‘And you go and see my daughters. You remember, I daresay, I had
daughters. They’re managers too … clever ones. But I’m growing old, my
lad; I’m on the shelf. Time to repose, you know.…’
‘Nice sort of repose!’ I thought, glancing round. ‘Martin Petrovitch!’
I uttered aloud, ‘you really must come and see us.’
Harlov looked at me. ‘Go along, my lad, I tell you.’
‘Don’t hurt mamma’s feelings; come and see us.’
‘Go away, my lad, go away,’ persisted Harlov. ‘What do you want to talk
to me for?’
‘If you have no carriage, mamma will send you hers.’
‘Go along!’
‘But, really and truly, Martin Petrovitch!’
Harlov looked down again, and I fancied that his cheeks, dingy as
though covered with earth, faintly flushed.
‘Really, do come,’ I went on. ‘What’s the use of your sitting here? of
your making yourself miserable?’
‘Making myself miserable?’ he commented hesitatingly.
‘Yes, to be sure--making yourself miserable!’ I repeated.
Harlov said nothing, and seemed lost in musing. Emboldened by his
silence, I determined to be open, to act straightforwardly, bluntly.
(Do not forget, I was only fifteen then.)
‘Martin Petrovitch!’ I began, seating myself beside him. ‘I know
everything, you see, positively everything. I know how your son-in-law
is treating you--doubtless with the consent of your daughters. And now
you are in such a position.… But why lose heart?’
Harlov still remained silent, and simply dropped in his line; while
I--what a sensible fellow, what a sage I felt!
‘Doubtless,’ I began again, ‘you acted imprudently in giving up
everything to your daughters. It was most generous on your part, and
I am not going to blame you. In our days it is a quality only too
rare! But since your daughters are so ungrateful, you ought to show a
contempt--yes, a contempt--for them … and not fret----’
‘Stop!’ muttered Harlov suddenly, gnashing his teeth, and his eyes,
staring at the pond, glittered wrathfully.… ‘Go away!’
‘But, Martin Petrovitch----’
‘Go away, I tell you, … or I’ll kill you!’
I had come quite close to him; but at the last words I instinctively
jumped up. ‘What did you say, Martin Petrovitch?’
‘I’ll kill you, I tell you; go away!’ With a wild moan, a roar, the
words broke from Harlov’s breast, but he did not turn his head, and
still stared wrathfully straight in front of him. ‘I’ll take you and
fling you and your fool’s counsel into the water. You shall learn to
pester the old, little milksop!’
‘He’s gone mad!’ flashed through my mind.
I looked at him more attentively, and was completely petrified; Martin
Petrovitch was weeping!! Tear after tear rolled from his eyelashes down
his cheeks … while his face had assumed an expression utterly savage.…
‘Go away!’ he roared once more, ‘or I’ll kill you, by God! for an
example to others!’
He was shaking all over from side to side, and showing his teeth like a
wild boar. I snatched up my gun and took to my heels. My dog flew after
me, barking. He, too, was frightened.
When I got home, I naturally did not, by so much as a word, to my
mother, hint at what I had seen; but coming across Souvenir, I told
him--the devil knows why--all about it. That loathsome person was so
delighted at my story, shrieking with laughter, and even dancing with
pleasure, that I could hardly forbear striking him.
‘Ah! I should like,’ he kept repeating breathless with laughter, ‘to
see that fiend, the Swede, Harlov, crawling into the mud and sitting in
it.…’
‘Go over to the pond if you’re so curious.’
‘Yes; but how if he kills me?’
I felt horribly sick at Souvenir, and regretted my ill-timed
confidence.… Zhitkov, to whom he repeated my tale, looked at the matter
somewhat differently.
‘We shall have to call in the police,’ he concluded, ‘or, may be, we
may have to send for a battalion of military.’
His forebodings with regard to the military battalion did not come
true; but something extraordinary really did happen.