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On the 12th of August, 18--, the third day after my birthday, when I had attained the age of ten, and had received such wonderful presents, Karl Ivanitch woke me at seven o'clock in the morning by striking at a fly directly above my head, with a flapper made of sugar-paper and fastened to a stick. He did it so awkwardly that he entangled the image of my angel, which hung upon the oaken headboard of the bed; and the dead fly fell straight upon my head. I thrust my nose out from under the coverlet, stopped the image, which was still rocking, with my hand, flung the dead fly on the floor, and regarded Karl Ivanitch with angry although sleepy eyes. But attired in his motley wadded dressing-gown, girded with a belt of the same material, a red knitted skullcap with a tassel, and soft goatskin shoes, he pursued his course along the walls, taking aim and flapping away.
"Suppose I am little," I thought, "why should he worry me? Why doesn't he kill the flies around Volodya's bed? There are quantities of them there. No; Volodya is older than I; I am the youngest of all, and that is why he torments me. He thinks of nothing else in life," I whispered, "except how he may do unpleasant things to me. He knows well enough that he has waked me up and frightened me; but he pretends not to see it, - the hateful man! And his dressing-gown, and his cap, and his tassel - how disgusting!"
As I was thus mentally expressing my vexation with Karl Ivanitch, he approached his own bed, glanced at the watch which hung about it in a slipper embroidered with glass beads, hung his flapper on a nail, and turned toward us, evidently in the most agreeable frame of mind.
"Get up, children, get up. It's time! Your mother is already in the hall!" [Footnote: Karl Ivanitch generally speaks in German. - The "hall" in Russian houses is an apartment which serves for many purposes: as ball-room, music-room, and play-room for the children in bad weather. At Yasnaya Polyana it serves also as the dining-room. - Tr.] he cried in his kindly German voice; then he came over to me, sat down at my feet and pulled his snuff-box from his pocket. I pretended to be asleep. First Karl Ivanitch took a pinch of snuff, wiped his nose, cracked his fingers, and then turned his attention to me. He began to tickle my heels, laughing the while. "Come, come, lazybones," he said.
Much as I dreaded tickling, I neither sprang out of bed nor made any reply, but buried my head deeper under the pillow, kicked with all my might, and used every effort to keep from laughing.
"How good he is, and how he loves us, and yet I could think so badly of him!"
I was vexed at myself and at Karl Ivanitch; I wanted to laugh and to cry; my nerves were upset.
"Oh, let me alone, Karl Ivanitch!" I cried, with tears in my eyes, thrusting my head out from beneath the pillows. Karl Ivanitch was surprised; he left my soles in peace, and began anxiously to inquire what was the matter with me: had I had a bad dream? His kind German face, the sympathy with which he strove to divine the cause of my tears, caused them to flow more abundantly. I was ashamed; and I could not understand how, a moment before, I had been unable to love Karl Ivanitch, and had thought his dressing-gown, cap, and tassel disgusting; now, on the contrary, they all seemed to me extremely pleasing, and even the tassel appeared a plain proof of his goodness. I told him that I was crying because I had had a bad dream, - I thought mamma was dead, and they were carrying her away to bury her. I invented all this, for I really did not know what I had been dreaming that night; but when Karl Ivanitch, touched by my tale, began to comfort and soothe me, it seemed to me that I actually had seen that dreadful vision, and my tears flowed from another cause.
When Karl Ivanitch left me, and, sitting up in bed, I began to draw my stockings upon my little legs, my tears ceased in some measure; but gloomy thoughts of the fictitious dream did not leave me. Dyadka [Footnote: Children's valet.] Nikolai came in, - a small, neat little man, who was always serious, precise, and respectful, and a great friend of Karl Ivanitch. He brought our clothes and shoes; Volodya had boots, but I still had those intolerable slippers with ribbons. I was ashamed to cry before him; besides, the morning sun was shining cheerfully in at the window, and Volodya was imitating Marya Ivanovna (my sister's governess), and laughing so loudly and merrily as he stood over the wash-basin, that even grave Nikolai, with towel on shoulder, the soap in one hand and the hand-basin in the other, smiled and said:
"Enough, Vladimir Petrovitch, please wash yourself." I became quite cheerful.
"Are you nearly ready?" called Karl Ivanitch's voice from the school- room.
His voice was stern, and had no longer that kindly accent which had moved me to tears. In the school-room Karl Ivanitch was another man: he was the tutor. I dressed quickly, washed, and, with brush in hand, still smoothing my wet hair, I appeared at his call.
Karl Ivanitch, with spectacles on nose, and a book in his hand, was sitting in his usual place, between the door and the window. To the left of the door were two shelves of books: one was ours - the children's; the other was Karl Ivanitch's particular property. On ours were all sorts of books, - school-books and others; some stood upright, others were lying down. Only two big volumes of "Histoire des Voyages," in red bindings, leaned in a stately way against the wall; then came long, thick, big, and little books, - covers without books, and books without covers. All were piled up and pushed in when we were ordered to put the library, as Karl Ivanitch loudly called this shelf, in order before our play-hour. If the collection of books on his private shelf was not as large as ours, it was even more miscellaneous. I remember three of them, - a German pamphlet on the manuring of cabbage-gardens, without a cover; one volume of the history of the "Seven Years' War," in parchment, burned on one corner; and a complete course of hydrostatics. Karl Ivanitch passed the greater part of his time in reading, and even injured his eyesight thereby; but he never read anything except these books and "The Northern Bee."
Among the articles which lay on Karl Ivanitch's shelf, was one which recalls him to me more than all the rest. It was a circle of cardboard fixed on a wooden foot, upon which was pasted a picture representing caricatures of some lady and a wig-maker. Karl Ivanitch pasted very well, and had himself invented and manufactured this circle in order to protect his weak eyes from the bright light.
I seem now to see before me his long figure, in its wadded dressing- gown, and the red cap beneath which his thin gray hair is visible. He sits beside a little table upon which stands the circle with the wig- maker, casting its shadow upon his face; in one hand he holds a book, the other rests on the arm of the chair; beside him lies his watch, with the huntsman painted on the face, his checked handkerchief, his round black snuff-box, his green spectacle-case, and the snuffers on the tray. All these lie with so much dignity and precision, each in its proper place, that one might conclude from this orderliness alone that Karl Ivanitch has a pure conscience and a restful spirit.
If you stole up-stairs on tiptoe to the school-room, after running about down-stairs in the hall as much as you pleased, behold - Karl Ivanitch was sitting alone in his arm-chair, reading some one of his beloved books, with a proud, calm expression of countenance. Sometimes I found him at such times when he was not reading: his spectacles had dropped down on his big aquiline nose; his blue, half-shut eyes had a certain peculiar expression; and his lips smiled sadly. All was quiet in the room; his even breathing, and the ticking of the hunter-adorned watch, alone were audible.
He did not perceive me; and I used to stand in the door, and think: "Poor, poor old man! There are many of us; we play, we are merry; but he - he is alone, and no one treats him kindly. He tells the truth, when he says he is an orphan. And the history of his life is terrible! I remember that he related it to Nikolai; it is dreadful to be in his situation!" And it made one so sorry, that one wanted to go to him, take his hand, and say, "Dear Karl Ivanitch!" He liked to have me say that; he always petted me, and it was plain that he was touched.
On the other wall hung maps, nearly all of them torn, but skillfully repaired by the hand of Karl Ivanitch. On the third wall, in the middle of which was the door leading down-stairs, hung two rulers: one was all hacked up - that was ours; the other - the new one - was his own private ruler, and employed more for encouraging us than for ruling proper. On the other side of the door was a blackboard, upon which our grand misdeeds were designated by circles, and our small ones by crosses. To the left of the board was the corner where we were put on our knees.
How well I remember that corner! I remember the grated stove-door, and the slide in it, and the noise this made when it was turned. You would kneel and kneel in that corner until your knees and back ached, and you would think, "Karl Ivanitch has forgotten me; he must be sitting quietly in his soft arm-chair, and reading his hydrostatics: and how is it with me?" And then you would begin to hint of your existence, to softly open and shut the heat-damper, or pick the plaster from the wall; but if too big a piece suddenly fell noisily to the floor, the fright alone was worse than the whole punishment. You would peep round at Karl Ivanitch; and there he sat, book in hand, as though he had not noticed anything.
