THE VICE-GOVERNOR’S “AT-HOME”.
The next day Nekhludoff went to see the advocate, and spoke to him
about the Menshoffs’ case, begging him to undertake their defence. The
advocate promised to look into the case, and if it turned out to be as
Nekhludoff said he would in all probability undertake the defence free
of charge. Then Nekhludoff told him of the 130 men who were kept in
prison owing to a mistake. “On whom did it depend? Whose fault was it?”
The advocate was silent for a moment, evidently anxious to give a
correct reply.
“Whose fault is it? No one’s,” he said, decidedly. “Ask the Procureur,
he’ll say it is the Governor’s; ask the Governor, he’ll say it is the
Procureur’s fault. No one is in fault.”
“I am just going to see the Vice-Governor. I shall tell him.”
“Oh, that’s quite useless,” said the advocate, with a smile. “He is such
a--he is not a relation or friend of yours?--such a blockhead, if I may
say so, and yet a crafty animal at the same time.”
Nekhludoff remembered what Maslennikoff had said about the advocate, and
did not answer, but took leave and went on to Maslennikoff’s. He had
to ask Maslennikoff two things: about Maslova’s removal to the prison
hospital, and about the 130 passportless men innocently imprisoned.
Though it was very hard to petition a man whom he did not respect, and
by whose orders men were flogged, yet it was the only means of gaining
his end, and he had to go through with it.
As he drove up to Maslennikoff’s house Nekhludoff saw a number of
different carriages by the front door, and remembered that it was
Maslennikoff’s wife’s “at-home” day, to which he had been invited. At
the moment Nekhludoff drove up there was a carriage in front of the
door, and a footman in livery, with a cockade in his hat, was helping
a lady down the doorstep. She was holding up her train, and showing her
thin ankles, black stockings, and slippered feet. Among the carriages
was a closed landau, which he knew to be the Korchagins’.
The grey-haired, red-checked coachman took off his hat and bowed in a
respectful yet friendly manner to Nekhludoff, as to a gentleman he knew
well. Nekhludoff had not had time to inquire for Maslennikoff, when the
latter appeared on the carpeted stairs, accompanying a very important
guest not only to the first landing but to the bottom of the stairs.
This very important visitor, a military man, was speaking in French
about a lottery for the benefit of children’s homes that were to be
founded in the city, and expressed the opinion that this was a good
occupation for the ladies. “It amuses them, and the money comes.”
_“Qu’elles s’amusent et que le bon dieu les benisse. M. Nekhludoff!_ How
d’you do? How is it one never sees you?” he greeted Nekhludoff. “_Allez
presenter vos devoirs a Madame._ And the Korchagins are here et Nadine
Bukshevden. _Toutes les jolies femmes de la ville,_” said the important
guest, slightly raising his uniformed shoulders as he presented them to
his own richly liveried servant to have his military overcoat put on.
“_Au revoir, mon cher._” And he pressed Maslennikoff’s hand.
“Now, come up; I am so glad,” said Maslennikoff, grasping Nekhludoff’s
hand. In spite of his corpulency Maslennikoff hurried quickly up the
stairs. He was in particularly good spirits, owing to the attention paid
him by the important personage. Every such attention gave him the same
sense of delight as is felt by an affectionate dog when its master pats
it, strokes it, or scratches its ears. It wags its tail, cringes,
jumps about, presses its ears down, and madly rushes about in a circle.
Maslennikoff was ready to do the same. He did not notice the serious
expression on Nekhludoff’s face, paid no heed to his words, but pulled
him irresistibly towards the drawing-room, so that it was impossible for
Nekhludoff not to follow. “Business after wards. I shall do whatever
you want,” said Meslennikoff, as he drew Nekhludoff through the dancing
hall. “Announce Prince Nekhludoff,” he said to a footman, without
stopping on his way. The footman started off at a trot and passed them.
“_Vous n’avez qu’ a ordonner._ But you must see my wife. As it is, I got
it for letting you go without seeing her last time.”
By the time they reached the drawing-room the footman had already
announced Nekhludoff, and from between the bonnets and heads that
surrounded it the smiling face of Anna Ignatievna, the Vice-Governor’s
wife, beamed on Nekhludoff. At the other end of the drawing-room several
ladies were seated round the tea-table, and some military men and some
civilians stood near them. The clatter of male and female voices went on
unceasingly.
“Enfin! you seem to have quite forgotten us. How have we offended?”
With these words, intended to convey an idea of intimacy which had never
existed between herself and Nekhludoff, Anna Ignatievna greeted the
newcomer.
“You are acquainted?--Madam Tilyaevsky, M. Chernoff. Sit down a bit
nearer. Missy _vene donc a notre table on vous apportera votre_ the
. . . And you,” she said, having evidently forgotten his name, to an officer
who was talking to Missy, “do come here. A cup of tea, Prince?”
“I shall never, never agree with you. It’s quite simple; she did not
love,” a woman’s voice was heard saying.
“But she loved tarts.”
“Oh, your eternal silly jokes!” put in, laughingly, another lady
resplendent in silks, gold, and jewels.
“C’est excellent these little biscuits, and so light. I think I’ll take
another.”
“Well, are you moving soon?”
“Yes, this is our last day. That’s why we have come. Yes, it must be
lovely in the country; we are having a delightful spring.”
Missy, with her hat on, in a dark-striped dress of some kind that fitted
her like a skin, was looking very handsome. She blushed when she saw
Nekhludoff.
“And I thought you had left,” she said to him.
“I am on the point of leaving. Business is keeping me in town, and it is
on business I have come here.”
“Won’t you come to see mamma? She would like to see you,” she said, and
knowing that she was saying what was not true, and that he knew it also,
she blushed still more.
“I fear I shall scarcely have time,” Nekhludoff said gloomily, trying
to appear as if he had not noticed her blush. Missy frowned angrily,
shrugged her shoulders, and turned towards an elegant officer, who
grasped the empty cup she was holding, and knocking his sword against
the chairs, manfully carried the cup across to another table.
“You must contribute towards the Home fund.”
“I am not refusing, but only wish to keep my bounty fresh for the
lottery. There I shall let it appear in all its glory.”
“Well, look out for yourself,” said a voice, followed by an evidently
feigned laugh.
Anna Ignatievna was in raptures; her “at-home” had turned out a
brilliant success. “Micky tells me you are busying yourself with prison
work. I can understand you so well,” she said to Nekhludoff. “Micky (she
meant her fat husband, Maslennikoff) may have other defects, but you
know how kind-hearted he is. All these miserable prisoners are his
children. He does not regard them in any other light. _Il est d’une
bonte---_” and she stopped, finding no words to do justice to this bonte
of his, and quickly turned to a shrivelled old woman with bows of lilac
ribbon all over, who came in just then.
Having said as much as was absolutely necessary, and with as little
meaning as conventionality required, Nekhludoff rose and went up to
Meslennikoff. “Can you give me a few minutes’ hearing, please?”
“Oh, yes. Well, what is it?”
“Let us come in here.”
They entered a small Japanese sitting-room, and sat down by the window.