of view, and cultivated fixed rules--but only so long as that point or
those rules coincided with expediency. The mode of life which offered
some passing degree of interest--that, in his opinion, was the right
one and the only one that men ought to affect. He had great fluency of
argument; and this, I think, increased the adaptability of his morals
and enabled him to speak of one and the same act, now as good, and now,
with abuse, as abominable.
XI -- IN THE DRAWING-ROOM AND THE STUDY
Twilight had set in when we reached home. Mamma sat down to the piano,
and we to a table, there to paint and draw in colours and pencil. Though
I had only one cake of colour, and it was blue, I determined to draw a
picture of the hunt. In exceedingly vivid fashion I painted a blue boy
on a blue horse, and--but here I stopped, for I was uncertain whether
it was possible also to paint a blue HARE. I ran to the study to consult
Papa, and as he was busy reading he never lifted his eyes from his book
when I asked, "Can there be blue hares?" but at once replied, "There
can, my boy, there can." Returning to the table I painted in my blue
hare, but subsequently thought it better to change it into a blue bush.
Yet the blue bush did not wholly please me, so I changed it into a tree,
and then into a rick, until, the whole paper having now become one blur
of blue, I tore it angrily in pieces, and went off to meditate in the
large arm-chair.
Mamma was playing Field's second concerto. Field, it may be said, had
been her master. As I dozed, the music brought up before my imagination
a kind of luminosity, with transparent dream-shapes. Next she played the
"Sonate Pathetique" of Beethoven, and I at once felt heavy, depressed,
and apprehensive. Mamma often played those two pieces, and therefore I
well recollect the feelings they awakened in me. Those feelings were a
reminiscence--of what? Somehow I seemed to remember something which had
never been.
Opposite to me lay the study door, and presently I saw Jakoff enter it,
accompanied by several long-bearded men in kaftans. Then the door shut
again.
"Now they are going to begin some business or other," I thought. I
believed the affairs transacted in that study to be the most important
ones on earth. This opinion was confirmed by the fact that people only
approached the door of that room on tiptoe and speaking in whispers.
Presently Papa's resonant voice sounded within, and I also scented
cigar smoke--always a very attractive thing to me. Next, as I dozed, I
suddenly heard a creaking of boots that I knew, and, sure enough,
saw Karl Ivanitch go on tiptoe, and with a depressed, but resolute,
expression on his face and a written document in his hand, to the study
door and knock softly. It opened, and then shut again behind him.
"I hope nothing is going to happen," I mused. "Karl Ivanitch is
offended, and might be capable of anything--" and again I dozed off.
Nevertheless something DID happen. An hour later I was disturbed by
the same creaking of boots, and saw Karl come out, and disappear up
the stairs, wiping away a few tears from his cheeks with his pocket
handkerchief as he went and muttering something between his teeth. Papa
came out behind him and turned aside into the drawing-room.
"Do you know what I have just decided to do?" he asked gaily as he laid
a hand upon Mamma's shoulder.
"What, my love?"
"To take Karl Ivanitch with the children. There will be room enough for
him in the carriage. They are used to him, and he seems greatly attached
to them. Seven hundred roubles a year cannot make much difference to us,
and the poor devil is not at all a bad sort of a fellow." I could not
understand why Papa should speak of him so disrespectfully.
"I am delighted," said Mamma, "and as much for the children's sake as
his own. He is a worthy old man."
"I wish you could have seen how moved he was when I told him that he
of all is this bill which he has just handed me. It is worth
seeing," and with a smile Papa gave Mamma a paper inscribed in Karl's
handwriting. "Is it not capital?" he concluded.
The contents of the paper were as follows: [The joke of this bill
consists chiefly in its being written in very bad Russian, with
continual mistakes as to plural and singular, prepositions and so
forth.]
"Two book for the children--70 copeck. Coloured paper, gold frames, and
a pop-guns, blockheads [This word has a double meaning in Russian.] for
cutting out several box for presents--6 roubles, 55 copecks. Several
book and a bows, presents for the childrens--8 roubles, 16 copecks. A
gold watches promised to me by Peter Alexandrovitch out of Moscow, in
the years 18-- for 140 roubles. Consequently Karl Mayer have to receive
139 rouble, 79 copecks, beside his wage."
If people were to judge only by this bill (in which Karl Ivanitch
demanded repayment of all the money he had spent on presents, as well as
the value of a present promised to himself), they would take him to have
been a callous, avaricious egotist yet they would be wrong.
