Karl Ivanitch confirmed my words, but said nothing as to the subject of
the dream. Then, after a little conversation on the weather, in which
Mimi also took part, Mamma laid some lumps of sugar on the tray for
one or two of the more privileged servants, and crossed over to her
embroidery frame, which stood near one of the windows.
"Go to Papa now, children," she said, "and ask him to come to me before
he goes to the home farm."
Then the music, the counting, and the wrathful looks from Mimi began
again, and we went off to see Papa. Passing through the room which had
been known ever since Grandpapa's time as "the pantry," we entered the
study.
III -- PAPA
He was standing near his writing-table, and pointing angrily to some
envelopes, papers, and little piles of coin upon it as he addressed some
observations to the bailiff, Jakoff Michaelovitch, who was standing in
his usual place (that is to say, between the door and the barometer)
and rapidly closing and unclosing the fingers of the hand which he held
behind his back. The more angry Papa grew, the more rapidly did those
fingers twirl, and when Papa ceased speaking they came to rest also.
Yet, as soon as ever Jakoff himself began to talk, they flew here,
there, and everywhere with lightning rapidity. These movements always
appeared to me an index of Jakoff's secret thoughts, though his face was
invariably placid, and expressive alike of dignity and submissiveness,
as who should say, "I am right, yet let it be as you wish." On seeing
us, Papa said, "Directly--wait a moment," and looked towards the door as
a hint for it to be shut.
"Gracious heavens! What can be the matter with you to-day, Jakoff?" he
went on with a hitch of one shoulder (a habit of his). "This envelope
here with the 800 roubles enclosed,"--Jacob took out a set of tablets,
put down "800" and remained looking at the figures while he waited
for what was to come next--"is for expenses during my absence. Do you
understand? From the mill you ought to receive 1000 roubles. Is not
that so? And from the Treasury mortgage you ought to receive some 8000
roubles. From the hay--of which, according to your calculations, we
shall be able to sell 7000 poods [The pood = 40 lbs.]at 45 copecks a
piece there should come in 3000. Consequently the sum-total that you
ought to have in hand soon is--how much?--12,000 roubles. Is that
right?"
"Precisely," answered Jakoff. Yet by the extreme rapidity with which
his fingers were twitching I could see that he had an objection to make.
Papa went on:
"Well, of this money you will send 10,000 roubles to the Petrovskoe
local council. As for the money already at the office, you will remit it
to me, and enter it as spent on this present date." Jakoff turned over
the tablet marked "12,000," and put down "21,000"--seeming, by his
action, to imply that 12,000 roubles had been turned over in the
same fashion as he had turned the tablet. "And this envelope with the
enclosed money," concluded Papa, "you will deliver for me to the person
to whom it is addressed."
I was standing close to the table, and could see the address. It was "To
Karl Ivanitch Mayer." Perhaps Papa had an idea that I had read something
which I ought not, for he touched my shoulder with his hand and made me
aware, by a slight movement, that I must withdraw from the table. Not
sure whether the movement was meant for a caress or a command, I kissed
the large, sinewy hand which rested upon my shoulder.
"Very well," said Jakoff. "And what are your orders about the accounts
for the money from Chabarovska?" (Chabarovska was Mamma's village.)
"Only that they are to remain in my office, and not to be taken thence
without my express instructions."
For a minute or two Jakoff was silent. Then his fingers began to twitch
with extraordinary rapidity, and, changing the expression of deferential
vacancy with which he had listened to his orders for one of shrewd
intelligence, he turned his tablets back and spoke.
"Will you allow me to inform you, Peter Alexandritch," he said, with
frequent pauses between his words, "that, however much you wish it, it
is out of the question to repay the local council now. You enumerated
some items, I think, as to what ought to come in from the mortgage, the
mill, and the hay (he jotted down each of these items on his tablets
again as he spoke). Yet I fear that we must have made a mistake
somewhere in the accounts." Here he paused a while, and looked gravely
at Papa.
"How so?"
"Well, will you be good enough to look for yourself? There is the
account for the mill. The miller has been to me twice to ask for time,
and I am afraid that he has no money whatever in hand. He is here now.
Would you like to speak to him?"
"No. Tell me what he says," replied Papa, showing by a movement of his
head that he had no desire to have speech with the miller.
