On Thursday, Peredonov went to see the Marshal of the Nobility.
The Marshal's house reminded one of a palatial cottage in Pavlovsk or
in Tsarskoye Selo, with full conveniences even for winter residence.
Though there was no blatant display of luxury, the newness of many
articles seemed unnecessarily pretentious.
Aleksandr Mikhailovitch Veriga received Peredonov in his study. He
pretended to hurry forward to greet his guest, and gave the impression
that it was only his extreme busyness that kept him from meeting
Peredonov earlier.
Veriga held himself extraordinarily erect even for a retired cavalry
officer. It was whispered that he wore corsets. His clean-shaven face
was a uniform red, as if it were painted. His head was shorn by the
closest-cutting clippers--a convenient method of minimising his bald
patch. His eyes were grey, affable, but cold. In his manner he was
extremely amiable to everyone, but his views were decided and severe. A
fine military discipline was apparent in all his movements, and there
was a hint in his habits of the future Governor.
Peredonov began to explain his business to him across a carved oak
table:
"All sorts of rumours are being spread about me and, as a gentleman,[1]
I turn to you. All sorts of nonsense is being said about me, your
Excellency, none of which is true."
"I haven't heard anything," replied Veriga, smiling amiably and
expectantly, and fixing his attentive grey eyes on Peredonov.
Peredonov looked fixedly in one corner of the room and said:
"I never was a Socialist. But if it sometimes happened that I said
something I oughtn't to say, you must remember that one is apt to be a
little careless in one's young days. But I've given up thinking of such
things altogether."
"So you were quite a Liberal?" asked Veriga with an amiable smile. "You
wanted a Constitution, isn't that so? But we all wanted a Constitution
when we were young. Have one of these."
Veriga pushed a box of cigars towards Peredonov who was afraid to take
one and refused. Veriga lighted his own.
"Of course, your Excellency," admitted Peredonov, "in the University I,
and only I, wanted a different kind of Constitution from the others."
"And what sort precisely?" asked Veriga with a shade of approaching
displeasure in his voice.
"What I wanted was a Constitution without a Parliament," explained
Peredonov, "because in a Parliament they only wrangle."
Veriga's eyes lit up with quiet amusement.
"A Constitution without a Parliament!" he said reflectively. "Do you
think it's practical?"
"But even that was a long time ago," said Peredonov. "Now I want
nothing of the sort."
And he looked hopefully at Veriga.
Veriga blew a thin wisp of smoke from his lips, was silent a moment,
and then said slowly:
"Well, you're a schoolmaster. And my duties in the district have
something to do with the schools. Now, in your opinion, to what kind
of school would you give preference: to the Parish Church Schools or to
the so-called secularised District Schools?"
Veriga knocked the ash from his cigar and fixed an amiable but very
attentive gaze on Peredonov. Peredonov frowned, looked into the corners
and said:
"The District Schools ought to be reorganised."
"Reorganised," repeated Veriga in an indefinite tone. "So-o."
And he fixed his eyes on the smouldering cigar, as if he were awaiting
a long explanation.
"The Instructors there are Nihilists," said Peredonov. "The
Instructresses don't believe in God. They stand in church and blow
their noses."
Veriga glanced quickly at Peredonov and said with a smile:
"But that's necessary sometimes, you know."
"Yes, but the one I mean blows her nose like a horn, so that the boys
in the choir laugh," growled Peredonov. "She does it on purpose. That's
the sort Skobotchkina is."
"Yes, that is unpleasant," said Veriga, "but in Skobotchkina's case
it's due to a bad bringing up. She's a girl altogether without manners,
but an enthusiastic schoolmistress. In any case it's not nice: she must
be told about it."
"And she walks about in a red shirt. And sometimes she even walks
barefoot in a sarafan. She practises at the high-jumps with the little
boys. It's too free in the schools," went on Peredonov. "There's no
discipline of any kind. They actually don't want to chastise the
pupils. The muzhiks' children shouldn't be treated in the same way as
the children of gentlemen--they have to be birched."
Veriga looked calmly at Peredonov, then, as if feeling uneasy at
Peredonov's untactful remarks, he lowered his eyes, and said in a cold,
almost gubernatorial tone:
"I must say that I have noticed many good qualities in pupils from
District Schools. Undoubtedly, in the great majority of cases, they do
their work very conscientiously. Of course, as everywhere, the children
are sometimes guilty of offences. In consequence of a bad upbringing
and of a poor environment, these offences can take a coarse form,
all the more since among the Russian village population the general
feelings of duty, of honour and respect of private ownership are
little developed. The school should concern itself with these offences
attentively and sternly. When all methods of persuasion are exhausted
and if the offence is a severe one, then of course it should follow
that in order not to ruin the boy extreme measures must be taken.
