A peasant of about thirty, of huge stature, came in--a red-cheeked,
vigorous-looking fellow, with brown hair, and a short curly beard. He
crossed himself, praying to the holy image, bowed to the head clerk,
held his hat before him in both hands, and stood erect.
“Good day, Sidor,” said the fat man, tapping with the reckoning beads.
“Good day to you, Nikolai Eremyitch.”
“Well, what are the roads like?”
“Pretty fair, Nikolai Eremyitch. A bit muddy.” The peasant spoke slowly
and not loud.
“Wife quite well?”
“She’s all right!”
The peasant gave a sigh and shifted one leg forward. Nikolai Eremyitch
put his pen behind his ear, and blew his nose.
“Well, what have you come about?” he proceeded to inquire, putting his
check handkerchief into his pocket.
“Why, they do say, Nikolai Eremyitch, they’re asking for carpenters
from us.”
“Well, aren’t there any among you, hey?”
“To be sure there are, Nikolai Eremyitch; our place is right in the
woods; our earnings are all from the wood, to be sure. But it’s the
busy time, Nikolai Eremyitch. Where’s the time to come from?”
“The time to come from! Busy time! I dare say you’re so eager to work
for outsiders, and don’t care to work for your mistress.--It’s all the
same!”
“The work’s all the same, certainly, Nikolai Eremyitch--but--”
“Well?”
“The pay’s--very--”
“What next! You’ve been spoiled; that’s what it is. Get along with you!”
“And what’s more, Nikolai Eremyitch, there’ll be only a week’s work,
but they’ll keep us hanging on a month. One time there’s not material
enough, and another time they’ll send us into the garden to weed the
path.”
“What of it? Our lady herself is pleased to give the order, so it’s
useless you and me talking about it.”
Sidor was silent; he began shifting from one leg to the other.
Nikolai Eremyitch put his head on one side, and began busily playing
with the reckoning beads.
“Our--peasants--Nikolai Eremyitch--” Sidor began at last, hesitating
over each word, “sent word to your honor--there is--see here--” He
thrust his big hand into the bosom of his coat, and began to pull out a
folded linen kerchief with a red border.
“What are you thinking of? Goodness, idiot, are you out of your
senses?” the fat man interposed hurriedly. “Go on; go to my cottage,”
he continued, almost shoving the bewildered peasant out; “ask for my
wife there--she’ll give you some tea; I’ll be round directly; go on.
For goodness’ sake, I tell you, go on.”
Sidor went away.
“Ugh!--what a bear!” the head clerk muttered after him, shaking his
head, and set to work again on his reckoning frame.
Suddenly shouts of “Kuprya! Kuprya! there’s no knocking down Kuprya!”
were heard in the street and on the steps, and a little later there
came into the counting-house a small man of sickly appearance, with an
extraordinarily long nose and large, staring eyes, who carried himself
with a great air of superiority. He was dressed in a ragged little
old surtout, with a plush collar and diminutive buttons. He carried
a bundle of firewood on his shoulder. Five house-serfs were crowding
round him, all shouting, “Kuprya! there’s no suppressing Kuprya!
Kuprya’s been turned stoker; Kuprya’s turned a stoker!” But the man
in the coat with the plush collar did not pay the slightest attention
to the uproar made by his companions, and was not in the least out
of countenance. With measured steps he went up to the stove, flung
down his load, straightened himself, took out of his tail-pocket a
snuff-box, and with round eyes began helping himself to a pinch of dry
trefoil mixed with ashes. At the entrance of this noisy party the fat
man had at first knitted his brows and risen from his seat, but, seeing
what it was, he smiled, and only told them not to shout. “There’s a
sportsman,” said he, “asleep in the next room.”
“What sort of sportsman?” two of them asked with one voice.
“A gentleman.”
“Ah!”
“Let them make a row,” said the man with the plush collar, waving his
arms; “what do I care, so long as they don’t touch me? They’ve turned
me into a stoker--”
“A stoker! a stoker!” the others put in gleefully.
