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PROBLEMS
10.1. In the process shown in Fig. P10.1, the concentration of salt leaving the second tank
is controlled using a proportional controller by adding concentrated solution through
a control valve. The following data apply:
a) The controlled concentration is to be 0.1 lb salt/ft 3 solution. The inlet
concentration ci is always less than 0.1 lb/ft 3 .
b) The concentration of concentrated salt solution is 30 lb salt/ft 3 solution.
c) Transducer: the output of the transducer varies linearly from 3 to 15 psig as the
concentration varies from 0.05 to 0.15 lb/ft 3 .
d) Controller: the controller is a pneumatic, direct-acting, proportional controller.
e) Control valve: as valve-top pressure varies from 3 to 15 psig, the flow through
the control valve varies linearly from 0 to 0.005 cfm.
f) It takes 30 sec for the solution leaving the second tank to reach the transducer at
the end of the pipe.
Draw a block diagram of the control system. Place in each block the appropriate transfer
function. Calculate all the constants and give the units.

Figure P10.1
Solution 10.1

(5.23)
Use the process shown in Figs. 10.3 and 10.4 for Problems 10.2-10.5

Figure 10.3 Block diagram for a chemical-reactor control system.

An equivalent diagram is shown in Fig. 10.4 in which some of the blocks have been
combined.

Figure 10.4 Equivalent block diagram for a chemical-reactor control system ( CR is now
in concentration units).
10.2 Verify the values of τ 1 and τ 2
Solution 10.2
V
τ = residence time for each tank = , (time)
F
V τ
τ 1 = effective time constant for tank 1 = = , (time)
F + k1V 1 + k1τ
τ 3 3
τ1 = = = = 2 min
1 + k1τ 1 + *3 1.5
1
6
τ 3 3
τ2 = = = = 1min
1 + k2τ 1 + 2 *3 3
3

10.3 Determine the steady state value of the controller output, ps in mA.
From Eq(10.10), the steady state pressure signal to the control valve is 10.5psig:
( 20mA − 4mA) = 14mA is the signal to the transducer from the controller.
(10.5 psig )
(15 psig − 3 psig )
10.4 Use Simulink to determine simulate the open loop response of the two chemical
reactors to a step change in the feed concentration, C0, from 0.1 lbmole A/ft3 to 0.25
lbmole A/ft3.

0.67 0.333
2s+1 s+1
Step Transfer Fcn Transfer Fcn 1
Add Scope

0.0244

C2 steady state
10.5 The open loop process has an upset such that the flow rate to the process
instantaneously rises to 120CFM (from the original 100CFM). How does the open
loop block diagram change? Plot the outlet concentration of A both reactors as a
function of time.

Solution
Assuming the temperatures all stay the same, the increased flow rate changes the time
constants in the two reactors. The reduced residence time means less conversion, hence
the concentration of A exiting the 2 reactors will increase.

dC1 1 1 Fnew
τ 1new + C1 = C0 + M (1)
dt (1+ k1τ new ) (1+ k1τ new )
dC2 ⎡ 1 ⎤
τ 2 new + C2 = ⎢ ⎥ C1 (2)
dt ⎣1+ k2τ new ⎦
V 300 ft 3
τ new = = = 2.5 min
Fnew 120CFM
V τ new 2.5
τ 1new = = = = 1.765 min (was 2min)
Fnew + k1V 1 + k1τ new ⎛1⎞
1 + ⎜ ⎟ 2.5
⎝6⎠
V τ new 2.5
τ 2 new = = = = 0.9375 min (was 1min)
Fnew + k2V 1 + k2τ new ⎛2⎞
1 + ⎜ ⎟ (2.5)
⎝3⎠
Block diagram is essentially the same, except time constants are decreased
and the initial steady states are different... they are they steady state concentrations
from the previous conditions: C1 (0) = 0.0733 and C2 (0) = 0.0244.
Using (1) and (2) above:
dC
1.765 1 + C1 = 0.706(0.1) + 0.00588(1) C0 = 0.1 and M=1
dt
dC
0.9375 2 + C2 = 0.375C1
dt
Solving using MATLAB, using an m-file:

function CPRIME=prob10_5(t,C)
CPRIME(1,1)=((0.0706+0.00588)-C(1))/1.765;
CPRIME(2,1)=(0.375*C(1)-C(2))/0.9375;

[t,C]=ode45('prob10_5',[0,10],[0.0733 0.0244]);
plot(t,C)
 0.08

0.07

0.06
Conc A

0.05

0.04

0.03

0.02
0 1 2 3 4 5 6 7 8 9 10
Tim e

C =

0.0733 0.0244
0.0737 0.0251
0.0741 0.0257
0.0744 0.0262
0.0747 0.0266
0.0749 0.0270
0.0751 0.0272
0.0753 0.0275
… …..
0.0765 0.0287
0.0765 0.0287
0.0765 0.0287
0.0765 0.0287
0.0765 0.0287
0.0765 0.0287
0.0765 0.0287
0.0765 0.0287
Using Simulink:

dC1/dt 1 C1
s C1
IC=0.0733

Scope

0.0706 +0.00588 1/1.765

Add
Gain
Constant

0.375

Gain 1

1 1/0.9375
s C2 C2
Add 1
IC=0.0244 Gain 2

Same
solution.
10.6 Two isothermal stirred tank reactors are connected by a long pipe that acts as a pure
time delay between the two tanks (no reaction takes place in the pipe). CSTR #1 is
at a higher temperature than CSTR #2, but both temperatures remain constant.
Assume constant throughputs and holdups (volumes) and a first order, irreversible
reaction taking place in each CSTR (AÆ B). The flow rate through the system is 4
ft3/min and the delay time in the pipe is 30 seconds. The inlet concentration to
CSTR #1 is initially at steady state at 1 lbmole/ft3 and is increased at time zero
through a step change to 2 lbmole/ft3.
a) Draw the block diagram for the process, be sure to include all necessary constants.
b) Use Simulink to plot the exit concentration of A from each of the reactors.
c) Use Simulink to plot the exit concentration of B from each of the reactors.

