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Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories eBook

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Ivan Sergeevich Turgenev

Napoleon was born          Ilya Tyeglev was born
on August 15th, 1769.      on January 7th, 1811.
1769                        1811
15                           7
8*                          1+
-----                       -----
Total   1792                Total   1819
* August—­the 8th month    + January—­the 1st month
of the year.               of the year.
1                           1
7                           8
9                           1
2                           9
—–­                         —–­
Total     19!                 Total    19!
Napoleon died on May       Ilya Tyeglev died on
5th, 1825.                  April 21st, 1834.
1825                        1834
5                          21
5*                          7+
-----                       -----
Total   1835                 Total  1862
* May—­the 5th month       + July—­the 7th month
of the year.               of the year.
1                            1
8                            8
3                            6
5                           23
—­                           —­
Total 17!                     Total 17!

Poor fellow!  Was not this perhaps why he became an artillery officer?

As a suicide he was buried outside the cemetery—­and he was immediately forgotten.

XVIII

The day after Tyeglev’s burial (I was still in the village waiting for my brother) Semyon came into the hut and announced that Ilya wanted to see me.

“What Ilya?” I asked.

“Our pedlar.”

I told Semyon to call him.

He made his appearance.  He expressed some regret at the death of the lieutenant; wondered what could have possessed him....

“Was he in debt to you?” I asked.

“No, sir.  He always paid punctually for everything he had.  But I tell you what,” here the pedlar grinned, “you have got something of mine.”

“What is it?”

“Why, that,” he pointed to the brass comb lying on the little toilet table.  “A thing of little value,” the fellow went on, “but as it was a present ...”

All at once I raised my head.  Something dawned upon me.

“Your name is Ilya?”

“Yes, sir.”

“Was it you, then, I saw under the willow tree the other night?”

The pedlar winked, and grinned more broadly than ever.

“Yes, sir.”

“And it was your name that was called?”

“Yes, sir,” the pedlar repeated with playful modesty.  “There is a young girl here,” he went on in a high falsetto, “who, owing to the great strictness of her parents——­”

“Very good, very good,” I interrupted him, handed him the comb and dismissed him.

“So that was the ‘Ilyusha,’” I thought, and I sank into philosophic reflections which I will not, however, intrude upon you as I don’t want to prevent anyone from believing in fate, predestination and such like.

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Knock, Knock, Knock and Other Stories from Project Gutenberg. Public domain.

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