Peredonov's strange behaviour worried Khripatch more and more. He
consulted the school physician and asked him whether Peredonov were not
out of his mind. The doctor laughingly replied that Peredonov had no
mind to be out of, and that he was simply acting stupidly. There were
also complaints. Adamenko's was the first: she sent to the Head-Master
her brother's exercise-book which had been given only one mark for a
very good piece of work. The Head-Master, during one of the recesses,
asked Peredonov to come and see him.
"Yes, it's quite true, he does look a little mad," thought Khripatch
when he saw traces of perplexity and terror on Peredonov's dull, gloomy
face.
"I've got a bone to pick with you," said Khripatch quickly and
dryly. "Whenever I have to work in a room next to yours my head is
split--there's such an uproar of laughter in your class. May I request
you to give lessons of a less cheerful nature? 'To scoff and always
scoff--don't you get tired?'"[1]
"It isn't my fault," said Peredonov, "they laugh by themselves. It
is impossible to mention anything from the grammar or the satires of
Kantemir without their laughing. They are a bad lot. They ought to be
well scolded."
"It's desirable and even necessary that the work in class should be
of a serious character," said Khripatch sarcastically. "And another
thing----"
Khripatch showed Peredonov two exercise-books and said:
"Here are two exercise-books from two students of one class on your
subject: Adamenko's and my son's. I have compared them and I am
compelled to make the inference that you are not giving your full
attention to your work. Adamenko's last work which was done very
satisfactorily was marked one, while my son's work, written much worse,
was marked four. It is evident that you have made a mistake, that you
have given one pupil's marks to another and vice versa. Though it is
natural for a man to make mistakes, still I must ask you to avoid such
errors in future. It quite properly arouses dissatisfaction in the
parents and in the pupils themselves."
Peredonov mumbled something inaudible.
* * * * *
From spite he began to tease the smaller boys who had been recently
punished at his instigation. He was especially severe on Kramarenko.
The boy kept silent and went pale under his dark tan; his eyes gleamed.
As Kramarenko left the _gymnasia_ that day, he did not hasten home. He
stood at the gates and watched the entrance. When Peredonov went out
Kramarenko followed him at some distance, waiting till a few passers-by
had got between him and Peredonov.
Peredonov walked slowly. The cloudy weather depressed him. During the
last few days his face had assumed a duller expression. His glance was
either fixed on something in the distance or wandered strangely. It
seemed as if he were constantly looking into an object. To his eyes
objects appeared vague or doubled or meaningless.
Who was he scrutinising so closely? Informers. They concealed
themselves behind every object, they whispered and laughed. Peredonov's
enemies had sent against him a whole army of informers. Sometimes
Peredonov tried quickly to surprise them. But they always managed
to escape in time--as if they sank through the earth.... Peredonov
suddenly heard quick, bold footsteps on the pavement behind him, and
looked around him in fright--Kramarenko paused near him and looked at
him decidedly, resolutely and malignantly, with burning eyes; pale,
thin, like a savage ready to throw himself at an enemy. This look
frightened Peredonov.
"Suppose he should suddenly bite me?" he thought.
He walked quicker, but Kramarenko did not leave him; he walked slowly
and Kramarenko kept pace with him. Peredonov paused and said angrily:
"Why are you following me, you little dark wretch? I'll take you to
your father at once."
Kramarenko also paused and continued to look at Peredonov. They stood
facing one another on the loose pavement of the deserted street, beside
the grey, depressing fence. Kramarenko trembled and said in a hissing
voice:
"Scoundrel!"
He smiled and turned to go away.
He made three steps, paused, looked around and repeated louder:
"What a scoundrel! Vermin!"
He spat and walked away. Peredonov looked after him and then turned
homewards. Confused and timorous thoughts crowded through his head.
Vershina called to him. She stood smoking behind the bars of her
garden-gate, wrapped up in a large black shawl. Peredonov did not
at once recognise her. Something malignant in her figure seemed to
threaten him. She stood like a black sorceress and blew out smoke,
as if she were casting a spell. He spat and pronounced an exorcism.
Vershina laughed and asked:
"What's the matter with you, Ardalyon Borisitch?"