DATA
CSTR #1 CSTR #2
Rate Constant (min-1) 0.3 0.15
Volume (ft3) 25 15

Reactor
Reactor Dead Time = 30 sec #2
#1
 0.348 Ca1' 0.64
2.17 s+1 2.4s+1 Ca2'
Step CSTR #1 Transport CSTR #2
Ca1' Delay

0.223

0.348 Initial Ca 2
Ca1 Ca2
Inital Ca 1

Cb1
Scope

This section calculates the total molar concentration

if there is no reaction , k=0. To get Cb 's we subtract Ca 's from
their corresponding total molar concentration .
Cb2

1 1
6.25 s+1 3.75 s+1
Step 1 CSTR #3 Transport CSTR #4
Delay 1

1 Initial Total Molar

Conc in Tk 2 Total Molar Coc out of Tk 2
Initial Total Molar
Conc in Tk 1
Total Molar Conc out of Tk 1
Key:
Yellow = CA2
Magenta= CA1
Red= CB1
Blue= CB2
Green= C2Total
Turquoise= C1Total
Another way to solve using Simulink:
dC
FC A0 − FC A1 − k1V1C A1 = V1 A1 (1)
dt
C AD = C A1u (t − τ D ) (2)
dC A2
FC AD − FC A2 − k2V2C A2 = V2 (3)
dt
Rearranging (1):
dC A1 F ⎛F ⎞
= C A0 − ⎜ + k1 ⎟ C A1 (1')
dt V1 ⎝ V1 ⎠
dC A1 4 ⎛ 4 ⎞
= C A0 − ⎜ + 0.3 ⎟ C A1
dt 25 ⎝25 ⎠
0.46

Rearranging (2):
dC A 2 F ⎛F ⎞
= C A0 − ⎜ + k2 ⎟ C A 2 (1')
dt V2 ⎝ V2 ⎠
dC A 2 4 ⎛ 4 ⎞
= C A0 − ⎜ + 0.15 ⎟ C A 2 (2')
dt 15
N ⎝
15 ⎠
0.267 0.417

Initial Steady States:

C A0 (0− ) = 1
From (1'): (4)(1) − 4C A1 (0) − (0.3)(25)C A1 (0) C A1 (0) = 0.348
CB1 (0) = 0.652 since CB1 (0) + C A1 (0) = 1.0
Now at steady-state, C A 2 = C AD since at SS the concentration entering the pipe equals
the concentration leaving the pipe.
From (2'): (0.267)(0.348) − (0.417)C A2 (0) C A2 (0) = 0.223
CB 2 (0) = 0.777

Programming on Simulink:
 dCa 1/dt

1 Ca1
s 0.46

Integrator
Gain

4/25

Constant

Transport
Delay

0.348

Ca1o
Scope 2

dCa 1/dt

1 Cb1
s 4/25

Integrator 1
Gain 1

Cb1 0.3

Gain 2
0.267

Gain 3

Transport
Delay 1
0.652

1 Ca2 Cb 10
s 0.417

Integrator 2 0.223
Gain 4

Ca2 initial

0.267

Cb2 Gain 5
Cb2

1
s
0.777
Integrator 3 0.15

Gain 6 Cb2 initial1

Key:
Red = CA2
Yellow = CA1
Magenta= CB1
Green= CB2
Blue= C2Total
Turquoise= C1Total

Same results as previously.

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uneasy weight were gradually slipping off his shoulders. They had
forgiven him; he was free! A gust of joy sprang up within him and
sent a sweet chill to his heart. He longed to breathe, to move swiftly,
to live! Glancing at the street lamps and the black sky, he
remembered that Von Burst was celebrating his name-day that
evening at the “Bear,” and again a rush of joy flooded his soul. . . .
“I am going!” he decided.
But then he remembered he had not a farthing, that the
companions he was going to would despise him at once for his
empty pockets. He must get hold of some money, come what may!
“Uncle, lend me a hundred roubles,” he said to Ivan Markovitch.
His uncle, surprised, looked into his face and backed against a
lamp-post.
“Give it to me,” said Sasha, shifting impatiently from one foot to
the other and beginning to pant. “Uncle, I entreat you, give me a
hundred roubles.”
His face worked; he trembled, and seemed on the point of
attacking his uncle. . . .
“Won’t you?” he kept asking, seeing that his uncle was still
amazed and did not understand. “Listen. If you don’t, I’ll give myself
up tomorrow! I won’t let you pay the IOU! I’ll present another false
note tomorrow!”
Petrified, muttering something incoherent in his horror, Ivan
Markovitch took a hundred-rouble note out of his pocket-book and
gave it to Sasha. The young man took it and walked rapidly away
from him. . . .
Taking a sledge, Sasha grew calmer, and felt a rush of joy within
him again. The “rights of youth” of which kind-hearted Ivan
Markovitch had spoken at the family council woke up and asserted
themselves. Sasha pictured the drinking-party before him, and,
among the bottles, the women, and his friends, the thought flashed
through his mind:
“Now I see that I am a criminal; yes, I am a criminal.”
 THE KISS