In the middle of the room stood a table, covered with a ragged black oil-cloth, beneath which the edge, hacked in places with penknives, was visible in many places. Around the table stood several unpainted stools, polished with long use. The last wall was occupied by three little windows. This was the view which was had from them: Directly in front of the windows ran the road, every hollow, pebble, and rut of which had long been familiar and dear to me; beyond the road was a close-trimmed linden alley, behind which the wattled fence was visible here and there. A field could be seen through the alley; on one side of this was a threshing-floor, on the other a forest; the guard's little cottage was visible far away in the forest. To the right, a part of the terrace could be seen, upon which the grown-up people generally sat before dinner. If you looked in that direction while Karl Ivanitch was correcting your page of dictation, you could see mamma's black hair, and some one's back, and hear faint sounds of conversation and laughter; and you would grow vexed that you could not be there, and think, "When I grow up, shall I stop learning lessons, and sit, not over conversations forever, but always with those I love?" Vexation changes to sorrow; and God knows why and what you dream, until you hear Karl Ivanitch raging over your mistakes.
Karl Ivanitch took off his dressing-gown, put on his blue swallow- tailed coat with humps and folds upon the shoulders, arranged his necktie before the glass, and led us down-stairs to say good-morning to mamma.
Mamma was sitting in the parlor, and pouring out the tea; in one hand she held the teapot, with the other the faucet of the samovar, from which the water flowed over the top of the teapot upon the tray beneath. But though she was gazing steadily at it, she did not perceive it, nor that we had entered.
So many memories of the past present themselves when one tries to revive in fancy the features of a beloved being, that one views them dimly through these memories, as through tears. These are the tears of imagination. When I try to recall my mother as she was at that time, nothing appears to me but her brown eyes, which always expressed love and goodness; the mole on her neck a little lower down than the spot where the short hairs grow; her white embroidered collar; her cool, soft hand, which petted me so often, and which I so often kissed: but her image as a whole escapes me.
To the left of the divan stood the old English grand piano; and before the piano sat my dark-complexioned sister Liubotchka play8ing Clementi's studies with evident effort, and with rosy fingers which had just been washed in cold water. She was eleven. She wore a short frock of coarse linen with white lace-trimmed pantalets, and could only manage an octave as an arpeggio. Beside her, half turned away, say Marya Ivanovna, in a cap with rose-colored ribbons, a blue jacket, and a red and angry face, which assumed a still more forbidding expression when Karl Ivanitch entered. She looked threateningly at him; and, without responding to his salute, she continued to count, and beat time with her foot, one, two, three, more loudly and commandingly than before.
Karl Ivanitch, paying no attention whatever to this, according to his custom, went straight to kiss my mother's hand with a German greeting. She recovered herself, shoot her little head as though desirous of driving away painful thoughts with the gesture, gave her hand to Karl Ivanitch, and kissed him on his wrinkled temple, while he kissed her hand.
Thank you, my dear Karl Ivanitch." And continuing to speak in German, she inquired: --
"Did the children sleep well?"
Karl Ivanitch was deaf in one ear, and now heard nothing at all on account of the noise from the piano. He bent over the divan, rested one hand on the table as he stood on one foot; and with a smile which seemed to me then the height of refinement, he raised his cap above his head, and said: --
"Will you excuse me, Natalya Nikolaevna?"
Karl Ivanitch, for the sake of not catching cold in his bald head, never took off his red cap; but each time he entered the drawing-room he begged permission to keep it on.
"Put on your cap, Karl Ivanitch. ... I ask you if the children slept well?" said mamma, moving nearer to him, and speaking louder.
But again he heard nothing, covered his bald spot with his red cap, and smiled more amiably than ever.
"Stop a minute, Mimi," said mamma to Marya Ivanovna, with a smile; "we can hear nothing."
Beautiful as was mamma's face, it became incomparably more lovely when she smiled, and seemed to enliven everything about her. If in life's trying moments I could catch but a glimpse of that smile, I should not know what grief is. It seems to me that what is called beauty of face consists in the smile alone: if the smile adds charm to the face, then the face is very fine; if it does not alter the countenance, then the latter is ordinary; if it spoils it, then it is bad.
When greeting me, mamma took my head in both her hands, and bent it back, looked intently at me, and said:
"You have been crying this morning?"
I made no reply. She kissed me on the eyes, and asked in German: --
"What were you crying about?"
When she spoke pleasantly to us, she always address us in that tongue, which she knew to perfection.
"I cried in my sleep, mamma," I said, recalling my fictitious dream with all the details, and I involuntarily shuddered at the thought.
Karl Ivanitch confirmed my statement, but held his peace about the dream. After discussing the weather, in which conversation Mimi also took part, mamma laid six pieces of sugar on the tray for some of the favored servants, and went to her embroidery-frame which stood in the window.
"Now go to your father, children, and tell him that he must come to me without fail before he goes to the threshing-floor."
The music, counting, and black looks began again, and we went to papa. Passing through the room which had borne the title of butler's pantry since grandfather's time, we entered the study.
He was standing by his writing-table, and pointing to some envelops, papers, and bundles of bank-notes. He was angry, and was discussing something sharply with the overseer, Yakoff Mikhailof, who, standing in his usual place, between the door and the barometer, with his hands behind him, was moving his fingers with great vivacity in various directions.
The angrier papa grew, the more swiftly did the fingers move, and on the contrary, when papa ceased speaking, the fingers also stopped; but when Yakoff began to talk himself, his fingers underwent the greatest disturbance, and jumped wildly about in all directions. It seemed to me that Yakoff's secret thoughts might be guessed from their movements: but his face was always quiet; it expressed a sense of his own dignity and at the same time of subordination, that is to say, "I am right but nevertheless have your own way!"
When papa saw us, he merely said: --
"Wait, I'll be with you presently."
And he nodded his head toward the door, to indicate that one of us was to shut it.
"Ah, merciful God! What's to be done with you now, Yakoff?" he went on, speaking to the overseer, shrugging his shoulders (which was a habit with him). "This envelope with an inclosure of eight hundred rubles..."
Yakoff moved his abacus, counted off eight hundred rubles, fixed his gaze on some indefinite point, and waited for what was coming next.
"... is for the expenses of the farming during my absence. Do you understand? From the mill you are to receive one thousand rubles; is that so, or not? You are to receive back eight thousand worth of loans from the treasury; for the hay, of which, according to your own calculation, you can sell seven thousand poods [Footnote: A pood is about forty pounds.], - at forty-five kopeks, I will say, - you will get three thousand; consequently, how much money willyou have in all? Twelve thousand; is that so, or not?"
"Exactly, sir," said Yakoff.
But I perceived from the briskness with which his fingers moved, that he wanted to answer back; papa interrupted him.
"Now, out of this money, you will send ten thousand rubles to the Council for Petrovskoe. Now, the money which is in the office," continued papa (Yakoff mixed up this twelve thousand, and told off twenty-one thousand), "you will bring to me, and charge to expenses on this present date." (Yakoff shook up his abacus again, and turned it, indicating thereby, it is probable, that the twenty-one thousand would disappear also.) "And this envelope containing money you will forward from me to its address."
I was standing near the table, and I glanced at the inscription. It read: "Karl Ivanitch Mauer."
Papa must have perceived that I had read what it was not necessary that I should know; for he laid his hand on my shoulder, and with a slight movement indicated that I was to go away from his table. I did not understand whether it was a caress or a hint; but whatever it meant, I kissed the large, sinewy hand which rested on my shoulder.
"Yes, sir," said Yakoff. "And what are your orders with regard to the Khabarovka money?"
Khabarovka was mamma's village.
"Leave it in the office, and on no account make use of it without my orders."
Yakoff remained silent for a few seconds, then his fingers twisted about with increased rapidity, and altering the expression of servile stupidity with which he had listened to his master's orders, to the expression of bold cunning which was natural to him, he drew the abacus toward him, and began to speak.
