[1]A quotation from Griboyedov's, "The Misfortune of Being too Clever."
[1]A quotation from Griboyedov's, "The Misfortune of Being too Clever."
[2]Seenote 1 ch. IV.
[2]Seenote 1 ch. IV.
In the evening Peredonov went to the Club—he had been invited to play cards. Goudayevsky, the notary, was also there. Peredonov was frightened when he saw him, but Goudayevsky conducted himself quietly and Peredonov felt reassured.
They played a long time and drank a good deal. Late at night in the refreshment room Goudayevsky ran up to Peredonov and without any explanation hit him several times in the face, broke his glasses and quickly left the Club. Peredonov showed no resistance, pretended he was drunk, then fell to the floor, and began to grunt. They shook him and carried him home.
The next day the whole town was talking about this scuffle.
That same evening Varvara found an opportunity to steal the first forged letter from Peredonov. Grushina had insisted on this so that no discrepancies might be found by comparing the two forgeries. Peredonov carried this letter about with him, but on this evening he happened to leave it at home: while changing into his dress clothes, he had taken the letter from his pocket, put it under a text-book on the chest of drawers and promptly forgotten it. Varvara burnt it over a candle at Grushina's.
When Peredonov returned home late that night and Varvara saw his broken spectacles, he told her that they had burst of themselves. She believed him and imagined that it was all the fault of Volodin's evil tongue. Peredonov also persuaded himself that it was due to Volodin. The next day, however, Grushina told Varvara the details of the scuffle at the Club.
In the morning, when dressing, Peredonov suddenly remembered the letter, looked for it unavailingly, and felt terrified. He shouted in a savage voice:
"Varvara! Where's that letter?"
Varvara was disconcerted.
"What letter?" she asked, looking at Peredonov with frightened eyes.
"The Princess's!" shouted Peredonov.
Varvara somehow collected herself.
She said with an impudent smile:
"How should I know where it is? You must have thrown it among the waste paper and Klavdiushka has probably burnt it. You'd better look in your pockets for it, if it's still to be found."
Peredonov went to thegymnasiain a gloomy state of mind. Yesterday's unpleasantness came into his mind. He thought of Kramarenko: how did this impudent boy dare to call him a scoundrel? That meant that he was not afraid of Peredonov. Perhaps the boy knew something about him and would inform against him.
In class Kramarenko stared at Peredonov and smiled, which terrified Peredonov even more. After the third class, Peredonov was again called to see the Head-Master. He went, vaguely apprehending something unpleasant.
Rumours of Peredonov's doings reached Khripatch from all sides. That morning he had been told about last night's occurrence at the Club. Yesterday, also, after lessons, Volodya Boultyakov had come to see him—the boy who had been punished by his landlady at Peredonov's request. To prevent a repetition of this visit with similar consequences the boy complained to the Head-Master.
In a dry, sharp voice Khripatch repeated to Peredonov the reports that had reached him—from reliable sources, he added—of how Peredonov had been going to his students' homes giving their parents and guardians false information about the children's conduct and progress, demanding that the boys should be whipped, in consequence of which certain disagreeable incidents had occurred among the parents, as, for instance, last night's affair at the Club with the notary Goudayevsky.
Peredonov listened fearfully and yet irritatedly. Khripatch was silent.
"What of that?" said Peredonov in a surly voice. "It was he who struck me. Is that the way to behave? He had no right to fly into my face. He doesn't go to church. He believes in a monkey and he's corrupting his son into the same sect. He ought to be reported—he's a Socialist."
Khripatch listened attentively to Peredonov and said insinuatingly:
"All this is not our affair, and I don't understand at all what you mean by the original expression 'he believes in a monkey.' In my opinion there's no need to enrich the history of religion with newly-devised cults. As for the affront you received, you ought to have brought him before a court of magistrates. But the very best thing for you to do, is to leave the school. This would be the best way out for you personally and for thegymnasia."
"I shall be an inspector," said Peredonov angrily.
"But until then," continued Khripatch, "you should restrain yourself from these extraordinary visits. You will agree that such conduct is unbecoming to a schoolmaster, and it loses the master his dignity in the eyes of his pupils. To go about from house to house, whipping young boys—this you must agree ..."
Khripatch did not finish, and merely shrugged his shoulders.
"But after all," said Peredonov, "I did it for their good."
"Please don't let us argue about it," Khripatch interrupted him sharply. "I request you most emphatically not to let this happen again."
Peredonov looked angrily at the Head-Master.
That evening they decided to have a house-warming. They invited all their acquaintances. Peredonov walked about the rooms to see that everything was in order and that there was nothing which could be the cause of his being informed against. He thought:
"Well, everything seems all right—there are no forbidden books visible, the ikon-lamps are alight, the Royal portraits are hanging in the place of honour on the wall."
Suddenly Mickiewicz winked at him from the wall.
"He might get me into trouble," thought Peredonov in fear. "I'd better take the portrait and put it in the privy and bring Pushkin back here."
"After all Pushkin was a courtier," he thought, as he hung the portrait on the dining-room wall.
Then he remembered that they would play cards in the evening, so he decided to examine the cards. He took the opened pack of cards which had only been used once and looked through them as if he were trying to find something. The faces of the court cards did not please him—they had such big eyes.
Latterly when he was playing it seemed to him that the cards smiled like Varvara. Even the ordinary six of spades had an insolent and unfriendly look.
