In days gone by there used to run about the seignorial courtyard of the
country-house at Chabarovska a girl called Natashka. She always wore a
cotton dress, went barefooted, and was rosy, plump, and gay. It was at
the request and entreaties of her father, the clarionet player Savi,
that my grandfather had “taken her upstairs”--that is to say, made
her one of his wife’s female servants. As chamber-maid, Natashka so
distinguished herself by her zeal and amiable temper that when Mamma
arrived as a baby and required a nurse Natashka was honoured with the
charge of her. In this new office the girl earned still further praises
and rewards for her activity, trustworthiness, and devotion to her young
mistress. Soon, however, the powdered head and buckled shoes of the
young and active footman Foka (who had frequent opportunities of
courting her, since they were in the same service) captivated her
unsophisticated, but loving, heart. At last she ventured to go and ask
my grandfather if she might marry Foka, but her master took the request
in bad part, flew into a passion, and punished poor Natashka by exiling
her to a farm which he owned in a remote quarter of the Steppes. At
length, when she had been gone six months and nobody could be found to
replace her, she was recalled to her former duties. Returned, and with
her dress in rags, she fell at Grandpapa’s feet, and besought him to
restore her his favour and kindness, and to forget the folly of which
she had been guilty--folly which, she assured him, should never recur
again. And she kept her word.
From that time forth she called herself, not Natashka, but Natalia
Savishna, and took to wearing a cap. All the love in her heart was now
bestowed upon her young charge. When Mamma had a governess appointed
for her education, Natalia was awarded the keys as housekeeper, and
henceforth had the linen and provisions under her care. These new duties
she fulfilled with equal fidelity and zeal. She lived only for her
master’s advantage. Everything in which she could detect fraud,
extravagance, or waste she endeavoured to remedy to the best of her
power. When Mamma married and wished in some way to reward Natalia
Savishna for her twenty years of care and labour, she sent for her and,
voicing in the tenderest terms her attachment and love, presented
her with a stamped charter of her (Natalia’s) freedom, [It will be
remembered that this was in the days of serfdom] telling her at the same
time that, whether she continued to serve in the household or not, she
should always receive an annual pension of 300 roubles. Natalia listened
in silence to this. Then, taking the document in her hands and regarding
it with a frown, she muttered something between her teeth, and darted
from the room, slamming the door behind her. Not understanding the
reason for such strange conduct, Mamma followed her presently to her
room, and found her sitting with streaming eyes on her trunk, crushing
her pocket-handkerchief between her fingers, and looking mournfully
at the remains of the document, which was lying torn to pieces on the
floor.
“What is the matter, dear Natalia Savishna?” said Mamma, taking her
hand.
“Nothing, ma’am,” she replied; “only--only I must have displeased you
somehow, since you wish to dismiss me from the house. Well, I will go.”
She withdrew her hand and, with difficulty restraining her tears, rose
to leave the room, but Mamma stopped her, and they wept a while in one
another’s arms.
Ever since I can remember anything I can remember Natalia Savishna and
her love and tenderness; yet only now have I learnt to appreciate them
at their full value. In early days it never occurred to me to think what
a rare and wonderful being this old domestic was. Not only did she never
talk, but she seemed never even to think, of herself. Her whole life
was compounded of love and self-sacrifice. Yet so used was I to her
affection and singleness of heart that I could not picture things
otherwise. I never thought of thanking her, or of asking myself, “Is she
also happy? Is she also contented?” Often on some pretext or another I
would leave my lessons and run to her room, where, sitting down, I
would begin to muse aloud as though she were not there. She was forever
mending something, or tidying the shelves which lined her room,
or marking linen, so that she took no heed of the nonsense which I
talked--how that I meant to become a general, to marry a beautiful
woman, to buy a chestnut horse, to, build myself a house of glass, to
invite Karl Ivanitch’s relatives to come and visit me from Saxony, and
so forth; to all of which she would only reply, “Yes, my love, yes.”
Then, on my rising, and preparing to go, she would open a blue trunk
which had pasted on the inside of its lid a coloured picture of a hussar
which had once adorned a pomade bottle and a sketch made by Woloda, and
take from it a fumigation pastille, which she would light and shake for
my benefit, saying:
“These, dear, are the pastilles which your grandfather (now in Heaven)
brought back from Otchakov after fighting against the Turks.” Then she
would add with a sigh: “But this is nearly the last one.”
The trunks which filled her room seemed to contain almost everything in
the world. Whenever anything was wanted, people said, “Oh, go and ask
Natalia Savishna for it,” and, sure enough, it was seldom that she did
not produce the object required and say, “See what comes of taking care
of everything!” Her trunks contained thousands of things which nobody in
the house but herself would have thought of preserving.
Once I lost my temper with her. This was how it happened.
One day after luncheon I poured myself out a glass of kvass, and then
dropped the decanter, and so stained the tablecloth.
“Go and call Natalia, that she may come and see what her darling has
done,” said Mamma.
Natalia arrived, and shook her head at me when she saw the damage I had
done; but Mamma whispered something in her car, threw a look at myself,
and then left the room.
I was just skipping away, in the sprightliest mood possible, when
Natalia darted out upon me from behind the door with the tablecloth in
her hand, and, catching hold of me, rubbed my face hard with the stained
part of it, repeating, “Don’t thou go and spoil tablecloths any more!”