‘Ah, welcome, Yevgraf Larionych! We were just talking about you!’ Uncle exclaimed, genuinely delighted. ‘Straight from town, are you?’

  ‘It’s as if all the freaks of the neighbourhood have conspired to meet here,’ I thought to myself, still without any clear understanding of what was going on before me, and not suspecting that by coming among them myself, I only added to their number.

  5

  Yezhevikin

  There entered, or rather squeezed into the room (though the door opened widely), a little figure of a man, who bobbed and bowed and bared his teeth as soon as he appeared in the doorway, surveying all the guests with the utmost curiosity. He was an old man, slightly built, and balding, with a mottled face, quick roguish eyes and a subtle, indeterminate smile playing about his rather thick lips. He was dressed in a threadbare, probably secondhand frock-coat. One of the buttons was barely hanging on and two or three were missing altogether. His worn-out boots and soiled cap matched his pitiable attire. He was clutching a very soiled cotton handkerchief with which he kept dabbing his perspiring brow and temples. I noticed that the governess blushed slightly and darted a glance at me. I fancied there was something proud and defiant in her eyes.

  ‘Straight from town, my dear benefactor! Straight from town, kind sir! I’ll tell you everything, only give me time to pay my respects,’ the old man said and made straight for the General’s Lady but stopped half-way and again addressed my uncle.

  ‘For your gracious information, my dear benefactor, I’m a charlatan, a downright charlatan! You see, as soon as I arrive, I make straight for the key person in the house to seek favours and protection. A rogue, sir, a rogue, dear benefactor! Allow me, dear kind lady, to kiss the hem of your dress lest my lips sully Your Excellency’s hand of gold.’

  The General’s widow extended her hand to him, rather graciously to my surprise.

  ‘And greetings to you too, beauteous maiden,’ he continued, turning to Perepelitsyna. ‘Can’t be helped, gracious Madam: a villain! Back in 1841 I was pronounced a villain when they dismissed me from public service, when Valentin Ignatych Tikhontsov was promoted to assessor; an assessorship for him, a villainship for me. It’s my open nature all over, I won’t hide anything. Can’t be helped! I did try to lead an honest life, indeed I did, now it’s time for a change … Aleksandra Yegorovna, succulent apple that you are,’ he continued, working his way round the table towards Sasha. ‘Let me kiss your frock; there is, sweet lady, the smell of apples and all nice things about you. Our respects to the hero of the day: a bow and arrows for you, sir, which my boys spent the morning helping me to make; we shall have such fun. Soon you’ll grow up to be an officer and chop the Turk’s head off. Tatyana Ivanovna … oh, she isn’t here — my benefactress! Or I’d have kissed the hem of her dress too. My dear, kind Praskovya Ilyinichna, what a pity I can’t reach you, or I’d have smothered your dainty foot with kisses, let alone that hand of yours — that’s right! Anfisa Petrovna, I profess my every respect for you. This very morning I was down on my knees praying with tears for you and your son, my benefactress, that the Almighty might bless you both with rank and talent: especially talent! And while I’m about it, Ivan Ivanovich Mizinchikov, your humble servant too, sir. God grant you all that you yourself desire. Not that it’s ever easy to tell what exactly you do desire: ever so sparing with your words, sir, you are … Hello, Nastenka, all my small fry send you their greetings; they remember you every day. And now my deepest bow to the master of the house. Yes, I come straight from town, your honour, straightaways from town. And this must surely be your learned nephew, fresh from the faculty of sciences? Our esteemed respects to you, sir; your hand, please.’

  Somebody tittered. It was clear the old man was playing the self-appointed role of jester. His arrival cheered the gathering enormously. Most people missed his sarcasm, although he addressed almost every person individually. Only the governess, whom, to my surprise, he had simply called Nastenka, stood blushing and frowning. I made an attempt to withdraw my hand, but apparently that was just what the old man was waiting for.

  ‘With your permission, sir, I only wanted to shake it, not kiss it. You thought I was going to kiss your hand? No, sir, for the moment I shall just shake it. You, my benefactor, surely mistook me for the jester of the house!’ he concluded, looking at me mockingly.

  ‘N-no, really, I …’

  ‘Well, well, sir! Even if I am a fool, I’m not the only one here. And you ought to respect me. I’m not the villain you take me for, though of course I am a clown. A slave too, and so is my wife — besides, a little flattery, a little flattery will never come amiss — might win an extra morsel for the little ones. Sugar, sugar, don’t spare the sugar for your health. There’s a tip for you — in confidence, mind: who knows, it might come in useful one day. Fortune has played me false, kind sir, or why should I play the clown?’

