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“To this my beloved one retorted:

“‘Oh, uncle, uncle! Is it only a piatak that I am worth?

And then I heard the doctor put in:

“‘What was it you gave him?’

“‘Merely some soda and tartaric acid. To think of the fun that we shall have!'”

Here, closing his eyes, Kalinin remained silent for a moment, whilst the moist breeze sighed as it drove dense, wet mist against the black branches of the trees.

“At first my feeling was one of overwhelming joy at the thought that at least not DEATH was to be my fate. For I may tell you that, so far from being harmful, soda and tartaric acid are frequently taken as a remedy against drunken headache. Then the thought occurred to me: ‘But, since I am not a tippler, why should such a joke have been played upon ME?’ However, from that moment I began to feel easier, and when the company had sat down to dinner, and, amid a general silence, I was handing round the soup, the doctor tasted his portion, and, raising his head with a frown, inquired:

“‘Forgive me, but what soup is this? ‘

“‘ Ah!’ I inwardly reflected. ‘Soon, good gentlefolk, you will see how your jest has miscarried.’

“Aloud I replied–replied with complete boldness:

“‘Do not fear, sir. I have taken the powder myself.’

Upon this the General and his wife, who were still in ignorance that the jest had gone amiss, began to titter, but the others said nothing, though Valentina Ignatievna’s eyes grew rounder and rounder, until in an undertone she murmured:

“‘Did you KNOW that the stuff was harmless?’

“‘I did not,’ I replied. ‘At least, not at the moment of my drinking it.’

“Whereafter falling headlong to the floor, I lost consciousness.”

Kalinin’s small face had become painfully contracted, and grown old and haggard-looking. Rolling over on to his breast before the languishing fire, he waved a hand to dissipate the smoke which was lazily drifting slant-wise.

“For seventeen days did I remain stretched on a sick-bed, and was attended by the doctor in person. One day, when sitting by my side, he inquired:

“‘I presume your intention was to poison yourself, you foolish fellow?’

“Yes, merely THAT was what he called me–a ‘foolish fellow.’ Yet indeed, what was I to him? Only an entity which might become food for dogs, for all he cared. Nor did Valentina Ignatievna herself pay me a single visit, and my eyes never again beheld her. Before long she and Dr. Kliachka were duly married, and departed to Kharkov, where he was assigned a post in the Tchuguerski Camp. Thus only the General remained. Rough and ready, he was, nevertheless, old and sensible, and for that reason, did not matter; wherefore I retained my situation as before. On my recovery, he sent for me, and said in a tone of reproof:

“‘Look here. You are not wholly an idiot. What has happened is that those vile books of yours have corrupted your mind’ (as a matter of fact, I had never read a book in my life, since for reading I have no love or inclination). ‘Hence you must have seen for yourself that only in tales do clowns marry princesses. You know, life is like a game of chess. Every piece has its proper move on the board, or the game could not be played at all.'”

Kalinin rubbed his hands over the fire (slender, non-workmanlike hands they were), and winked and smiled.

“I took the General’s words very seriously, and proceeded to ask myself: ‘To what do those words amount? To this: that though I may not care actually to take part in the game, I need not waste my whole existence through a disinclination to learn the best use to which that existence can be put.’

With a triumphant uplift of tone, Kalinin continued:

“So, brother, I set myself to WATCH the game in question; with the result that soon I discovered that the majority of men live surrounded with a host of superfluous commodities which do but burden them, and have in themselves no real value. What I refer to is books, pictures, china, and rubbish of the same sort. Thought I to myself: ‘Why should I devote my life to tending and dusting such commodities while risking, all the time, their breakage? No more of it for me! Was it for the tending of such articles that my mother bore me amid the agonies of childbirth? Is it an existence of THIS kind that must be passed until the tomb be reached? No, no–a thousand times no! Rather will I, with your good leave, reject altogether the game of life, and subsist as may be best for me, and as may happen to be my pleasure.'”