Among the devoted supporters of amateur theatricals, concerts and
_tableaux vivants_ for charitable objects the Azhogins, who lived
in their own house in Great Dvoryansky Street, took a foremost
place; they always provided the room, and took upon themselves all
the troublesome arrangements and the expenses. They were a family
of wealthy landowners who had an estate of some nine thousand acres
in the district and a capital house, but they did not care for the
country, and lived winter and summer alike in the town. The family
consisted of the mother, a tall, spare, refined lady, with short
hair, a short jacket, and a flat-looking skirt in the English
fashion, and three daughters who, when they were spoken of, were
called not by their names but simply: the eldest, the middle, and
the youngest. They all had ugly sharp chins, and were short-sighted
and round-shouldered. They were dressed like their mother, they
lisped disagreeably, and yet, in spite of that, infallibly took
part in every performance and were continually doing something with
a charitable object--acting, reciting, singing. They were very
serious and never smiled, and even in a musical comedy they played
without the faintest trace of gaiety, with a businesslike air, as
though they were engaged in bookkeeping.
I loved our theatricals, especially the numerous, noisy, and rather
incoherent rehearsals, after which they always gave a supper. In
the choice of the plays and the distribution of the parts I had no
hand at all. The post assigned to me lay behind the scenes. I painted
the scenes, copied out the parts, prompted, made up the actors'
faces; and I was entrusted, too, with various stage effects such
as thunder, the singing of nightingales, and so on. Since I had no
proper social position and no decent clothes, at the rehearsals I
held aloof from the rest in the shadows of the wings and maintained
a shy silence.
I painted the scenes at the Azhogins' either in the barn or in the
yard. I was assisted by Andrey Ivanov, a house painter, or, as he
called himself, a contractor for all kinds of house decorations, a
tall, very thin, pale man of fifty, with a hollow chest, with sunken
temples, with blue rings round his eyes, rather terrible to look
at in fact. He was afflicted with some internal malady, and every
autumn and spring people said that he wouldn't recover, but after
being laid up for a while he would get up and say afterwards with
surprise: "I have escaped dying again."
In the town he was called Radish, and they declared that this was
his real name. He was as fond of the theatre as I was, and as soon
as rumours reached him that a performance was being got up he threw
aside all his work and went to the Azhogins' to paint scenes.
The day after my talk with my sister, I was working at the Azhogins'
from morning till night. The rehearsal was fixed for seven o'clock
in the evening, and an hour before it began all the amateurs were
gathered together in the hall, and the eldest, the middle, and the
youngest Azhogins were pacing about the stage, reading from manuscript
books. Radish, in a long rusty-red overcoat and a scarf muffled
round his neck, already stood leaning with his head against the
wall, gazing with a devout expression at the stage. Madame Azhogin
went up first to one and then to another guest, saying something
agreeable to each. She had a way of gazing into one's face, and
speaking softly as though telling a secret.
"It must be difficult to paint scenery," she said softly, coming
up to me. "I was just talking to Madame Mufke about superstitions
when I saw you come in. My goodness, my whole life I have been
waging war against superstitions! To convince the servants what
nonsense all their terrors are, I always light three candles, and
begin all my important undertakings on the thirteenth of the month."
Dolzhikov's daughter came in, a plump, fair beauty, dressed, as
people said, in everything from Paris. She did not act, but a chair
was set for her on the stage at the rehearsals, and the performances
never began till she had appeared in the front row, dazzling and
astounding everyone with her fine clothes. As a product of the
capital she was allowed to make remarks during the rehearsals; and
she did so with a sweet indulgent smile, and one could see that she
looked upon our performance as a childish amusement. It was said
she had studied singing at the Petersburg Conservatoire, and even
sang for a whole winter in a private opera. I thought her very
charming, and I usually watched her through the rehearsals and
performances without taking my eyes off her.
I had just picked up the manuscript book to begin prompting when
my sister suddenly made her appearance. Without taking off her cloak
or hat, she came up to me and said:
"Come along, I beg you."
I went with her. Anyuta Blagovo, also in her hat and wearing a dark
veil, was standing behind the scenes at the door. She was the
daughter of the Assistant President of the Court, who had held that
office in our town almost ever since the establishment of the circuit
court. Since she was tall and had a good figure, her assistance was
considered indispensable for _tableaux vivants_, and when she
represented a fairy or something like Glory her face burned with
shame; but she took no part in dramatic performances, and came to
the rehearsals only for a moment on some special errand, and did
not go into the hall. Now, too, it was evident that she had only
looked in for a minute.
"My father was speaking about you," she said drily, blushing and
not looking at me. "Dolzhikov has promised you a post on the
railway-line. Apply to him to-morrow; he will be at home."