Besides, this should apply to all children, even to those of gentlemen.
In general, however, I agree with you that in schools of this kind
training is not satisfactorily organised. Madame Shteven,[2] in her
extremely interesting book--have you read it?"
"No, your Excellency," said Peredonov in confusion, "I never have the
time. There's so much work in school. But I will read it."
"Well, that's not altogether necessary," said Veriga with a smile, as
if he were forbidding Peredonov's reading it. "Yes, Madame Shteven
recounts with distress that two of her pupils, young men of seventeen,
were sentenced to be birched by the District Court. You see, they
were proud young fellows--let me add that we all suffered while they
suffered the execution of the sentence--this penalty was afterwards
abolished. And, let me say that if I were in Madame Shteven's place
I would like to let all Russia know that this has happened: because,
just imagine, they were sentenced for stealing apples. Observe, for
stealing! And what's more she writes that they were her very best
pupils. Yet they stole the apples! Fine bringing up! It must frankly
be admitted that we don't respect the rights of ownership."
Veriga rose from his place in agitation, made two steps forward, but
controlled himself and immediately sat down again.
"Now when I am an inspector of National Schools I shall do things
differently," said Peredonov.
"Have you that position in prospect?" asked Veriga.
"Yes, Princess Volchanskaya has promised me."
Veriga assumed an expression of pleasure.
"I shall be very glad to congratulate you. I have no doubt that in your
hands things will be improved."
"But, your Excellency, in the town they're spreading all sorts of
nonsense about me--you can't tell, someone in the district may inform
against me and hinder my appointment, and I haven't done anything."
"Whom do you suspect in the spreading of these false rumours?" asked
Veriga.
Peredonov mumbled in confusion:
"Who should I suspect? I don't know, but they do gossip about me. And I
have come to you because they might injure my position."
Veriga reflected that he would not know who was spreading the gossip,
because he was not yet Governor.
He again assumed his role of Marshal, and made a speech which Peredonov
listened to with fear and depression:
"I appreciate the confidence which you have shown me in calling upon
my"--(Veriga wanted to say "patronage" but refrained)--"intervention
between you and the society in which, according to your information,
these detrimental rumours about you are being disseminated. These
rumours have not yet reached me, and you may depend upon it that the
calumnies, which are being spread in connection with you, dare not
venture to rise from the low places of the town public, and, in other
words, they will not go beyond the secret darkness in which they
are confined. But it is very pleasant to me that you, who hold your
official post by appointment, at the same time value so highly the
importance of public opinion and the dignity of the position you occupy
as a trainer of youth, one of those to whose enlightening solitude
we, the parents, entrust our most priceless inheritance, namely, our
children, the heirs of our name and of our labours. As an official you
have your chief in the person of your honoured Head-Master, but as a
member of society and as a gentleman you have always the privilege
of counting on ... the co-operation of the Marshal of Nobility in
questions concerning your honour and your dignity as a man and a
gentleman."
As he continued to speak, Veriga rose and, pressing heavily on the edge
of the table with the fingers of his right hand, looked at Peredonov
with that impersonally affable and attentive expression with which an
orator looks at a crowd when pronouncing benevolent official speeches.
Peredonov rose also, and crossing his hands on his stomach, looked
morosely at the rug under the Marshals feet. Veriga went on:
"I am glad that you turned to me, because in our time it is especially
useful to members of the official classes always and everywhere to
remember above all things that they are gentlemen and to value their
membership of this class--not only in the matter of privileges but also
in responsibilities and in their dignity as gentlemen. Gentlemen, in
Russia, as you know, are pre-eminently of the Civil Service. Strictly
speaking, all governmental positions, except the very lowest, it goes
without saying, should be found only in gentlemen's hands. The presence
of commoners in the Government service constitutes of course one of the
causes of undesirable occurrences such as that which has disturbed your
tranquillity. Intrigue and calumny, these are the weapons of people of
lower breed, not brought up in fine gentlemanly traditions. But I hope
that public opinion will make itself heard clearly and loudly on your
behalf, and in this connection you can fully count on my co-operation."
"I thank your Excellency most humbly," said Peredonov, "and I am glad
that I can count on you."
Veriga smiled amiably and did not sit down, giving Peredonov to
understand that the interview was closed. As he finished his speech
he suddenly realised that what he had said was out of place and that
Peredonov was nothing but a timorous place-seeker, knocking at doors in
his search for patronage.
As the footman in the hall helped him on with his coat he heard the
sounds of a piano in a distant room. Peredonov thought that in this
house lived people of great self-esteem whose manner of life was really
seigneurial. "He has a Governorship in view," thought Peredonov with a
feeling of respectful and envious astonishment.
