the boldness of his attacks, which were always crowned with success.
r was any friendship between me and Shamil," said Hadji Murat at the end of his story, "but he feared me and needed me. But it so happened that I was asked who should be Imam after Shamil, and I replied: 'He will be Imam whose sword is sharpest!'
"This was told to Shamil and he wanted to get rid of me. He sent me into Tabasaran. I went, and captured a thousand sheep and three hundred horses, but he said I had not done the right thing and dismissed me from being Naib, and ordered me to send him all the money. I sM
ent him a thousand gold pieces. He sent his murids and they took from me all my property. He demanded that I should go to him, but I knew he wanted to kill me and I did not go. Then he sent to take me. I resisted and went over to Vorontsov. Only I did not take my family. My mother, my wives, and my son are in his hands. Tell the Sirdar that as long as my family is in Shamil's power I can do nothing."
"I will tell him," said Loris-Melikov.
"Take pains, try hard!. ... What is mine is thine, only help me with thM
e Prince. I am tied up and the end of the rope is in Shamil's hands," said Hadji Murat concluding his story.
On the 20th of December Vorontsov wrote to Chernyshov, the Minister of War. The letter was in French:
"I did not write to you by the last post, dear Prince, as I wished first to decide what we should do with Hadji Murat, and for the last two or three days I have not been feeling quite well.
"In my last letter I informed you of Hadji Murat's arrival here. He reached Tiflis on the 8th,M
 and next day I made his acquaintance, and during the following seven or eight days have spoken to him and considered what use we can make of him in the future, and especially what we are to do with him at present, for he is much concerned about the fate of his family, and with every appearance of perfect frankness says that while they are in Shamil's hands he is paralyzed and cannot render us any service or show his gratitude for the friendly reception and forgiveness we have extended to him.
bout those dear to him makes him restless, and the persons I have appointed to live with him assure me that he does not sleep at night, eats hardly anything, prays continually, and asks only to be allowed to ride out accompanied by several Cossacks -- the sole recreation and exercise possible for him and made necessary to him by life-long habit. Every day he comes to me to know whether I have any news of his family, and to ask me to have all the prisoners in our hands collected and offered to Shamil in exchange forM
 them. He would also give a little money. There are people who would let him have some for the purpose. He keeps repeating to me: 'Save my family and then give me a chance to serve thee' (preferably, in his opinion, on the Lesghian line), 'and if within a month I do not render you great service, punish me as you think fit.' I reply that to me all this appears very just, and that many among us would even not trust him so long as his family remain in the mountains and are not in our hands as hostages, and that I willM
 do everything possible to collect the prisoners on our frontier, that I have no power under our laws to give him money for the ransom of his family in addition to the sum he may himself be able to raise, but that I may perhaps find some other means of helping him. After that I told him frankly that in my opinion Shamil would not in any case give up the family, and that Shamil might tell him so straight out and promise him a full pardon and his former posts, and might threaten if Hadji Murat did not return, to killM
 his mother, his wives, and his six children. I asked him whether he could say frankly what he would do if he received such an announcement from Shamil. He lifted his eyes and arms to heaven, and said that everything is in God's hands, but that he would never surrender to his foe, for he is certain Shamil would not forgive him and he would therefore not have long to live. As to the destruction of his family, he did not think Shamil would act so rashly: firstly, to avoid making him a yet more desperate and dangerousM
 foe, and secondly, because there were many people, and even very influential people, in Daghestan, who would dissuade Shamil from such a course. Finally, he repeated several times that whatever God might decree for him in the future, he was at present interested in nothing but his family's ransom, and he implored me in God's name to help him and allow him to return to the neighborhood of the Chechnya, where he could, with the help and consent of our commanders, have some intercourse with his family and regular newM
s of their condition and of the best means to liberate them. He said that many people, and even some Naibs in that part of the enemy's territory, were more or less attached to him and that among the whole of the population already subjugated by Russia or neutral it would be easy with our help to establish relations very useful for the attainment of the aim which gives him no peace day or night, and the attainment of which would set him at ease and make it possible for him to act for our good and win our confidence.M
"He asks to be sent back to Grozny with a convoy of twenty or thirty picked Cossacks who would serve him as a protection against foes and us as a guarantee of his good faith.
"You will understand, dear Prince, that I have been much perplexed by all this, for do what I will a great responsibility rests on me. It would be in the highest degree rash to trust him entirely, yet in order to deprive him of all means of escape we should have to lock him up, and in my opinion that would be both unjust and impolitic. M
A measure of that kind, the news of which would soon spread over the whole of Daghestan, would do us great harm by keeping back those who are now inclined more or less openly to oppose Shamil (and there are many such), and who are keenly watching to see how we treat the Imam's bravest and most adventurous officer now that he has found himself obliged to place himself in our hands. If we treat Hadji Murat as a prisoner all the good effect of the situation will be lost. Therefore I think that I could not act otherwisM
e than as I have done, though at the same time I feel that I may be accused of having made a great mistake if Hadji Murat should take it into his head to escape again. In the service, and especially in a complicated situation such as this, it is difficult, not to say impossible, to follow any one straight path without risking mistakes and without accepting responsibility, but once a path seems to be the right one I must follow it, happen what may.
"I beg of you, dear Prince, to submit this to his Majesty the EmpM
eror for his consideration; and I shall be happy if it pleases our most august monarch to approve my action.
"All that I have written above I have also written to Generals Zavodovsky and Kozlovsky, to guide the latter when communicating direct with Hadji Murat whom I have warned not to act or go anywhere without Kozlovsky's consent. I also told him that it would be all the better of us if he rode out with our convoy, as otherwise Shamil might spread a rumor that we were keeping him prisoner, but at the same timeM
 I made him promise never to go to Vozdvizhensk, because my son, to whom he first surrendered and whom he looks upon as his kunak (friend), is not the commander of that place and some unpleasant misunderstanding might easily arise. In any case Vozdvizhensk lies too near a thickly populated hostile settlement, which for the intercourse with his friends which he desires, Grozny is in all respects suitable.
"Besides the twenty chosen Cossacks who at his own request are to keep close to him, I am also sending CaptaiM
n Loris-Melikov -- a worthy, excellent, and highly intelligence officer who speaks Tartar, and knows Hadji Murat well and apparently enjoys his full confidence. During the ten days that Hadji Murat has spent here, he has, however, lived in the same house with Lieutenant-Colonel Prince Tarkhanov, who is in command of the shoushin District and is here on business connected with the service. He is a truly worthy man whom I trust entirely. He also has won Hadji Murat's confidence, and through him alone -- as he speaks M
Tartar perfectly -- we have discussed the most delicate and secret matters. I have consulted Tarkhanov about Hadji Murat, and he fully agrees with me that it was necessary either to act as I have done, or to put Hadji Murat in prison and guard him in the strictest manner (for if we once treat him badly he will not be easy to hold), or else to remove him from the country altogether. But these two last measures would not only destroy all the advantage accruing to us from Hadji Murat's quarrel with Shamil, but would iM
nevitably check any growth of the present insubordination, and possible future revolt, of the people against Shamil's power. Prince Tarkhanov tells me he himself has no doubt of Hadji Murat's truthfulness, and that Hadji Murat is convinced that Shamil will never forgive him but would have him executed in spite of any promise of forgiveness. The only thing Tarkhanov has noticed in his intercourse with Hadji Murat that might cause any anxiety, is his attachment to his religion. Tarkhanov does not deny that Shamil migM
ht influence Hadji Murat from that side. But as I have already said, he will never persuade Hadji Murat that he will not take his life sooner or later should the latter return to him.
"This, dear Prince, is all I have to tell you about this episode in our affairs here."
The report was dispatched from Tiflis on the 24th of December 1851, and on New Year's Eve a courier, having overdriven a dozen horses and beaten a dozen drivers till they bled, delivered it to Prince Chernyshov who at that timeM
 was Minister of War; and on the 1st of January 1852 Chernyshov took Vorontsov's report, among other papers, to the Emperor Nicholas.
Chernyshov disliked Vorontsov because of the general respect in which the latter was held and because of his immense wealth, and also because Vorontsov was a real aristocrat while Chernyshov, after all, was a parvenu, but especially because the Emperor was particularly well disposed towards Vorontsov. Therefore at every opportunity Chernyshov tried to injure Vorontsov.
had last presented the report about Caucasian affairs he had succeeded in arousing Nicholas's displeasure against Vorontsov because -- through the carelessness of those in command -- almost the whole of a small Caucasian detachment had been destroyed by the mountaineers. He now intended to present the steps taken by Vorontsov in relation to Hadji Murat in an unfavorable light. He wished to suggest to the Emperor that Vorontsov always protected and even indulged the natives to the detriment of the Russians, and thatM
 he had acted unwisely in allowing Hadji Murat to remain in the Caucasus for there was every reason to suspect that he had only come over to spy on our means of defense, and that it would therefore be better to transport him to Central Russia and make use of him only after his family had been rescued from the mountaineers and it had become possible to convince ourselves of his loyalty.
Chernyshov's plan did not succeed merely because on that New Year's Day Nicholas was in particularly bad spirits, and out of perM
versity would not have accepted any suggestion whatever from anyone, least of all from Chernyshov whom he only tolerated -- regarding him as indispensable for the time being but looking upon him as a blackguard, for Nicholas knew of his endeavors at the trial of the Decembrists to secure the conviction of Zachary Chernyshov, and of his attempt to obtain Zachary's property for himself. So thanks to Nicholas's ill temper Hadji Murat remained in the Caucasus, and his circumstances were not changed as they might have bM
een had Chernyshov presented his report at another time.
It was half-past nine o'clock when through the mist of the cold morning (the thermometer showed 13 degrees below zero Fahrenheit) Chernyshov's fat, bearded coachman, sitting on the box of a small sledge (like the one Nicholas drove about in) with a sharp-angled, cushion-shaped azure velvet cap on his head, drew up at the entrance of the Winter Palace and gave a friendly nod to his chum, Prince Dolgoruky's coachman -- who having brought his master to the paM
lace had himself long been waiting outside, in his big coat with the thickly wadded skirts, sitting on the reins and rubbing his numbed hands together. Chernyshov had on a long cloak with a large cap and a fluffy collar of silver beaver, and a regulation three-cornered had with cocks' feathers. He threw back the bearskin apron of the sledge and carefully disengaged his chilled feet, on which he had no over-shoes (he prided himself on never wearing any). Clanking his spurs with an air of bravado he ascended the carpM
eted steps and passed through the hall door which was respectfully opened for him by the porter, and entered the hall. Having thrown off his cloak which an old Court lackey hurried forward to take, he went to a mirror and carefully removed the hat from his curled wig. Looking at himself in the mirror, he arranged the hair on his temples and the tuft above his forehead with an accustomed movement of his old hands, and adjusted his cross, the shoulder-knots of his uniform, and his large-initialed epaulets, and then wM
ent up the gently ascending carpeted stairs, his not very reliable old legs feebly mounting the shallow steps. Passing the Court lackeys in gala livery who stood obsequiously bowing, Chernyshov entered the waiting-room. He was respectfully met by a newly appointed aide- de-camp of the Emperor's in a shining new uniform with epaulets and shoulder-knots, whose face was still fresh and rosy and who had a small black mustache, and the hair on his temples brushed towards his eyes in the same way as the Emperor.
e Vasili Dolgoruky, Assistant-Minister of War, with an expression of ennui on his dull face -- which was ornamented with similar whiskers, mustaches, and temple tufts brushed forward like Nicholas's -- greeted him.
"L'empereur?" said Chernyshov, addressing the aide-de-camp and looking inquiringly towards the door leading to the cabinet.
"Sa majeste vient de rentrer," replied the aide-de-camp, evidently enjoying the sound of his own voice, and stepping so softly and steadily that had a tumbler of water been plM
aced on his head none of it would have been spilled, he approached the door and disappeared, his whole body evincing reverence for the spot he was about to visit.
Dolgoruky meanwhile opened his portfolio to see that it contained the necessary papers, while Chernyshov, frowning, paced up and down to restore the circulation in his numbed feet, and thought over what he was about to report to the Emperor. He was near the door of the cabinet when it opened again and the aide- de-camp, even more radiant and respectfulM
 than before, came out and with a gesture invited the minister and his assistant to enter.
The Winter Palace had been rebuilt after a fire some considerable time before this, but Nicholas was still occupying rooms in the upper story. The cabinet in which he received the reports of his ministers and other high officials was a very lofty apartment with four large windows. A big portrait of the Emperor Alexander I hung on the front side of the room. Two bureaux stood between the windows, and several chairs were ranM
ged along the walls. IN the middle of the room was an enormous writing table and an arm chair before it for Nicholas, and other chairs for those to whom he gave audience.
Nicholas sat at the table in a black coat with shoulder- straps but no epaulets, his enormous body -- with his overgrown stomach tightly laced in -- was thrown back, and he gazed at the newcomers with fixed, lifeless eyes. His long pale face, with its enormous receding forehead between the tufts of hair which were brushed forward and skillfullyM
 joined to the wig that covered his bald patch, was specially cold and stony that day. His eyes, always dim, looked duller than usual, the compressed lips under his upturned mustaches, the high collar which supported his chin, and his fat freshly shaven cheeks on which symmetrical sausage-shaped bits of whiskers had been left, gave his face a dissatisfied and even irate expression. His bad mood was caused by fatigue, due to the fact that he had been to a masquerade the night before, and while walking about as was hM
is wont in his Horse Guards' uniform with a bird on the helmet, among the public which crowded round and timidly made way for his enormous, self-assured figure, he had again met the mask who at the previous masquerade had aroused his senile sensuality by her whiteness, her beautiful figure, and her tender voice. At that former masquerade she had disappeared after promising to meet him at the next one.
