Peredonov began to attend church frequently. He always stood in a
conspicuous place. At one time he crossed himself more often than was
necessary, at another he stood like a person in a trance and looked
stupidly before him. It seemed to him that spies were hiding behind the
columns, and were peeping out from there, trying to make him laugh. But
he did not yield. Laughter, the quiet, faint laughter, the giggling and
the whispering of the Routilov girls, sounded in Peredonov's ears, and
grew at times to an extraordinary pitch--as if the cunning girls were
laughing straight into his ears, to make him laugh and to disgrace him.
But Peredonov did not yield.
At times a smoke-like, bluish nedotikomka appeared among the clouds of
incense smoke; its eyes gleamed like little fires; with a slight rustle
it lifted itself into the air, though not for long, but for the most
part it rolled itself at the feet of members of the congregation, it
jeered at Peredonov and tormented him obtrusively. Of course, it wanted
to frighten him so that he would leave the church before Mass was over.
But he understood its cunning design--and he did not yield.
The church service--so dear to many people not in its words and
ceremonies but in its innermost appeal--was incomprehensible to
Peredonov. That is why it frightened him. The swinging of the censers
frightened him as if it had been a mysterious incantation.
"What's he swinging it so hard for?" he thought.
The vestments of those serving the Mass seemed to him coarse,
vari-coloured rags--and when he looked at the array of priests he felt
malignant, and he wanted to tear the vestments and break the sacred
vessels. The church ceremonies and mysteries seemed to him an evil
witchcraft, intended to subject the common people.
"He's crumbled the wafer into the communion cup," he thought angrily of
the priest. "It's cheap wine. They deceive the people to get more money
for their church celebrations."
The mystery of the eternal transformation of inert matter into a
force breaking the fetters of death was for ever hidden from him. A
walking corpse! The absurd mingling of unbelief in a living God and His
Messiah, with his absurd belief in sorcery!
The people were leaving the church. The village schoolmaster, Machigin,
a simple young man, was standing near the girls, smiling and conversing
freely with them. Peredonov thought that it was not quite becoming for
him to conduct himself so freely before the future inspector. Machigin
wore a straw hat. But Peredonov remembered that in the summer he had
seen him just outside the town wearing an official cap with a badge.
Peredonov decided to complain about it. As it happened, Inspector
Bogdanov was also present. Peredonov walked up to him and said:
"Your Machigin has been wearing a cap with a badge. He's trying to look
like a gentleman."
Bogdanov was alarmed, trembled, and his grey Adam's apple quivered.
"He has no right! No right whatever!" he exclaimed anxiously, blinking
his red-rimmed eyes.
"He has no right, but he's been wearing it," complained Peredonov. "He
ought to be stopped--I told you that long ago. Or else any boor of a
muzhik can wear a badge; and what will come of it?"
Bogdanov, who had been frightened by Peredonov before, was even more
alarmed.
"How does he dare, eh?" he wailed. "I will call him up at once, at
once. And I'll reprimand him most severely."
He left Peredonov and quickly ran off home.
Volodin walked at Peredonov's side and said in a reproachful, bleating
voice:
"He's wearing a badge. What do you think of that! As if he had an
official rank! Why is it allowed!"
"You mustn't wear a badge either," said Peredonov.
"I mustn't and I don't want to," said Volodin. "Still I sometimes put
on a badge--only I know where and when one can do it. I go out of the
town and I put it on there. It gives me great pleasure, and there's no
one to stop me. And when you meet a muzhik you get more respect----"
"A badge doesn't become your mug, Pavloushka," said Peredonov; "and
keep farther off, you're making me dusty with your hoofs."
Volodin relapsed into an injured silence, but still walked beside him.
Peredonov said in a preoccupied way:
"The Routilov girls ought to be informed against too. They only go
to church to chatter and to laugh. They rouge themselves, they dress
themselves up and then go to church. And then they steal incense to
make scents of--that's why they have such a strong smell."
"What do you think of that?" said Volodin shaking his head with his
bulging, dull eyes.
The shadow of a cloud ran quickly over the ground, and brought a
feeling of dread on Peredonov. Sometimes the grey nedotikomka glimmered
in the clouds of dust. Whenever the grass stirred in the wind Peredonov
saw the nedotikomka running through it, feeding on the grass.
