[1]Pisarev (1840-68), a revolutionary writer and a precursor of Nihilism.
[1]Pisarev (1840-68), a revolutionary writer and a precursor of Nihilism.
[2]A kind of rice pudding eaten at funerals in Russia.
[2]A kind of rice pudding eaten at funerals in Russia.
[3]Zhamochki, an apparently invented word, meaning something particularly nice to eat.
[3]Zhamochki, an apparently invented word, meaning something particularly nice to eat.
Peredonov and Ershova went out into the open. He growled:
"Come this way."
She shouted with all her might, though gaily. They were apparently getting ready to dance. Prepolovenskaya and Varvara passed through the kitchen into another room, where they sat down at the window to see what would happen.
Peredonov and Ershova embraced each other, and began to dance around the pear tree. Peredonov's face remained dull as before and did not express anything. Mechanically, as upon an automaton, his golden-rimmed spectacles sprang up and down his nose, and his hair flopped up and down on his head. Ershova screamed, shouted, waved her arms, and at times reeled.
She shouted to Varvara, whom she espied at the window:
"Hey you, don't be such a lady, come out and dance. Are you disgusted with our company?"
Varvara turned away.
"The deuce take you! I'm dead tired," shouted Ershova, and fell back on the grass, drawing down Peredonov with her.
They sat a while in each other's embrace, then got up and once more began to dance. This they repeated several times: now they danced, now they rested under the pear tree, upon the bench, or simply on the grass.
Volodin enjoyed himself thoroughly, as he watched the dancers from the window. He roared with laughter, made extraordinarily funny faces, and bent his body in two. He shouted:
"They're cracked! How funny!"
"Accursed carrion!" said Varvara angrily.
"Yes, carrion," agreed Volodin with a grin. "Just wait, my dear landlady, I'll show you something! Let's go and make a mess in the parlour too. She won't come back again to-day anyhow, she'll tire herself out and go home to sleep."
He burst into his bleating laughter and jumped about like a great ram. Prepolovenskaya encouraged him:
"Yes, go ahead, Pavel Vassilyevitch, and make a mess. We don't care a rap for her! If she does come back we can tell her that she did it herself when she was drunk."
Volodin, skipping and laughing, ran into the parlour and began to smear and rub his boots on the wall-paper.
"Varvara Dmitrievna, get me a piece of rope!" he shouted.
Varvara, waddling like a duck, passed through the parlour into the bedroom and brought back with her a piece of frayed, knotted rope. Volodin made a noose, then stood up on a chair in the middle of the room and hung the noose on the lamp-bracket.
"That's for the landlady," he explained. "So that when you leave she'll have somewhere to hang herself in her rage!"
Both women squealed with laughter.
"Now get me a bit of paper and a pencil," shouted Volodin.
Varvara searched in the bedroom and discovered a pencil and a piece of paper.
Volodin wrote on it: "For the landlady," and pinned the paper on the noose. He made ridiculous grimaces all the time he was doing this. Then he began to jump furiously up and down along the walls, kicking them every now and again with his boots, shaking with laughter at the same time. His squeals and bleating laughter filled the whole house. The white cat, putting back its ears in terror, peered out of the bedroom and seemed undecided where to run.
Peredonov at last managed to disengage himself from Ershova and returned to the house. Ershova really did get tired and went home to bed. Volodin met Peredonov with uproarious laughter:
"We've made a mess of the parlour too! Hurrah!"
"Hurrah!" shouted Peredonov, bursting into a loud, abrupt laugh.
The women also cried "Hurrah," and a general gaiety set in. Peredonov cried:
"Pavloushka! let's dance."
"Yes, let's, Ardalyosha!" replied Volodin, with a stupid grin.
They danced under the noose and kicked up their legs awkwardly. The floor trembled under Peredonov's heavy feet.
"Ardalyon Borisitch's got a dancing fit," said Prepolovenskaya with a smile.
"That's nothing new, he has his little whims," grumbled Varvara, looking admiringly at Peredonov nevertheless.
She sincerely thought that he was handsome and clever. His most stupid actions seemed to her perfectly fitting. To her he was neither ridiculous nor repulsive.
"Let's sing a funeral mass over the landlady," shouted Volodin. "Fetch a pillow here."
"What will they think of next?" said Varvara laughingly.
She threw out from the bedroom a pillow in a dirty calico slip. They put the pillow on the floor to represent the landlady and began to chant over it with wild discordant voices. Then they called in Natalya, and made her turn the ariston[1]; all four of them began to dance a quadrille with strange antics, kicking up their legs.
After the dance Peredonov felt generous. A dim, morose sort of animation lit up his plump face; he was inspired by a sudden, almost automatic decision, a consequence, perhaps, of his sudden muscular action. He pulled out his wallet, counted several notes, and with a proud self-laudatory expression, threw them towards Varvara.
"Here you are, Varvara!" he exclaimed. "Get yourself a wedding dress!"
The notes fluttered across the floor. Varvara eagerly picked them up; she was not in the least offended at the way the gift was made. Prepolovenskaya thought: "Well, we shall see who's going to have him." And she smiled maliciously. Volodin, of course, did not think of helping Varvara to pick up the money.
Soon Prepolovenskaya left. In the passage she met another visitor, Grushina.
Marya Ossipovna Grushina was a young widow, with a prematurely faded appearance. She was thin—her dry skin was covered with small wrinkles which looked filled with dust. Her face was not unpleasant, but her teeth were black and unbrushed. She had long hands, long grasping fingers and dirty finger-nails. At the first glance she not only looked dirty but gave the impression that she and her clothes had been beaten together. It really looked as if a column of dust would rise up into the sky if she were struck several times with a carpet beater. Her clothes hung upon her in crumpled folds; she might have been just released from a tightly-bound bundle. Grushina lived on a pension, on petty commissions, and by lending money on mortgages. Her conversation was mostly on immodest lines, and she attached herself to men in the hope of getting a second husband. One of her rooms was always let to some one among the bachelor officials.