Peredonov gathered together all the cards he had and put out the eyes of all the kings, queens and knaves, so that they should not stare at him. He did this first with the cards that had already been used, and afterwards he unsealed the new packs. He did this with furtive glances around him, as if he were afraid that he would be detected. Luckily for him, Varvara was busy in the kitchen and did not come into the rooms,—how could she leave such an abundance of eatables: Klavdia might help herself. When she wanted anything from one of the rooms, she sent Klavdia. Each time Klavdia came into the room, Peredonov trembled, hid the scissors in his pocket and pretended that he was dealing the cards for patience. While Peredonov was in this way depriving the kings and queens of any possibility of their irritating him with their stares, an unpleasantness was approaching him from another side. The hat, which Peredonov had thrown on the stove of his former house in order to keep from wearing it, had been found by Ershova. She suspected that the hat had not been left there by a simple accident: her former tenants detested her and it was likely, Ershova thought, that they had put a spell in the hat which would prevent others from taking the house. In fear and vexation she took the hat to a sorceress. The latter looked at the hat, whispered something over it mysteriously and severely, spat to each of the four quarters and said to Ershova:
"They've done you some harm and you ought to pay them back. A strong sorcerer has made the spell, but I am more cunning and I will outdo him and I'll get the better of him."
And for a long time she recited her spells over the hat, and having received generous gifts from Ershova she told her that she was to give the hat to a young man with red hair, and that he should take it to Peredonov's house, give it to the first person he met there and then run away without turning round.
As it happened, the first red-haired boy whom Ershova met was one of the locksmith's sons, who had a grudge against Peredonov for revealing their nocturnal prank. He took with great satisfaction the five-kopeck piece Ershova gave him, and on the way he spat zealously into the hat on his own account. He met Varvara herself in the dark hall of Peredonov's house. He stuck the hat into her hand and ran away so quickly that Varvara had not time to recognise him.
Peredonov had barely time enough to blind the last knave, when Varvara entered his room, astonished and rather frightened, and said in a trembling voice:
"Ardalyon Borisitch! Look at this!"
Peredonov looked and almost fell over in his terror. The very hat which he had tried to get rid of was now in Varvara's hands, all crumpled up, dusty, with scarcely a trace of its former magnificence. He asked, panting with fear:
"Where did it come from?"
Varvara recounted in a frightened voice how she had received the hat from a nimble boy who seemed to rise from the ground in front of her and then vanish into it again. She said:
"It must be Ershikha. She has thrown a spell on to your hat. There can't be any doubt about it."
Peredonov mumbled something incoherent, and his teeth chattered with fear. Gloomy fears and forebodings tormented him. He walked up and down frowning and the grey nedotikomka ran under the chairs and sniggered.
The guests arrived early. They brought many tarts, apples and pears to the house warming. Varvara accepted everything gladly, saying, merely from politeness:
"Why did you take the trouble to bring such lovely things?"
But if she thought that someone had brought something poor or cheap she felt angry. She was also displeased when two guests brought the same thing.
They lost no time, but sat down at once to play cards. They played stoukolka.
"Good heavens!" exclaimed Grushina suddenly. "I've got a blind king!"
"And my queen has no eyes," said Prepolovenskaya, examining her cards. "And the knave too!"
The guests laughingly examined their cards. Prepolovensky said:
"I wondered why these cards kept catching each other. That's the reason. I kept feeling. Why is it, I thought, that they have such rough backs? Now I see it comes from these little holes. That's it—it's the backs that are rough!"
Everyone laughed except Peredonov, who looked morose. Varvara said with a smile:
"You know my Ardalyon Borisitch has strange whims. He's always thinking of different tricks."
"Why did you do it?" asked Routilov with a loud laugh.
"Why should they have eyes?" said Peredonov morosely. "They don't need to see!"
Everyone roared with laughter, but Peredonov remained morose and silent. It seemed to him that the blinded figures were making wry faces, mocking at him and winking with the gaping little holes in their eyes.
"Perhaps," thought Peredonov, "they've managed to learn to see with their noses."
He had bad luck, as he nearly always did, and it seemed to him that the faces of the kings, queens and knaves expressed spite and mockery; the queen of spades even gritted her teeth, evidently enraged by his blinding her. Finally, after a heavy loss, Peredonov seized the pack of cards and in his rage began to tear them to shreds. The guests roared with laughter. Varvara said with a smile:
"He's always like that—whenever he takes a drop he always does strange things."
"You mean when he's drunk," said Prepolovenskaya spitefully. "Do you hear, Ardalyon Borisitch, what your cousin thinks of you?"
Varvara flushed and said angrily:
"Why do you twist my words?"
Prepolovenskaya smiled and was silent.
A new pack of cards was produced in place of the torn pack, and the game was continued.
Suddenly a crash was heard—a pane of glass was broken and a stone fell on the floor near Peredonov. Under the window could be heard a whispering, laughter and then quickly receding footsteps. Everyone jumped from his place in alarm; the women screamed—as they always do. They picked up the stone and examined it fearfully; no one ventured near the window—they first sent Klavdia into the street, and only when she came back, saying that the street was deserted, did they examine the broken window.
Volodin suggested that the stone had been thrown by some schoolboys. His guess seemed a likely one, and everyone looked significantly at Peredonov. Peredonov frowned and mumbled something incoherently. The guests began to talk of the boys of the place, remarking how impudent and wild they were.
It was, of course, not the schoolboys, but the locksmith's sons.
"The Head-Master put the boys up to it," announced Peredonov suddenly, "he's always trying to pick a quarrel with me. He's thought of this to annoy me."
"Well, thatisa fine idea," shouted Routilov with a loud laugh.
Everyone laughed.
