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BAR S2144 2010
The Lake of Knives
and the Lake of Fire
Studies in the topography of passage
in ancient Egyptian religious literature

ABBAS
Eltayeb Sayed Abbas

THE LAKE OF KNIVES AND THE LAKE OF FIRE

BAR International Series 2144

2010
B
A
R
 The Lake of Knives
and the Lake of Fire
Studies in the topography of passage
in ancient Egyptian religious literature

Eltayeb Sayed Abbas

BAR International Series 2144

2010
Published in 2016 by
BAR Publishing, Oxford

BAR International Series 2144

The Lake of Knives and the Lake of Fire

© E S Abbas and the Publisher 2010

The author's moral rights under the 1988 UK Copyright,

Designs and Patents Act are hereby expressly asserted.

All rights reserved. No part of this work may be copied, reproduced,

stored, sold, distributed, scanned, saved in any form of digital format or
transmitted in any form digitally, without the written permission of the
Publisher.

ISBN 9781407306858 paperback

ISBN 9781407336862 e-format
DOI https://doi.org/10.30861/9781407306858
A catalogue record for this book is available from the British Library

BAR Publishing is the trading name of British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd.
British Archaeological Reports was first incorporated in 1974 to publish the BAR
Series, International and British. In 1992 Hadrian Books Ltd became part of the BAR
group. This volume was originally published by Archaeopress in conjunction with
British Archaeological Reports (Oxford) Ltd / Hadrian Books Ltd, the Series
principal publisher, in 2010. This present volume is published by BAR Publishing,
2016.

BAR
PUBLISHING
BAR titles are available from:

BAR Publishing
122 Banbury Rd, Oxford, OX2 7BP, UK
E MAIL [email protected]
P HONE +44 (0)1865 310431
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www.barpublishing.com
 Abstract

This research is an investigation into the safe passage of the deceased over water as exemplified in the Lake of Knives
and the Lake of Fire. The journey of the deceased from death to resurrection is envisaged as taking place in a boat
crossing dangerous places and ordeals. This journey was parallel to the sun god Re’s passage over the waters of the sky,
and in which he is threatened by the powers of chaos. The rites of passage focus on the safe passage of Re through
chaos, and assert resurrection, rebirth and life after death for the deceased. The passage is re-enacted in mythical images
and in ritual actions, and focuses on the safe journey of the deceased through the ordeals of the Netherworld.

This research is divided into seven chapters. Chapter One deals with the symbolism of water, knives and fire. Water is
dealt with as the discharge which comes from the body of Osiris and offered to him in ritual. The second section deals
with the symbolism of knives and fire. It is concluded that water mediates the passage of the deceased when it is offered
to him in ritual. Water can also cause violent death. Fire and knives are used as destructive tools in rituals.

Chapter Two explores the cartographical descriptions and cosmographical locations of the two lakes, using textual and
pictorial evidence. It is concluded that the lake of Knives is envisaged as extending from the east to the west of the sky.
The description of the Lake of Fire varies from one context to another. The two lakes have no specific locations, but
they wind through the sky.

Chapter Three is a discussion on the theme of passage over water in Ancient Egypt. The ferryman spells and the Island
of Fire are taken as two examples for the passage of the deceased over water. It is concluded that the ritual aspects of
the ferryman spells and the Island of Fire are not very different from the ritual aspects of the Lake of Knives and the
Lake of Fire.

Chapter Four is an extension of the discussion of the theme of passage over water, and deals with crossing the lake as a
ritual enacted for the deceased at the day of funeral. It is tentatively concluded that the aim of the deceased’s crossing
over the lake is to mediate his passage to become an Ax. The crossing was accompanied by recitation of ritual texts.
Crossing over the Lake of Knives and the Lake of Fire was also accompanied by recitations of ritual texts.

Chapter Five deals with the Lake of Fire in the Book of the Two Ways. The journey of the deceased is constructed until
he reaches the Lake of Fire. It is concluded that the Lake of Fire is a place, which the deceased visits to be reborn in the
morning and starts a new journey towards the abode of Osiris on the upper waterway.

Chapter Six investigates the rites of passage concerning the crossing over the two lakes. It deals also with the handling
of symbols within the rituals performed for the deceased. It is concluded that the Lake of Knives and the Lake of Fire
are two metaphorical places that do not exist in rituals. They do not have fixed physical locations, but they exist in
myth. Crossing over the two lakes is dangerous, but is also necessary for the deceased to continue his journey and to
enter into a different status, status of being an Ax.

Chapter Seven draws answers for the questions of the aim of the deceased’s crossing over the two lakes. It is concluded
that the aim of the deceased’s journey over the two lakes differs from one context to another. It is also explicit that there
is no single specific explanation for the rites of passage over the two lakes, and they draw on different metaphors.

i
 Acknowledgements

I would like to express my deepest thanks to Professor Christopher Eyre, for his valuable advice, encouragement,
patience, and his continuous supervision at every stage of this research.

I am grateful to Professor Kenneth Kitchen, Dr. Roland Enmarch and Dr. Glenn Godenho for their valuable comments
and insightful advice. I also would like to thank my friends and colleagues in School of Archaeology, Classics and
Egyptology at the University of Liverpool for their continuous help and encouragement.

I also would like to thank Mr. Tony Taylor, Mrs. Sue Highfield, Mr. Bill and Mrs. Penny Smith for their support during
my stay in England.

My eternal thanks go to my parents, my wife, my daughter Hana and my son Omar, who have been supportive over the
last years. Without their aid this work would have been impossible. I dedicate this study to them.

ii
 List of Abbreviations

ÄA Ägyptologische Abhandlungen, Wiesbaden

ÄAT Ägypten und Altes Testament, Wiesbaden
ACE Australian Centre for Egyptology, Sydney/Warminster/ Oxford
ADAIK Abhandlungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts Kairo, Glückstadt/Hamburg/ New York

AEL Lichtheim, M., Ancient Egyptian Literature, 3 vols, Berkeley and Los Angeles, 1973-1980.
ÄF Ägyptologische Forschungen, Glückstadt/Hamburg/ New York
ÄS Ägyptische Sammlung

ASAÉ Annales du Service des Antiquités de l’Égypte, Cairo

ASAW Abhandlungen der Sächsischen Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Lepizig, Berlin

ASE Archaeological Survey of Egypt, London

AV Archäologische Veröffentlichungen, Deutsches Archäologisches Instituts, Abteilung Kairo, Mainz
am Rhein
BAe Bibliotheca Aegyptiaca, Brussels

BAR British Archaeological Reports International Series, Oxford

BD Book of the Dead
BdÉ Bibliothèque d’Étude, Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, Cairo

BIFAO Bulletin de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale, Cairo

BiOr Bibliotheca Orientalis, Leiden

CdÉ Chronique d’Égypte, Brussels

CDME Faulkner, R. O., A Concise Dictionary of Middle Egyptian, Oxford, 1962.