At yesterday's masquerade she had come up to him, and this time he had not let her go, but had led her to the boM
x specially kept ready for that purpose, where he could be alone with her. Having arrived in silence at the door of the box Nicholas looked round to find the attendant, but he was not there. He frowned and pushed the door open himself, letting the lady enter first.
"Il y a quelq'un!" said the mask, stopping short.
And the box actually was occupied. On the small velvet- covered sofa, close together, sat an Uhlan officer and a pretty, fair curly-haired young woman in a domino, who had removed her mask. On catchM
ing sight of the angry figure of Nicholas drawn up to its full height, she quickly replaced her mask, but the Uhlan officer, rigid with fear, gazed at Nicholas with fixed eyes without rising from the sofa.
Used as he was to the terror he inspired in others, that terror always pleased Nicholas, and by way of contrast he sometimes liked to astound those plunged in terror by addressing kindly words to them. He did so on this occasion.
"Well, friend!" said he to the officer, "You are younger than I and might giveM
 up your place to me."
The officer jumped to his feet, and growing first pale and then red and bending almost double, he followed his partner silently out of the box, leaving Nicholas alone with his lady.
She proved to be a pretty, twenty-year-old virgin, the daughter of a Swedish governess. She told Nicholas how when quite a child she had fallen in love with him from his portraits; how she adored him and had made up her mind to attract his attention at any cost. Now she had succeeded and wanted nothing more M
The girl was taken to the place where Nicholas usually had rendezvous with women, and there he spent more than an hour with her.
When he returned to his room that night and lay on the hard narrow bed about which he prided himself, and covered himself with the cloak which he considered to be (and spoke of as being) as famous as Napoleon's hat, it was a long time before he could fall asleep. He thought now of the frightened and elated expression on that girl's fair face, and now of the full, powM
erful shoulders of his established mistress, Nelidova, and he compared the two. That profligacy in a married man was a bad thing did not once enter his head, and he would have been greatly surprised had anyone censured him for it. Yet though convinced that he had acted rightly, some kind of unpleasant after-taste remained, and to stifle that feeling he dwelt on a thought that always tranquilized him -- the thought of his own greatness.
Though he had fallen asleep so late, he rose before eight, and after attendinM
g to his toilet in the usual way -- rubbing his big well-fed body all over with ice -- and saying his prayers (repeating those he had been used to from childhood -- the prayer to the Virgin, the apostles' Creed, and the Lord's Prayer, without attaching any kind of meaning to the words he uttered), he went out through the smaller portico of the palace onto the embankment in his military cloak and cap.
On the embankment he met a student in the uniform of the School of Jurisprudence, who was as enormous as himself.M
 On recognizing the uniform of that school, which he disliked for its freedom of thought, Nicholas frowned, but the stature of the student and the painstaking manner in which he drew himself up and saluted, ostentatiously sticking out his elbow, mollified his displeasure.
"Your name?" said he.
"Polosatov, your Imperial Majesty."
The student continued to stand with his hand lifted to his hat.
"Do you wish to enter the army?"
"Not at all, your Imperial Majesty.M
"Blockhead!" And Nicholas turned away and continued his walk, and began uttering aloud the first words that came into his head.
"Kopervine...Kopervine -- " he repeated several times (it was the name of yesterday's girl). "Horrid ... horrid -- " He did not think of what he was saying, but stifled his feelings by listening to the words.
"Yes, what would Russia be without me?" said he, feeling his former dissatisfaction returning. "What would -- not Russia alone but Europe be, without me?" and calling to miM
nd the weakness and stupidity of his brother-in-law the King of Prussia, he shook his head.
As he was returning to the small portico, he saw the carriage of Helena Pavlovna, with a red-liveried footman, approaching the Saltykov entrance of the palace.
Helena Pavlovna was to him the personification of that futile class of people who discussed not merely science and poetry, but even the ways of governing men: imagining that they could govern themselves better than he, Nicholas, governed them! He knew that howevM
er much he crushed such people they reappeared again and again, and he recalled his brother, Michael Pavlovich, who had died not long before. A feeling of sadness and vexation came over him and with a dark frown he again began whispering the first words that came into his head, which he only ceased doing when he reentered the palace.
On reaching his apartments he smoothed his whiskers and the hair on his temples and the wig on his bald patch, and twisted his mustaches upwards in front of the mirror, and then wenM
t straight to the cabinet in which he received reports.
He first received Chernyshov, who at once saw by his face, and especially by his eyes, that Nicholas was in a particularly bad humor that day, and knowing about the adventure of the night before he understood the cause. Having coldly greeted him and invited him to sit down, Nicholas fixed on him a lifeless gaze. The first matter Chernyshov reported upon was a case of embezzlement by commissariat officials which had just been discovered; the next was the movM
ement of troops on the Prussian frontier; then came a list of rewards to be given at the New Year to some people omitted from a former list; then Vorontsov's report about Hadji Murat; and lastly some unpleasant business concerning an attempt by a student of the Academy of Medicine on the life of a professor.
Nicholas heard the report of the embezzlement silently with compressed lips, his large white hand -- with one ring on the fourth finger -- stroking some sheets of paper, and his eyes steadily fixed on ChernyM
shov's forehead and on the tuft of hair above it.
Nicholas was convinced that everybody stole. He knew he would have to punish the commissariat officials now, and decided to send them all to serve in the ranks, but he also knew that this would not prevent those who succeeded them from acting in the same way. It was a characteristic of officials to steal, but it was his duty to punish them for doing so, and tired as he was of that duty he conscientiously performed it.
"It seems there is only one honest man in M
Chernyshov at once understood that this one honest man was Nicholas himself, and smiled approvingly.
"It looks like it, your Imperial Majesty," said he.
"Leave it -- I will give a decision," said Nicholas, taking the document and putting it on the left side of the table.
Then Chernyshov reported the rewards to be given and about moving the army on the Prussian frontier.
Nicholas looked over the list and struck out some names, and then briefly and firmly gave orders to move two divisM
ions to the Prussian frontier. He could not forgive the King of Prussia for granting a Constitution to his people after the events of 1848, and therefore while expressing most friendly feelings to his brother-in-law in letters and conversation, he considered it necessary to keep an army near the frontier in case of need. He might want to use these troops to defend his brother-in-law's throne if the people of Prussia rebelled (Nicholas saw a readiness for rebellion everywhere) as he had used troops to suppress the rM
ising in Hungary a few years previously. they were also of use to give more weight and influence to such advice as he gave to the King of Prussia.
"Yes -- what would Russia be like now if it were not for me?" he again thought.
"Well, what else is there?" said he.
"A courier from the Caucasus," said Chernyshov, and he reported what Vorontsov had written about Hadji Murat's surrender.
"Well, well!" said Nicholas. "It's a good beginning!"
"Evidently the plan devised by your Majesty begins to bear fruit,M
this approval of his strategic talents was particularly pleasant to Nicholas because, though he prided himself upon them, at the bottom of his heart he knew that they did not really exist, and he now desired to hear more detailed praise of himself.
"How do you mean?" he asked.
"I mean that if your Majesty's plans had been adopted before, and we had moved forward slowly and steadily, cutting down forests and destroying the supplies of food, the Caucasus would have been subjugated long agoM
. I attribute Hadji Murat's surrender entirely to his having come to the conclusion that they can hold out no longer."
"True," said Nicholas.
Although the plan of a gradual advance into the enemy's territory by means of felling forests and destroying the food supplies was Ermolov's and Velyaminov's plan, and was quite contrary to Nicholas's own plan of seizing Shamil's place of residence and destroying that nest of robbers -- which was the plan on which the dargo expedition in 1845 (that cost so many lives) hM
ad been undertaken -- Nicholas nevertheless attributed to himself also the plan of a slow advance and a systematic felling of forests and devastation of the country. It would seem that to believe the plan of a slow movement by felling forests and destroying food supplies to have been his own would have necessitated hiding the fact that he had insisted on quite contrary operations in 1845. But he did not hide it and was proud of the plan of the 1845 expedition as well as of the plan of a slow advance -- though the tM
wo were obviously contrary to one another. Continual brazen flattery from everybody round him in the teeth of obvious facts had brought him to such a state that he no longer saw his own inconsistencies or measured his actions and words by reality, logic, or even simple common sense; but was quite convinced that all his orders, however senseless, unjust, and mutually contradictory they might be, became reasonable, just, and mutually accordant simply because he gave them. His decision in the case next reported to himM
 -- that of the student of the Academy of Medicine -- was of the that senseless kind.
The case was as follows: A young man who had twice failed in his examinations was being examined a third time, and when the examiner again would not pass him, the young man whose nerves were deranged, considering this to be an injustice, seized a pen- knife from the table in a paroxysm of fury, and rushing at the professor inflicted on him several trifling wounds.
"What's his name?" asked Nicholas.
"Of Polish descent and a roman Catholic," answered Chernyshov.
Nicholas frowned. He had done much evil to the Poles. To justify that evil he had to feel certain that all Poles were rascals, and he considered them to be such and hated them in proportion to the evil he had done them.
"Wait a little," he said, closing his eyes and bowing his head.
Chernyshov, having more than once heard Nicholas say so, knew that when the Emperor had to take a decision it was only necessary for him to concentrate his aM
ttention for a few moments and the spirit moved him, and the best possible decision presented itself as though an inner voice had told him what to do. He was now thinking how most fully to satisfy the feeling of hatred against the Poles which this incident had stirred up within him, and the inner voice suggested the following decision. He took the report and in his large handwriting wrote on its margin with three orthographical mistakes:
"Diserves deth, but, thank God, we have no capitle punishment, and it is noM
t for me to introduce it. Make him fun the gantlet of a thousand men twelve times. -- Nicholas."
He signed, adding his unnaturally huge flourish.
Nicholas knew that twelve thousand strokes with the regulation rods were not only certain death with torture, but were a superfluous cruelty, for five thousand strokes were sufficient to kill the strongest man. But it pleased him to be ruthlessly cruel and it also pleased him to think that we have abolished capital punishment in Russia.
Having written his decisioM
n about the student, he pushed it across to Chernyshov.
"There," he said, "read it."
Chernyshov read it, and bowed his head as a sign of respectful amazement at the wisdom of the decision.
"Yes, and let all the students be present on the drill- ground at the punishment," added Nicholas.
"It will do them good! I will abolish this revolutionary spirit and will tear it up by the roots!" he thought.
"It shall be done," replied Chernyshov; and after a short pause he straightened the tuft on his forehead aM
nd returned to the Caucasian report.
"What do you command me to write in reply to Prince Vorontsov's dispatch?"
"To keep firmly to my system of destroying the dwellings and food supplies in Chechnya and to harass them by raids." answered Nicholas.
"And what are your Majesty's commands with reference to Hadji Murat?" asked Chernyshov.
"Well, Vorontsov writes that he wants to make use of him in the Caucasus."
"Is it not dangerous?" said Chernyshov, avoiding Nicholas's gaze. "Prince Vorontsov is too conM
fiding, I am afraid."
"And you -- what do you think?" asked Nicholas sharply, detecting Chernyshov's intention of presenting Vorontsov's decision in an unfavorable light.
"Well, I should have thought it would be safer to deport him to Central Russia."
"You would have thought!" said Nicholas ironically. "But I don't think so, and agree with Vorontsov. Write to him accordingly."
"It shall be done," said Chernyshov, rising and bowing himself out.
Dolgoruky also bowed himself out, having during the wholeM
 audience only uttered a few words (in reply to a question from Nicholas) about the movement of the army.
After Chernyshov, Nicholas received Bibikov, General- Governor of the Western Provinces. Having expressed his approval of the measures taken by Bibikov against the mutinous peasants who did not wish to accept the orthodox Faith, he ordered him to have all those who did not submit tried by court-martial. that was equivalent to sentencing them to run the gantlet. He also ordered the editor of a newspaper to beM
 sent to serve in the ranks of the army for publishing information about the transfer of several thousand State peasants to the imperial estates.
"I do this because I consider it necessary," said Nicholas, "and I will not allow it to be discussed."
Bibikov saw the cruelty of the order concerning the Uniate peasants and the injustice of transferring State peasants (the only free peasants in Russia in those days) to the Crown, which meant making them serfs of the Imperial family. But it was impossible to expresM
s dissent. Not to agree with Nicholas's decisions would have meant the loss of that brilliant position which it had cost Bibikov forty years to attain and which he now enjoyed; and he therefore submissively bowed his dark head (already touched with gray) to indicate his submission and his readiness to fulfill the cruel, insensate, and dishonest supreme will.
Having dismissed Bibikov, Nicholas stretched himself, with a sense of duty well fulfilled, glanced at the clock, and went to get ready to go out. Having putM
 on a uniform with epaulets, orders, and a ribbon, he went out into the reception hall where more than a hundred persons -- men in uniforms and women in elegant low-necked dresses, all standing in the places assigned to them -- awaited his arrival with agitation.
He came out to them with a lifeless look in his eyes, his chest expanded, his stomach bulging out above and below its bandages, and feeling everybody's gaze tremulously and obsequiously fixed upon him he assumed an even more triumphant air. When his eyeM
s met those of people he knew, remembering who was who, he stopped and addressed a few words to them sometimes in Russian and sometimes in French, and transfixing them with his cold glassy eye listened to what they said.
