chance, better than he knew; and we will not discuss the tables of fresh values that he has put forth. Our task is easier. It was fully time that the question should be asked of evolution, whither, according to the men of science, is it moving, and what is the law of its ascent? Is the Christian creed essential to it, or can we so read the writing in man's flesh and spirit as to conclude that "seeming" is the only world, and adaptation to it the supreme wisdom? Nietzsche, resolute enough to deal with his life as an experiment, lonely enough to have cut through the bonds of social convention, and-it must be said-largesouled enough to despise the neutral tints and makeshift compromises of a world bent on enjoying its music-hall pleasures, has found the rhetoric which, with heat and existence, demands a reply to these questions. Had he put them as a Christian, the men of scientific unbelief would, doubtless, not deem them worth answering. But he is the least orthodox writer of the age. And he has paid with his intellect for his heterodoxy. Therefore an answer cannot be refused to that searching interrogation, "Is evolution merely the working out of a physiological problem, or is it something in the end quite different?" Will the "children's land" be, as Zarathustra said, a world in which "there are gods but no god;" or will it be "the kingdom of final causes," with Reason and the Divine Law above it? Science, culture, freedom, democracy, hang upon this word. The ideals of anarchy-are they the conclusions of a self-justified Darwinism? Or, contrariwise, does the individual count only as a means to an end, a wheel in the machinery which keeps the State going; and must we all worship this "new idol" as omnipotent? Are education so-called, and mediocrity, and journalism to pull down the mighty works of old, until healthy barbarians sweep the decadent away? Shall we hold that phenomena are the sum of reality, and take as a principle that "Nothing is true; everything is law ful"? To have stated a question accurately, the wise will tell us, is half way to the answer. And in his headlong, irridescent style, the madman and genius, Friedrich Nietzsche, has stated the question of science. THE BULLY, BY IVAN TOURGENIEFF. Translated for THE LIVING AGE by Mary J. Safford. CHAPTER VII. About fifteen minutes walk from the Perekatoffs' residence, on the right bank of the little river, was a broad tract of level ground. This was the "long meadow." The left bank was completely covered with a dense growth of young oaks and sloped steeply down to the stream, whose surface, with the exception of some small inlets haunted by wild ducks, was com pletely overgrown by creeping plants. Ten minutes stroll from the river, and at the right of the long meadow, rose low hills, gleaming with varied hues, and sparsely covered with ancient birch-trees, hazel-nut coppices, and guelder roses. The sun had already set. In the distance a mill clapped, sometimes loudly, at others softly, according to the direction of the wind. A number of horses belonging to the Perekatoff estate grazed quietly in the meadow; a shepherd sang as he followed his flock of timid sheep; the sheep-dogs, for amusement, were chasing the crows. Lutschkoff was pacing, with folded arms, up and down the grove. His horse, tied to one of the trees, had already repeatedly answered the loud neighing of the mares and fillies. As usual, the captain was sullen and irritable. Not feeling sure of Marja's love, he was enraged with her and himself. But his excitement was even greater than his wrath. At last, stopping in front of a large hazel-nut bush, he began to beat off its leaves with his riding-whip. Just at that moment he heard a slight noise, and raising his head saw Marja standing about ten paces off. Her face was deeply flushed by her rapid walk. She wore a hat, but no gloves, and was dressed in white; in her haste she had knotted a little shawl about her neck. Her eyes were fixed steadily on the ground, and she seemed to hesitate about approaching. Lutschkoff, with a forced smile, awkwardly advanced. "No. What did you want to say to me?" "I wanted to tell you that-that I like you, Marja Serjevna, like you immensely, and "I thank you," interrupted the embarrassed Marja. Her heart ached with anxious expectation. "Oh. look, Captain Lutschkoff," she continued, "see "How happy this makes me!" he be- what a magnificent spectacle!" gan in an almost inaudible tone. "I am glad to meet you," replied Marja, panting for breath. "I often walk here in the evening—and you "You command. Well then, I will frankly own that for a long time, ever since the day I had the honor of making your acquaintance He hesitated. Marja waited for the end of his sentence. "But I don't know why I tell you all this. We cannot escape our fate." "How do we know that?". "I know!" replied Lutschkoff gloomily. "I have long been accustomed to its blows." It seemed to