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While I was looking for the matches to light a candle he sighed once more and said: "When I was in Harkov I went several times to the anatomy theatre and saw the bones there; I have even been in the mortuary. Am I not in your way?"
Mechanically I read the advertisements on the first page, the leading article, the extracts from the newspapers and journals, the chronicle of events.... In the latter I find, among other things, the following paragraph: "Our distinguished savant, Professor Nikolay Stepanovitch So-and-so, arrived yesterday in Harkov, and is staying in the So-and-so Hotel."
She burst into tears, and I went away. In the spring the company will be in Harkov too. I will come and meet you then, only don't talk of that to anyone. Nadyezhda Ivanovna has gone off to Moscow. YALTA, February 12, 1900. I have been racking my brains over your fourth act, and have come to no conclusion except, perhaps, that you must not end it up with Nihilists.
"So you don't consider me your friend?" she asked dejectedly. "I don't say that. But your money would be no use to me now." "I beg your pardon..." she said, dropping her voice a whole octave. "I understand you... to be indebted to a person like me... a retired actress.... But, good-bye...." And she went away so quickly that I had not time even to say good-bye. I am in Harkov.
And in all this he was always afterwards disposed to see something strange and mysterious, as it were, the presence of some peculiar influences and coincidences. In the previous winter a student he knew called Pokorev, who had left for Harkov, had chanced in conversation to give him the address of Alyona Ivanovna, the old pawnbroker, in case he might want to pawn anything.
He wrote that he was old, and no use to anyone and that nobody loved him, and he begged his daughters to forget him, and when he died to bury him in a plain, deal coffin without ceremony, or to send his body to Harkov to the dissecting theatre. He felt that every line he wrote reeked of malice and affectation, but he could not stop, and went on writing and writing.
Sedate storks live on the barn. Everything is crumbling and decrepit, but poetical, sad, and beautiful in the extreme. FEODOSIA, July, 1888. ... The journey from Sumy to Harkov is frightfully dull. Going from Harkov to Simferopol one might well die of boredom.
My wife is frightened, and a look of intense suffering comes into her face. "For God's sake, Nikolay Stepanovitch," she implores me, with tears in her voice "for God's sake, take this burden off me! I am so worried!" It is painful for me to look at her. "Very well, Varya," I say affectionately, "if you wish it, then certainly I will go to Harkov and do all you want."
His mother departed to Harkov to her sister's and did not return; his father used to go off every day to inspect cattle, and would often be away from home for three days together, and it seemed to Olenka as though Sasha was entirely abandoned, that he was not wanted at home, that he was being starved, and she carried him off to her lodge and gave him a little room there.
"You haven't! He wrote very clever articles in the Harkov Gazette, and was preparing to be a professor. Well, I read a great deal and attended the student's societies, where you hear nothing that is commonplace. I was working up for six months, but as one has to have been through the whole high-school course of mathematics to enter the technical school, Grumaher advised me to try for the veterinary institute, where they admit high-school boys from the sixth form. Of course, I began working for it. I did not want to be a veterinary surgeon but they told me that after finishing the course at the veterinary institute I should be admitted to the faculty of medicine without examination. I learnt all Kühner; I could read Cornelius Nepos,
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