"Why is there grass in the town?" he thought. "What neglect; it ought
to be rooted out."
A twig stirred in the tree, it rolled up, cawed and flew away in the
distance. Peredonov shivered, gave a wild cry and ran off home. Volodin
ran after him anxiously, and, with a perplexed expression in his
bulging eyes, clutched at his bowler hat and swung his stick.
* * * * *
That same day Bogdanov asked Machigin to come and see him. Before
entering the inspector's house Machigin stood in the street with his
back to the sun, took off his hat and combed his hair with his fingers,
noticing from his shadow that his hair was unkempt.
"Explain yourself, young man. What are you thinking of, eh?" Bogdanov
assailed Machigin with these words.
"What is the matter?" asked Machigin unconcernedly, playing with his
straw hat and swinging his left foot.
Bogdanov did not ask him to sit down as he intended to reprimand him.
"How is it, young man, how is it that you've been wearing a badge, eh?
What made you infringe the rule?" he asked, assuming an expression of
sternness and shaking his Adam's apple. Machigin flushed but answered
boldly:
"What of it? Haven't I a right to?"
"Are you an official, eh? An official?" said Bogdanov excitedly. "What
sort of an official are you, eh? A copying clerk, eh?"
"It's a sign of a schoolmaster's calling," said Machigin, boldly,
and suddenly smiled as he called to mind what the dignity of a
schoolmaster's vocation was.
"Carry a stick in your hand, a stick. That's the sign of your
schoolmaster's calling," said Bogdanov shaking his head.
"But please, Sergey Potapitch," said Machigin in an injured tone,
"what's the good of a stick? Anyone can do that, but a badge gives a
man prestige."
"What sort of prestige, eh? What sort of prestige?" Bogdanov shouted at
him. "What sort of prestige do you want, eh? Are you an official?"
"Oh, but forgive me, Sergey Potapitch," said Machigin persuasively and
reasonably. "Among the ignorant peasant classes a badge immediately
arouses a feeling of respect--they've been much more respectful lately."
Machigin stroked his red moustache in a self-satisfied way.
"It can't be allowed, young man, it can't be allowed under any
consideration," said Bogdanov shaking his head stiffly.
"But please, Sergey Potapitch, a schoolmaster without a badge is like
the British lion without a tail," protested Machigin. "He's only a
caricature."
"What's a tail got to do with it, eh? Why drag in the tail, eh?" said
Bogdanov excitedly. "Why are you mixing it up with politics, eh? What
business is it of yours to discuss politics, eh? No, young man, you'd
better dispense with the badge. For Heaven's sake, give it up. No, it's
impossible. How could it be possible. God preserve us, we can't tell
who might find it out!"
Machigin shrugged his shoulders and was about to say something else,
but Bogdanov interrupted him--what Bogdanov considered a brilliant idea
flashed into his head.
"But you came to me without the badge, without the badge, eh? You
yourself feel that it's not the right thing to do."
Machigin was nonplussed for a moment, but found an answer even to this:
"As we are rural schoolmasters we need this privilege in the country,
but in town we are known to belong to the intellectual classes."
"No, young man, you know very well that this is not allowed. And if I
hear of it again we shall have to get rid of you."
* * * * *
From time to time Grushina arranged evening parties for young people,
from among whom she hoped to find another husband. To conceal her
purpose she also invited married people.
The guests came early to one of these parties.
Pictures covered in thick muslin hung on the walls of Grushina's
drawing-room. There was really nothing indecent in them. When Grushina,
with an arch, wanton smile, raised these curtains, the guests gazed at
badly-drawn figures of naked women.
"Why is this woman so crooked?" asked Peredonov morosely.
"She's not crooked at all," Grushina defended the picture warmly.
"She's only bending over."
"She is crooked," repeated Peredonov, "and her eyes are not the
same--like yours."
"Much you understand about it," said Grushina offendedly. "These
pictures are very good and very expensive. Artists always prefer such
models."
Peredonov suddenly burst out laughing: he recalled the advice he had
given Vladya a few days ago.
"What are you neighing at?" asked Grushina.
"Nartanovitch, the schoolboy, is going to singe Marta's dress. I
advised him to," he explained.
"Let him just do it! He's not such a fool," said Grushina.