Having received all the New year congratulations he passed on to church, where God, through His servants the priests, greeted and praised Nicholas just as worldly people did; and weary as he was of these greetings and praises Nicholas duly accepted them. All this was as it should be, because theM
 welfare and happiness of the whole world depended on him, and wearied though he was he would still not refuse the universe his assistance.
When at the end of the service the magnificently arrayed deacon, his long hair crimped and carefully combed, began the chant "Many Years," which was heartily caught up by the splendid choir, Nicholas looked round and noticed Nelidova, with her fine shoulders, standing by a window, and he decided the comparison with yesterday's girl in her favor.
After Mass he went to the M
empress and spent a few minutes in the bosom of his family, joking with the children and his wife. then passing through the Hermitage, he visited the Minister of the Court, Volkonski, and among other things ordered him to pay out of a special fund a yearly pension to the mother of yesterday's girl. From there he went for his customary drive.
Dinner that day was served in the Pompeian Hall. Besides the younger sons of Nicholas and Michael there were also invited Baron Lieven, Count Rzhevski, Dolgoruky, the PrussiM
an Ambassador, and the King of Prussia's aide-de-camp.
While waiting for the appearance of the Emperor and Empress an interesting conversation took place between Baron Lieven and the Prussian Ambassador concerning the disquieting news from Poland.
"La Pologne et le Caucases, ce sont les deux cauteres de la Russie," said Lieven. "Il nous faut dent mille hommes a peu pres, dans chcun de ces deux pays."
The Ambassador expressed a fictitious surprise that it should be so.
"Vous dites, la Pologne -- " began M
"Oh, oui, c'etait un coup de maitre de Metternich de nous en avoir laisse l'embarras. ... "
At this point the Empress, with her trembling head and fixed smile, entered followed by Nicholas.
At dinner Nicholas spoke of Hadji Murat's surrender and said that the war in the Caucasus must now soon come to an end in consequence of the measures he was taking to limit the scope of the mountaineers by felling their forests and by his system of erecting a series of small forts.
The Ambassador, havM
ing exchanged a rapid glance with the aide-de-camp -- to whom he had only that morning spoken about Nicholas's unfortunate weakness for considering himself a great strategist -- warmly praised this plan which once more demonstrated Nicholas's great strategic ability.
After dinner Nicholas drove to the ballet where hundreds of women marched round in tights and scanty clothing. One of the specially attracted him, and he had the German ballet-master sent for and gave orders that a diamond ring should be presented tM
The next day when Chernyshov came with his report, Nicholas again confirmed his order to Vorontsov -- that now that Hadji Murat had surrendered, the Chechens should be more actively harassed than ever and the cordon round them tightened.
Chernyshov wrote in that sense to Vorontsov; and another courier, overdriving more horses and bruising the faces of more drivers, galloped to Tiflis.
In obedience to this command of Nicholas a raid was immediately made in Chechnya that same month, JaM
The detachment ordered for the raid consisted of four infantry battalions, two companies of Cossacks, and eight guns. The column marched along the road; and on both sides of it in a continuous line, now mounting, now descending, marched Fagers in high boots, sheepskin coats, and tall caps, with rifles on their shoulders and cartridges in their belts.
As usual when marching through a hostile country, silence was observed as far as possible. Only occasionally the guns jingled jolting across a ditch,M
 or an artillery horse snorted or neighed, not understanding that silence was ordered, or an angry commander shouted in a hoarse subdued voice to his subordinates that the line was spreading out too much or marching too near or too far from the column. Only once was the silence broken, when from a bramble patch between the line and the column a gazelle with a white breast and gray back jumped out followed by a buck of the same color with small backward-curving horns. Doubling up their forelegs at each big bound theM
y took, the beautiful timid creatures came so close to the column that some of the soldiers rushed after them laughing and shouting, intending to bayonet them, but the gazelles turned back, slipped through the line of Fagers, and pursued by a few horsemen and the company's dogs, fled like birds to the mountains.
It was still winter, but towards noon, when the column (which had started early in the morning) had gone three miles, the sun had risen high enough and was powerful enough to make the men quite hot, and M
its rays were so bright that it was painful to look at the shining steel of the bayonets or at the reflections - - like little suns -- on the brass of the cannons.
The clear and rapid stream the detachment had just crossed lay behind, and in front were tilled fields and meadows in shallow valleys. Farther in front were the dark mysterious forest-clad hills with craigs rising beyond them, and farther still on the lofty horizon were the ever-beautiful ever-changing snowy peaks that played with the light like diamoM
At the head of the 5th Company, Butler, a tall handsome officer who had recently exchanged from the Guards, marched along in a black coat and tall cap, shouldering his sword. He was filled with a buoyant sense of the joy of living, the danger of death, a wish for action, and the consciousness of being part of an immense whole directed by a single will. This was his second time of going into action and he thought how in a moment they would be fired at, and he would not only not stoop when the shells flew oveM
rhead, or heed the whistle of the bullets, but would carry his head even more erect than before and would look round at his comrades and the soldiers with smiling eyes, and begin to talk in a perfectly calm voice about quite other matters.
The detachment turned off the good road onto a little-used one that crossed a stubbly maize field, ant they were drawing near the forest when, with an ominous whistle, a shell flew past amid the baggage wagons -- they could not see whence -- and tore up the ground in the fieldM
"It's beginning," said Butler with a bright smile to a comrade who was walking beside him.
And so it was. After the shell a thick crowd of mounted Chechens appeared with their banners from under the shelter of the forest. In the midst of the crowd could be seen a large green banner, and an old and very far-sighted sergeant-major informed the short-sighted Butler that Shamil himself must be there. The horsemen came down the hiss and appeared to the right, at the highest part of the valley neaM
rest the detachment, and began to descend. A little general in a thick black coat and tall cap rode up to Butler's company on his ambler, and ordered him to the right to encounter the descending horsemen. Butler quickly led his company in the direction indicated, but before he reached the valley he heard two cannon shots behind him. He looked round: two clouds of gray smoke had risen above two cannon and were spreading along the valley. The mountaineers' horsemen -- who had evidently not expected to meet artillery M
-- retired. Butler's company began firing at them and the whole ravine was filled with the smoke of powder. Only higher up above the ravine could the mountaineers be seen hurriedly retreating, though still firing back at the Cossacks who pursued them. The company followed the mountaineers farther, and on the slope of a second ravine came in view of an aoul.
Following the Cossacks, Butler and his company entered the aoul at a run, to find it deserted. The soldiers were ordered to burn the corn and the hay as wellM
 as the saklyas, and the whole aoul was soon filled with pungent smoke amid which the soldiers rushed about dragging out of the saklyas what they could find, and above all catching and shooting the fowls the mountaineers had not been able to take away with them.
The officers sat down at some distance beyond the smoke, and lunched and drank. The sergeant-major brought them some honeycombs on a board. There was no sigh of any Chechens and early in the afternoon the order was given to retreat. The companies formed M
into a column behind the aoul and Butler happened to be in the rearguard. As soon as they started Chechens appeared, following and firing at the detachment, but they ceased this pursuit as soon as they came out into an open space.
Not one of Butler's company had been wounded, and he returned in a most happy and energetic mood. When after fording the same stream it had crossed in the morning, the detachment spread over the maize fields and the meadows, the singers of each company came forward and songs filled theM
"Verry diff'rent, very diff'rent, Fagers are, Fagers are!" sang Butler's singers, and his horse stepped merrily to the music. Trezorka, the shaggy gray dog belonging to the company, ran in front, with his tail curled up with an air of responsibility like a commander. Butler felt buoyant, calm, and joyful. War presented itself to him as consisting only in his exposing himself to danger and to possible death, thereby gaining rewards and the respect of his comrades here, as well as of his friends in Russia. SM
trange to say, his imagination never pictured the other aspect of war: the death and wounds of the soldiers, officers, and mountaineers. To retain his poetic conception he even unconsciously avoided looking at the dead and wounded. So that day when we had three dead and twelve wounded, he passed by a corpse lying on its back and did not stop to look, seeing only with one eye the strange position of the waxen hand and a dark red spot on the head. The hosslmen appeared to him only a mounted dzhigits from whom he had M
"You see, my dear sir," said his major in an interval between two songs, "it's not as it is with you in Petersburg -- 'Eyes right! Eyes left!' Here we have done our job, and now we go home and Masha will set a pie and some nice cabbage soup before us. That's life -- don't you think so? -- Now then! As the Dawn Was Breaking!" He called for his favorite song.
There was no wind, the air was fresh and clear and so transparent that the snow hills nearly a hundred miles away seemed quite near, anM
d in the intervals between the songs the regular sound of the footsteps and the jingle of the guns was heard as a background on which each song began and ended. The song that was being sung in Butler's company was composed by a cadet in honor of the regiment, and went to a dance tune. The chorus was: "Verry diff'rent, very diff'rent, Fagers are, Fagers are!"
Butler rode beside the officer next in rank above him, Major Petrov, with whom he lived, and he felt he could not be thankful enough to have exchanged from M
the Guards and come to the Caucasus. His chief reason for exchanging was that he had lost all he had at cards and was afraid that if he remained there he would be unable to resist playing though he had nothing more to lose. Now all that was over, his life was quite changed and was such a pleasant and brave one! He forgot that he was ruined, and forgot his unpaid debts. The Caucasus, the war, the soldiers, the officers -- those tipsy, brave, good-natured fellows -- and Major Petrov himself, all seemed so delightful M
that sometimes it appeared too good to be true that he was not in Petersburg -- in a room filled with tobacco smoke, turning down the corners of cards and gambling, hating the holder of the bank and feeling a dull pain in his head -- but was really here in this glorious region among these brave Caucasians.
The major and the daughter of a surgeon's orderly, formerly known as Masha, but now generally called by the more respectful name of Marya Dmitrievna, lived together as man and wife. Marya Dmitrievna was a handM
some, fair-haired, very freckled, childless woman of thirty. Whatever her past may have been she was now the major's faithful companion and looked after him like a nurse -- a very necessary matter, since he often drank himself into oblivion.
When they reached the fort everything happened as the major had foreseen. Marya Dmitrievna gave him and Butler, and two other officers of the detachment who had been invited, a nourishing and tasty dinner, and the major ate and drank till he was unable to speak, and then wenM
t off to his room to sleep.
Butler, having drunk rather more chikhir wine than was good for him, went to his bedroom, tired but contented, and hardly had time to undress before he fell into a sound, dreamless, and unbroken sleep with his hand under his handsome curly head.
The soul which had been destroyed was that in which Hadji Murat had spent the night before he went over to the Russians. Sado and his family had left the aoul on the approach of the Russian detachment, and when he returned hM
e found his saklya in ruins -- the roof fallen in, the door and the posts supporting the penthouse burned, and the interior filthy. His son, the handsome bright-eyed boy who had gazed with such ecstasy at Hadji Murat, was brought dead to the mosque on a horse covered with a barka; he had been stabbed in the back with a bayonet. the dignified woman who had served Hadji Murat when he was at the house now stood over her son's body, her smock torn in front, her withered old breasts exposed, her hair down, and she dug hM
er hails into her face till it bled, and wailed incessantly. Sado, taking a pick-ax and spade, had gone with his relatives to dig a grave for his son. The old grandfather sat by the wall of the ruined saklya cutting a stick and gazing stolidly in front of him. He had only just returned from the apiary. The two stacks of hay there had been burnt, the apricot and cherry trees he had planted and reared were broken and scorched, and worse still all the beehives and bees had been burnt. The wailing of the women and the M
little children, who cried with their mothers, mingled with the lowing of the hungry cattle for whom there was no food. The bigger children, instead of playing, followed their elders with frightened eyes. The fountain was polluted, evidently on purpose, so that the water could not be used. The mosque was polluted in the same way, and the Mullah and his assistants were cleaning it out. No one spoke of hatred of the Russians. The feeling experienced by all the Chechens, from the youngest to the oldest, was stronger tM
han hate. It was not hatred, for they did not regard those Russian dogs as human beings, but it was such repulsion, disgust, and perplexity at the senseless cruelty of these creatures, that the desire to exterminate them -- like the desire to exterminate rats, poisonous spiders, or wolves -- was as natural an instinct as that of self-preservation.
The inhabitants of the aoul were confronted by the choice of remaining there and restoring with frightful effort what had been produced with such labor and had been soM
 lightly and senselessly destroyed, facing every moment the possibility of a repetition of what had happened; or to submit to the Russians -- contrary to their religion and despite the repulsion and contempt they felt for them. The old men prayed, and unanimously decided to send envoys to Shamil asking him for help. Then they immediately set to work to restore what had been destroyed.
On the morning after the raid, not very early, Butler left the house by the back porch meaning to take a stroll aM
nd a breath of fresh air before breakfast, which he usually had with Petrov. The sun had already risen above the hills and it was painful to look at the brightly lit-up white walls of the houses on the right side of the street. But then as always it was cheerful and soothing to look to the left, at the dark receding and ascending forest-clad hills and at the dim line of snow peaks, which as usual pretended to be clouds. Butler looked at these mountains, inhaling deep breaths and rejoicing that he was alive, that itM
 was just he that was alive, and that he lived in this beautiful place.
He was also rather pleased that he had behaved so well in yesterday's affair both during the advance and especially during the retreat when things were pretty hot; he was also pleased to remember how Masha (or Marya Dmitrievna), Petrov's mistress, had treated them at dinner on their return after the raid, and how she had been particularly nice and simple with everybody, but specially kind -- as he thought -- to him.
