hem in the least; and
human life began to seem to him as strange, senseless and unenlightened
as a dog's. Bareheaded he walked about the yard, then he went out
on to the road, clenching his fists. Snow was falling in big flakes
at the time. His beard was blown about in the wind. He kept shaking
his head, as though there were something weighing upon his head and
shoulders, as though devils were sitting on them; and it seemed to
him that it was not himself walking about, but some wild beast, a
huge terrible beast, and that if he were to cry out his voice would
be a roar that would sound all over the forest and the plain, and
would frighten everyone. . . .

V

When he went back into the house the policeman was no longer there,
but the waiter was sitting with Matvey, counting something on the
reckoning beads. He was in the habit of coming often, almost every
day, to the tavern; in old days he had come to see Yakov Ivanitch,
now he came to see Matvey. He was continually reckoning on the
beads, while his face perspired and looked strained, or he would
ask for money or, stroking his whiskers, would describe how he had
once been in a first-class station and used to prepare champagne-punch
for officers, and at grand dinners served the sturgeon-soup with
his own hands. Nothing in this world interested him but refreshment
bars, and he could only talk about things to eat, about wines and
the paraphernalia of the dinner-table. On one occasion, handing a
cup of tea to a young woman who was nursing her baby and wishing
to say something agreeable to her, he expressed himself in this
way:

"The mother's breast is the baby's refreshment bar."

Reckoning with the beads in Matvey's room, he asked for money; said
he could not go on living at Progonnaya, and several times repeated
in a tone of voice that sounded as though he were just going to
cry:

"Where am I to go? Where am I to go now? Tell me that, please."

Then Matvey went into the kitchen and began peeling some boiled
potatoes which he had probably put away from the day before. It was
quiet, and it seemed to Yakov Ivanitch that the waiter was gone.
It was past the time for evening service; he called Aglaia, and,
thinking there was no one else in the house sang out aloud without
embarrassment. He sang and read, but was inwardly pronouncing other
words, "Lord, forgive me! Lord, save me!" and, one after another,
without ceasing, he made low bows to the ground as though he wante