272 A SUMMER ON THE YENESEI 



plans, and had hidden all his clothes. Consequently he 

 had left home with nothing but what he was wearing, 

 and had not a kopeck in his pocket. He had not even 

 brought his sheepskin, lest, as he proudly said, " they 

 should say that he was a thief who took what was not 

 his own." 



When he told Gerasim Androvitch of his intention, 

 the old man wept tears of mingled grief and vodka, 

 but the Giant remained firm. Afterwards they called 

 Joseph into the cabin and tried to stupefy him with 

 alcohol, but he was shrewd enough to see their purpose, 

 and refused to drink. We could not but feel a little vexed 

 with Marusia. Instead of helping her brother, she did 

 nothing but weep because she must leave her father. 

 Gerasim Androvitch possessed a strange magnetism for 

 affection. He had been a neglectful, and sometimes an 

 unkind, father to the girl, and yet she grieved bitterly 

 at parting from him. She would have preferred to stay 

 with him, rather than with her indulgent mother. 

 But that was his way. No matter who it was, nor how 

 badly he had treated them, nobody ever bore a grudge 

 against the charming old sinner — nobody, that is, 

 except his big, silent son, who leaned against the rail 

 and watched the dusk creep over the tundra. 



It was all very tragic, and yet for the life of me I 

 could not help feeling as if we were looking on, not at 

 a bit of real life, but at some rather trite melodrama. 

 Here were the old stock characters — the jealous step- 

 mother, the weak father, and the handsome disinherited 

 son. The sunset helped out the illusion. It was as 

 red as fire, and against the flaming sky the hooded 