Varvara was pleased to see Grushina. She had something to tell her. They began to talk immediately about the servant-maid in whispers. The inquisitive Volodin edged closer to them and listened. Peredonov sat morosely by himself in front of the table crumpling the corner of the tablecloth in his fingers.
Varvara was complaining to Grushina about Natalya. Grushina suggested a new servant, Klavdia, and praised her. They decided to go after her at once, to Samorodina where she was living in the house of an excise officer, who had just been transferred to another town. Varvara paused when she heard the maid's name; and asked in a doubtful voice:
"Klavdia? What on earth shall I call her,—Klashka?"
"Why don't you call her Klavdiushka?" suggested Grushina. This pleased Varvara.
"Klavdiushka, diushka!" she said with a crackling laugh. It should be observed that in our town a pig is called a "diushka." Volodin grunted; everyone laughed.
"Diushka, diushenka," lisped Volodin between the laughter, screwing up his stupid face and protruding his underlip. And he kept on grunting and making a fool of himself until he was told that he was a nuisance. Then he left his chair, with an expression of injury on his face, and sat down beside Peredonov. He lowered his large forehead like a ram and fixed his eyes on a spot on the soiled tablecloth.
On the way to Samorodina Varvara decided that she would buy the material for her wedding dress. She always went shopping with Grushina who helped her to make selections and to bargain.
Unseen by Peredonov, Varvara had stealthily stuffed Grushina's deep pockets with sweets and tarts and other gifts for her children. Grushina surmised that Varvara was in great need of her services.
Varvara's narrow, high-heeled shoes would not allow her to walk much. She quickly became fatigued. It was for this reason that she usually took a cab, though the distances in our town are not great. Latterly, she had frequented Grushina's house. The cabbies had noticed this, for there were only about a score of them. When Varvara entered a cab they never asked her where she wanted to go.
They seated themselves in a drozhky and were driven to the house where Klavdia was servant-maid, in order to make inquiries about her. The streets were dirty almost everywhere although it had rained only the day before. The drozhky no sooner rattled on to a solid paved part of the road than it plunged again into the clinging mud of the unpaved sections. But, by way of compensation, Varvara's voice rattled on continuously, now and then accompanied by Grushina's sympathetic chatter.
"My goose has been to Marfushka's again," said Varvara.
Grushina answered in a sympathetic outburst: "That's how they're trying to catch him. And why not, he'd be a great catch, especially for Marfushka. She never dreamt of anyone like him."
"Really, I don't know what to do," confessed Varvara. "He's become so obstinate lately—it's simply awful. Believe me, my head's in a constant whirl. He'll really marry and then there's nothing for me but the streets."
"Don't worry, darling Varvara," said Grushina consolingly. "Don't think about it. He'll never marry anyone but you. He's used to you."
"He sometimes goes off in the evening, and I can't get to sleep afterwards," said Varvara. "Who knows? Perhaps he's courting some girl. Sometimes I toss about all night. Everyone has her eye on him—even those three Routilov mares of women—but of course they'd hang around any man's neck. And that fat Zhenka's after him too."
Varvara went on complaining for a long time, and all her conversation led Grushina to think that Varvara had some favour to ask of her, and she was gratified at the prospect of a reward.
Klavdia pleased Varvara. The excise officer's wife strongly recommended her. They engaged her and told her to come that evening, as the excise officer was leaving at once.
At last they came to Grushina's house. Grushina lived in her own house in a slovenly enough fashion. The three children were bedraggled, dirty, stupid and malicious, like dogs that have just come out of water.
Their confidences were just beginning.
"My fool, Ardalyosha," began Varvara, "wants me to write to the Princess again. It's a waste of time to write to her. She'll either not answer or she'll answer unsatisfactorily. We're not on very intimate terms."
The Princess Volchanskaya, with whom Varvara had lived in the past as a seamstress for simple domestic things, could have helped Peredonov, since her daughter was married to the Privy-Councillor Stchepkin, who held an important position in the department of Education. She had already written in answer to Varvara's petitions in the past year that she could not ask anything for Varvara's fiancé, but she might for her husband, if the opportunity offered. This letter did not satisfy Peredonov, since it expressed merely a vague hope, and did not definitely state that the Princess would actually find Varvara's husband an inspector's position. In order to clear up this doubt they had lately gone to St. Petersburg; Varvara went to the Princess and later she took Peredonov with her, but purposely delayed the visit so that they did not find the Princess at home: Varvara realised that at best the Princess would merely have advised them to get married soon, making a few vague promises which would not have satisfied Peredonov. And Varvara decided not to let Peredonov meet the Princess.
"I've no one to depend upon but you," said Varvara. "Help me, darling Marya Ossipovna!"
"How can I help, my dearest Varvara Dmitrievna?" asked Grushina. "Of course you know I'm ready to do anything I can for you. Shall I read your fortune for you?"
Varvara laughed and said: "I know how clever you are, but you must help me another way."
"How?" asked Grushina, with a tremulous, expectant pleasure.
"That's very simple," replied Varvara. "You write a letter in the Princess's handwriting and I'll show it to Ardalyon Borisitch."
"But, my dear, how can I do it?" said Grushina, pretending to be alarmed. "What would become of me if I should be found out?"
Varvara was not in the least disconcerted by her answer, but pulled a crumpled letter out of her pocket, saying:
"I've brought one of the Princess's letters for you to copy."
Grushina refused for a long time. Varvara saw clearly that Grushina would consent, but that she was bargaining for a bigger reward, while Varvara wanted to give less. She gradually increased her promises of various small gifts, among them an old silk dress, until Grushina saw that Varvara could not be persuaded to give any more. A stream of entreaties poured from Varvara's mouth, and Grushina finally took the letter, making it appear from the expression of her face that she did so out of pity.
[1]A musical instrument.
[1]A musical instrument.
The billiard-room was full of tobacco-smoke. Peredonov, Routilov, Falastov, Volodin and Mourin were there. The last of these was a robust landed proprietor of stupid appearance; he was the owner of a small estate and a good business man. The five of them, having finished a game, were preparing to go.
It was dusk. The number of empty beer bottles on the soiled wooden table was increasing. The players had drunk a good deal during the game; their faces were flushed, and they were getting noisy. Routilov alone kept his usual consumptive pallor. He really drank less than the others and his pallor was only increased by heavy drinking.
Coarse words flew about the room. But no one was offended; it was all said among friends.
Peredonov had lost, as nearly always happened. He played billiards badly. But his face kept its expression of unperturbed moroseness and he paid his due grudgingly.
Mourin shouted out:
"Bang!"
And he aimed his billiard-cue at Peredonov. Peredonov exclaimed in fright and collapsed into a chair. The stupid idea that Mourin wanted to shoot him glimmered in his dull mind. Everyone laughed. Peredonov grumbled in irritation:
"I can't stand jokes like that."
Mourin was already regretting that he had frightened Peredonov. His son was attending thegymnasiaand he considered it his duty to be affable to thegymnasiainstructors. He began to apologise to Peredonov and treated him to hock and seltzer. Peredonov said morosely:
"My nerves are rather unstrung. I'm having trouble with the Head-Master."
"The future inspector has lost," exclaimed Volodin in his bleating voice. "He's sorry for his money."
"Unlucky in games, lucky in love," said Routilov, smiling slightly and showing his decaying teeth.
This was the last straw. Peredonov had already lost money and had a fright and now they were taunting him about Varvara.
He exclaimed:
"I'll get married and then Varka can clear out!"
His friends roared with laughter and continued provoking him:
"You won't dare!"
"Yes I will dare: I'll get married to-morrow!"
"Here's a bet!" said Falastov. "I'll bet ten roubles he doesn't do it!"
But Peredonov thought of the money; if he lost he would have to pay. He turned away and lapsed into gloomy silence.
At the garden gates they parted and scattered in different directions. Peredonov and Routilov went together. Routilov began to persuade Peredonov to marry one of his sisters at once.
"Don't be afraid. I've prepared everything," he assured Peredonov.
"But the banns haven't been published," objected Peredonov.
"I tell you I've prepared everything," argued Routilov. "I've found the right priest, who knows that you're not related to us."
"There are no bride-men," said Peredonov.
"That's quite true, but I can get them. All I have to do is to send for them and they'll come to the church immediately. Or I'll go after them myself. It wasn't possible earlier, your cousin might have found out and hindered us."
Peredonov did not reply. He looked gloomily about him, where, behind their drowsy little gardens and wavering hedges, loomed the dark shapes of a few scattered houses.
"You just wait at the gate," said Routilov persuasively, "I'll bring out the loveliest one—whichever one you like. Listen, I'll prove it to you. Twice two is four, isn't it?"
"Yes," assented Peredonov.
"Well, as twice two is four, so it's your duty to marry one of my sisters."
Peredonov was impressed. "It's quite true," he thought, "of course, twice two is four." And he looked respectfully at the shrewd Routilov. "Well, it'll come to marrying one of them. You can't argue with him."
The friends at that moment reached the Routilovs' house and stopped at the gate.
"Well, you can't do it by force," said Peredonov angrily.
"You're a queer fellow," exclaimed Routilov. "They've waited until they're tired."
"And perhaps I don't want to!" said Peredonov.
"What do you mean by that? You are a queer chap. Are you going to be a shiftless fellow all your life?" asked Routilov. "Or are you getting ready to enter a monastery? Or aren't you tired of Varya yet? Think what a face she'll make when you bring your young wife home."
Peredonov gave a cackle, but immediately frowned and said:
"And perhaps they also don't want to?"
"What do you mean—they don't want to? You are an odd fellow," answered Routilov, "I give you my word."
"They'll be too proud," objected Peredonov.
"Why should that bother you? It's all the better."
"They're gigglers."
"But they never giggle at your expense," said Routilov comfortingly.
"How do I know?"
"You'd better believe me. I'm not fooling you. They respect you. After all you're not a kind of Pavloushka, who'd make anybody laugh."
"Yes, if I take your word for it," said Peredonov incredulously. "But no, I want to be convinced myself."
"Well, you are an odd fellow!" said Routilov in astonishment. "But how would they dare laugh at you? Still, is there any way I can prove it to you?"
Peredonov reflected and said:
"Let them come into the street at once."
"Very well, that's possible," agreed Routilov.
"All three of them," continued Peredonov.
"Very well."
"And let each one say how she'll please me."
"Why all this?" asked Routilov in astonishment.
"I'll find out what they want, and then you won't lead me by the nose."
"No one's going to lead you by the nose."
"Perhaps they'll want to laugh at me," argued Peredonov. "Now if they come out and want to laugh, it is I who'll be able to laugh at them!"
Routilov reflected, pushed his hat on to the back of his head and then forward over his forehead, and said at last:
"All right, you wait here and I'll go in and tell them—but you're certainly an odd fellow. You'd better come into the front garden or else the devil'll bring someone along the street and you'll be seen."
"I'll spit on them," said Peredonov. Nevertheless, he entered the gate.
Routilov went into the house to his sisters while Peredonov waited in the garden.
All the four sisters were sitting in the drawing-room, which was situated in the corner of the house that could be seen from the garden. They all had the same features and they all resembled their brother; they were handsome, rosy and cheerful. They were Larissa, a tranquil, pleasant, plump woman, who was married; the quick, agile Darya, the tallest and the slenderest of the sisters; the mischievous Liudmilla, and Valeria who was small, delicate and fragile-looking.
They were eating nuts and raisins. They were obviously waiting for something and were therefore rather agitated and laughed more than usual as they recalled the latest town gossip. They ridiculed both their own acquaintances and strangers.
Ever since the early morning they had been quite prepared to be married. It was only necessary for one of them to put on a suitable dress with a veil and flowers. Varvara was not mentioned in the sisters' conversation, as though she did not exist. But it was sufficient that they, the pitiless gossips, who pulled everyone to pieces, should refrain from mentioning Varvara; this complete silence showed that the idea of Varvara was fixed like a nail in the mind of each.
"I've brought him," announced Routilov entering the drawing-room. "He's at the gate." The sisters rose in an agitated way and all began to talk and laugh at the same time.
"There's only one difficulty," said Routilov laughingly.
"And what's that?" asked Darya.
Valeria frowned her handsome, dark eyebrows in a vexed way.
"I don't know whether to tell you or not," hesitated Routilov.
"Be quick about it," urged Darya.
Routilov in some confusion told them what Peredonov wanted. The girls raised an outcry and they all began to abuse Peredonov; but little by little their indignation gave place to jokes and laughter. Darya made a face of grim expectation and said:
"But he's waiting at the gate!"
It was becoming an amusing adventure.
The girls began to peep out the window towards the gate. Darya opened the window and cried out:
"Ardalyon Borisitch, can we say it out of the window?"
The morose answer came back:
"No!"
Darya quickly slammed down the window. The sisters burst into gay, unrestrained laughter, and ran from the drawing-room into the dining-room so that Peredonov might not hear them. The members of this family were so constituted that they could easily pass from a state of the most intense anger into a state of merriment, and it was the cheerful word that usually decided a matter.
Peredonov stood and waited. He felt depressed and afraid. He thought he would run away, but could not decide. Somewhere from afar the sounds of music reached him: the frail, tender sounds poured themselves out in the quiet, dark, night air, and they awoke sadness, and gave birth to pleasant reveries.
At the beginning, Peredonov's reveries took on an erotic turn. He imagined the Routilov girls in the most seductive poses. But the longer he waited, the more irritated he became at being forced to wait. And the music, which had barely aroused his hopelessly coarse emotions, died for him.
All around him the night descended quietly, and rustled with its ill-boding hoverings and whisperings. And it seemed even darker everywhere because Peredonov stood in an open space lit up by the drawing-room lamp; its two streaks of light broadened as they reached the neighbouring fence, the dark planks of which became visible. The trees in the depth of the garden assumed dark, suspicious, whispering shapes. Someone's slow, heavy footsteps sounded near-by on the street pavement. Peredonov began to feel apprehensive that while waiting here he might be attacked, and robbed, even murdered. He pressed against the very wall in the shadow, and timidly waited.
But suddenly long shadows shot out across the streaks of light in the garden, a door slammed, and voices were heard on the verandah. Peredonov grew animated. "They are coming," he thought joyously, and agreeable thoughts about the three beauties stole softly once more into his mind—disgusting children of his dull imagination.
The sisters stood in the passage. Routilov walked to the gate and looked to see if anyone was in the street. No one was to be seen or heard.
"There's no one about," he whispered loudly to his sisters, using his hands as a speaking-trumpet.
He remained in the street to keep watch. Peredonov joined him.
"They're coming out to speak to you," said Routilov.
Peredonov stood at the gate and looked through the chink between the gate and the gate-post.
His face was morose and almost frightened, and all sorts of fancies and thoughts expired in his mind and were replaced by a heavy, aimless desire.
Darya was the first to come up to the open gate.
"What can I do to please you?" she asked.
Peredonov was morosely silent.
Darya said:
"I will make you the crispest pancakes piping hot—only don't choke over them."
Liudmilla cried over her shoulder:
"I'll go down every morning and collect all the gossip to tell you. That will make us jolly."
Between the two girls' cheerful faces showed for a moment Valeria's slender, capricious face, and her slight, frail voice was heard:
"I wouldn't tell you for anything how I shall please you—you'd better guess yourself."
The sisters ran away laughing. Their voices and laughter ceased directly they were in the house. Peredonov turned away from the gate; he was not quite satisfied. He thought: "They babbled something and then ran away." It would have been far better if they'd put it on paper. But he had already stood here waiting long enough.
"Well, are you satisfied?" asked Routilov. "Which one do you like best?"
Peredonov was lost in thought. Of course, he concluded at last, he ought to take the youngest. A young woman is always better than an older one.
"Bring Valeria here," he said decisively.
Routilov went into the house and Peredonov again entered the garden.
Liudmilla looked stealthily out of the window, trying to make out what they were saying, without any success. But suddenly there were sounds of someone approaching by the garden path. The sisters kept silent and sat there nervously. Routilov entered and announced:
"He's chosen Valeria, and he's waiting at the gate!"
The sisters grew noisy at once and began to laugh.
Valeria went slightly pale.
"Well, well," she said ironically, "I needed him very badly."
Her hands trembled. All three of the sisters began to fuss about her and to put finery on her. She always spent a lot of time over her toilette—the other sisters hurried her. Routilov kept continually babbling with pleasure and excitement. He was delighted that he had managed the matter so cleverly.
"Did you get the cabbies?" asked Darya with a worried air. Routilov answered with slight annoyance:
"How could I? The whole town would have heard of it. Varvara would have come and dragged him away by his hair."
"Well, what shall we do?"
"Why, we can go to the Square in pairs and hire them there. It's quite simple. You and the bride go first. Then Larissa with the bridegroom—now, mind you, not all together or we shall be noticed in town. Liudmilla and I will stop at Falastov's. The two of them will go together and I will get Volodin."
Once alone Peredonov became immersed in pleasant reveries. He imagined Valeria in all the bewitchment of the bridal night—undressed, bashful but happy. All slenderness and subtlety.
He dreamed, and at the same time he pulled out of his pocket some caramels that had stuck there and began to chew them.
Then he remembered that Valeria was a coquette. Now she'll want expensive dresses, he thought. That meant that he would not only be unable to save money every month but that he would have to spend what he had saved. She would be hard to please. She would never even enter the kitchen. Besides, his food might get poisoned; Varvara, from spite, would bribe the cook. And on the whole, thought Peredonov, Valeria is a slender doll. It's difficult to know how to treat a girl like that. How could one abuse her? And how could one give her an occasional push? How could one spit on her? It would end in tears and she would shame him before the whole town. No, it was impossible to tie oneself to her. Now Liudmilla was simpler; wouldn't it be better to take her?
Peredonov walked up to the window and knocked with his stick on the pane. After a few moments Routilov stuck his head out of the window.
"What do you want?" he asked anxiously.
"I've thought it over," growled Peredonov.
"Well?" exclaimed Routilov in apprehension.
"Bring Liudmilla here!" said Peredonov.
Routilov left the window.
"He's a devil in spectacles," he grumbled to himself and went to his sisters.
Valeria was glad.
"It's your happiness, Liudmilla," she said cheerfully.
Liudmilla began to laugh. She threw herself back in a chair and laughed and laughed.
"What shall I tell him?" asked Routilov. "Are you willing?"
Liudmilla could not speak for laughing, and only waved her hands.
"Of course she's willing," said Darya for her. "You'd better tell him at once, or else he may go off in a huff."
Routilov entered the drawing-room and said in a whisper through the window:
"Wait, she'll be ready at once."
"Let her make haste," said Peredonov angrily. "Why are they so long?"
Liudmilla was soon dressed. She was entirely ready in five minutes.
Peredonov began to think about her. She was cheerful and plump. But she was a giggler. She would always be laughing at him. That was terrible. Darya, though she was lively, was more sober. But she was quite handsome. He had better take her.
He knocked once more on the window.
"There! he's knocking again," said Larissa. "I wonder if he wants you now, Darya?"
"The devil!" said Routilov irritatedly, and ran to the window.
"What now?" he asked in an angry whisper. "Have you thought it over again?"
"Bring Darya," answered Peredonov.
"Well, just wait!" whispered Routilov in a rage.
Peredonov stood there and thought of Darya, and again his brief seductive vision of her was replaced by apprehension. She was too quick and impertinent. She would make life intolerable to him. "And what on earth's the good of standing here waiting," reflected Peredonov, "I might get a cold. And you can't tell, there may be someone hiding in the ditch or behind the grass, who'll suddenly jump out and murder me." Peredonov grew very depressed. Then again none of them had any dowry to speak of. That could command no patronage in the department of Education. Varvara would complain to the Princess. As it was the Head-Master was sharpening his teeth for Peredonov.
Peredonov began to get vexed with himself. Why was he here, entangling himself with the Routilovs? It must be that Routilov had bewitched him. Yes, he must really have bewitched him! He must make a counter-charm at once.
Peredonov twirled round on his heels, spat on each side of him and mumbled:
"Chure-churashki. Churki-balvashki, buki-bukashkii, vedi-tarakashki. Chure menya. Chure menya. Chure, chure, chure. Chure-perechure-raschiure."[1]
His face wore an expression of stern attention, as if at the carrying out of a dignified ceremony. After this indispensable action he felt himself out of danger of Routilov's spells. He struck the window decisively with his stick and muttered angrily:
"I've had enough of this! I won't be enticed any further. No, I don't want to get married to-day," he announced to Routilov, whose head was thrust out of the window.
"What on earth's the matter with you, Ardalyon Borisitch? Why, everything's ready!" said Routilov persuasively.
"I don't want to," repeated Peredonov with decision. "You'd better come along with me and have a game of cards."
"The devil take you," exclaimed Routilov.
"He doesn't want to get married. He's funked it!" he announced to his sisters. "But I'll persuade the fool yet. He's asked me to play cards with him."
All the sisters cried out at once, abusing Peredonov loudly.
"And you're going out with this blackguard?" asked Valeria angrily.
"Yes, and I'll get even with him. He has not escaped us yet by any means," said Routilov, trying to keep a tone of assurance, but feeling very awkward.
The girls' anger with Peredonov soon gave place to laughter. Routilov left. The girls ran to the windows.
"Ardalyon Borisitch," exclaimed Darya. "Why can't you make up your mind. You shouldn't do things like this!"
"Kislyai Kislyaevitch! (Sour Sourson!)" exclaimed Liudmilla, laughingly.
Peredonov was angry. In his opinion the sisters ought to have wept with disappointment that he had rejected them. "They're pretending," he thought, as he left the garden silently. The girls ran to the windows facing the street and shouted gibes after him until he was lost in the darkness.
[1]This is an exaggeration of a Russian charm used against witchcraft. The word "chure" implies, "Hence! away!" and is addressed to the evil spirits. The whole charm is a jargon practically untranslatable.
[1]This is an exaggeration of a Russian charm used against witchcraft. The word "chure" implies, "Hence! away!" and is addressed to the evil spirits. The whole charm is a jargon practically untranslatable.
Peredonov felt depressed. He had no more caramels in his pocket and this added to his depression and distress. Routilov was the only one to speak almost the whole way. He continued to laud his sisters. Only once did Peredonov break into speech, when he asked angrily:
"Has a bull horns?"
"Well, yes, but what of it?" asked the astonished Routilov.
"Well, I don't want to be a bull," explained Peredonov.
"Ardalyon Borisitch," said Routilov in tones of annoyance, "you will never be a bull, for you are a real swine."
"Liar," said Peredonov morosely.
"I'm not a liar—I can prove I'm not," said Routilov spitefully.
"Go ahead and prove it."
"Just wait, I'll prove it," said Routilov. They walked on silently. Peredonov waited apprehensively and his anger with Routilov tormented him. Suddenly Routilov asked:
"Ardalyon Borisitch, have you got apiatachek?"[1]
"I have, but I won't give it to you," answered Peredonov. Routilov burst out laughing.
"If you have apiatachek, then you are a swine," he exclaimed.
Peredonov in his apprehension grabbed his nose and exclaimed:
"You're lying! I haven't apiatachek—I've got a man's face," he growled.
Routilov was still laughing. Peredonov, angry and rather frightened, looked cautiously at Routilov and said:
"You've led me purposely to-day by thedurman[2]and you'vedurmanisedme so as to lure me for one of your sisters. As if one witch wasn't enough for me—you tried to make me marry three at once."
"You are a queer fellow. And why didn't I getdurmanised?" asked Routilov.
"You've got some way or other," said Peredonov, "perhaps you breathed through your mouth instead of your nose, or you may have recited a charm. For my part, I don't know at all how to act against witchcraft. I don't know much about black magic. Until I recited the counter-charm I was quitedurmanised."
Routilov laughed. "Well, and how did you make the exorcism?" he asked.
But Peredonov did not reply.
"Why do you tie yourself up with Varvara?" asked Routilov. "Do you think that you'll be happier if she gets the inspectorship for you? She'll rule the roost then!"
This was incomprehensible to Peredonov.
After all, he thought, she was really acting in her own interests. She herself would have an easier time if he became an important official, and she would have more money. That meant that she would be grateful to him and not he to her. And in any case she was more congenial to him than anyone else.
Peredonov was accustomed to Varvara. Something drew him to her—perhaps it was his habit, which was very pleasant to him, of bullying her. He would not find another like her however much he sought.
It was already late. The lamps were lit at Peredonov's house; the lighted windows were conspicuous in the dark street. The tea-table was surrounded with visitors: Grushina—who now visited Varvara every day—Volodin, Prepolovenskaya, and her husband Konstantin Petrovitch, a tall man, under forty, with a dull, pale face and black hair, a person of an amazing taciturnity. Varvara was in a white party dress. They were drinking tea, and talking. Varvara, as usual, was distressed because Peredonov had not yet returned home. Volodin, with his cheerful bleat, was telling her that Peredonov had gone off somewhere with Routilov. This only increased her distress.
At last Peredonov appeared with Routilov. They were met with outcries, laughter, stupid coarse jokes.
"Varvara, where's the vodka?" exclaimed Peredonov gruffly.
Varvara quickly left the table, smiling guiltily, and brought the vodka in a decanter of rudely cut glass.
"Let's have a drink," was Peredonov's surly invitation.
"Just wait," said Varvara; "Klavdiushka will bring thezakouska.[3]You great lump," she shouted into the kitchen, "hurry up!"
But Peredonov was already pouring the liquor into the vodka glasses. He growled:
"Why should we wait? Time doesn't wait!"
They drank their vodka and helped it down with tarts filled with black currant jam. Peredonov had always two stock entertainments for visitors—cards and vodka. But as they could not sit down to cards before the tea was served, only vodka remained. In the meantime thezakouskaalso were brought in so that they could drink some more vodka. Klavdia did not shut the door when she went out, which put Peredonov into a bad humour.
"That door is never shut!" he growled.
He was afraid of the draught—he might catch cold. This was why his house was always stuffy and malodorous.
Prepolovenskaya picked up an egg.
"Fine eggs!" she said. "Where do you get them?"
Peredonov replied:
"They're not bad, but on my father's estate there was a hen that laid two large eggs every day all the year round."
"That's nothing to boast of," said Prepolovenskaya; "now in our village there was a hen that laid two eggs every day and a spoonful of butter."
"Yes, yes, we had one like that too," said Peredonov, not noticing that he was being made fun of. "If others could do it, ours did it too. We had an exceptional hen."
Varvara laughed.
"They're having a little joke," she said.
"Such nonsense makes one's ears wither!" said Grushina.
Peredonov looked at her savagely and replied:
"If your ears wither they'll have to be pulled off!"
Grushina was disconcerted.
"Well, Ardalyon Borisitch, you're always saying something nasty," she complained.
The others laughed appreciatively. Volodin opened his eyes wide, twitched his forehead and explained:
"When your ears start withering it's best to pull them off, because if you don't they'll dangle and swing to and fro."
Volodin made a gesture with his fingers to indicate how the withered ears would dangle. Grushina snapped at him:
"That's the sort you are. You can't make a joke yourself. You have to use other people's."
Volodin was offended and said with dignity:
"I can make a joke myself, Maria Ossipovna, but when we're having a pleasant time in company, why shouldn't I keep up someone else's joke? And if you don't like it, you can do what you please. Give and take."
"That's reasonable, Pavel Vassilyevitch," said Routilov encouragingly.
"Pavel Vassilyevitch can stand up for himself," said Prepolovenskaya with a sly smile. Varvara had just cut off a piece of bread and, absorbed by Volodin's ingenious remarks, held the knife in the air. The edge glittered. Peredonov felt a sudden fear—she might suddenly take it into her head to slash him.
"Varvara!" he exclaimed. "Put that knife down!"
Varvara shivered.
"Why do you shout so? You frightened me," she said, and put the knife down. "He has his whims, you know," she went on, speaking to the silent Prepolovensky, who was stroking his beard and apparently about to speak.
"That sometimes happens," said Prepolovensky; "I had an acquaintance who was afraid of needles. He was always imagining that someone was going to stick a needle into him and that the needle would enter his inside. Just imagine how frightened he would get when he saw a needle——"
And once he had begun to speak he was quite unable to stop, and went on telling the same story with different variations until someone interrupted him and changed the subject. Then he lapsed again into silence.
Grushina changed the conversation to erotic themes. She began to relate how her deceased husband was jealous of her, and how she deceived him. Afterwards she told a story she had heard from an acquaintance in the capital about the mistress of a certain eminent personage who met her patron while driving in the street.
"And she cries to him: 'Hullo, Zhanchick!'" Grushina related, "mind you, in the street."
"I have a good mind to report you," said Peredonov angrily. "Is it actually permitted for such nonsense to be talked about important people?"
Grushina gabbled rapidly to try and appease him:
"It's not my fault. That's how I heard the story. What I've bought I sell."
Peredonov maintained an angry silence and drank tea from a saucer, with his elbows resting on the table. He reflected that in the house of the future inspector it was unbecoming to speak disrespectfully of the higher powers. He felt annoyed with Grushina. This feeling was intensified by his suspicion of Volodin, who too frequently referred to him as "the future inspector." Once he even said to Volodin:
"Well, my friend, I see that you are jealous, but the fact is I'm going to be an inspector and you aren't!"
Volodin, with an insinuating look on his face, had replied:
"Each to his own. You're a specialist in your business and I in mine."
"Our Natashka," said Varvara, "went straight from us and got a place with the Officer of the gendarmes."
Peredonov trembled, and his face had an expression of fear.
"Are you telling a lie?" he demanded.
"Why should I want to tell you a lie about that?" answered Varvara. "You can go and ask him yourself, if you like."
This unpleasant news was confirmed by Grushina. Peredonov was stupefied with astonishment. It was impossible to know what she might say, and then the gendarmes would take up the matter and report it to the authorities. It was a bad look-out.
At the same second Peredonov's eyes rested on the shelf under the sideboard. There stood several bound volumes: the thin ones were the works of Pisarev and the larger ones were the "Annals of the Fatherland."[4]Peredonov went pale and said:
"I must hide those books or I shall be reported."
Earlier Peredonov had displayed these books ostentatiously to show that he was a man of emancipated ideas, though actually he had no ideas at all and no inclination towards reflection. And he only kept these books for show, not to read. It was now a long time since he had read a book—he used to say he had no time—he did not subscribe to a newspaper. He got his news from other people. In fact there was nothing he wanted to know—there was nothing in the outside world he was interested in. He used even to deride subscribers to newspapers as people who wasted both time and money. One might have thought that his time was very valuable!
He went up to the shelf, grumbling.
"That's what happens in this town—you may get reported any minute. Lend a hand here, Pavel Vassilyevitch," he said to Volodin.
Volodin walked towards him with a grave and comprehending countenance and carefully took the books that Peredonov handed to him. Peredonov, carrying a heap of books, went into the parlour, followed by Volodin, who carried a large pile.
"Where do you mean to hide them, Ardalyon Borisitch "he asked.
"Wait and you'll see," replied Peredonov with his usual gruffness.
"What are you taking away there, Ardalyon Borisitch?" asked Prepolovensky.
"Most strictly forbidden books," answered Peredonov from the door. "I should be reported if they were found here."
Peredonov sat on his heels before the brick stove in the parlour. He threw down the books on the iron hearth and Volodin did the same. Peredonov began with difficulty to force book after book into the small opening. Volodin sat on his heels just behind Peredonov and handed him the books, preserving at the same time an air of profound comprehension on his sheepish face, his protruded lips and heavy forehead expressing his sense of importance. Varvara looked at them through the door. She said laughing:
"They've got a new joke!"
But Grushina interrupted her:
"No, dearest Varvara Dmitrievna, you shouldn't say that. Things might be very unpleasant if they found out. Especially if it happens to be an instructor. The authorities are dreadfully afraid that the instructors will teach the boys to rebel."
After tea they sat down to play Stoukolka [a card game], all seven of them around the card-table in the parlour. Peredonov played irritatedly and badly. After every twenty points, he had to pay out to the other players, especially to Prepolovensky, who received for himself and his wife. The Prepolovenskys won more frequently than anyone. They had certain signs, like knocks and coughs, by which they told each other what cards they held. That night Peredonov had no luck. He made haste to win back his money, but Volodin was slow in dealing and spent too much time in shuffling.
"Pavloushka, hurry up and deal," shouted Peredonov impatiently.
Volodin, feeling himself the equal of anybody in the game, looked important and asked:
"What do you mean by 'Pavloushka'? Is it in friendship? Or how?"
"Of course, in friendship," replied Peredonov carelessly. "Only deal quicker."
"Well, if you say it in friendship then I'm glad, very glad," said Volodin, laughing happily and stupidly as he dealt the cards. "You're a good fellow, Ardasha, and I'm very fond of you. But if it weren't in friendship it would be another matter, but as it is in friendship I'm glad. I've given you an ace for it," said Volodin and turned up trumps.
Peredonov actually had an ace, but it wasn't the ace of trumps and he had to sacrifice it.
Routilov babbled on incessantly; told all sorts of tales and anecdotes, some of an exceedingly indelicate character. In order to annoy Peredonov, Routilov began to tell him that his older pupils were behaving very badly, especially those who lived in apartments: they smoked, drank vodka and ran after girls. Peredonov believed him, and Grushina confirmed what Routilov said. These stories gave her especial pleasure: she herself, after her husband's death, had wanted to board three or four of the students at her house, but the Head-Master would not give her the requisite permission, in spite of Peredonov's recommendations—Grushina's reputation in the town was not very good. She now began to abuse the landladies of the houses where the students had apartments.
"They're bribing the Head-Master," she declared.
"All the landladies are carrion!" said Volodin with conviction; "take mine, for instance. When I took my room, mine agreed to give me three glasses of milk every evening. For the first two months I got it."
"And you didn't get drunk?" asked Routilov.
"Why should I get drunk?" said Volodin in offended tones, "milk's a useful product. It's my habit to drink three glasses of milk every night. When all of a sudden I see that they bring me only two glasses. 'What's the meaning of this?' I ask; the servant says: 'Anna Mikhailovna says she begs your pardon because the cow, she says, doesn't give much milk now.' What's that to do with me? An agreement is more sacred than money. Suppose their cow gave no milk at all—does that mean I'm not to have any milk? 'No,' I say. 'If there is no milk, then tell Anna Mikhailovna to give me a glass of water. I'm used to three glasses and I must have them.'"
"Our Pavloushka's a hero," said Peredonov. "Tell them how you argued with the General, old chap."
Volodin eagerly repeated his story. But this time they laughed at his expense. He stuck out an offended underlip.
After supper they all got drunk, even the women. Volodin proposed that they should dirty the walls some more. They were delighted: almost before they had finished supper they acted on this suggestion and amused themselves prodigiously. They spat on the wall-paper, poured beer on it, and they threw at the walls and ceiling paper arrows whose ends were smeared with butter, and they flipped pieces of moist bread at the ceiling. Afterwards they invented a new game which they played for money; they tore off strips of the wall-paper to see who could get the largest. But at this game the Prepolovenskys won another rouble and a half.
Volodin lost. Because of his loss and his intoxication he became depressed and began to complain about his mother. He made a dolorous face, and gesticulating ridiculously with his hand, said:
"Why did she bear me? And what did she think at the time? What's my life now? She's not been a mother to me, she only bore me. Because whereas a real mother worries about her child, mine only bore me and sent me to a charitable home when I was a mere baby."
"Well, you've learnt something by it—it made a man of you," said Prepolovenskaya.
Volodin bent his head, wagged it to and fro and said:
"No, what's my life? A dog's life. Why did she bear me? What did she think then?"
Peredonov suddenly remembered yesterday'serli."There," he thought, "he complains about his mother, because she bore him. He doesn't want to be Pavloushka. It's certain that he envies me. It may be that he's thinking of marrying Varvara and of getting into my skin." And he looked anxiously at Volodin.
He must try to marry him to someone.
At night in the bedroom Varvara said to Peredonov:
"You think that all these girls who are running after you are really good-looking? They're all trash, and I'm prettier than any of them."
She quickly undressed herself and, smiling insolently, showed Peredonov her rosy, graceful, flexible and beautiful body.
Though Varvara staggered from drunkenness and her face would have repelled any decent man with its flabby-lascivious expression, she really had the beautiful body of a nymph, with the head of a faded prostitute attached to it as if by some horrible black magic. And this superb body was for these two drunken and dirty-minded people merely the source of the vilest libidinousness.
And so it often happens in our age that beauty is debased and abused.
Peredonov laughed gruffly but boisterously as he looked at his naked companion.
The entire night he dreamed of women of all colours, naked and hideous.
Varvara believed that the friction with nettles, which she applied at Prepolovenskaya's advice, helped her. It seemed to her that she got plumper almost at once. She asked all her acquaintances:
"It's true, isn't it, that I'm a little fuller?"
And she thought that now Peredonov would surely marry her, seeing that she was plumper, and that he would receive the forged letter.
Peredonov's expectations were far from being so agreeable as hers. He had become convinced some time before that the Head-Master was hostile to him—and as a matter of fact the Head-Master considered Peredonov a lazy, incapable instructor. Peredonov imagined that the Head-Master told the boys not to respect him, which it is obvious was an absurd invention of his own. But it inspired Peredonov with the idea that he must be on his guard against the Head-Master.
From spite against the Head-Master he spoke slightingly of him more than once in the classes of the older students. This pleased many of the students.
Now that Peredonov was hoping to become an inspector the Head-Master's attitude towards him seemed particularly unpleasant. Let it be admitted that if the Princess should so desire, her protection would override the Head-Master's unfriendliness, still it was not without its dangers.
And there were other people in the town—as Peredonov had lately noticed—who were hostile to him and wanted to hinder his appointment to the inspectorship. There was Volodin; it was not for nothing that he continually repeated the words, "The future inspector." There have been occasions when people have assumed another man's name with great profit to themselves. Of course, Volodin would find it difficult to impersonate Peredonov, but after all even such a fool as Volodin might have the idea that he could. It is certain that we ought to fear every evil man. And there were still the Routilovs, Vershina with her Marta, and his envious colleagues—all equally ready to do him harm. And how could they harm him? It was perfectly clear they could vilify him to the authorities and make him out to be an unreliable man.
So that Peredonov had two anxieties: one, to prove his reliableness and the other to secure himself from Volodin—by marrying him to a rich girl.
Peredonov once asked Volodin:
"If you like, I'll get you engaged to the Adamenko girl, or are you still pining for Marta? Isn't a month long enough for you to get consoled?"
"Why should I pine for Marta?" replied Volodin, "I've done her a great honour by proposing to her, and if she doesn't want me, what's that to me? I'll easily find someone else—there are as good fish in the sea as ever came out of it."
"Well, but Marta's pulled your nose for you nicely," said Peredonov tauntingly.
"I've no notion what sort of a husband they're looking for," said Volodin with an offended air. "They haven't even any dowry to speak of. She's after you, Ardalyon Borisitch."
Peredonov advised him:
"If I were in your place I should smear her gates with tar."
Volodin grinned and calmed down at once. He said:
"But if they catch me it might be unpleasant."
"Hire somebody; why should you do it yourself?" said Peredonov.
"And she deserves it—honest to God!" said Volodin animatedly. "A girl who won't get married and yet lets young fellows in through the window! That means that human beings have no shame or conscience!"