My mother was terribly angry when the butler came with an abashed
countenance to report Martin Petrovitch’s sudden and unexpected
retreat. He did not dare to conceal the cause of this retreat; I was
obliged to confirm his story. ‘Then it was all your doing!’ my mother
cried, at the sight of Souvenir, who had run in like a hare, and was
even approaching to kiss her hand: ‘Your vile tongue is to blame for it
all!’ ‘Excuse me, d’rectly, d’rectly …’ faltered Souvenir, stuttering
and drawing back his elbows behind him. ‘D’rectly, … d’rectly … I know
your “d’rectly,”’ my mother repeated reprovingly, and she sent him out
of the room. Then she rang the bell, sent for Kvitsinsky, and gave
him orders to set off on the spot to Eskovo, with a carriage, to find
Martin Petrovitch at all costs, and to bring him back. ‘Do not let me
see you without him,’ she concluded. The gloomy Pole bowed his head
without a word, and went away.
I went back to my own room, sat down again at the window, and I
pondered a long while, I remember, on what had taken place before my
eyes. I was puzzled; I could not understand how it was that Harlov, who
had endured the insults of his own family almost without a murmur, had
lost all self-control, and been unable to put up with the jeers and
pin-pricks of such an abject creature as Souvenir. I did not understand
in those days what insufferable bitterness there may sometimes be in
a foolish taunt, even when it comes from lips one scorns.… The hated
name of Sletkin, uttered by Souvenir, had been like a spark thrown into
powder. The sore spot could not endure this final prick.
About an hour passed by. Our coach drove into the yard; but our steward
sat in it alone. And my mother had said to him--‘don’t let me see you
without him.’ Kvitsinsky jumped hurriedly out of the carriage, and ran
up the steps. His face had a perturbed look--something very unusual
with him. I promptly rushed downstairs, and followed at his heels into
the drawing-room. ‘Well? have you brought him?’ asked my mother.
‘I have not brought him,’ answered Kvitsinsky--‘and I could not bring
him.’
‘How’s that? Have you seen him?’
‘Yes.’
‘What has happened to him? A fit?’
‘No; nothing has happened.’
‘How is it you didn’t bring him?’
‘He’s pulling his house to pieces.’
‘What?’
‘He’s standing on the roof of the new building, and pulling it to
pieces. Forty boards or more, I should guess, must have come down by
now, and some five of the rafters too.’ (‘They shall not have a roof
over their heads.’ Harlov’s words came back to me.)
My mother stared at Kvitsinsky. ‘Alone … he’s standing on the roof, and
pulling the roof down?’
‘Exactly so. He is walking about on the flooring of the garret in the
roof, and smashing right and left of him. His strength, you are aware,
madam, is superhuman. And the roof too, one must say, is a poor affair;
half-inch deal battens, laid wide apart, one inch nails.’
My mother looked at me, as though wishing to make sure whether she had
heard aright. ‘Half-inches wide apart,’ she repeated, obviously not
understanding the meaning of one word. ‘Well, what then?’ she said at
last.
‘I have come for instructions. There’s no doing anything without men to
help. The peasants there are all limp with fright.’
‘And his daughters--what of them?’
‘His daughters are doing nothing. They’re running to and fro, shouting
… this and that … all to no purpose.’
‘And is Sletkin there?’
‘He’s there too. He’s making more outcry than all of them--but he can’t
do anything.’
‘And Martin Petrovitch is standing on the roof?’
‘On the roof … that is, in the garret--and pulling the roof to pieces.’
‘Yes, yes,’ said my mother, ‘half-inches wide apart.’
The position was obviously a serious one. What steps were to be taken?
Send to the town for the police captain? Get together the peasants?
My mother was quite at her wits’ end. Zhitkov, who had come in to
dinner, was nonplussed too. It is true, he made another reference to
a battalion of military; he offered no advice, however, but confined
himself to looking submissive and devoted. Kvitsinsky, seeing he
would not get at any instructions, suggested to my mother--with
the contemptuous respectfulness peculiar to him--that if she would
authorise him to take a few of the stable-boys, gardeners, and other
house-serfs, he would make an effort.…
‘Yes, yes,’ my mother cut him short, ‘do make an effort, dear Vikenty
Osipitch! Only make haste, please, and I will take all responsibility
on myself!’
Kvitsinsky smiled coldly. ‘One thing let me make clear, madam,
beforehand; it’s impossible to reckon on any result, seeing that Mr.
Harlov’s strength is so great, and he is so desperate too; he feels
himself to have been very cruelly wronged!’
‘Yes, yes,’ my mother assented; ‘and it’s all that vile Souvenir’s
fault! Never will I forgive him for it. Go and take the servants and
set off, Vikenty Osipitch!’
‘You’d better take plenty of cord, Mr. Steward, and some fire-escape
tackle,’ Zhitkov brought out in his bass--‘and if there is such a thing
as a net, it would be as well to take that along too. We once had in
our regiment.…’
‘Kindly refrain from instructing me, sir,’ Kvitsinsky cut him short,
with an air of vexation; ‘I know what is needed without your aid.’
Zhitkov was offended, and protested that as he imagined he, too, was
called upon.…
‘No, no!’ interposed my mother; ‘you’d better stop where you are.… Let
Vikenty Osipitch act alone.… Make haste, Vikenty Osipitch!’
Zhitkov was still more offended, while Kvitsinsky bowed and went out.
I rushed off to the stable, hurriedly saddled my horse myself, and set
off at a gallop along the road to Eskovo.