A
T eight o’clock on the evening of the twentieth of May all the
six batteries of the N—— Reserve Artillery Brigade halted for
the night in the village of Myestetchki on their way to camp.
When the general commotion was at its height, while some officers
were busily occupied around the guns, while others, gathered
together in the square near the church enclosure, were listening to
the quartermasters, a man in civilian dress, riding a strange horse,
came into sight round the church. The little dun-coloured horse with
a good neck and a short tail came, moving not straight forward, but
as it were sideways, with a sort of dance step, as though it were
being lashed about the legs. When he reached the officers the man
on the horse took off his hat and said:
“His Excellency Lieutenant-General von Rabbek invites the
gentlemen to drink tea with him this minute. . . .”
The horse turned, danced, and retired sideways; the messenger
raised his hat once more, and in an instant disappeared with his
strange horse behind the church.
“What the devil does it mean?” grumbled some of the officers,
dispersing to their quarters. “One is sleepy, and here this Von
Rabbek with his tea! We know what tea means.”
The officers of all the six batteries remembered vividly an incident
of the previous year, when during manoeuvres they, together with
the officers of a Cossack regiment, were in the same way invited to
tea by a count who had an estate in the neighbourhood and was a
retired army officer: the hospitable and genial count made much of
them, fed them, and gave them drink, refused to let them go to their
quarters in the village and made them stay the night. All that, of
course, was very nice—nothing better could be desired, but the
worst of it was, the old army officer was so carried away by the
pleasure of the young men’s company that till sunrise he was telling
the officers anecdotes of his glorious past, taking them over the
house, showing them expensive pictures, old engravings, rare guns,
reading them autograph letters from great people, while the weary
and exhausted officers looked and listened, longing for their beds
and yawning in their sleeves; when at last their host let them go, it
was too late for sleep.
Might not this Von Rabbek be just such another? Whether he were
or not, there was no help for it. The officers changed their uniforms,
brushed themselves, and went all together in search of the
gentleman’s house. In the square by the church they were told they
could get to His Excellency’s by the lower path—going down behind
the church to the river, going along the bank to the garden, and
there an avenue would taken them to the house; or by the upper
way— straight from the church by the road which, half a mile from
the village, led right up to His Excellency’s granaries. The officers
decided to go by the upper way.
“What Von Rabbek is it?” they wondered on the way. “Surely not
the one who was in command of the N—— cavalry division at
Plevna?”
“No, that was not Von Rabbek, but simply Rabbe and no ‘von.’”
“What lovely weather!”
At the first of the granaries the road divided in two: one branch
went straight on and vanished in the evening darkness, the other led
to the owner’s house on the right. The officers turned to the right
and began to speak more softly. . . . On both sides of the road
stretched stone granaries with red roofs, heavy and sullen-looking,
very much like barracks of a district town. Ahead of them gleamed
the windows of the manor-house.
“A good omen, gentlemen,” said one of the officers. “Our setter is
the foremost of all; no doubt he scents game ahead of us! . . .”
 Lieutenant Lobytko, who was walking in front, a tall and stalwart
fellow, though entirely without moustache (he was over five-and-
twenty, yet for some reason there was no sign of hair on his round,
well-fed face), renowned in the brigade for his peculiar faculty for
divining the presence of women at a distance, turned round and
said:
“Yes, there must be women here; I feel that by instinct.”
On the threshold the officers were met by Von Rabbek himself, a
comely-looking man of sixty in civilian dress. Shaking hands with his
guests, he said that he was very glad and happy to see them, but
begged them earnestly for God’s sake to excuse him for not asking
them to stay the night; two sisters with their children, some
brothers, and some neighbours, had come on a visit to him, so that
he had not one spare room left.
The General shook hands with every one, made his apologies, and
smiled, but it was evident by his face that he was by no means so
delighted as their last year’s count, and that he had invited the
officers simply because, in his opinion, it was a social obligation to
do so. And the officers themselves, as they walked up the softly
carpeted stairs, as they listened to him, felt that they had been
invited to this house simply because it would have been awkward
not to invite them; and at the sight of the footmen, who hastened to
light the lamps in the entrance below and in the anteroom above,
they began to feel as though they had brought uneasiness and
discomfort into the house with them. In a house in which two sisters
and their children, brothers, and neighbours were gathered together,
probably on account of some family festivity, or event, how could the
presence of nineteen unknown officers possibly be welcome?
At the entrance to the drawing-room the officers were met by a
tall, graceful old lady with black eyebrows and a long face, very
much like the Empress Eugénie. Smiling graciously and majestically,
she said she was glad and happy to see her guests, and apologized
that her husband and she were on this occasion unable to invite
messieurs les officiers to stay the night. From her beautiful majestic
smile, which instantly vanished from her face every time she turned
away from her guests, it was evident that she had seen numbers of
officers in her day, that she was in no humour for them now, and if
she invited them to her house and apologized for not doing more, it
was only because her breeding and position in society required it of
her.
When the officers went into the big dining-room, there were about
a dozen people, men and ladies, young and old, sitting at tea at the