"Well, it is easy enough to guess what he says. He declares that there
is no grinding to be got now, and that his last remaining money has gone
to pay for the dam. What good would it do for us to turn him out? As to
what you were pleased to say about the mortgage, you yourself are aware
that your money there is locked up and cannot be recovered at a moment's
notice. I was sending a load of flour to Ivan Afanovitch to-day, and
sent him a letter as well, to which he replies that he would have been
glad to oblige you, Peter Alexandritch, were it not that the matter is
out of his hands now, and that all the circumstances show that it would
take you at least two months to withdraw the money. From the hay I
understood you to estimate a return of 3000 roubles?" (Here Jakoff
jotted down "3000" on his tablets, and then looked for a moment from the
figures to Papa with a peculiar expression on his face.) "Well, surely
you see for yourself how little that is? And even then we should lose if
we were to sell the stuff now, for you must know that--"
It was clear that he would have had many other arguments to adduce had
not Papa interrupted him.
"I cannot make any change in my arrangements," said Papa. "Yet if there
should REALLY have to be any delay in the recovery of these sums, we
could borrow what we wanted from the Chabarovska funds."
"Very well, sir." The expression of Jakoff's face and the way in which
he twitched his fingers showed that this order had given him great
satisfaction. He was a serf, and a most zealous, devoted one, but,
like all good bailiffs, exacting and parsimonious to a degree in the
interests of his master. Moreover, he had some queer notions of his own.
He was forever endeavouring to increase his master's property at the
expense of his mistress's, and to prove that it would be impossible to
avoid using the rents from her estates for the benefit of Petrovskoe (my
father's village, and the place where we lived). This point he had now
gained and was delighted in consequence.
Papa then greeted ourselves, and said that if we stayed much longer in
the country we should become lazy boys; that we were growing quite big
now, and must set about doing lessons in earnest,
"I suppose you know that I am starting for Moscow to-night?" he went on,
"and that I am going to take you with me? You will live with Grandmamma,
but Mamma and the girls will remain here. You know, too, I am sure, that
Mamma's one consolation will be to hear that you are doing your lessons
well and pleasing every one around you."
The preparations which had been in progress for some days past had
made us expect some unusual event, but this news left us thunderstruck,
Woloda turned red, and, with a shaking voice, delivered Mamma's message
to Papa.
"So this was what my dream foreboded!" I thought to myself. "God send
that there come nothing worse!" I felt terribly sorry to have to leave
Mamma, but at the same rejoiced to think that I should soon be grown up,
"If we are going to-day, we shall probably have no lessons to do, and
that will be splendid. However, I am sorry for Karl Ivanitch, for he
will certainly be dismissed now. That was why that envelope had been
prepared for him. I think I would almost rather stay and do lessons here
than leave Mamma or hurt poor Karl. He is miserable enough already."
As these thoughts crossed my mind I stood looking sadly at the black
ribbons on my shoes. After a few words to Karl Ivanitch about the
depression of the barometer and an injunction to Jakoff not to feed
the hounds, since a farewell meet was to be held after luncheon, Papa
disappointed my hopes by sending us off to lessons--though he also
consoled us by promising to take us out hunting later.
On my way upstairs I made a digression to the terrace. Near the door
leading on to it Papa's favourite hound, Milka, was lying in the sun and
blinking her eyes.
"Miloshka," I cried as I caressed her and kissed her nose, "we are going
away today. Good-bye. Perhaps we shall never see each other again." I
was crying and laughing at the same time.
IV -- LESSONS
Karl Ivanitch was in a bad temper. This was clear from his contracted
brows, and from the way in which he flung his frockcoat into a drawer,
angrily donned his old dressing-gown again, and made deep dints with
his nails to mark the place in the book of dialogues to which we were
to learn by heart. Woloda began working diligently, but I was too
distracted to do anything at all. For a long while I stared vacantly
at the book; but tears at the thought of the impending separation kept
rushing to my eyes and preventing me from reading a single word. When at
length the time came to repeat the dialogues to Karl (who listened to us
with blinking eyes--a very bad sign), I had no sooner reached the place
where some one asks, "Wo kommen Sie her?" ("Where do you come from?")
and some one else answers him, "Ich komme vom Kaffeehaus" ("I come from
the coffee-house"), than I burst into tears and, for sobbing, could not
pronounce, "Haben Sie die Zeitung nicht gelesen?" ("Have you not read the
newspaper?") at all. Next, when we came to our writing lesson, the tears
kept falling from my eyes and, making a mess on the paper, as though
some one had written on blotting-paper with water, Karl was very
angry. He ordered me to go down upon my knees, declared that it was all
obstinacy and "puppet-comedy playing" (a favourite expression of his)
on my part, threatened me with the ruler, and commanded me to say that
I was sorry. Yet for sobbing and crying I could not get a word out. At
last--conscious, perhaps, that he was unjust--he departed to Nicola's
pantry, and slammed the door behind him. Nevertheless their conversation
there carried to the schoolroom.
