The paths were made of a well-rolled yellow gravel, crunching under the
feet; and at the sides were borders of large rose-coloured shells.
In the flower-beds, above a carpet of various coloured grasses, grew
rare plants with brilliant blossoms and sweet perfume. Crystal water
rose and splashed continually from the fountains, and garlands of
beautiful creeping plants hung downward from beautiful vases, suspended
in mid-air from wires stretched between the trees. On marble pillars
just outside the house stood two splendid spheres of mirror glass, and
the wandering troupe, coming up to them, saw themselves reflected feet
upwards in an amusing twisted and elongated picture.
In front of the balcony was a wide, much-trampled platform. On this
Sergey spread his little mattress, and grandfather, having fixed the
organ on its stick, prepared to turn the handle. But just as he was in
the act of doing this, a most unexpected and strange sight suddenly
attracted his attention.
A boy of nine or ten rushed suddenly out of the house on to the
terrace like a bomb, giving forth piercing shrieks. He was in a sailor
suit, with bare arms and legs. His fair curls hung in a tangle on his
shoulders. Away he rushed, and after him came six people; two women in
aprons, a stout old lackey, without moustache or beard but with grey
side-whiskers, wearing a frock coat, a lean, carrotty-haired, red-nosed
girl in a blue-checked dress, a young sickly-looking but very beautiful
lady in a blue dressing-jacket trimmed with lace, and, last of all,
a stout, bald gentleman in a suit of Tussore silk, and with gold
spectacles. They were all very much excited, waved their arms, spoke
loudly, and even jostled one another. You could see at one that the
cause of all their anxiety was the boy in the sailor suit, who had so
suddenly rushed on to the terrace.
And the boy, the cause of all this hurly-burly, did not cease screaming
for one second, but threw himself down on his stomach, turned quickly
over on to his back, and began to kick out with his legs on all sides.
The little crowd of grown-ups fussed around him. The old lackey in the
frock coat pressed his hands to his starched shirt-front and begged and
implored the boy to be quiet, his long side-whiskers trembling as he
spoke:
"Little father, master!... Nikolai Apollonovitch!... Do not vex your
little mamma. Do get up, sir; be so good, so kind--take a little, sir.
The mixture's sweet as sweet, just syrup, sir. Now let me help you
up...."
The women in the aprons clapped their hands and chirped
quickly-quickly, in seemingly passionate and frightened voices. The
red-nosed girl made tragic gestures, and cried out something evidently
very touching, but completely incomprehensible, as it was in a
foreign language. The gentleman in the gold spectacles made speeches
to the boy in a reasoning bass voice, wagged his head to and fro as
he spoke, and slowly waved his hands up and down. And the beautiful,
delicate--looking lady moaned wearily, pressing a lace handkerchief to
her eyes.
"Ah, Trilly, ah, God in Heaven!... Angel mine, I beseech you, listen,
your own mother begs you. Now do, do take the medicine, take it and
you'll see, you'll feel better at once, and the stomach-ache will go
away and the headache. Now do it for me, my joy! Oh, Trilly, if you
want it, your mamma will go down on her knees. See, darling, I'm on my
knees before you. If you wish it, I'll give you gold--a sovereign, two
sovereigns, five sovereigns. Trilly, would you like a live ass? Would
you like a live horse? Oh, for goodness' sake, say something to him,
doctor."
"Pay attention, Trilly. Be a man!" droned the stout gentleman in the
spectacles.
"Ai-yai-yai-ya-a-a-a!" yelled the boy, squirming on the ground, and
kicking about desperately with his feet.
Despite his extreme agitation he managed to give several kicks to
the people around him, and they, for their part, got out of his way
sufficiently cleverly.
Sergey looked upon the scene with curiosity and astonishment, and at
last nudged the old man in the side and said:
"Grandfather Lodishkin, what's the matter with him? Can't they give him
a beating?"
"A beating--I like that.... That sort isn't beaten, but beats everybody
else. A crazy boy; ill, I expect."
"Insane?" enquired Sergey.
"How should I know? Hst, be quiet!..."
"Ai-yai-ya-a! Scum, fatheads!" shouted the boy, louder and louder.