Ch. Chapter
CNI Carsten Niebuhr Institute of Near Eastern Studies Publications, Copenhagen

Col(s) Column(s)
CT Coffin Text
CT De Buck, A., The Ancient Egyptian Coffin Texts, 7 vols, Chicago, 1935-1961.
DAIK Deutsches Archäologisches Instituts, Abteilung Kairo, Mainz

DAWW Denkschrift der kaiserlichen Akademie der Wissenscahften in Wien (from 1950), later DÖAW
DE Discussions in Egyptology, Oxford
DESN Discussions in Egyptology Special Number, Oxford
DÖAW Denkschrifte der österreichischen Akademie der Wissenschaften, Vienna
EES The Egyptian Exploration Society, London
Essays te Velde Van Dijk, J. (ed.), Essays on Ancient Egypt in Honour of Hermann te Velde, Groningen, 1997.
Essays van Voss J. H. Kamstra, H. Milde, and K. Wagtendonk (eds), Funerary Symbols and Religion: Essays
dedicated to Professor M.S.H.G. Heerma van Voss on the Occasion of his Retirement from the Chair
of the History of Ancient Religions at the University of Amsterdam, Kampen, 1988.
EU Egyptologische Uitgaven, Leiden

iii
Fig(s). Figure(s)
Fs Assmann Meyer, S. (ed.), Egypt-Temple of the Whole World: Studies in Honour of Jan Assmann, Leiden,
2003.
Fs Derchain U. Verhoeven and E. Graefe (eds), Religion und Philosophie im alten Ägypten. Festgabe für Philippe
Derchain zu seinem 65. Geburtstag am 24. Juli 1991, OLA 39, Leuven, 1991.
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seinem Schülerkreis, Berlin, 1998.
Fs Shore C. J. Eyre, A. Leahy and L. Leahy (eds), The Unbroken Reed: Studies in the Culture and Heritage of
Ancient Egypt in Honour of A.F. Shore, EES Occasional Publications 11, London, 1994.
Fs Stadelmann H. Guksch and D. Polz (eds), Stationen. Beiträge zur Kulturgeschichte Ägyptens: Rainer Stadelmann
gewidmet, Mainz am Rhein, 1998.
GM Göttinger Miszellen: Beiträge zur ägyptologischen Diskussion, Göttingen
GOF Göttinger Orientforschungen, Göttingen
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studien
HÄB Hildesheimer Ägyptologische Beiträge, Hildesheim

Hommages N. Grimal, A. Kamel and C. May-Sheikholeslami (eds), Hommages à Fayza Haikal, BdÉ 138, Cairo,
Fayza Haikal 2003.
Hommages Lecalnt C. Berger, G. Clere and N. Grimal (eds), Hommages à Jean Leclant, 4 vols, BdÉ 106, Cairo, 1994.
JARCE Journal of the American Research Center in Egypt, New York
JAOS Journal of the American Oriental Society, Baltimore/ Boston/ New Haven
JEA Journal of Egyptian Archaeology, London
JEOL Jaarbericht van het Vooraziatisch Genootschap (Gezelschap) ,,Ex Orient Lux”, Leiden
JESHO Journal of the Economic and Social History of the Orient, Leiden
JNES Journal of Near Eastern Studies, Chicago
JSSEA Journal of the Society for the Study of Egyptian Antiquities, Toronto
KRI Kitchen, K. A., Ramesside Inscriptions. Historical and Biographical, 8 vols, Oxford, 1960-1990.
LÄ W. Helck, E. Otto and W. Westendorf (eds), Lexikon der Ägyptologie, 7 vols, Wiesbaden, 1972-
1992.
LD Lepsius, R., Denkmäler aus Ägypten und Äethiopien. Abteilung 1-6 in 12 Bands, Berlin, 1849-1859.
L’acqua nell’antico A. Amenta, M. M. Luiselli and M. N. Sordi (eds), L’acqua nell’antico Egitto, Vita, rigenerazione,
Egitto incatesimo, medicamento, Rome, 2005.
LingAeg Lingua Aegyptia: Journal of Egyptian Language Studies, Göttingen
MÄS Müncher Ägyptologische Studien, Berlin/Munich/Mainz am Rhein
MÄSB Mitteilungen aus der Ägyptischen Sammlung, Staatliche Museen Zu Berlin, Berlin
MDAIK Mitteilungen des Deutschen Archäologischen Instituts, Abteilung Kairo, Mainz
MIFAO Mémoires publiés par les Membres de l’Institut Français d’Archéologie Orientale du Caire, Cairo
Mysterious Lands D. O’Connor, and S. Quirke (eds), Mysterious Lands: Encounters with Ancient Egypt, London, 2003.
NAWG Nachrichten der Akademie der Wissenschaften zu Göttingen, Göttingen
n.d. No Date
NISABA Religious Texts Translation Series, NISABA, Leiden

iv
OBO Orbis Biblicus et Orientalis, Freiburg/Göttingen
OLA Orienatalia Lovaniensia Analecta, Leuven
OMRO Oudheidkundige Mededeelingen uit het Rijksmuseum van Oudheden te Leiden, Leiden
P Papyrus
PdÄ Probleme der Ägyptologie, Leiden
Pl(s) Plate(s)
PM B. Porter, and R. Moss (eds), A Topographical Bibliography of Ancient Egyptian Hieroglyphic Texts,
Reliefs, and Paintings, Oxford, 1960-1981.
PMMA Publications of the Metropolitan Museum of Art, Egyptian Expedition, New York
PT Pyramid Text
Pyr Sethe, K., Die altägyptischen Pyramidentexte, 3 vols, Lepizig, 1908-1922; reprint, Hildesheim 1960.
RÄRG Bonnet, H., Reallexikon der ägyptischen Religionsgeschichte, Berlin, 1999.
RdÉ Revue d’Égyptologie, Paris
Rec Trav Recueil de Travaux relatifs à la philology et à l’archéologie égyptiennes et assyyriennes, Paris,
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SAGA Studien zur Archäologie und Geschichte Altägyptens, Heidelberg

SAK Studien zur altägyptischen Kultur, Hamburg

SAOC Studies in Ancient Oriental Civilisation, Chicago

SAT Studien zum Altägyptischen Totenbuch, Wiesbaden

STG Assmann, J., Sonnenhymnen in thebanischen Gräbern, Theben 1, Mainz am Rhein, 1983.

