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Updated: June 4, 2025
Emelyan, who had not long been back from the church, was sitting beside Panteley, waving his arm and humming just audibly in a husky voice: "To Thee we sing. . . ." Dymov was moving about by the horses. When they had finished cleaning them, Kiruha and Vassya put the fish and the living crayfish together in the pail, rinsed them, and from the pail poured them all into the boiling water.
He was convinced that the thunder would kill him in another minute, that he would accidentally open his eyes and see the terrible giants, and he left off crossing himself, calling the old man and thinking of his mother, and was simply numb with cold and the conviction that the storm would never end. But at last there was the sound of voices. "Yegory, are you asleep?" Panteley cried below.
Everything went utterly to the bad with him. He had no money left for sport; the last of his meagre fortune was spent; the last of his few servants ran away. Panteley Eremyitch's isolation became complete: he had no one to speak a word to even, far less to open his heart to. His pride alone had suffered no diminution.
The weak, soft, and not perfectly stainless Tihon bowed down in the dust before the fearless and irreproachable Panteley. 'It's no slight thing, he thought to himself sometimes, 'to talk to the governor, look him straight in the face.... Christ have mercy on us, doesn't he look at him!
But however much he tried to imagine himself in the dark tomb, far from home, outcast, helpless and dead, he could not succeed; for himself personally he could not admit the possibility of death, and felt that he would never die. . . . Panteley, for whom death could not be far away, walked below and went on reckoning up his thoughts. "All right. . . . Nice gentlefolk, . . ." he muttered.
He had taken her fancy, according to Panteley Eremyitch, simply by constantly curling his moustaches, pomading himself to excess, and sniggering significantly; but one must suppose that the vagrant gypsy blood in Masha's veins had more to do with it. However that may have been, one fine summer evening Masha tied up a few odds and ends in a small bundle, and walked out of Tchertop-hanov's house.
And without a voice I am like a workman without hands." "That's true," Panteley agreed. "I think of myself as a ruined man and nothing more." At that moment Vassya chanced to catch sight of Yegorushka. His eyes grew moist and smaller than ever. "There's a little gentleman driving with us," and he covered his nose with his sleeve as though he were bashful. "What a grand driver!
Yegorushka, thinking it would pour with rain in a minute, knelt up and covered himself with the mat. "Panteley-ey!" someone shouted in the front. "A. . . a. . . va!" "I can't!" Panteley answered in a loud high voice. "A . . . a . . . va! Arya . . . a!" There was an angry clap of thunder, which rolled across the sky from right to left, then back again, and died away near the foremost waggon.
The cross by the roadside, the dark bales of wool, the wide expanse of the plain, and the lot of the men gathered together by the camp fire all this was of itself so marvellous and terrible that the fantastic colours of legend and fairy-tale were pale and blended with life. All the others ate out of the cauldron, but Panteley sat apart and ate his porridge out of a wooden bowl.
After dinner everyone sauntered to the waggons and lay down in the shade. "Are we going to start soon, grandfather?" Yegorushka asked Panteley. "In God's good time we shall set off. There's no starting yet; it is too hot. . . . O Lord, Thy will be done. Holy Mother. . . Lie down, little lad." Soon there was a sound of snoring from under the waggons.
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