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being what they are, but the system which makes them so. The mistress, for instance, though shown up in her true baseness, is no more base and no more shown up than thousands of her type are every day to the observant eye. Not one of her actions, expressions or gestures is strained or over coloMred. She has even pathos and a likeability. Chancing to meet her you would find her a cheery, droll and comfortable soul. It is Preobrashenskaja's devilish cunning that has lifted the edge and allowed us to peep beneath at the cauldron-like raging of jealousy and fear.
The War sweeps away the young men. Wassilissa is left standing alone in the half-reaped fields, and sees that now she will be quite alone and without friends. The corn, silver and swiftly undulating in fresh winds, has a beauty and peace where there is suddenly no longer beaut^' and peace. The corn is luminous and ecstatic, but majestic clouds make the sky darker than the earth. The life of the village goes on, and women take on the men's work.
One day Wassily goes to market. He has promised to bring back presents to the famil}'. Night comes w^ith torrential rain, and in the small room the women are weaving. The wife and mistress and women friends have a conspiratorial, uneasy manner. They weave steadily, the looms and treadles creak, and cover their whispering. Anna, sad, dreaming of Ivan, is yet aware of their hostility. Wassily arrives home drenched, and is much fussed over. But Anna slips away.
He has a shawl for his mistress. She puts it on, flirting, unwneldly and enticing, in front of him. But this second shawl . . . she realises is not for her. Her pleasure is short
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