Studies Israelit-Groll, S. (ed.), Studies in Egyptology presented to Miriam Lichtheim, 2 vols, Jerusalem,
Lichtheim 1990.

Studies Quaegebeur W. Clarysse, A. Shoors and H. Willems (eds), Egyptian Religion: The Last Thousand Years, Studies
dedicated to the Memory of Quaegebeur, 2 vols, OLA 84 and 85, Leuven, 1998.
Studies Redford G. N. Knoppers and A. Hirsch (eds), Egypt, Israel, and the Ancient Mediterranean World: Studies in
Honor of Donald B. Redford, Ledien and Boston, 2004.
Studies Stricker DuQuesne, T. (ed.), Hermes Aegyptiacus: Egyptological studies for BH Stricker on his 85th
birthday, DESN 2, Oxford, 1995.
Studies Wente M. Teeter, and J. A. Larson (eds), Gold of Praise: Studies on Ancient Egypt in Honour of Edward F.
Wente, SAOC 58, Chicago, 1999.
TbT Totenbuchtexte, Basel
Theben Theben, Mainz
Totenbuch- B. Backes, M. Munro and S. Stöhr (eds), Totenbuch-Forschungen: Gesammelte Beiträge des 2.
Forschungen Internationalen Totenbuch-Symposiums 2005, SAT 11, Wiesbaden, 2006.
TT Theban Tomb
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Urk IV Sethe, K., Urkunden des Neuen Reichs, historische-biographische Urkunden, Heft 1-16, Leipzig,
1906-1909, continued by Helck, W., Heft 17-22, Berlin, 1955-1958.

v
VA Varia Aegyptiaca, San Antonio
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Kings Arizona, 1995.
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Leipzig and Berlin, 1926-1963.
YES Yale Egyptological Studies, New Haven
ZÄS Zeitschrift für ägyptische Sprache und Altertumskunde, Berlin

vi
 Table of Contents

Abstract………………………………………………………………….............................. i
Acknowledgements………………………………………………………............................ ii
List of Abbreviations…………………………………………………................................. iii
Table of Contents………………………………………………………............................... vii
Introduction………………………………………………………………............................ 1
Chapter One:
Symbolism of Water, Fire and Knives…………………………………............................. 4
1.1. The Symbolism of Water…………………………………………….............................. 4
Water as the Discharge of Osiris………………….................................................. 4
The Papyrus of Nesmin (BM 10209)……………........................................... 4
Pyramid Texts Evidence…………………....................................................... 4
Coffin Texts Evidence………………………………...................................... 5
Breasted’s and Griffiths’ Studies on the Inundation and Osiris................................ 6
Elephantine and the Leg of Osiris as Source of the Inundation................................ 7
The Primeval Water................................................................................................... 9
The Discharge of Osiris in the Lake of Knives and in the Lake of Fire................... 9
1.2. The Symbolism of Fire and Knives…………………………………............................... 13
Fire and Knives of Birth……………………………….......................................... 13
Book of the Amduat………………………………………..................................... 16
The Seventh Hour………………………………............................................. 16
The Eleventh Hou…………………………………......................................... 18
Book of the Earth……………………………………….......................................... 19
Book of the Caverns………………………………………..................................... 19
Book of the Gates…………………………………………..................................... 20
1.3. Fire and Nightmares…………………………………………………............................... 20
1.4. Barriers and Portals surrounded by Fire and Knives…………………............................. 22
Chapter Two:
The Cartographical Descriptions and the Cosmographical Locations of the Lake of
Knives and the Lake of Fire…………………………….. 25
2.1. The Winding Waterway: Methodology for Cosmic Geography……............................... 25
2.2. The Cartographical Description of the Lake of Knives………………............................ 26
Pictorial Evidence………………………………………........................................ 26
Textual Evidence…………………………………………..................................... 28
2.3. The Cartographical Description of the Lake of Fire………………….............................. 29
The Lake of Fire in the Book of the Dead………………....................................... 30
The Lake of Fire in the New Kingdom Mythological Papyri................................... 30
The Lake of Fire in the Book of the Amduat……………....................................... 30
The Lake of Fire in the Book of the Gates………………....................................... 31
The Lake of Fire on the 21st Dynasty Coffins………….......................................... 31
2.4. The Cosmographical Locations of the Lake of Knives and the Lake of Fire………........ 34
The Egyptian Vision of Cosmos…………………………....................................... 34
The Pyramid and the Pyramid Texts…………………...................................... 34
The Coffin and the Coffin Texts……………………....................................... 34
2.5. The Cosmographical Location of the Lake of Knives of Knives..................................... 36
The Symbolism of the Headrest…………………........................................... 37
The Cosmographical Location of the Lake of Knives in the New Kingdom
Sun Hymns and Book of the Dead……………................................................ 40
The Lake of Knives at the Edge of Cosmos……….......................................... 43
2.5. The Cosmographical Location of the Lake of Fire……………………............................ 43
The Lake of Fire in the Book of the Amduat………......................................... 43
The Lake of Fire in the Book of the Gates......................................................... 43
Chapter Three:
The Theme of Passage over Water in Ancient Egyptian Religious Texts.........................
46
3.1. Introduction…………………………………………………………............................... 46
3.2. The Ferryman Spells and the Passage of the deceased over Water….............................. 46
The Content of the Ferryman Spells………............................................................. 47
The Introduction……………………………..................................................... 47
The List of the Ship………………………........................................................ 48