"Permit me to report, Piotr Alexandritch, that it shall be as you please, but it is impossible to pay the Council on time. You said," he continued, his speech broken with pauses, "that we must receive money from the loans, from the mill, and from the hay." As he mentioned these statistics, he calculated them on the abacus. "I am afraid that we may be making some mistake in our reckoning," he added, after a pause, glancing with deep thoughtfulness at papa.
"How?"
"Please to consider; with regard to the mill, since the miller has been to me twice to ask for delay, and has sworn by Christ our God that he has no money ... and he is here now. Will you not please to talk with him yourself?"
"What does he say?" asked papa, signifying by a motion of his head that he did not wish to speak with the miller.
"The same old story. He says that there was no grinding; that what little money ht got, he put into the dam. If we take him away, sir, will it be of any advantage to us? With regard to the loans, as you were pleased to mention them, I think I have already reported that our money is sunk there, and we shall not be able to get at it very soon. I sent a load of flour into the city a few days ago, to Ivan Afanasitch, with a note about the matter; he replied that he would be glad to exert himself in Piotr Alexandrovitch's behalf, but the affair is not in my hands, and it is evident from the general aspect of things that you will hardly receive your quittance under two months. You were pleased to speak of the hay; suppose it does sell for three thousand."
He marked off three thousand on his abacus, and remained silent for a moment, glancing first at his calculating-frame and then at papa's eyes, as much as to say: -
"You see yourself how little it is. Yes, and we will chaffer about the hay again if it is to be sold now, you will please to understand."
It was plain that he had a great store of arguments; it must have been for that reason that papa interrupted him.
"I shall make no change in my arrangements," he said; "but if any delay should actually occur in receiving this money, then there is nothing to be done; you will take what is necessary from the Khabarovka funds."
"Yes, sir."
It was evident from the expression of Yakoff's face and fingers, that this last order afforded him the greatest satisfaction.
Yakoff was a serf, and a very zealous and devoted man. Like all good overseers, he was extremely parsimonious on his master's account, and entertained the strangest possible ideas as to what was for his master's interest. He was eternally fretting over the increase of his master's property at the expense of that of his mistress, and tried to demonstrate that it was indispensable to employ all the revenue from her estate upon Petrovskoe (the village in which we lived). He was triumphant at the present moment, because he had succeeded on this point.
Papa greeted us, and said that it was time to put a stop to our idleness; we were no longer small children, and it was time for us to study seriously.
"I think you already know that I am going to Moscow tonight, and I shall take you with me," he said. "You will live with your grandmother, and mamma will remain here with the girls. And you know that she will have but one consolation, - to hear that you are studying well, and that they are pleased with you."
Although we had been expecting something unusual, from the preparations which had been making for several days, this news surprised us terribly. Volodya turned red, and repeated mamma's message in a trembling voice.
"So that is what my dream foretold," I thought. "God grant there may be nothing worse!"
I was very, very sorry for mamma; and, at the same time, the thought that we were grown up afforded me pleasure.
"If we are going away tonight, we surely shall have no lessons. That's famous," I thought. "But I'm sorry for Karl Ivanovitch. He is certainly going to be discharged, otherwise that envelope would not have been prepared for him. It would be better to go on studying forever, and not go away, and not part from mamma, and not hurt poor Karl Ivanitch's feelings. He is so very unhappy!"
These thoughts flashed through my mind. I did not stir from the spot, and gazed intently at the black ribbons in my slippers.
After speaking a few words to Karl Ivanitch about the fall of the barometer, and giving orders to Yakoff not to feed the dogs, in order that he might go out after dinner and make a farewell trial of the young hounds, papa, contrary to my expectations, sent us to our studies, comforting us, however, with a promise to take us on the hunt.
On the way upstairs, I ran out on the terrace. Papa's favorite greyhound, Milka, lay blinking in the sunshine at the door.
"Milotchka," I said, petting her and kissing her nose, "we are going away today; good-by! We shall never see each other again."
My feelings overpowered me, and I burst into tears.
Karl Ivanitch was very much out of sorts. This was evident from his frowning brows, and from the way he flung his coat into the commode, his angry manner of tying his girdle, and the deep mark which he made with his nail in the conversation-book to indicate the point which we must learn by heart. Volodya studied properly; but my mind was so upset that I positively could do nothing. I gazed long and stupidly at the conversation-book, but I could not read for the tears which gathered in my eyes at the thought of the parting before us. When the time for recitation came, Karl Ivanitch listened with his eyes half shut (which was a bad sign); and just at the place where one says, "Where do you come from?" and the other answers, "I come from the coffee-house," I could no longer restrain my tears; and sobs prevented my uttering, "Have you not read the paper?" When it came to writing, I made such blots with my tears falling on the paper, that I might have been writing with water on wrapping paper.
Karl Ivanitch became angry; he put me on his knees, declared that it was obstinacy, a puppet comedy (this was a favorite expression of his), threatened me with the ruler, and demanded that I should beg his pardon, although I could not utter a word for my tears. He must have recognized his injustice at length, for he went into Nikolai's room and slammed the door.
The conversation in the dyadka's room was audible in the school-room.
"You have heard, Nikolai, that the children are going to Moscow?" said Karl Ivanitch, as he entered.
"Certainly, I have heard that."
Nikolai must have made a motion to rise, for Karl Ivanitch said, "Sit still, Nikolai!" and then he shut the door. I emered from the corner, and went to listen at the door.
"However much good you do to people, however much you are attached to them, gratitude is not to be expected, apparently, Nikolai," said Karl Ivanitch, with feeling.
Nikolai, who was sitting at the window at his shoe-making, nodded his head affirmatively.
"I have lived in this house twelve years, and I can say before God, Nikolai," continued Karl Ivanitch, raising his eyes and his snuff-box to the ceiling, "that I have loved them, and taken more interest in them than if they had been my own children. You remember, Nikolai, when Volodenka had the fever, how I sat by his bedside, and never closed my eyes for nine days. Yes; then I was good, dear Karl Ivanitch; then I was necessary. But now," he added with an ironical smile, "now *the children are grown up; they must study in earnest.* Just as if they were not learning anything here, Nikolai!"
"So they are to study more, it seems?" said Nikolai, laying down his awl, and drawing out his thread with both hands.
"Yes; I am no longer needed, I must be driven off. But where are their promises? Where is their gratitude? I revere and love Natalya Nikolaevna, Nikolai," said he, laying his hand on his breast. "But what is she? Her will is of no more consequence in this house than that;" hereupon he flung a scrap of leather on the floor with an expressive gesture. "I know whose doing this is, and why I am no longer needed; because I don't lie, and pretend not to see things, like *some people*. I have always been accustomed to speak the truth to every one," said he, proudly. "God be with them! They won't accumulate wealth by getting rid of me; and God is merciful, - I shall find a bit of bread for myself ... shall I not, Nikolai?"
Nikolai raised his head and looked at Karl Ivanitch, as though desirous of assuring himself whether he really would be able to find a bit of bread; but he said nothing.
Karl Ivanitch talked much and long in this strain. He said they had been more capable of appreciating his services at a certain general's house, where he had formerly lived (I was much pained to hear it). He spoke of Saxony, of his parents, of his friend the tailor, Schonheit, and so forth, and so forth.
I sympathized with his sorrow, and it pained me that papa and karl Ivanitch, whom I loved almost equally, did not understand each other. I betook myself to my corner again, crouched down on my heels, and pondered how I might bring about an understanding between them.
When Karl Ivanitch returned to the school-room, he ordered me to get up, and prepare my copy-book for writing from dictation. When all was ready, he seated himself majestically in his arm-chair, and in a voice which appeared to issue from great depth, he began to dictate as follows: --
"'Of all pas-sions the most re-volt-ing is,' have you written that?" Here he paused, slowly took a pinch of snuff, and continued with renewed energy, -- "'the most revolting is In-grat-i-tude' .... a capital I."
I looked at him after writing the last word, in expectation of more.
"Period," said he, with a barely perceptible smile, and made us a sign to give him our copy-books.