Grushina alone said:
"Well, what do you expect? He's such a poisonous man. Anything might be expected of him. He doesn't do it himself, but puts his sons up to it."
"It doesn't make any difference that they're aristocrats," bleated Volodin in an injured tone. "Anything might be expected from aristocrats."
Many of the guests then began to think that perhaps it was time they stopped laughing.
"You seem to have bad luck with glass, Ardalyon Borisitch," said Routilov. "First your spectacles were broken and now they've smashed your window."
This evoked a new outburst of laughter.
"Broken windows mean long life," said Prepolovenskaya with a restrained smile.
When Peredonov and Varvara were going to bed that night, it seemed to him that Varvara had something evil in her mind; he took from her the knives and forks and hid them under the mattress. He mumbled in a slow, dull way:
"I know you: as soon as you marry me you'll inform against me in order to get rid of me. You'll get a pension and I'll be in Petropavlosk jail working on the treadmill."
That night Peredonov's mind wandered. Dim, terrible figures walked about noiselessly, kings and knaves, swinging their sceptres. They whispered to each other, tried to hide from Peredonov, and stealthily crept towards him under the pillow. But soon they grew bolder and began to walk and run and stir around Peredonov everywhere, upon the floor, upon the bed, upon the pillows. They whispered, they mocked at Peredonov, thrust out their tongues at him, made terrible grimaces before him, stretching out their mouths into deformed shapes. Peredonov saw that they were little and mischievous, that they would not kill him, but were only deriding him, and foreboding evil. But he felt a terrible fear—now he muttered exorcisms, fragments of spells he had heard in his childhood, now he began to curse them and to drive them from him, waving his arms and shouting in a hoarse voice.
Varvara woke and called out irately:
"What are you making such a row about, Ardalyon Borisitch? You won't let me sleep."
"The queen of spades is annoying me. She's got a quilted capote on," mumbled Peredonov.
Varvara rose, grumbling and cursing, and gave Peredonov some medicine.
In the local district newspaper a short article appeared recounting how a certain Madame K. whipped schoolboys who lived in her house—sons of the best local gentry. The notary, Goudayevsky, carried this news over the whole town and waxed indignant.
And various other absurd rumours about the localgymnasiawent through the town: they talked about the girl who was dressed up as a schoolboy, later the name of Pilnikov came gradually to be mentioned with Liudmilla's. Sasha's companions began to tease him about his love for Liudmilla. At first he regarded their jests lightly, but later he would sometimes get indignant and defend Liudmilla, trying to convince them that nothing of the sort had happened.
This made him ashamed to go to Liudmilla, and yet it drew him more strongly to her: confused, burning feelings of shame and attraction agitated him and vaguely passionate visions filled his imagination.
On Sunday when Peredonov and Varvara were lunching, someone entered the hall. Varvara went up to the door stealthily, as was her habit, and looked out. With the same stealthiness she returned to the table and whispered:
"The postman. We'd better give him a vodka—he's brought another letter."
Peredonov silently nodded,—he didn't grudge anyone a glass of vodka. Varvara shouted:
"Postman! Come in here."
The postman entered the room. He rummaged in his bag and pretended to be searching for the letter. Varvara filled a large vodka-glass and cut off a piece of pie. The postman watched her greedily. In the meantime Peredonov was trying to think whom the postman resembled. At last he recalled—he was the same red-pimpled knave who had made him lose so heavily at cards.
"He'll trick me again," thought Peredonov dejectedly, and made a Koukish[1]in his pocket.
The red-haired knave gave the letter to Varvara.
"It's for you," he said respectfully, thanked them for the vodka, drank it, grunted with satisfaction, picked up the piece of pie and walked out.
Varvara turned the letter and without opening it held it out to Peredonov.
"There, read it—I think it's from the Princess," she said with a smile. "What's the good of her writing? It would be much better if she gave you the job instead."
Peredonov's hands trembled. He tore open the envelope and quickly read the letter. Then he jumped up from his place, waved the letter and cried out:
"Hurrah! Three inspector's jobs, and I can have which one I want. Hurrah, Varvara, we've got it at last!"
He began to dance and twirl round the room. With his immovably red face and dull eyes he seemed like a monstrously large mechanical dancing doll. Varvara smiled and looked at him happily. He shouted:
"Now it's decided, Varvara—we'll get married."
He caught Varvara by the shoulders and began to whirl her around the table, stamping with his feet.
"A Russian dance, Varvara!" he shouted.
Varvara put her arms akimbo and glided off into a dance, Peredonov danced before her in the Russian squat.
Volodin entered and bleated joyously:
"The future inspector is hopping thetrepak!"[2]
"Dance, Pavloushka!" cried Peredonov.
Klavdia looked in at the door. Volodin shouted at her, laughing and grimacing:
"Dance, Klavdiusha, you too! All together! We'll make merry with the future inspector."
Klavdia gave a hoot and glided into the dance, moving her shoulders. Volodin adroitly whirled round in front of her—now he squatted, now he whirled round, now he jumped forward, clapping his hands together. He was especially adroit when he lifted his knee and clapped his hands underneath the knee. The floor vibrated under their heels. Klavdia was overjoyed to have such a clever partner.
When they got tired they sat down at the table and Klavdia ran off into the kitchen laughing gaily. They drank vodka and they drank beer. They jingled bottles and glasses, they shouted, laughed, waved their arms, embraced and kissed each other. Afterwards Peredonov and Volodin went off to the Summer-garden—Peredonov was in a hurry to boast about the letter.
In the billiard-room they found the usual company. Peredonov showed his letter to his friends. It created a great impression. Everyone examined it trustfully. Routilov went pale, muttered something and spat.