It appears that he had entered the study with the paper in his hand and
a set speech in his head, for the purpose of declaiming eloquently to
Papa on the subject of the wrongs which he believed himself to have
suffered in our house, but that, as soon as ever he began to speak in
the vibratory voice and with the expressive intonations which he used in
dictating to us, his eloquence wrought upon himself more than upon Papa;
with the result that, when he came to the point where he had to say,
"however sad it will be for me to part with the children," he lost his
self-command utterly, his articulation became choked, and he was obliged
to draw his coloured pocket-handkerchief from his pocket.
"Yes, Peter Alexandrovitch," he said, weeping (this formed no part of
the prepared speech), "I am grown so used to the children that I cannot
think what I should do without them. I would rather serve you without
salary than not at all," and with one hand he wiped his eyes, while with
the other he presented the bill.
Although I am convinced that at that moment Karl Ivanitch was speaking
with absolute sincerity (for I know how good his heart was), I confess
that never to this day have I been able quite to reconcile his words
with the bill.
"Well, if the idea of leaving us grieves you, you may be sure that the
idea of dismissing you grieves me equally," said Papa, tapping him on
the shoulder. Then, after a pause, he added, "But I have changed my
mind, and you shall not leave us."
Just before supper Grisha entered the room. Ever since he had entered
the house that day he had never ceased to sigh and weep--a portent,
according to those who believed in his prophetic powers, that misfortune
was impending for the household. He had now come to take leave of us,
for to-morrow (so he said) he must be moving on. I nudged Woloda, and we
mo
ved towards the door.
"What is the matter?" he said.
"This--that if we want to see Grisha's chains we must go upstairs at
once to the men-servants' rooms. Grisha is to sleep in the second one,
so we can sit in the store-room and see everything."
"All right. Wait here, and I'll tell the girls."
The girls came at once, and we ascended the stairs, though the question
as to which of us should first enter the store-room gave us some little
trouble. Then we cowered down and waited.
XII -- GRISHA
WE all felt a little uneasy in the thick darkness, so we pressed close
to one another and said nothing. Before long Grisha arrived with his
soft tread, carrying in one hand his staff and in the other a tallow
candle set in a brass candlestick. We scarcely ventured to breathe.
"Our Lord Jesus Christ! Holy Mother of God! Father, Son, and Holy
Ghost!" he kept repeating, with the different intonations and
abbreviations which gradually become peculiar to persons who are
accustomed to pronounce the words with great frequency.
Still praying, he placed his staff in a corner and looked at the bed;
after which he began to undress. Unfastening his old black girdle, he
slowly divested himself of his torn nankeen kaftan, and deposited
it carefully on the back of a chair. His face had now lost its usual
disquietude and idiocy. On the contrary, it had in it something restful,
thoughtful, and even grand, while all his movements were deliberate and
intelligent.
Next, he lay down quietly in his shirt on the bed, made the sign of the
cross towards every side of him, and adjusted his chains beneath his
shirt--an operation which, as we could see from his face, occasioned him
considerable pain. Then he sat up again, looked gravely at his ragged
shirt, and rising and taking the candle, lifted the latter towards the
shrine where the images of the saints stood. That done, he made the sign
of the cross again, and turned the candle upside down, when it went out
with a hissing noise.
Through the window (which overlooked the wood) the moon (nearly full)
was shining in such a way that one side of the tall white figure of the
idiot stood out in the pale, silvery moonlight, while the other side was
lost in the dark shadow which covered the floor, walls, and ceiling. In
the courtyard the watchman was tapping at intervals upon his brass alarm
plate. For a while Grisha stood silently before the images and, with
his large hands pressed to his breast and his head bent forward, gave
occasional sighs. Then with difficulty he knelt down and began to pray.
At first he repeated some well-known prayers, and only accented a word
here and there. Next, he repeated thee same prayers, but louder and
with increased accentuation. Lastly he repeated them again and with even
greater emphasis, as well as with an evident effort to pronounce them in
the old Slavonic Church dialect. Though disconnected, his prayers were
very touching. He prayed for all his benefactors (so he called every one
who had received him hospitably), with, among them, Mamma and ourselves.
Next he prayed for himself, and besought God to forgive him his sins,
at the same time repeating, "God forgive also my enemies!" Then, moaning
with the effort, he rose from his knees--only to fall to the floor again
and repeat his phrases afresh. At last he regained his feet, despite
the weight of the chains, which rattled loudly whenever they struck the
floor.