end of a long table. A group of men was dimly visible behind their
chairs, wrapped in a haze of cigar smoke; and in the midst of them
stood a lanky young man with red whiskers, talking loudly, with a
lisp, in English. Through a door beyond the group could be seen a
light room with pale blue furniture.
“Gentlemen, there are so many of you that it is impossible to
introduce you all!” said the General in a loud voice, trying to sound
very cheerful. “Make each other’s acquaintance, gentlemen, without
any ceremony!”
The officers—some with very serious and even stern faces, others
with forced smiles, and all feeling extremely awkward—somehow
made their bows and sat down to tea.
The most ill at ease of them all was Ryabovitch—a little officer in
spectacles, with sloping shoulders, and whiskers like a lynx’s. While
some of his comrades assumed a serious expression, while others
wore forced smiles, his face, his lynx-like whiskers, and spectacles
seemed to say: “I am the shyest, most modest, and most
undistinguished officer in the whole brigade!” At first, on going into
the room and sitting down to the table, he could not fix his attention
on any one face or object. The faces, the dresses, the cut-glass
decanters of brandy, the steam from the glasses, the moulded
cornices—all blended in one general impression that inspired in
Ryabovitch alarm and a desire to hide his head. Like a lecturer
making his first appearance before the public, he saw everything
that was before his eyes, but apparently only had a dim
understanding of it (among physiologists this condition, when the
subject sees but does not understand, is called psychical blindness).
After a little while, growing accustomed to his surroundings,
Ryabovitch saw clearly and began to observe. As a shy man, unused
to society, what struck him first was that in which he had always
been deficient—namely, the extraordinary boldness of his new
acquaintances. Von Rabbek, his wife, two elderly ladies, a young
lady in a lilac dress, and the young man with the red whiskers, who
was, it appeared, a younger son of Von Rabbek, very cleverly, as
though they had rehearsed it beforehand, took seats between the
officers, and at once got up a heated discussion in which the visitors
could not help taking part. The lilac young lady hotly asserted that
the artillery had a much better time than the cavalry and the
infantry, while Von Rabbek and the elderly ladies maintained the
opposite. A brisk interchange of talk followed. Ryabovitch watched
the lilac young lady who argued so hotly about what was unfamiliar
and utterly uninteresting to her, and watched artificial smiles come
and go on her face.
Von Rabbek and his family skilfully drew the officers into the
discussion, and meanwhile kept a sharp lookout over their glasses
and mouths, to see whether all of them were drinking, whether all
had enough sugar, why some one was not eating cakes or not
drinking brandy. And the longer Ryabovitch watched and listened,
the more he was attracted by this insincere but splendidly disciplined
family.
After tea the officers went into the drawing-room. Lieutenant
Lobytko’s instinct had not deceived him. There were a great number
of girls and young married ladies. The “setter” lieutenant was soon
standing by a very young, fair girl in a black dress, and, bending
down to her jauntily, as though leaning on an unseen sword, smiled
and shrugged his shoulders coquettishly. He probably talked very
interesting nonsense, for the fair girl looked at his well-fed face
condescendingly and asked indifferently, “Really?” And from that
uninterested “Really?” the setter, had he been intelligent, might have
concluded that she would never call him to heel.
The piano struck up; the melancholy strains of a valse floated out
of the wide open windows, and every one, for some reason,
remembered that it was spring, a May evening. Every one was
conscious of the fragrance of roses, of lilac, and of the young leaves
of the poplar. Ryabovitch, in whom the brandy he had drunk made
itself felt, under the influence of the music stole a glance towards
the window, smiled, and began watching the movements of the
women, and it seemed to him that the smell of roses, of poplars,
and lilac came not from the garden, but from the ladies’ faces and
dresses.
Von Rabbek’s son invited a scraggy-looking young lady to dance,
and waltzed round the room twice with her. Lobytko, gliding over the
parquet floor, flew up to the lilac young lady and whirled her away.
Dancing began. . . . Ryabovitch stood near the door among those
who were not dancing and looked on. He had never once danced in
his whole life, and he had never once in his life put his arm round
the waist of a respectable woman. He was highly delighted that a
man should in the sight of all take a girl he did not know round the
waist and offer her his shoulder to put her hand on, but he could not
imagine himself in the position of such a man. There were times
when he envied the boldness and swagger of his companions and
was inwardly wretched; the consciousness that he was timid, that he
was round-shouldered and uninteresting, that he had a long waist
and lynx-like whiskers, had deeply mortified him, but with years he
had grown used to this feeling, and now, looking at his comrades
dancing or loudly talking, he no longer envied them, but only felt
touched and mournful.
When the quadrille began, young Von Rabbek came up to those
who were not dancing and invited two officers to have a game at
billiards. The officers accepted and went with him out of the
drawing-room. Ryabovitch, having nothing to do and wishing to take
part in the general movement, slouched after them. From the big
drawing-room they went into the little drawing-room, then into a
narrow corridor with a glass roof, and thence into a room in which
on their entrance three sleepy-looking footmen jumped up quickly
from the sofa. At last, after passing through a long succession of
rooms, young Von Rabbek and the officers came into a small room
where there was a billiard-table. They began to play.
Ryabovitch, who had never played any game but cards, stood near
the billiard-table and looked indifferently at the players, while they in