  ‘Ha-ha-ha! How funny that little old man is! He always makes me laugh!’ piped Anfisa Petrovna.

  ‘My dear lady benefactress, had I but known it’s easier to go through life being a fool, I’d have become one straightaway in my early youth. Who knows, I might have been a wise man now. But untimely wisdom is the stuff that fools are made of — and I’ve ended up a proper one.’

  ‘Tell me, please,’ Obnoskin chipped in (obviously not happy with the remark about ‘talent’), ostentatiously stretching full-length in his chair and viewing the old man through his glass as though he required magnification, ‘tell me your name, please. I keep forgetting your name … What the deuce was it again?’

  ‘Ah, sir, I’m afraid it’s Yezhevikin, and much good it has done me. Why, to tell you the truth, I’ve been out of employment these nine years, and I’ve survived only by the Grace of God. And my children — I’ve more children to support than the Kholmsky family. You know how the saying goes: “The rich rear cattle, the poor breed kids” …’

  ‘Hm … cattle … let that pass. I’ve been meaning to ask you for a long time: why is it you always look behind you whenever you enter a room? It’s so funny!’

  ‘Why do I look behind me? Because I’m afraid somebody’s going to creep up and swat me like a fly, that’s why I look behind me. I’ve turned into a monomaniac, sir.’

  Again there was laughter. The governess jumped to her feet and made as if to go out, but then sat down again. In spite of the colour in her cheeks, she looked pained and distressed.

  ‘You know who that is, my boy?’ Uncle whispered. ‘It’s her father!’

  I stared at my uncle wide-eyed. The name Yezhevikin had completely flown out of my head. I had spent the journey to Stepanchikovo day-dreaming and building heroic plans for my intended, but had completely forgotten her surname, or, to be more precise, had not paid any attention to it at the outset.

  ‘Father?’ I replied, also in a whisper. ‘I thought she was an orphan.’

  ‘Father, my boy, father. And do you know he’s a thoroughly honest, upright fellow; and he doesn’t even drink, just likes to act the fool sometimes. Frightfully poor, you know — eight children! Nastenka’s wages are all they have to live on. Lost his job for being too sharp-tongued. Comes here every week. But proud as Lucifer — won’t accept a thing. Many’s the time I’ve tried to help him, indeed I have — but no. An embittered soul!’

  ‘Well, my dear Yevgraf Larionych, what other news have you brought us?’ Uncle inquired, dealing him a hearty slap on the shoulder as he noticed that the suspicious old man was already beginning to eavesdrop on us.

  ‘News, my dear benefactor? Yesterday Valentin Ignatych was giving evidence in the Trishin case. Some flour turned out to be short weight in his stores. Trishin, by the way, lady, is the one who looks at you as though he’s blowing on charcoal to light a samovar, if it be your pleasure to recall. Anyway, this is what Valentin Ignatych says about Trishin: “If the oft-mentioned Trishin proved himself incapable of guarding his own niece’s honour,” — she ran off with an army officer last year — “how then can he be expected to look after government property?” That’s word for word what he put down in his statement — I’m not lying.’

  ‘For shame! The stories you tell!’ cried out Anfisa Petrovna.

  ‘Exactly so, exactly so! You’re going too far, dear Yevgraf,’ Uncle assented. ‘One of these days your tongue will be the death of you! You’re a righteous, honourable, upstanding man — that I declare, but your tongue is sheer venom! And I’m amazed you don’t get on with them over there! After all, they’re good simple folk, I believe …’

  ‘My dear sir and benefactor! The simple man is the one I’m afraid of most of all!’ the old man exclaimed with great fervour.

  I liked his reply. I quickly strode over to Yezhevikin and shook his hand heartily. To be honest, I wanted to protest against the general opinion by openly attesting my sympathy with the old man. But who knows! Maybe I wanted to gain favour in Nastasya Yevgrafovna’s eyes. Anyway, my move completely misfired.

  ‘Could you tell me please,’ I asked hurriedly, and blushing as usual, ‘Have you heard of the Jesuits?’

  ‘No, kind sir, I haven’t; or perhaps something once. But who am I to hear of such matters? Why do you ask?’

  ‘Well, it just occurred to me … But we’ll let it pass, remind me some other time. As for now, rest assured that I completely understand and … do appreciate …’

  Utterly confused, I once more clasped his hand.

  ‘I will remind you, sir, I will definitely remind you! I’ll have it inscribed on my memory in gold lettering. With your permission, I’ll even tie a knot to remind myself.’

  And having selected a dry corner of his filthy, tobacco-stained handkerchief, he proceeded to tie a knot in it.

  ‘Yevgraf Larionych, your tea,’ said Praskovya Ilyinichna.