He read this apothegm, which gave utterance to his inward sentiment, through several times, with various intonations, and with an expression of the greatest satisfaction. Then he set us a lesson in history, and seated himself by the window. His face was not so morose as it had been; it expressed the delight of a man who had taken a proper revenge for an insult that had been put upon him.
It was a quarter to one, but Karl Ivanitch had no idea of dismissing us, apparently; in fact, he gave out some new lessons.
*Ennui* and hunger increased in equal measure. With the greatest impatience, I noted all the signs which betokened the near approach of dinner. There came the woman with her mop to wash the plates; then I could hear the dishes rattle on the sideboard. I heard them move the table, and place the chairs; then Mimi came in from the garden with Liubotchka and Katenka (Katenka was Mimi's twelve-year-old daughter); but nothing was to be seen of Foka, the majordomo, who always came and announced that dinner was ready. Then only could we throw aside our books without paying any attention to Karl Ivanitch, and run downstairs.
Then footsteps were audible on the stairs, but that was not Foka! I knew his step by heart, and could always recognize the squeal of his boots. The door opened, and a figure which was totally unknown to me appeared.
Into the room walked a man of fifty, with a long, pale, pock-marked face, with long gray hair and a sparse reddish beard. He was of such vast height, that, in order to pass through the door, he was obliged to bend not only his head, but his whole body. He wore a ragged garment which resembled both a kaftan and a cassock; in his hand he carried a huge staff. As he entered the room, he smote the floor with it with all his might; opening his mouth, and wrinkling his brows, he laughed in a terrible and unnatural manner. He was blind of one eye; and the white pupil of that eye hopped about incessantly, and imparted to his already homely countenance a still more repulsive expression.
"Aha! I've found you!" he shouted, running up to Volodya with little steps; he seized his head, and began a careful examination of his crown. Then, with a perfectly serious expression, he left him, walked up to the table, and began to blow under the oil-cloth, and to make the sign of the cross over it. "O-oh, it's a pity! O-oh, it's sad! The dear children .... will fly away," he said, in a voice quivering with tears, gazing feelingly at Volodya; and he began to wipe away the tears which were actually falling, with his sleeve.
His voice was coarse and hoarse, his movements hasty and rough; his talk was silly and incoherent (he never used any pronouns); but his intonations were so touching, and his grotesque yellow face assumed at time such a frankly sorrowful expression, that, in listening to him, it was impossible to refrain from a feeling of mingled pity, fear, and grief.
This was the fool and pilgrim Grischa.
When was he? Who were his parents? What had induces him to adopt the singular life which he led? No one knew. I only knew that he had passed since the age of fifteen as a fool who went barefoot winter and summer, visited the monasteries, gave little images to those who struck his fancy, and utter enigmatic words which some people accepted as prophecy; that no one had ever known him in any other aspect; that he occasionally went to grandmother's; and that some said he was the unfortunate son of wealthy parents, and a genuine fool; while others held that he was a simple peasant and lazy.
At length the long-wished-for and punctual Foka arrived, and we went downstairs. Grischa, who continued to sob and talk all sorts of nonsense, followed us, and pounded every step on the stairs with his staff. Papa and mamma entered the drawing-room arm in arm, discussing something in a low tone. Marya Ivanovna was sitting with much dignity in one of the arm-chairs, symmetrically arranged at right angles to the divan, and giving instructions in a stern, repressed voice to the girls who sat beside her. as soon as Karl Ivanitch entered the room, she glanced at him, but immediately turned away; and her face assumed an expression which might have been interpreted to mean: "I do not see you, Karl Ivanitch." It was plain from the girls' eyes, that they were very anxious to impart to us some extremely important news as soon as possible; but it would have been an infringement of Mimi's rules to jump up and come to us. We must first go to her, and say, "*Bonjour*, Mimi!" and give a scrape with the foot; and then it was permissible to enter into conversation.
What an intolerable creature that Mimi was! It was impossible to talk about anything in her presence; she considered everything improper. Moreover, she was constantly exhorting us to speak French, and that, as if out of malice, just when we wanted to chatter in Russian; or at dinner - you would just begin to enjoy a dish, and want to be let alone, when she would infallibly say, "Eat that with bread," or, "How are you holding your fork?" - "What business is it of hers?" you think. "Let her teach her girls, but Karl Ivanitch is there to see to us." I fully shared his hatred for *some people*.
"Ask mamma to take us on the hunt," whispered Katenka, stopping me by seizing my round jacket, when the grown-up people had passed on before into the dining room.
"Very good; we will try."
Grischa ate in the dining-room, but at a small table apart; he did not raise his eyes from his plate, made fearful grimaces, sighed occasionally, and said, as though speaking to himself: "It's a pity .... she [Footnote: It is indispensable to the sense in English to employ pronouns, occasionally. This may be considered a specimen of Grischa's prophecy, the pronoun being indicated by the termination of the very. --Tr.] has flown away .... the dove will fly to heaven. .... Oh, there's a stone on the grave!" and so on.
Mamma had been in a troubled state of mind ever since the morning; Grischa's presence, words, and behavior evidently increased this perturbation.
"Ah, I nearly forgot to ask you about one thing," she said, handing papa a plate of soup.
"What is it?"
"Please have your dreadful dogs shut up; they came near biting poor Grischa when he passed through the yard. And they might attack the children."
Hearing himself mentioned, Grischa turned toward the table, and began to exhibit the torn tails of his garment, and to speak with his mouth full.
"They wanted to bite to death. .... God did not allow it. .... It's a sin to set the dogs on! Don't beat the bolschak [Footnote: Elder of a village, family, or religious community. Grischa called all peasants thus, without regard to their status.] .... why beat? God forgives .... times are different now."
"What's that he's saying?" asked papa, gazing sternly and intently at him. "I don't understand a word."
"But I understand," answered mamma; "he told me that some huntsman set his dogs on him, on purpose, as he says, 'that they might bite him to death, but God did not permit it;' and he begs you not to punish the man for it."
"Ah! that's it," said papa. "How does he know that I mean to punish the huntsman? You know that I'm not overfond of these gentlemen," he added in French, "and this one in particular does not please me, and ought ...."
"Ah, do not say that, my dear," interrupted mamma, as if frightened at something. "what do you know about it?"
"It seems to me that I have had occasion to learn these people's ways by heart; enough of them come to you. They're all of one cut. It's forever and eternally the same story."
It was plain that mamma held a totally different opinion on this point, but she would not dispute.
"Please give me a patty," said she. "Are they good today?"
"Yes, it makes me angry," went on papa, taking a patty in his hand, but holding it at such a distance that mamma could not reach it; "it makes me angry, when I see sensible and cultivated people fall into the trap."
And he struck the table with his fork.
"I asked you to hand me a patty," she repeated, reaching out her hand.
"And they do well," continued papa moving his hand farther away, "when they arrest such people. The only good they do is to upset the weak nerves of certain individuals," he added with a smile, perceiving that the conversation greatly displeased mamma, and gave her the patty.
"I have only one remark to make to you on the subject: it is difficult to believe that a man who, in spite of his sixty years, goes barefoot summer and winter, and wears chains weighing two poods, which he never takes off, under his clothes, and who has more than once rejected a proposal to lead an easy life, - it is difficult to believe that such a man does all this from laziness.
"As for prophecy," she added with a sigh, after a paus, "I have paid for my belief; I think I have told you how Kiriuscha foretold the very day and hour of papa's death."
"Ah, what have you done to me!" exclaimed papa, smiling, and putting his hand to his mouth on the side where Mimi sat. (When he did this, I always listened with strained attention, in the expectation of something amusing.) "Why have you reminded me of his feet? I have looked at them, and now I shall not be able to eat anything."
The dinner was nearing its end. Liubotchka and Katenka winked at us incessantly, twisted on their chairs, and evinced the greatest uneasiness. The winks signified: "Why don't you ask them to take us hunting?" I nudged Volodya with my elbow; Volodya nudged me, and finally summoned up his courage: he explained, at first in a timid voice, but afterwards quite firmly and loudly, that, as we were to leave on that day, we should like to have the girls taken to the hunt with us, in the carriage. [Footnote: A *lineika*, or "little line," - that is, a long, generally springless, uncovered conveyance, somewhat of the jaunting-car pattern, suitable for rough driving. --Tr.] After a short consultation among the grown-up people, the question was decided in our favor; and, what was still more pleasant, mamma said that she would go with us herself.