“It’s the mistress’s orders,” he went on, with a shrug of his
shoulders; “but just you wait a bit--they’ll turn you into swineherds
yet. But I’ve been a tailor, and a good tailor too, learned my trade in
the best house in Moscow, and worked for generals--and nobody can take
that from me. And what have you to boast of? What? you’re a pack of
idlers, not worth your salt; that’s what you are! Turn me off! I shan’t
die of hunger; I shall be all right; give me a passport. I’d send a
good rent home, and satisfy the masters. But what would you do? You’d
die off like flies, that’s what you’d do!”
“That’s a nice lie!” interposed a pock-marked lad with white eyelashes,
a red cravat, and ragged elbows. “You went off with a passport sharp
enough, but never a halfpenny of rent did the masters see from you, and
you never earned a farthing for yourself; you just managed to crawl
home again, and you’ve never had a new rag on you since.”
“Ah, well, what could one do, Konstantin Narkizitch?” responded Kuprya;
“a man falls in love--a man’s ruined and done for! You go through what
I have, Konstantin Narkizitch, before you blame me!”
“And you picked out a nice one to fall in love with!--a regular fright.”
“No, you mustn’t say that, Konstantin Narkizitch.”
“Who’s going to believe that? I’ve seen her, you know; I saw her with
my own eyes last year in Moscow.”
“Last year she had gone off a little, certainly,” observed Kuprya.
“No, gentlemen, I tell you what,” a tall, thin man, with a face spotted
with pimples, a valet probably, from his frizzed and pomatumed head,
remarked in a careless and disdainful voice; “let Kuprya Afanasyitch
sing us his song. Come on, now; begin, Kuprya Afanasyitch.”
“Yes! yes!” put in the others. “Hoorah for Alexandra! That’s one for
Kuprya; ‘pon my soul.--Sing away, Kuprya!--You’re a regular brick,
Alexandra!” (Serfs often use feminine terminations in referring to a
man as an expression of endearment.) “Sing away!”
“This is not the place to sing,” Kuprya replied firmly; “this is the
manor counting-house.”
“And what’s that to do with you? you’ve got your eye on a place as
clerk, eh?” answered Konstantin with a coarse laugh. “That’s what it
is!”
“Everything rests with the mistress,” observed the poor wretch.
“There, that’s what he’s got his eye on! a fellow like him! oo! oo! a!”
And they all roared; some rolled about with merriment. Louder than all
laughed a lad of fifteen, probably the son of an aristocrat among the
house-serfs; he wore a waistcoat with bronze buttons, and a cravat of
lilac color, and had already had time to fill out his waistcoat.
“Come, tell us, confess now, Kuprya,” Nikolai Eremyitch began
complacently, obviously tickled and diverted himself; “is it bad being
stoker? Is it an easy job, eh?”
“Nikolai Eremyitch,” began Kuprya, “you’re head clerk among us now,
certainly; there’s no disputing that, no; but you know you have been in
disgrace yourself, and you too have lived in a peasant’s hut.”
“You’d better look out and not forget yourself in my place,” the fat
man interrupted emphatically; “people joke with a fool like you; you
ought, you fool, to have sense, and be grateful to them for taking
notice of a fool like you.”
“It was a slip of the tongue, Nikolai Eremyitch; I beg your pardon--”
“Yes, indeed, a slip of the tongue.”
The door opened and a little page ran in.
“Nikolai Eremyitch, mistress wants you.”
“Who’s with the mistress?” he asked the page.
“Aksinya Nikitishna, and a merchant from Venev.”
“I’ll be there this minute. And you, mates,” he continued in a
persuasive voice, “better move off out of here with the newly appointed
stoker; if the German pops in, he’ll make a complaint for certain.”