Marja that just at this moment her companion certainly had no cause to bewail the blows of fate. "There are still kind people in the world," she remarked, smiling, "nay, I might say, too kind "I understand, Marja Serjevna, and believe me, I know how to prize your And she pointed to the meadow, which was completely veiled by the long shadows of evening, while above them, beyond the forest, burned the fires of sunset. Lutschkoff secretly rejoiced that the conversation was thus given a different turn; he murmured something about "beauties of nature" and stepped close to Marja's side. "Do you love nature?" she asked suddenly, turning her little head towards him and gazing at him with the gentle, enquiring glance that, like the silvery tone of the voice, is peculiar to young girls. "Nature yes, indeed - of course," stammered Lutschkoff. "Of courseit's very pleasant to take a little walk in the evening, though, to be frank, I'm only a soldier and don't understand raptures." Lutschkoff asserted with tolerable frequency that he was only a soldier. A short silence followed. Marja again looked towards the meadow, lying veiled by the dusk of evening. "Well, what's to be the end of this?" thought Lutschkoff. "A confounded situation! Pshaw, I must be a little bolder. Marja Serjevna," he said, in a passably firm voice. Marja turned towards him. "Pardon me," he continued, in an almost jesting tone, "but I should like to know what you think of me. Don't you feel something-a certain-liking for me?" "Dear me, how clumsy he is!" thought Marja. "You know, Captain Lutschkoff," she answered, smiling, "that it is not always easy to give a plain question a direct answer." Marja gazed intently at him. "With this hand," she whispered. Meantime his blood had warmed. He had already been with a beautiful young girl more than fifteen minutes. "Marja Serjevna," he said suddenly, in a strangely sharp voice, "you are aware of my feelings and know why I wished to speak to you-you were so kind, and-tell me what I may venture to hope" Marja was twisting a field-pink between her fingers. She glanced askance at Lutschkoff, blushed and smiling answered: "Why, what are you saying?" An icy thrill of terror ran through Marja's limbs. She had not meant tc acknowledge love to him, she did not exactly know herself whether she really did love him, and now he had anticipated her, wished to extort a confession -he could not understand her at all. This thought darted like lightning through Marja's brain. She had not expected so speedy a solution. Like a curious girl she had asked herself all day long: "Does he love me or does he not?" She had imagined a pleasant walk in the gloaming, tender, yet sensible conversation, and in fancy had coquetted with the fierce officer, tamed him, and at parting permitted him to respectfully kiss her hand. And instead-instead of this innocent, childlike sport, she suddenly felt his rough moustache on her cheek. "We will be happy," he whispered, "there is but one bliss on earth." Marja drew back in terror. Pale and trembling from head to foot, she leaned use of all this folly? It's surely only-" And Lutschkoff stretched his hand towards her. Marja suddenly remembered Kister's warning. "Take care!" he had said; she almost fainted from fright, and began to call as loud as she could: "Tanjuscha! Tanjuscha!" The fat, sturdy form of her maid emerged from the hazel-nut bush. Lutschkoff was fairly frantic. Soothed by her maid's presence, Marja did not stir from the spot. But the bully trembled with rage; his eyes flashed, he clenched his fists, and burst into a convulsive laugh. "Bravo, bravo!" he cried, "very clever I must say." Marja seemed turned to stone. "I see you overlooked no measure of precaution, Marja Serjevna! Yes, yes, caution can never do harm. Young ladies of the present day are far more cunning than the old ones. A fine love, in truth!" "I don't know who has given you the right to speak to me of love, Captain Lutschkoff." "Who! You yourself!" he cried. "This grows better and better." He felt that he had utterly lost his cause; but he could no longer control himself. "I have acted imprudently," Marja continued. "I granted your request in the hope that I could rely upon your delicatesse-but you don't understand French-upon your delicacy of feeling " Lutschkoff turned pale. Marja had touched him in the most sensitive spot. "Not at all, Captain Lutschkoff-nay, I even pity you." "Don't talk to me of your pity, I beg!" he answered furiously, "I would like to be spared that!" "Captain Lutschkoff!" "Oh, don't try those princess airs! It's a waste of trouble. You won't frighten me with them." Marja retreated a few steps, turned swiftly, and walked away. "Shan't I send your friend, your sentimental shepherd, to you?" Lutschkoff called after her. He had completely lost his self-control. "Isn't it this friend, who' Marja did not answer; hastily, yet joyously, she hurried