“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 excitements of an actor’s life, promised me all sorts of things—and brought tears and sorrow. … An actor’s lot is a bitter one! I have lost youth, sobriety, and the divine semblance. … I haven’t a half- penny to bless myself with, my shoes are down at heel, my breeches are frayed and patched, and my face looks as if it had been gnawed by dogs. … My head’s full of freethinking and nonsense. … He robbed me of my faith—my evil genius! It would have been something if I had had talent, but as it is, I am ruined for nothing. … It’s cold, honoured friends. … Won’t you have some? There is enough for all. … B-r-r-r. … Let us drink to the rest of his soul! Though I don’t like him and though he’s dead, he was the only one I had in the world, the only one. It’s the last time I shall visit him. … The doctors say I shall soon die of drink, so here I have come to say goodbye. One must forgive one’s enemies.”

We left the actor to converse with the dead Mushkin and went on. It began drizzling a fine cold rain.

At the turning into the principal avenue strewn with gravel, we met a funeral procession. Four bearers, wearing white calico sashes and muddy high boots with leaves sticking on them, carried the brown coffin. It was getting dark and they hastened, stumbling and shaking their burden. …

“We’ve only been walking here for a couple of hours and that is the third brought in already. … Shall we go home, friends?”