The Sowers By: Henry Seton Merriman (1862-1903)
First Page: THE SOWERS BY HENRY SETON MERRIMAN 1895 CONTENTS CHAP. I. A WAIF ON THE STEPPE II. BY THE VOLGA III. DIPLOMATIC IV. DON QUIXOTE V. THE BARON VI. THE TALLEYRAND CLUB VII. OLD HANDS VIII. SAFE! IX. THE PRINCE X. THE MOSCOW DOCTOR XI. CATRINA XII. AT THORS XIII. UNMASKED XIV. A WIRE PULLER XV. IN A WINTER CITY XVI. THE THIN END XVII. CHARITY XVIII. IN THE CHAMPS ÉLYSÉES XIX. ON THE NEVA XX. AN OFFER OF FRIENDSHIP XXI. A SUSPECTED HOUSE XXII. THE SPIDER AND THE FLY XXIII. A WINTER SCENE XXIV. HOME XXV. OSTERNO XXVI. BLOODHOUNDS XXVII. IN THE WEB XXVIII. IN THE CASTLE OF THORS XXIX. ANGLO RUSSIAN XXX. WOLF! XXXI. A DANGEROUS EXPERIMENT XXXII. A CLOUD XXXIII. THE NET IS DRAWN XXXIV. AN APPEAL XXXV. ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM XXXVI. À TROIS XXXVII. À DEUX XXXVIII. A TALE THAT IS TOLD XXXIX. HUSBAND AND WIFE XL. STÉPAN RETURNS XLI. DUTY XLII. THE STORM BURSTS XLIII. BEHIND THE VEIL XLIV. KISMET THE SOWERS CHAPTER I A WAIF ON THE STEPPE "In this country charity covers no sins!" The speaker finished his remark with a short laugh. He was a big, stout man; his name was Karl Steinmetz, and it is a name well known in the Government of Tver to this day. He spoke jerkily, as stout men do when they ride, and when he had laughed his good natured, half cynical laugh, he closed his lips beneath a huge gray mustache. So far as one could judge from the action of a square and deeply indented chin, his mouth was expressive at that time and possibly at all times of a humorous resignation. No reply was vouchsafed to him, and Karl Steinmetz bumped along on his little Cossack horse, which was stretched out at a gallop. Evening was drawing on. It was late in October, and a cold wind was driving from the north west across a plain which for sheer dismalness of aspect may give points to Sahara and beat that abode of mental depression without an effort. So far as the eye could reach there was no habitation to break the line of horizon. A few stunted fir trees, standing in a position of permanent deprecation, with their backs turned, as it were, to the north, stood sparsely on the plain. The grass did not look good to eat, though the Cossack horses would no doubt have liked to try it. The road seemed to have been drawn by some Titan engineer with a ruler from horizon to horizon. Away to the south there was a forest of the same stunted pines, where a few charcoal burners and resin tappers eked out a forlorn and obscure existence. There are a score of such settlements, such gloomy forests, dotted over this plain of Tver, which covers an area of nearly two hundred square miles. The remainder of it is pasture, where miserable cattle and a few horses, many sheep and countless pigs, seek their food pessimistically from God. Steinmetz looked round over this cheerless prospect with a twinkle of amused resignation in his blue eyes, as if this creation were a little practical joke, which he, Karl Steinmetz, appreciated at its proper worth. The whole scene was suggestive of immense distance, of countless miles in all directions a suggestion not conveyed by any scene in England, by few in Europe. In our crowded island we have no conception of a thousand miles. How can we? Few of us have travelled five hundred at a stretch. The land through which these men were riding is the home of great distances Russia. They rode, moreover, as if they knew it as if they had ridden for days and were aware of more days in front of them. The companion of Karl Steinmetz looked like an Englishman. He was young and fair and quiet. He looked like a youthful athlete from Oxford or Cambridge a simple minded person who had jumped higher or run quicker than anybody else without conceit, taking himself, like St. Paul, as he found himself and giving the credit elsewhere. And one finds that, after all, in this world of deceit, we are most of us that which we look like. You, madam, look thirty five to a day, although your figure is still youthful, your hair untouched by gray, your face unseamed by care... Continue reading book >>

The Sowers By: Henry Seton Merriman (1862-1903)

First Page:

THE SOWERS

HENRY SETON MERRIMAN

1895

CONTENTS

CHAP.

