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Updated: May 8, 2025
All at once he hears a fearful tramping. . . . A crowd of soldiers, with red faces and bath brooms under their arms, move in step along the boulevard straight upon him. Grisha turns cold all over with terror, and looks inquiringly at nurse to know whether it is dangerous. But nurse neither weeps nor runs away, so there is no danger.
A crowd of about a hundred workmen followed him, and plied the policemen with oaths and banter. "Going to take a promenade, Grisha?" shouted one. "They do honor to us fellows!" chimed in another. "When we go to promenading, we have a bodyguard to escort us," said a third, and uttered a harsh oath.
The days are very different. Nowadays our business is no good. There are lots and lots of cabmen as you know, hay is dear, and folks are paltry nowadays and always contriving to go by tram. And yet, thank God, I have nothing to complain of. Grisha did not hear what was said further. His mamma came to the door and sent him to the nursery to learn his lessons. "Go and learn your lesson.
If they did, they would have looked at our villa, but they drank their tea and took no notice." "Where is he now? But for God's sake do talk sense! Oh, where is he?" "He has gone fishing with Misha in the chaise. Did you see the horses yesterday? Those are their horses . . . Vanya's . . . Vanya drives with them. Do you know what, Grisha? We will have Misha to stay with us. . . . We will, won't we?
"When will he come?" asked Kirsha again. Trirodov said with a smile: "Rouse Grisha and ask him whether the sleeper has yet begun to wake in his grave." Kirsha walked away. Trirodov looked in silence at the distant cemetery, where the dark, bereaved night stooped sadly over the crosses. "And where are you, my happy beloved?"
A boy, who resembled the sad-faced Nadezhda, quietly jumped down from his swing, and walked behind them, without approaching too closely. The other quiet children looked tranquilly after him, and continued to swing and to sing as before. Trirodov opened the gate, and was followed by Kirsha and Grisha.
The two women and the man with the bright buttons clink glasses and empty them several times, and, the man puts his arm round first the cook and then the nurse. And then all three begin singing in an undertone. Grisha stretches out his hand towards the pie, and they give him a piece of it. He eats it and watches nurse drinking. . . . He wants to drink too. "Give me some, nurse!" he begs.
Everything around them lapsed into deep quiet, and nothing appeared to give heed to them it was as if the two little ones went off into quite another world, behind a thin curtain which no one could rend. So motionless stood the birches bewitched mysteriously by three fallen spirits. Grisha asked again: "Yes, you would like to know?"
He tosses from side to side, babbles, and, at last, unable to endure his excitement, begins crying. "You are feverish," says mamma, putting her open hand on his forehead. "What can have caused it? "Stove!" wails Grisha. "Go away, stove!" "He must have eaten too much . . ." mamma decides.
Just before supper Grisha entered the room. Ever since he had entered the house that day he had never ceased to sigh and weep a portent, according to those who believed in his prophetic powers, that misfortune was impending for the household. I nudged Woloda, and we moved towards the door. "What is the matter?" he said.
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