On the stairs he met two of the Marshal's boys returning from a walk
with their tutor. Peredonov looked at them with morose curiosity.
"How clean they are!" he thought. "There's not a speck of dirt even in
their ears. How alive they are, and they're trained to hold themselves
straight as a taut fiddle-string. And they're never even whipped, if
you please," thought Peredonov.
And he looked angrily after them as they ran up the stairs, chattering
gaily. It astonished Peredonov that the tutor treated them as
equals--he did not frown at them nor did he scold them.
* * * * *
When Peredonov returned home he found Varvara in the drawing-room with
a book in her hands, which was a rare occurrence. Varvara was reading
a cookery book, the only one she had, and which she sometimes looked
into. The book was old, ragged and had black binding. The binding
caught Peredonov's eye, and it depressed him.
"What are you reading, Varvara?" he asked angrily.
"What? Can't you see? A cookery book," replied Varvara. "I haven't time
to read nonsense."
"Why a cookery book?" asked Peredonov in fright.
"What do you mean, why? I want to find some new dishes for you--you're
always grumbling about the food," said Varvara with a sort of sarcastic
self-satisfaction.
"I won't eat from a black book," announced Peredonov decisively, and
quickly tore the book from Varvara's hands and took it into the bedroom.
"A black book! The idea of preparing dinners from it!" The thought
filled him with fear. It had come to that: he was to be ruined openly
with black magic! "I must destroy this awful book," he thought, and
paid no attention to Varvara's grumbling.
* * * * *
On Friday Peredonov went to see the President of the District
Landlords' Board.
Everything in this house pointed to a love of simplicity and good
living, and to the fact that the occupants had public interest at
heart. Many objects of good furniture, reminding one of village life,
were about, among other things a chair with a back made of a harness
arch and hand supports resembling axe handles; an inkwell shaped like
a horse-shoe; and an ash-pan that resembled a peasant's shoe. Several
corn measures containing samples of corn were lying about in the
parlour--on the window-sills, on the tables, on the floor, while here
and there were pieces of "hungry" bread[3]--dirty lumps that resembled
peat. In the drawing-room were designs and models of agricultural
machines. Several cases of books on rural economy and school matters
encumbered the study. The table was covered with papers, printed
forms, paste-board boxes containing cards of various sizes. There was
much dust, and not a single picture.
The master of the house, Ivan Stepanovitch Kirillov, was very anxious,
on the one hand, to be amiable--in the European fashion--on the other
not to detract from his own dignity as a district landowner. He was a
strange contradiction, as if welded from two halves. It was evident
from all his surroundings that he did a great deal of work with
intelligence. But to look at him you might imagine that his work in
the district was only a temporary distraction and that his real cares
were somewhere before him. This was evident in his eyes, which now and
then stared into the distance--eyes alert yet inanimate in their tinny
gleam. It was as if someone had taken out his live soul and put it into
a long box, and had replaced it with a skilful, bustling machine.
He was of low stature, thin, youngish--so youngish and ruddy that now
and then he looked like a boy who had glued on a false beard and had
assumed grown-up manners with complete success. His movements were
quick but precise; when he greeted anyone he bowed elaborately, and he
seemed to glide on the soles of his fancy boots. One's impulse was to
call his clothes a "small costume": he wore a grey jacket, a shirt of
unstarched batiste with turned-down collar, a blue cord tie, narrow
trousers and grey socks. And his always courteous conversation was also
ambiguous: he would speak quite gravely and then suddenly an ingenuous
smile, like a child's, would appear, and then next moment he would be
grave again.
His wife, a quiet, sedate woman, who seemed older than her husband,
came into the study a number of times while Peredonov was there, and
each time she asked her husband for some detailed information about the
affairs of the district.
Their household in town was always confused--there were always visitors
on business and constant teas. Hardly had Peredonov seated himself
when they brought him a glass of lukewarm tea and some rolls on a plate.
Before Peredonov arrived there was already a visitor there. Peredonov
knew him--but then who is not known to everyone in our town? Everyone
knows everyone else, but some have quarrelled and broken off the
acquaintance.
This was the District physician, Georgiy Semenovitch Trepetov, a
little man--even smaller than Kirillov--with a pimply, insignificant,
sharp-featured face. He wore blue spectacles, and he always looked
under or to the side of them, as if it were an effort to look at his
companion. He was unusually upright, and never gave a single kopeck
for anyone else's benefit. He detested deeply everyone who was a
government official: he would go so far as to shake hands at meeting
but stubbornly refrained from conversation. For this he was reputed a
shining light--like Kirillov--although he knew very little and was a
poor physician. He was all the time getting ready to lead the simple
life, and with this intention he looked on at the muzhiks when they
blew their noses and scratched the back of their heads and wiped their
mouths with the back of their hands; when he was alone he sometimes
imitated them, but he always put off his simplification till next
summer.
