The New Villa
The peasants had long ago grown used to the sight of the bridge,
and it was difficult to imagine the river at that place without
a bridge. The heap of rubble left from the building of it had
long been overgrown with grass, the navvies were forgotten, and
instead of the strains of the "Dubinushka" that they used to
sing, the peasants heard almost every hour the sounds of a
The New Villa has long ago been sold; now it belongs to a
government clerk who comes here from the town for the holidays
with his family, drinks tea on the terrace, and then goes back
to the town again. He wears a cockade on his cap; he talks and
clears his throat as though he were a very important official,
though he is only of the rank of a collegiate secretary, and
when the peasants bow he makes no response.
In Obrutchanovo everyone has grown older; Kozov is dead. In
Rodion's hut there are even more children. Volodka has grown a
long red beard. They are still as poor as ever.
In the early spring the Obrutchanovo peasants were sawing wood
near the station. And after work they were going home; they
walked without haste one after the other. Broad saws curved over
their shoulders; the sun was reflected in them. The nightingales
were singing in the bushes on the bank, larks were trilling in
the heavens. It was quiet at the New Villa; there was not a soul
there, and only golden pigeons -- golden because the sunlight
was streaming upon them -- were flying over the house. All of
them -- Rodion, the two Lytchkovs, and Volodka -- thought of the
white horses, the little ponies, the fireworks, the boat with
the lanterns; they remembered how the engineer's wife, so
beautiful and so grandly dressed, had come into the village and
talked to them in such a friendly way. And it seemed as though
all that had never been; it was like a dream or a fairy-tale.
They trudged along, tired out, and mused as they went. . . . In
their village, they mused, the people were good, quiet,
sensible, fearing God, and Elena Ivanovna, too, was quiet, kind,
and gentle; it made one sad to look at her, but why had they not
got on together? Why had they parted like enemies? How was it
that some mist had shrouded from their eyes what mattered most,
and had let them see nothing but damage done by cattle, bridles,
pincers, and all those trivial things which now, as they
remembered them, seemed so nonsensical? How was it that with the
new owner they lived in peace, and yet had been on bad terms
with the engineer?
And not knowing what answer to make to these questions they were
all silent except Volodka, who muttered something.
"What is it?" Rodion asked.
"We lived without a bridge . . ." said Volodka gloomily. "We
lived without a bridge, and did not ask for one . . . and we
don't want it. . . ."
No one answered him and they walked on in silence with drooping
villa: the Russian for a summer residence is dacha
carting manure: taking manure from the cattle yard to fertilize
Aalhaus: Allg?er, Bavarian breed of cattle
quarrel: first line of a fable "The Two Neighbors" by Ivan I.