vii
 The Conclusion………………………………................................................... 49
The Ritual Aspects of the Ferryman Spells………………....................................... 50
3.3 The Island of Fire as a Place of Passage over Water……………...................................... 50
The Island of Fire as a Place of Creation............................................................ 50
The Island of Fire as a Place of Passage……………......................................... 52
The Aim of the Deceased’s Journey over the Island of Fire……………........... 53
The Island of Fire in Shu Spells………………….............................................. 57
Chapter Four:
Crossing the Lake Ritual………………………………………………................................ 60
4.1. Old Kingdom Evidence………………………………………………............................. 60
Pictorial Evidence from Old Kingdom Private Tombs..................................... 60
Textual Evidence from Old Kingdom Private Tombs....................................... 61
Pyramid Texts Evidence……………................................................................ 62
The Apis Procession over the Lake of the King……................................................ 63
Diodorus Siculus’ Description of Crossing the Lake Ritual………………………. 64
4.2. Middle Kingdom Evidence……………………………………………............................ 65
Coffin Texts Evidence………………………………........................................ 65
4.3. New Kingdom Evidence………………………………………………............................ 66
Crossing the Lake in the New Kingdom Private Tombs.......................................... 66
Rituals in the Garden and Crossing the Lake Ritual................................................ 66
4.4. Crossing the Lake of Knives………………………………………….............................. 67
4.5. Crossing the Lake of Fire……………………………………………............................... 67
Chapter Five:
The Lake of Fire in the Book of the Two Ways………………………............................... 70
5.1. The History and Description of the Book of the Two Ways…………............................. 70
The Layout of the Book of the Two Ways…………………......................................... 71
The Upper Waterway and the Lower Land way………....................................... 71
Kees………………………………………………............................................ 72
Grapow…………………………………………................................................ 72
Zandee……………………………………………............................................. 72
Müller…………………………………………….............................................. 72
Lesko……………………………………………............................................... 72
Hermsen………………………………………….............................................. 73
Rößler-Köhler……………………………………............................................. 73
Backes……………………………………………............................................. 73
5.2. Section IV and the Lower Land Way…………………………………............................ 73
CT Spell 1072/no. 43 and the Vignettes on the Left Side of the Two Ways……......... 73
CT Spell 1068/no. 39 and the Actual Beginning of the Lower Land
Way……….............................................................................................................. 74
CT Spell 1067/no. 38…………………………………………...................................... 75
CT Spell 1066/no.37……………………………………………................................... 75
CT Spell 1065/no. 36…………………………………………...................................... 75
CT Spell 1064/no.35……………………………………………................................... 75
CT Spell 1063/no.34……………………………………………................................... 75
CT Spell 1062/no.33……………………………………………................................... 76
CT Spell 1061/no.31……………………………………………................................... 76
CT Spell 1059/no.30…………………………………………....................................... 76
CT Spell 1058/no.29…………………………………………....................................... 76
CT Spell 1057/no.28…………………………………………....................................... 77
CT Spell 1056/ no.27…………………………………………...................................... 77
CT Spell 1055/no.26…………………………………………....................................... 77
CT Spell 1054/no.25 and the Lake of Fire………………............................................. 77
5.3. The Eastern Borders of the Lake of Fire: CT Spell 1037/no.8……….............................. 78
CT Spell 1036/no.7……………………………………………..................................... 78
5.4. The Topography of the Lower Land Way and the Fifth Hour of the Amduat................. 79
Chapter Six:
The Rites of Passage…………………………………………………….............................. 81
6.1. Van Gennep’s and Turner’s Studies on the Rites of Passage………….......................... 81
6.2. The Construction of a Ritual…………………………………………............................ 81
6.3. The Rites of Passage and the Lake of Knives……………………….............................. 83
The Offering of the Headrest Ritual (CT Spell 823)………......................................... 83

viii
 The Ritual Context of CT Spell 823………………........................................... 84
The Reconstruction of the Headrest Offering Ritual.......................................... 85
Ritual and the Use of Symbols; Turner’s Study and CT pell 823…………...... 86
6.4. The Passage of the Barque of Re over the Lake of Knives............................................... 86
The Journey of Re in Sun Hymns and Book of the Dead............................................... 86
6.5. Having Food and Drink on the Two Banks of the Lake of the Knives…………………. 88
BD Chapter 169 and the Erecting of the Bier…………………..................................... 88
6.6. The Judgment of the Dead and the Lake of Fire……………………................................ 91
CT Spell 335 and the Rites of Passage………………………....................................... 91
CT Spell 336…………………………………………………....................................... 93
The Enactment of the Judgment of the Dead in the Lake of Fire................................... 95
Chapter Seven:
Conclusion………………………………………………………………….......................... 98
Bibliography………………………………………………………………........................... 100