unbuttoned coats, with cues in their hands, stepped about, made
puns, and kept shouting out unintelligible words.
The players took no notice of him, and only now and then one of
them, shoving him with his elbow or accidentally touching him with
the end of his cue, would turn round and say “Pardon!” Before the
first game was over he was weary of it, and began to feel he was
not wanted and in the way. . . . He felt disposed to return to the
drawing-room, and he went out.
On his way back he met with a little adventure. When he had
gone half-way he noticed he had taken a wrong turning. He
distinctly remembered that he ought to meet three sleepy footmen
on his way, but he had passed five or six rooms, and those sleepy
figures seemed to have vanished into the earth. Noticing his
mistake, he walked back a little way and turned to the right; he
found himself in a little dark room which he had not seen on his way
to the billiard-room. After standing there a little while, he resolutely
opened the first door that met his eyes and walked into an
absolutely dark room. Straight in front could be seen the crack in the
doorway through which there was a gleam of vivid light; from the
other side of the door came the muffled sound of a melancholy
mazurka. Here, too, as in the drawing-room, the windows were wide
open and there was a smell of poplars, lilac and roses. . . .
Ryabovitch stood still in hesitation. . . . At that moment, to his
surprise, he heard hurried footsteps and the rustling of a dress, a
breathless feminine voice whispered “At last!” And two soft, fragrant,
unmistakably feminine arms were clasped about his neck; a warm
cheek was pressed to his cheek, and simultaneously there was the
sound of a kiss. But at once the bestower of the kiss uttered a faint
shriek and skipped back from him, as it seemed to Ryabovitch, with
aversion. He, too, almost shrieked and rushed towards the gleam of
light at the door. . . .
When he went back into the drawing-room his heart was beating
and his hands were trembling so noticeably that he made haste to
hide them behind his back. At first he was tormented by shame and
dread that the whole drawing-room knew that he had just been
kissed and embraced by a woman. He shrank into himself and
looked uneasily about him, but as he became convinced that people
were dancing and talking as calmly as ever, he gave himself up
entirely to the new sensation which he had never experienced before
in his life. Something strange was happening to him. . . . His neck,
round which soft, fragrant arms had so lately been clasped, seemed
to him to be anointed with oil; on his left cheek near his moustache
where the unknown had kissed him there was a faint chilly tingling
sensation as from peppermint drops, and the more he rubbed the
place the more distinct was the chilly sensation; all over, from head
to foot, he was full of a strange new feeling which grew stronger
and stronger . . . . He wanted to dance, to talk, to run into the
garden, to laugh aloud. . . . He quite forgot that he was round-
shouldered and uninteresting, that he had lynx-like whiskers and an
“undistinguished appearance” (that was how his appearance had
been described by some ladies whose conversation he had
accidentally overheard). When Von Rabbek’s wife happened to pass
by him, he gave her such a broad and friendly smile that she stood
still and looked at him inquiringly.
“I like your house immensely!” he said, setting his spectacles
straight.
The General’s wife smiled and said that the house had belonged to
her father; then she asked whether his parents were living, whether
he had long been in the army, why he was so thin, and so on. . . .
After receiving answers to her questions, she went on, and after his
conversation with her his smiles were more friendly than ever, and
he thought he was surrounded by splendid people. . . .
At supper Ryabovitch ate mechanically everything offered him,
drank, and without listening to anything, tried to understand what
had just happened to him. . . . The adventure was of a mysterious
and romantic character, but it was not difficult to explain it. No doubt
some girl or young married lady had arranged a tryst with some one
in the dark room; had waited a long time, and being nervous and
excited had taken Ryabovitch for her hero; this was the more
probable as Ryabovitch had stood still hesitating in the dark room,
so that he, too, had seemed like a person expecting something. . . .
This was how Ryabovitch explained to himself the kiss he had
received.
“And who is she?” he wondered, looking round at the women’s
faces. “She must be young, for elderly ladies don’t give rendezvous.
That she was a lady, one could tell by the rustle of her dress, her
perfume, her voice. . . .”
His eyes rested on the lilac young lady, and he thought her very
attractive; she had beautiful shoulders and arms, a clever face, and
a delightful voice. Ryabovitch, looking at her, hoped that she and no
one else was his unknown. . . . But she laughed somehow artificially
and wrinkled up her long nose, which seemed to him to make her
look old. Then he turned his eyes upon the fair girl in a black dress.
She was younger, simpler, and more genuine, had a charming brow,
and drank very daintily out of her wineglass. Ryabovitch now hoped
that it was she. But soon he began to think her face flat, and fixed
his eyes upon the one next her.
“It’s difficult to guess,” he thought, musing. “If one takes the
shoulders and arms of the lilac one only, adds the brow of the fair
one and the eyes of the one on the left of Lobytko, then . . .”
 He made a combination of these things in his mind and so formed
the image of the girl who had kissed him, the image that he wanted
her to have, but could not find at the table. . . .
After supper, replete and exhilarated, the officers began to take
leave and say thank you. Von Rabbek and his wife began again
apologizing that they could not ask them to stay the night.
“Very, very glad to have met you, gentlemen,” said Von Rabbek,
and this time sincerely (probably because people are far more
sincere and good-humoured at speeding their parting guests than on
meeting them). “Delighted. I hope you will come on your way back!