During dessert, Yakoff was summoned, and received orders with regard to the carriage, the dogs, and the saddle-horses, - all being given with the greatest minuteness, and every horse specified by name. Volodya's horse was lame; papa ordered the hunter to be saddled for him. This word "hunter" always sounded strange in mamma's ears; it seemed to her that it must be something in the nature of a wild beast, and that it would infallibly run away with and kill Volodya. In spite of the exhortations of papa and of Volodya, who with wonderful boldness asserted that that was nothing, and that he liked to have the horse run away extremely, poor mamma continued to declare that she should be in torments during the whole of the excursion.
Dinner came to an end; the big people went to the study to drink their coffee, while we ran into the garden, to scrape our feet along the paths covered with the yellow leaves which had fallen, and to talk. The conversation began on the subject of Volodya riding the hunter, and how shameful it was the Liubotchka ran more softly than Katenka, and how interesting it would be to see Grischa's chains, and so on; not a word was said about our separation. Our conversation was interrupted by the arrival of the carriage, upon each of whose springs sat a servant-boy. Behind the carriage came the huntsmen with the dogs; behind the huntsmen Ignat, the coachman, on the horse destined for Volodya, and leading my old Kleper by the bridle. First we rushed to the fence, whence all these interesting things were visible, and then we flew upstairs shrieking and stamping, to dress ourselves as much like hunters as possible. One of the chief means to this end was tucking our trousers into our boots. We betook ourselves to this without delay, making haste to complete the operation, and run out upon the steps to enjoy the sight of the dogs and horses, and the conversation with the huntsmen.
The day was warm. White clouds of fanciful forms had been hovering all the morning on the horizon; then the little breezes drove them nearer and nearer, so that they obscured the sun from time to time. But black and frequent as were these clouds, it was plain that they were not destined to gather into a thunder-storm and spoil our enjoyment on our last opportunity. Toward evening they began to disperse again: some grew pale, lengthened out, and fled to the horizon; others, just overhead, turned into white transparent scales; only one large black cloud lingered in the east. Karl Ivanitch always knew where every sort of cloud went; he declared that this cloud would go to Maslovka, that there would be no rain, and that the weather would be fine.
Foka, in spite of his advanced years, ran down the steps very quickly and cleverly, cried "Drive up!" and planting his feet far apart, stood firm in the middle of the entrance, between the spot to which the carriage should be brought, and the threshold, in the attitude of a man who does not need to be reminded of his duty. The ladies followed, and after a brief dispute as to who should sit on which side, and whom they should cling to (although it seemed to me quite unnecessary to hold on), they seated themselves, opened their parasols, and drove off. When the lineika started, mamma pointed to the hunter, and asked the coachman in a trembling voice: --
"Is that the horse for Vladimir Petrovitch?"
And when the coachman replied in the affirmative, she waived her hand and turned away. I was very impatient; I mounted my horse, looked straight between his ears, and went through various evolutions in the courtyard.
"Please not to crush the dogs," said one of the huntsmen.
"Rest easy; this is not my first experience," I answered proudly.
Volodya mounted the hunter, not without some quaking in spite of his resolution of character, and asked several times as he patted him: --
"Is he gentle?"
He looked very handsome on horseback, - just like a grown-up person. His thighs sat so well on the saddle that I was envious, - particularly as, so far as I could judge from my shadow, I was far from presenting so fine an appearance.
Then we heard papa's step on the stairs; the dogfeeder drove up the scattered hounds; the huntsmen with greyhounds called in theirs, and began to mount. The groom led the horse to the steps; papa's leash of dogs, which had been lying about in various picturesque poses, ran to him. After him, in a bead collar jingling like iron, Milka sprang gayly out. She always greeted the male dogs when she came out; she played with some, smelled of others, growled a little, and hunted fleas on others.
Papa mounted his horse, and we set out.
The huntsman in chief, who was called Turka, rode in front on a dark gray Roman-nosed horse; he wore a shaggy cap, a huge horn over his shoulder, and a knife in his belt. From the man's fierce and gloomy exterior, one would sooner imagine that he was going to some deadly conflict than on a hunting expedition. About the hind heels of his horse ran the hounds, clustered together in a many-hued, undulating pack. It was pitiful to contemplate the fate which befell any unfortunate dog who took it into his head to linger behind. His companion was forced to drag him along with great effort; and when he had succeeded in this, one of the huntsmen who rode in the rear never failed to give him a cut with his whip, saying, "To the pack with you!" When we emerged from the gates, papa ordered us and the huntsmen to ride along the road, but he himself turned into a field of rye.
The grain harvest was in full swing. The shining yellow field, extending farther than the eye could reach, was closed in on one side only by a lofty blue forest which seemed to me then a very distant and mysterious place, behind which the world came to an end, or some uninhabited region began. The whole field was covered with shocks of sheaves and with people. Here and there amid the tall rye, on some spot that had been reaped, the bended back of a reaper was visible, the swing of the ears as she laid them between her fingers, a woman in the shade, bending over a cradle, and scattered sheaves upon the stubble strewn with cornflowers. In another quarter, peasants in their shirt- sleeves, standing on carts, were loading the sheaves, and raising a dust in the dry, hot fields. The starosta (overseer), in boots, and with his armyak [Footnote: A long, wide coat worn by peasants.] thrown on without the sleeves, and tally-sticks in his hand, perceiving papa in the distance, took off his felt cap, wiped his reddish head and beard with a towel, and shouted at the women. The sorrel horse which papa rode had a light, playful gait; now and then he dropped his head on his breast, pulled at the reins, and with his heavy tail brushed away the horse-flies and common flies which clung thirstily to him. Two greyhounds, with their tails curved in the shape of a sickle, lifted their legs high and sprang gracefully over the tall stubble, behind the horse's heels; Milka ran in front, and, with head bent low, was watching for the scent. The conversation of the people, the noise of the horses and carts, the merry whistle of the quail, the hum of insects which circled in motionless swarms in the air, the scent of the wormwood, the straw, and the sweat of the horses, the thousands of varying hues and shadows which the glowing sun poured over the bright yellow stubble-field, the blue of the distant forest and the pale lilac of the clouds, the white spider's webs which floated through the air or lay upon the stubble, - all this I saw, heard, and felt.
When we reached Kalinovoe (viburnum) woods, we found the carriage already there, and, beyond all our expectations, a one-horse cart, in the midst of which sat the butler. Under the hay we caught glimpses of a samovar, a cask with a form of ice-cream, and some other attractive parcels and baskets. It was impossible to make any mistake; there was to be tea, ice-cream, and fruit in the open air. At the sight of the cart, we manifested an uproarious joy; for it was considered a great treat to drink tea in the woods on the grass, and especially in a place where nobody had ever drunk tea before.
Turka came to this little meadow-encircled wood, halted, listened attentively to papa's minute directions how to get into line, and where to sally forth (he never minded these directions, however, and did what seemed good to him), uncoupled the dogs, arranged the leashes in a leisurely manner, mounted his horse, and disappeared behind the young birches. The first thing the hounds did on being released was to express their joy by wagging their tails, shaking themselves, putting themselves in order; and then, after a little scamper, they smelled each other, wagged their tails again, and set off in various directions.
"Have you a handkerchief?" asked papa.
I pulled one from my pocket and showed it to him.
"Well, take that gray dog on your handkerchief..."
"Zhiran?" I inquired, with a knowing air.
"Yes, and run along the road. When you come to a little meadow, stop and look about you; don't come back to me without a hare."
I wound my handkerchief about Zhiran's shaggy neck, and started at a headlong pace for the spot indicated to me. Papa laughed and called after me: --
"Faster, faster, or you'll be too late."