Marya Dmitrievna with M
her thick plait of hair, her broad shoulders, her high bosom, and the radiant smile on her kindly freckled face, involuntarily attracted Butler, who was a healthy young bachelor. It sometimes even seemed to him that she wanted him, but he considered that that would be doing his good-natured simple-hearted comrade a wrong, and he maintained a simple, respectful attitude towards her and was pleased with himself for doing so.
He was thinking of this when his meditations were disturbed by the tramp of many horses' hM
oofs along the dusty road in front of him, as if several men were riding that way. He looked up and saw at the end of the street a group of horsemen coming towards him at a walk. In front of a score of Cossacks rode two men: one in a white Circassian coat with a tall turban on his head, the other an officer in the Russian service, dark, with an aquiline nose, and much silver on his uniform and weapons. The man with the turban rode a fine chestnut horse with mane and tail of a lighter shade, a small head, and beautiM
ful eyes. The officer's was a large, handsome Karabakh horse. Butler, a lover of horses, immediately recognized the great strength of the first horse and stopped to learn who these people were.
The officer addressed him. "this the house of commanding officer?" he asked, his foreign accent and his words betraying his foreign origin.
Butler replied that it was. "And who is that?" he added, coming nearer to the officer and indicating the man with the turban.
"That Hadji Murat. He come here to stay with the coM
mmander," said the officer.
Butler knew about Hadji Murat and about his having come over to the Russians, but he had not at all expected to see him here in this little fort. Hadji Murat gave him a friendly look.
"Good day, Kotkildy," said Butler, repeating the Tartar greeting he had learned.
"Saubul!" ("Be well!") replied Hadji Murat, nodding. He rode up to Butler and held out his hand, from two fingers of which hung his whip.
"Are you the chief?" he asked.
"No, the chief is in here. I will go and caM
ll him," said Butler addressing the officer, and he went up the steps and pushed the door. But the door of the visitors' entrance, as Marya Dmitrievna called it, was locked, and as it still remained closed after he had knocked, Butler went round to the back door. He called his orderly but received no reply, and finding neither of the two orderlies he went into the kitchen, where Marya Dmitrievna -- flushed with a kerchief tied round her head and her sleeves rolled up on her plump white arms -- was rolling pastry, wM
hite as her hands, and cutting it into small pieces to make pies of.
"Where have the orderlies gone to?" asked Butler.
"Gone to drink," replied Marya Dmitrievna. "What do you want?"
"To have the front door opened. You have a whole horde of mountaineers in front of your house. Hadji Murat has come!"
"Invent something else!" said Marya Dmitrievna, smiling.
"I am not joking, he is really waiting by the porch!"
"Is it really true?" said she.
"Why should I wish to deceive you? Go and see, he's just M
"Dear me, here's a go!" said Marya Dmitrievna pulling down her sleeves and putting up her hand to feel whether the hairpins in her thick plait were all in order. "Then I will go and wake Ivan Matveich."
"No, I'll go myself. and you Bondarenko, go and open the door," said he to Petrov's orderly who had just appeared.
"Well, so much the better!" said Marya Dmitrievna and returned to her work.
When he heard that Hadji Murat had come to his house, Ivan Matveich Petrov, the major, who had alreM
ady heard that Hadji Murat was in Grozny, was not at all surprised. Sitting up in bed he rolled a cigarette, lit it, and began to dress, loudly clearing his throat and grumbling at the authorities who had sent "that devil" to him.
When he was ready he told his orderly to bring him some medicine. The orderly knew that "medicine" meant vodka, and brought some.
"There is nothing so bad as mixing," muttered the major when he had drunk the vodka and taken a bite of rye bread. "Yesterday I drank a little chikhir anM
d now I have a headache. ... Well, I'm ready," he added, and went to the parlor, into which Butler had already shown Hadji Murat and the officer who accompanied him.
The officer handed the major orders from the commander of the left flank to the effect that he should receive Hadji Murat and should allow him to have intercourse with the mountaineers through spies, but was on no account to allow him to leave the fort without a convoy of Cossacks.
Having read the order the major looked intently at Hadji Murat anM
d again scrutinized the paper. After passing his eyes several times from one to the other in this manner, he at last fixed them on Hadji Murat and said:
"Yakshi, Bek; yakshi! ("very well, sir, very well!") Let him stay here, and tell him I have orders not to let him out -- and what is commanded is sacred! Well, Butler, where do you think we'd better lodge him? Shall we put him in the office?"
Butler had not time to answer before Marya Dmitrievna -- who had come from the kitchen and was standing in the doorwayM
 -- said to the major:
"Why? Keep him here! We will give him the guest chamber and the storeroom. Then at any rate he will be within sight," said she, glancing at Hadji Murat; but meeting his eyes she turned quickly away.
"do you know, I think marya Dmitrievna is right," said Butler.
"Now then, now then, get away! Women have no business here," said the major frowning.
During the whole of this discussion Hadji Murat sat with his hand on the hilt of his dagger and a faint smile of contempt on his lips. HeM
 said it was all the same to him where he lodged, and that he wanted nothing but what the Sirdar had permitted -- namely, to have communication with the mountaineers, and that he therefore wished they should be allowed to come to him.
The major said this should be done, and asked Butler to entertain the visitors till something could be got for them to eat and their rooms prepared. Meanwhile he himself would go across to the office to write what was necessary and to give some orders.
Hadji Murat's relations wiM
th his new acquaintances were at once very clearly defined. From the first he was repelled by and contemptuous of the major, to whom he always behaved very haughtily. Marya Dmitrievna, who prepared and served up his food, pleased him particularly. He liked her simplicity and especially the -- to him -- foreign type of her beauty, and he was influenced by the attraction she felt towards him and unconsciously conveyed. He tried not to look at her or speak to her, but his eyes involuntarily turned towards her and follM
owed her movements. With butler, from their first acquaintance, he immediately made friends and talked much and willingly with him, questioning him about his life, telling him of his own, communicating to him the news the spies brought him of his family's condition, and even consulting him as to how he ought to act.
The news he received through the spies was not good. During the first four days of his stay in the fort they came to see him twice and both times brought bad news.
mily had been removed to Vedeno soon after his desertion to the Russians, and were there kept under guard awaiting Shamil's decision. The women -- his old mother Patimat and his two wives with their five little children -- were kept under guard in the saklya of the officer Ibrahim Raschid, while Hadji Murat's son Yusuf, a youth of eighteen, was put in prison - - that is, into a pit more than seven feet deep, together with seven criminals, who like himself were awaiting a decision as to their fate.
as delayed because Shamil was away on a campaign against the Russians.
On January 6, 1852, he returned to Vedeno after a battle, in which according to the Russians he had been vanquished and had fled to Vedeno; but in which according to him and all the murids he had been victorious and had repulsed the Russians. In this battle he himself fired his rifle -- a thing he seldom did -- and drawing his sword would have charged straight at the Russians had not the murids who accompanied him held him back. Two of them wM
ere killed on the spot at his side.
It was noon when Shamil, surrounded by a party of murids who caracoled around him firing their rifles and pistols and continually singing Lya illya il Allah! rode up to his place of residence.
All the inhabitants of the large aoul were in the street or on their roofs to meet their ruler, and as a sign of triumph they also fired off rifles and pistols. Shamil rode a white Arab steed which pulled at its bit as it approached the house. The horse had no gold or silver ornamentsM
, its equipment was of the simplest -- a delicately worked red leather bridle with a stripe down the middle, metal cup-shaped stirrups, and a red saddlecloth showing a little from under the saddle. The Imam wore a brown cloth cloak liked with black fur showing at the neck and sleeves, and was tightly girded round his long thin waist with a black strap which held a dagger. On his head he wore a tall cap with flat crown and black tassel, and round it was wound a white turban, one end of which hung down on his neck. HM
e wore green slippers, and black leggings trimmed with plain braid.
He wore nothing bright -- no gold or silver -- and his tall, erect, powerful figure, clothed in garments without any ornaments, surrounded by murids with gold and silver on their clothes and weapons produced on the people just the impression and influence he desired and knew how to produce. His pale face framed by a closely trimmed reddish beard, with his small eyes always screwed up, was as immovable as though hewn out of stone. As he rode throM
ugh the aoul he felt the gaze of a thousand eyes turned eagerly on him, but he himself looked at no one.
Hadji Murat's wives had come out into the penthouse with the rest of the inmates of the saklya to see the Imam's entry. Only Patimat, Hadji Murat's old mother, did not go out but remained sitting on the floor of the saklya with her gray hair down, her long arms encircling her thin knees, blinking with her fiery black eyes as she watched the dying embers in the fireplace. Like her son she had always hated ShamM
il, and now she hated him more than ever and had no wish to see him. Neither did Hadji Murat's son see Shamil's triumphal entry. Sitting in the dark and fetid pit he heard the firing and singing and endured tortures such as can only be felt by the young who are full of vitality and deprived of freedom. He only saw his unfortunate, dirty, and exhausted fellow-prisoners -- embittered and for the most part filled with hatred of one another. He now passionately envied those who, enjoying fresh air and light and freedomM
, caracoled on fiery steeds around their chief, shooting and heartily singing: Lya illyah il Allah!
When he had crossed the aoul Shamil rode into the large courtyard adjoining the inner court where his seraglio was. Two armed Lesghians met him at the open gates of this outer court, which was crowded with people. Some had come from distant parts about their own affairs, some had come with petitions, and some had been summoned by Shamil to be tried and sentenced. As the Imam rode in, they all respectfully saluted M
him with their hands on their breasts, some of them kneeling down and remaining on their knees while he rode across the court from the outer to the inner gates. Though he recognized among the people who waited in the court many whom he disliked, and many tedious petitioners who wanted his attention, Shamil passed them all with the same immovable, stony expression on his face, and having entered the inner court dismounted at the penthouse in front of his apartment, to the left of the gate. He was worn out, mentally M
rather than physically, by the strain of the campaign, for in spite of the public declaration that he had been victorious he knew very well that his campaign had been unsuccessful, that many Chechen aouls had been burnt down and ruined, and that the unstable and fickle Chechens were wavering and those nearest the border line were ready to go over to the Russians.
All this had to be dealt with, and it oppressed him, for at that moment he did not wish to think at all. He only desired one thing: rest and the delighM
ts of family life, and the caresses of his favorite wife, the black-eyed quick-footed eighteen-year-old Aminal, who at that very moment was close at hand behind the fence that divided the inner court and separated the men's from the women's quarters (Shamil felt sure she was there with his other wives, looking through a chink in the fence while he dismounted). but not only was it impossible for him to go to her, he could not even lie down on his feather cushions and rest from his fatigue; he had first of all to perM
form the midday rites for which he had just then not the least inclination, but which as the religious leader of the people he could not omit, and which moreover were as necessary to him himself as his daily food. So he performed his ablutions and said his prayers and summoned those who were waiting for him.
The first to enter was Jemal Eddin, his father-in-law and teacher, a tall gray-haired good-looking old man with a beard white as snow and a rosy red face. He said a prayer and began questioning Shamil about M
the incidents of the campaign and telling him what had happened in the mountains during his absence.
Among events of many kinds -- murders connected with blood- feuds, cattle stealing, people accused of disobeying the Tarikat (smoking and drinking wine) -- Jemal Eddin related how Hadji Murat had sent men to bring his family over to the Russians, but that this had been detected and the family had been brought to Vedeno where they were kept under guard and awaited the Imam's decision. In the next room, the guest-cM
hamber, the Elders were assembled to discuss all these affairs, and Jemal Eddin advised Shamil to finish with them and let them go that same day, as they had already been waiting three days for him.
After eating his dinner -- served to him in his room by Zeidat, a dark, sharp-nosed, disagreeable-looking woman whom he did not love but who was his eldest wife -- Shamil passed into the guest chamber.
The six old men who made up his council -- white, gray, or red-bearded, with tall caps on their heads, some with M
turbans and some without, wearing new beshmets and Circassian coats girdled with straps on which their daggers were suspended -- rose to greet him on his entrance. Shamil towered a head above them all. On entering the room he, as well as all the others, lifted his hands, palms upwards, closed his eyes and recited a prayer, and then stroked his face downward with both hands, uniting them at the end of his beard. Having done this they all sat down, Shamil on a larger cushion than the others, and discussed the variousM
In the case of the criminals the decisions were given according to the Shariat: two were sentenced to have a hand cut off for stealing, one man to be beheaded for murder, and three were pardoned. Then they came to the principal business: how to stop the Chechens from going over to the Russians. To counteract that tendency Jemal Eddin drew up the following proclamation:
"I wish you eternal peace with God the Almighty!
"I hear that the Russians flatter you and invite you to surrender to tM
hem. Do not believe what they say, and do not surrender but endure. If ye be not rewarded for it in this life ye shall receive your reward in the life to come. Remember what happened before when they took your arms from you! If God had not brought you to reason then, in 1840, ye would now be soldiers, and your wives would be dishonored and would no longer wear trousers.
"Judge of the future by the past. It is better to die in enmity with the Russians than to live with the Unbelievers. Endure for a little while aM
nd I will come with the Koran and the sword and will lead you against the enemy. But now I strictly command you not only to entertain no intention, but not even a thought, of submitting to the Russians!"
Shamil approved this proclamation, signed it, and had it sent out.