Don’t stand on ceremony! Where are you going? Do you want to go
by the upper way? No, go across the garden; it’s nearer here by the
lower way.”
The officers went out into the garden. After the bright light and
the noise the garden seemed very dark and quiet. They walked in
silence all the way to the gate. They were a little drunk, pleased,
and in good spirits, but the darkness and silence made them
thoughtful for a minute. Probably the same idea occurred to each
one of them as to Ryabovitch: would there ever come a time for
them when, like Von Rabbek, they would have a large house, a
family, a garden— when they, too, would be able to welcome people,
even though insincerely, feed them, make them drunk and
contented?
Going out of the garden gate, they all began talking at once and
laughing loudly about nothing. They were walking now along the
little path that led down to the river, and then ran along the water’s
edge, winding round the bushes on the bank, the pools, and the
willows that overhung the water. The bank and the path were
scarcely visible, and the other bank was entirely plunged in
darkness. Stars were reflected here and there on the dark water;
they quivered and were broken up on the surface—and from that
alone it could be seen that the river was flowing rapidly. It was still.
Drowsy curlews cried plaintively on the further bank, and in one of
the bushes on the nearest side a nightingale was trilling loudly,
taking no notice of the crowd of officers. The officers stood round
the bush, touched it, but the nightingale went on singing.
“What a fellow!” they exclaimed approvingly. “We stand beside
him and he takes not a bit of notice! What a rascal!”
At the end of the way the path went uphill, and, skirting the
church enclosure, turned into the road. Here the officers, tired with
walking uphill, sat down and lighted their cigarettes. On the other
side of the river a murky red fire came into sight, and having nothing
better to do, they spent a long time in discussing whether it was a
camp fire or a light in a window, or something else. . . . Ryabovitch,
too, looked at the light, and he fancied that the light looked and
winked at him, as though it knew about the kiss.
On reaching his quarters, Ryabovitch undressed as quickly as
possible and got into bed. Lobytko and Lieutenant Merzlyakov—a
peaceable, silent fellow, who was considered in his own circle a
highly educated officer, and was always, whenever it was possible,
reading the “Vyestnik Evropi,” which he carried about with him
everywhere— were quartered in the same hut with Ryabovitch.
Lobytko undressed, walked up and down the room for a long while
with the air of a man who has not been satisfied, and sent his
orderly for beer. Merzlyakov got into bed, put a candle by his pillow
and plunged into reading the “Vyestnik Evropi.”
“Who was she?” Ryabovitch wondered, looking at the smoky
ceiling.
His neck still felt as though he had been anointed with oil, and
there was still the chilly sensation near his mouth as though from
peppermint drops. The shoulders and arms of the young lady in lilac,
the brow and the truthful eyes of the fair girl in black, waists,
dresses, and brooches, floated through his imagination. He tried to
fix his attention on these images, but they danced about, broke up
and flickered. When these images vanished altogether from the
broad dark background which every man sees when he closes his
eyes, he began to hear hurried footsteps, the rustle of skirts, the
sound of a kiss and—an intense groundless joy took possession of
him . . . . Abandoning himself to this joy, he heard the orderly return
and announce that there was no beer. Lobytko was terribly
indignant, and began pacing up and down again.
“Well, isn’t he an idiot?” he kept saying, stopping first before
Ryabovitch and then before Merzlyakov. “What a fool and a dummy
a man must be not to get hold of any beer! Eh? Isn’t he a
scoundrel?”
“Of course you can’t get beer here,” said Merzlyakov, not removing
his eyes from the “Vyestnik Evropi.”
“Oh! Is that your opinion?” Lobytko persisted. “Lord have mercy
upon us, if you dropped me on the moon I’d find you beer and
women directly! I’ll go and find some at once. . . . You may call me
an impostor if I don’t!”
He spent a long time in dressing and pulling on his high boots,
then finished smoking his cigarette in silence and went out.
“Rabbek, Grabbek, Labbek,” he muttered, stopping in the outer
room. “I don’t care to go alone, damn it all! Ryabovitch, wouldn’t
you like to go for a walk? Eh?”
Receiving no answer, he returned, slowly undressed and got into
bed. Merzlyakov sighed, put the “Vyestnik Evropi” away, and put out
the light.
“H’m! . . .” muttered Lobytko, lighting a cigarette in the dark.
Ryabovitch pulled the bed-clothes over his head, curled himself up
in bed, and tried to gather together the floating images in his mind
and to combine them into one whole. But nothing came of it. He
soon fell asleep, and his last thought was that some one had
caressed him and made him happy—that something extraordinary,
foolish, but joyful and delightful, had come into his life. The thought
did not leave him even in his sleep.
When he woke up the sensations of oil on his neck and the chill of
peppermint about his lips had gone, but joy flooded his heart just as
the day before. He looked enthusiastically at the window-frames,
gilded by the light of the rising sun, and listened to the movement of
the passers-by in the street. People were talking loudly close to the
window. Lebedetsky, the commander of Ryabovitch’s battery, who
had only just overtaken the brigade, was talking to his sergeant at
the top of his voice, being always accustomed to shout.
“What else?” shouted the commander.
“When they were shoeing yesterday, your high nobility, they drove
a nail into Pigeon’s hoof. The vet. put on clay and vinegar; they are
leading him apart now. And also, your honour, Artemyev got drunk
yesterday, and the lieutenant ordered him to be put in the limber of
a spare gun-carriage.”
The sergeant reported that Karpov had forgotten the new cords
for the trumpets and the rings for the tents, and that their honours,