Zhiran kept halting, pricking up his ears, and listening to the galloping of the huntsmen. I had not the strength to drag him from the spot, and I began to shout, "Catch him! catch him!" Then Zhiran tore away with such force that I could hardly hold him, and I fell down more than once before I reached my post. Selecting a shady and level place at the root of a lofty oak, I lay down on the grass, placed Zhiran beside me, and waited. My imagination, as always happens in such cases, far outran reality. I fancied that I was already coursing my third hare, when the first hound gave tongue in the woods. Turka's voice rang loudly and with animation through the forest; the hound was whimpering, and its voice was more and more frequently audible. Another voice, a bass, joined in, then a third and a fourth. These voices ceased, and again they interrupted each other. The sounds grew gradually louder and more unbroken, and at length merged into one ringing, all-pervading roar. The meadow-encircled clump of trees was one mass of sound, and the hounds were burning with impatience.
When I heard that, I stiffened at my post. Fixing my eyes upon the edge of the woods, I smiled foolishly; the perspiration poured from me in streams, and although the drops tickled me as they ran down my chin, I did not wipe them off. It seemed to me that nothing could be more decisive than this moment. This attitude of expectancy was too unnatural to last long. The hounds poured into the edge of the woods, then they retreated from me; there was no hare. I began to look about. Zhiran was in the same state; at first he tugged and whimpered, then lay down beside me, put his nose upon my knees and became quiet.
Around the bare roots of the oak tree under which I say, upon the gray parched earth, amid the withered oak leaves, acorns, dry moss-grown sticks, yellowish green moss, and the thin green blades of grass which pushed their way through here and there, ants swarmed in countless numbers. They hurried after each other along the beaten paths which they had themselves prepared, some with burdens, some unladen. I picked up a dry stick, and obstructed their way with it. You should have seen how some, despising danger, climbed over it, while others, especially those who had loads, quite lost their heads and did not know what to do; they halted, and hunted for a path round it, or turned back, or crawled upon my hand from the stick, with the intention, apparently, of getting under the sleeve of my jacket. I was diverted from these interesting observations by a butterfly with yellow wings, which hovered before me in an extremely attractive manner. No sooner had I directed my attention to it than it flew away a couple of paces, circled about a nearly wilted head of a wild white clover, and alighted upon it. I do not know whether it was warming itself in the sun, or drawing the sap from this weed, but it was evident that it was enjoying itself. Now and then it fluttered its wings and pressed closer to the flower, and at last became perfectly still. I propped my head on both hands and gazed at it with pleasure.
All at once, Zhiran began to howl, and tugged with such force that I nearly fell over. I glanced about. Along the skirt of the woods skipped a hare, with one ear drooping, the other raised. The blood rushed to my head, and, forgetting everything for the moment, I shouted something in a wild voice, loosed my dog, and set out to run. But no sooner had I done this than my repentance began. The hare squatted, gave a leap, and I saw no more of him.
But what was my mortification, when, following the hounds, who came baying down to the edge of the woods, Turka made his appearance from behind a bush! He perceived my mistake (which consisted in not *holding out*), and, casting a scornful glance upon me, he merely said "*Eh, barin*!" [Footnote: Master] But you should have heard how he said it. It would have been pleasanter for me if he had hung me to his saddle like a hare.
For a long time I stood in deep despair, rooted to the spot. I did not call the dog, and only repeated as I beat my thighs, "Heavens, what have I done!"
I heard the hounds coursing in the distance; I heard them give tongue on the other side of the wood-island, and kill a hare, and Turka summoning the dogs with his long whip; but still I did not stir from the spot.
The hunt was at an end. A cloth was spread under the shadow of the young birches, and the whole company seated themselves around it. Gavrilo, the butler, having trodden down the lush green grass about him, wiped the plates, and emptied the baskets of the plums and peaches wrapped in leaves. The sun shone through the green branches of the young birches, and case round quivering gleams upon the patterns of the tablecloth, upon my feet, and even upon Gavrilo's polished perspiring head. A light breeze fluttering through the leaves, upon my hair and my streaming face, was very refreshing.
When the ices and fruits had been distributed to us, there was nothing more to be done at the cloth; and in spite of the sun's scorching, oblique rays, we rose and began to play.
"Now, what shall it be?" said Liubotchka, blinking in the sun, and dancing up and down upon the grass. "Let us have Robinson!"
"No, it's tiresome," said Volodya, rolling lazily on the turf, and chewing a leaf; "it's eternally Robinson! If you insist upon it, though, let's build an arbor."
Volodya was evidently putting on airs; it must have been because he was proud of having ridden the hunter, and he feigned to be very fatigued. Possibly, also, he had too much sound sense, and too little force of imagination, fully to enjoy a game of Robinson. This game consisted in acting a scene from the "Robinson Suisse," [Footnote: The Swiss Family Robinson."] which we had read not long before.
"Now, please.... why won't you do this to please us?" persisted the girls. "You shall be Charles or Ernest or the father, whichever you like," said Katenka, trying to pull him from the ground by the sleeves of his jacket.
"I really don't want to; it's tiresome," said Volodya, stretching himself, and smiling in a self-satisfied way.
"It's better to stay at home if nobody wants to play," declared Liubotchka, through her tears. She was a horrible cry-baby.
"Come along, then; only please don't cry. I can't stand it."
Volodya's condescension afforded us but very little satisfaction; on the contrary,his bored and lazy look destroyed all the illusion of the play. When we sat down on the ground, and, imagining that we were setting out on a fishing expedition, began to row with all our might, Volodya sat with folded hands, and in an attitude which had nothing in common with the attitude of a fisherman. I remarked on this to him; but he retorted that we should gain nothing and do no good by either a greater or less flourish of hands, and should not travel any farther. I involuntarily agreed with him. When I made believe go hunting with a stick on my shoulder, and took my way to the woods, Volodya lay down flat on his back, with his hands under his head, and said it was all the same as though he went, too. Such speeches and behavior cooled us toward this game, and were extremely unpleasant; the more so as it was impossible not to admit in one's own mind that Volodya was behaving sensibly.
I knew myself that not only could I not kill a bird with my stick, but that it was impossible to fire it off. That was what the game consisted in. If you judge things in that fashion, then it is impossible to ride on chairs; but, thought I, Volodya himself must remember how, on long winter evenings, we covered an arm-chair with cloths, and made a calash out of it, while one mounted as coachman, the other as footman, and the girls sat in the middle, with three chairs for a troika of horses, and we set out on a journey. And how many adventures happened on the way! and how merrily and swiftly the winter evenings passed! Judging by the present standard, there would be no games. And if there are no games, what is left?
Pretending that she was plucking some American fruits from a tree, Liubotchka tore off a leaf with a huge caterpillar on it, flung it on the ground in terror, raised her hands, and sprang back as though she feared that something would spout out of it. The game came to an end; we all flung ourselves down on the ground with our heads together, to gaze at this curiosity.
I looked over Katenka's shoulder; she was trying to pick the worm up on a leaf which she placed in its way.
I had observed that many girls have a trick of twisting their shoulders, endeavoring by this movement to bring back their low-necked dresses, which have slipped down, to their proper place. I remember that this motion always made Mimi angry: "It is the gesture of a chambermaid," she said. Katenka made this motion as she bent over the worm, and at the same moment the wind raised her kerchief from her white neck. Her little shoulder was within two fingers' length of my lips. I no longer looked at the worm; I stared and stared at Katenka's shoulder, and kissed it with all my might. She did not turn round, but I noticed that her cheeks crimsoned up to her very ears. Volodya did not raise his head, but said scornfully: --
"What tenderness!"
The tears came into my eyes.
I never took my eyes from Katenka. I had long been used to her fresh little blond face, and I had always loved it. But now I began to observe it more attentively, and I liked it still better. When we went back to the grown-up people, papa announced, to our great joy, that, at mamma's request, our departure was postponed until the following day.