"The postman brought it when I was there!" exclaimed Peredonov. "I unsealed the letter myself. That means that there's no mistake."
His friends looked at him with respect. A letter from a Princess!
Peredonov went impetuously from the Summer-garden to Vershina's. He walked quickly and evenly, swinging his arms measuredly and mumbling to himself; his face had no apparent expression of any kind—it was motionless like that of a wound-up doll—and a sort of avid fire gleamed dully in his eyes.
The day turned out clear and warm. Marta was knitting a sock. Her thoughts were confused and devout. At first she thought about sins, but later she turned her thoughts to something more pleasant and began to reflect about virtues. Her thoughts became over-clouded with drowsiness and assumed the forms of definite images, and proportionately at their comprehensibility ceased to be expressible in words, their chimerical contours increased in clearness. The virtues stood up before her like big pretty dolls in white dresses, all shining and fragrant. They promised her rewards, and keys jingled in their hands, and bridal veils fluttered on their heads.
One among them was curious and different from the others. She promised nothing but looked reproachfully, and her lips moved with a noiseless threat; it seemed that if she spoke a word one would feel terrible. Marta guessed that this was Conscience. She was in black, this strange painful visitor, with black eyes, and black hair—and she suddenly began to talk about something very quickly and glibly. She began to resemble Vershina. Marta started, answered something to her question, answered almost unconsciously and then drowsiness again overcame her.
Whether it was Conscience, or whether it was Vershina sitting opposite her, talking quickly and glibly but incomprehensibly, smoking something exotic, this person was assertive, quiet and determined that everything should be as she wanted it. Marta tried to look this tedious visitor straight in the eyes but somehow she couldn't—the visitor smiled strangely, grumbled, and her eyes wandered off somewhere and rested on distant, unknown objects, which Marta found fearful to look at....
Loud talk awakened Marta. Peredonov stood in the summer-house and greeted Vershina in a loud voice. Marta looked around in fear. Her heart beat, her eyes were still half-shut, and her thoughts were still wandering, where was Conscience? Or had she not been there at all? And ought she to have been there?
"Ah, you've been snoozing there," said Peredonov to her. "You were snoring in all sorts of ways. Now you're a pine."[3]
Marta did not understand his pun, but smiled, guessing from the smile on Vershina's lips that something had been said which had to be accepted as amusing.
"You ought to be called Sofya," continued Peredonov.
"Why?" asked Marta.
"Because you're Sonya[4]and not Marta."
Peredonov sat down on the bench beside Marta and said:
"I have a very important piece of news."
"What sort of news can you have?" said Vershina. "Share it with us."
And Marta immediately envied Vershina because she had such a vast number of words to express the simple question: "What is it?"
"Guess!" said Peredonov in a morose, solemn voice.
"How can I guess what sort of news you have?" replied Vershina. "You tell us, and then we shall know what your news is."
Peredonov felt unhappy because they did not want to try and guess his news. He sat there silently, hunched up awkwardly, dull and heavy, and looked motionlessly before him. Vershina smoked and smiled wryly, showing her dark yellow teeth.
"Why should I guess your news this way?" she said after a short silence. "Let me find it out in the cards. Marta, bring the cards here."
Marta rose but Peredonov gruffly stopped her:
"Sit still, I don't want them. Find out without them, but don't bother me with the cards. But now you can't do it at my expense. I'll show you a trick that'll make you open your mouths wide."
Peredonov took his wallet quickly from his pocket and showed Vershina a letter in an envelope, without letting it go from his hands.
"Do you see?" he said. "Here's the envelope. And here's the letter."
He took out the letter and read it slowly with a dull expression of gratified spite in his eyes. Vershina was dumbfounded. To the very last she had not believed in the Princess, but now she understood that the affair with Marta was conclusively off. She smiled wryly and said:
"Well, you're in luck."
Marta with an astonished and frightened face, smiled in a flustered way.
"Well, what do you think now?" said Peredonov maliciously. "You thought I was a fool, but I've come out best. You spoke about the envelope. Well, here's the envelope. No, there's no mistake about it."
He hit the table with his fist, neither violently nor loudly—and his movement and the sound of his words remained somehow strangely distant, as if he were foreign and indifferent to his own affairs.
Vershina and Marta exchanged glances in a perplexed way.
"Why are you looking at each other?" said Peredonov crossly. "There's nothing for you to look at each other about: everything's settled now and I shall marry Varvara. There were a lot of little girls trying to catch me here."
Vershina sent Marta for cigarettes and Marta gladly ran from the summer-house. She felt herself free and light-spirited as she went over the little sandy paths strewn with the bright-coloured autumn leaves. Near the house she met Vladya barefoot—and she felt even gayer and more cheerful.
"He's going to marry Varvara, that's decided," she said happily in a low voice as she drew her brother into the house.
In the meantime Peredonov, without waiting for Marta, abruptly took his leave.
"I have no time," he said, "getting married is not making a pair oflapti."[5]
Vershina did not detain him and said good-bye to him coldly. She was intensely vexed: until now she still had kept the frail hope that she would marry Marta to Peredonov and keep Mourin for herself. And now the last hope had vanished.
Marta caught it hot that day! That made her cry.
Peredonov left Vershina and thought he would like to smoke. He suddenly saw a policeman—standing in the corner of the street, shelling dry sunflower seeds.[6]Peredonov felt depressed.
"Another spy," he thought, "they're watching so as to have some excuse for finding fault with me."
He did not dare to light the cigarette which he had taken from his pocket, but walked up to the policeman and asked timidly:
"Mr. Policeman, is one allowed to smoke here?"