Peredonov here also repeated his usual complaints against the town
gossip, such as he had made during the last few days, and against
the envious people who wanted to hinder his obtaining an inspector's
position. At the beginning Kirillov felt rather flattered by this
attention. He exclaimed:
"Now you can see what goes on in provincial towns. I always said that
the one deliverance for thinking people is to join hands--and I'm glad
that you've come to the same conclusion."
Trepetov snorted angrily, as if affronted. Kirillov looked at him
timorously. Trepetov said with contempt:
"Thinking people!" and then he snorted again.
After a short silence he began again in his thin, indignant voice:
"I don't know how thinking people can serve a musty classicism."
Kirillov said irresolutely:
"But, Georgiy Semenovitch, you never realise that a man does not always
choose his own profession."
Trepetov snorted contemptuously, which finally settled the amiable
Kirillov, and became immersed in a deep silence.
Kirillov turned to Peredonov when he heard that he was talking of
an inspector's position. Kirillov looked worried. He imagined that
Peredonov wanted to be an inspector in our district.
In the District Council there had matured a project to establish the
position of their Inspector of schools, who was to be chosen by the
Council, the appointment to be approved by the Educational Commission.
Then, the Inspector Bogdanov, who had charge of the schools of three
districts, would be transferred to one of the neighbouring towns, and
the schools of our district would be turned over to the new Inspector.
For this position the members of the Council had in view an instructor
in a pedagogical seminary in the neighbouring town, Safata.
"I have patrons," said Peredonov, "but I'm afraid that the Head-Master
here will harm my chances--yes, and other people too. All sorts of
nonsense is being spread about me. So that in case of any inquiries
concerning me, I want to say now that all this talk is rubbish. Don't
you believe any of it."
Kirillov replied alertly:
"I have no time, Ardalyon Borisitch, to give attention to all the town
rumours and gossip; I'm up to my neck in work. If my wife didn't help
me, I don't know what I should do. But I am fully convinced that all
that is being said about you--though I assure you I haven't heard
anything--is mere gossip. But the position you have in view doesn't
depend on me alone."
"They might ask you about it," said Peredonov.
Kirillov looked at him in astonishment, and said:
"Of course they will. But the real point at issue is that we have in
view ..."
At this moment Kirillov's wife appeared at the door and said:
"Stepan Ivanitch, just a moment."
The husband went to her. She whispered to him in a worried way:
"I think you'd better not tell this creature that we have Krasilnikov
in view. I mistrust this creature--he will try to spoil Krasilnikov's
chances."
"You think so?" whispered Kirillov. "Yes, yes, you may be right. It's
an unpleasant business."
He clutched his head.
His wife looked at him with professional sympathy and said:
"It is better to tell him nothing at all about it--as if there were no
vacancy."
"Yes, yes, you're right," whispered Kirillov. "But I must run
along--it's discourteous."
He ran back into his study and began to converse amiably with Peredonov.
"So you will--if ..." began Peredonov.
"Please rest assured. Please rest assured. I'll have it in view," said
Kirillov quickly. "We haven't yet fully decided this question."
Peredonov did not understand to what question Kirillov referred, and he
felt oppressed and apprehensive. Kirillov went on:
"We are establishing a school-map. We've had experts from Peterburg.
They've worked at it the whole summer. It cost us nine hundred roubles.
We're preparing now for the District meeting. It's a remarkably
efficient plan--all distances have been considered and all school
points have been mapped out."
And Kirillov explained the school-map minutely and at length, that
is, the apportioning the District into several small divisions, with
a school in each, so that every village would have its school close
at hand. Peredonov understood nothing of this and became entangled
with his dull thoughts in the wordy strands of the net which Kirillov
handled so deftly and quickly.
At last he took his leave, hopelessly oppressed. In this house,
he thought, they did not want to understand him or even to listen
to what he had to say. The host babbled something unintelligible.
Trepetov snorted angrily for some reason or other. The hostess came in
ungraciously and walked out again--strange people lived in this house,
thought Peredonov. A lost day!
[1] _Dvoryanin_ actually means a nobleman, but certain
professions--that of a schoolmaster, for instance--entitle a man to
the rank of "dvoryanin." We have used the English word "gentleman," to
avoid confusing the reader.
[2] Madame Shteven gave all her energy to the education of peasants,
but her efforts were ultimately curtailed by the authorities.
[3] Very inferior bread used during the famine.