We rode back in company with the carriage. Volodya and I, desirous of outdoing each other in the art of horsemanship and in boldness, pranced around it. My shadow was longer than before, and, judging from it, I imagined that I must present the effect of a very fine rider; but the feeling of self-satisfaction which I experienced was speedily destroyed by the following circumstance. Desiring completely to fascinate all who rode in the carriage, I fell behind a little; then, with the assistance of my whip and my feet, I started my horse forward and assumed an attitude of careless grace, with the intention of dashing past them like a whirlwind on the side where Katenka sat. The only point I was in doubt about was: Would it be better to gallop by in silence, or to cry out? But the hateful horse came to a standstill so unexpectedly when he came up with the carriage-horses, that I flew over the saddle upon his neck, and almost tumbled off his back.
He was a man of the last century, and possessed that indefinable chivalry of character, enterprise, self-confidence, amiability, and rakishness which was common to the youth of that period. He looked with disdain upon the people of the present century;' and this view proceeded quite as much from innate pride as from a secret feeling of vexation that he could not wield that influence or enjoy those successes in our age which he had enjoyed in his own. His two principal passions in life were cards and women: he had won several millions during his lifetime, and had had *liaisons* with an innumerable number of women of all classes.
A tall, stately figure, a strange, tripping gait, a habit of shrugging his shoulders, little eyes which were always smiling, a large aquiline nose, irregular lips which closed awkwardly but agreeably, a defect in speech, a lisp, and a large bald spot extending all over his head - such was my father's appearance from the time I first recollect him, - an appearance by means of which he not only managed to make the reputation of a man *à bonnes fortunes*, but to be so and to please everyone without exception, - people of all classes and conditions, and especially those whom he desired to please.
He understood how to get the upper hand in all his dealings. Without ever having been a member of the *very highest society*, he had always had intercourse with individuals belonging to that circle, and of such a sort that he was always respected. He understood that extreme measure of pride and self-confidence which, without offending others, raised him in the estimation of the world. He was original, though not always and employed his originality as an instrument which in some cases takes the place of worldly wisdom or wealth. Nothing in the world could arouse in him a sensation of wonder: however brilliant his position, he seemed born to it. He understood so well how to hide from others, and put away from himself, that dark side of life which is familiar to every one, and filled with petty vexations and griefs, that it was impossible not to envy him.
He was a connoisseur of all things which afford comfort or pleasure, and understood how to make use of them. His hobby was his brilliant connections, which he possessed partly through my mother's relations and partly through the companions of his youth, with whom he was secretly enraged, because they had all risen to high official positions, while he had remained only a retired lieutenant in the Guards. Like all men who have once been in the army, he did not know how to dress fashionably; nevertheless, his dress was original and elegant. His clothes were always very loose and light, his linen of the most beautiful quality, his large cuffs and collars were turned back. And it all suited his tall figure, his muscular build, his bald head, and his calm, self-confident movements. He was sensitive, and even easily moved to tears. Often, when he came to a pathetic place while reading aloud, his voice would begin to tremble, the tears would come; and he would drop the book in vexation. He loved music, and sang, to his own piano accompaniment, the romances of his friend A., gipsy songs, and some airs from the operas; but he did not like scientific music, and said frankly, with heeding the general opinion, that Beethoven's sonatas drove him to sleep and *ennui*; and that he knew nothing finer than "Wake the young girl not," as sung by Madame Semenoff, and "Not alone," as gipsy Taniuscha sang it. His nature was one of those to whose good deeds a public is indispensable. And he only considered that good which was so reckoned by the public. God knows whether he had any moral convictions. His life was so full of passions of every sort, that he never had any time to make an inventory of them, and he was so happy in his life that he saw no necessity for so doing.
A fixed opinion on things generally, and unalterable principles, formulated themselves in his mind as he grew older - but solely on practical grounds. Those deeds and that manner of life which procured him happiness and pleasure, he considered good; and he thought that every one should always do the same. He was a very delightful talker; and this quality, it seems to me, heightened the flexibility of his principles: he was capable of depicting the same act as a charming bit of mischief, or as a piece of low-lived villainy.
It was already dusk when we reached home. Mamma seated herself at the piano, and we children fetched out paper, pencils, and paints, and settled ourselves about the round table at our drawing. I had only blue paint; nevertheless, I undertook to depict the hunt. After representing, in very lively style, a blue boy mounted on a blue horse, and some blue dogs, I was not quite sure whether I could paint a blue hare, and ran to papa in his study to take advice on the matter. Papa was reading; and, in answer to my question, "Are there any blue hares?" he said, without raising his head, "Yes, my dear, there are." I went back to the round table, and painted a blue hare; then I found it necessary to turn the blue hare into a bush. The bush did not please me either; I turned it into a tree, and the tree into a stack of hay, and the haystack into a cloud; and finally I blotted my whole paper so with blue paint, that I tore it up in vexation, and went off to doze on the long sofa-chair.
Mamma was playing the Second Concerto of Field - her teacher. I dreamed, and light, bright, transparent recollections penetrated my imagination. She played Beethoven's Sonata Pathetique, and my memories became painful, dark, burdensome. Mamma often played those two pieces; therefore I well remember the feeling which they aroused in me. It resembled memories; but memories of what? I seemed to remember something which had never happened.
Opposite me was the door into the study, and I saw Yakoff enter, and some other people with kaftans and beards. The door immediately closed behind them. "Now business has begun!" I thought. It seemed to me that nothing in the world could be more important than the business which was being transacted in that study; this idea of mine was confirmed by the fact that all who entered the study door generally did so on tip-toe and exchanging whispers. Papa's loud voice was audible; and the smell of cigars, which always attracted me very much, I know not why, was perceptible. All at once, I was much surprised in my half slumber by the familiar squeak of boots in the butler's pantry. Karl Ivanitch walked up to the door on tiptoe, but with a gloomy and decided countenance, and some papers in his hand, and knocked lightly. He was admitted, and the door was slammed again.
"Some misfortune must have happened," I thought. "Karl Ivanitch is angry; he is ready for anything."
And again I fell into a doze.
But no misfortune had occurred. In about an hour, the same squeaking boots woke me up. Karl Ivanitch emerged from the door, wiping away the tears which I espied on his cheeks, with his handkerchief, and went up- stairs, muttering something to himself. Papa came out after him, and entered the drawing-room.
"Do you know what I have just decided upon?" he said in a gay voice, laying his hand on mamma's shoulder.
"What is it, my dear?"
"I shall take Karl Ivanitch with the children. There is room for him in the britchka. They are used to him, and it seems that he is very much attached to them; and seven hundred rubles a year does not count for much: and then he is a very good sort of fellow at bottom?
I could not in the least understand why papa called Karl Ivanitch names.
"I am very glad," said mamma, "both for the children's sake and for his; he is a vine old fellow."
"If you could only have seen how much affected he was when I told him that he was to keep the five hundred rubles as a gift! But the most amusing thing of all is this account which he has brought me. It's worth looking at," he added, with a smile, handing her a list in Karl Ivanitch's handwriting; "it is delightful."
This is what the list contained: --
"Two fish-hooks for the children, seventy kopeks.
"Colored paper, gold binding, a syringe and jumping-jack, for a little box for a present, six rubles fifty-five kopeks.
"Books and bows, presents to the children, eitht rubles sixteen kopeks.
"Trousers for Nikolai, four rubles.
"The gold watch promised by Piotr Alexandrovitch, to be got from Moscow in 18--, one hundred and forth rubles.
"Total due Karl Mauer, above his salary, one hundred and fifty-nine rubles seventy-nine kopeks."
After reading this list, in which Karl Ivanitch demanded payment of all the sums which he had expended for presents, and even the price of the gifts promised to himself, any one would think that Karl Ivanitch was nothing more than an unfeeling, covetous egoist -- and he would be very much mistaken.
When he entered the study with this account in his hand, and a speech ready prepared in his head, he intended to set forth eloquently before papa all the injustice that he had endured in our house; but when he began to speak in that touching voice, and with the feeling intonations which he usually employed when dictating to us, his eloquence acted most powerfully on himself; so that when he reached the place where he said, "Painful as it is to me to part from the children," he became utterly confused, his voice trembled, and he was forced to pull his checked handkerchief from his pocket.
"Yes, Piotr Alexandritch," he said, through his tears (this passage did not occur in the prepared speech), "I have become so used to the children, that I do not know what I shall do without them. It will be better for me to serve you without salary," he added, wiping away his tears with one hand, and presenting the bill with the other.
