by the dreariness of his paternal home, by the changeless isolation, poverty, and misery of his earliest impressions, by the gloomy views of fate which peered sadly at him through a dim window-pane, obscured by the snowstorms of winter, was desirious of awaking.

A groan burst from his lips, and, covering his face with both hands, he exclaimed in a sorrowful voice, “It is true, it is true!”

“Neither your knowledge of mankind nor your experience availed, since the foundation of your fortune was unlawful. But if there had been a lawful foundation. Ah, Pavel Ivanovitch! why have you ruined yourself? Awake! it is not too late; perhaps there may still be time.”

“No, it is too late, too late!” groaned Tchitchikoff in a voice which nearly broke Murazoff’s heart. “I begin to feel, I am conscious, that it is not thus, not thus, that I shall go—that I have wandered very far from the right road; but I can do nothing now. No, not thus was I brought up. My father inculcated righteousness, he beat it into me: he made me copy moral precepts, while he himself stole a forest from a neighbour in my presence, and forced me to assist him in the deed. He entered into an unjust lawsuit, and I knew it; he corrupted a young girl who was an orphan and his ward. Example is stronger than precept. I see, I feel, Afanasiy Vasilievitch, that I am not leading the right sort of life, but no one could have a greater repugnance for vice. My nature has grown coarse; I have not that love for good, those fine impulses for deeds of benevolence, which are formed by habit; I have not as great a desire to do battle for the good as for the acquisition of wealth. I am telling you the truth. Ah! what am I to do?”

The old man sighed.

“Pavel Ivanovitch, you possess as much strength of will as patience,” said he. “Medicine is bitter; but the sick man takes it, knowing that otherwise he will not recover. You have no love for the good: do good by main force, without any love for it. This will be accounted a greater merit in your case than in the case of a man who does good for the love of it. Only force yourself to do it a few times and you will acquire a love for it. Believe me, everything proceeds in this manner. We have been told that the ‘kingdom of heaven is taken by force.’ Only by force can we come near to it, and by force it is necessary to lay hold of it. Eh, Pavel Ivanovitch! surely you possess that strength, that iron patience which is not possessed by others, and can you not conquer? Yes, it seems to me that you could prove a bogatuir.³ For all men are now lacking in will, all are weak.”

It was evident that these words penetrated into Tchitchikoff’s inmost soul, and touched something egotistical at the bottom of it. Decision, or some powerful emotion which resembled it, gleamed in his eyes.

“Afanasiy Vasilievitch,” said he firmly, “if you will only procure my release, and the means of departing hence with some property, I will give you my word that I will begin a different life. I will purchase a village, I will become a good manager; I will amass money, not for myself, but for the purpose of assisting others; I will do good, so far as lies within my power; I will forget myself, and all the dainties and feasts of the city; I will lead a simple and sober life.”

“May God strengthen you in that determination!” said the delighted old man. “I shall exert my utmost powers to beg your freedom from the prince. Whether I shall succeed or not, God alone knows. In any case, your fate will certainly be ameliorated. Ah, good heavens, embrace me! Permit me to embrace you! How truly you have rejoiced my heart! Now God be with you! I shall go straight to the prince.”

Then Tchitchikoff was left alone. His whole nature had been shaken to its depths, and thoroughly softened. Even platinum, the hardest of metals, and the one which resists the fire longer than all the rest, melts at last; when the fire is increased in the furnace, and the bellows blow upon it, and the heat of the flames attains to an intolerable pitch, then the most stubborn of metal blanches, and is converted into a liquid; and so the strongest miseries of mental torture yield, when intolerable fires consume a nature which has grown for a season hardened.