Aratov did not think about the approaching night,
and was not afraid of it: he was sure he would
pass an excellent night. The thought of Clara
had sprung up within him from time to time; but he
remembered at once how ‘affectedly’ she
had killed herself, and turned away from it. This
piece of ‘bad taste’ blocked out all other
memories of her. Glancing cursorily into the
stereoscope, he even fancied that she was averting
her eyes because she was ashamed. Opposite the
stereoscope on the wall hung a portrait of his mother.
Aratov took it from its nail, scrutinised it a long
while, kissed it and carefully put it away in a drawer.
Why did he do that? Whether it was that it was
not fitting for this portrait to be so close to that
woman ... or for some other reason Aratov did not
inquire of himself. But his mother’s portrait
stirred up memories of his father ... of his father,
whom he had seen dying in this very room, in this
bed. ’What do you think of all this, father?’
he mentally addressed himself to him. ’You
understand all this; you too believed in Schiller’s
world of spirits. Give me advice!’
‘Father would have advised me to give up all
this idiocy,’ Aratov said aloud, and he took
up a book. He could not, however, read for long,
and feeling a sort of heaviness all over, he went
to bed earlier than usual, in the full conviction
that he would fall asleep at once.
And so it happened ... but his hopes of a quiet night
were not realised.
XVII
It had not struck midnight, when he had an extraordinary
and terrifying dream.
He dreamed that he was in a rich manor-house of which
he was the owner. He had lately bought both the
house and the estate attached to it. And he kept
thinking, ‘It’s nice, very nice now, but
evil is coming!’ Beside him moved to and fro
a little tiny man, his steward; he kept laughing, bowing,
and trying to show Aratov how admirably everything
was arranged in his house and his estate. ‘This
way, pray, this way, pray,’ he kept repeating,
chuckling at every word; ’kindly look how prosperous
everything is with you! Look at the horses ...
what splendid horses!’ And Aratov saw a row
of immense horses. They were standing in their
stalls with their backs to him; their manes and tails
were magnificent ... but as soon as Aratov went near,
the horses’ heads turned towards him, and they
showed their teeth viciously. ‘It’s
very nice,’ Aratov thought! ‘but evil is
coming!’ ’This way, pray, this way,’
the steward repeated again, ’pray come into the
garden: look what fine apples you have!’
The apples certainly were fine, red, and round; but
as soon as Aratov looked at them, they withered and
fell ... ‘Evil is coming,’ he thought.
‘And here is the lake,’ lisped the steward,
’isn’t it blue and smooth? And here’s
a little boat of gold ... will you get into it?...
it floats of itself.’ ‘I won’t
get into it,’ thought Aratov, ‘evil is
