“Not vain Corruption’s idols
frail
Not amaranth nor porphyry
Rejoiced their hearts ...
One thing in them ...”
’That was about us. Do you hear?
“One thing in them unquenchable,
Subduing, sweet, desirable,
To nurse their mutual flame in love!”
And you talk about Agrafena!’
Narkiz chuckled half-contemptuously, half-indifferently.
’What a queer fish it is!’ he said to
himself. But the brigadier had again relapsed
into dejection, the rod had dropped from his hands
and slipped into the water.
‘Well, to my thinking, our fishing is a poor
business,’ observed Cucumber; ’the fish,
see, don’t bite at all. It’s got fearfully
hot, and there’s a fit of “mencholy”
come over our gentleman. It’s clear we must
be going home; that will be best.’ He cautiously
drew out of his pocket a tin bottle with a wooden
stopper, uncorked it, scattered snuff on his wrist,
and sniffed it up in both nostrils at once....
’Ah, what good snuff!’ he moaned, as he
recovered himself. ’It almost made my tooth
ache! Now, my dear Vassily Fomitch, get up—it’s
time to be off!’
The brigadier got up from the bench.
‘Do you live far from here?’ I asked Cucumber.
‘No, our gentleman lives not far ... it won’t
be as much as a mile.’
‘Will you allow me to accompany you?’
I said, addressing the brigadier. I felt disinclined
to let him go.
Narkiz was surprised at my intention; but I paid no
attention to the disapproving shake of his long-eared
cap, and walked out of the garden with the brigadier,
who was supported by Cucumber. The old man moved
fairly quickly, with a motion as though he were on
stilts.
We walked along a scarcely trodden path, through a
grassy glade between two birch copses. The sun
was blazing; the orioles called to each other in the
green thicket; corncrakes chattered close to the path;
blue butterflies fluttered in crowds about the white,
and red flowers of the low-growing clover; in the
perfectly still grass bees hung, as though asleep,
languidly buzzing. Cucumber seemed to pull himself
together, and brightened up; he was afraid of Narkiz—he
lived always under his eye; I was a stranger—a
new comer—with me he was soon quite at home.
‘Here’s our gentleman,’ he said
in a rapid flow; ’he’s a small eater and
no mistake! but only one perch, is that enough for
him? Unless, your honour, you would like to contribute
something? Close here round the corner, at the
little inn, there are first-rate white wheaten rolls.
And if so, please your honour, this poor sinner, too,
will gladly drink on this occasion to your health,
and may it be of long years and long days.’
I gave him a little silver, and was only just in time
to pull away my hand, which he was falling upon to
kiss. He learned that I was a sportsman, and
