From the letterpress which accompanied the drawings I had learned that in Prague, London, and Paris there are no open drains in the middle of the city, or dirty gulleys choked with refuse. There were straight, broad streets, and different kinds of houses and churches. There they did not have a six-months-long winter, which shuts people up in their houses, and no great fast, when only fermenting cabbage, pickled mushrooms, oatmeal, and potatoes cooked in disgusting vegetable oil can be eaten. During the great fast books are forbidden, and they took away the "Review of Painting" from me, and that empty, meager life again closed about me. Now that I could compare it with the life pictured in books, it seemed more wretched and ugly than ever. When I could read I felt well and strong; I worked well and quickly, and had an object in life. The sooner I was finished, the more time I should have for reading. Deprived of books, I became lazy, and drowsy, and became a victim to forgetfulness, to which I had been a stranger before. I remember that even during those dull days something mysterious happened. One evening when we had all gone to bed the bell of the cathedral suddenly rang out, arousing every one in the house at once. Half-dressed people rushed to the windows, asking one another: "Is it a fire? Is that the alarm-bell?" In the other flats one could hear the same bustle going on. Doors slammed; some one ran across the yard with a horse ready saddled. The old mistress shrieked that the cathedral had been robbed, but the master stopped her. "Not so loud, Mamasha! Can't you hear that that is not an alarm-bell?" "Then the archbishop is dead." Victorushka climbed down from the loft, dressed himself, and muttered: "I know what has happened. I know!" The master sent me to the attic to see if the sky was red. I ran up-stairs and climbed to the roof through the dormer-window. There was no red light in the sky. The bell tolled slowly in the quiet frosty air. The town lay sleepily on the earth. In the darkness invisible people ran about, scrunching the snow under their feet. Sledges squealed, and the bell wailed ominously. I returned to the sitting-room. "There is no red light in the sky." "Foo, you! Good gracious!" said the master, who had on his greatcoat and cap. He pulled up his collar and began to put his feet into his goloshes undecidedly. The mistress begged him: "Don't go out! Don't go out!" "Rubbish!" Victorushka, who was also dressed, teased them all. "I know what has happened." When the brothers went out into the street the women, having sent me to get the samovar ready, rushed to the window. But the master rang the street door-bell almost directly, ran up the steps silently, shut the door, and said thickly: "The Czar has been murdered!" "How murdered?" exclaimed the old lady. "He has been murdered. An officer told me so. What will happen now?" Victorushka rang, and as he unwillingly took off his coat said angrily: