"I did not complain."
"Why do you deny it?" said Peredonov angrily.
Sasha felt himself caught in a detestable trap. He said:
"I only explained to you why some of my companions tease me with being a girl. But I didn't want to tell tales about them."
"So that's it. And why so?" asked Peredonov indignantly.
"It isn't nice," said Sasha with an annoyed smile.
"Well, I shall speak to the Head-Master and he'll make you tell," said Peredonov spitefully.
Sasha looked at Peredonov with anger in his eyes.
"No, please don't tell him, Ardalyon Borisitch," he entreated.
And from the agitated tones of his voice it could be perceived that he tried to entreat but that he wanted to shout fierce, insulting words.
"No, I'll tell. Then you'll see whether you can hide nasty things. You should have complained of them at once. But just wait, you'll get it."
Sasha rose and in confusion he shifted his belt. Kokovkina entered.
"Your quiet one is a good boy, I must say," said Peredonov malignantly.
Kokovkina was frightened. She quickly walked up to Sasha and sat down at his side—in her agitation she always stumbled—and asked timorously:
"What's the matter, Ardalyon Borisitch? What has he done?"
"You'd better ask him," replied Peredonov with morose spite.
"What is it, Sashenka? What have you done?" asked Kokovkina, touching Sasha's elbow.
"I don't know," said Sasha and began to cry.
"Well, what's the matter? What is it? Why are you crying?" asked Kokovkina.
She laid her hands on the boy's shoulders and pulled him towards her; she did not notice that this disturbed him further. He stood there, stooping, and kept his handkerchief to his eyes. Peredonov explained:
"He's being taught nasty words in thegymnasiaand he won't say who it is. He oughtn't to conceal things. He not only learns nasty words himself but he shields the other boys."
"Oh, Sashenka, Sashenka. How could you do it? Aren't you ashamed?" said Kokovkina in a flustered way, as she released Sasha.
"I did nothing," replied Sasha, crying. "I did nothing that was wrong. Indeed, they tease me because I don't use bad words."
"Who says bad words?" asked Peredonov again.
"No one says them," exclaimed Sasha in despair.
"There, you see how he lies?" said Peredonov. "He ought to be well punished. He must tell the truth as to who says these nasty words, because ourgymnasiamight get a bad name and we could do nothing against it."
"You had better let him go, Ardalyon Borisitch," said Kokovkina. "How can he inform against his companions? They'd make his life unbearable if he did."
"He's obliged to tell," said Peredonov angrily. "Because it would be very useful. We will take measures to stop it."
"But they'll beat him," said Kokovkina irresolutely.
"They won't dare. If he's afraid, then let him tell in secret."
"Well, Sashenka, tell in secret. No one will know that it's you."
Sasha cried silently. Kokovkina drew him to her, embraced him, and for a long time whispered in his ear, but he shook his head negatively.
"He doesn't want to," said Kokovkina.
"Try a birch on him, then he'll talk," said Peredonov savagely. "Bring me a birch, I'll make him talk."
"Olga Vassilyevna! But why?" exclaimed Sasha. Kokovkina rose and embraced him.
"That's enough crying," she said gently but sternly, "no one shall touch you."
"As you like," said Peredonov. "But I must tell the Head-Master. I thought it might have been better to keep at home. Perhaps your Sashenka really knows more than he'll tell. We don't know yet why he's teased with being a girl—perhaps it's for something else entirely. Perhaps it's not he who's being taught, but he who's corrupting others."
Peredonov left the room angrily. Kokovkina followed him. She said reproachfully:
"Ardalyon Borisitch, how can you worry a boy for I don't know what? It's as well that he doesn't understand what you say."
"Well, good-bye," said Peredonov angrily. "But I shall tell the Head-Master. This must be investigated."
He left. Kokovkina went to console Sasha. Sasha sat gloomily at his window and looked at the starry sky. His black eyes were now tranquil and strangely sad. Kokovkina silently stroked his head.
"It's my fault," he said. "I told him why they were teasing me and he wouldn't let it drop. He's a very coarse man. Not one of the students likes him."
The next day Peredonov and Varvara moved into their new house. Ershova stood at the gate and exchanged violently abusive words with Varvara. Peredonov hid himself behind the furniture vans.
As soon as they got in they had their new house blessed. It was necessary, according to Peredonov's calculations, to show that he was one of the faithful. During this ceremony the fumes of incense made his head dizzy and induced in him a religious mood.
One strange circumstance puzzled him. There came running from somewhere a strange indescribable creature—a small, grey and nimblenedotikomka.[1]It nodded, and it trembled, and circled round Peredonov. When he stretched out his hand to catch it, it glided swiftly out of sight, hid itself behind the door or the sideboard, but reappeared a moment later, and trembled and mocked again—the grey, featureless, nimble creature.
At last when the blessing was over Peredonov, suspecting something, repeated a charm in a whisper. The nedotikomka hissed very, very quietly, shrivelled into a little ball and rolled away behind the door. Peredonov gave a sigh of relief.
"Yes, it's good that it has rolled away altogether, but it's possible that it lives in this house somewhere under the floor and will come out again to mock at me."
Peredonov felt cold and depressed.
"What's the use of all these unclean demons in the world?" he thought.
When the ceremony was over and the visitors gone Peredonov thought a longtime as to where the nedotikomka could have hidden itself. Varvara left with Grushina, and Peredonov began to search and rummage among her things.
"I wonder if Varvara carried it away in her pocket," thought Peredonov. "It doesn't need much room. It could hide in a pocket and stay there until its time comes to show itself."
One of Varvara's dresses attracted Peredonov's attention. It was made up of flounces, bows and ribbons, as if made purposely to hide something. Peredonov examined it for a long time, then by force and with the help of a knife he partly tore, partly cut away, the pocket and threw it on the stove, and then began to tear and cut the whole dress into small pieces. Strange, confused thoughts wandered through his brain and his soul felt hopelessly gloomy.
Soon Varvara returned—Peredonov was still cutting the remains of the dress into shreds. She thought he was drunk and began to abuse him. Peredonov listened for a long time and said at last:
"What are you barking at, fool! Perhaps you're carrying a devil in your pocket. I must think about it and see what's going on here."
Varvara was taken aback. Gratified by the impression he had produced, he made haste to find his cap and went out to play billiards. Varvara ran out into the passage and while Peredonov was putting on his overcoat she shouted:
"It's you, perhaps, who're carrying the devil in your pocket, but I haven't got any kind of devil. Where should I get your devil? Shall I order one for you from Holland?"
The young official, Cherepnin, the man about whom Vershina had told the story of his looking into the window, had paid attentions to her when she first became a widow. Vershina did not object to marrying a second time but Cherepnin seemed to her utterly worthless. Therefore he felt maliciously towards her.
With great delight he fell in with Volodin's suggestion of smearing Vershina's gate with tar.
He agreed, but later he felt some qualms. Suppose they should catch him? It would be awkward; after all he was an official. He decided to shift the matter on to other shoulders. He bribed two young scapegraces with a quarter of a rouble and promised them another fifteen kopecks each if they would get it done—if they would do it one dark night.
If anyone in Vershina's house had opened the window after midnight he might have heard the rustle of light feet on the wood pavement, a quiet whispering and certain soft sounds giving the impression that the fence was being swept; then a slight clinking, a fast pattering of feet, going faster and faster, distant laughing and the angry barking of dogs.
But no one opened the window. And in the morning ... the gate and the fence between the garden and the yard were covered with yellow-cinnamon coloured tar. Indecent words were written in tar on the gates. Passers-by stopped and laughed. The word soon went round and many inquisitive people came.
Vershina walked about quickly in the garden and smoked; her smile was even more wry than usual and she mumbled angrily. Marta did not leave her room and wept bitterly. The maid-servant Marya tried to wash off the tar and some words of abuse passed between her and the onlookers, who were laughing uproariously. That same day Cherepnin told Volodin what he had done. Volodin wasted no time in telling Peredonov. Both of them knew the boys, who were well-known for their daring pranks.
Peredonov on his way to billiards stopped at Vershina's. The weather was gloomy, so Vershina and Marta sat in the drawing-room.
"Your gates have been smeared with tar," said Peredonov.
Marta blushed. Vershina quickly related how they had got up in the morning and saw people laughing at the gate and how Marya had washed the fence.
"I know who did it," said Peredonov.
Vershina looked questioningly at Peredonov.
"How did you find out?" she asked.
"I found out all right."
"Tell us then who did it," said Marta crossly.
She had become altogether unattractive because she now had tear-stained eyes with red swollen eyelids. Peredonov replied:
"Of course I'll tell you—I've come for that reason. Such impertinent fellows ought to be punished. But you must promise not to say who told you."
"But why, Ardalyon Borisitch?" asked Vershina in astonishment.
Peredonov kept significantly silent. Then he said in explanation:
"They're such dare-devils that they might break my head if they found I'd given them away."
Vershina promised.
"And don't you tell either," said Peredonov to Marta.
"Very well, I won't tell," Marta agreed quickly because she wanted to know as quickly as possible who had done it.
She thought they ought to be made to suffer a cruel and ignominious punishment.
"No, you'd better swear," said Peredonov cautiously.
"Well, honest to God, I won't tell anyone," said Marta, trying to convince him. "But tell us quickly."
Vladya was listening behind the door. He was glad that he had not thought of going into the drawing-room: he would not be compelled to promise and he could tell it to anyone he liked. And he smiled with delight to think that he would be avenged on Peredonov.
"Last night, about one o'clock, I was going home along your street," began Peredonov, "and I heard someone moving by your gate. I thought at first it was thieves. 'What shall I do?' I thought, when suddenly I heard them running straight towards me. I pressed close against the wall and they didn't see me, but I recognised them. One had a brush and the other had a pail. They're well-known rascals, the sons of Avdeyev, the blacksmith. They ran, and I heard one say to the other: 'We haven't wasted the night,' he said, 'we've earned fifty-five kopecks.' I wanted to catch one of them but I was afraid they would smear my face, and besides I had a new overcoat on."
No sooner had Peredonov gone than Vershina went to the Commissioner of Police with a complaint. The Commissioner, Minchukov, sent a constable for Avdeyev and his sons.
The boys came boldly, thinking they were suspected on account of previous pranks. Avdeyev, a tall dejected old man, was, on the other hand, fully convinced that his sons were guilty of some fresh mischief. The Commissioner told Avdeyev of what his sons were accused, and Avdeyev replied:
"I can't control them. Do what you like with them. I've already hurt my hands beating them."
"It's not our doing," announced the elder boy Nil, who had curly red hair.
"No matter who does a thing we're blamed for it," said Ilya the younger, whose hair was also curly but white. "We've once done something and now we have to answer for everything."
Minchukov smiled amiably, shook his head and said:
"You'd better make a clean breast of it."
"There's nothing to confess," said Nil.
"Nothing? Who gave you fifty-five kopecks for your work, eh?"
And seeing from the boys' momentary confusion that they were guilty, Minchukov said to Vershina:
"It's obvious that they did it."
The boys renewed their denials. They were taken into a small room and whipped. Not being able to endure the pain, they confessed. But even then they were unwilling to say who had given them the money.
"We did it on our own," they said.
They were whipped again until they confessed that Cherepnin had given them the money. The boys were then turned over to their father.
"Well, we've punished them—that is their father punished them," said the Commissioner to Vershina, "and now you know who's responsible."
"I won't let that Cherepnin off easily," said Vershina. "I'll prosecute him."
"I shouldn't advise you to, Natalya Afanasyevna," said Minchukov abruptly. "You'd better let the thing drop."
"What! Let such wretches go! No, never!" exclaimed Vershina.
"After all, you have had no real proof," said the Commissioner quietly.
"What do you mean by no proof, when the boys themselves have confessed it?"
"That doesn't count, they might deny it before the judge and there'd be no one to flog them there."
"How can they deny it? There are the constables who were witnesses," said Vershina confidently.
"Where are your witnesses? When you beat a man he'll confess anything, even something that never happened. They're rascals, of course, and they got what they deserved. But you'll get nothing out of them in court."
Minchukov smiled and looked calmly at Vershina.
Vershina left the Commissioner very dissatisfied, but after reflection admitted to herself that it was difficult to accuse Cherepnin, and that only publicity and scandal would come of it.
[1]nedotikomka, an invention of the author. The word means "the touch-me-not-creature." It is presumably an elemental, a symbol of the evil of the world. Sologub begins one of his poems—"The grey NedotikomkaWriggles and turns, round and round me...."
[1]nedotikomka, an invention of the author. The word means "the touch-me-not-creature." It is presumably an elemental, a symbol of the evil of the world. Sologub begins one of his poems—
"The grey NedotikomkaWriggles and turns, round and round me...."
Towards evening Peredonov appeared before the Head-Master—to talk on business.
The Head-Master, Nikolai Vlasyevitch Khripatch had a certain number of rules which were sufficiently practical and not difficult to keep. He calmly fulfilled all the school laws and regulations and also kept to the rules of a generally-accepted mild Liberalism. This was why the school authorities, the parents and the students were equally satisfied with the Head-Master. He had no moments of doubt, no indecisions and no hesitations—what was the use of them?—one could always rely on the decisions of the Pedagogical Council or on the instructions of the Educational authorities. He was no less calm and correct in his personal relations. His very appearance gave the impression of good-nature and steadiness. He was short, robust, active, with keen eyes, and with a confident voice. He seemed a man who ordered his life well and who was always ready to improve. There were many books on the shelves in his study. He made notes from them. When he had accumulated a sufficient number of notes, he would put them in order and paraphrase them—that was how a text-book was compiled, published and circulated, of course not so successfully as the text-books of Ushinsky and Evtoushevsky but still they were not a failure. Sometimes he put together, chiefly from foreign books, a compilation which was very respectable and quite unnecessary to anyone and published it in a periodical equally respectable and equally unnecessary. He had a number of children and all of them, boys and girls, already gave indication of various talents: some wrote verses, some drew, some made rapid progress in music.
Peredonov said morosely:
"You're always down on me, Nikolai Vlasyevitch. Perhaps someone has been slandering me to you, but I've done nothing of the kind."
"I beg your pardon," the Head-Master interrupted him, "I don't understand what slanders you have in mind. In the management of thegymnasiaentrusted to me, I make use of my own observations, and I dare hope that my educational experience is sufficient to estimate with proper correctness what I see and what I hear, all the more in view of my close attention to my duties which I have made an unbreakable rule."
Khripatch said this quickly and decisively, and his voice sounded dry and clear, like the sharp noise given out by a zinc bar when bent. He went on:
"As far as it concerns my personal opinion of you, I still continue to think that there are sad lapses in your professional activity."
"Yes," said Peredonov morosely. "You've taken it into your head that I'm good for nothing. Yet I'm always preoccupied with thegymnasia."
Khripatch lifted his eyebrows in astonishment and glanced questioningly at Peredonov.
"You haven't noticed," continued Peredonov, "that there's a possibility of a scandal in ourgymnasia.No one has noticed it—I alone have detected it."
"What scandal?" asked Khripatch with a dry smile, pacing up and down his study. "You arouse my curiosity, though, to speak candidly, I hardly believe in the possibility of a scandal in our school."
"Yes, but you don't know who you have recently admitted to the school," said Peredonov with such malevolence that Khripatch paused and looked attentively at him.
"I know all the new students perfectly well," he said dryly. "Besides, it goes without saying that the new boys in the first form have never been excluded from another school, and the only one who has just entered the fifth form came to us with such recommendations that preclude all possibility of suspicion."
"Yes, but he shouldn't have come to us but to some other kind of institution," said Peredonov morosely and as if reluctantly.
"Please explain, Ardalyon Borisitch," said Khripatch. "I hope you don't mean to say that Pilnikov ought to have been sent to a Reformatory."
"No, that creature should be sent to a pension where they don't learn ancient languages,"[1]said Peredonov maliciously, and his eyes gleamed with spite.
Khripatch put his hands into the pockets of his short jacket and looked at Peredonov with unusual astonishment.
"What pension?" he asked. "Do you know what institutions are designated in that way? And if you do know, how could you venture to make such an unseemly suggestion?"
Khripatch flushed violently and his voice sounded drier and even more decisive. At another time these symptoms of the Head-Master's anger would have flustered Peredonov. But this time he was not flustered.
"Of course, you think Pilnikov's a boy," he said screwing up his eyes in derision, "but he's not a boy at all, but a girl, and what sort of a girl!"
Khripatch uttered a dry, abrupt laugh, but his laughter sounded affected, it was so loud and mechanical—he always laughed like that.
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" he laughed mechanically, and when he had finished laughing he sat down in the chair and threw his head back as if he had dropped exhausted from laughing.
"You astonish me, my good Ardalyon Borisitch! Ha! Ha! Ha! Be so kind as to tell me upon what you base your supposition, if the premises which have led you to this conclusion are not secret! Ha! Ha! Ha!"
Peredonov recounted everything that he had heard from Varvara, and incidentally he dilated on the poor qualities of Kokovkina. Khripatch listened and now and then gave vent to his dry, mechanical laughter.
"I'm afraid, my dear Ardalyon Borisitch, that your imagination has played pranks with you," he said, as he rose and caught Peredonov by the sleeve. "I, as well as many of my esteemed friends, have children, we're not in our swaddling clothes. Surely you don't think that we would have admitted a disguised girl as a boy?"
"That's your opinion," said Peredonov. "But if anything should happen who's going to be responsible?"
"Ha! Ha! Ha!" laughed Khripatch. "What consequences are you afraid of?"
"It'll demoralise the school," said Peredonov.
Khripatch frowned and said:
"You're presuming too far. All that you have told me so far doesn't give me the slightest cause for sharing in your suspicion."
That same evening Peredonov rapidly went round to all his colleagues, from the inspector down to the form-masters, and told everyone that Pilnikov was a girl in disguise. They all laughed and refused to believe him, but when he left several of them began to wonder if it were not true. The Masters' wives believed it immediately.
Next morning many came to their classes with the thought that Peredonov was possibly right. They did not speak of this openly, yet they no longer argued with Peredonov and limited themselves to indecisive and ambiguous answers; each was afraid that he would be considered stupid if he argued about the matter, should it afterwards prove to be true. Many would have liked to know what the Head-Master thought of it, but the Head-Master stopped in his own house more than usual. He came very late to the one lesson he gave that day to the sixth form, remained there hardly more than five minutes and then went to his study without speaking to anyone.
At last, before the fourth lesson, the grey-haired Divinity Master and two other instructors went to the Head-Master's study on the pretext of business and the Divinity Master cautiously led up to the subject of Pilnikov. But the Head-Master laughed so confidently and so indifferently that all three became convinced that the whole thing was an invention. The Head-Master quickly went on to other subjects, told a new piece of town news, complained about his bad headache and said that he would probably have to call in thegymnasiadoctor, Evgeny Ivanovitch. Then he told them in a very good-natured voice that his lesson that day had only made his headache worse, for, as it happened, Peredonov was in the next class and the students had for some reason or other laughed frequently and with extraordinary loudness. Khripatch laughed dryly and said:
"This year fate has not been kind to me—three times a week I am compelled to sit in a class-room next to Ardalyon Borisitch, And just imagine! There is constant boisterous laughter. One would think that Ardalyon Borisitch was not at all an amusing man and yet he always arouses merriment!"
And without giving them time to comment on this, Khripatch changed the subject.
It was true that recently there had been a good deal of laughter at Peredonov's classes—though they did not particularly please him. On the contrary, children's laughter annoyed Peredonov, but he could not restrain himself from saying things which were malapropos and unnecessary: now he would tell a stupid anecdote, now he would try to subdue one of the most quiet boys by sneering at him. In his classes there were also a number of boys who were glad of every opportunity to create disorder—and at every one of Peredonov's sallies they would roar with laughter.
After school Khripatch sent for the physician, picked up his hat and went into his garden which was situated between the school and the river-bank. The garden was large and shady. The little boys loved it. They were allowed to run about in it freely during recreation, but this was the reason why the assistant masters did not like it. They were afraid that something would happen to the boys. But Khripatch insisted that the boys should spend their recreation time in the garden. This was necessary in order to make his reports appear more imposing.
As he walked through the corridor he stopped outside the Gymnasium hall for a while, and then walked in with bent head. From his cheerless face and slow walk, everyone knew that he had a headache.
The fifth form was getting ready for its exercises. They stood in a row and the Athletic instructor, a lieutenant of the local reserve battalion, was about to give a command, but, on seeing the Head-Master, he went forward to meet him. Khripatch shook his hand and looking somewhat confusedly at the students asked:
"Are you satisfied with them? Do they work well? Do any of them get tired?"
The lieutenant deep in his heart detested those students, who, in his opinion, had not and could never have a military bearing. If they had been cadets he would have told them at once what he thought of them, but it was not worth while to tell the unpleasant truth about these sluggards to the man on whom these lessons depended. And so with a smile on his thin lips he looked at the Head-Master in a friendly way and said:
"Oh, yes, they're fine boys."
The Head-Master walked past some of the boys in the line and was about to leave when he stopped short as if he had suddenly remembered something.
"And are you satisfied with the new boy? Is he doing well? Does he tire quickly?" he asked languidly and cheerlessly, putting his hand to his forehead.
The lieutenant said for the sake of variety—the boy in any case was a stranger:
"He's a little frail—he gets tired quickly."
But the Head-Master seemed not to listen to him and he left the hall.
The outdoor air rather refreshed Khripatch. He returned in half an hour and again standing in the door looked on at the exercises. The boys were using various gymnastic appliances. Two or three idle students who did not notice the Head-Master were leaning against the wall, taking advantage of the fact that the lieutenant was not looking at them. Khripatch walked up to them.
"But Pilnikov," he said, "why are you leaning against the wall?"
Sasha flushed violently, straightened himself and said nothing.
"If you get tired so quickly then perhaps the exercises are injurious to you," said Khripatch sternly.
"It's my fault, I'm not tired," said Sasha timidly.
"You must choose between two things," said Khripatch, "either not to attend the gymnastic exercises or... In any case come in and see me after the exercises."
He went away hurriedly and left Sasha standing confused and frightened.
"You're in for it," said the other boys to him. "He'll lecture you till evening."
Khripatch loved to deliver lengthy reprimands and the students dreaded his invitations above everything.
After the exercises Sasha timidly went to the Head-Master. Khripatch received him promptly. He went close to Sasha, looked intently into his eyes and asked:
"Tell me, Pilnikov, do the gymnastic exercises really tire you? You look quite a healthy youngster but 'appearances are deceptive.' Are you sure you haven't some illness? Perhaps it's injurious for you to do these exercises."
"No, Nikolai Vlasyevitch, I'm quite well," answered Sasha, red with confusion.
"However," said Khripatch, "Aleksey Alekseyevitch was complaining about your languidness and that you get tired soon. And I myself noticed to-day that you had a tired look. Or perhaps I was mistaken?"
Sasha did not know how to shield his eyes from Khripatch's penetrating look. He muttered in a confused way:
"I'm very sorry—I won't do it again—I was just a little lazy—really I'm quite well. I will work hard at the exercises."
Suddenly, quite unexpectedly to himself, he burst into tears.
"You see," said Khripatch, "it's obvious that you're tired: you cry as if I had given you a severe scolding. Now, quiet yourself."
He laid his hand on Sasha's shoulder and said:
"I called you in not to lecture you but to make things clear.... Sit down, Pilnikov, I can see you're tired."
Sasha quickly dried his wet eyes with his handkerchief and said:
"I'm not a bit tired."
"Sit down, sit down," said Khripatch, not unkindly, and pushed a chair over to Sasha.
"Really I'm not tired, Nikolai Vlasyevitch," Sasha assured him.
Khripatch took him by the shoulders and made him sit down, sat down himself opposite the boy and said:
"Let's talk the matter over quietly, Pilnikov. You yourself cannot tell the actual condition of your health. You're very good and conscientious in all respects. That is why I can understand your wanting to be relieved from the gymnastic exercises. By the way, I've asked Evgeny Ivanovitch to come here to-day as I don't feel quite myself; he might incidentally look at you. I hope you have nothing against that?"
Khripatch looked at his watch and without waiting for an answer began to talk with Sasha as to how he had spent the summer.
Evgeny Ivanovitch Sourovtsev, the school physician, a little dark alert man, soon appeared; he delighted in conversations on politics and news generally. His knowledge was not great but he attended his patients conscientiously, and as he preferred diet and hygiene to medicines he was generally successful in his cases.
Sasha was asked to undress. Sourovtsev examined him attentively but found nothing wrong with him. As for Khripatch he was now convinced that Sasha was not a girl. Though he was convinced of this even before, still he considered it proper that in the event of any possible inquiries from the district, the school physician could certify to the facts without further investigation.
As Khripatch let Sasha go he said to him kindly:
"Now, we know that you're well, and I will tell Aleksey Alekseyevitch that he's not to let you off!"
Peredonov had no doubt that the discovery of a girl among the students would turn the attention of the authorities to himself, and that, aside from promotion, he would be given a decoration. This encouraged him to look vigilantly after the conduct of the students. As the weather for some days now had been bleak and cold, there were few people in the billiard-room, so there was nothing for him to do but to walk about town and visit students' lodgings, and even those students who lived with their parents.
Peredonov chose the parents who were simple folk; he would come, he would complain about the boy, the boy would be whipped—and Peredonov would be satisfied. In this way he first of all complained to Yosif Kramarenko's father, who kept a brewery in the town—he told him that Yosif misbehaved in church. The father believed him and punished his son. The same fate befell several others. Peredonov did not go to those who, he thought, would defend their sons—they might complain to the authorities.
Every day he visited at least one student's lodgings. He conducted himself then like an official, he reprimanded, gave orders and threatened. Still the students felt themselves more independent in their own lodgings than at school, and at times they were rebellious. Aside from this there was Flavitskaya, a tall, loud-voiced, energetic woman, who, acting on Peredonov's suggestion, beat severely her young lodger, Vladimir Boultyakov.
On the following day Peredonov would relate his exploits to his class.
He did not name his victims but they usually gave themselves away by their embarrassment.
[1]This expression implies a house of ill-fame.
[1]This expression implies a house of ill-fame.
Rumours that Pilnikov was a disguised girl soon spread about the town. Among the first to hear of it were the Routilovs. The inquisitive Liudmilla always tried to see everything new with her own eyes. She had a burning curiosity about Pilnikov. Of course, she would have to see the masquerading trickster. She knew Kokovkina, and so one evening Liudmilla announced to her sisters:
"I'm going to take a look at this girl."
"Busybody!" said Darya indignantly.
"She's got on her best clothes," said Valeria with a restrained smile.
They were annoyed because they had not thought of it first and it would be awkward for the three of them to go. Liudmilla was dressed more elaborately than usual—she herself could not tell why. Apart from other considerations, she liked to dress up. She dressed more lightly than her sisters: her arms and her shoulders were a little more bared, her dress a little shorter, her shoes a little lighter, her stockings a little thinner, more transparent and of a flesh colour. At home she liked to go about in a petticoat, without stockings, but with shoes on her bared feet—moreover her petticoat and her chemise were very charmingly embroidered.
The weather was cold, windy, and the fallen leaves floated on the speckled pools. Liudmilla walked quickly, and under her thin cloak she almost did not feel the cold.
Kokovkina and Sasha were drinking tea. Liudmilla looked at them with searching eyes—they were sitting quietly, drinking tea, eating rolls and chatting. Liudmilla kissed Kokovkina and said:
"I've come on business, dear Olga Vassilyevna, but that can wait—first warm me up with a little tea. But who is this young man here?"
Sasha flushed and bowed uneasily. Kokovkina introduced them. Liudmilla sat down at the table and began to gossip in an animated way. The townspeople liked to see her because she could recount things prettily. Kokovkina, who was a stay-at-home, was openly glad to see her, and welcomed her heartily. Liudmilla chattered on merrily, laughed, and jumped up now and then to mimic someone and incidently to tease Sasha. She said to Kokovkina:
"You must feel lonely, my dear, from sitting always at home with this grumpy little schoolboy. You might look in on us now and then."
"But how can I?" answered Kokovkina. "I'm too old to go visiting."
"Don't call it visiting," said Liudmilla. "Just come in when you like and make yourself at home. This infant needs no swaddling."
Sasha assumed an injured expression and blushed.
"What a stick-in-the-corner he is," said Liudmilla to annoy him, and nudged Sasha. "You ought to talk to your visitors."
"He's still only a youngster," said Kokovkina. "He's very modest."
"I'm modest too," said Liudmilla with a smile.
Sasha laughed and said ingenuously:
"Really, are you modest?"
Liudmilla burst out laughing. Her laughter, as always, was delightfully gay. As she laughed, she flushed very much and her eyes became mischievous and guilty, and their glance attempted to dodge those of her companions. Sasha was flustered and tried eagerly to explain.
"I didn't mean that—I wanted to say that you were very gay and not modest—and not that you were immodest."
Then feeling what he had said was not as clear as it might be, he grew more confused and blushed.
"What impertinence!" exclaimed Liudmilla laughing and flushing. "What a jewel he is!"
"You've embarrassed my Sashenka," said Kokovkina, looking affectionately at both Liudmilla and Sasha.
Liudmilla, leaning forward with a cat-like movement, stroked Sasha's head. He gave a loud, embarrassed laugh, turned from under her hands and ran into his room.
"My dear, find me a husband," said Liudmilla without any ado.
"Well, you've found a nice matchmaker, I must say!" said Kokovkina with a smile, but it was evident from the expression of her face that she would have undertaken to make a marriage with great enjoyment.
"How are you not a matchmaker and why shouldn't I make a bride?" said Liudmilla. "Surely you wouldn't be ashamed to make a marriage for me."
Liudmilla put her arms on her hips and danced a few steps in front of her hostess.
"Well," said Kokovkina, "what a wood flower you are!"
"You might do it in your spare time," said Liudmilla with a laugh.
"What sort of husband would you like?" asked Kokovkina with amusement.
"Let him be—let him be dark—my dear, he must certainly be dark, very dark, dark as a—well, you have a model here—your student—his eyebrows must be black and his eyes languishing, and his eyelashes must be long—long, blue-black eyelashes—your schoolboy's certainly handsome—really handsome—I'd like one of his sort."
Soon Liudmilla made ready to leave. It had grown quite dark. Sasha went out to escort her.
"Only as far as the cabby," said Liudmilla in a gentle voice, and looked at Sasha with her caressing eyes, blushing guiltily.
Once on the street Liudmilla became gay once more and began to cross-examine Sasha.
"Well, are you always at your lessons? Do you read much?"
"Yes, I love reading," replied Sasha.
"Andersen's fairy-tales?"
"No, not fairy-tales, but all sorts of books. I like history and poems too."
"Do you like poetry? And who's your favourite poet?" asked Liudmilla gravely.
"Nadson, of course,"[1]replied Sasha, with the deep conviction of the impossibility of any other answer.
"So, so!" said Liudmilla encouragingly. "I like Nadson too, but only in the morning. In the evening, my dear, I like to dress up. And what do you like to do?"
Sasha looked at her with his soft, dark eyes—they suddenly became moist—and he said quietly:
"I like to caress."
"Well, you are a nice boy," said Liudmilla, putting her arm on his shoulder. "So you like to caress? But do you like to splash[2]in your bath?"
Sasha smiled. Liudmilla went on:
"In warm water?"
"Yes, in warm and in cold," said the boy shamefacedly.
"And what sort of soap do you like?"
"Glycerine."
"And do you like grapes?"
Sasha began to laugh.
"You're a queer girl! It's a different thing and you ask as if it were the same. You can't take me in."
"As if I wanted to!" said Liudmilla laughing.
"I know what you are—you're a giggler."
"Where did you get that?"
"Everyone says so," said Sasha.
"You're a little gossip," said Liudmilla with assumed severity.
Sasha blushed again.
"Well, here's a cabby. Cabby!" shouted Liudmilla.
"Cabby!" shouted Sasha also.
The cabman came up in his shaky drozhky.
Liudmilla told him where to go. He thought a while and demanded forty kopecks. Liudmilla said:
"Do you think it's far? That shows that you don't know the road."
"Well, how much will you give?" asked the cabman.
"You can take which half you like."
Sasha laughed.
"You're a cheerful young lady," said the cabby with a grin. "You might add another five-kopeck piece."
"Thank you for escorting me, my dear," said Liudmilla, as she pressed Sasha's hand tightly and seated herself in the drozhky.
Sasha ran back to the house thinking cheerfully about the cheerful maiden.
Liudmilla returned home in a cheerful mood, smiling and thinking of something pleasant. The sisters awaited her. They sat at a round table in the dining-room, lit up by a hanging lamp. The brown bottle of cherry-brandy on the white tablecloth looked very cheerful; the silver paper round the bottle's neck glittered brightly. It was surrounded by plates containing apples, nuts, and sweets made of honey and nuts.
Darya was slightly tipsy. Her face was red and her clothes were a little dishevelled; she was singing loudly. Liudmilla as she came heard the last couplet but one of the well-known song:
"Her dress is gone, her reed is gone.Naked, he leads her naked along the dune.Fear drives out shame, shame drives out fear,The shepherdess is all in tears:'Forget what you have seen.'"
Larissa was also present. She was sprucely dressed. She was tranquilly cheerful and eating an apple, cutting off the slices with a small knife and was laughing.
"Well," she asked, "what did you see?"
Darya stopped singing and looked at Liudmilla. Valeria leaned her head on her hand with the little finger against her temple and smiled responsively at Larissa. She was slender, fragile, and her smile was unreposeful. Liudmilla poured herself a cherry-red liqueur and said:
"It's all nonsense! He's a real boy and quite sympathetic. He's very dark and his eyes sparkle, but he's quite young and innocent."
Then she burst into a loud laugh. The sisters when they looked at her began to laugh also.
"Well, what's one to say? It's all Peredonovian nonsense," said Darya, and waved her hand contemptuously; she grew thoughtful for a moment, leaning her head on her hands, with her elbows on the table. "I might as well go on singing," she said, and began to sing with piercing loudness.
There was an intensely grim animation in her squeals. If a dead man should be released from the grave on condition of his singing perpetually, he would sing in this way. But the sisters had already become used to Darya's tipsy bawling, and at times even joined in with her in purposely ranting voices.
"Well, she's let herself loose," said Liudmilla laughing. It was not that she objected to the noise, but she wanted her sisters to listen to her. Darya shouted angrily, interrupting her song in the middle of a word:
"What's the matter with you? I'm not interfering with you!"
And immediately she took up the song at the very place she had left off. Larissa said amiably:
"Let her sing."
"It's raining hard on me,There's no roof for a girl like me—"
bawled Darya, imitating the sounds and drawing out the syllables as the simple folk-singers do to make a song more pathetic. For example, it sounded like this:
"O-o-oh; it's a-rai-ai-ning ha-a-a-rd on me-e-e!"
Particularly unpleasant were the sounds stretched out where the accents did not fall. It produced a superlative impression: it would have brought a mortal depression on a new listener. A sadness resounding through our native fields and villages, a sadness consuming with a hideous flame the living word, debasing a once living song with senseless howling....
Suddenly Darya sprang up, put her hand on her hips and began to shout out a gay song,[3]dancing and snapping her fingers:
"Go away, young fellow, go away—I am a robber's daughterA fig for your good looks—I'll stick a knife in your belly.I'll not have a muzhik.I'm going to love a bossiak."[4]
Darya danced and sang, and her eyes seemed as motionless as the dead moon in its orbit. Liudmilla laughed loudly—and her heart now felt faint, now felt oppressed, from gay joyousness or from the cherry-sweet cherry brandy. Valeria laughed quietly with glass-sounding laughter, and looked enviously at her sisters; she wished she were as cheerful as they, but somehow she felt anything but cheerful—she thought that she was the last, the youngest, "the left-over"; hence her frailty and her unhappiness. And though she was laughing she was almost on the point of bursting into tears.
Larissa looked at her, and winked—and Valeria suddenly grew more cheerful. Larissa rose, and moved her shoulders—presently, in a single instant, all four sisters were whirling round madly, as in a mystic dance, and, following Darya's lead, were shouting newchastushki,one more gay and absurd than the other. The sisters were young, handsome, and their voices sounded loud and wild—the witches on the Bald hill might have envied this mad whirl.
All night Liudmilla dreamt such sultry African dreams!
Now she dreamt that she was lying in a smotheringly hot room, and her bedcover slipping from her left her hot body naked—and then a scaly, ringed serpent crept into the room, and climbing up a tree coiled itself round the branches of its naked, handsome limbs....
Then she dreamt of a hot summer evening by a lake under threatening, cumbrously-moving clouds—she was lying on its bank, naked, with a smooth golden crown across her forehead. There was a smell of tepid stagnant water and of grass withered by the heat—and upon the dark, ominous, calm water floated a white, powerful swan of regal stateliness. He beat the water noisily with his wings, and, hissing loudly, approached her and embraced her—and it felt delicious, and languorous and sad....
And both the serpent and the swan, in bending over her, showed Sasha's face, almost bluely pale, with dark, enigmatically sad eyes—their blue-black eyelids, jealously covering their witching glance, descended heavily and apprehensively.
Then Liudmilla dreamt of a magnificent chamber with low, heavy arches—it was crowded with strong, naked, beautiful boys—the handsomest of all was Sasha. She was sitting high, and the naked boys in turn beat one another. And when Sasha was laid on the floor, his face towards Liudmilla, and beaten, he loudly laughed and wept—she was also laughing, as one laughs only in dreams, when the heart begins to beat intensely, and when one laughs long, unrestrainedly, the laughter of oblivion and of death....
In the morning after all these dreams Liudmilla felt that she was passionately in love with Sasha. An impatient desire to see him seized hold of her—but the thought that she would see him dressed made her sad. How stupid that small boys don't go about naked! Or at least barefoot, like the streets gamins in summer upon whom Liudmilla loved to gaze because they walked about barefoot, and sometimes showed their bared legs quite high.
"As if it were so shameful to have a body," thought Liudmilla, "that even small boys hide it!"