"Well, begin, Sergey. Now's the time, for I know!" ordered Lodishkin
suddenly, taking hold of the handle of his organ and turning it with
resolution. The snuffling and false notes of the ancient galop rose in
the garden. All the people stopped suddenly and looked round; even the
boy became silent for a few seconds.
"Ah, God in heaven, they will upset my poor Trilly still more!"
cried the lady in the blue dressing-jacket, with tears in her eyes.
Chase them off, quickly, quickly. Drive them away, and the dirty dog
with them. Dogs have always such dreadful diseases. Why do you stand
there helplessly, Ivan, as if you were turned to stone? She shook her
handkerchief wearily in the direction of grandfather and the little
boy; the lean, red-nosed girl made dreadful eyes; someone gave a
threatening whisper; the lackey in the dress coat ran swiftly from the
balcony on his tiptoes, and, with an expression of horror on his face,
cried to the organ grinder, spreading out his arms like wings as he
spoke:
"Whatever does it mean--who permitted them--who let them through?
March! Clear out!..."
The organ became silent in a melancholy whimper.
"Fine gentleman, allow us to explain," began the old man delicately.
"No explanations whatever! March!" roared the lackey in a hoarse, angry
whisper.
His whole fat face turned purple, and his eyes protruded to such a
degree that they looked as if they would suddenly roll out and run away
like wheels. The sight was so dreadful that grandfather involuntarily
took two steps backward.
"Put the things up, Sergey," said he, hurriedly jolting the organ on to
his back. "Come on!"
But they had not succeeded in taking more than ten steps when the child
began to shriek even worse than ever:
"Ai-yai-yai! Give it me! I wa-ant it! A-a-a! Give it! Call them back!
Me!"
"But, Trilly!... Ah, God in heaven, Trilly; ah, call them back!" moaned
the nervous lady. "Tfu, how stupid you all are!... Ivan, don't you hear
when you're told? Go at once and call those beggars back!..."
"Certainly! You! Hey, what d'you call yourselves? Organ grinders! Come
back!" cried several voices at once.
The stout lackey jumped across the lawn, his side-whiskers waving in
the wind, and, overtaking the artistes, cried out:
"Pst! Musicians! Back! Don't you hear, friends, you're called back?"
cried he, panting and waving both arms. "Venerable old man!" said he
at last, catching hold of grandfather's coat by the sleeve. "Turn the
shafts round. The master and mistress will be pleased to see your
pantomime."
"Well, well, business at last!" sighed grandfather, turning his head
round. And the little party went back to the balcony where the people
were collected, and the old man fixed up his organ on the stick and
played the hideous galop from the very point at which it had been
interrupted.
The rumpus had died down. The lady with her little boy, and the
gentleman in the gold spectacles, came forward. The others remained
respectfully behind. Out of the depths of the shrubbery came the
gardener in his apron, and stood at a little distance. From somewhere
or other the yard-porter made his appearance, and stood behind the
gardener. He was an immense bearded peasant with a gloomy face, narrow
brows, and pock-marked cheeks. He was clad in a new rose-coloured
blouse, on which was a pattern of large black spots.
Under cover of the hoarse music of the galop, Sergey spread his little
mattress, pulled off his canvas breeches--they had been cut out of
an old sack, and behind, at the broadest part, were ornamented by a
quadrilateral trade mark of a factory--threw from his body his torn
shirt, and stood erect in his cotton underclothes. In spite of the
many mends on these garments he was a pretty figure of a boy, lithe
and strong. He had a little programme of acrobatic tricks which he
had learnt by watching his elders in the arena of the circus. Running
to the mattress he would put both hands to his lips, and, with a
passionate gesture, wave two theatrical kisses to the audience. So his
performance began.
Grandfather turned the handle of the organ without ceasing, and whilst
the boy juggled various objects in the air the old music-machine gave
forth its trembling, coughing tunes. Sergey's repertoire was not a
large one, but he did it well and with enthusiasm. He threw up into
the air an empty beer-bottle, so that it revolved several times in its
flight, and suddenly catching it neck downward on the edge of a tray
he balanced it there for several seconds; he juggled four balls and
two candles, catching the latter simultaneously in two candlesticks;
he played with a fan, a wooden cigar and an umbrella, throwing them to
and fro in the air, and at last having the open umbrella in his hand
shielding his head, the cigar in his mouth, and the fan coquettishly
waving in his other hand. Then he turned several somersaults on the
mattress; did "the frog"; tied himself into an American knot; walked
on his hands, and having exhausted his little programme sent once
more two kisses to the public, and, panting from the exercise, ran to
grandfather to take his place at the organ.
