elieved and a desire would come over him to go to some dear friend and
question gently:

"Our life--is this life? Eh, my dearest, is this life?"

And then suddenly it would appear laughable to him and he would feel
like mussing up his hair, putting forth his knee and thrusting out his
chest as though to receive heavy blows; saying: "Here, strike!"

He did not tell anybody, not even his nearest comrades, about his "joy
of all the afflicted" and it was as though he himself did not know about
it,--so deeply was it hidden in his soul. He recalled it but rarely and
cautiously.

Now when the terror of the insoluble mystery, which appeared so plainly
before him, enveloped him completely, even as the water in high-flood
covers the willow twigs on the shore,--a desire came upon him to pray. He
felt like kneeling, but he was ashamed of the soldier and, folding his
arms on his chest, he whispered softly:

"The joy of all the afflicted!" And he repeated tenderly, in anguish:
"Joy of all the afflicted, come to me, help Vaska Kashirin."

"Long ago, while he was yet in his first term at the university and used
to go off on a spree sometimes, before he had made the acquaintance of
Werner and before he had entered the organization, he used then to call
himself half-boastingly, half-pityingly, "Vaska Kashirin,"--and now for
some reason or other he suddenly felt like calling himself by the same
name again. But the words had a dead and toneless sound. "The joy of all
the afflicted!"

Something stirred. It was as though some one's calm and mournful
image had flashed up in the distance and died out quietly, without
illuminating the deathly gloom. The wound-up clock in the steeple
struck. The soldier in the corridor made a noise with his gun or with
his saber and he yawned, slowly, at intervals.

"Joy of all the afflicted! You are silent! Will you not say anything to
Vaska Kashirin?"

He smiled patiently and waited. All was empty within his soul and
about him. And the calm, mournful image did not reappear. He recalled,
painfully and unnecessarily, wax candles burning; the priest in his
vestments; the ikon painted on the wall. He recalled his father, bending
and stretching himself, praying and bowing to the ground, while looking
sidewise to see whether Vaska was praying, or whether he was planning
some mischief. And a feeling of still greater terror came over Vasily
than before the prayer.

Everything now disappeared.

Madness ca