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Updated: May 23, 2025
"And for me Moscow as ever wine, theatres, cafes, Mintz, an eternal hurly-burly ... I am sick of it!" "I cannot help you, Lida. I too am sick of all that, but now I am at peace. We must all work out our own salvation." Ivanov spoke very quietly and simply. Lydia Constantinovna sat bowed and motionless, as if fearing to move, clasping her knees with both hands.
"There's Louis Mintz," he said finally. "He works by Sammet Brothers. He's a high-priced man, Mawruss, but he's worth it." "Sure he's worth it," Morris rejoined, "and he knows it, too. I bet yer he's making five thousand a year by Sammet Brothers." "I know it," said Abe, "but his contract expires in a month from now, and it ain't no cinch to work for Sammet Brothers, neither, Mawruss.
Mintz replied coldly. "I very seldom imagine things. I want to say how very comfortable you seem here, because this is the very essence of comfort.... Look at me!
Mintz's pudgy but clogging arms could restrain an athlete of Hal's power only a brief moment; but in that moment sanity returned to the fury-heated brain. "I beg your pardon, Mintz," he said; "you're quite right. I thank you for stopping me." He returned to the aisle, pressing forward, with what purpose he could hardly have said, when he felt the sinewy grasp of McGuire Ellis on his shoulder.
"Come back to-morrow at four o'clock," he said. "I shall send a clerk with the deed to be signed by Mrs. Potash and Mrs. Perlmutter to-night." The next afternoon, at half an hour after the appointed time, the contract was executed and the deed delivered to Louis Mintz, and on the first of the following month Louis entered upon his new employment.
Ivanov passed him. The artist's shrunken ruffled figure had an air of desolation and abandonment. The drawing-room was next to Ivanov's study. There still remained out of the ruin a carpet and some armchairs near the large, dirty windows, an old piano stood unmoved, and some portraits still hung on the walls. Lydia Constantinovna and Mintz came in from the back-room.
Mintz stood a moment by the door; then went out, slamming it behind him. Lydia Constantinovna now had her feet on the carpet and her head was bowed. Her eyes under their long lashes were blank and limpid, like lakes amid reeds. Her hands were clasped round her knees. "How was Sergius?" she enquired, without raising her head. "Boorish, he has gone to bed," answered Mintz.
"Yes, that is true ... you are right," answered Lydia Constantinovna. "But then I do not love Sergius, I never have done." "Of course I am right," Mintz retorted severely from his dim corner. "People never love others. They love themselves through others." Ivanov came in from the hall in his cap and muddy boots, carrying his rifle.
Mintz was clean-shaven and had long fair hair; he wore steel-rimmed pince-nez over his cold grey eyes which he often took off and put on again; when he did so his eyes changed, looking helpless and malicious without the glasses, like those of little owlets in daylight; his thin, shaven lips were closely compressed, and there was often an expression of mistrust and decrepitude in his face; his conversation and movements were noisy.
How stuffy it is in here!... Open the windows, Mintz ... Now let down the blinds ... They live on milk and black bread here and are happy but I have a bottle of brandy in my trunk. Get it out! Light the chandelier." Mintz opened the windows. From outside came a cool, refreshing breeze laden with the moist and fragrant perfumes of spring.
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