Now was Arto's turn. This the dog perfectly well knew, and he had for
some time been prancing round in excitement, and barking nervously.
Perhaps the clever poodle wished to say that, in his opinion, it was
unreasonable to go through acrobatic performances when Réaumur showed
thirty-two degrees in the shade. But grandfather Lodishkin, with a
cunning grin, pulled out of his coat-tail pocket a slender kizil
switch. Arto's eyes took a melancholy expression. "Didn't I know it!"
they seemed to say, and he lazily and insubmissively raised himself on
his hind paws, never once ceasing to look at his master and blink.
"Serve, Arto! So, so, so...," ordered the old man, holding the switch
over the poodle's head. "Over. So. Turn ... again ... again.... Dance,
doggie, dance! Sit! Wha-at? Don't want to? Sit when you're told!
A-a.... That's right! Now look! Salute the respected public. Now,
Arto!" cried Lodishkin threateningly.
"Gaff!" barked the poodle in disgust. Then he followed his master
mournfully with his eyes, and added twice more, "Gaff, gaff."
"No, my old man doesn't understand me," this discontented barking
seemed to say.
"That's it, that's better. Politeness before everything. Now we'll have
a little jump," continued the old man, holding out the twig at a short
distance above the ground. "_Allez!_ There's nothing to hang out your
tongue about, brother. _Allez!_ Gop! Splendid! And now, please, _noch
ein mal ... Allez! ..._ Gop! _Allez!_ Gop! Wonderful doggie. When you
get home you shall have carrots. You don't like carrots, eh? Ah, I'd
completely forgotten. Then take my silk topper and ask the folk. P'raps
they'll give you something a little more tasty."
Grandfather raised the dog on his hind legs and put in his mouth the
old greasy cap which, with such delicate irony, he had named a silk
topper. Arto, standing affectedly on his grey hind legs, and holding
the cap in his teeth, came up to the terrace. In the hands of the
delicate lady there appeared a small mother-of-pearl purse. All those
around her smiled sympathetically.
"What? Didn't I tell you?" asked the old man of Sergey, teasingly. "Ask
me if you ever want to know anything, brother, for I _know._ Nothing
less than a rouble."
At that moment there broke out such an inhuman yowl that Arto
involuntarily dropped the cap and leapt off with his tail between his
legs, looked over his shoulders fearfully, and came and lay down at his
master's feet.
"I wa-a-a-nt him," cried the curly-headed boy, stamping his feet.
"Give him to me! I want him. The dog, I tell you! Trilly wa-ants the
do-og!"
"Ah, God in heaven! Ah, Nikolai Apollonovitch! ... Little father,
master!... Be calm, Trilly, I beseech you," cried the voices of the
people.
"The dog! Give me the dog; I want him! Scum, demons, fatheads!" cried
the boy, fairly out of his mind.
"But, angel mine, don't upset your nerves," lisped the lady in the blue
dressing-jacket. "You'd like to stroke the doggie? Very well, very
well, my joy, in a minute you shall. Doctor, what do you think, might
Trilly stroke this dog?"
"Generally speaking, I should not advise it," said the doctor, waving
his hands. "But if we had some reliable disinfectant as, for instance,
boracic acid or a weak solution of carbolic, then ... generally ..."
"The do-og!"
"In a minute, my charmer, in a minute. So, doctor, you order that we
wash the dog with boracic acid, and then.... Oh, Trilly, don't get into
such a state! Old man, bring up your dog, will you, if you please.
Don't be afraid, you will be paid for it. And, listen a moment--is the
dog ill? I wish to ask, is the dog suffering from hydrophobia or skin
disease?"
"Don't want to stroke him, don't want to," roared Trilly, blowing out
his mouth like a bladder. "Fat-heads! Demons! Give it to me altogether!
I want to play with it.... For always."
