The next day Lavretsky rose at a tolerably early hour, chatted with the starosta,[A] visited the rick-yard, and had the chain taken off the yard dog, which just barked a little, but did not even come out of its kennel.  Then, returning home, he fell into a sort of quiet reverie, from which he did not emerge all day.  “Here I am, then, at the very bottom of the river!"[B] he said to himself more than once.  He sat near the window without stirring, and seemed to listen to the flow of the quiet life which surrounded him, to the rare sounds which came from the village solitude.  Behind the nettles some one was singing with a thin, feeble voice; a gnat seemed to be piping a second to it The voice stopped, but the gnat still went on piping.  Through the monotonous and obtrusive buzzing of the flies might be heard the humming of a large humble bee, which kept incessantly striking its head against the ceiling.  A cock crowed in the street, hoarsely protracting its final note, a cart rattled past, a gate creaked in the village.  “What?” suddenly screeched a woman’s voice.  “Ah, young lady!” said Anton to a little girl of two years old whom he was carrying in his arms.  “Bring the kvass here,” continued the same woman’s voice.  Then a death-like silence suddenly ensued.

[Footnote A:  The head of the village.]

[Footnote B:  A popular phrase, to express a life quiet as the depths of a river are.]

Nothing stirred, not a sound was audible.  The wind did not move the leaves.  The swallows skimmed along he ground one after another without a cry, and their silent flight made a sad impression upon the heart of the looker-on.  “Here I am, then, at the bottom of the river,” again thought Lavretsky.  “And here life is always sluggish and still; whoever enters its circle must resign himself to his fate.  Here there is no use in agitating oneself, no reason why one should give oneself trouble.  He only will succeed here who traces his onward path as patiently as the plougher traces the furrow with his plough.  And what strength there is in all around; what robust health dwells in the midst of this inactive stillness!  There under the window climbs the large-leaved burdock from the thick grass.  Above it the lovage extends its sappy stalk, while higher still the Virgin’s tears hang out their rosy tendrils.  Farther away in the fields shines the rye, and the oats are already in ear, and every leaf or its tree, every blade of grass on its stalk, stretches itself out to its full extent.  On a woman’s love my best years have been wasted!” (Lavretsky proceeded to think.) “Well, then, let the dulness here sober me and calm me down; let it educate me into being able to work like others without hurrying.”  And he again betook himself to listening to the silence, without expecting anything, and yet, at the same time, as if incessantly expecting something.  The stillness embraced him on all sides; the sun went down quietly in a calm,