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Updated: May 2, 2025
'Please come up, sir! Elisei shouted to me from the staircase; 'Yakov Ivanitch is very anxious to see you. I ran hurriedly up the tottering stairs, went into a dark little room and my heart sank.... On a narrow bed, under a fur cloak, pale as a corpse, lay Pasinkov, and he was stretching out to me a bare, wasted hand. I rushed up to him and embraced him passionately.
He could not take the fiddle with him to the grave, and now it would be left forlorn, and the same thing would happen to it as to the birch copse and the pine forest. Everything in this world was wasted and would be wasted! Yakov went out of the hut and sat in the doorway, pressing the fiddle to his bosom.
During Mass, you know, when I look out from the altar and see my congregation, Avraamy starving, and my wife, and think of the doctor's wife how blue her hands were from the cold water would you believe it, I forget myself and stand senseless like a fool, until the sacristan calls to me. . . . It's awful!" Father Yakov began walking about again.
To his great satisfaction the patients were not being received by the doctor, who was himself ill, but by the assistant, Maxim Nikolaitch, an old man of whom everyone in the town used to say that, though he drank and was quarrelsome, he knew more than the doctor. "I wish you good-day," said Yakov, leading his old woman into the consulting room.
This man, of Kalmuck extraction, and hideous, even savage appearance, but the kindest-hearted creature and by no means a fool, was passionately devoted to Pasinkov, and had been his servant for ten years. 'Is Yakov Ivanitch quite well? I asked him. Elisei turned his dusky, yellow little face to me. 'Ah, sir, he's in a poor way ... in a poor way, sir!
Father Yakov started like a man asleep who has been struck a blow, and, still smiling, began in his confusion wrapping round him the skirts of his cassock. In spite of his repulsion for the man, Kunin felt suddenly sorry for him, and he wanted to soften his cruelty. "Please come another time, Father," he said, "and before we part I want to ask you a favour.
"Have you no other words for me?" asked Foma, sternly, looking straight into the old man's face. And suddenly he noticed that his godfather shuddered, his legs trembled, his eyes began to blink repeatedly, and his hands clutched the door posts with an effort. Foma advanced toward him, presuming that the old man was feeling ill, but Yakov Tarasovich said in a dull and angry voice: "Stand aside.
Oh, yes, the announcement of his death. Very good. Send it, please. But I must dress at once. The funeral service will begin immediately." "Doctor! Is the doctor here?" an anxious voice sounded in the corridor. "I am coming! What is it?" "Please come quick, Edouard Vicentevitch!" Yakov called him. "The lady is very ill downstairs; Anna Iurievna, the general's daughter!
And she used to be always at it: 'Buy a house, Makaritch! Buy a house, Makaritch! Buy a house, Makaritch! She was dying and yet she kept on saying, 'Buy yourself a racing droshky, Makaritch, that you may not have to walk. And I bought her nothing but gingerbread." "Her husband's deaf and stupid," Yakov went on, not hearing Crutch; "a regular fool, just like a goose. He can't understand anything.
And now I'm going! Hold me back!" Foma rose from his chair, thrust his cap on his head, and measured the old man with abhorrence. "You may go; but I'll I'll catch you! It will come out as I say!" said Yakov Tarasovich in a broken voice. "And I'll go on a spree! I'll squander all!" "Very well, we'll see!" "Goodbye! you hero," Foma laughed. "Goodbye, for a short while! I'll not go back on my own.
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