The fat man smoothed his hair, coughed into his hand, which was almost
completely hidden in his coat-sleeve, buttoned himself, and set off
with rapid strides to see the lady of the manor. In a little while
the whole party trailed out after him, together with Kuprya. My old
friend, the clerk on duty, was left alone. He set to work mending the
pens, and dropped asleep in his chair. A few flies promptly seized
the opportunity and settled on his mouth. A mosquito alighted on his
forehead, and, stretching its legs out with a regular motion, slowly
buried its sting into his flabby flesh. The same red head with whiskers
showed itself again at the door, looked in, looked again, and then came
into the office, together with the rather ugly body belonging to it.
“Fedyushka! eh, Fedyushka! always asleep,” said the head.
The clerk on duty opened his eyes and got up from his seat.
“Nikolai Eremyitch has gone to the mistress?”
“Yes, Vassily Nikolaevitch.”
“Ah! ah!” thought I; “this is he, the head cashier.”
The head cashier began walking about the room. He really slunk rather
than walked, and altogether resembled a cat. An old black frock-coat
with very narrow skirts hung about his shoulders; he kept one hand in
his bosom, while the other was forever fumbling about his high, narrow
horse-hair collar, and he turned his head with a certain effort. He
wore noiseless kid boots, and trod very softly.
“The landowner, Yagushkin, was asking for you to-day,” added the clerk
on duty.
“Hm, asking for me? What did he say?”
“Said he’d go to Tyutyurov this evening and would wait for you. ‘I want
to discuss some business with Vassily Nikolaevitch,’ said he, but what
the business was he didn’t say; ‘Vassily Nikolaevitch will know,’ says
he.”
“Hm!” replied the head cashier, and he went up to the window.
“Is Nikolai Eremyitch in the counting-house?” a loud voice was heard
asking in the outer room, and a tall man, apparently angry, with an
irregular but bold and expressive face, and rather clean in his dress,
stepped over the threshold.
“Isn’t he here?” he inquired, looking rapidly round.
“Nikolai Eremyitch is with the mistress,” responded the cashier. “Tell
me what you want, Pavel Andreitch; you can tell me.--What is it you
want?”
“What do I want? You want to know what I want?” The cashier gave a
sickly nod. “I want to give him a lesson, the fat, greasy villain, the
scoundrelly tell-tale!--I’ll give him a tale to tell!”
Pavel flung himself into a chair.
“What are you saying, Pavel Andreitch! Calm yourself.--Aren’t you
ashamed? Don’t forget whom you’re talking about, Pavel Andreitch!”
lisped the cashier.
“Forget whom I’m talking about? What do I care for his being made head
clerk? A fine person they’ve found to promote, there’s no denying that!
They’ve let the goat loose in the kitchen garden, you may say!”
“Hush, hush, Pavel Andreitch, hush! drop that--what rubbish are you
talking?”
“So Master Fox is beginning to fawn? I will wait for him,” Pavel
said with passion, and he struck a blow on the table. “Ah, here he’s
coming!” he added with a look at the window; “speak of the devil. With
your kind permission!” He got up.
Nikolai Eremyitch came into the counting-house. His face was shining
with satisfaction, but he was rather taken aback at seeing Pavel
Andreitch.
“Good day to you, Nikolai Eremyitch,” said Pavel in a significant tone,
advancing deliberately to meet him.
The head clerk made no reply. The face of the merchant showed itself in
the doorway.
“What, won’t you deign to answer me?” pursued Pavel. “But no--no,” he
added; “that’s not it; there’s no getting anything by shouting and
abuse. No, you’d better tell me in a friendly way, Nikolai Eremyitch;
what do you persecute me for? what do you want to ruin me for? Come,
speak, speak.”
“This is no fit place to come to an understanding with you,” the head
clerk answered in some agitation, “and no fit time. But I must say I
wonder at one thing: what makes you suppose I want to ruin you, or that
I’m persecuting you? And if you come to that, how can I persecute you?
You’re not in my counting-house.”
“I should hope not,” answered Pavel; “that would be the last straw!
But why are you humbugging, Nikolai Eremyitch?--You understand me, you
know.”