After this business they considered Hadji Murat's case. This was of the utmost importance to Shamil. Although he did not wish to admit it, he knew that if Hadji Murat with his agility, boldness, and courage, had been with him, what had now hapM
pened in Chechnya would not have occurred. It would therefore be well to make it up with Hadji Murat and have the benefit of his services again. But as this was possible it would never do to allow him to help the Russians, and therefore he must enticed back and killed. They might accomplish this either by sending a man to Tiflis who would kill him there, or by inducing him to come back and then killing him. The only means of doing the latter was by making use of his family and especially his son, whom Shamil knew hM
e loved passionately. Therefore they must act through the son.
When the councilors had talked all this over, Shamil closed his eyes and sat silent.
The councilors knew that this meant that he was listening to the voice of the Prophet, who spoke to him and told him what to do.
After five minutes of solemn silence Shamil opened his eyes, and narrowing them more than usual, said:
"Bring Hadji Murat's son to me."
"He is here," replied Jemal Eddin, and in fact Yusuf, Hadji Murat's son, thin, pale, tattereM
d, and evil-smelling, but still handsome in face and figure, with black eyes that burnt like his grandmother Patimat's, was already standing by the gate of the outside court waiting to be called in.
Yusuf did not share his father's feelings towards Shamil. He did not know all that had happened in the past, or if he knew it, not having lived through it he still did not understand why his father was so obstinately hostile to Shamil. To him who wanted only one thing -- to continue living the easy life that, as the M
naib's son, he had led in Kuhzakh -- it seemed quite unnecessary to be at enmity with Shamil. Out of defiance and a spirit of contradiction to his father he particularly admired Shamil, and shared the ecstatic adoration with which he was regarded in the mountains. With a peculiar feeling of tremulous veneration for the Imam he now entered the guest chamber. As he stopped by the door he met the steady gaze of Shamil's half- closed eyes. He paused for a moment, and then approached Shamil and kissed his large, long-fiM
"Thou are Hadji Murat's son?"
"Thou knowest what he has done?"
"I know, Imam, and deplore it."
"I was preparing myself to be a Mullah -- "
"then write to thy father that if he will return to me now, before the Feast of Bairam, I will forgive him and everything shall be as it was before; but if not, and if he remains with the Russians" -- and Shamil frowned sternly -- "I will give thy grandmother, thy mother, and the rest to the different aouls, andM
 thee I will behead!"
Not a muscle of Yusuf's face stirred, and he bowed his head to show that he understood Shamil's words.
"Write that and give it to my messenger."
Shamil ceased speaking, and looked at Yusuf for a long time in silence.
"Write that I have had pity on thee and will not kill thee, but will put out thine eyes as I do to all traitors! ... Go!"
While in Shamil's presence Yusuf appeared calm, but when he had been led out of the guest chamber he rushed at his attendant, snatched the man'sM
 dagger from its sheath and tried to stab himself, but he was seized by the arms, bound, and led back to the pit.
That evening at dusk after he had finished his evening prayers, Shamil put on a white fur-lined cloak and passed out to the other side of the fence where his wives lived, and went straight to Aminal's room, but he did not find her there. She was with the older wives. Then Shamil, trying to remain unseen, hid behind the door and stood waiting for her. But Aminal was angry with him because he had givenM
 some silk stuff to Zeidat and not to her. She saw him come out and go into her room looking for her, and she purposely kept away. She stood a long time at the door of Zeidat's room, laughing softly at Shamil's white figure that kept going in and out of her room.
Having waited for her in vain, Shamil returned to his own apartments when it was already time for the midnight prayers.
Hadji Murat had been a week in the major's house at the fort. Although Marya Dmitrievna quarreled with the shaggy M
Khanefi (Hadji Murat had only brought two of his murids, Khanefi and Eldar, with him) and had turned him out of her kitchen -- for which he nearly killed her -- she evidently felt a particular respect and sympathy for Hadji Murat. She now no longer served him his dinner, having handed that duty over to Eldar, but she seized every opportunity of seeing him and rendering him service. She always took the liveliest interest in the negotiations about his family, knew how many wives and children he had, and their ages, aM
nd each time a spy came to see him she inquired as best she could into the results of the negotiations.
Butler during that week had become quite friendly with Hadji Murat. Sometimes the latter came to Butler's room, sometimes Butler went to Hadji Murat's: sometimes they conversed by the help of the interpreter, and sometimes they got on as best they could with signs and especially with smiles.
Hadji Murat had evidently taken a fancy to Butler, as could be gathered from Eldar's relations with the latter. When M
Butler entered Hadji Murat's room Eldar met him with a pleased smile showing his glittering teeth, and hurried to put down a cushion for him to sit on and to relieve him of his sword if he was wearing one.
Butler also got to know, and became friendly with, the shaggy Khanefi, Hadji Murat's sworn brother. Khanefi knew many mountain songs and sang them well, and to please Butler, Hadji Murat often made Khanefi sing, choosing the songs he considered best. Khanefi had a high tenor voice and sang with extraordinary cM
learness and expression. One of the songs Hadji Murat specially liked impressed Butler by its solemnly mournful tone and he asked the interpreter to translate it.
The subject of the song was the very blood-feud that had existed between Khanefi and Hadji Murat. It ran as follows:
The earth will dry on my grave,
And thou wilt forget me!
And over me rank grass will wave,
Nor wilt thou regret me
When tears cease thy dark eyes to lave,
 No more will grief fret thee!
But thou, my Brother the elder, wilt never forget,
With vengeance denied me!
And thou, my Brother the younger, wilt ever regret,
Till thou liest beside me!
Hotly thou camest, O death-bearing ball that I spurned,
For thou wast my slave!
And thou, black earth, that battle-steed trampled and churned
Wilt cover my grave!
Cold art Thou, O Death, yet I was thy Lord and thy Master!
My body sinks fast to the earth, my soul to Heaven flies
Hadji Murat always listened to this song with closed eyes and when it ended on a long gradually dying note he always remarked in Russian --
"Good song! Wise song!"
After Hadji Murat's arrival and his intimacy with him and his murids, the poetry of the stirring mountain life took a still stronger hold on Butler. He procured for himself a beshmet and a Circassian coat and leggings, and imagined himself a mountaineer living the life those people lived.
On the day of Hadji Murat's departure the major invited M
several officers to see him off. They were sitting, some at the table where Marya Dmitrievna was pouring out tea, some at another table on which stood vodka, chekhir, and light refreshments, when Hadji Murat dressed for the journey came limping into the room with soft, rapid footsteps.
They all rose and shook hands with him. the major offered him a seat on the divan, but Hadji Murat thanked him and sat down on a chair by the window.
The silence that followed his entrance did not at all abash him. He looked atM
tentively at all the faces and fixed an indifferent gaze on the tea-table with the samovar and refreshments. Petrovsky, a lively officer who now met Hadji Murat for the first time, asked him through the interpreter whether he liked Tiflis.
"He says 'Yes'," translated the interpreter.
"What did he like there?"
Hadji Murat said something in reply.
"He liked the theater best of all."
"And how did he like the ball at the house of the commander- in-chief?"
Hadji Murat frowned. "EM
very nation has its own customs! Our women do not dress in such a way," said he, glancing at Marya Dmitrievna.
"Well, didn't he like it?"
"We have a proverb," said Hadji Murat to the interpreter, "'The dog gave meat to the ass and the ass gave hay to the dog, and both went hungry,'" and he smiled. "Its own customs seem good to each nation."
the conversation went no farther. Some of the officers took tea, some other refreshments. Hadji Murat accepted the tumbler of tea offered him and put it down before himM
"Won't you have cream and a bun?" asked Marya Dmitrievna, offering them to him.
Hadji Murat bowed his head.
"Well, I suppose it is good-bye!" said Butler, touching his knee. "When shall we meet again?"
"Good-bye, good-bye!" said Hadji Murat, in Russian, with a smile. "Kunak bulug. Strong kunak to thee! Time -- ayda -- go!" and he jerked his head in the direction in which he had to go.
Eldar appeared in the doorway carrying something large and white across his shoulder and a sword in his hand. HadjiM
 Murat beckoned to him and he crossed the room with big strides and handed him a white burka and the sword. Hadji Murat rose, took the burka, threw it over his arm, and saying something to the interpreter handed it to Marya Dmitrievna.
"He says thou has praised the burka, so accept it," said the interpreter.
"Oh, why?" said Marya Dmitrievna blushing.
"It is necessary. Like Adam," said Hadji Murat.
"Well, thank you," said Marya Dmitrievna, taking the burka. "God grant that you rescue your son," she addedM
. "Ulan yakshi. Tell him that I wish him success in releasing his son."
Hadji Murat glanced at Marya Dmitrievna and nodded his head approvingly. Then he took the sword from Eldar and handed it to the major. The major took it and said to the interpreter, "Tell him to take my chestnut gelding. I have nothing else to give him."
Hadji Murat waved his hand in front of his face to show that he did not want anything and would not accept it. Then, pointing first to the mountains and then to his heart, he went out.
All the household followed him as far as the door, while the officers who remained inside the room drew the sword from its scabbard, examined its blade, and decided that it was a real Gurda.
Butler accompanied Hadji Murat to the porch, and then came a very unexpected incident which might have ended fatally for Hadji Murat had it not been for his quick observation, determination, and agility.
the inhabitants of the Kumukh aoul, Tash-Kichu, which was friendly to the Russians, respected Hadji Murat greatly and M
had often come to the fort merely to look at the famous naib. They had sent messengers to him three days previously to ask him to visit their mosque on the Friday. But the Kumukh princes who lived in Tash-Kichu hated Hadji Murat because there was a blood- feud between them, and on hearing of this invitation they announced to the people that they would not allow him to enter the mosque. The people became excited and a fight occurred between them and the princes' supporters. The Russian authorities pacified the mountM
aineers and sent word to Hadji Murat not to go to the mosque.
Hadji Murat did not go and everyone supposed that the matter was settled.
But at the very moment of his departure, when he came out into the porch before which the horses stood waiting, Arslan Khan, one of the Kumukh princes and an acquaintance of Butler and the major, rode up to the house.
When he saw Hadji Murat he snatched a pistol from his belt and took aim, but before he could fire, Hadji Murat in spite of his lameness rushed down from the M
porch like a cat towards Arslan Khan who missed him.
Seizing Arslan Khan's horse by the bridle with one hand, Hadji Murat drew his dagger with the other and shouted something to him in Tartar.
Butler and Eldar both ran at once towards the enemies and caught them by the arms. The major, who had heard the shot, also came out.
"What do you mean by it, Arslan -- starting such a nasty business on my premises?" said he, when he heard what had happened. "It's not right, friend! 'To the foe in the field you need nM
ot yield!' -- but to start this kind of slaughter in front of my house -- '
Arslan Khan, a little man with black mustaches, got off his horse pale and trembling, looked angrily at Hadji Murat, and went into the house with the major. Hadji Murat, breathing heavily and smiling, returned to the horses.
"Why did he want to kill him?" Butler asked the interpreter.
"He says it is a law of theirs," the interpreter translated Hadji Murat's reply. "Arslan must avenge a relation's blood and so he tried to kill him."M
"and supposing he overtakes him on the road?" asked Butler.
"Well, if he kills me it will prove that such is Allah's will. ... Good-bye," he said again in Russian, taking his horse by the withers. Glancing round at everybody who had come out to see him off, his eyes rested kindly on Marya Dmitrievna.
"Good-bye, my lass," said he to her. "I thank you."
"God help you -- Gold help you to rescue your family!" repeated Marya Dmitrievna.
He did not understand her words, but felt herM
 sympathy for him and nodded to her.
"Mind, don't forget your kunak," said Butler.
"Tell him I am his true friend and will never forget him," answered Hadji Murat to the interpreter, and in spite of his short leg he swung himself lightly and quickly into the high saddle, barely touching the stirrup, and automatically feeling for his dagger and adjusting his sword. Then, with that peculiarly proud look with which only a Caucasian hill-man sits his horse -- as though he were one with it -- he rode away from theM
 major's house. Khanefi and Eldar also mounted and having taken a friendly leave of their hosts and of the officers, rode off at a trot, following their murshid.
As usual after a departure, those who remained behind began to discuss those who had left.
"Plucky fellow! He rushed at Arslan Khan like a wolf! His face quite changed!"
"But he'll be up to tricks -- he's a terrible rogue, I should say," remarked Petrovsky.
"It's a pity there aren't more Russian rogues of such a kind!" suddenly put in Marya DmiM
trievna with vexation. "He has lived a week with us and we have seen nothing but good from him. He is courteous, wise, and just," she added.
"How did you find that out?"
"No matter, I did find it out!"
"She's quite smitten, and that's a fact!" said the major, who had just entered the room.
"Well, and if I am smitten? What's that to you? Why run him down if he's a good man? Though he's a Tartar he's still a good man!"
"Quite true, Marya Dmitrievna," said Butler, "and you're quite right to take his parM
Life in our advanced forts in the Chechen lines went on as usual. Since the events last narrated there had been two alarms when the companies were called out and militiamen galloped about; but both times the mountaineers who had caused the excitement got away, and once at Vozdvizhensk they killed a Cossack and succeeded in carrying off eight Cossack horses that were being watered. there had been no further raids since the one in which the aoul was destroyed, but an expedition on a large scaleM
 was expected in consequence of the appointment of a new commander of the left flank, Prince Baryatinsky. He was an old friend of the Viceroy's and had been in command of the Kabarda Regiment. On his arrival at Grozny as commander of the whole left flank he at once mustered a detachment to continue to carry out the Czar's commands as communicated by Chernyshov to Vorontsov. The detachment mustered at Vozdvizhensk left the fort and took up a position towards Kurin, where the troops were encamped and were felling theM
 forest. Young Vorontsov lived in a splendid cloth tent, and his wife, Marya Vasilevna, often came to the camp and stayed the night. Baryatinsky's relations with Marya Vasilevna were no secret to anyone, and the officers who were not in the aristocratic set and the soldiers abused her in coarse terms -- for her presence in camp caused them to be told off to lie in ambush at night. The mountaineers were in the habit of bringing guns with range and firing shells at the camp. The shells generally missed their aim and M
therefore at ordinary times no special measures were taken to prevent such firing, but now men were placed in ambush to hinder the mountaineers from injuring or frightening Marya Vasilevna with their cannon. To have to be always lying in ambush at night to save a lady from being frightened, offended and annoyed them, and therefore the soldiers, as well as the officers not admitted to the higher society, called Marya Vasilevna bad names.
