United States or British Virgin Islands ? Vote for the TOP Country of the Week !
A post-sledge was gliding rapidly over the frozen road towards Viletna; and as it neared the village, a thin worn man, with white hair, who was sitting in it alone, leant forward and touched the driver. "I want to go to the great house. You remember?" "Oh, you're going to see Mikhail? He hasn't come to the great house yet, though. It's all being done up." "No, I'm going to Madame Olsheffsky's!"
He looked around helplessly with his wide-open eyes. "Why, it's going to tickle me!" "You'll be able to bear it," answered the mother, beginning to wash his feet. Ignaty snorted aloud, and moving his neck awkwardly looked down at her, comically drooping his under lip. "And do you know," she said tremulously, "that they beat Mikhail Ivanovich?" "What?" the peasant exclaimed in fright.
He occupied himself with attentions to Zinaida Grigorievna Doulebova, to whom he showed various services with an unexpected and rather vulgar amiableness. The instructor-inspector, Mikhail Prokopievitch Poterin, conducted himself like a lackey. It was even evident at times that he trembled before the Doulebovs. What reason had he to be afraid? He was a great patriot a member of the Black Hundred.
The old man then told the story of an aged pilgrim who had died on his way to Jerusalem. I thought he was repeating the story of the life of Mikhail, so like were his present words to those that had gone before. But the issue was different. In this case the pilgrim died and was buried in a little village near Odessa. He was a penniless beggar.
"I come from the vicinity of Túla.... There is a village there called Známenskoe-Glúshkovo perhaps you deign to know it. I am the daughter of the sexton there. Mikhaíl Andréitch and I lived there.... He settled down with my father. We lived together a year in all." The young woman's lips twitched slightly, and she raised her hand to them.
The reigns of Mikhail and of his son Alexis and his grandson Feodor were to be reigns of preparation and reform. Of course there were turbulent uprisings and foreign wars, and perils on the frontiers near the Baltic and the Black seas. But Russia was gaining in ascendency while Poland, from whom she had narrowly escaped, was fast declining.
"Mikhaíl Andréitch," began the speculator, "permit me to inquire what you are doing there?" "As you see I am digging a grave for myself." "Why are you doing that?" "Because I do not wish to live any longer." The speculator fairly flung apart his hands in surprise. "You do not wish to live?" Mísha cast a menacing glance at the speculator: "Does that surprise you?
I don't wish to live I don't wish to live any longer in Russia!" And the spade made swifter progress than ever in Mísha's hands. "The devil knows the meaning of this!" thought the speculator: "he actually is burying himself." "Mikhaíl Andréitch," he began afresh, "listen; I really am guilty toward you; people did not represent you properly to me." Mísha went on digging.
But suddenly the river appears above the land, and the people cry out, 'See, the river is flowing to the sea. But it began to go to the sea long ago. So it was with Mikhail. All his life he was a pilgrim. He lived in a distant land. He was born of poor parents, not here, but far away in the Petchora province oh, far, far away." Grandfather Jeremy waved his hand to signify how far.
Fearing he would insult Sofya with his heavy voice and his raillery, the mother said quickly and sternly: "She's my friend, Mikhail Ivanovich. She's a good woman. Working in this movement has turned her hair gray. You're not very " Rybin fetched a deep breath. "Why, was what I said insulting?" Sofya looked at him dryly and queried: "You wanted to say something to me?"
Word Of The Day