"Of course he'll do it," said Peredonov confidently. "Brothers always
quarrel with their sisters. When I was a kid I always played tricks on
my sisters--I pummelled the little ones and I used to spoil the older
ones' clothes."
"Everyone doesn't," said Routilov. "I don't quarrel with my sisters."
"Well, what do you do? Kiss them?" asked Peredonov.
"You are a swine and a scoundrel, Ardalyon Borisitch, I'll give you a
black eye," said Routilov calmly.
"I don't like such jokes," said Peredonov, and moved away from
Routilov.
"Yes," thought Peredonov, "he might really do it. He's got such a mean
face."
"She has only one dress, a black one," he went on, referring to Marta.
"Vershina will make her a new one," said Varvara with spiteful envy,
"she'll make all her dowry for her. She's such a beauty that even the
horses are frightened," she grumbled on quietly, looking maliciously at
Mourin.
"It's time for you to marry too," said Prepolovenskaya. "What are you
waiting for, Ardalyon Borisitch?"
The Prepolovenskys already saw that after the second letter Peredonov
was determined to marry Varvara. They also believed in the letter. They
began to say that they had always been on Varvara's side. There was no
good in their quarrelling with Peredonov--it was profitable to play
cards with him. As for Genya, there was nothing to do but to wait--they
would have to look for another husband.
"Of course you ought to marry," said Prepolovensky. "It will be a good
thing in itself, and you'll please the Princess; the Princess will be
pleased that you're married, and so you will please her and you'll do a
good thing, yes, a good thing, and yes, really, you'll be doing a good
thing and you'll please the Princess."
"Yes, and I say the same thing," said Prepolovenskaya.
But Prepolovensky was unable to stop, and seeing that everyone was
walking away from him he sat down beside a young official and began to
explain the same thing to him.
"I've decided to get married," said Peredonov, "only Varvara and I
don't know how to do it. I really don't know how to go about it."
"It's not such a difficult business," said Prepolovenskaya. "Now, if
you like, my husband and I will arrange everything. You just sit still
and don't think about anything."
"Very well," said Peredonov, "I'm agreeable. Only everything must be
done well and in proper style. I don't mind what it costs."
"Everything will be quite all right, don't worry about that,"
Prepolovenskaya assured him.
Peredonov continued to state his conditions:
"Other people through stinginess buy thin wedding rings or silver ones
gilt over, but I don't want to do that. I want pure gold ones. And I
even prefer wedding bracelets to wedding rings--they are more expensive
and more dignified."
Everyone laughed.
"Bracelets are impossible," said Prepolovenskaya smiling slightly. "You
must have rings."
"Why impossible?" asked Peredonov in vexation.
"Simply because it's not done."
"But perhaps it is done," said Peredonov increduously. "I will ask the
priest. He knows best."
Routilov advised him with a snigger:
"You'd better order wedding belts, Ardalyon Borisitch."
"I haven't got money enough for that," said Peredonov, not noticing
the smiles. "I'm not a banker. Only the other day I dreamed that I was
being married, and that I wore a velvet frock-coat and that Varvara and
I had gold bracelets. And behind us were two head-masters holding the
crowns over us, singing 'Hallelujah.'"
"I also had an interesting dream last night," announced Volodin. "But
I don't know what it can mean. I was sitting, as it were, on a gold
throne with a gold crown on, and there was grass in front of me and
on the grass were little sheep, all little sheep, all little sheep,
ba-a!--ba-a! And the little sheep walked about and moved their heads
like this and kept on their ba-a! ba-a! ba-a!"
Volodin walked up and down the room, shaking his head, protruded his
lips and bleated. The guests laughed. Volodin sat down on a chair with
an expression of bliss on his face, looked at them with his bulging
eyes and laughed with the same sheep-like bleating laughter.
"What happened then?" asked Grushina, winking at the others.
"Well, it was all little sheep and little sheep, and then I woke up,"
concluded Volodin.
"A sheep has sheepish dreams," growled Peredonov. "It isn't such great
shakes being Tsar of the sheep."
"I also had a dream," said Varvara with an impudent smile, "only I
can't tell it before men. I'll tell it to you alone."
"Ah, my dear Varvara Dmitrievna, it's strange I had one too," sniggered
Grushina, winking at the others.