ix
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thing you would expect of an old man.”
“I don’t know, friend, I don’t know. I can’t say myself how I got
here. It’s a visitation. A chastisement of the Lord. Truly a visitation,
the evil one confounded me. So you are a watchman here, friend?”
“Yes.”
“The only one for the whole graveyard?”
There is such a violent gust of wind that both stop for a minute.
Waiting till the violence of the wind abates, the watchman answers:
“There are three of us, but one is lying ill in a fever and the
other’s asleep. He and I take turns about.”
“Ah, to be sure, friend. What a wind! The dead must hear it! It
howls like a wild beast! O-o-oh.”
 “And where do you come from?”
“From a distance, friend. I am from Vologda, a long way off. I go
from one holy place to another and pray for people. Save me and
have mercy upon me, O Lord.”
The watchman stops for a minute to light his pipe. He stoops
down behind the traveller’s back and lights several matches. The
gleam of the first match lights up for one instant a bit of the avenue
on the right, a white tombstone with an angel, and a dark cross; the
light of the second match, flaring up brightly and extinguished by
the wind, flashes like lightning on the left side, and from the
darkness nothing stands out but the angle of some sort of trellis; the
third match throws light to right and to left, revealing the white
tombstone, the dark cross, and the trellis round a child’s grave.
“The departed sleep; the dear ones sleep!” the stranger mutters,
sighing loudly. “They all sleep alike, rich and poor, wise and foolish,
good and wicked. They are of the same value now. And they will
sleep till the last trump. The Kingdom of Heaven and peace eternal
be theirs.”
“Here we are walking along now, but the time will come when we
shall be lying here ourselves,” says the watchman.
“To be sure, to be sure, we shall all. There is no man who will not
die. O-o-oh. Our doings are wicked, our thoughts are deceitful! Sins,
sins! My soul accursed, ever covetous, my belly greedy and lustful! I
have angered the Lord and there is no salvation for me in this world
and the next. I am deep in sins like a worm in the earth.”
“Yes, and you have to die.”
“You are right there.”
“Death is easier for a pilgrim than for fellows like us,” says the
watchman.
 “There are pilgrims of different sorts. There are the real ones who
are God-fearing men and watch over their own souls, and there are
such as stray about the graveyard at night and are a delight to the
devils. . . Ye-es! There’s one who is a pilgrim could give you a crack
on the pate with an axe if he liked and knock the breath out of you.”
“What are you talking like that for?”
“Oh, nothing . . . Why, I fancy here’s the gate. Yes, it is. Open it,
good man.”
The watchman, feeling his way, opens the gate, leads the pilgrim
out by the sleeve, and says:
“Here’s the end of the graveyard. Now you must keep on through
the open fields till you get to the main road. Only close here there
will be the boundary ditch—don’t fall in. . . . And when you come out
on to the road, turn to the right, and keep on till you reach the mill.
. . .”
“O-o-oh!” sighs the pilgrim after a pause, “and now I am thinking
that I have no cause to go to Mitrievsky Mill. . . . Why the devil
should I go there? I had better stay a bit with you here, sir. . . .”
“What do you want to stay with me for?”
“Oh . . . it’s merrier with you! . . . .”
“So you’ve found a merry companion, have you? You, pilgrim, are
fond of a joke I see. . . .”
“To be sure I am,” says the stranger, with a hoarse chuckle. “Ah,
my dear good man, I bet you will remember the pilgrim many a long
year!”
“Why should I remember you?”
“Why I’ve got round you so smartly. . . . Am I a pilgrim? I am not
a pilgrim at all.”
 “What are you then?”
“A dead man. . . . I’ve only just got out of my coffin. . . . Do you
remember Gubaryev, the locksmith, who hanged himself in carnival
week? Well, I am Gubaryev himself! . . .”
“Tell us something else!”
The watchman does not believe him, but he feels all over such a
cold, oppressive terror that he starts off and begins hurriedly feeling
for the gate.
“Stop, where are you off to?” says the stranger, clutching him by
the arm. “Aie, aie, aie . . . what a fellow you are! How can you leave
me all alone?”
“Let go!” cries the watchman, trying to pull his arm away.
“Sto-op! I bid you stop and you stop. Don’t struggle, you dirty
dog! If you want to stay among the living, stop and hold your
tongue till I tell you. It’s only that I don’t care to spill blood or you
would have been a dead man long ago, you scurvy rascal. . . . Stop!”
The watchman’s knees give way under him. In his terror he shuts
his eyes, and trembling all over huddles close to the wall. He would
like to call out, but he knows his cries would not reach any living
thing. The stranger stands beside him and holds him by the arm. . .
. Three minutes pass in silence.
“One’s in a fever, another’s asleep, and the third is seeing pilgrims
on their way,” mutters the stranger. “Capital watchmen, they are
worth their salary! Ye-es, brother, thieves have always been cleverer
than watchmen! Stand still, don’t stir. . . .”
Five minutes, ten minutes pass in silence. All at once the wind
brings the sound of a whistle.
“Well, now you can go,” says the stranger, releasing the
watchman’s arm. “Go and thank God you are alive!”
 The stranger gives a whistle too, runs away from the gate, and
the watchman hears him leap over the ditch.
With a foreboding of something very dreadful in his heart, the
watchman, still trembling with terror, opens the gate irresolutely and
runs back with his eyes shut.
At the turning into the main avenue he hears hurried footsteps,
and someone asks him, in a hissing voice: “Is that you, Timofey?
Where is Mitka?”
And after running the whole length of the main avenue he notices
a little dim light in the darkness. The nearer he gets to the light the
more frightened he is and the stronger his foreboding of evil.
“It looks as though the light were in the church,” he thinks. “And
how can it have come there? Save me and have mercy on me,
Queen of Heaven! And that it is.”
The watchman stands for a minute before the broken window and
looks with horror towards the altar. . . . A little wax candle which the
thieves had forgotten to put out flickers in the wind that bursts in at
the window and throws dim red patches of light on the vestments
flung about and a cupboard overturned on the floor, on numerous
footprints near the high altar and the altar of offerings.
A little time passes and the howling wind sends floating over the
churchyard the hurried uneven clangs of the alarm-bell. . . .
 IN THE COURT