The policeman touched his cap and inquired respectfully:
"Why do you ask me, sir?"
"A cigarette," explained Peredonov, "may one smoke a cigarette here?"
"There's been no law about it," replied the policeman evasively.
"There hasn't been any?" repeated Peredonov in a depressed voice.
"No, there hasn't been any. We aren't ordered to stop gentlemen from smoking, and if such a rule has been passed I don't know about it."
"If there hasn't been any, then I won't begin," said Peredonov humbly, "I am a law-abiding person. I will even throw the cigarette away. After all, I'm a State Councillor."
Peredonov crumpled up the cigarette and threw it on the ground, and already began to fear that he had said something inadvised, and walked rapidly home. The policeman looked after him in perplexity and at last decided that the gentleman "had had a drop too much," and, comforted by this, recommenced his peaceful shelling of sunflower seeds.
"The street is standing up on end," muttered Peredonov. The hill ran up a not very steep incline and then went down abruptly on the other side. At the crest of the street between two hovels was a sharp outline against the blue, melancholy evening sky. Poor life seemed to have shut herself in within these quiet narrow limits and suffered keen torments. The trees thrust their branches over the fences, they peered over and obstructed the way, and there was a taunt and menace in their whispering. A ram stood at the cross-roads and looked dully at Peredonov. Suddenly the sound of bleating laughter came from round a corner; Volodin appeared and went to greet Peredonov. Peredonov looked at him gloomily and thought of the ram which had been there a moment ago and had now disappeared.
"That," he thought, "is certainly because Volodin can turn himself into a ram. He doesn't resemble a ram for nothing, and it's difficult to tell whether he's laughing or bleating."
These thoughts so preoccupied him that he did not hear what Volodin was saying to him.
"Why are you kicking me, Pavloushka?" he said dejectedly.
Volodin smiled and said bleatingly:
"I'm not kicking you, Ardalyon Borisitch, I'm shaking hands with you. It's possible that in your village they kick with their hands, but in my village they kick with their feet. And even then it is not people but, if I may say so, ponies."
"You'll butt me yet," growled Peredonov.
Volodin was offended and said in a trembling voice:
"I haven't grown any horns yet, Ardalyon Borisitch, but it's very likely you'll grow them before I do."
"You've got a long tongue that babbles nonsense," said Peredonov angrily.
"If that's your idea of me, Ardalyon Borisitch," said Volodin quickly, "then I'll be silent."
And his face bore an injured expression and his lips protruded; nevertheless he walked at Peredonov's side; he had not yet dined and he counted on having dinner with Peredonov: luckily they had invited him that morning.
An important piece of news awaited Peredonov at home. While still in the hall it was easy to guess that something unusual had happened—a bustling could be heard in the rooms mingled with frightful exclamations. Peredonov at once thought that the dinner was not ready, and that when they saw him coming they had been frightened and were now hurrying. It was pleasant to him to know that they were afraid of him! But it turned out to be quite another matter. Varvara ran out into the hall and shouted:
"The cat's been sent back!"
In her excitement she did not notice Volodin at first. As usual, her dress was untidy—a greasy blouse over a grey dirty skirt and worn-out house slippers. Her hair was uncombed and tousled. She said to Peredonov excitedly:
"It's Irishka again! She's played us a new trick out of spite. She sent a boy here again to throw the cat in here—and the cat has rattles on its tail and they keep on rattling. The cat has got under the sofa and won't come out."
Peredonov felt terribly alarmed.
"What's to be done now?" he asked.
"Pavel Vassilyevitch," said Varvara, "you're younger, fetch the cat out from under the sofa."
"We'll fetch him out, we'll fetch him out," said Volodin with a snigger, and went into the parlour.
Somehow they managed to drag out the cat from under the sofa and took the rattles off his tail. Peredonov found some thistle heads and began to stick them into the cat's fur. The cat spat violently and ran into the kitchen. Peredonov, tired of his messing about with the cat, sat down in his usual position—his elbows on the arms of the chair, his fingers interlaced, his legs crossed, his face motionless and morose.
Peredonov kept the Princess's second letter more zealously than the first: he always carried it about with him in his wallet and showed it to everyone, looking mysterious as he did so. He looked vigilantly to see that no one took the letter away from him. He did not give it into anyone's hands, and after each showing he put it away in his wallet, which he put into the side-pocket of his frock-coat, buttoned up his coat and looked gravely and significantly at his companions.
"Why do you hide it away like that?" Routilov once asked him laughingly.
"As a precaution," said Peredonov morosely, "who can tell? You might take it from me."
"It'd be a case for Siberia," said Routilov with a contemptuous laugh, slapping Peredonov on the back.
But Peredonov preserved an imperturbable dignity. In general he had lately been assuming an air of greater importance. He often boasted:
"I'll be an inspector. You will go sour here, but I shall have two districts to begin with. And then perhaps three, Oh—ho—ho!"
He was quite convinced that he would receive his inspector's position very soon. More than once he said to the schoolmaster, Falastov:
"I'll get you too out of here, old chap."
And the schoolmaster, Falastov, was more respectful in his bearing to Peredonov.
[1]Koukish, a clenched fist with the thumb thrust between the first and second fingers. This gesture is a great insult in Russia. To make it is as much as to say, "A fig for you!"
[1]Koukish, a clenched fist with the thumb thrust between the first and second fingers. This gesture is a great insult in Russia. To make it is as much as to say, "A fig for you!"
[2]A Russian popular dance.
[2]A Russian popular dance.