Peredonov looked vaguely at her and said at last:
"Ah, it's you! I didn't recognise you."
"That's a good sign. It means I'll soon be rich," said Vershina.
This did not please Peredonov, he wanted to be rich himself.
"Get away!" he exclaimed angrily. "Why should you be rich--you'll
always be what you are now."
"Never mind, I shall win twenty thousand," said Vershina with a wry
smile.
"No, I shall win the twenty thousand," argued Peredonov.
"I shall be in one drawing and you'll be in another," said Vershina.
"You're lying," said Peredonov angrily. "Who ever heard of two people
winning at once in the same town. I tell you I'm going to win it."
Vershina noticed that he was angry. She ceased to argue. She opened the
gate to entice him in and said:
"There's no reason for you to stand there. Come in, Mourin's here."
Mourin's name recalled something pleasant to Peredonov--drink and
_zakouska._ He entered.
In the drawing-room, darkened by the trees outside, sat Marta, looking
very happy, with a red sash on and with a kerchief round her neck,
Mourin, more unkempt than usual, and very cheerful for some reason or
other, and a grown-up schoolboy, Vitkevitch. He paid attentions to
Vershina, and imagined that she was in love with him: he thought of
leaving the school, marrying Vershina and managing her estate.
Mourin met Peredonov with exaggeratedly cordial exclamations, his
expression became even gayer and his little eyes looked fat--all this
did not go with his stout figure and untidy hair in which even some
whisps of straw could be seen.
"I'm attending to business," he said loudly and hoarsely. "I've
business everywhere, and here these charming ladies are spoiling me
with tea."
"Business?" replied Peredonov gruffly. "What sort of business have you
got? You are not in Government Service and you've got money coming in.
Now I have business."
"Well, what if you have, it's only getting other people's money," said
Mourin with a loud laugh.
Vershina smiled wryly and seated Peredonov near the table. On a round
table near the sofa glasses and cups of tea, rum and cranberry jam were
crowded together with a filigree silver dish, covered with a knitted
doyley, a small cake-basket of tea-cake and home-made gingerbread stuck
with almonds.
A strong odour of rum came from Mourin's glass of tea, while Vitkevitch
put a good deal of jam into a small glass plate, shaped like a shell.
Marta was eating little slices of tea-cake with visible satisfaction.
Vershina offered Peredonov refreshments--he refused to take tea.
"I might be poisoned," he thought. "It's very easy to poison you--you
simply drink and don't notice anything--there are sweet poisons--and
then you go home and turn up your toes."
And he felt vexed because they put jam before Mourin, and when he came
they didn't take the trouble to get a new jar of better jam. They
hadn't cranberry jam only but several other kinds.
Vershina really did give a good deal of attention to Mourin. Seeing
that she had little hope of Peredonov, she was looking elsewhere for a
husband for Marta. Now she was trying to catch Mourin. Half-civilised
by his pursuit of hard-earned gains, this landed proprietor eagerly
fell to the lure. Marta pleased him.
Marta was happy because it was her constant desire to find a husband
and to have a good house and home--that would be complete happiness.
And she looked at Mourin with loving eyes. The huge forty-years-old
man, with his coarse voice and plain face, seemed to her in every
movement a model of manly strength, cleverness, beauty and goodness.
Peredonov noticed the loving glances exchanged by Mourin and Marta--he
noticed them because he expected Marta to pay attention to him. He said
gruffly to Mourin:
"You sit there like a bridegroom. Your whole face is shining."
"I have reason to be happy," said Mourin in a brisk, cheerful voice. "I
have managed my business very well."
He winked at his hostesses. They both had gay smiles. Peredonov asked
gruffly, contemptuously screwing up his eyes:
"What is it? Have you found a bride? Has she a big dowry?"
Mourin went on as if he had not heard these questions:
"Natalya Afanasyevna there--may God be good to her--has agreed to take
charge of my Vaniushka. He'll live here as if he were in Christ's
bosom, and my mind will be at rest, knowing that he won't be spoiled."
"He'll get into mischief with Vladya," said Peredonov morosely.
"They'll burn the house down."
