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Updated: June 26, 2025
Yegor Semyonitch, sunburnt, exhausted, ill-humoured, galloped from the fields to the garden and back again; cried that he was being torn to pieces, and that he should put a bullet through his brains. Then came the fuss and worry of the trousseau, to which the Pesotskys attached a good deal of importance.
These new sensations mastered her completely; she helped her father mechanically, without noticing peaches, caterpillars or labourers, or how rapidly the time was passing. It was almost the same with Yegor Semyonitch. He worked from morning till night, was always in a hurry, was irritable, and flew into rages, but all of this was in a sort of spellbound dream.
I was still in bed next morning, when my man handed me a letter from Musa. 'Dear Piotr Petrovitch! she wrote: 'Paramon Semyonitch has been this night arrested by the police and carried off to the fortress, or I don't know where; they did not tell me. They ransacked all our papers, sealed up a great many, and took them away with them. It has been the same with our books and letters.
They had hard work, the two of them, to make a bare living there was no doubt of it. He took very little part in our conversation; he seemed more preoccupied than grieved.... Something was worrying him. 'Paramon Semyonitch, come here, said the cook, suddenly appearing in the doorway. 'What is it? what's wanted? he asked in alarm. 'Come here, the cook repeated insistently and meaningly.
Vladimir Semyonitch looked round him, took me by the sleeve, and began to whisper: "You know, after taking her degree she married, for love, an architect. It's a complete tragedy! They had hardly been married a month when whew her husband died of typhus. But that was not all. She caught typhus from him, and when, on her recovery, she learnt that her Ivan was dead, she took a good dose of morphia.
"Yegor Semyonitch, I suppose," I thought. I looked at the mother and daughter together. They both looked much older and terribly changed. The mother's hair was silvered, but the daughter was so faded and withered that her mother might have been taken for her elder sister, not more than five years her senior.
There was a strong smell of burning already in the garden. In the big orchard, which was called the commercial garden, and which brought Yegor Semyonitch several thousand clear profit, a thick, black, acrid smoke was creeping over the ground and, curling around the trees, was saving those thousands from the frost.
Tatiana's Day, he got drunk, chanted Gaudeamus out of tune, and his beaming and perspiring countenance seemed to say: "See, I'm drunk; I'm keeping it up!" But even that suited him. Vladimir Semyonitch had genuine faith in his literary vocation and his whole programme. He had no doubts, and was evidently very well pleased with himself.
But Akim pulled the horse up sharply. At that instant Avdotya ran up to the road and flung herself down with her face straight in the dust. "Akim Semyonitch," she wailed, "he has turned me out, too!" Akim looked at her and did not stir; he only gripped the reins tighter. "Hurrah!" Yefrem shouted again. "So he has turned you out?" said Akim.
"No, Akim Semyonitch, kill me, wretched sinner as I am; beat me, don't heed him," cried Avdotya, writhing convulsively at Akim's feet. He stood a moment, looked at her, moved a few steps away and sat down on the grass beside the road. A brief silence followed. Avdotya turned her head in his direction.
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