  ‘Thank you, most beautiful lady, or should I say princess, not just lady! My compliments for the tea. On my way here, kind lady, I met Stepan Alekseyich Bakhcheyev! Full of excellent high spirits! Not getting married is he, I thought? Gently does it! Gently does it!’ he whispered, winking and pulling a face as he passed me with his tea. ‘And wheresoever would our principal benefactor be, I wonder — Foma Fomich? Is he not joining us for tea?’

  Uncle started as if he had been stung and cast a timid glance at the General’s Lady.

  ‘Well, actually, I don’t know,’ he replied uneasily in some strange embarrassment. ‘He has been told, but … I don’t rightly know, perhaps he’s indisposed. I did send Vidoplyasov and … maybe I ought to go myself?’

  ‘I did go in to see him just now,’ Yezhevikin remarked, intoning his words mysteriously.

  ‘You did?’ Uncle exclaimed in alarm. ‘Well?’

  ‘I called on him first of all to convey my respects. He said he’d have his tea in private and later added that a crust of dry bread would be enough for him, he did, sir.’

  These words seemed to strike real terror into my uncle.

  ‘You should have explained to him, Yevgraf Larionych, you should have reasoned with him,’ Uncle brought out, looking at the old man with reproach and anguish.

  ‘I did, I did.’

  ‘Well?’

  ‘He didn’t deign to answer me for a long time, seeing as he was engrossed in figures, calculating some mathematical problem, and a deuce of a hard one, if you ask me. He sketched the Pythagoras theorem — saw him with my own eyes. Three times I spoke to him, and only after that did he raise his head as though he’d seen me for the first time. “I shan’t go down, they say there’s a learned man there now, so who am I next to such a luminary?” That’s exactly how he put it, “next to a luminary”.’

  And the old man measured me with a sidelong glance full of mockery.

  ‘Just as I expected!’ Uncle exclaimed, throwing up his arms. ‘Just as I thought! Do you realize it was you, Sergey, he was referring to as the “learned man”? What’s to be done now?’

  ‘To tell you the truth, Uncle,’ I replied, proudly shrugging my shoulders, ‘his refusal to join us for tea is ridiculous, surely it can’t be serious — I am amazed you take it so much to heart …’

  ‘Oh, my dear boy, you don’t know a thing!’ exclaimed my uncle, with a wild gesture of his arm.

  ‘Too late for regrets now,’ Miss Perepelitsyna suddenly chipped in, ‘seeing as all the evil stems from you originally, Yegor Ilyich. No good crying over curls when the head’s chopped off! If only you’d listened to your mother in the first place, there’d be no cause for tears now.’

  ‘Now what have I done wrong, Anna Nilovna? for God’s sake!’ Uncle exclaimed in a pleading voice, as though beseeching her for an explanation.

  ‘I’m a God-fearing person, Yegor Ilyich; but the whole trouble is you’re an egoist, and have no love for your mother,’ Miss Perepelitsyna replied with dignity. ‘Why did you ignore her wishes in the first place? She is your mother, isn’t she? And I’m not one to tell you lies, sir. I’m a Lieutenant-Colonel’s daughter myself, sir, not just anybody.’

  The sole reason for Perepelitsyna’s interjection, it seemed, was to impress her audience, and me as a newcomer in particular, with her illustrious parentage.

  ‘He will insult his own mother,’ the General’s Lady brought out menacingly.

  ‘Mother, be merciful! How have I insulted you?’

  ‘By being an infernal egoist, Yegorushka,’ the old lady continued with mounting ire.

  ‘Mother, Mother! What do you mean, an infernal egoist?’ Uncle exclaimed almost in despair. ‘It’s five days now, five days you’ve been in a rage with me and refused to speak to me. What have I done? What? Let everybody be my judge! At last my side of the story is going to be heard too. I’ve kept quiet for too long, Mother; you’ve refused to listen to me: so let everyone hear me now. Anfisa Petrovna! Pavel Semyonych, dear Pavel Semyonych! Sergey, my boy! You’re a newcomer, a bystander, so to speak, your verdict will be impartial …’

  ‘Calm down, Yegor Ilyich, calm down,’ cried Anfisa Petrovna, ‘You’ll be the death of your mother!’

  ‘She’ll come to no harm, Anfisa Petrovna; but here is my chest — strike!’ Uncle continued, pushed to the limits of his endurance, as often happens with weak-willed people when they are sorely tried, although their passion is as short-lived as the flame of a burning straw. ‘I want it to be known, Anfisa Petrovna, that I’d insult no one, and I’ll begin by saying that Foma is the most honest and honourable of gentlemen, and in addition blessed with the highest of qualities, but … but for all that, he has been unfair to me on this occasion.’

