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Updated: June 12, 2025
'Madame Baburin, Punin announced with an effort, and slapping his knees several times with his open hands, he nodded his head, like a china mandarin. 'Impossible! I cried, with assumed astonishment. Punin's head slowly came to rest, and his hands dropped down. 'Why impossible, allow me to ask?
'It's with some trepidation and sinking of heart that I have come to see you, he said, as he nibbled a lump of sugar. 'You I do not fear; but I stand in awe of your honoured grandmother! I am abashed too by my attire, as I have already communicated to you. Punin passed his finger along the frayed edge of his ancient coat.
In speaking of her, I called her 'your niece. Punin was silent for a little, scratched his head, and informed me in an undertone that he had called her so ... merely as a manner of speaking; that she was really no relation; that she was an orphan picked up and cared for by Baburin in the town of Voronezh; but that he, Punin, might well call her daughter, as he loved her no less than a real daughter.
But as in darkness gleams the light, so now The conqueror's laurel wreathes his noble brow! Punin delivered these lines in a rhythmic, sing-song voice, with full rounded vowels, as verses should be read. 'So that's how it is he's a republican! I exclaimed. 'No, that's not why, Punin answered simply.
At parting neither Punin nor Baburin said, 'Till we meet! both with one voice pronounced, 'Good-bye. Punin even returned me a volume of the Telegraph I had brought him, as much as to say, 'he had no need of anything of that kind now. A week later I had a curious encounter. An early spring had set in abruptly; at midday the heat rose to eighteen degrees Reaumur.
Or else one may wander and wander far, and find not a place to rest one's head; the disquieting alarms of life are unceasing, the soul is confounded.... 'Tell me, I interrupted: 'are you of the clerical profession? Punin turned to me and half closed his eyelids. 'And what may be the cause of that question, gentle youth? 'Why, you talk so well, as they read in church.
I looked at him.... His face seemed familiar.... He too turned his eyes upon me.... Merciful heavens! it was Baburin! I took off my hat, went up to him, mentioned my name, and walked along beside him. 'Whom are you burying? I asked. 'Nikander Vavilitch Punin, he answered. I felt, I knew beforehand, that he would utter that name, and yet it set my heart aching.
Since the time of our parting, both he and Baburin had been tossed about holy Russia pretty thoroughly, and had not long only a year and a half before found a permanent home in Moscow. Baburin had succeeded in becoming head-clerk in the office of a rich merchant and manufacturer. 'Not a lucrative berth, Punin observed with a sigh, 'a lot of work, and not much profit ... but what's one to do?
It was with a heavy heart that I trudged off next day to see my luckless acquaintances. I secretly hoped such is human weakness that I should not find them at home, and again I was mistaken. Both were at home. The change that had taken place in them during the last three days must have struck any one. Punin looked ghastly white and flabby. His talkativeness had completely vanished.
I began trying to persuade Punin to remain; but he insisted on having his own way with a sort of stupid, scared obstinacy: he repeated several times that he felt upset, and wished to get a breath of fresh air and all the while his lips were faintly quivering and his eyes avoided mine, as though I had wounded him. So he went away.
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