[3]"Sosna" means "pine" and "so sna" "from sleep." Peredonov puns on it.
[3]"Sosna" means "pine" and "so sna" "from sleep." Peredonov puns on it.
[4]Variation on the pun. "Sonya" is another form of "Sofya."
[4]Variation on the pun. "Sonya" is another form of "Sofya."
[5]Lapti, rough shoes worn by the peasants.
[5]Lapti, rough shoes worn by the peasants.
[6]Russians eat dried sunflower seeds as Americans eat peanuts.
[6]Russians eat dried sunflower seeds as Americans eat peanuts.
Peredonov began to attend church frequently. He always stood in a conspicuous place. At one time he crossed himself more often than was necessary, at another he stood like a person in a trance and looked stupidly before him. It seemed to him that spies were hiding behind the columns, and were peeping out from there, trying to make him laugh. But he did not yield. Laughter, the quiet, faint laughter, the giggling and the whispering of the Routilov girls, sounded in Peredonov's ears, and grew at times to an extraordinary pitch—as if the cunning girls were laughing straight into his ears, to make him laugh and to disgrace him. But Peredonov did not yield.
At times a smoke-like, bluish nedotikomka appeared among the clouds of incense smoke; its eyes gleamed like little fires; with a slight rustle it lifted itself into the air, though not for long, but for the most part it rolled itself at the feet of members of the congregation, it jeered at Peredonov and tormented him obtrusively. Of course, it wanted to frighten him so that he would leave the church before Mass was over. But he understood its cunning design—and he did not yield.
The church service—so dear to many people not in its words and ceremonies but in its innermost appeal—was incomprehensible to Peredonov. That is why it frightened him. The swinging of the censers frightened him as if it had been a mysterious incantation.
"What's he swinging it so hard for?" he thought.
The vestments of those serving the Mass seemed to him coarse, vari-coloured rags—and when he looked at the array of priests he felt malignant, and he wanted to tear the vestments and break the sacred vessels. The church ceremonies and mysteries seemed to him an evil witchcraft, intended to subject the common people.
"He's crumbled the wafer into the communion cup," he thought angrily of the priest. "It's cheap wine. They deceive the people to get more money for their church celebrations."
The mystery of the eternal transformation of inert matter into a force breaking the fetters of death was for ever hidden from him. A walking corpse! The absurd mingling of unbelief in a living God and His Messiah, with his absurd belief in sorcery!
The people were leaving the church. The village schoolmaster, Machigin, a simple young man, was standing near the girls, smiling and conversing freely with them. Peredonov thought that it was not quite becoming for him to conduct himself so freely before the future inspector. Machigin wore a straw hat. But Peredonov remembered that in the summer he had seen him just outside the town wearing an official cap with a badge. Peredonov decided to complain about it. As it happened, Inspector Bogdanov was also present. Peredonov walked up to him and said:
"Your Machigin has been wearing a cap with a badge. He's trying to look like a gentleman."
Bogdanov was alarmed, trembled, and his grey Adam's apple quivered.
"He has no right! No right whatever!" he exclaimed anxiously, blinking his red-rimmed eyes.
"He has no right, but he's been wearing it," complained Peredonov. "He ought to be stopped—I told you that long ago. Or else any boor of a muzhik can wear a badge; and what will come of it?"
Bogdanov, who had been frightened by Peredonov before, was even more alarmed.
"How does he dare, eh?" he wailed. "I will call him up at once, at once. And I'll reprimand him most severely."
He left Peredonov and quickly ran off home.
Volodin walked at Peredonov's side and said in a reproachful, bleating voice:
"He's wearing a badge. What do you think of that! As if he had an official rank! Why is it allowed!"
"You mustn't wear a badge either," said Peredonov.
"I mustn't and I don't want to," said Volodin. "Still I sometimes put on a badge—only I know where and when one can do it. I go out of the town and I put it on there. It gives me great pleasure, and there's no one to stop me. And when you meet a muzhik you get more respect——"
"A badge doesn't become your mug, Pavloushka," said Peredonov; "and keep farther off, you're making me dusty with your hoofs."
Volodin relapsed into an injured silence, but still walked beside him. Peredonov said in a preoccupied way:
"The Routilov girls ought to be informed against too. They only go to church to chatter and to laugh. They rouge themselves, they dress themselves up and then go to church. And then they steal incense to make scents of—that's why they have such a strong smell."
"What do you think of that?" said Volodin shaking his head with his bulging, dull eyes.
The shadow of a cloud ran quickly over the ground, and brought a feeling of dread on Peredonov. Sometimes the grey nedotikomka glimmered in the clouds of dust. Whenever the grass stirred in the wind Peredonov saw the nedotikomka running through it, feeding on the grass.
"Why is there grass in the town?" he thought. "What neglect; it ought to be rooted out."
A twig stirred in the tree, it rolled up, cawed and flew away in the distance. Peredonov shivered, gave a wild cry and ran off home. Volodin ran after him anxiously, and, with a perplexed expression in his bulging eyes, clutched at his bowler hat and swung his stick.
That same day Bogdanov asked Machigin to come and see him. Before entering the inspector's house Machigin stood in the street with his back to the sun, took off his hat and combed his hair with his fingers, noticing from his shadow that his hair was unkempt.
"Explain yourself, young man. What are you thinking of, eh?" Bogdanov assailed Machigin with these words.
"What is the matter?" asked Machigin unconcernedly, playing with his straw hat and swinging his left foot.
Bogdanov did not ask him to sit down as he intended to reprimand him.