"Listen, old man, come up here," cried the lady, trying to outshout
the child. "Ah, Trilly, you'll kill your own mother if you make such
a noise. Why ever did they let these music people in? Come nearer
--nearer still; come when you're told!... That's better.... Oh, don't
take offence! Trilly, your mother will do all that you ask. I beseech
you, miss, do try and calm the child.... Doctor, I pray you. ... How
much d'you want, old man?"
Grandfather removed his cap, and his face took on a respectfully
piteous expression.
"As much as your kindness will think fit, my lady, your Excellency....
We are people in a small way, and anything is a blessing for us....
Probably you will not do anything to offend an old man...."
"Ah, how senseless! Trilly, you'll make your little throat ache....
Don't you grasp the fact that the dog is _yours_ and not mine.... Now,
how much do you say? Ten? Fifteen? Twenty?"
"A-a-a; I wa-ant it, give me the dog, give me the dog," squealed the
boy, kicking the round stomach of the lackey who happened to be near.
"That is ... forgive me, your Serenity," stuttered Lodishkin. "You see,
I'm an old man, stupid.... It's difficult to understand at once....
What's more, I'm a bit deaf ... so I ought to ask, in short, what were
you wishing to say?... For the dog?..."
"Ah, God in heaven! It seems to me you're playing the idiot on
purpose," said the lady, boiling over. "Nurse, give Trilly some water
at once! I ask you, in the Russian language, for how much do you wish
to sell your dog? Do you understand--your dog, dog?..."
"The dog! The do-og!" cried the boy, louder than ever.
Lodishkin took offence, and put his hat on again.
"Dogs, my lady, I do not sell," said he coldly and with dignity. "And,
what is more, madam, that dog, it ought to be understood, has been
for us two"--he pointed with his middle finger over his shoulder at
Sergey--"has been for us two, feeder and clother. It has fed us, given
us drink, and clothed us. I could not think of anything more impossible
than, for example, that we should sell it."
Trilly all the while was giving forth piercing shrieks like the
whistle of a steam-engine. They gave him a glass of water, but he
splashed it furiously all over the face of his governess.
"Listen, you crazy old man!... There are no things which are not for
sale, if only a large enough price be offered," insisted the lady,
pressing her palms to her temples. "Miss, wipe your face quickly and
give me my headache mixture. Now, perhaps your dog costs a hundred
roubles! What then, two hundred? Three hundred? Now answer, image.
Doctor, for the love of the Lord, do say something to him!"
"Pack up, Sergey," growled Lodishkin morosely. "Image, im-a-age....
Here, Arto!..."
"Hey, wait a minute, if you please," drawled the stout gentleman in
the gold spectacles in an authoritative bass. "You'd better not be
obstinate, dear man, now I'm telling you. For your dog, ten roubles
would be a beautiful price, and even for you into the bargain.... Just
consider, ass, how much the lady is offering you."
"I most humbly thank you, sir," mumbled Lodishkin, hitching his organ
on to his shoulders. "Only I can't see how such a piece of business
could ever be done, as, for instance, to sell. Now, I should think
you'd better seek some other dog somewhere else.... So good day to
you.... Now, Sergey, go ahead!"
"And have you got a passport?" roared the doctor in a rage. "I know
you--_canaille._"
"Porter! Semyon! Drive them out!" cried the lady, her face distorted
with rage.
The gloomy-looking porter in the rose-coloured blouse rushed
threateningly towards the artistes. A great hubbub arose on the
terrace, Trilly roaring for all he was worth, his mother sobbing, the
nurse chattering volubly to her assistant, the doctor booming like an
angry cockchafer. But grandfather and Sergey had no time to look back
or to see how all would end. The poodle running in front of them, they
got quickly to the gates, and after them came the yard porter, punching
the old man in the back, beating on his organ, and crying out:
"Out you get, you rascals! Thank God that you're not hanging by your
neck, you old scoundrel. Remember, next time you come here, we shan't
stand on ceremony with you, but lug you at once to the police station.
Charlatans!"
For a long time the boy and the old man walked along silently together,
but suddenly, as if they had arranged the time beforehand, they both
looked at one another and laughed. Sergey, simply burst into laughter,
and then Lodishkin smiled, seemingly in some confusion.
"Eh, grandfather Lodishkin, you know everything?" teased Sergey.
"Ye-s brother, we've been nicely fooled, haven't we," said the old
organ grinder, nodding his head. "A nasty bit of a boy, however....