Having obtained leave of absence from his fort, Butler came to the camp to vM
isit some old mess-mates from the cadet corps and fellow officers of the Kurin regiment who were serving as adjutants and orderly officers. When he first arrived he had a very good time. He put up in Poltoratsky's tent and there met many acquaintances who gave him a hearty welcome. He also called on Vorontsov, whom he knew slightly, having once served in the same regiment with him. Vorontsov received him very kindly, introduced him to Prince Baryatinsky, and invited him to the farewell dinner he was giving in honorM
 of General Kozlovsky, who until Baryatinsky's arrival had been in command of the left flank.
The dinner was magnificent. Special tents were erected in a line, and along the whole length of them a table was spread as for a dinner-party, with dinner services and bottles. Everything recalled life in the Guards in Petersburg. Dinner was served at two o-clock. Kozlovsky sat in the middle on one side. Baryatinsky on the other. At Kozlovsky's right and left hand sat the Vorontsovs, husband and wife. All along the tablM
e on both sides sat the officers of the Kabarda and Kurin regiments. Butler sat next to Poltoratsky and they both chatted merrily and drank with the officers around them. When the roast was served and the orderlies had gone round and filled the champagne glasses, Poltoratsky said to Butler, with real anxiety:
"Our Kozlovsky will disgrace himself!"
"Why, he'll have to make a speech, and what good is he at that? ... .It's not as easy as capturing entrenchments under fire! And with a lady beside him toM
o, and these aristocrats!"
"Really it's painful to look at him," said the officers to one another. And now the solemn moment had arrived. Baryatinsky rose and lifting his glass, addressed a short speech to Kozlovsky. When he had finished, Kozlovsky -- who always had a trick of using the word "how" superfluously -- rose and stammeringly began:
"In compliance with the august will of his Majesty I am leaving you -- parting from you, gentlemen," said he. "But consider me as always remaining among you. The truth oM
f the proverb, how 'One man in the field is no warrior', is well known to you, gentlemen. ... Therefore, how every reward I have received...how all the benefits showered on me by the great generosity of our sovereign the Emperor...how all my position -- how my good name...how everything decidedly ... how ... " (here his voice trembled) "... how I am indebted to you for it, to you alone, my friends!" The wrinkled face puckered up still more, he gave a sob and tears came into his eyes. "How from my heart I offer you M
my sincerest, heartfelt gratitude!"
Kozlovsky could not go on but turned round and began to embrace the officers. The princess hid her face in her handkerchief. The prince blinked, with his mouth drawn awry. Many of the officers' eyes grew moist and Butler, who had hardly known Kozlovsky, could also not restrain his tears. He liked all this very much.
Then followed other toasts. Healths were drunk to Baryatinsky, Vorontsov, the officers, and the soldiers, and the visitors left the table intoxicated with wine M
and with the military elation to which they were always so prone. The weather was wonderful, sunny and calm, and the air fresh and bracing. Bonfires crackled and songs resounded on all sides. It might have been thought that everybody was celebrating some joyful event. Butler went to Poltoratsky's in the happiest, most emotional mood. Several officers had gathered there and a card table was set. An adjutant started a bank with a hundred rubles. Two or three times Butler left the tent with his hand gripping the purseM
 in his trousers-pocket, but at last he could resist the temptation no longer, and despite the promise he had given to his brother and to himself not to play, he began to do so. Before an hour was past, very red, perspiring, and soiled with chalk, he was sitting with both elbows on the table and writing on it -- under cards bent for "corners" and "transports -- the figures of his stakes. He had already lost so much that he was afraid to count up what was scored against him. But he knew without counting that all theM
 pay he could draw in advance, added to the value of his horse, would not suffice to pay what the adjutant, a stranger to him, had written down against him. He would still have gone on playing, but the adjutant sternly laid down the cards he held in his large clean hands and added up the chalked figures of the score of Butler's losses. Butler, in confusion began to make excuses for being unable to pay the whole of his debt at once, and said he would send it from home. When he said this he noticed that everybody pitM
ied him and that they all -- even Poltoratsky -- avoided meeting his eye. That was his last evening there. He reflected that he need only have refrained from playing and gone to the Vorontsovs who had invited him, and all would have been well, but now it was not only not well -- it was terrible.
Having taken leave of his comrades and acquaintances he rode home and went to bed, and slept for eighteen hours as people usually sleep after losing heavily. From the fact that he asked her to lend him fifty kopecks to tM
ip the Cossack who had escorted him, and from his sorrowful looks and short answers, Marya Dmitrievna guessed that he had lost at cards and she reproached the major for having given him leave of absence.
When he woke up at noon next day and remembered the situation he was in he longed again to plunge into the oblivion from which he had just emerged, but it was impossible. Steps had to be taken to repay the four hundred and seventy rubles he owed to the stranger. The first step he took was to write to his brotherM
, confessing his sin and imploring him for the last time, to lend him five hundred rubles on the security of the mill they still owned in common. Then he wrote to a stingy relative asking her to lend him five hundred rubles at whatever rate of interest she liked. Finally he went to the major, knowing that he -- or rather Marya Dmitrievna -- had some money, and asked him to lend him five hundred rubles.
"I'd let you have them at once," said the major, "but Masha won't! These women are so close-fisted -- who the dM
evil can understand them? ... And yet you must get out of it somehow, devil take him! ... Hasn't that brute the canteen-keeper got something?"
But it was no use trying to borrow from the canteen-keeper, so Butler's salvation could only come from his brother or his stingy relative.
Not having attained his aim in Chechnya, Hadji Murat returned to Tiflis and went every day to Vorontsov's, and whenever he could obtain audience he implored the Viceroy to gather together the mountaineer prisoners anM
d exchange them for his family. He said that unless that were done his hands were tied and he could not serve the Russians and destroy Shamil as he desired to do. Vorontsov vaguely promised to do what he could, but put it off, saying that he would decide when General Argutinski reached Tiflis and he could talk the matter over with him.
Then Hadji Murat asked Vorontsov to allow him to go to live for a while in Nukha, a small town in Transcaucasia where he thought he could better carry on negotiations about his faM
mily with Shamil and with the people who were attached to himself. Moreover Nukha, being a Mohammedan town, had a mosque where he could more conveniently perform the rites of prayer demanded by the Mohammedan law. Vorontsov wrote to Petersburg about it but meanwhile gave Hadji Murat permission to go to Nukha.
For Vorontsov and the authorities in Petersburg, as well as for most Russians acquainted with Hadji Murat's history, the whole episode presented itself as a lucky turn in the Caucasian war, or simply as an M
interesting event. For Hadji Murat it was a terrible crisis in his life -- especially laterally. He had escaped from the mountains partly to save himself and partly out of hatred of Shamil, and difficult as this flight had been he had attained his object, and for a time was glad of his success and really devised a plan to attack Shamil, but the rescue of his family -- which he had thought would be easy to arrange -- had proved more difficult than he expected.
Shamil had seized the family and kept them prisoners,M
 threatening to hand the women over to the different aouls and to blind or kill the son. Now Hadji Murat had gone to Nukha intending to try by the aid of his adherents in Daghestan to rescue his family from Shamil by force or by cunning. The last spy who had come to see him in Nukha informed him that the Avars, who were devoted to him, were preparing to capture his family and themselves bring them over to the Russians, but that there were not enough of them and they could not risk making the attempt in Vedeno, wherM
e the family was at present imprisoned, but could do so only if the family were moved from Vedeno to some other place -- in which case they promised to rescue them on the way.
Hadji Murat sent word to his friends that he would give three thousand rubles for the liberation of his family.
At Nukha a small house of five rooms was assigned to Hadji Murat near the mosque and the Khan's palace. The officers in charge of him, his interpreter, and his henchmen, stayed in the same house. Hadji Murat's life was spent iM
n the expectation and reception of messengers from the mountains and in rides he was allowed to take in the neighborhood.
On 24th April, returning from one of these rides, Hadji Murat learned that during his absence an official sent by Vorontsov had arrived from Tiflis. In spite of his longing to know what message the official had brought him he went to his bedroom and repeated his noonday prayer before going into the room where the officer in charge and the official were waiting. This room served him both as drM
awing room and reception room. The official who had come from Tiflis, Councilor Kirillov, informed Hadji Murat of Vorontsov's wish that he should come to Tiflis on the 12th to meet General Argutinski.
"Yakshi!" said Hadji Murat angrily. The councilor did not please him. "Have you brought money?"
"I have," answered Kirillov.
"For two weeks now," said Hadji Murat, holding up first both hands and then four fingers. "Give here!"
"We'll give it you at once," said the official, getting his purse out of his trM
aveling bag. "What does he want with the money?" he sent on in Russian, thinking that Hadji Murat would not understand. But Hadji Murat had understood, and glanced angrily at him. While getting out the money the councilor, wishing to begin a conversation with Hadji Murat in order to have something to tell Prince Vorontsov on his return, asked through the interpreter whether he was not feeling dull there. Hadji Murat glanced contemptuously out of the corner of his eye at the fat, unarmed little man dressed as a civiM
lian, and did not reply. The interpreter repeated the question.
"Tell him that I cannot talk with him! Let him give me the money!" and having said this, Hadji Murat sat down at the table ready to count it.
Hadji Murat had an allowance of five gold pieced a day, and when Kirillov had got out the money and arranged it in seven piles of ten gold pieces each and pushed them towards Hadji Murat, the latter poured the gold into the sleeve of his Circassian coat, rose, quite unexpectedly smacked Councilor Kirillov oM
n his bald pate, and turned to go.
The councilor jumped up and ordered the interpreter to tell Hadji Murat that he must not dare to behave like that to him who held a rank equal to that of colonel! The officer in charge confirmed this, but Hadji Murat only nodded to signify that he knew, and left the room.
"What is one to do with him?" said the officer in charge. "He'll stick his dagger into you, that's all! One cannot talk with those devils! I see that he is getting exasperated."
As soon as it began to grM
ow dusk two spies with hoods covering their faces up to their eyes, came to him from the hills. The officer in charge led them to Hadji Murat's room. One of them was a fleshy, swarthy Tavlinian, the other a thin old man. The news they brought was not cheering. Hadji Murat's friends who had undertaken to rescue his family now definitely refused to do so, being afraid of Shamil, who threatened to punish with most terrible tortures anyone who helped Hadji Murat. Having heard the messengers he sat with his elbows on hiM
s crossed legs, and bowing his turbaned head remained silent a long time.
He was thinking and thinking resolutely. He knew that he was now considering the matter for the last time and that it was necessary to come to a decision. At last he raised his head, gave each of the messengers a gold piece, and said: "Go!"
"What answer will there be?"
"The answer will be as God pleases. ... Go!"
The messengers rose and went away, and Hadji Murat continued to sit on the carpet leaning his elbows on his knees. He sM
at thus a long time and pondered.
"What am I to do? To take Shamil at his word and return to him?" he thought. "He is a fox and will deceive me. Even if he did not deceive me it would still be impossible to submit to that red liar. It is impossible ... because now that I have been with the Russians he will not trust me," thought Hadji Murat; and he remembered a Tavlinian fable about a falcon who had been caught and lived among men and afterwards returned to his own kind in the hills. He returned, wearing jesses M
with bells, and the other falcons would not receive him. "Fly back to where they hung those silver bells on thee!" said they. "We have no bells and no jesses." The falcon did not want to leave his home and remained, but the other falcons did not wish to let him stay there and pecked him to death.
"And they would peck me to death in the same way," thought Hadji Murat. "Shall I remain here and conquer Caucasia for the Russian Czar and earn renown, titles, riches?"
"That could be done," thought he, recalling hisM
 interviews with Vorontsov and the flattering things the prince had said; "but I must decide at once, or Shamil will destroy my family."
That night he remained awake thinking.
By midnight his decision had been formed. He had decided that he must fly to the mountains, and break into Vedeno with the Avars still devoted to him, and either die or rescue his family. Whether after rescuing them he would return to the Russians or escape to Khunzakh and fight Shamil, he had not made up his mind. All hM
e knew was that first of all he must escape from the Russians into the mountains, and he at once began to carry out his plan.
He drew his black wadded beshmet from under his pillow and went into his henchmen's room. They lived on the other side of the hall. As soon as he entered the hall, the outer door of which stood open, he was at once enveloped by the dewy freshness of the moonlit night and his ears were filled by the whistling and trilling of several nightingales in the garden by the house.
d the hall he opened the door of his henchmen's room. There was no light there, but the moon in its first quarter shone in at the window. A table and two chairs were standing on one side of the room, and four of his henchmen were lying on carpets or on burkas on the floor. Khanefi slept outside with the horses. Gamzalo heard the door creak, rose, turned round, and saw him. On recognizing him he lay down again, but Eldar, who lay beside him, jumped up and began putting on his beshmet, expecting his master's orders. M
Khan Mahoma and Bata slept on. Hadji Murat put down the beshmet he had brought on the table, which it hit with a dull sound, caused by the bold sewn up in it.