That Karl Ivanitch was sincere when he spoke thus I can affirm with authority, for I know his kind heart; but how he reconciled that account with his words remains a mystery to me.
"If it is painful for you, it would be still more painful for me to part with you," said papa, tapping him on the shoulder. "I have changed my mind."
Not long before supper Grischa entered the room. From the moment he had come to the house, he had not ceased to sigh and weep; which, according to the opinion of those who believed in his power of prophecy, presaged some evil to our house. He began to take leave, and said that he should proceed farther the next morning. I winked at Volodya, and went out.
"What is it?"
"If you want to see Grischa's chains, let's go upstairs to the men's rooms immediately. Grischa sleeps in the second chamber. We can sit in the garret perfectly well, and see everything."
"Splendid! Wait here; I'll call the girls."
The girls ran out, and we betook ourselves up-stairs. It was settled, not without some disputing, however, who was to go first into the dark garret; and we sat down and waited.
The darkness oppressed all of us; we pressed close to each other, and did not speak. Grischa followed us almost immediately, with his quiet steps. In one hand he carried his staff, in the other a tallow candle in a brass candlestick. We held our breaths.
"Lord Jesus Christ! Most Holy Mother of God! Father, Son, and Holy Ghost!" he repeated several times, with various intonations and abbreviations which are peculiar to those only who repeat these words often, as he drew the air into his lungs.
Having placed his staff in the corner, and inspected his bed during his prayer, he began to undress. He unfastened his old black belt, removed his tattered nankeen smock, folded it carefully, and laid it over the back of a chair. His face did not now express haste and stupidity, as usual; on the contrary, it was composed, melancholy, and even majestic. His movements were deliberate and thoughtful.
Clad in his underclothes alone, he sank gently down upon the bed, made the sign of the cross over it on all sides, and with an evident effort (for he frowned) he adjusted the chains beneath his shirt. After sitting there awhile and anxiously examining several rents in his linen, he rose, lifted the candlestick on a level with the shrine in the corner, which contained several images, repeating a prayer meantime, crossed himself before them, and turned the candle upside down. It sputtered and went out.
The moon, which was almost full, shone in through the window, looking toward the forest. The long white figure of the fool was illuminated on one side by the pale, silvery rays of the moon: on the other it was in deep obscurity; his shadow fell on the floor and walls, and reached to the ceiling in company with the shadows from the window-frame. The watchman beat on the copper plate in the courtyard.
Grischa folded his huge arms across his breast, bent his head, sighing heavily, and without intermission, and stood in silence before the images; then he knelt, with difficulty, and began to pray.
At first he softly recited the familiar prayers, merely acentuating certain words; then he repeated them, but in a loud voice, and with much animation. He began to employ his own words, endeavoring, with evident effort, to express himself in Slavic. His words were incoherent but touching. He prayed for all his benefactors (as he called those who entertained him), among them mamma and us; he prayed for himself, besought God to forgive him his grievous sins, and said; "O God, forgive my enemies!" He rose with a groan, and, repeating the same words over and over, he fell to the ground again, and again rose, notwithstanding the weight of the chains, which emitted a harsh, sharp sound as they struck the floor.
Volodya gave me a painful pinch on my leg, but I did not even look round; I merely rubbed the spot with one hand, and continued to observe all Grischa's words and motions with a sentiment of childish wonder, pity, and reverence.
Instead of the merriment and laughter upon which I had reckoned when I entered the garret, I felt a trembling and sinking at my heart.
Grischa remained in this state of religious exhaltation for a long time, and improvised prayers. He repeated "*Lord, have mercy,*" several times in succession, but each time with fresh force and expression. Then he said: "*Forgive me, Lord; teach me what I should do; teach me what I should do, Lord!*" with an expression as though he expected an immediate response to his words; then several lamentable groans were audible. He rose to his knees, crossed his hands upon his breast, and became silent.
I put my head softly out of the door, and held my breath. Grischa did not stir; heavy sighs forced themselves from his breast; a tear stood in the dim pupil of his blind eye, which was illuminated by the moon.
"Thy will be done!" he cried suddenly, with an indescribable expression, fell with his forehead to the floor, and sobbed like a child.
A long time has passed since then; many memories of the past have lost all significance for me, and have become like confused visions; even pilgrim Grischa has long ago taken his last journey: but the impression which he made upon me, and the feeling which he awakened, will never die out of my memory.
O great Christian Grischa! Thy faith was so strong, that thou didst feel the nearness of God; thy love was so great, that thy words poured from thy lips of themselves, - thou didst not revise them with they judgment. And what lofty praise didst thou offer to His majesty, when, finding no words, thou didst fling thyself to the earth in tears!
The emotion with which I listened to Grischa could not last long; in the first place, because my curiosity was satisfied, and, in the second, because my legs were stiff with sitting in one position, and I wanted to join in the general whispering and movement which was audible behind me in the dark garret. Some one caught my hand, and said "Whose hand is this?" It was perfectly dark, but I immediately recognized Katenka by the touch of the hand, and by the voice which was just above my ear.
It was quite without premeditation that I grasped her arm, on which the sleeve reached only to the elbow, and pressed my lips to it. Katenka was evidently surprised at this, and pulled her hand away; this movement caused her to strike a broken chair which stood in the garret. Grischa raised his head, glanced quietly about, repeating a prayer, and began to make the sign of the cross on all the corners. We ran out of the garret whispering, and making a great commotion.
About the middle of the last century, a plump, red-cheeked, barefooted, but merry girl, Nataschka, used to run about the courtyard in the village of Khabarovka in a tattered dress. My grandfather had taken her *up-stairs* as one of grandmother's female servants, on account of the services of her father Savva, the clarinet player, and at his request. *Nataschka*, as a maid, was distinguished for her gentleness of nature and her zeal. When mamma was born, and a nurse was required, this service was intrusted to *Nataschka*; and in this new career she won both praises and rewards for her activity, faithfulness, and attachment to her young mistress.
But the powdered head, stockings, and buckles of the dashing young majordomo Foka, who, in virtue of his office, was often brought in contact with Natalya, captivated her rough but loving heart. She even made up her mind to go herself to grandfather, and ask permission to marry Foka. Grandfather looked upon her request as ingratitude, turned her away, and sent poor Natalya to the cattle-yard, in a village of the steppe, to punish her. But within six months Natalya was restored to her former duty, since no one could fill her place. On returning from banishment, she entered grandfather's presence, threw herself at his feet, and besought him to restore her to favor and affection, and to forget the folly which had come upon her, and to which she swore not to return. And she kept her word.
From that day Nataschka became Natalya Savischna, and wore a cap. All the treasures of love which she possessed she transferred to her young mistress.
When, later on, a governess replaced her with mamma, she received the keys of the storehouse, and all the linen and provisions were given into her charge. She fulfilled these new duties with the same love and zeal. Her whole life was devoted to the welfare of her master and mistress; she saw waste, ruin, robbery, on every side, and endeavored by every means in her power to counteract them.
When mamma married, desiring in some way to show her gratitude to Natalya Savischna for her labor and attachment of twenty years, she had her summoned; and, expressing in the most flattering terms all her love and obligations, she handed her a sheet of stamped paper, which declared that Natalya Savischna was a free woman; and she said that whether the latter should continue to serve in our house or not, she would always receive a yearly pension of three hundred rubles. Natalya Savischna listened to all this in silence; then, taking the document in her how hands, she looked angrily at it, mutter something between her lips, and flew out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Not understanding the cause of this strange behavior, mamma, after waiting a little, went to Natalya's room. The latter was sitting on her chest, with tear-swollen eyes, twisting her handkerchief in her fingers, and intently regarding the tattered fragments of her emancipation paper, which were scattered over the floor before her.
"What is the matter, dearest Natalya Savischna?" asked mamma, taking her hand.
"Nothing, matushka," she replied. "I must be repulsive to you in some way, that you drive me from the house. Well, I will go."
She pulled away her hand, and, with difficulty restraining her tears, she made a motion to leave the room. Mamma detained her, embraced her, and they both wept in company.
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