"He wouldn't dare," shouted Mourin. "Don't you worry about that,
my dear Natalya Afanasyevna, you'll find him as straight as a
fiddle-string."
To cut short this conversation, Vershina said with her wry smile:
"I should like to eat something tart."
"Perhaps you'd like some bilberries and apples--I'll get them," said
Marta quickly rising from her chair.
"Do, please."
Marta ran out of the room. Vershina did not even look after her. She
was used to taking Marta's services for granted. She was sitting deep
in her sofa puffing out blue curling clouds of smoke, and compared
the two men talking to each other, looking at Peredonov angrily and
indifferently, at Mourin gaily and animatedly. Mourin pleased her
more of the two. He had a good-natured face, while Peredonov could
not even smile. She liked everything in Mourin--he was large, stout,
attractive, spoke in an agreeable, low voice, and was very respectful
to her. Vershina even thought at certain moments that she ought to
arrange the matter so that Mourin should become engaged not to Marta
but to herself. But she always ended her reflections by magnanimously
yielding him to Marta.
"Anyone would marry me," she thought, "because I have money. I can
choose almost anyone I like. If I liked, I could even take this
young man," and she rested her glance, not without satisfaction, on
Vitkevitch's youthful, impudent, yet handsome face--a boy who spoke
little, ate a great deal and looked continuously at Vershina, smiling
insolently.
Marta brought the bilberries and apples in an earthen-ware cup and
began to relate how she had dreamed the night before that she had gone
to a wedding as a brides-maid, where she ate pine-apples and pancakes
with mead; on one pancake she had found a hundred-rouble note and she
cried when they took it from her, and woke up in tears.
"You should have hidden it on the quiet so that no one could see it,"
said Peredonov rather gruffly. "If you can't even keep money in a
dream, what sort of a housewife will you make?"
"There's no reason to feel sorry for this money," said Vershina. "There
are many things seen in dreams!"
"I feel as if I'd really lost the money," said Marta ingenuously. "A
whole hundred roubles!"
Tears appeared in her eyes, and she forced a laugh in order not to cry.
Mourin anxiously put his hands into his pocket and exclaimed:
"My dear Marta Stanislavovna, don't feel so put out about it, we can
soon mend the matter."
He took a hundred-rouble note from his wallet, put it before Marta on
the table, and slapped his hand into her palm, shouting:
"Permit me! No one will take this away!"
Marta was about to rejoice but suddenly flushed violently and said in
confusion:
"Oh, Vladimir Ivanovitch, I didn't mean that! I can't take it. Really
you are ..."
"Now, don't offend me by refusing it," said Mourin with a laugh, not
taking up the money. "Let's say that your dream has become realised."
"No, but how can I? I feel ashamed. I wouldn't take it for anything."
Marta resisted, looking with desirous eyes upon the hundred-rouble note.
"Why do you protest when it's given to you?" said Vitkevitch. "It's
good luck falling right into your hands," he continued with an envious
sigh.
Mourin stood in front of Marta and said in a persuasive voice:
"My dear Marta Stanislavovna, believe me, I give it with all my
heart--please take it! And if you don't want to take it for nothing,
then take it for looking after Vaniushka. As to my agreement with
Natalya Afanasyevna, let that stand. But this is for you--for looking
after Vanya."
"But how can I, it's too much," said Marta irresolutely.
"It's for the first half-year," and he bowed very low to Marta. "Don't
offend me by refusing it. Take it and be a sister to Vaniushka."
"Well, Marta, you'd better take it," said Vershina. "And thank Vladimir
Ivanitch."
Marta, flushing with shame and pleasure, took the money.
Mourin began to thank her ardently.
"You'd better marry at once--it would be cheaper," said Peredonov
gruffly. "How generous he's got all of a sudden!"
Vitkevitch roared with laughter, which the others pretended they had
not heard. Vershina began to tell a dream of her own, but Peredonov
interrupted her before she had finished by saying good-bye. Mourin
invited him to his house for the evening.
"I must go to Vespers," said Peredonov.
"Ardalyon Borisitch has suddenly become very zealous in church-going,"
said Vershina with a quick, dry laugh.
