'I know your master,' I continued.
'Do you?' she replied in a low voice, and her head drooped.
I must tell the reader why I looked with such sympathy at Arina. During
my stay at Petersburg I had become by chance acquainted with Mr.
Zvyerkoff. He had a rather influential position, and was reputed a man
of sense and education. He had a wife, fat, sentimental, lachrymose and
spiteful--a vulgar and disagreeable creature; he had too a son, the
very type of the young swell of to-day, pampered and stupid. The
exterior of Mr. Zvyerkoff himself did not prepossess one in his favour;
his little mouse-like eyes peeped slyly out of a broad, almost square,
face; he had a large, prominent nose, with distended nostrils; his
close-cropped grey hair stood up like a brush above his scowling brow;
his thin lips were for ever twitching and smiling mawkishly. Mr.
Zvyerkoff's favourite position was standing with his legs wide apart
and his fat hands in his trouser pockets. Once I happened somehow to be
driving alone with Mr. Zvyerkoff in a coach out of town. We fell into
conversation. As a man of experience and of judgment, Mr. Zvyerkoff
began to try to set me in 'the path of truth.'
'Allow me to observe to you,' he drawled at last; 'all you young people
criticise and form judgments on everything at random; you have little
knowledge of your own country; Russia, young gentlemen, is an unknown
land to you; that's where it is!... You are for ever reading German.
For instance, now you say this and that and the other about anything;
for instance, about the house-serfs.... Very fine; I don't dispute it's
all very fine; but you don't know them; you don't know the kind of
people they are.' (Mr. Zvyerkoff blew his nose loudly and took a pinch
of snuff.) 'Allow me to tell you as an illustration one little
anecdote; it may perhaps interest you.' (Mr. Zvyerkoff cleared his
throat.) 'You know, doubtless, what my wife is; it would be difficult,
I should imagine, to find a more kind-hearted woman, you will agree.
For her waiting-maids, existence is simply a perfect paradise, and no
mistake about it.... But my wife has made it a rule never to keep
married lady's maids. Certainly it would not do; children come--and one
thing and the other--and how is a lady's maid to look after her
mistress as she ought, to fit in with her ways; she is no longer able
to do it; her mind is in other things. One must look at things through
human nature. Well, we were driving once through our village, it must
be--let me be correct--yes, fifteen years ago. We saw, at the
bailiff's, a young girl, his daughter, very pretty indeed; something
even--you know--something attractive in her manners. And my wife said
to me: "Kokó"--you understand, of course, that is her pet name for
me--"let us take this girl to Petersburg; I like her, Kokó...." I said,
"Let us take her, by all means." The bailiff, of course, was at our
feet; he could not have expected such good fortune, you can imagine....
Well, the girl of course cried violently. Of course, it was hard for
her at first; the parental home ... in fact ... there was nothing
surprising in that. However, she soon got used to us: at first we put
her in the maidservants' room; they trained her, of course. And what do
you think? The girl made wonderful progress; my wife became simply
devoted to her, promoted her at last above the rest to wait on herself
... observe.... And one must do her the justice to say, my wife had
never such a maid, absolutely never; attentive, modest, and
obedient--simply all that could be desired. But my wife, I must
confess, spoilt her too much; she dressed her well, fed her from our
own table, gave her tea to drink, and so on, as you can imagine! So she
waited on my wife like this for ten years. Suddenly, one fine morning,
picture to yourself, Arina--her name was Arina--rushes unannounced into
my study, and flops down at my feet. That's a thing, I tell you
plainly, I can't endure. No human being ought ever to lose sight of
their personal dignity. Am I not right? What do you say? "Your honour,
Alexandr Selitch, I beseech a favour of you." "What favour?" "Let me be
married." I must confess I was taken aback. "But you know, you stupid,
your mistress has no other lady's maid?" "I will wait on mistress as
before." "Nonsense! nonsense! your mistress can't endure married lady's
maids," "Malanya could take my place." "Pray don't argue." "I obey your
will." I must confess it was quite a shock, I assure you, I am like
that; nothing wounds me so--nothing, I venture to say, wounds me so
deeply as ingratitude. I need not tell you--you know what my wife is;
an angel upon earth, goodness inexhaustible. One would fancy even the
worst of men would be ashamed to hurt her. Well, I got rid of Arina. I
thought, perhaps, she would come to her senses; I was unwilling, do you
know, to believe in wicked, black ingratitude in anyone. What do you
think? Within six months she thought fit to come to me again with the
same request. I felt revolted. But imagine my amazement when, some time
later, my wife comes to me in tears, so agitated that I felt positively
alarmed. "What has happened?" "Arina.... You understand ... I am
ashamed to tell it." ... "Impossible! ... Who is the man?" "Petrushka,
the footman." My indignation broke out then. I am like that. I don't
like half measures! Petrushka was not to blame. We might flog him, but
in my opinion he was not to blame. Arina.... Well, well, well! what
more's to be said? I gave orders, of course, that her hair should be
cut off, she should be dressed in sackcloth, and sent into the country.
My wife was deprived of an excellent lady's maid; but there was no help
for it: immorality cannot be tolerated in a household in any case.
Better to cut off the infected member at once. There, there! now you
can judge the thing for yourself--you know that my wife is ... yes,
yes, yes! indeed!... an angel! She had grown attached to Arina, and
Arina knew it, and had the face to ... Eh? no, tell me ... eh? And
what's the use of talking about it. Any way, there was no help for it.
I, indeed--I, in particular, felt hurt, felt wounded for a long time by
the ingratitude of this girl. Whatever you say--it's no good to look
for feeling, for heart, in these people! You may feed the wolf as you
will; he has always a hankering for the woods. Education, by all means!
But I only wanted to give you an example....'
And Mr. Zvyerkoff, without finishing his sentence, turned away his
head, and, wrapping himself more closely into his cloak, manfully
repressed his involuntary emotion.
The reader now probably understands why I looked with sympathetic
interest at Arina.
'Have you long been married to the miller?' I asked her at last.
'Two years.'
'How was it? Did your master allow it?'
'They bought my freedom.'
'Who?'
'Savely Alexyevitch.'
'Who is that?'
'My husband.' (Yermolaï smiled to himself.) 'Has my master perhaps
spoken to you of me?' added Arina, after a brief silence.