How they'll bring up such a creature, the Lord only knows. Yes, if you
please, twenty-five men and women standing around him, dancing dances
for his sake. Well, if he'd been in my power, I'd have taught him a
lesson. 'Give me the dog,' says he. What then? If he asks for the
moon out of the sky, give him that also, I suppose. Come here, Arto,
come here, my little doggie doggie. Well, and what money we've taken
to-day--astonishing!"
"Better than money," continued Sergey, "one lady gave us clothes,
another a whole rouble. And doesn't grandfather Lodishkin know
everything in advance?"
"You be quiet," growled the old man good-naturedly. "Don't you remember
how you ran from the porter? I thought I should never catch you up. A
serious man, that porter!"
Leaving the villas, the wandering troupe stepped downward by a steep
and winding path to the sea. At this point the mountains, retiring from
the shore, left a beautiful level beach covered with tiny pebbles,
which lisped and chattered as the waves turned them over. Two hundred
yards out to sea dolphins turned somersaults, showing for moments their
curved and glimmering backs. Away on the horizon of the wide blue sea,
standing as it were on a lovely velvet ribbon of dark purple, were the
sails of fishing boats, tinted to a rose colour by the sunlight.
"Here we shall bathe, grandfather Lodishkin," said Sergey decisively.
And he took off his trousers as he walked, jumping from one leg to the
other to do so. "Let me help you to take off the organ."
He swiftly undressed, smacking his sunburnt body with the palms of his
hands, ran down to the waves, took a handful of foam to throw over his
shoulders, and jumped into the sea.
Grandfather undressed without hurry. Shielding his eyes from the sun
with his hands, and wrinkling his brows, he looked at Sergey and
grinned knowingly.
"He's not bad; the boy is growing," thought Lodishkin to himself.
"Plenty of bones--all his ribs showing; but all the same, he'll be a
strong fellow."
"Hey, Serozhska, don't you get going too far. A sea pig'll drag you
off!"
"If so, I'll catch it by the tail," cried Sergey from a distance.
Grandfather stood a long time in the sunshine, feeling himself
under his armpits. He went down to the water very cautiously, and
before going right in, carefully wetted his bald red crown and the
sunken sides of his body. He was yellow, wizened and feeble, his
feet were astonishingly thin, and his back, with sharp protruding
shoulder-blades, was humped by the long carrying of the organ.
"Look, grandfather Lodishkin!" cried Sergey, and he turned a somersault
in the water.
Grandfather, who had now gone into the water up to his middle, sat down
with a murmur of pleasure, and cried out to Sergey:
"Now, don't you play about, piggy. Mind what I tell you or I'll give it
you."
Arto barked unceasingly, and jumped about the shore. He was very much
upset to see the boy swimming out so far. "What's the use of showing
off one's bravery?" worried the poodle. "Isn't there the earth, and
isn't that good enough to go on, and much calmer?"
He went into the water two or three times himself, and lapped the waves
with his tongue. But he didn't like the salt water, and was afraid of
the little waves rolling over the pebbles towards him. He jumped back
to dry sand, and at once set himself to bark at Sergey. "Why these
silly, silly tricks? Why not come and sit down on the beach by the
side of the old man? Dear, dear, what a lot of anxiety that boy does
give us!"
"Hey, Serozha, time to come out, anyway. You've had enough," cried the
old man.
"In a minute, grandfather Lodishkin," the boy cried back. "Just look
how I do the steamboat. U-u-u-ukh!"
At last he swam in to the shore, but, before dressing, he caught Arto
in his arms, and returning with him to the water's edge, flung him as
far as he could. The dog at once swam back, leaving above the surface
of the water his nostrils and floating ears alone, and snorting loudly
and offendedly. Reaching dry sand, he shook his whole body violently,
and clouds of water flew on the old man and on Sergey.
"Serozha, boy, look, surely that's for us!" said Lodishkin suddenly,
staring upwards towards the cliff.
Along the downward path they saw that same gloomy-looking yard porter
in the rose-coloured blouse with the speckled pattern, waving his arms
and crying out to them, though they could not make out what he was
saying, the same fellow who, a quarter of an hour ago, had driven the
vagabond troupe from the villa.
"What does he want?" asked grandfather mistrustfully.