the officers, had spent the previous evening visiting General Von
Rabbek. In the middle of this conversation the red-bearded face of
Lebedetsky appeared in the window. He screwed up his short-
sighted eyes, looking at the sleepy faces of the officers, and said
good-morning to them.
“Is everything all right?” he asked.
“One of the horses has a sore neck from the new collar,” answered
Lobytko, yawning.
The commander sighed, thought a moment, and said in a loud
voice:
“I am thinking of going to see Alexandra Yevgrafovna. I must call
on her. Well, good-bye. I shall catch you up in the evening.”
 A quarter of an hour later the brigade set off on its way. When it
was moving along the road by the granaries, Ryabovitch looked at
the house on the right. The blinds were down in all the windows.
Evidently the household was still asleep. The one who had kissed
Ryabovitch the day before was asleep, too. He tried to imagine her
asleep. The wide-open windows of the bedroom, the green branches
peeping in, the morning freshness, the scent of the poplars, lilac,
and roses, the bed, a chair, and on it the skirts that had rustled the
day before, the little slippers, the little watch on the table —all this
he pictured to himself clearly and distinctly, but the features of the
face, the sweet sleepy smile, just what was characteristic and
important, slipped through his imagination like quicksilver through
the fingers. When he had ridden on half a mile, he looked back: the
yellow church, the house, and the river, were all bathed in light; the
river with its bright green banks, with the blue sky reflected in it and
glints of silver in the sunshine here and there, was very beautiful.
Ryabovitch gazed for the last time at Myestetchki, and he felt as sad
as though he were parting with something very near and dear to
him.
And before him on the road lay nothing but long familiar,
uninteresting pictures. . . . To right and to left, fields of young rye
and buckwheat with rooks hopping about in them. If one looked
ahead, one saw dust and the backs of men’s heads; if one looked
back, one saw the same dust and faces. . . . Foremost of all
marched four men with sabres—this was the vanguard. Next,
behind, the crowd of singers, and behind them the trumpeters on
horseback. The vanguard and the chorus of singers, like torch-
bearers in a funeral procession, often forgot to keep the regulation
distance and pushed a long way ahead. . . . Ryabovitch was with the
first cannon of the fifth battery. He could see all the four batteries
moving in front of him. For any one not a military man this long
tedious procession of a moving brigade seems an intricate and
unintelligible muddle; one cannot understand why there are so many
people round one cannon, and why it is drawn by so many horses in
such a strange network of harness, as though it really were so
terrible and heavy. To Ryabovitch it was all perfectly comprehensible
and therefore uninteresting. He had known for ever so long why at
the head of each battery there rode a stalwart bombardier, and why
he was called a bombardier; immediately behind this bombardier
could be seen the horsemen of the first and then of the middle units.
Ryabovitch knew that the horses on which they rode, those on the
left, were called one name, while those on the right were called
another—it was extremely uninteresting. Behind the horsemen came
two shaft-horses. On one of them sat a rider with the dust of
yesterday on his back and a clumsy and funny-looking piece of wood
on his leg. Ryabovitch knew the object of this piece of wood, and did
not think it funny. All the riders waved their whips mechanically and
shouted from time to time. The cannon itself was ugly. On the fore
part lay sacks of oats covered with canvas, and the cannon itself was
hung all over with kettles, soldiers’ knapsacks, bags, and looked like
some small harmless animal surrounded for some unknown reason
by men and horses. To the leeward of it marched six men, the
gunners, swinging their arms. After the cannon there came again
more bombardiers, riders, shaft-horses, and behind them another
cannon, as ugly and unimpressive as the first. After the second
followed a third, a fourth; near the fourth an officer, and so on.
There were six batteries in all in the brigade, and four cannons in
each battery. The procession covered half a mile; it ended in a string
of wagons near which an extremely attractive creature—the ass,
Magar, brought by a battery commander from Turkey—paced
pensively with his long-eared head drooping.
Ryabovitch looked indifferently before and behind, at the backs of
heads and at faces; at any other time he would have been half
asleep, but now he was entirely absorbed in his new agreeable
thoughts. At first when the brigade was setting off on the march he
tried to persuade himself that the incident of the kiss could only be
interesting as a mysterious little adventure, that it was in reality
trivial, and to think of it seriously, to say the least of it, was stupid;
but now he bade farewell to logic and gave himself up to dreams. . .
. At one moment he imagined himself in Von Rabbek’s drawing-room
beside a girl who was like the young lady in lilac and the fair girl in
black; then he would close his eyes and see himself with another,
entirely unknown girl, whose features were very vague. In his
imagination he talked, caressed her, leaned on her shoulder, pictured
war, separation, then meeting again, supper with his wife, children. .
..
“Brakes on!” the word of command rang out every time they went
downhill.
He, too, shouted “Brakes on!” and was afraid this shout would
disturb his reverie and bring him back to reality. . . .
As they passed by some landowner’s estate Ryabovitch looked
over the fence into the garden. A long avenue, straight as a ruler,
strewn with yellow sand and bordered with young birch-trees, met
his eyes. . . . With the eagerness of a man given up to dreaming, he
pictured to himself little feminine feet tripping along yellow sand,
and quite unexpectedly had a clear vision in his imagination of the
girl who had kissed him and whom he had succeeded in picturing to
himself the evening before at supper. This image remained in his
brain and did not desert him again.