"I always go," he answered. "I believe in God--unlike the others.
Perhaps I am the only one of that kind in the _gymnasia._ That's why
I'm persecuted. The Head-Master is an atheist."
"When you are free, let me know," said Mourin.
Peredonov said, twisting his cap irritatedly in his hands:
"I have no time to go visiting."
But suddenly he recalled that Mourin was very hospitable with food and
drink, so he said:
"Well, I can come to you on Monday."
Mourin showed great pleasure at this, and was about to ask Vershina and
Marta also, but Peredonov said:
"I don't want any ladies. We might get a little tipsy and blurt out
something which would be awkward in their presence."
When Peredonov left, Vershina said sneeringly:
"Ardalyon Borisitch is acting curiously. He would very much like to be
an inspector, and it looks to me as if Varvara were leading him by the
nose. So he's up to all sorts of tricks."
Vladya--who had hidden himself while Peredonov was there--came out and
said with a malicious smile:
"The locksmith's sons have found out from someone that it was Peredonov
who told about them."
"They'll break his windows," exclaimed Vitkevitch laughing gleefully.
* * * * *
Everything in the street seemed hostile and ominous to Peredonov. A
ram stood at the cross-roads and looked stupidly at him. This ram so
closely resembled Volodin that Peredonov felt frightened. He thought
that possibly Volodin had turned into a ram to spy upon him.
"How do we know?" he thought. "Perhaps it is possible; science has not
discovered everything and it's possible someone does know something.
Now there are the French--a learned people, and yet magicians and mages
have begun to spread there." And a fear took possession of him. "This
ram might kick me," he thought.
The ram began to bleat, and its bleat resembled Volodin's laughter. It
was sharp, piercing and unpleasant.
Then he met the Officer of the gendarmerie. Peredonov went up to him
and said in a whisper:
"You'd better watch Adamenko. She corresponds with Socialists. She's
one of them."
Roubovsky looked at him in silent astonishment. Peredonov walked on
further and thought dejectedly:
"Why do I always keep coming across him? He must be watching me, and he
has put policemen everywhere."
The dirty streets, the gloomy sky, the pitiful little houses, the
ragged, withered-looking children--all these breathed depression,
neglect and a hopeless sadness.
"It's a foul town," thought Peredonov. "The people here are disgusting
and malignant; the sooner I get to another town the better, where the
instructors would bow down to one and the schoolboys will be afraid and
whisper in fear: 'The inspector is coming.' Yes! The higher officials
always live differently in the world."
"Inspector of the second District of the Rouban Government," he
mumbled under his nose. "The Right Honourable the State Councillor,
Peredonov--that's the way! Do you know who I am? His Excellency,
Head-Master of the National Schools of the Rouban Government, the
Actual State Councillor Peredonov. Hats off! Hand in your resignation!
Get out! I'll manage you!"
Peredonov's countenance became arrogant. In his poor imagination he had
already received his share of power.
* * * * *
When Peredonov returned home, while he was taking off his overcoat,
he heard shrill sounds from the dining-room--it was Volodin laughing.
Peredonov's spirits fell.
"He's managed to get here already," he thought. "Perhaps he's now
conspiring with Varvara against me. That's why he's laughing; he's glad
because Varvara agrees with him."
He walked angrily and dejectedly into the dining-room. The table was
already set for dinner. Varvara met Peredonov with an anxious face.
"Ardalyon Borisitch," she exclaimed, "think what's happened! The cat's
run away."
"Well," exclaimed Peredonov with an expression of fear in his face,
"why did you let it go?"
"You didn't expect me to sew his tail to my petticoat, did you?" asked
Varvara in irritation.
Volodin sniggered. Peredonov thought it had perhaps gone to the
Officer of the gendarmerie to purr out all it knew about Peredonov and
about where and why he went out at night--she would reveal everything
and would even mew a little more than had happened. More troubles!
Peredonov sat down on a chair at the table, bent his head, twirled
the end of the tablecloth in his fingers and became lost in gloomy
reflections.
"Cats always run back to their old home," said Volodin, "because cats
get used to a place and not to their master. A cat should be swung
round several times and then taken to her new home. She mustn't be
shown the way or otherwise she'll go back."
