Collection of Posthumous Articles, Vol. 2

knitting his brows, speaking bitter truths—and truths known to everyone—without any need, he strove to live like some kind of La Fontaine-esque Sonderling eccentric/loner, some kind of "Robinson Crusoe in Sokolniki." In the small garden of their house was a gazebo; "Dr. K. moved into it and set about translating Dr. Schiller," as N. A. Polevoy used to joke in those days. The door to the gazebo had no lock... it was difficult to even turn around in it: this was precisely what was needed. In the morning, he would dig in the garden, planting and replanting flowers and bushes, treating poor people in the neighborhood for free, proofreading the galleys for "The Robbers" and "Fiesco," and, instead of a bedtime prayer, reading the speeches of Marat and Robespierre. In short, if he had concerned himself less with books and more with a spade, he would have been what Rousseau wished everyone to be.

K. became close to us through Vadim in 1831. In our circle, which consisted at that time—besides the two of us—of Sazonov, the elder Passeks, and two or three other students, he saw some kind of seed of the fulfillment of his cherished dreams, new shoots on a field that had been tightly mown in 1826, and therefore he moved toward us with fervor. Being older than us, he soon took possession of the "censorship of morals" and would not let us take a step without remarks, and sometimes even reprimands. We believed that he was a practical man and more experienced than us; moreover, we loved him, and very much so. If anyone fell ill, K. would appear as a sister of mercy and would not leave the sick person until he recovered. When Kolreyf, Antonovich, and others were arrested, K. was the first to sneak into their barracks, entertain them, offer them instruction, and it reached the point that the gendarme general Lisovsky summoned him and cautioned him to be more careful and to remember his rank (Staff-Doctor!). When Nadezhdin, who was theoretically in love, wanted to marry a young lady in secret—whose parents had forbidden her from thinking about him—K. undertook to help him, arranged a romantic escape, and he himself, wrapped in a famous black cloak with a red lining, remained to wait for the agreed-upon signal, sitting with Nadezhdin on a bench on Rozhdestvensky Boulevard. The signal was not given for a long time. Nadezhdin grew despondent and lost heart. K. stoically consoled him; the despair and the consolations had an original effect on Nadezhdin, and he dozed off. K. knit his brows and walked gloomily along the boulevard. "She will not come," said Nadezhdin half-asleep, "let us go to sleep." K. knit his brows twice as hard, shook his head gloomily, and led the sleepy Nadezhdin home. Following them, the girl had also come out onto the porch of her house, and the agreed-upon signal was repeated not once, but ten times, and she waited for an hour or two: everything was quiet, and she herself, even quieter, returned to her room, probably cried, but for that, she was radically cured of her love for Nadezhdin. For a long time, K. could not forgive Nadezhdin for this drowsiness and, shaking his head with a trembling lower lip, would say: "He did not love her!"