birth. My grandfather was a simple peasant, my father was a tradesman in Moscow; he was
a plain, uneducated man, too, while my husband's parents were wealthy and distinguished.
They did not want him to marry me, but he disobeyed them, quarrelled with them, and they
have not forgiven us to this day. That worries my husband; it troubles him and keeps him in
constant agitation; he loves his mother, loves her dearly. So I am uneasy, too, my soul is in
pain."
Peasants, men and women, were by now standing round Rodion's hut and listening. Kozov
came up, too, and stood twitching his long, narrow beard. The Lytchkovs, father and son,
drew near.
"And say what you like, one cannot be happy and satisfied if one does not feel in one's
proper place." Elena Ivanovna went on. "Each of you has his strip of land, each of you
works and knows what he is working for; my husband builds bridges -- in short, everyone
has his place, while I, I simply walk about. I have not my bit to work. I don't work, and feel
as though I were an outsider. I am saying all this that you may not judge from outward
appearances; if a man is expensively dressed and has means it does not prove that he is
satisfied with his life."
She got up to go away and took her daughter by the hand.
"I like your place here very much," she said, and smiled, and from that faint, diffident smile
one could tell how unwell she really was, how young and how pretty; she had a pale,
thinnish face with dark eyebrows and fair hair. And the little girl was just such another as
her mother: thin, fair, and slender. There was a fragrance of scent about them.
"I like the river and the forest and the village," Elena Ivanovna went on; "I could live here
all my life, and I feel as though here I should get strong and find my place. I want to help
you -- I want to dreadfully -- to be of use, to be a real friend to you. I know your need, and
what I don't know I feel, my heart guesses. I am sick, feeble, and for me perhaps it is not
possible to change my life as I would. But I have children. I will try to bring them up that
they may be of use to you, may love you. I shall impress upon them continually that their
life does not belong to them, but to you. Only I beg you earnestly, I beseech you, trust us,
live in friendship with us. My husband is a kind, good man. Don't worry him, don't irritate
him. He is sensitive to every trifle, and yesterday, for instance, your cattle were in our
vegetable garden, and one of your people broke down the fence to the bee-hives, and such
an attitude to us drives my husband to despair. I beg you," she went on in an imploring
voice, and she clasped her hands on her bosom -- "I beg you to treat us as good neighbours;
let us live in peace! There is a saying, you know, that even a bad peace is better than a good
quarrel, and, 'Don't buy property, but buy neighbours.' I repeat my husband is a kind man
and good; if all goes well we promise to do everything in our power for you; we will mend
the roads, we will build a school for your children. I promise you."
"Of course we thank you humbly, lady," said Lytchkov the father, looking at the ground;
"you are educated people; it is for you to know best. Only, you see, Voronov, a rich peasant
at Eresnevo, promised to build a school; he, too, said, 'I will do this for you,' 'I will do that
for you,' and he only put up the framework and refused to go on. And then they made the
peasants put the roof on and finish it; it cost them a thousand roubles. Voronov did not care;
he only stroked his beard, but the peasants felt it a bit hard."