"Have you heard that the children are going to Moscow, Nicola?" said
Karl.
"Yes. How could I help hearing it?"
At this point Nicola seemed to get up for Karl said, "Sit down, Nicola,"
and then locked the door. However, I came out of my corner and crept to
the door to listen.
"However much you may do for people, and however fond of them you may
be, never expect any gratitude, Nicola," said Karl warmly. Nicola, who
was shoe-cobbling by the window, nodded his head in assent.
"Twelve years have I lived in this house," went on Karl, lifting his
eyes and his snuff-box towards the ceiling, "and before God I can say
that I have loved them, and worked for them, even more than if they had
been my own children. You recollect, Nicola, when Woloda had the fever?
You recollect how, for nine days and nights, I never closed my eyes as
I sat beside his bed? Yes, at that time I was 'the dear, good Karl
Ivanitch'--I was wanted then; but now"--and he smiled ironically--"the
children are growing up, and must go to study in earnest. Perhaps they
never learnt anything with me, Nicola? Eh?"
"I am sure they did," replied Nicola, laying his awl down and
straightening a piece of thread with his hands.
"No, I am wanted no longer, and am to be turned out. What good are
promises and gratitude? Natalia Nicolaevna"--here he laid his hand upon
his heart--"I love and revere, but what can SHE I do here? Her will is
powerless in this house."
He flung a strip of leather on the floor with an angry gesture. "Yet I
know who has been playing tricks here, and why I am no longer wanted. It
is because I do not flatter and toady as certain people do. I am in
the habit of speaking the truth in all places and to all persons," he
continued proudly, "God be with these children, for my leaving them will
benefit them little, whereas I--well, by God's help I may be able to
earn a crust of bread somewhere. Nicola, eh?"
Nicola raised his head and looked at Karl as though to consider whether
he would indeed be able to earn a crust of bread, but he said nothing.
Karl said a great deal more of the same kind--in particular how much
better his services had been appreciated at a certain general's where
he had formerly lived (I regretted to hear that). Likewise he spoke of
Saxony, his parents, his friend the tailor, Schonheit (beauty), and so
on.
I sympathised with his distress, and felt dreadfully sorry that he and
Papa (both of whom I loved about equally) had had a difference. Then I
returned to my corner, crouched down upon my heels, and fell to thinking
how a reconciliation between them might be effected.
Returning to the study, Karl ordered me to get up and prepare to write
from dictation. When I was ready he sat down with a dignified air in
his arm-chair, and in a voice which seemed to come from a profound abyss
began to dictate: "Von al-len Lei-den-shaf-ten die grau-samste ist. Have
you written that?" He paused, took a pinch of snuff, and began again:
"Die grausamste ist die Un-dank-bar-keit [The most cruel of all passions
is ingratitude.] a capital U, mind."
The last word written, I looked at him, for him to go on.
"Punctum" (stop), he concluded, with a faintly perceptible smile, as he
signed to us to hand him our copy-books.
Several times, and in several different tone
s, and always with an
expression of the greatest satisfaction, did he read out that sentence,
which expressed his predominant thought at the moment. Then he set us
to learn a lesson in history, and sat down near the window. His face did
not look so depressed now, but, on the contrary, expressed eloquently
the satisfaction of a man who had avenged himself for an injury dealt
him.
By this time it was a quarter to one o'clock, but Karl Ivanitch never
thought of releasing us. He merely set us a new lesson to learn. My
fatigue and hunger were increasing in equal proportions, so that I
eagerly followed every sign of the approach of luncheon. First came the
housemaid with a cloth to wipe the plates. Next, the sound of crockery
resounded in the dining-room, as the table was moved and chairs placed
round it. After that, Mimi, Lubotshka, and Katenka. (Katenka was Mimi's
daughter, and twelve years old) came in from the garden, but Foka (the
servant who always used to come and announce luncheon) was not yet to be
seen. Only when he entered was it lawful to throw one's books aside and
run downstairs.
Hark! Steps resounded on the staircase, but they were not Foka's. Foka's
I had learnt to study, and knew the creaking of his boots well. The door
opened, and a figure unknown to me made its appearance.
V -- THE IDIOT
The man who now entered the room was about fifty years old, with a pale,
attenuated face pitted with smallpox, long grey hair, and a scanty beard
of a reddish hue. Likewise he was so tall that, on coming through the
doorway, he was forced not only to bend his head, but to incline his
whole body forward. He was dressed in a sort of smock that was much