Tchertop-hanov too slowly clambered out of the ravine,
reached the forest, and made his way along the road
homewards. He was ill at ease with himself; the
weight he had felt in his head and his heart had spread
over all his limbs; he walked angry, gloomy, dissatisfied,
hungry, as though some one had insulted him, snatched
his prey, his food from him....
The suicide, baffled in his intent, must know such
sensations.
Suddenly something poked him behind between his shoulder
blades. He looked round.... Malek-Adel was
standing in the middle of the road. He had walked
after his master; he touched him with his nose to announce
himself.
‘Ah!’ shouted Tchertop-hanov,’ of
yourself, of yourself you have come to your death!
So, there!’
In the twinkling of an eye he had snatched out his
pistol, drawn the trigger, turned the muzzle on Malek-Adel’s
brow, fired....
The poor horse sprung aside, rose on its haunches,
bounded ten paces away, and suddenly fell heavily,
and gasped as it writhed upon the ground....
Tchertop-hanov put his two hands over his ears and
ran away. His knees were shaking under him.
His drunkenness and revenge and blind self-confidence—all
had flown at once. There was left nothing but
a sense of shame and loathing—and the consciousness,
unmistakeable, that this time he had put an end to
himself too.
Six weeks later, the groom Perfishka thought it his
duty to stop the commissioner of police as he happened
to be passing Bezsonovo.
‘What do you want?’ inquired the guardian
of order.
‘If you please, your excellency, come into our
house,’ answered the groom with a low bow.
’Panteley Eremyitch, I fancy, is about to die;
so that I’m afraid of getting into trouble.’
‘What? die?’ queried the commissioner.
’Yes, sir. First, his honour drank vodka
every day, and now he’s taken to his bed and
got very thin. I fancy his honour does not understand
anything now. He’s lost his tongue completely.’
The commissioner got out of his trap.
’Have you sent for the priest, at least?
Has your master been confessed? Taken the sacrament?’
‘No, sir!’
The commissioner frowned. ’How is that,
my boy? How can that be—hey?
Don’t you know that for that... you’re
liable to have to answer heavily—hey?’
’Indeed, and I did ask him the day before yesterday,
and yesterday again,’ protested the intimidated
groom. “Wouldn’t you, Panteley Eremyitch,”
says I, “let me run for the priest, sir?”
“You hold your tongue, idiot,” says he;
“mind your own business.” But to-day,
when I began to address him, his honour only looked
at me, and twitched his moustache.’
‘And has he been drinking a great deal of vodka?’
inquired the commissioner.
‘Rather! But if you would be so good, your
honour, come into his room.’