"How is it, young man, how is it that you've been wearing a badge, eh? What made you infringe the rule?" he asked, assuming an expression of sternness and shaking his Adam's apple. Machigin flushed but answered boldly:
"What of it? Haven't I a right to?"
"Are you an official, eh? An official?" said Bogdanov excitedly. "What sort of an official are you, eh? A copying clerk, eh?"
"It's a sign of a schoolmaster's calling," said Machigin, boldly, and suddenly smiled as he called to mind what the dignity of a schoolmaster's vocation was.
"Carry a stick in your hand, a stick. That's the sign of your schoolmaster's calling," said Bogdanov shaking his head.
"But please, Sergey Potapitch," said Machigin in an injured tone, "what's the good of a stick? Anyone can do that, but a badge gives a man prestige."
"What sort of prestige, eh? What sort of prestige?" Bogdanov shouted at him. "What sort of prestige do you want, eh? Are you an official?"
"Oh, but forgive me, Sergey Potapitch," said Machigin persuasively and reasonably. "Among the ignorant peasant classes a badge immediately arouses a feeling of respect—they've been much more respectful lately."
Machigin stroked his red moustache in a self-satisfied way.
"It can't be allowed, young man, it can't be allowed under any consideration," said Bogdanov shaking his head stiffly.
"But please, Sergey Potapitch, a schoolmaster without a badge is like the British lion without a tail," protested Machigin. "He's only a caricature."
"What's a tail got to do with it, eh? Why drag in the tail, eh?" said Bogdanov excitedly. "Why are you mixing it up with politics, eh? What business is it of yours to discuss politics, eh? No, young man, you'd better dispense with the badge. For Heaven's sake, give it up. No, it's impossible. How could it be possible. God preserve us, we can't tell who might find it out!"
Machigin shrugged his shoulders and was about to say something else, but Bogdanov interrupted him—what Bogdanov considered a brilliant idea flashed into his head.
"But you came to me without the badge, without the badge, eh? You yourself feel that it's not the right thing to do."
Machigin was nonplussed for a moment, but found an answer even to this:
"As we are rural schoolmasters we need this privilege in the country, but in town we are known to belong to the intellectual classes."
"No, young man, you know very well that this is not allowed. And if I hear of it again we shall have to get rid of you."
From time to time Grushina arranged evening parties for young people, from among whom she hoped to find another husband. To conceal her purpose she also invited married people.
The guests came early to one of these parties.
Pictures covered in thick muslin hung on the walls of Grushina's drawing-room. There was really nothing indecent in them. When Grushina, with an arch, wanton smile, raised these curtains, the guests gazed at badly-drawn figures of naked women.
"Why is this woman so crooked?" asked Peredonov morosely.
"She's not crooked at all," Grushina defended the picture warmly. "She's only bending over."
"She is crooked," repeated Peredonov, "and her eyes are not the same—like yours."
"Much you understand about it," said Grushina offendedly. "These pictures are very good and very expensive. Artists always prefer such models."
Peredonov suddenly burst out laughing: he recalled the advice he had given Vladya a few days ago.
"What are you neighing at?" asked Grushina.
"Nartanovitch, the schoolboy, is going to singe Marta's dress. I advised him to," he explained.
"Let him just do it! He's not such a fool," said Grushina.
"Of course he'll do it," said Peredonov confidently. "Brothers always quarrel with their sisters. When I was a kid I always played tricks on my sisters—I pummelled the little ones and I used to spoil the older ones' clothes."
"Everyone doesn't," said Routilov. "I don't quarrel with my sisters."
"Well, what do you do? Kiss them?" asked Peredonov.
"You are a swine and a scoundrel, Ardalyon Borisitch, I'll give you a black eye," said Routilov calmly.
"I don't like such jokes," said Peredonov, and moved away from Routilov.
"Yes," thought Peredonov, "he might really do it. He's got such a mean face."
"She has only one dress, a black one," he went on, referring to Marta.
"Vershina will make her a new one," said Varvara with spiteful envy, "she'll make all her dowry for her. She's such a beauty that even the horses are frightened," she grumbled on quietly, looking maliciously at Mourin.
"It's time for you to marry too," said Prepolovenskaya. "What are you waiting for, Ardalyon Borisitch?"
The Prepolovenskys already saw that after the second letter Peredonov was determined to marry Varvara. They also believed in the letter. They began to say that they had always been on Varvara's side. There was no good in their quarrelling with Peredonov—it was profitable to play cards with him. As for Genya, there was nothing to do but to wait—they would have to look for another husband.
"Of course you ought to marry," said Prepolovensky. "It will be a good thing in itself, and you'll please the Princess; the Princess will be pleased that you're married, and so you will please her and you'll do a good thing, yes, a good thing, and yes, really, you'll be doing a good thing and you'll please the Princess."
"Yes, and I say the same thing," said Prepolovenskaya.
But Prepolovensky was unable to stop, and seeing that everyone was walking away from him he sat down beside a young official and began to explain the same thing to him.
"I've decided to get married," said Peredonov, "only Varvara and I don't know how to do it. I really don't know how to go about it."
"It's not such a difficult business," said Prepolovenskaya. "Now, if you like, my husband and I will arrange everything. You just sit still and don't think about anything."
"Very well," said Peredonov, "I'm agreeable. Only everything must be done well and in proper style. I don't mind what it costs."
"Everything will be quite all right, don't worry about that," Prepolovenskaya assured him.
Peredonov continued to state his conditions:
"Other people through stinginess buy thin wedding rings or silver ones gilt over, but I don't want to do that. I want pure gold ones. And I even prefer wedding bracelets to wedding rings—they are more expensive and more dignified."
