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Updated: June 29, 2025
They felt behind his silence a personality that might indeed be equal to Semyonov's own. By little Andrey Vassilievitch they were always being assured: "Nikitin! A most remarkable man! You may believe me. I have known him for many years. A great friend of my poor wife's and mine...." They did not appear to be great friends. Nikitin quite obviously avoided the little man whenever it was possible.
For the first time in my long acquaintance with Andrey Vassilievitch he interested me. The little man was distressed by the heat and dirt; his fingers were always flickering about his clothes. He was intensely polite to every one, especially to Trenchard, paying him many compliments about England and the English. The English were the only "sportsmen" in the world.
On the night of the death of Marie Ivanovna I slept a heavy, dreamless sleep. I was wakened between six and seven the next morning by Nikitin, who told me that he, Trenchard, Andrey Vassilievitch and I were to return at once to the forest. I realised at once that indescribable quiver in the air of momentous events.
I could see that he was depressed. "Well, Andrey Vassilievitch," I said to him. "You're depressed about something?" "Yes," he said very gloomily indeed. "I have many unhappy hours, Ivan Andreievitch." I did not get up and leave him as I very easily might have done. I had had, since the night when Nikitin had spoken to me so frankly, a desire to know the little man's side of that affair.
"'It is much, much, if she live three months; but, perhaps, 'twill be only till spring, answered Antony. 'No medicine can save her: that blood is a sure herald of death. "This reply was translated to Iván Vassílievitch in as low a tone as possible, that Borétzkaia might not hear it; but she waved her hand, and said calmly 'I knew it long ago'....
I have seen you watching us very seriously, as though we were figures in a novel, and that has amazed me, because you must not be solemn about us. You'll understand nothing about Russian life unless you laugh at it during at least half the week. "Almost five years ago I met Andrey Vassilievitch at a friend's house in Petrograd.
You must be prepared for that. Sometimes our Division is in reserve and then we're in reserve too. Sometimes for so much as a fortnight. When I was out here before I was in one place for more than two months. You must just take everything as it comes." "I want to work," he said. "I must." Once again only he spoke: "That little fat man who travelled with us...." "Andrey Vassilievitch," I said.
Andrey Vassilievitch boasted a whole house to himself, a rare pride in our city, as you know. When I was inside the doors I knew at once that it was not Andrey Vassilievitch's house at all. Some stronger spirit than his was there.
The candles flared, the ladies from "Carmen" wavered on the marble steps, the high cracked voice of the soldier continued its song. I stood there with Trenchard and Andrey Vassilievitch. Then we turned away. "We're not wanted to-night," I said. "We'd better get out of the way and sleep somewhere. There'll be plenty to do to-morrow!"
Andrey Vassilievitch handed him his tea, brought his meat pies and sandwiches from the station, and offered him newspapers. He did not, however, speak to him and I was aware that throughout that long day he was never once unconscious of him. His chatter, which was always the most irrepressible thing in the world, had, perhaps, to-day some direction behind it.
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