Peredonov listened and felt consoled.
"So you think he's gone back to the old house, Pavloushka?" he asked.
"Undoubtedly, Ardasha," replied Volodin.
Peredonov rose and shouted:
"Well, we'll have a drink, Pavloushka!"
Volodin sniggered.
"That's a possibility, Ardasha," he said. "It's always possible to take
a drink."
"We must get that cat back," decided Peredonov.
"A treasure," replied Varvara sarcastically. "I'll send Klavdiushka for
it after dinner."
They sat down to dinner. Volodin was in a cheerful mood and chattered
and laughed a great deal. His laughter sounded to Peredonov like the
bleating of the ram he had met in the street.
"Why has he got evil intentions against me?" thought Peredonov. "What
does he want?"
And Peredonov thought that he would get Volodin on his side.
"Listen, Pavloushka," he said, "if you'll stop trying to injure me,
then I'll buy you a pound of the best sugar-candy every week--you can
suck it to my good health."
Volodin laughed, but immediately afterwards looked hurt and said:
"Ardalyon Borisitch, I have no idea of injuring you, and I don't want
your sugar-candy because I don't like it."
Peredonov became depressed. Varvara said sneeringly:
"You've made a big enough fool of yourself, Ardalyon Borisitch. How can
he do you any injury?"
"Any fool can do you harm," said Peredonov dejectedly.
Volodin thrust out an offended lip, shook his head and said:
"If you have such an idea about me, Ardalyon Borisitch, then I can only
say one thing: I thank you most humbly. If you think that way about me,
what have I to say? What shall I understand by this, in what sense?"
"Take a drink, Pavloushka, and pour me one too," said Peredonov.
"Don't pay any attention to him, Pavel Vassilyevitch," said Varvara
consolingly. "He's only talking, his heart doesn't know what his tongue
blabs."
Volodin said nothing, and preserving his injured look began to pour the
vodka from the decanter into the glasses. Varvara said sarcastically:
"How is it, Ardalyon Borisitch, that you're not afraid to drink vodka
when he pours it out? Perhaps he's exorcising it--don't you see his
lips moving?"
Peredonov's face bore an expression of terror. He caught the glass
which Volodin had filled and flung the vodka on to the floor, shouting:
"Chure me! Chure--chure--chure![2] A spell against the
spell-weaver--may the evil tongue die of thirst, may the black eye
burst. To him Karachoun [death], to me chure-perechure!"
Then he turned to Volodin with a malignant face, snapped his fingers
and said:
"That's for you. You're cunning, but I'm more cunning."
Varvara laughed uproariously.
Volodin bleating in an offended, trembling voice said:
"It's you, Ardalyon Borisitch, who know and pronounce all sorts of
magic words, but I never occupied myself with black magic. I hadn't any
idea of bedevilling your vodka or anything else, but it's possible that
it's you who've bewitched my brides from me."
"What an idea!" said Peredonov angrily. "I don't want your brides. I
can get them by cleaner means."
"You've cast a spell to burst my eyes," continued Volodin, "but mind
your spectacles don't burst sooner."
Peredonov caught his glasses in fear.
"What nonsense!" he growled. "You let your tongue run away with you."
Varvara looked warningly at Volodin and said crossly:
"Don't be spiteful, Pavel Vassilyevitch, eat your soup, or else it'll
get cold. Eat, you spiteful thing!"
She thought that Ardalyon Borisitch had exorcised himself in time.
Volodin began to eat his soup. They were all silent for a while, and
presently Volodin said in a hurt voice:
"No wonder I dreamed last night that I was being smeared with honey.
Did you smear me, Ardalyon Borisitch?"
"That's not the way you ought to be smeared," said Varvara still
crossly.
"Why should I be? Be good enough to tell me. I don't see why I should
be," said Volodin.
"Well, because you've got a nasty tongue," explained Varvara. "You
oughtn't to babble everything that comes into your mind immediately."
[1] A quotation from Griboyedov's, "The Misfortune of Being too Clever."
[2] See note above. Search for "chure" implies, "Hence! away!"