"Sew these in too," said Hadji Murat, handing Eldar the gold pieces he had received that day. Eldar took them and at once went into the moonlight, drew a small knife from under his dagger and started unstitching the lining of the beshmet. Gamzalo raised himself and sat up with his legs crossed.
"And you, Gamzalo, tell the men to examine the rifles and pM
istols and get the ammunition ready. Tomorrow we shall go far," said Hadji Murat.
"We have bullets and powder, everything shall be ready," replied Gamzalo, and roared out something incomprehensible. He understood why Hadji Murat had ordered the rifles to be loaded. From the first he had desired only one thing -- to slay and stab as many Russians as possible and to escape to the hills -- and this desire had increased day by day. Now at last he saw that Hadji Murat also wanted this and he was satisfied.
dji Murat went away Gamzalo roused his comrades, and all four spent the rest of the night examining their rifles, pistols, flints, and accouterments; replacing what was damaged, sprinkling fresh powder onto the pans, and stoppering with bullets wrapped in oiled rags, packets filled with the right amount of powder for each charge, sharpening their swords and daggers and greasing the blades with tallow.
Before daybreak Hadji Murat again came out into the hall to get water for his ablutions. The songs of the nightiM
ngales that had burst into ecstasy at dawn were now even louder and more incessant, while from his henchmen's room, where the daggers were being sharpened, came the regular screech and rasp of iron against stone.
Hadji Murat got himself some water from a tub, and was already at his own door when above the sound of the grinding he heard from his murids' room the high tones of Khanefi's voice singing a familiar song. He stopped to listen. The song told of how a dzhigit, Hamzad, with his brave followers captured a M
herd of white horses from the Russians, and how a Russian prince followed him beyond the Terek and surrounded him with an army as large as a forest; and then the song went on to tell how Hamzad killed the horses, entrenched his men behind this gory bulwark, and fought the Russians as long as they had bullets in their rifles, daggers in their belts, and blood in their veins. But before he died Hamzad saw some birds flying in the sky and cried to them:
Fly on, ye winged ones, fly to our homes!
rs, tell ye our sisters,
Tell the white maidens, that fighting we died
For Ghazavat! Tell them our bodies
Never will lie and rest in a tomb!
Wolves will devour and tear them to pieces,
Ravens and vultures will pluck out our eyes.
With that the song ended, and at the last words, sung to a mournful air, the merry Bata's vigorous voice joined in with a loud shout of "Lya-il-lyakha-il Allakh!" finishing with shrill shriek. Then all was quiet again, except for the tchuk, tchuk, tchuk, tchuk and whistliM
ng of the nightingales from the garden and from behind the door the even grinding, and now and then the whiz, of iron sliding quickly along the whetstone.
Hadji Murat was so full of thought that he did not notice how he tilted his jug till the water began to pour out. He shook his head at himself and reentered his room. After performing his morning ablutions he examined his weapons and sat down on his bed. There was nothing more for him to do. To be allowed to ride out he would have to get permission from the ofM
ficer in charge, but it was not yet daylight and the officer was still asleep.
Khanefi's song reminded him of the song his mother had composed just after he was born -- the song addressed to his father that Hadji Murat had repeated to Loris-Melikov.
And he seemed to see his mother before him -- not wrinkled and gray-haired, with gaps between her teeth, as he had lately left her, but young and handsome, and strong enough to carry him in a basket on her back across the mountains to her father's when he was a heM
avy five-year-old boy.
And the recollection of himself as a little child reminded him of his beloved son, Yusuf, whose head he himself had shaved for the first time; and now this Yusuf was a handsome young dzhigit. He pictured him as he was when last he saw him on the day he left Tselmess. Yusuf had brought him his horse and asked to be allowed to accompany him. He was ready dressed and armed, and led his own horse by the bridle, and his rosy handsome young face and the whole of his tall slender figure (he was tM
aller than his father) breathed of daring, youth, and the joy of life. The breadth of his shoulders, though he was so young, the very side youthful hips, the long slender waist, the strength of his long arms, and the power, flexibility, and agility of all his movements had always rejoiced Hadji Murat, who admired his son.
"Thou hadst better stay. Thou wilt e alone at home now. Take care of thy mother and thy grandmother," said Hadji Murat. And he remembered the spirited and proud look and the flush of pleasure wM
ith which Yusuf had replied that as long as he lived no one should injure his mother or grandmother. All the same, Yusuf had mounted and accompanied his father as far as the stream. There he turned back, and since then Hadji Murat had not seen his wife, his mother, or his son. And it was this son whose eyes Shamil threatened to put out! Of what would be done to his wife Hadji Murat did not wish to think.
These thoughts so excited him that he could not sit still any longer. He jumped up and went limping quickly tM
o the door, opened it, and called Eldar. The sun had not yet risen, but it was already quite light. The nightingales were still singing.
"Go and tell the officer that I want to go out riding, and saddle the horses," said he.
Butler's only consolation all this time was the poetry of warfare, to which he gave himself up not only during his hours of service but also in private life. Dressed in his Circassian costume, he rode and swaggered about, and twice went into ambush with Bogdanovich, thoughM
 neither time did they discover or kill anyone. This closeness to and friendship with Bogdanovich, famed for his courage, seemed pleasant and warlike to Butler. He had paid his debt, having borrowed the money of a Jew at an enormous rate of interest -- that is to say, he had postponed his difficulties but had not solved them. He tried not to think of his position, and to find oblivion not only in the poetry of warfare but also in wine. He drank more and more every day, and day by day grew morally weaker. He was nowM
 no longer the chaste Joseph he had been towards marya Dmitrievna, but on the contrary began courting her grossly, meeting to his surprise with a strong and decided repulse which put him to shame.
At the end of April there arrived at the fort a detachment with which Baryatinsky intended to effect an advance right through Chechnya, which had till then been considered impassable. In that detachment were two companies of the Kabarda regiment, and according to Caucasian custom these were treated as guests by the KurM
in companies. The soldiers were lodged in the barracks, and were treated not only to supper, consisting of buckwheat porridge and beef, but also to vodka. The officers shared the quarters of the Kurin officers, and as usual those in residence gave the new-comers a dinner at which the regimental singers performed and which ended up with a drinking bout. Major Petrov, very drunk and no longer red but ash pale, sat astride a chair and, drawing his sword, hacked at imaginary foes, alternately swearing and laughing, nowM
 embracing someone and now dancing to the tune of his favorite song.
Shamil, he began to riot
In the days gone by;
In the years gone by!
Butler was there too. He tried to see the poetry of warfare in this also, but in the depth of his soul he was sorry for the major. To stop him, however, was quite impossible; and Butler, feeling that the fumes were mounting to his own head, quietly left the room and went home.
The moon lit up the white houses and the stones on the road. It waM
s so light that every pebble, every straw, every little heap of dust was visible. As he approached the house he met Marya Dmitrievna with a shawl over her head and neck. After the rebuff she had given him Butler had avoided her, feeling rather ashamed, but now in the moonlight and after the wine he had drunk he was pleased to meet her and wished to make up to her again.
"Where are you off to?" he asked.
"Why, to see after my old man," she answered pleasantly. Her rejection of Butler's advances was quite sinceM
re and decided, but she did not like his avoiding her as he had done lately.
"Why bother about him? He'll soon come back."
"If he doesn't they'll bring him."
"Just so. ... That's not right, you know! ... But you think I'd better not go?"
"Yes, I do. We'd better go home."
Marya Dmitrievna turned back and walked beside him. The moon shone so brightly that a halo seemed to move along the road round the shadows of their heads. Butler was looking at this halo and making up his mind to teM
ll her that he liked her as much as ever, but he did not know how to begin. She waited for him to speak, and they walked on in silence almost to the house, when some horsemen appeared from round the corner. These were an officer with an escort.
"Who's that coming now?" said marya Dmitrievna, stepping aside. The moon was behind the rider so that she did not recognize him until he had almost come up to them. It was Peter Nikolaevich Kamenev, an officer who had formerly served with the major and whom Marya DmitrievM
"Is it you, Peter Nikolaevich?" said she, addressing him.
"It's me," said Kamenev. "ah, Butler, how d'you do? ... Not asleep yet? Having a walk with Marya Dmitrievna! You'd better look out or the major will give it you. ... Where is he?"
"why, there. ... Listen!" replied Marya Dmitrievna pointing in the direction whence came the sounds of a tulumbas and songs. "They're on the spree."
"Why? Are your people having a spree on their own?"
"No; some officers have come from Hasav-Yurt, aM
nd they are being entertained."
"Ah, that's good! I shall be in time. ... I just want the major for a moment."
"On business?" asked Butler.
"Yes, just a little business matter."
"It all depends. ... Good for us but bad for some people," and Kamenev laughed.
By this time they had reached the major's house.
"Chikhirev," shouted Kamenev to one of his Cossacks, "come here!"
A Don Cossack rode up from among the others. He was dressed in the ordinary Don Cossack uniform with high boM
ots and a mantle, and carried saddle-bags behind.
"Well, take the thing out," said Kamenev, dismounting.
The Cossack also dismounted, and took a sack out of his saddle bag. Kamenev took the sack from him and inserted his hand.
"Well, shall I show you a novelty? You won't be frightened, Marya Dmitrievna?"
"Why should I be frightened?" she replied.
"Here it is!" said Kamenev taking out a man's head and holding it up in the light of the moon. "Do you recognize it?"
It was a shaven head with salient bM
rows, black short-cut beard and mustaches, one eye open and the other half-closed. The shaven skull was cleft, but not right through, and there was congealed blood in the nose. The neck was wrapped in a blood- stained towel. Notwithstanding the many wounds on the head, the blue lips still bore a kindly childlike expression.
Marya Dmitrievna looked at it, and without a word turned away and went quickly into the house.
butler could not tear his eyes from the terrible head. It was the head of that very Hadji MurM
at with whom he had so recently spent his evenings in such friendly intercourse.
"What does this mean? Who has killed him?" he asked.
"He wanted to give us the slip, but was caught," said Kamenev, and he gave the head back to the Cossack and went into the house with butler.
"He died like a hero," he added.
"But however did it all happen?"
"Just wait a bit. When the major comes I'll tell you all about it. That's what I am sent for. I take it round to all the forts and aouls and show it."
was sent for, and came back accompanied by two other officers as drunk as himself, and began embracing Kamenev.
"And I have brought you Hadji Murat's head," said Kamenev.
"Yes; wanted to escape."
"I always said he would bamboozle them! ... and where is it? The head, I mean. ... Let's see it."
The Cossack was called, and brought in the bag with the head. It was taken out and the major looked long at it with drunken eyes.
"All the same, he was a fine fellow," said he. "Let me kiss M
"Yes, it's true. It was a valiant head," said one of the officers.
When they had all looked at it, it was returned to the Cossack who put it in his bag, trying to let it bump against the floor as gently as possible.
"I say, Kamenev, what speech do you make when you show the head?" asked an officer.
"No! ... Let me kiss him. He gave me a sword!" shouted the major.
Butler went out into the porch.
Marya Dmitrievna was sitting on the second step. She looked round at Butler and at once turned angM
"What's the matter, marya Dmitrievna?" asked he.
"You're all cut-throats! ... I hate it! You're cut-throats, really," and she got up.
"It might happen to anyone," remarked Butler, not knowing what to say. "That's war."
"War? War, indeed! ... Cut-throats and nothing else. A dead body should be given back to the earth, and they're grinning at it there! ... Cut-throats, really," she repeated, as she descended the steps and entered the house by the back door.
Butler returned to the room M
and asked Kamenev to tell them in detail how the thing had happened.
And Kamenev told them
This is what had happened.
Hadji Murat was allowed to go out riding in the neighborhood of the town, but never without a convoy of Cossacks. There was only half a troop of them altogether in Nukha, ten of whom were employed by the officers, so that if ten were sent out with Hadji Murat (according to the orders received) the same men would have had to go every other day. Therefore after ten had been seM
nt out the first day, it was decided to send only five in future and Hadji Murat was asked not take all his henchmen with him. But on April the 25th he rode out with all five. When he mounted, the commander, noticing that all five henchmen were going with him, told him that he was forbidden to take them all, but Hadji Murat pretended not to hear, touched his horse, and the commander did not insist.
With the Cossacks rode a noncommissioned officer, Nazarov, who had received the Cross of St. George for bravery. HeM
 was a young, healthy, brown-haired lad, as fresh as a rose. He was the eldest of a poor family belonging to the sect of Old Believers, had grown up without a father, and had maintained his old mother, three sisters, and two brothers.
"Mind, Nazarov, keep close to him!" shouted the commander.
"All right, your honor!" answered Nazarov, and rising in his stirrups and adjusting the rifle that hung at his back he started his fine large roan gelding at a trot. Four Cossacks followed him: Ferapontov, tall and thin,M
 a regular thief and plunderer (it was he who had sold gunpowder to Gamzalo); Ignatov, a sturdy peasant who boasted of his strength, though he was no longer young and had nearly completed his service; Mishkin, a weakly lad at whom everybody laughed; and the young fair-haired Petrakov, his mother's only son, always amiable and jolly.
The morning had been misty, but it cleared up later on and the opening foliage, the young virgin grass, the sprouting corn, and the ripples of the rapid river just visible to the lefM
t of the road, all glittered in the sunshine.
