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Updated: June 3, 2025
Loshadin went in and out several times, clearing away the tea-things; smacking his lips and sighing, he kept tramping round the table; at last he took his little lamp and went out, and, looking at his long, gray-headed, bent figure from behind, Lyzhin thought: "Just like a magician in an opera." It was dark.
"What do you want here?" "I have come to ask, your honor you said this evening that you did not want the elder, but I am afraid he may be angry. He told me to go to him. Shouldn't I go?" "That's enough, you bother me," said Lyzhin with vexation, and he covered himself up again. "He may be angry.... I'll go, your honor. I hope you will be comfortable," and Loshadin went out.
The bookkeeper had introduced him: "This is our insurance agent." "So that was Lesnitsky,... this same man," Lyzhin reflected now. He recalled Lesnitsky's soft voice, imagined his gait, and it seemed to him that someone was walking beside him now with a step like Lesnitsky's. All at once he felt frightened, his head turned cold. "Who's there?" he asked in alarm. "The conshtable!"
And Lyzhin mentally moved about the Moscow streets, went into the familiar houses, met his kindred, his comrades, and there was a sweet pang at his heart at the thought that he was only twenty-six, and that if in five or ten years he could break away from here and get to Moscow, even then it would not be too late and he would still have a whole life before him.
Petrak had four laborers, and now Petrak is a laborer himself." "How was it you became poor?" asked the examining magistrate. "My sons drink terribly. I could not tell you how they drink, you wouldn't believe it." Lyzhin listened and thought how he, Lyzhin, would go back sooner or later to Moscow, while this old man would stay here for ever, and would always be walking and walking.
"The elder gave orders that he was to be informed when the police superintendent or the examining magistrate came," he said, "so I suppose I must go now.... It's nearly three miles to the volost, and the storm, the snowdrifts, are something terrible maybe one won't get there before midnight. Ough! how the wind roars!" "I don't need the elder," said Lyzhin. "There is nothing for him to do here."
There, at any rate, you will have supper, and sleep like a human being. You see I have come for you myself. The horses are splendid, we shall get there in twenty minutes." "And what time is it now?" "A quarter past ten." Lyzhin, sleepy and discontented, put on his felt overboots, his furlined coat, his cap and hood, and went out with the doctor.
Von Taunitz's wife had died two years before, and he was still unable to resign himself to his loss and, whatever he was talking about, always mentioned his wife; and there was no trace of a prosecutor left about him now. "Is it possible that I may some day come to such a condition?" thought Lyzhin, as he fell asleep, still hearing through the wall his host's subdued, as it were bereaved, voice.
"You can do as you please, but I have no desire to stay here," said Startchenko, getting up. "It's not six yet, it's too early to go to bed; I am off. Von Taunitz lives not far from here, only a couple of miles from Syrnya. I shall go to see him and spend the evening there. Constable, run and tell my coachman not to take the horses out. And what are you going to do?" he asked Lyzhin.
As soon as it is dark they won't go by the hut one by one, but only in a flock together. And the witnesses too...." Dr. Startchenko, a middle-aged man in spectacles with a dark beard, and the examining magistrate Lyzhin, a fair man, still young, who had only taken his degree two years before and looked more like a student than an official, sat in silence, musing.
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