The Jew and Other Stories eBook

was remarkable for exceptional serenity, and a sort of amiable, restrained affability; he was never pre-occupied, and was always satisfied with everything; but on the other hand he was never ecstatic over anything.  Every excess, even in a good feeling, jarred upon him; ’that’s savage, savage,’ he would say with a faint shrug, half closing his golden eyes.  Marvellous were those eyes of Fustov’s!  They invariably expressed sympathy, good-will, even devotion.  It was only at a later period that I noticed that the expression of his eyes resulted solely from their setting, that it never changed, even when he was sipping his soup or smoking a cigar.  His preciseness became a byword between us.  His grandmother, indeed, had been a German.  Nature had endowed him with all sorts of talents.  He danced capitally, was a dashing horseman, and a first-rate swimmer; did carpentering, carving and joinery, bound books and cut out silhouettes, painted in watercolours nosegays of flowers or Napoleon in profile in a blue uniform; played the zither with feeling; knew a number of tricks, with cards and without; and had a fair knowledge of mechanics, physics, and chemistry; but everything only up to a certain point.  Only for languages he had no great facility:  even French he spoke rather badly.  He spoke in general little, and his share in our students’ discussions was mostly limited to the bright sympathy of his glance and smile.  To the fair sex Fustov was attractive, undoubtedly, but on this subject, of such importance among young people, he did not care to enlarge, and fully deserved the nickname given him by his comrades, ‘the discreet Don Juan.’  I was not dazzled by Fustov; there was nothing in him to dazzle, but I prized his affection, though in reality it was only manifested by his never refusing to see me when I called.  To my mind Fustov was the happiest man in the world.  His life ran so very smoothly.  His mother, brothers, sisters, aunts, and uncles all adored him, he was on exceptionally good terms with all of them, and enjoyed the reputation of a paragon in his family.

IV

One day I went round to him rather early and did not find him in his study.  He called to me from the next room; sounds of panting and splashing reached me from there.  Every morning Fustov took a cold shower-bath and afterwards for a quarter of an hour practised gymnastic exercises, in which he had attained remarkable proficiency.  Excessive anxiety about one’s physical health he did not approve of, but he did not neglect necessary care.

(’Don’t neglect yourself, don’t over-excite yourself, work in moderation,’ was his precept.) Fustov had not yet made his appearance, when the outer door of the room where I was waiting flew wide open, and there walked in a man about fifty, wearing a bluish uniform.  He was a stout, squarely-built man with milky-whitish eyes in a dark-red face and a perfect cap of thick, grey, curly hair.  This person stopped short, looked at me, opened his mouth wide, and with a metallic chuckle, he gave himself a smart slap on his haunch, kicking his leg up in front as he did so.