A
T the district town of N. in the cinnamon-coloured government
house in which the Zemstvo, the sessional meetings of the
justices of the peace, the Rural Board, the Liquor Board, the
Military Board, and many others sit by turns, the Circuit Court was in
session on one of the dull days of autumn. Of the above-mentioned
cinnamon-coloured house a local official had wittily observed:
“Here is Justitia, here is Policia, here is Militia—a regular boarding
school of high-born young ladies.”
But, as the saying is, “Too many cooks spoil the broth,” and
probably that is why the house strikes, oppresses, and overwhelms a
fresh unofficial visitor with its dismal barrack-like appearance, its
decrepit condition, and the complete absence of any kind of comfort,
external or internal. Even on the brightest spring days it seems
wrapped in a dense shade, and on clear moonlight nights, when the
trees and the little dwelling-houses merged in one blur of shadow
seem plunged in quiet slumber, it alone absurdly and inappropriately
towers, an oppressive mass of stone, above the modest landscape,
spoils the general harmony, and keeps sleepless vigil as though it
could not escape from burdensome memories of past unforgiven
sins. Inside it is like a barn and extremely unattractive. It is strange
to see how readily these elegant lawyers, members of committees,
and marshals of nobility, who in their own homes will make a scene
over the slightest fume from the stove, or stain on the floor, resign
themselves here to whirring ventilation wheels, the disgusting smell
of fumigating candles, and the filthy, forever perspiring walls.
The sitting of the circuit court began between nine and ten. The
programme of the day was promptly entered upon, with noticeable
haste. The cases came on one after another and ended quickly, like
a church service without a choir, so that no mind could form a
complete picture of all this parti-coloured mass of faces, movements,
words, misfortunes, true sayings and lies, all racing by like a river in
flood. . . . By two o’clock a great deal had been done: two prisoners
had been sentenced to service in convict battalions, one of the
privileged class had been sentenced to deprivation of rights and
imprisonment, one had been acquitted, one case had been
adjourned.
At precisely two o’clock the presiding judge announced that the
case “of the peasant Nikolay Harlamov, charged with the murder of
his wife,” would next be heard. The composition of the court
remained the same as it had been for the preceding case, except
that the place of the defending counsel was filled by a new
personage, a beardless young graduate in a coat with bright
buttons. The president gave the order—“Bring in the prisoner!”
But the prisoner, who had been got ready beforehand, was already
walking to his bench. He was a tall, thick-set peasant of about fifty-
five, completely bald, with an apathetic, hairy face and a big red
beard. He was followed by a frail-looking little soldier with a gun.
Just as he was reaching the bench the escort had a trifling
mishap. He stumbled and dropped the gun out of his hands, but
caught it at once before it touched the ground, knocking his knee
violently against the butt end as he did so. A faint laugh was audible
in the audience. Either from the pain or perhaps from shame at his
awkwardness the soldier flushed a dark red.
After the customary questions to the prisoner, the shuffling of the
jury, the calling over and swearing in of the witnesses, the reading
of the charge began. The narrow-chested, pale-faced secretary, far
too thin for his uniform, and with sticking plaster on his check, read
it in a low, thick bass, rapidly like a sacristan, without raising or
dropping his voice, as though afraid of exerting his lungs; he was
seconded by the ventilation wheel whirring indefatigably behind the
judge’s table, and the result was a sound that gave a drowsy,
narcotic character to the stillness of the hall.
The president, a short-sighted man, not old but with an extremely
exhausted face, sat in his armchair without stirring and held his
open hand near his brow as though screening his eyes from the sun.
To the droning of the ventilation wheel and the secretary he
meditated. When the secretary paused for an instant to take breath
on beginning a new page, he suddenly started and looked round at
the court with lustreless eyes, then bent down to the ear of the
judge next to him and asked with a sigh:
“Are you putting up at Demyanov’s, Matvey Petrovitch?”
“Yes, at Demyanov’s,” answered the other, starting too.
“Next time I shall probably put up there too. It’s really impossible
to put up at Tipyakov’s! There’s noise and uproar all night! Knocking,
coughing, children crying. . . . It’s impossible!”
The assistant prosecutor, a fat, well-nourished, dark man with gold
spectacles, with a handsome, well-groomed beard, sat motionless as
a statue, with his cheek propped on his fist, reading Byron’s “Cain.”
His eyes were full of eager attention and his eyebrows rose higher
and higher with wonder. . . . From time to time he dropped back in
his chair, gazed without interest straight before him for a minute,
and then buried himself in his reading again. The council for the
defence moved the blunt end of his pencil about the table and
mused with his head on one side. . . . His youthful face expressed
nothing but the frigid, immovable boredom which is commonly seen
on the face of schoolboys and men on duty who are forced from day
to day to sit in the same place, to see the same faces, the same
walls. He felt no excitement about the speech he was to make, and
indeed what did that speech amount to? On instructions from his
superiors in accordance with long-established routine he would fire it
off before the jurymen, without passion or ardour, feeling that it was
colourless and boring, and then—gallop through the mud and the
rain to the station, thence to the town, shortly to receive instructions
to go off again to some district to deliver another speech. . . . It was
a bore!
At first the prisoner turned pale and coughed nervously into his
sleeve, but soon the stillness, the general monotony and boredom
infected him too. He looked with dull-witted respectfulness at the
judges’ uniforms, at the weary faces of the jurymen, and blinked
calmly. The surroundings and procedure of the court, the
expectation of which had so weighed on his soul while he was
awaiting them in prison, now had the most soothing effect on him.
What he met here was not at all what he could have expected. The
charge of murder hung over him, and yet here he met with neither
threatening faces nor indignant looks nor loud phrases about
retribution nor sympathy for his extraordinary fate; not one of those
who were judging him looked at him with interest or for long. . . .
The dingy windows and walls, the voice of the secretary, the attitude
of the prosecutor were all saturated with official indifference and
produced an atmosphere of frigidity, as though the murderer were
simply an official property, or as though he were not being judged
by living men, but by some unseen machine, set going, goodness
knows how or by whom. . . .
The peasant, reassured, did not understand that the men here
were as accustomed to the dramas and tragedies of life and were as
blunted by the sight of them as hospital attendants are at the sight
of death, and that the whole horror and hopelessness of his position
lay just in this mechanical indifference. It seemed that if he were not
to sit quietly but to get up and begin beseeching, appealing with
tears for their mercy, bitterly repenting, that if he were to die of
