The lad did not answer me for a minute. ‘Yes,
sir, I have,’ he said at last. ‘And
such a trouble, there could not be a worse. My
wife is dead.’
‘You loved her ... your wife?’
The lad did not turn to me; he only bent his head
a little.
’I loved her, sir. It’s eight months
since then ... but I can’t forget it. My
heart is gnawing at me ... so it is! And why had
she to die? A young thing! strong!... In
one day cholera snatched her away.’
‘And was she good to you?’
‘Ah, sir!’ the poor fellow sighed heavily,
’and how happy we were together! She died
without me! The first I heard here, they’d
buried her already, you know; I hurried off at once
to the village, home—I got there—it
was past midnight. I went into my hut, stood
still in the middle of the room, and softly I whispered,
“Masha! eh, Masha!” Nothing but the cricket
chirping. I fell a-crying then, sat on the hut
floor, and beat on the earth with my fists! “Greedy
earth!” says I ... “You have swallowed
her up ... swallow me too!—Ah, Masha!”
‘Masha!’ he added suddenly in a sinking
voice. And without letting go of the cord reins,
he wiped the tears out of his eyes with his sleeve,
shook it, shrugged his shoulders, and uttered not
another word.
As I got out of the sledge, I gave him a few coppers
over his fare. He bowed low to me, grasping his
cap in both hands, and drove off at a walking pace
over the level snow of the deserted street, full of
the grey fog of a January frost.
April 1878.
There lived a fool.
For a long time he lived in peace and contentment;
but by degrees rumours began to reach him that he
was regarded on all sides as a vulgar idiot.
The fool was abashed and began to ponder gloomily
how he might put an end to these unpleasant rumours.
A sudden idea, at last, illuminated his dull little
brain.... And, without the slightest delay, he
put it into practice.
A friend met him in the street, and fell to praising
a well-known painter....
‘Upon my word!’ cried the fool,’
that painter was out of date long ago ... you didn’t
know it? I should never have expected it of you
... you are quite behind the times.’
The friend was alarmed, and promptly agreed with the
fool.
‘Such a splendid book I read yesterday!’
said another friend to him.
‘Upon my word!’ cried the fool, ’I
wonder you’re not ashamed. That book’s
good for nothing; every one’s seen through it
long ago. Didn’t you know it? You’re
quite behind the times.’
This friend too was alarmed, and he agreed with the
fool.
‘What a wonderful fellow my friend N. N. is!’
said a third friend to the fool. ‘Now there’s
a really generous creature!’
‘Upon my word!’ cried the fool. ’N.
N., the notorious scoundrel! He swindled all
his relations. Every one knows that. You’re
quite behind the times.’