“No, I don’t understand.”
“No, you do understand.”
“No, by God, I don’t understand!”
“Swearing, too! Well, tell us, since it’s come to that: have you no
fear of God? Why can’t you let the poor girl live in peace? What do you
want of her?”
“Whom are you talking of?” the fat man asked with feigned amazement.
“Ugh! doesn’t know; what next? I’m talking of Tatyana. Have some
fear of God--what do you want to revenge yourself for? You ought to
be ashamed: a married man like you, with children as big as I am;
it’s a very different thing with me.--I mean marriage: I’m acting
straightforwardly.”
“How am I to blame in that, Pavel Andreitch? The mistress won’t permit
you to marry; it’s her seigniorial will! What have I to do with it?”
“Why, haven’t you been plotting with that old hag, the housekeeper, eh?
Haven’t you been telling tales, eh? Tell me, aren’t you bringing all
sorts of stories up against the defenseless girl? I suppose it’s not
your doing that she’s been degraded from laundrymaid to washing dishes
in the scullery? And it’s not your doing that she’s beaten and dressed
in sackcloth?--You ought to be ashamed, you ought to be ashamed--an old
man like you! You know there’s a paralytic stroke always hanging over
you.-- answer to God.”
“You’re abusive, Pavel Andreitch, you’re abusive--You shan’t have a
chance to be insolent much longer.”
Pavel fired up.
“What? You dare to threaten me?” he said passionately. “You think I’m
afraid of you. No, my man, I’m not come to that! What have I to be
afraid of? I can make my bread everywhere. For you, now, it’s another
thing! It’s only here you can live and tell tales, and filch--”
“Fancy the conceit of the fellow!” interrupted the clerk, who was also
beginning to lose patience; “an apothecary’s assistant, simply an
apothecary’s assistant, a wretched leech; and listen to him--fie upon
you! you’re a high and mighty personage!”
“Yes, an apothecary’s assistant, and except for this apothecary’s
assistant you’d have been rotting in the graveyard by now.--It was some
devil drove me to cure him,” he added between his teeth.
“You cured me?--No, you tried to poison me; you dosed me with aloes,”
the clerk put in.
“What was I to do if nothing but aloes had any effect on you?”
“The use of aloes is forbidden by the Board of Health,” pursued
Nikolai. “I’ll lodge a complaint against you yet.--You tried to
compass my death--that was what you did! But the Lord suffered it not.”
“Hush, now, that’s enough, gentlemen,” the cashier was beginning--
“Stand off!” bawled the clerk. “He tried to poison me! Do you
understand that?”
“That’s very likely.--Listen, Nikolai Eremyitch,” Pavel began in
despairing accents. “For the last time, I beg you.--You force me to
it.--I can’t stand it any longer. Let us alone, do you hear? or else,
by God, it’ll go ill with one or other of us--I mean with you!”
The fat man flew into a rage.
“I’m not afraid of you!” he shouted; “do you hear, milksop? I got the
better of your father; I broke his horns--a warning to you; take care!”
“Don’t talk of my father, Nikolai Eremyitch.”
“Get away! who are you to give me orders?”
“I tell you, don’t talk of him!”
“And I tell you, don’t forget yourself.--However necessary you think
yourself, if our lady has a choice between us, it’s not you’ll be
kept, my dear! None’s allowed to mutiny, mind!” Pavel was shaking with
fury. “As for the wench, Tatyana, she deserves--wait a bit, she’ll get
something worse!”
Pavel dashed forward with uplifted fists, and the clerk rolled heavily
on the floor.
“Handcuff him, handcuff him,” groaned Nikolai Eremyitch--
I won’t take upon myself to describe the end of this scene; I fear I
have wounded the reader’s delicate susceptibilities as it is.
The same day I returned home. A week later I heard that Madame
Losnyakova had kept both Pavel and Nikolai in her service, but had sent
away the girl Tatyana; it appeared she was not wanted.