despair—it would all be shattered against blunted nerves and the
callousness of custom, like waves against a rock.
When the secretary finished, the president for some reason
passed his hands over the table before him, looked for some time
with his eyes screwed up towards the prisoner, and then asked,
speaking languidly:
 “Prisoner at the bar, do you plead guilty to having murdered your
wife on the evening of the ninth of June?”
“No, sir,” answered the prisoner, getting up and holding his gown
over his chest.
After this the court proceeded hurriedly to the examination of
witnesses. Two peasant women and five men and the village
policeman who had made the enquiry were questioned. All of them,
mud-bespattered, exhausted with their long walk and waiting in the
witnesses’ room, gloomy and dispirited, gave the same evidence.
They testified that Harlamov lived “well” with his old woman, like
anyone else; that he never beat her except when he had had a drop;
that on the ninth of June when the sun was setting the old woman
had been found in the porch with her skull broken; that beside her in
a pool of blood lay an axe. When they looked for Nikolay to tell him
of the calamity he was not in his hut or in the streets. They ran all
over the village, looking for him. They went to all the pothouses and
huts, but could not find him. He had disappeared, and two days later
came of his own accord to the police office, pale, with his clothes
torn, trembling all over. He was bound and put in the lock-up.
“Prisoner,” said the president, addressing Harlamov, “cannot you
explain to the court where you were during the three days following
the murder?”
“I was wandering about the fields. . . . Neither eating nor drinking
. . . .”
“Why did you hide yourself, if it was not you that committed the
murder?”
“I was frightened. . . . I was afraid I might be judged guilty. . . .”
“Aha! . . . Good, sit down!”
The last to be examined was the district doctor who had made a
post-mortem on the old woman. He told the court all that he
remembered of his report at the post-mortem and all that he had
succeeded in thinking of on his way to the court that morning. The
president screwed up his eyes at his new glossy black suit, at his
foppish cravat, at his moving lips; he listened and in his mind the
languid thought seemed to spring up of itself:
“Everyone wears a short jacket nowadays, why has he had his
made long? Why long and not short?”
The circumspect creak of boots was audible behind the president’s
back. It was the assistant prosecutor going up to the table to take
some papers.
“Mihail Vladimirovitch,” said the assistant prosecutor, bending
down to the president’s ear, “amazingly slovenly the way that
Koreisky conducted the investigation. The prisoner’s brother was not
examined, the village elder was not examined, there’s no making
anything out of his description of the hut. . . .”
“It can’t be helped, it can’t be helped,” said the president, sinking
back in his chair. “He’s a wreck . . . dropping to bits!”
“By the way,” whispered the assistant prosecutor, “look at the
audience, in the front row, the third from the right . . . a face like an
actor’s . . . that’s the local Croesus. He has a fortune of something
like fifty thousand.”
“Really? You wouldn’t guess it from his appearance. . . . Well, dear
boy, shouldn’t we have a break?”
“We will finish the case for the prosecution, and then. . . .”
“As you think best. . . . Well?” the president raised his eyes to the
doctor. “So you consider that death was instantaneous?”
“Yes, in consequence of the extent of the injury to the brain
substance. . . .”
When the doctor had finished, the president gazed into the space
between the prosecutor and the counsel for the defence and
suggested:
“Have you any questions to ask?”
The assistant prosecutor shook his head negatively, without lifting
his eyes from “Cain”; the counsel for the defence unexpectedly
stirred and, clearing his throat, asked:
“Tell me, doctor, can you from the dimensions of the wound form
any theory as to . . . as to the mental condition of the criminal? That
is, I mean, does the extent of the injury justify the supposition that
the accused was suffering from temporary aberration?”
The president raised his drowsy indifferent eyes to the counsel for
the defence. The assistant prosecutor tore himself from “Cain,” and
looked at the president. They merely looked, but there was no smile,
no surprise, no perplexity—their faces expressed nothing.
“Perhaps,” the doctor hesitated, “if one considers the force with
which . . . er—er—er . . . the criminal strikes the blow. . . . However,
excuse me, I don’t quite understand your question. . . .”
The counsel for the defence did not get an answer to his question,
and indeed he did not feel the necessity of one. It was clear even to
himself that that question had strayed into his mind and found
utterance simply through the effect of the stillness, the boredom, the
whirring ventilator wheels.
When they had got rid of the doctor the court rose to examine the
“material evidences.” The first thing examined was the full-skirted
coat, upon the sleeve of which there was a dark brownish stain of
blood. Harlamov on being questioned as to the origin of the stain
stated:
“Three days before my old woman’s death Penkov bled his horse.
I was there; I was helping to be sure, and . . . and got smeared with
it. . . .”
 “But Penkov has just given evidence that he does not remember
that you were present at the bleeding. . . .”
“I can’t tell about that.”
“Sit down.”
They proceeded to examine the axe with which the old woman
had been murdered.
“That’s not my axe,” the prisoner declared.
“Whose is it, then?”
“I can’t tell . . . I hadn’t an axe. . . .”
“A peasant can’t get on for a day without an axe. And your
neighbour Ivan Timofeyitch, with whom you mended a sledge, has
given evidence that it is your axe. . . .”
“I can’t say about that, but I swear before God (Harlamov held out
his hand before him and spread out the fingers), before the living
God. And I don’t remember how long it is since I did have an axe of
my own. I did have one like that only a bit smaller, but my son
Prohor lost it. Two years before he went into the army, he drove off
to fetch wood, got drinking with the fellows, and lost it. . . .”
“Good, sit down.”
This systematic distrust and disinclination to hear him probably
irritated and offended Harlamov. He blinked and red patches came
out on his cheekbones.
“I swear in the sight of God,” he went on, craning his neck
forward. “If you don’t believe me, be pleased to ask my son Prohor.
Proshka, what did you do with the axe?” he suddenly asked in a
rough voice, turning abruptly to the soldier escorting him. “Where is
it?”
 It was a painful moment! Everyone seemed to wince and as it
were shrink together. The same fearful, incredible thought flashed
like lightning through every head in the court, the thought of
possibly fatal coincidence, and not one person in the court dared to
look at the soldier’s face. Everyone refused to trust his thought and
believed that he had heard wrong.
“Prisoner, conversation with the guards is forbidden . . .” the
president made haste to say.
No one saw the escort’s face, and horror passed over the hall
unseen as in a mask. The usher of the court got up quietly from his
place and tiptoeing with his hand held out to balance himself went
out of the court. Half a minute later there came the muffled sounds
and footsteps that accompany the change of guard.
All raised their heads and, trying to look as though nothing had
happened, went on with their work. . . .
 BOOTS

