I thought what a fearful difference between Butyga and me!  Butyga who made things, above all, solidly and substantially, and seeing in that his chief object, gave to length of life peculiar significance, had no thought of death, and probably hardly believed in its possibility; I, when I built my bridges of iron and stone which would last a thousand years, could not keep from me the thought, “It’s not for long....it’s no use.”  If in time Butyga’s cupboard and my bridge should come under the notice of some sensible historian of art, he would say:  “These were two men remarkable in their own way:  Butyga loved his fellow-creatures and would not admit the thought that they might die and be annihilated, and so when he made his furniture he had the immortal man in his mind.  The engineer Asorin did not love life or his fellow-creatures; even in the happy moments of creation, thoughts of death, of finiteness and dissolution, were not alien to him, and we see how insignificant and finite, how timid and poor, are these lines of his....”

“I only heat these rooms,” muttered Ivan Ivanitch, showing me his rooms.  “Ever since my wife died and my son was killed in the war, I have kept the best rooms shut up.  Yes... see...”

He opened a door, and I saw a big room with four columns, an old piano, and a heap of peas on the floor; it smelt cold and damp.

“The garden seats are in the next room...” muttered Ivan Ivanitch.  “There’s no one to dance the mazurka now....  I’ve shut them up.”

We heard a noise.  It was Dr. Sobol arriving.  While he was rubbing his cold hands and stroking his wet beard, I had time to notice in the first place that he had a very dull life, and so was pleased to see Ivan Ivanitch and me; and, secondly, that he was a naive and simple-hearted man.  He looked at me as though I were very glad to see him and very much interested in him.

“I have not slept for two nights,” he said, looking at me naively and stroking his beard.  “One night with a confinement, and the next I stayed at a peasant’s with the bugs biting me all night.  I am as sleepy as Satan, do you know.”

With an expression on his face as though it could not afford me anything but pleasure, he took me by the arm and led me to the dining-room.  His naive eyes, his crumpled coat, his cheap tie and the smell of iodoform made an unpleasant impression upon me; I felt as though I were in vulgar company.  When we sat down to table he filled my glass with vodka, and, smiling helplessly, I drank it; he put a piece of ham on my plate and I ate it submissively.

“Repetitia est mater studiorum,” said Sobol, hastening to drink off another wineglassful.  “Would you believe it, the joy of seeing good people has driven away my sleepiness?  I have turned into a peasant, a savage in the wilds; I’ve grown coarse, but I am still an educated man, and I tell you in good earnest, it’s tedious without company.”