Everyone laughed.
"Bracelets are impossible," said Prepolovenskaya smiling slightly. "You must have rings."
"Why impossible?" asked Peredonov in vexation.
"Simply because it's not done."
"But perhaps it is done," said Peredonov increduously. "I will ask the priest. He knows best."
Routilov advised him with a snigger:
"You'd better order wedding belts, Ardalyon Borisitch."
"I haven't got money enough for that," said Peredonov, not noticing the smiles. "I'm not a banker. Only the other day I dreamed that I was being married, and that I wore a velvet frock-coat and that Varvara and I had gold bracelets. And behind us were two head-masters holding the crowns over us, singing 'Hallelujah.'"
"I also had an interesting dream last night," announced Volodin. "But I don't know what it can mean. I was sitting, as it were, on a gold throne with a gold crown on, and there was grass in front of me and on the grass were little sheep, all little sheep, all little sheep, ba-a!—ba-a! And the little sheep walked about and moved their heads like this and kept on their ba-a! ba-a! ba-a!"
Volodin walked up and down the room, shaking his head, protruded his lips and bleated. The guests laughed. Volodin sat down on a chair with an expression of bliss on his face, looked at them with his bulging eyes and laughed with the same sheep-like bleating laughter.
"What happened then?" asked Grushina, winking at the others.
"Well, it was all little sheep and little sheep, and then I woke up," concluded Volodin.
"A sheep has sheepish dreams," growled Peredonov. "It isn't such great shakes being Tsar of the sheep."
"I also had a dream," said Varvara with an impudent smile, "only I can't tell it before men. I'll tell it to you alone."
"Ah, my dear Varvara Dmitrievna, it's strange I had one too," sniggered Grushina, winking at the others.
"Please tell us, we're modest men, like the ladies," said Routilov.
The other men also besought Varvara and Grushina to tell them their dreams. But the pair only exchanged glances, laughed meaningly and would not tell.
They sat down to play cards. Routilov assured everyone that Peredonov played cards well. Peredonov believed him. But that evening he lost as usual. Routilov was winning. This elated him and he talked more animatedly than usual.
The nedotikomka mocked at Peredonov. It was hiding somewhere near by—it would show itself sometimes, peering out from behind the table or from behind someone's back, and then hide again. It seemed to be waiting for something. He felt dismayed. The very appearance of the cards dismayed him. He saw two queens in the place of one.
"And where's the third," thought Peredonov.
He dully examined the queen of spades, then turned it round to see if the third queen was hiding on the back.
Routilov said: "Ardalyon Borisitch is looking behind the queen's shirt."[1]
They all laughed.
In the meantime two young police officials sat down to playdouratchki.[2]They played their hands very quickly. The winner laughed with joy and made a long nose at the other. The loser growled.
There was a smell of food. Grushina called the guests into the dining-room. They all went, jostling each other, and with an affected politeness. Somehow they managed to seat themselves.
"Help yourselves, everyone," said Grushina hospitably. "Now then, my dears, stuff without fears to your very ears."[3]
"Eat the cake for the hostess' sake," shouted Mourin gleefully.
He felt very gay, looking at the vodka and thinking about his winnings.
Volodin and the two young officials helped themselves more lavishly than anyone else, they picked out the choicest and most expensive things, and ate caviare greedily.
Grushina said with a forced laugh:
"Pavel Ivanitch is drunk, but still knows the difference between bread and cake." As if she had bought the caviare for him! And under the pretext of serving the ladies she took the best dishes away from him. But Volodin was not disconcerted and was glad to take what was left: he had managed to eat a good deal of the best things and it was all the same to him now.
Peredonov looked at the munchers and it seemed to him that everyone was laughing at him. Why? For what reason? He ate piggishly and greedily everything that came to his hand.
After supper they sat down to play cards again. But Peredonov soon got tired of it. He threw down the cards and said:
"To the devil with you! I have no luck. I'm tired! Varvara, let's go home."
And the other guests got up at the same time. Volodin saw in the hall that Peredonov had a new stick. He smiled and turned the stick over in front of him, asking:
"Ardasha, why are these fingers bent into a little roll? What does it mean?"
Peredonov angrily took the stick from him and put the handle with a Koukish[4]carved out of black wood on it to Volodin's nose and said:
"A fig with butter for you!"
Volodin looked offended.
"Allow me to say, Ardalyon Borisitch," he said, "that I eat bread with butter, but that I do not want to eat a fig with butter."
Peredonov, without listening to him, was solicitously wrapping up his neck in a scarf and buttoning up his overcoat. Routilov said with a laugh:
"Why are you wrapping yourself up, Ardalyon Borisitch? It's quite warm."
"Health before everything," replied Peredonov.
It was quiet in the street—the street was stretched out in the darkness as if asleep and snored gently. It was dark, melancholy and damp. Heavy clouds moved across the sky. Peredonov growled:
"They've let loose the darkness. Why?"
He was not afraid now—he was walking with Varvara and not alone.
Soon a small, rapid, continuous rain began to fall. Everything was still. And only the rain babbled something obtrusively and quickly, sobbing out incoherent, melancholy phrases.
Peredonov felt in nature the reflection of his own dejection, his own dread before the mask of her hostility to him—he had no conception of that inner life in all nature which is inaccessible to external decrees, the life which alone creates the true, deep and unfailing relations between man and nature, because all nature seemed to him permeated with petty human feelings. Blinded by the illusions of personality and distinct existence he could not understand elemental Dionysian exultations rejoicing and clamouring in nature. He was blind and pitiful, like so many of us.