A
PIANO-TUNER called Murkin, a close-shaven man with a
yellow face, with a nose stained with snuff, and cotton-wool in
his ears, came out of his hotel-room into the passage, and in
a cracked voice cried: “Semyon! Waiter!”
And looking at his frightened face one might have supposed that
the ceiling had fallen in on him or that he had just seen a ghost in
his room.
“Upon my word, Semyon!” he cried, seeing the attendant running
towards him. “What is the meaning of it? I am a rheumatic, delicate
man and you make me go barefoot! Why is it you don’t give me my
boots all this time? Where are they?”
Semyon went into Murkin’s room, looked at the place where he
was in the habit of putting the boots he had cleaned, and scratched
his head: the boots were not there.
“Where can they be, the damned things?” Semyon brought out. “I
fancy I cleaned them in the evening and put them here. . . . H’m! . .
. Yesterday, I must own, I had a drop. . . . I must have put them in
another room, I suppose. That must be it, Afanasy Yegoritch, they
are in another room! There are lots of boots, and how the devil is
one to know them apart when one is drunk and does not know what
one is doing? . . . I must have taken them in to the lady that’s next
door . . . the actress. . . .”
“And now, if you please, I am to go in to a lady and disturb her all
through you! Here, if you please, through this foolishness I am to
wake up a respectable woman.”
 Sighing and coughing, Murkin went to the door of the next room
and cautiously tapped.
“Who’s there?” he heard a woman’s voice a minute later.
“It’s I!” Murkin began in a plaintive voice, standing in the attitude
of a cavalier addressing a lady of the highest society. “Pardon my
disturbing you, madam, but I am a man in delicate health, rheumatic
. . . . The doctors, madam, have ordered me to keep my feet warm,
especially as I have to go at once to tune the piano at Madame la
Générale Shevelitsyn’s. I can’t go to her barefoot.”
“But what do you want? What piano?”
“Not a piano, madam; it is in reference to boots! Semyon, stupid
fellow, cleaned my boots and put them by mistake in your room. Be
so extremely kind, madam, as to give me my boots!”
There was a sound of rustling, of jumping off the bed and the
flapping of slippers, after which the door opened slightly and a
plump feminine hand flung at Murkin’s feet a pair of boots. The
piano-tuner thanked her and went into his own room.
“Odd . . .” he muttered, putting on the boots, “it seems as though
this is not the right boot. Why, here are two left boots! Both are for
the left foot! I say, Semyon, these are not my boots! My boots have
red tags and no patches on them, and these are in holes and have
no tags.”
Semyon picked up the boots, turned them over several times
before his eyes, and frowned.
“Those are Pavel Alexandritch’s boots,” he grumbled, squinting at
them. He squinted with the left eye.
“What Pavel Alexandritch?”
“The actor; he comes here every Tuesday. . . . He must have put
on yours instead of his own. . . . So I must have put both pairs in
her room, his and yours. Here’s a go!”
“Then go and change them!”
“That’s all right!” sniggered Semyon, “go and change them. . . .
Where am I to find him now? He went off an hour ago. . . . Go and
look for the wind in the fields!”
“Where does he live then?”
“Who can tell? He comes here every Tuesday, and where he lives I
don’t know. He comes and stays the night, and then you may wait
till next Tuesday. . . .”
“There, do you see, you brute, what you have done? Why, what
am I to do now? It is time I was at Madame la Générale
Shevelitsyn’s, you anathema! My feet are frozen!”
“You can change the boots before long. Put on these boots, go
about in them till the evening, and in the evening go to the theatre.
. . . Ask there for Blistanov, the actor. . . . If you don’t care to go to
the theatre, you will have to wait till next Tuesday; he only comes
here on Tuesdays. . . .”
“But why are there two boots for the left foot?” asked the piano-
tuner, picking up the boots with an air of disgust.
“What God has sent him, that he wears. Through poverty . . .
where is an actor to get boots? I said to him ‘What boots, Pavel
Alexandritch! They are a positive disgrace!’ and he said: ‘Hold your
peace,’ says he, ‘and turn pale! In those very boots,’ says he, ‘I have
played counts and princes.’ A queer lot! Artists, that’s the only word
for them! If I were the governor or anyone in command, I would get
all these actors together and clap them all in prison.”
Continually sighing and groaning and knitting his brows, Murkin
drew the two left boots on to his feet, and set off, limping, to
Madame la Générale Shevelitsyn’s. He went about the town all day
long tuning pianos, and all day long it seemed to him that everyone
was looking at his feet and seeing his patched boots with heels worn
down at the sides! Apart from his moral agonies he had to suffer
physically also; the boots gave him a corn.
In the evening he was at the theatre. There was a performance of
Bluebeard. It was only just before the last act, and then only thanks
to the good offices of a man he knew who played a flute in the
orchestra, that he gained admittance behind the scenes. Going to
the men’s dressing-room, he found there all the male performers.
Some were changing their clothes, others were painting their faces,
others were smoking. Bluebeard was standing with King Bobesh,
showing him a revolver.
“You had better buy it,” said Bluebeard. “I bought it at Kursk, a
bargain, for eight roubles, but, there! I will let you have it for six. . .
. A wonderfully good one!”
“Steady. . . . It’s loaded, you know!”
“Can I see Mr. Blistanov?” the piano-tuner asked as he went in.
“I am he!” said Bluebeard, turning to him. “What do you want?”
“Excuse my troubling you, sir,” began the piano-tuner in an
imploring voice, “but, believe me, I am a man in delicate health,
rheumatic. The doctors have ordered me to keep my feet warm . . .”
“But, speaking plainly, what do you want?”
“You see,” said the piano-tuner, addressing Bluebeard. “Er . . . you
stayed last night at Buhteyev’s furnished apartments . . . No. 64 . . .”
“What’s this nonsense?” said King Bobesh with a grin. “My wife is
at No. 64.”
“Your wife, sir? Delighted. . . .” Murkin smiled. “It was she, your
good lady, who gave me this gentleman’s boots. . . . After this
gentleman—” the piano-tuner indicated Blistanov—“had gone away I
missed my boots. . . . I called the waiter, you know, and he said: ‘I
left your boots in the next room!’ By mistake, being in a state of
intoxication, he left my boots as well as yours at 64,” said Murkin,
turning to Blistanov, “and when you left this gentleman’s lady you
put on mine.”
“What are you talking about?” said Blistanov, and he scowled.
“Have you come here to libel me?”
“Not at all, sir—God forbid! You misunderstand me. What am I
talking about? About boots! You did stay the night at No. 64, didn’t
you?”
“When?”
“Last night!”
“Why, did you see me there?”
“No, sir, I didn’t see you,” said Murkin in great confusion, sitting
down and taking off the boots. “I did not see you, but this
gentleman’s lady threw out your boots here to me . . . instead of
mine.”
“What right have you, sir, to make such assertions? I say nothing
about myself, but you are slandering a woman, and in the presence
of her husband, too!”
A fearful hubbub arose behind the scenes. King Bobesh, the
injured husband, suddenly turned crimson and brought his fist down
upon the table with such violence that two actresses in the next
dressing-room felt faint.
“And you believe it?” cried Bluebeard. “You believe this worthless
rascal? O-oh! Would you like me to kill him like a dog? Would you
like it? I will turn him into a beefsteak! I’ll blow his brains out!”
And all the persons who were promenading that evening in the
town park by the Summer theatre describe to this day how just
before the fourth act they saw a man with bare feet, a yellow face,
and terror-stricken eyes dart out of the theatre and dash along the
principal avenue. He was pursued by a man in the costume of
Bluebeard, armed with a revolver. What happened later no one saw.
All that is known is that Murkin was confined to his bed for a
fortnight after his acquaintance with Blistanov, and that to the words
“I am a man in delicate health, rheumatic” he took to adding, “I am
a wounded man. . . .”
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