Hadji Murat rode slowly along followed by the Cossacks and by his henchmen. They rode out along the road beyond the fort at a walk. They met women carrying baskets on their heads, soldiers driving carts, and creaking wagons drawn by buffaloes. When he had gone about a mile and a half Hadji Murat touched up his white Kabarda horse, which started at an amble that obliged the henchmen and Cossacks to ride at a quick trot to keep up with him.
"Ah, he's got a fine horsM
e under him," said Ferapontov. "If only he were still an enemy I'd soon bring him down."
"Yes, mate. Three hundred rubles were offered for that horse in Tiflis."
"But I can get ahead of him on mine," said Nazarov.
"You get ahead? A likely thing!"
Hadji kept increasing his pace.
"Hey, kunak, you mustn't do that. Steady!" cried Nazarov, starting to overtake Hadji Murat.
Hadji Murat looked round, said nothing, and continued to ride at the same pace.
"Mind, they're up to something, the devils!" saiM
d Ignatov. "See how they are tearing along."
So they rode for the best part of a mile in the direction of the mountains.
"I tell you it won't do!" shouted Nazarov.
Hadji Murat did not answer or look round, but only increased his pace to a gallop.
"Humbug! You won't get away!" shouted Nazarov, stung to the quick. He gave his big roan gelding a cut with his whip and, rising in his stirrups and bending forward, flew full speed in pursuit of Hadji Murat.
The sky was so bright, the air so clear, and life M
played so joyously in Nazarov's soul as, becoming one with his fine strong horse, he flew along the smooth road behind Hadji Murat, that the possibility of any thing sad or dreadful happening never occurred to him. He rejoiced that with every step he was gaining on Hadji Murat.
Hadji Murat judged by the approaching tramp of the big horse behind him that he would soon be overtaken, and seizing his pistol with his right hand, with his left he began slightly to rein in his Kabarda horse which was excited by hearingM
 the tramp of hoofs behind it.
"You mustn't, I tell you!" shouted Nazarov, almost level with Hadji Murat and stretching out his hand to seize the latter's bridle. But before he reached it a shot was fired. "What are you doing?" he screamed, clutching at his breast. "At them, lads!" and he reeled and fell forward on his saddle bow.
but the mountaineers were beforehand in taking to their weapons, and fired their pistols at the Cossacks and hewed at them with their swords.
Nazarov hung on the neck of his horsM
e, which careered round his comrades. the horse under Ignatov ell, crushing his leg, and two of the mountaineers, without dismounting, drew their swords and hacked at his head and arms. Petrakov was about to rush to his comrade's rescue when two shots -- one in his back and the other in his side -- stung him, and he fell from his horse like a sack.
Mishkin turned round and galloped off towards the fortress. Khanefi and Bata rushed after him, but he was already too far away and they could not catch him. When theyM
 saw that they could not overtake him they returned to the others.
Petrakov lay on his back, his stomach ripped open, his young face turned to the sky, and while dying he gasped for breath like a fish.
Gamzalo having finished off Ignatov with his sword, gave a cut to Nazarov too and threw him from his horse. Bata took their cartridge-pouches from the slain. Khanefi wished to take Nazarov's horse, but Hadji Murat called out to him to leave it, and dashed forward along the road. His murids galloped after him, dM
riving away Nazarov's horse that tried to follow them. they were already among rice-fields more than six miles from Nukha when a shot was fired from the tower of that place to give the alarm.
"O good Lord! O God! my God! What have they done?" cried the commander of the fort seizing his head with his hands when he heard of Hadji Murat's escape. "They've done for me! They've let him escape, the villains!" cried he, listening to Mishkin's account.
An alarm was raised everywhere and not only the CossacksM
 of the place were sent after the fugitives but also all the militia that could be mustered from the pro-Russian aouls. A thousand rubles reward was offered for the capture of Hadji Murat alive or dead, and two hours after he and his followers had escaped from the Cossacks more than two hundred mounted men were following the officer in charge at a gallop to find and capture the runaways.
After riding some miles along the high road Hadji Murat checked his panting horse, which, wet with sweat, had turned from whitM
To the right of the road could be seen the saklyas and minarets of the aoul Benerdzhik, on the left lay some fields, and beyond them the river. Although the way to the mountains lay to the right, Hadji Murat turned to the left, in the opposite direction, assuming that his pursuers would be sure to go to the right, while he, abandoning the road, would cross the Alazan and come out onto the high road on the other side, where no one would expect him -- ride along it to the forest, and then after recrossiM
ng the river make his way to the mountains.
Having come to this conclusion he turned to the left; but it proved impossible to reach the river. The rice-field which had to be crossed had just been flooded, as is always done in spring, and had become a bog in which the horses's legs sank above their pasterns. Hadji Murat and his henchmen rode now to the left, now to the right, hoping to find drier ground; but the field they were in had been equally flooded all over and was now saturated with water. The horses drewM
 their feet out of the sticky mud into which they sank, with a pop like that of a cork drawn from a bottle, and stopped, panting, after every few steps. They struggled in this way so long that it began to grow dusk and they had still not reached the river. To their left lay a patch of higher ground overgrown with shrubs and Hadji Murat decided to ride in among these clumps and remain there till night to rest their exhausted horses and let them graze. The men themselves at some bread and cheese they had brought withM
 them. At last night came on and the moon that had been shining at first, hid behind the hill and it became dark. There were a great many nightingales in that neighborhood and there were two of them in these shrubs. As long as Hadji Murat and his men were making a noise among the bushes the nightingales had been silent, but when they became still the birds again began to call to one another and to sing.
Hadji Murat, awake to all the sounds of night, listened to them involuntarily, and their trills reminded him oM
f the song about Hamzad which he had heard the night before when he went to get water. He might now at any moment find himself in the position in which Hamzad had been. He fancied that it would be so, and suddenly his soul became serious. He spread out his burka and performed his ablutions, and scarcely had he finished before a sound was heard approaching their shelter. It was the sound of many horses' feet splashing through the bog.
The keen-sighted Bata ran out to one edge of the clump, and peering through theM
 darkness saw black shadows, which were men on foot and on horseback. Khanefi discerned a similar crowd on the other side. It was Karganov, the military commander of the district, with his militia.
"Well, then, we shall fight like Hamzad," thought Hadji Murat.
When the alarm was given, Karganov with a troop of militiamen and Cossacks had rushed off in pursuit of Hadji Murat, but had been unable to find any trace of him. He had already lost hope and was returning home when, towards evening, he met an old man aM
nd asked him if he had seen any horsemen about. The old man replied that he had. He had seen six horsemen floundering in the rice-field, and then had seen them enter the clump where he himself was getting wood. Karganov turned back, taking the old man with him, and seeing the hobbled horses he made sure that Hadji Murat was there. In the night he surrounded the clump and waited till morning to take Hadji Murat alive or dead.
Having understood that he was surrounded, and having discovered an old ditch among the sM
hrubs, Hadji Murat decided to entrench himself in it and to resist as long as strength and ammunition lasted. He told his comrades this, and ordered them to throw up a bank in front of the ditch, and his henchmen at once se to work to cut down branches, dig up the earth with their daggers, and make an entrenchment. Hadji Murat himself worked with them.
As soon as it began to grow light the commander of the militia troop rode up to a clump and shouted:
"Hey! Hadji Murat, surrender! We are many and you are few!M
In reply came the report of a rifle, a cloudlet of smoke rose from the ditch and a bullet hit the militiaman's horse, which staggered under him and began to fall. The rifles of the militiamen who stood at the outskirts of the clump of shrubs began cracking in their turn, and their bullets whistled and hummed, cutting off leaves and twigs and striking the embankment, but not the men entrenched behind it. Only Gamzalo's horse, that had strayed from the others, was hit in the head by a bullet. It did not fall, buM
t breaking its hobbles and rushing among the bushes it ran to the other horses, pressing close to them and watering the young grass with its blood. Hadji Murat and his men fired only when any of the militiamen came forward, and rarely missed their aim. Three militiamen were wounded, and the others, far from making up their minds to rush the entrenchment, retreated farther and farther back, only firing from a distance and at random.
So it continued for more than an hour. The sun had risen to about half the heightM
 of the trees, and Hadji Murat was already thinking of leaping on his horse and trying to make his way to the river, when the shouts were heard of many men who had just arrived. These were Hadji Aga of Mekhtuli with his followers. There were about two hundred of them. Hadji Aga had once been Hadji Murat's kunak and had lived with him in the mountains, but he had afterwards gone over to the Russians. With him was Akhmet Khan, the son of Hadji Murat's old enemy.
Like Karganov, Hadji Aga began by calling to Hadji MM
urat to surrender, and Hadji Murat answered as before with a shot.
"Swords out, my men!" cried Hadji Aga, drawing his own; and a hundred voices were raised by men who rushed shrieking in among the shrubs.
The militiamen ran in among the shrubs, but from behind the entrenchment came the crack of one shot after another. Some three men fell, and the attackers stopped at the outskirts to the clump and also began firing. As they fired they gradually approached the entrenchment, running across from behind one shrubM
 to another. Some succeeded in getting across, others fell under the bullets of Hadji Murat or of his men. Hadji Murat fired without missing; Gamzalo too rarely wasted a shot, and shrieked with joy every time he saw that his bullet had hit its aim. Khan Mahoma sat at the edge of the ditch singing "Il lyakha il Allakh!" and fired leisurely, but often missed. Eldar's whole body trembled with impatience to rush dagger in hand at the enemy, and he fired often and at random, constantly looking round at Hadji Murat and sM
tretching out beyond the entrenchment. The shaggy Khanefi, with his sleeves rolled up, did the duty of a servant even here. He loaded the guns which Hadji Murat and Khan Mahoma passed to him, carefully driving home with a ramrod the bullets wrapped in greasy rags, and pouring dry powder out of the powder flask onto the pans. Bata did not remain in the ditch as the others did, but kept running to the horses, driving them away to a safer place and shrieking incessantly, fired without using a prop for his gun. He was M
the first to be wounded. A bullet entered his neck and he sat down spitting blood and swearing. Then Hadji Murat was wounded, the bullet piercing his shoulder. He tore some cotton wool from the lining of his beshmet, plugged the wound with it, and went on firing.
"Let us fly at them with our swords!" said Eldar for the third time, and he looked out from behind the bank of earth ready to rush at the enemy; but at that instant a bullet struck him and he reeled and fell backwards onto Hadji Murat's leg. Hadji MuratM
 glanced at him. His eyes, beautiful like those of a ram, gazed intently and seriously at Hadji Murat. His mouth, the upper lip pouting like a child's, twitched without opening. Hadji Murat drew his leg away from under him and continued firing.
Khanefi bent over the dead Eldar and began taking the unused ammunition out of the cartridge cases of his coat.
Khan Mahoma meanwhile continued to sing, loading leisurely and firing. The enemy ran from shrub to shrub, hallooing and shrieking and drawing ever nearer andM
Another bullet hit Hadji Murat in the left side. He lay down in the ditch and again pulled some cotton wool out of his beshmet and plugged the wound. This wound in the side was fatal and he felt that he was dying. Memories and pictures succeeded one another with extraordinary rapidity in his imagination. now he saw the powerful Abu Nutsal Khan, dagger in hand and holding up his severed cheek as he rushed at his foe; then he saw the weak, bloodless old Vorontsov with his cunning white face, and heard hisM
 soft voice; then he saw his son Yusuf, his wife Sofiat, and then the pale, red-bearded face of his enemy Shamil with its half-closed eyes. All these images passed through his mind without evoking any feeling within him -- neither pity nor anger nor any kind of desire: everything seemed so insignificant in comparison with what was beginning, or had already begun, within him.
Yet his strong body continued the thing that he had commenced. Gathering together his last strength he rose from behind the bank, fired hisM
 pistol at a man who was just running towards him, and hit him. The man fell. Then Hadji Murat got quite out of the ditch, and limping heavily went dagger in hand straight at the foe.
Some shots cracked and he reeled and fell. Several militiamen with triumphant shrieks rushed towards the fallen body. But the body that seemed to be dead suddenly moved. First the uncovered, bleeding, shaven head rose; then the body with hands holding to the trunk of a tree. He seemed so terrible, that those who were running towardM
s him stopped short. But suddenly a shudder passed through him, he staggered away from the tree and fell on his face, stretched out at full length like a thistle that had been mown down, and he moved no more.
He did not move, but still he felt.
When Hadji Aga, who was the first to reach him, struck him on the head with a large dagger, it seemed to Hadji Murat that someone was striking him with a hammer and he could not understand who was doing it or why. That was his last consciousness of any connection with M
his body. He felt nothing more and his enemies kicked and hacked at what had no longer anything in common with him.
Hadji Aga placed his foot on the back of the corpse and with two blows cut off the head, and carefully -- not to soil his shoes with blood -- rolled it away with his foot. Crimson blood spurted from the arteries of the neck, and black blood flowed from the head, soaking the grass.
Karganov and Hadji Aga and Akhmet Khan and all the militiamen gathered together -- like sportsmen round a slaughtereM
d animal -- near the bodies of Hadji Murat and his men (Khanefi, Khan Mahoma, and Gamzalo they bound), and amid the powder-smoke which hung over the bushes they triumphed in their victory.
the nightingales, that had hushed their songs while the firing lasted, now started their trills once more: first one quite close, then others in the distance.
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"name" : "Ordinal Pepe Unlimited",
"description" : "6x unique Pepes for Pepe fans, 1x OG Pepe for the collection owner.",
"publisher" : "Pepe Unlimited",
"publisher_uri" : "https://twitter.com/PepeUnlimited",
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