“In love God gave a heart
Of burning passion to inspire
That loving heart with warm desire.”
“But there is agony in bliss”
Fimishka chimed in.
“And passion free from pain there is,
Ah! where, where? tell me, tell me this,”
“Ah! where, where? Tell me, tell me this,”
Fomisha put in.
“Ah! where, where? tell me, tell me this,”
Fimishka repeated.
“Nowhere in all the world, nowhere,
Love bringeth grief and black despair,”
they sang together,
“And that, love’s gift is everywhere,”
Fomisha sang out alone.
“Bravo!” Paklin exclaimed. “We have had the first verse, now please sing
us the second.”
“With the greatest of pleasure,” Fomishka said, “but what about the
trill, Snandulia Samsonovna? After my verse there must be a trill.”
“Very well, I will play your trill,” Snandulia replied. Fomishka began
again—
“Has ever lover lovéd true
And kept his heart from grief and rue?
He loveth but to weep anew”
and then Fimishka—
“Yea—hearts that love at last are riven
As ships that hopelessly have striven
For life. To what end were they given?”
“To what end were they given?”
Fomishka warbled out and waited for Snandulia to play the trill.
“To what end were they given?”
he repeated, and then they struck up together—
“Then take, Oh God, the heart away,
Away, away, take hearts away,
Away, away, away today.”
“Bravo! Bravo!” the company exclaimed, all with exception of Markelov.
“I wonder they don’t feel like clowns?” Nejdanov thought. “Perhaps they
do, who knows? They no doubt think there is no harm in it and may be
even amusing to some people. If one looks at it in that light, they are
quite right! A thousand times right!”
Under the influence of these reflections he began paying compliments to
the host and hostess, which they acknowledged with a courtesy, performed
while sitting in their chairs. At this moment Pufka the dwarf and Nurse
Vassilievna made their appearance from the adjoining room (a bedroom or
perhaps the maids’ room) from whence a great bustle and whispering had
been going on for some time. Pufka began squealing and making hideous
grimaces, while the nurse first quietened her, then egged her on.
Solomin’s habitual smile became even broader, while Markelov, who had
been for some time showing signs of impatience, suddenly turned to
Fomishka:
“I did not expect that you,” he began in his severe manner, “with your
enlightened mind—I’ve heard that you are a follower of Voltaire—could
be amused with what ought to be an object for compassion—with
deformity!” Here he remembered Paklin’s sister and could have bitten his
tongue off.
Fomishka went red in the face and muttered: “You see ... it is not my
fault ... she herself——”
Pufka simply flew at Markelov.
“How dare you insult our masters?” she screamed out in her lisping
voice. “What is it to you that they took me in, brought me up, and gave
me meat and drink? Can’t you bear to see another’s good fortune, eh?
Who asked you to come here? You fusty, musty, black-faced villain with
a moustache like a beetle’s!” Here Pufka indicated with her thick short
fingers what his moustache was like; while Nurse Vassilievna’s toothless
mouth was convulsed with laughter, re-echoed in the adjoining room.
“I am not in a position to judge you,” Markelov went on. “To protect the
homeless and deformed is a very praiseworthy work, but I must say that
to live in ease and luxury, even though without injury to others, not
lifting a finger to help a fellow-creature, does not require a great
deal of goodness. I, for one, do not attach much importance to that sort
of virtue!”
Here Pufka gave forth a deafening howl. She did not understand a word of
what Markelov had said, but she felt that the “black one” was scolding,
and how dared he! Vassilievna also muttered something, while Fomishka
folded his hands across his breast and turned to his wife. “Fimishka, my
darling,” he began, almost in tears; “do you hear what the gentleman is
saying? We are both wicked sinners, Pharisees.... We are living on
the fat of the land, oh! oh! oh! We ought to be turned out into the
street... with a broom in our hands to work for our living! Oh! oh!”
At these mournful words Pufka howled louder than ever, while Fimishka
screwed up her eyes, opened her lips, drew in a deep breath, ready to
retaliate, to speak.
God knows how it would have ended had not Paklin intervened.
“What is the matter?” he began, gesticulating with his hands and
laughing loudly. “I wonder you are not ashamed of yourselves! Mr.
Markelov only meant it as a joke. He has such a solemn face that it
sounded a little severe and you took him seriously! Calm yourself!
Efimia Pavlovna, darling, we are just going, won’t you tell us our
fortunes at cards? You are such a good hand at it. Snandulia, do get the
cards, please!”
Fimishka glanced at her husband, who seemed completely reassured, so she
too quieted down.
“I have quite forgotten how to tell fortunes, my dear. It is such a long
time since I held the cards in my hand.”
But quite of her own accord she took an extraordinary, ancient pack of
cards out of Snandalia’s hand.
“Whose fortune shall I tell?”
“Why everybody’s, of course!” Paklin exclaimed. “What a dear old thing
she is.... You can do what you like with her,” he thought. “Tell us
all our fortunes, granny dear,” he said aloud. “Tell us our fates, our
characters, our futures, everything!”
She began shuffling the cards, but threw them down suddenly.
“I don’t need cards!” she exclaimed. “I know all your characters
without that, and as the character, so is the fate. This one,” she said,
pointing to Solomin, “is a cool, steady sort of man. That one,” she
said, pointing threateningly at Markelov, “is a fiery, disastrous man.”
(Pufka put her tongue out at him.) “And as for you,” she looked at
Paklin, “there is no need to tell you—you know quite well that you’re
nothing but a giddy goose! And that one—”
She pointed to Nejdanov, but hesitated.
“Well?” he asked; “do please tell me what sort of a man I am.”
“What sort of a man are you,” Fimishka repeated slowly. “You are
pitiable—that is all!”
“Pitiable! But why?”
“Just so. I pity you—that is all I can say.”
“But why do you pity me?”
“Because my eyes tell me so. Do you think I am a fool? I am cleverer
than you, in spite of your red hair. I pity you—that is all!”
There was a brief silence—they all looked at one another, but did not
utter a word.
“Well, goodbye, dear friends,” Paklin exclaimed. “We must have bored
you to death with our long visit. It is time for these gentlemen to be
going, and I am going with them. Goodbye, thanks for your kindness.”
“Goodbye, goodbye, come again. Don’t be on ceremony,” Fomishka and
Fimishka exclaimed together. Then Fomishka suddenly drawled out:
“Many, many, many years of life. Many—”
“Many, many,” Kalliopitch chimed in quite unexpectedly, when opening the
door for the young men to pass out.
The whole four suddenly found themselves in the street before the squat
little house, while Pufka’s voice was heard from within:
“You fools!” she cried. “You fools!”
Paklin laughed aloud, but no one responded. Markelov looked at each
in turn, as though he expected to hear some expression of indignation.
Solomin alone smiled his habitual smile.