homeward. Spite of her alarm and excitement she felt relieved. It seemed as if she had just waked from a troubled dream, emerged from a dark room into the fresh, sunny air. Lutschkoff glared around him as if bereft of his senses, broke a young tree in his speechless rage, swung nimself on his horse, drove the spurs furiously into its flanks, and abused the luckless animal so pitilessly that, after going eight versts in fifteen minutes, it almos. died during the night. must speak to you-I positively must. Come to us to-day, if possible. Don't refuse my request; I entreat you in the name of our old friendship. If you knew-but you will learn all. Hoping to see you soon, Marja. "P.S. You must come to-day without fail." "Shall I give the messenger a dram of brandy?" Kister stared wonderingly at his servant and, without answering, went out of the room. "My master said I was to give you a dram, and at the same time I'll take one myself," remarked the man. CHAPTER VIII. When Kister entered the drawingroom Marja rushed towards him with such a radiant, grateful face, and pressed his hand so warmly that the young officer's heart swelled with joy. Yet she instantly left the room without saying a word. Perekatoff was sitting on the sofa, playing patience. The conversation began and the host, with his customary tact, had scarcely introduced the subject of his dog, and commenced to boast of the animal's talents, when Marja again entered. She had put on a gay silk sash-remembering that Kister had once said it was particularly becoming to her. Soon after Nenila came in; she received her guest to-day with special cordiality. At dinner they all laughed and jested with perfect unconstraint; even Perekatoff grew animated and related one of the gayest incidents of his youth. While doing so, however, like ostrich, he cautiously kept his head averted from his wife. the "We will take a walk," Marja said to Kister after dinner, in the coaxing tone which renders opposition impossible. "I must talk with you about something very, very important," she added with gracious solemnity, as she drew on her Swedish gloves. "Will you go with us, mamma?" "No," replied Nenila. "But we're not going into the park." "Where do you mean to walk?" "To the little grove by the long meadow." "Then take Tanjuscha." "Tanjuscha! Tanjuscha!" called Marja, in her clear voice, gliding out of the room as lightly as a bird. Fifteen minutes after Marja and Kister were on their way to the long meadow. As they passed the pasture where the cattle were grazing, the young girl fed her pet cow with bread, stroked her head, and bade Kister pat her gently on the back. Marja was in an unusually lively mood and talked continually. Kister entered into all she said with pleasure, though he waited with great impatience for the communications she was to make. Tanjuscha followed the pair at a respectful distance, but from time to time cast a sly glance at her young mistress. "You are not angry with me, Fedor Fedorovitsch?" asked Marja. "With you, Marja Serjevna? Why should I be?" "Day before yesterday-do you remember?" catcsse. I say it to you in French; for surely you understand French." Kister understood French, but he did not understand Marja. "Oh, pluck that flower for me-the one yonder-how beautiful!" Marja gazed at it with great pleasure. Suddenly she hastily drew her hand from his arm, and with a timid smile cautiously began to pull the slender stem through the button hole of his overcoat. While thus employed, her dainty fingers almost touched his lips. Kister's eyes rested on the fingers, then on her face. Marja bent her little head as if to say: "You may." Kister stooped and kissed her fingertips. Meantime they had approached the well-known grove. Marja suddenly grew thoughtful and at last silent. They went to the very spot where Lutschkoff had waited for her. The trampled grass had not yet sprung up again; the little broken tree had already begun to wither, the leaves had rolled themselves up into cylinders and commenced to dry. Marja's eyes wandered over the scene, then she turned abruptly to "You were a little out of humor. Kister. That was all!" "Why do you keep so far away from me? Give me your arm. There. You were not exactly in tune either." "That is true." 3 "Do you know why I brought you here?" "No." "No! Why don't you mention your friend Lutschkoff to-day? Formerly you could, never weary of praising him." Kister gazed silently into vacancy. "Do you know," Marja continued with effort, "that I had-an appointment-here-with him-yesterday?" "I knew that," he replied, in a hollow tone. "You knew it! Ah! Now I understand why day before yesterday, you Captain Lutschkoff evidently hastened to boast of his conquest." Kister tried to answer. "Don't speak, don't make any reply. I know he is your friend, you might be capable of defending him. You knew. Fedor, that I Then why didn't you keep me from committing such a folly? |