I. A WAIF ON THE STEPPE

II. BY THE VOLGA

III. DIPLOMATIC

IV. DON QUIXOTE

V. THE BARON

VI. THE TALLEYRAND CLUB

VII. OLD HANDS

VIII. SAFE!

IX. THE PRINCE

X. THE MOSCOW DOCTOR

XI. CATRINA

XII. AT THORS

XIII. UNMASKED

XIV. A WIRE PULLER

XV. IN A WINTER CITY

XVI. THE THIN END

XVII. CHARITY

XVIII. IN THE CHAMPS ÉLYSÉES

XIX. ON THE NEVA

XX. AN OFFER OF FRIENDSHIP

XXI. A SUSPECTED HOUSE

XXII. THE SPIDER AND THE FLY

XXIII. A WINTER SCENE

XXIV. HOME

XXV. OSTERNO

XXVI. BLOODHOUNDS

XXVII. IN THE WEB

XXVIII. IN THE CASTLE OF THORS

XXIX. ANGLO RUSSIAN

XXX. WOLF!

XXXI. A DANGEROUS EXPERIMENT

XXXII. A CLOUD

XXXIII. THE NET IS DRAWN

XXXIV. AN APPEAL

XXXV. ON THE EDGE OF THE STORM

XXXVI. À TROIS

XXXVII. À DEUX

XXXVIII. A TALE THAT IS TOLD

XXXIX. HUSBAND AND WIFE

XL. STÉPAN RETURNS

XLI. DUTY

XLII. THE STORM BURSTS

XLIII. BEHIND THE VEIL

XLIV. KISMET

THE SOWERS

CHAPTER I

A WAIF ON THE STEPPE

"In this country charity covers no sins!"

The speaker finished his remark with a short laugh. He was a big, stout man; his name was Karl Steinmetz, and it is a name well known in the Government of Tver to this day. He spoke jerkily, as stout men do when they ride, and when he had laughed his good natured, half cynical laugh, he closed his lips beneath a huge gray mustache. So far as one could judge from the action of a square and deeply indented chin, his mouth was expressive at that time and possibly at all times of a humorous resignation. No reply was vouchsafed to him, and Karl Steinmetz bumped along on his little Cossack horse, which was stretched out at a gallop.

Evening was drawing on. It was late in October, and a cold wind was driving from the north west across a plain which for sheer dismalness of aspect may give points to Sahara and beat that abode of mental depression without an effort. So far as the eye could reach there was no habitation to break the line of horizon. A few stunted fir trees, standing in a position of permanent deprecation, with their backs turned, as it were, to the north, stood sparsely on the plain. The grass did not look good to eat, though the Cossack horses would no doubt have liked to try it. The road seemed to have been drawn by some Titan engineer with a ruler from horizon to horizon.

Away to the south there was a forest of the same stunted pines, where a few charcoal burners and resin tappers eked out a forlorn and obscure existence. There are a score of such settlements, such gloomy forests, dotted over this plain of Tver, which covers an area of nearly two hundred square miles. The remainder of it is pasture, where miserable cattle and a few horses, many sheep and countless pigs, seek their food pessimistically from God.

Steinmetz looked round over this cheerless prospect with a twinkle of amused resignation in his blue eyes, as if this creation were a little practical joke, which he, Karl Steinmetz, appreciated at its proper worth. The whole scene was suggestive of immense distance, of countless miles in all directions a suggestion not conveyed by any scene in England, by few in Europe. In our crowded island we have no conception of a thousand miles. How can we? Few of us have travelled five hundred at a stretch. The land through which these men were riding is the home of great distances Russia. They rode, moreover, as if they knew it as if they had ridden for days and were aware of more days in front of them.

The companion of Karl Steinmetz looked like an Englishman. He was young and fair and quiet. He looked like a youthful athlete from Oxford or Cambridge a simple minded person who had jumped higher or run quicker than anybody else without conceit, taking himself, like St. Paul, as he found himself and giving the credit elsewhere. And one finds that, after all, in this world of deceit, we are most of us that which we look like. You, madam, look thirty five to a day, although your figure is still youthful, your hair untouched by gray, your face unseamed by care... Continue reading book >>

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