"Please tell us, we're modest men, like the ladies," said Routilov.
The other men also besought Varvara and Grushina to tell them their
dreams. But the pair only exchanged glances, laughed meaningly and
would not tell.
They sat down to play cards. Routilov assured everyone that Peredonov
played cards well. Peredonov believed him. But that evening he lost
as usual. Routilov was winning. This elated him and he talked more
animatedly than usual.
The nedotikomka mocked at Peredonov. It was hiding somewhere near
by--it would show itself sometimes, peering out from behind the table
or from behind someone's back, and then hide again. It seemed to be
waiting for something. He felt dismayed. The very appearance of the
cards dismayed him. He saw two queens in the place of one.
"And where's the third," thought Peredonov.
He dully examined the queen of spades, then turned it round to see if
the third queen was hiding on the back.
Routilov said: "Ardalyon Borisitch is looking behind the queen's
shirt."[1]
They all laughed.
In the meantime two young police officials sat down to play
_douratchki.[2]_ They played their hands very quickly. The winner
laughed with joy and made a long nose at the other. The loser growled.
There was a smell of food. Grushina called the guests into the
dining-room. They all went, jostling each other, and with an affected
politeness. Somehow they managed to seat themselves.
"Help yourselves, everyone," said Grushina hospitably. "Now then, my
dears, stuff without fears to your very ears."[3]
"Eat the cake for the hostess' sake," shouted Mourin gleefully.
He felt very gay, looking at the vodka and thinking about his winnings.
Volodin and the two young officials helped themselves more lavishly
than anyone else, they picked out the choicest and most expensive
things, and ate caviare greedily.
Grushina said with a forced laugh:
"Pavel Ivanitch is drunk, but still knows the difference between bread
and cake." As if she had bought the caviare for him! And under the
pretext of serving the ladies she took the best dishes away from him.
But Volodin was not disconcerted and was glad to take what was left: he
had managed to eat a good deal of the best things and it was all the
same to him now.
Peredonov looked at the munchers and it seemed to him that everyone was
laughing at him. Why? For what reason? He ate piggishly and greedily
everything that came to his hand.
After supper they sat down to play cards again. But Peredonov soon got
tired of it. He threw down the cards and said:
"To the devil with you! I have no luck. I'm tired! Varvara, let's go
home."
And the other guests got up at the same time. Volodin saw in the hall
that Peredonov had a new stick. He smiled and turned the stick over in
front of him, asking:
"Ardasha, why are these fingers bent into a little roll? What does it
mean?"
Peredonov angrily took the stick from him and put the handle with a
Koukish[4] carved out of black wood on it to Volodin's nose and said:
"A fig with butter for you!"
Volodin looked offended.
"Allow me to say, Ardalyon Borisitch," he said, "that I eat bread with
butter, but that I do not want to eat a fig with butter."
Peredonov, without listening to him, was solicitously wrapping up his
neck in a scarf and buttoning up his overcoat. Routilov said with a
laugh:
"Why are you wrapping yourself up, Ardalyon Borisitch? It's quite warm."
"Health before everything," replied Peredonov.
It was quiet in the street--the street was stretched out in the
darkness as if asleep and snored gently. It was dark, melancholy and
damp. Heavy clouds moved across the sky. Peredonov growled:
"They've let loose the darkness. Why?"
He was not afraid now--he was walking with Varvara and not alone.
Soon a small, rapid, continuous rain began to fall. Everything was
still. And only the rain babbled something obtrusively and quickly,
sobbing out incoherent, melancholy phrases.
Peredonov felt in nature the reflection of his own dejection, his own
dread before the mask of her hostility to him--he had no conception
of that inner life in all nature which is inaccessible to external
decrees, the life which alone creates the true, deep and unfailing
relations between man and nature, because all nature seemed to him
permeated with petty human feelings. Blinded by the illusions of
personality and distinct existence he could not understand elemental
Dionysian exultations rejoicing and clamouring in nature. He was blind
and pitiful, like so many of us.
[1] "Roubaska" generally means "shirt," but also is used to express the
"back" of a card. Hence Routilov's pun.
[2] Diminutive of "dourak"--fool. A Russian card game.
[3] See note above. Search for The tendency to speak ...
[4] See note above. Search for Koukish, a clenched fist ...