At midday there was a shout in the rear near the string of
wagons:
“Easy! Eyes to the left! Officers!”
The general of the brigade drove by in a carriage with a pair of
white horses. He stopped near the second battery, and shouted
something which no one understood. Several officers, among them
Ryabovitch, galloped up to them.
“Well?” asked the general, blinking his red eyes. “Are there any
sick?”
Receiving an answer, the general, a little skinny man, chewed,
thought for a moment and said, addressing one of the officers:
 “One of your drivers of the third cannon has taken off his leg-
guard and hung it on the fore part of the cannon, the rascal.
Reprimand him.”
He raised his eyes to Ryabovitch and went on:
“It seems to me your front strap is too long.”
Making a few other tedious remarks, the general looked at
Lobytko and grinned.
“You look very melancholy today, Lieutenant Lobytko,” he said.
“Are you pining for Madame Lopuhov? Eh? Gentlemen, he is pining
for Madame Lopuhov.”
The lady in question was a very stout and tall person who had
long passed her fortieth year. The general, who had a predilection
for solid ladies, whatever their ages, suspected a similar taste in his
officers. The officers smiled respectfully. The general, delighted at
having said something very amusing and biting, laughed loudly,
touched his coachman’s back, and saluted. The carriage rolled on. . .
.
“All I am dreaming about now which seems to me so impossible
and unearthly is really quite an ordinary thing,” thought Ryabovitch,
looking at the clouds of dust racing after the general’s carriage. “It’s
all very ordinary, and every one goes through it. . . . That general,
for instance, has once been in love; now he is married and has
children. Captain Vahter, too, is married and beloved, though the
nape of his neck is very red and ugly and he has no waist. . . .
Salrnanov is coarse and very Tatar, but he has had a love affair that
has ended in marriage. . . . I am the same as every one else, and I,
too, shall have the same experience as every one else, sooner or
later. . . .”
And the thought that he was an ordinary person, and that his life
was ordinary, delighted him and gave him courage. He pictured her
and his happiness as he pleased, and put no rein on his imagination.
 When the brigade reached their halting-place in the evening, and
the officers were resting in their tents, Ryabovitch, Merzlyakov, and
Lobytko were sitting round a box having supper. Merzlyakov ate
without haste, and, as he munched deliberately, read the “Vyestnik
Evropi,” which he held on his knees. Lobytko talked incessantly and
kept filling up his glass with beer, and Ryabovitch, whose head was
confused from dreaming all day long, drank and said nothing. After
three glasses he got a little drunk, felt weak, and had an irresistible
desire to impart his new sensations to his comrades.
“A strange thing happened to me at those Von Rabbeks’,” he
began, trying to put an indifferent and ironical tone into his voice.
“You know I went into the billiard-room. . . .”
He began describing very minutely the incident of the kiss, and a
moment later relapsed into silence. . . . In the course of that
moment he had told everything, and it surprised him dreadfully to
find how short a time it took him to tell it. He had imagined that he
could have been telling the story of the kiss till next morning.
Listening to him, Lobytko, who was a great liar and consequently
believed no one, looked at him sceptically and laughed. Merzlyakov
twitched his eyebrows and, without removing his eyes from the
“Vyestnik Evropi,” said:
“That’s an odd thing! How strange! . . . throws herself on a man’s
neck, without addressing him by name. .. . She must be some sort
of hysterical neurotic.”
“Yes, she must,” Ryabovitch agreed.
“A similar thing once happened to me,” said Lobytko, assuming a
scared expression. “I was going last year to Kovno. . . . I took a
second-class ticket. The train was crammed, and it was impossible to
sleep. I gave the guard half a rouble; he took my luggage and led
me to another compartment. . . . I lay down and covered myself
with a rug. . . . It was dark, you understand. Suddenly I felt some
one touch me on the shoulder and breathe in my face. I made a
movement with my hand and felt somebody’s elbow. . . . I opened
my eyes and only imagine—a woman. Black eyes, lips red as a prime
salmon, nostrils breathing passionately—a bosom like a buffer. . . .”
“Excuse me,” Merzlyakov interrupted calmly, “I understand about
the bosom, but how could you see the lips if it was dark?”
Lobytko began trying to put himself right and laughing at
Merzlyakov’s unimaginativeness. It made Ryabovitch wince. He
walked away from the box, got into bed, and vowed never to confide
again.
Camp life began. . . . The days flowed by, one very much like
another. All those days Ryabovitch felt, thought, and behaved as
though he were in love. Every morning when his orderly handed him
water to wash with, and he sluiced his head with cold water, he
thought there was something warm and delightful in his life.
In the evenings when his comrades began talking of love and
women, he would listen, and draw up closer; and he wore the
expression of a soldier when he hears the description of a battle in
which he has taken part. And on the evenings when the officers, out
on the spree with the setter—Lobytko—at their head, made Don
Juan excursions to the “suburb,” and Ryabovitch took part in such
excursions, he always was sad, felt profoundly guilty, and inwardly
begged her forgiveness. . . . In hours of leisure or on sleepless
nights, when he felt moved to recall his childhood, his father and
mother— everything near and dear, in fact, he invariably thought of
Myestetchki, the strange horse, Von Rabbek, his wife who was like
the Empress Eugénie, the dark room, the crack of light at the door. .
..
On the thirty-first of August he went back from the camp, not with
the whole brigade, but with only two batteries of it. He was
dreaming and excited all the way, as though he were going back to
his native place. He had an intense longing to see again the strange
horse, the church, the insincere family of the Von Rabbeks, the dark