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Updated: June 23, 2025
EIGHT DAYS HAD PASSED. Now that it is all over and I am writing a record of it, we know all about it; but at the time we knew nothing, and it was natural that many things should seem strange to us: Stepan Trofimovitch and I, anyway, shut ourselves up for the first part of the time, and looked on with dismay from a distance.
Stepan Trofimovitch died three days later, but by that time he was completely unconscious. He quietly went out like a candle that is burnt down. After having the funeral service performed, Varvara Petrovna took the body of her poor friend to Skvoreshniki. His grave is in the precincts of the church and is already covered with a marble slab.
But before she left Switzerland she had felt that on her return she must make up for it to her forsaken friend, especially as she had treated him very curtly for a long time past. Her abrupt and mysterious departure had made a profound and poignant impression on the timid heart of Stepan Trofimovitch, and to make matters worse he was beset with other difficulties at the same time.
She motioned Marya Timofyevna to a seat in the middle of the room, by a large round table. "Stepan Trofimovitch, what is the meaning of this? See, see, look at this woman, what is the meaning of it?" "I... I..." faltered Stepan Trofimovitch. But a footman came in. "A cup of coffee at once, we must have it as quickly as possible! Keep the horses!"
From delicacy they agreed to recognise the right of property in her case, and to send her every year a sixth part of the net profits. What was most touching about it was that of these five men, four certainly were not actuated by any mercenary motive, and were simply acting in the interests of the "cause." "We came away utterly at a loss," Stepan Trofimovitch used to say afterwards.
Suddenly, almost at the time I proposed printing it here, our poem was published abroad in a collection of revolutionary verse, without the knowledge of Stepan Trofimovitch. He was at first alarmed, rushed to the governor, and wrote a noble letter in self-defence to Petersburg. He read it to me twice, but did not send it, not knowing to whom to address it.
A proud man who has suffered humiliation early in life and reached the stage of 'mockery' as you so subtly called it Prince Harry, in fact, to use the capital nickname Stepan Trofimovitch gave him then, which would have been perfectly correct if it were not that he is more like Hamlet, to my thinking at least." "Et vous avez raison," Stepan Trofimovitch pronounced, impressively and with feeling.
"I... I did once speak," Stepan Trofimovitch faltered, crimsoning all over, "but... I only hinted... j'etais si nerveux et malade, et puis..." She laughed. "And your confidant didn't happen to be at hand, and Nastasya turned up. Well that was enough! And the whole town's full of her cronies! Come, it doesn't matter, let them know; it's all the better.
When, ten years later, Stepan Trofimovitch, after closing the doors, told me this melancholy tale in a whisper, he vowed that he had been so petrified on the spot that he had not seen or heard how Varvara Petrovna had disappeared.
Where are you off to? Where are you off to I Where are you off to? "I'll be back directly," Stepan Trofimovitch cried from the next room. "Here, I am again." "Ah, you've changed your coat." She scanned him mockingly. Do sit down, I entreat you." She told him everything at once, abruptly and impressively She hinted at the eight thousand of which he stood in such terrible need.
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