Woloda pinched me rudely in the leg, but I took no notice of that
(except that I involuntarily touched the place with my hand), as I
observed with a feeling of childish astonishment, pity, and respect
the words and gestures of Grisha. Instead of the laughter and amusement
which I had expected on entering the store-room, I felt my heart beating
and overcome.
Grisha continued for some time in this state of religious ecstasy as he
improvised prayers and repeated again and yet again, "Lord, have mercy
upon me!" Each time that he said, "Pardon me, Lord, and teach me to
do what Thou wouldst have done," he pronounced the words with added
earnestness and emphasis, as though he expected an immediate answer to
his petition, and then fell to sobbing and moaning once more. Finally,
he went down on his knees again, folded his arms upon his breast, and
remained silent. I ventured to put my head round the door (holding my
breath as I did so), but Grisha still made no movement except for the
heavy sighs which heaved his breast. In the moonlight I could see a tear
glistening on the white patch of his blind eye.
"Yes, Thy will be done!" he exclaimed suddenly, with an expression which
I cannot describe, as, prostrating himself with his forehead on the
floor, he fell to sobbing like a child.
Much sand has run out since then, many recollections of the past have
faded from my memory or become blurred in indistinct visions, and poor
Grisha himself has long since reached the end of his pilgrimage; but the
impression which he produced upon me, and the feelings which he aroused
in my breast, will never leave my mind. O truly Christian Grisha, your
faith was so strong that you could feel the actual presence of God; your
love so great that the words fell of themselves from your lips. You had
no reason to prove them, for you did so with your earnest praises of His
majesty as you fell to the ground speechless and in tears!
Nevertheless the sense of awe with which I had listened to Grisha could
not last for ever. I had now satisfied my curiosity, and, being cramped
with sitting in one position so long, desired to join in the tittering
and fun which I could hear going on in the dark store-room behind me.
Some one took my hand and whispered, "Whose hand is this?" Despite the
darkness, I knew by the touch and the low voice in my ear that it was
Katenka. I took her by the arm, but she withdrew it, and, in doing so,
pushed a cane chair which was standing near. Grisha lifted his head
looked quietly about him, and, muttering a prayer, rose and made the
sign of the cross towards each of the four corners of the room.
XIII -- NATALIA SAVISHNA
In days gone by there used to run about the seignorial courtyard of the
country-house at Chabarovska a girl called Natashka. She always wore a
cotton dress, went barefooted, and was rosy, plump, and gay. It was at
the request and entreaties of her father, the clarionet player Savi,
that my grandfather had "taken her upstairs"--that is to say, made
her one of his wife's female servants. As chamber-maid, Natashka so
distinguished herself by her zeal and amiable temper that when Mamma
arrived as a baby and required a nurse Natashka was honoured with the
charge of her. In this new office the girl earned still further praises
and rewards for her activity, trustworthiness, and devotion to her young
mistress. Soon, however, the powdered head and buckled shoes of the
young and active footman Foka (who had frequent opportunities of
courting her, since they were in the same service) captivated her
uns
ophisticated, but loving, heart. At last she ventured to go and ask
my grandfather if she might marry Foka, but her master took the request
in bad part, flew into a passion, and punished poor Natashka by exiling
her to a farm which he owned in a remote quarter of the Steppes. At
length, when she had been gone six months and nobody could be found to
replace her, she was recalled to her former duties. Returned, and with
her dress in rags, she fell at Grandpapa's feet, and besought him to
restore her his favour and kindness, and to forget the folly of which
she had been guilty--folly which, she assured him, should never recur
again. And she kept her word.
From that time forth she called herself, not Natashka, but Natalia
Savishna, and took to wearing a cap. All the love in her heart was now
bestowed upon her young charge. When Mamma had a governess appointed
for her education, Natalia was awarded the keys as housekeeper, and
henceforth had the linen and provisions under her care. These new duties
she fulfilled with equal fidelity and zeal. She lived only for her
master's advantage. Everything in which she could detect fraud,
extravagance, or waste she endeavoured to remedy to the best of her
power. When Mamma married and wished in some way to reward Natalia
Savishna for her twenty years of care and labour, she sent for her and,
voicing in the tenderest terms her attachment and love, presented
her with a stamped charter of her (Natalia's) freedom, [It will be
remembered that this was in the days of serfdom] telling her at the same
time that, whether she continued to serve in the household or not, she
should always receive an annual pension of 300 roubles. Natalia listened
in silence to this. Then, taking the document in her hands and regarding