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Updated: May 16, 2025
Ignat, his father, and Mayakin, the godfather, and all the horde of successful merchants singing the paean of the strong and the praises of merciless, remorseless laissez faire, cannot entice him. Why? he demands. This is a nightmare, this life! It is without significance! What does it all mean? What is there underneath? What is the meaning of that which is underneath?
"Get the drosky out at dawn to-morrow," he ordered Ignat. "We will go to the Ratchinsky wood. I will go there now and have a look round." The panelled walls and the stove with its cracked tiles were only faintly visible in the soft twilight which filled Ivanov's study.
Behind the carriage rode the huntsmen with the hounds, and they, again, were followed by the groom Ignat on the steed intended for Woloda, with my old horse trotting alongside.
He feared his father and respected him. Ignat's enormous size, his harsh, trumpet-like voice, his bearded face, his gray-haired head, his powerful, long arms and his flashing eyes all these gave to Ignat the resemblance of the fairy-tale robbers.
"What?" he roared, coming up close to her. "Do you wish to kill me?" asked she, not moving from her place, nor winking an eye. Ignat was accustomed to seeing people tremble before his wrath, and it was strange and offensive to him to see her calm. "There," he cried, lifting his hand to strike her.
As in a dream he saw Ignat, who made him wait two hours, slowly preparing something, changing his clothes, talking to some women about corrosive sublimate; he remembered the horse was put into a stand, after which there was the sound of two dull thuds, one of a blow on the skull, the other of the fall of a heavy body.
It's not the money that I am asking you about I just want to know how you lived there," insisted Ignat, regarding his son attentively and sternly. "I was eating, drinking." Foma did not give in, bending his head morosely and confusedly. "Drinking vodka?" "Vodka, too." "Ah! So. Isn't it rather too soon?" "Ask Yefim whether I ever drank enough to be intoxicated." "Why should I ask Yefim?
My sins before Thee shall not remain without repentance. I thank Thee, Oh Lord. Oh!" and, rising to his feet, he immediately began to command noisily: "Eh! Let someone go to St. Nicholas for a priest. Tell him that Ignat Matveyich asked him to come! Let him come to make a prayer for the woman."
You see," whispered Ignat in a muffled voice, firmly pressing the palms of his hands to his broad breast. During the days of repentance he drank nothing but water and ate only rye bread. In the morning his wife placed at the door of his room a big bottle of water, about a pound and a half of bread, and salt. He opened the door, took in these victuals and locked himself in again.
They were the yard porter Ignat, and the page boy Mishka, Vasilich's grandson who had stayed in Moscow with his grandfather. Mishka had opened the clavichord and was strumming on it with one finger. The yard porter, his arms akimbo, stood smiling with satisfaction before the large mirror. "Isn't it fine, eh, Uncle Ignat?" said the boy, suddenly beginning to strike the keyboard with both hands.
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