ough to
mock him his whole tombstone is adorned with verses. . . . There
is someone coming!"

A man in a shabby overcoat, with a shaven, bluish-crimson countenance,
overtook us. He had a bottle under his arm and a parcel of sausage
was sticking out of his pocket.

"Where is the grave of Mushkin, the actor?" he asked us in a husky
voice.

We conducted him towards the grave of Mushkin, the actor, who had
died two years before.

"You are a government clerk, I suppose?" we asked him.

"No, an actor. Nowadays it is difficult to distinguish actors from
clerks of the Consistory. No doubt you have noticed that. . . .
That's typical, but it's not very flattering for the government
clerk."

It was with difficulty that we found the actor's grave. It had
sunken, was overgrown with weeds, and had lost all appearance of a
grave. A cheap, little cross that had begun to rot, and was covered
with green moss blackened by the frost, had an air of aged dejection
and looked, as it were, ailing.

". . . forgotten friend Mushkin . . ." we read.

Time had erased the _never_, and corrected the falsehood of man.

"A subscription for a monument to him was got up among actors and
journalists, but they drank up the money, the dear fellows . . ."
sighed the actor, bowing down to the ground and touching the wet
earth with his knees and his cap.

"How do you mean, drank it?"

That's very simple. They collected the money, published a paragraph
about it in the newspaper, and spent it on drink. . . . I don't say
it to blame them. . . . I hope it did them good, dear things! Good
health to them, and eternal memory to him."

"Drinking means bad health, and eternal memory nothing but sadness.
God give us remembrance for a time, but eternal memory--what
next!"

"You are right there. Mushkin was a well-known man, you see; there
were a dozen wreaths on the coffin, and he is already forgotten.
Those to whom he was dear have forgotten him, but those to whom he
did harm remember him. I, for instance, shall never, never forget
him, for I got nothing but harm from him. I have no love for the
deceased."

"What harm did he do you?"

"Great harm," sighed the actor, and an expression of bitter resentment
overspread his face. "To me he was a villain and a scoundrel--the
Kingdom of Heaven be his! It was through looking at him and listening
to him that I became an actor. By his art he lured me from the
parental home, he enticed me with the excitement