  ‘Hm!’ Obnoskin muttered, as if to needle Uncle still more.

  ‘Pavel Semyonych, my dear, kind Pavel Semyonych! Do you really believe I have such a heart of stone? Of course I see, of course I appreciate, with heart-felt tears, as it were, I appreciate that these misunderstandings result from his burning love for me. But say what you will, he has … by God he has done me an injustice this time. I’ll tell everything. I want to tell the whole of this story now, Anfisa Petrovna, down to the last detail so that everyone can hear how it all began, and then judge for himself if Mother is justified in blaming me for being unfair to Foma. Sergey, you hear me out too,’ he added, turning to me, and he continued to address me throughout the rest of his story, as though afraid of the other listeners, and doubtful of their goodwill, ‘you listen too and decide whether I’m right or not. You see, it all began like this: about a week ago — yes, definitely not more than a week — my former commanding officer, General Rusapetov, happened to be passing through the town with his wife and sister-in-law, and stopped for a while. I was overwhelmed. I was determined not to miss the opportunity, and rushed round to pay my respects and invite them to dinner. He promised he’d try to come. A true gentleman, brimming with virtues, and a man of authority as well! Showered a fortune upon his sister-in-law, arranged a brilliant match for an orphan girl (the young man is a notary in Malinov now, a brilliant fellow with a universal education!) — in short, a general of generals. Naturally there was an almighty stir in the house, a hustle and bustle, cooks everywhere, fricassées and so on. I even booked an orchestra specially for the occasion. I was pleased as Punch, of course, and looked it! But Foma couldn’t bear to see me so pleased. We were at table, I remember; his favourite dish, fruit jelly and cream, was being served — he just sat there without saying a word: suddenly up he jumps: “I’m being insulted!” — “How so, Foma? Who’s insulting you?” — “You’ve set your mind on ignoring me,” he says, “you only have time for generals now; generals are of more concern to you than I am!” Well, of course, I’m cutting a long story short, as it were, it’s only the gist of what he said; but you should have heard the rest … he really cut me to the quick! What was I to do? I was utterly demoralized; shocked and shattered, moping about like a wet cockerel. Well, came the eventful day. A message arrived from the General saying he couldn’t come; he was very sorry, but he just couldn’t come. I dashed to Foma: “Well, Foma, calm yourself! He’s not coming!” You’d think he’d have forgiven me — not a bit of it. “You’ve insulted me, yes you have!” I tried reasoning. “No,” he says, “you go off to your generals, they have more to offer you than I have. You have ruptured,” he says, “the bonds of friendship.” Of course, my boy, I knew why he was furious with me. I’m not a numskull, I’m not an ass, I’m not a nincompoop! Why, it was all because of his devotion to me he was jealous, I suppose — he said as much himself — jealous of the General, afraid of losing my sympathy, so he was putting me to the test, to see what sacrifices I’d be capable of for his sake. “No,” he says, “to you I am the equal of a general, to you I am ‘Your Excellency’! I’ll be reconciled with you when you prove your respect for me.” “How can I prove my respect for you, Foma?” “By addressing me,” he says, “all day long as ‘Your Excellency’: that’s how you’ll prove your respect.” You could have knocked me down with a feather! “It’ll serve you right to get carried away with your generals when there are other people about who are worth more than all your generals.” Well, this is where I could stand it no longer, I admit! I openly admit! “Dear Foma,” I said, “this is quite impossible. How can I take such a thing upon myself? How can I, where is my authority for promoting you to a general? Just think who it is that bestows the rank of general. How could I call you ‘Your Excellency’? To do so would surely be an encroachment upon the highest decrees of Providence! A general is the pride and joy of his country: a general has fought the enemy, he has shed his blood on the field of glory! So how can I possibly call you ‘Your Excellency’?” Would he listen to me? Not at all! “You may ask me to do anything you like, I’ll do it all, Foma,” I said. “You told me to shave off my sideboards, because they’re not patriotic, and I’ve shaved them off — reluctantly, true, but they’re off. And I’ll do anything else you want, only please don’t ask for a general’s rank!” “No,” he says, “there’ll be no reconciliation until I’m addressed as ‘Your Excellency’! It’ll be an edifying exercise in humbling your spirit,” he says. That was a week ago and he’s not spoken to me since; and he’ll fly off at anybody who comes to the house. “So I’m not good enough to be a scholar, then?” I shudder to think what he’ll do when he finds out about Korovkin! I ask you, be my judge, what have I done wrong? Was I really to have called him “Your Excellency”? How could one live with such a thing? And why did he have to chase poor Bakhcheyev from the table today? Admittedly, he didn’t found astronomy; but neither did I, and nor did you, for that matter … So why, why?’