inquiries which I made after the trial I ascertained that this Adámek was a bad character and an adventurer, who used to entice students to his rooms to drink and gamble with him. Sasha had become an intimate friend of his; and it was even said that they were partners in cheating the rest. Anyhow, there is no doubt that at one time or another they had won considerable sums at cards, and disputed as to the ownership of them. The last thing that was heard of them, they bought a sledge with two horses and set out saying they were going to Tula. On the road Adámek murdered the unfortunate boy. The facts were all clear and indisputable. There was no need to search into the motives. The murderer fell straight into the hands of the police. The District Inspector, coming silently along the road in his sledge, suddenly saw before him the boy lying dead by the roadside, and the murderer standing over him with the knife in his hand. He arrested him at once; there was no possibility of denying it.
Fomá. And it was quite clear that his victim was Sasha?
Ast. Quite clear. Adámek gave intimate details about him, such as only a friend of his could have known, which put his identity beyond a doubt. When the trial was over the body was sent in a coffin to Praskóvya Petróvna, who buried it here in the Tróitski Cemetery.
Fomá. And the Pole?
Ast. He was sent to penal servitude for life to the silver mines of Siberia.
Fomá. So Praskóvya is even madder than I thought. Her religion is founded on a myth. Her life is an absurd deception.
Ast. No; she has created something out of nothing; that is all.
Fomá. In your place I should have told her the truth.
Ast. No.
Fomá. Anything is better than a lie.
Ast. There is no lie in it. Praskóvya's idea and Sasha's life are two independent things. A statement of fact may be true or false; but an idea need only be clear and definite. That is all that matters. [There is a tapping at the door; the latch is lifted, and the Stranger peeps in.] Come in, come in!
[Enter the Stranger, ragged and degraded. He looks about the room, dazed by the light, and fixes his attention on Astéryi.]
Who are you? What do you want?
Stranger. I came to speak to you.
Ast. To speak to me?
Fomá. Take off your cap. Do you not see the eikons?
Ast. What do you want with me?
Stranger. Only a word, Astéryi Ivanovitch.
Ast. How have you learnt my name?
Fomá. Do you know the man?
Ast. No.
Stranger. You do not know me?
Ast. No.
Stranger. Have you forgotten me, Astéryi Ivanovitch?
Ast. [almost speechless]. Sasha!
Fomá. What is it? You look as if you had seen a ghost.
Ast. A ghost? There are no such things as ghosts. Would that it were a ghost. It is Sasha.
Fomá. Sasha?
Ast. It is Praskóvya's son alive.
Fomá. Praskóvya's son?
Sasha. You remember me now, Astéryi Ivanovitch.
Ast. How have you risen from the dead? How have you come back from the grave—you who were dead and buried these twenty years and more?
Sasha. I have not risen from the dead. I have not come back from the grave; but I have come a long, long journey.
Ast. From where?
Sasha. From Siberia.
Fomá. From Siberia?
Sasha. From Siberia.
Ast. What were you doing in Siberia?
Sasha. Do you not understand, Astéryi Ivanovitch? I am a criminal.
Ast. Ah!
Sasha. A convict, a felon. I have escaped and come home.
Ast. Of what crime have you been guilty?
Sasha. Do not ask me so many questions, but give me something to eat.
Ast. But tell me this....
Sasha. There is food here. I smelt it as I came in. [He eats the meat with his fingers ravenously, like a wild beast.]
Fomá. It is your mother's supper.
Sasha. I do not care whose supper it is. I am ravenous. I have had nothing to eat all day.
Fomá. Can this wild beast be Praskóvya's son?
Sasha. We are all wild beasts if we are kept from food. Ha! and vodka, too! [helping himself].
Ast. Are you a convict, a felon, Sasha? You who were dead? Then we have been deceived for many years.
Sasha. Have you?
Ast. Some other man was murdered twenty years ago. The murderer said that it was you.
Sasha. Ah, he said that it was me, did he?
Ast. Why did Adámek say that it was you?
Sasha. Can you not guess? Adámek murdered no one.
Ast. He murdered no one? But he was condemned.
Sasha. He was never condemned.
Ast. Never condemned? Then what became of him?
Sasha. He died.... Do you not understand? It was I who killed Adámek.
Ast. You!
Sasha. We had quarreled. We were alone in a solitary place. I killed him and stood looking down at him with the knife in my hand dripping scarlet in the snow, frightened at the sudden silence and what I had done. And while I thought I was alone, I turned and saw the police-officer with his revolver leveled at my head. Then amid the confusion and black horror that seized on me, a bright thought shot across my mind. Adámek had no relatives, no friends; he was an outcast. Stained with his flowing blood, I exchanged names with him; that's the old heroic custom of blood-brotherhood, you know. I named myself Adámek; I named my victim Sasha. Ingenious, wasn't it? I had romantic ideas in those days. Adámek has been cursed for a murderer, and my memory has been honored. Alexander Petróvitch has been a hero; my mother has wept for me. I have seen her in the graveyard lamenting on my tomb; I have read my name on the cross. I hardly know whether to laugh or to cry. Evidently she loves me still.
Ast. And you?
Sasha.
