11

  Bewilderment

  ‘Uncle!’ I said, ‘there you are at last!’

  ‘My boy, I’ve been dying to see you myself. Just let me finish with Vidoplyasov — and then we’ll talk our hearts out. I’ve got a lot of things to tell you.’

  ‘What! Not Vidoplyasov again! Leave him be, Uncle!’

  ‘Give me five or ten minutes more, Sergey, and then I’ll be at your disposal. I really am busy.’

  ‘He’s probably just fooling about,’ I said, disappointed …

  ‘Well, what do you want me to say to you, my friend? Some people just will not learn! Really, my good Grigory, you couldn’t have picked a worse time for your complaints! Well, what can I do for you? Have pity on me, you of all people. You’ve all done for me — eaten me alive and whole! I’m at the end of my tether, Sergey!’

  And Uncle waved both his arms in the extremities of distress.

  ‘Well, what’s so important that it can’t wait? I have an important matter myself, Uncle …’

  ‘My dear boy, I’m forever being blamed for neglecting my servants’ morals! What if he complains tomorrow that I’ve not even bothered to hear him out? …’

  And Uncle waved his arm again.

  ‘All right, try and get it over quickly! And let me help you. Why don’t we go inside? … What’s the matter with him? What’s he up to?’ I asked as we went indoors.

  ‘Well, you see, my boy, he’s taken a dislike to his own surname and he wants to change it. What do you make of that?’

  ‘Surname? How so …? Uncle,’ I said, my arms spread in consternation, ‘before I listen to him — let me tell you that your house must be the only one where such goings-on are possible.’

  ‘That’s all very well, my boy,’ Uncle remarked sadly, ‘I can wave my arms too, but what’s the use! You just try and talk to him yourself. He’s been at me for the last two months …’

  ‘It’s an unbecoming surname!’ declared Vidoplyasov.

  ‘Why unbecoming?’ I inquired with surprise.

  ‘Well, it is. It’s vulgar and base.’

  ‘Why base? Anyway, how do you propose to change it? Whoever heard of such a thing?’

  ‘And whoever heard of such a surname?’

  ‘I do agree that your surname is a trifle unusual,’ I continued, still unable to overcome my astonishment, ‘but what can you do now? After all, your father rejoiced in the same name.’

  ‘That’s the scandal of it all,’ Vidoplyasov replied, ‘that I should suffer eternally because of my father, and have to endure insults and gibes on account of my name.’

  ‘I’ll wager a bet that Foma is behind all this, Uncle!’ I exclaimed bitterly.

  ‘No, no, my boy; you’re mistaken. True, Foma does favour him. He’s made him his secretary and absolved him from all other obligations. Well, naturally this has had an edifying effect upon him, it has spiritually renewed him and, in a sense, opened his eyes … You see, there’s so much to tell you …’

  ‘Just so!’ Vidoplyasov interrupted. ‘Foma Fomich is my true benefactor, and being my true benefactor he has inculcated in me the knowledge of my own insignificance, puny worm that I am, and a vision of my own destiny has for the first time been revealed to me through him.’

  ‘There you are, Sergey, there — you see how it is?’ Uncle continued, his words falling over each other as usual. ‘First he lived in Moscow, from childhood more or less, working for a teacher of calligraphy. You should see how he learned to write there: coloured and gold letters with cupids all round — a real artist, I tell you! Now he’s teaching Ilyusha — he’s charging me one-and-a-half rubles. He visits three other neighbouring landowners and they pay up too. See how he dresses! And he writes poetry too.’

  ‘Poetry! That’s all we need.’

  ‘Poetry, my boy, poetry, and I’m not joking either, true poetry, real versification on any subject you like — you name it, he’ll rhyme it. A deuce of a talent! Take the huge poem he delivered on Mother’s name-day. Left us all speechless: full of mythology and Muses on the wing, so lifelike you could almost see their … dash it, what was it again? — rotundity of form … and all in strict and regular metre. With Foma’s help, you understand. Well, of course, I had no objection. On the contrary, I’m glad, as long as it keeps him out of mischief. I’m now speaking to you as your father, my dear Grigory. Anyway, Foma has been giving him every encouragement and has engaged him as his reader and copyist — in short, educated him. He’s every reason to be grateful. Hence his refined romantic notions and feeling of independence — Foma explained it all to me. Yes, I quite forgot, I was planning to grant him his freedom anyway. After all, one can’t help feeling it’s wrong somehow … But Foma talked me out of it as he needs Grigory’s services and he’s very fond of him; and besides, he said to me: “It’s a matter of pride that a landowner like me should keep a versifier among his serfs” — some baron he knows keeps one too. “That really is living en grand,” he said. Well, if he wants to live en grand, let him! I’ve developed a respect for him myself, do you see? … Only, my God, the way he behaves now. The worst of it is that he’s turned into a perfect snob because of his poetry — he won’t even speak to the rest of them. No offence, Grigory, I’m only speaking to you as your father. Last winter he promised he would get married: there’s an excellent girl here, Matryona, one of the serfs, you know, very sweet, industrious, honest and lively. Now he just won’t have her: it’s no and no again, point blank. I wonder if it’s all gone to his head, or perhaps he wants to see himself famous first and then look around for a better match …’

  ‘It’s more on advice from Foma Fomich,’ Vidoplyasov interposed, ‘he, as my true benefactor …’

  ‘Yes indeed, is anything ever possible without Foma Fomich!’ I couldn’t help myself exclaiming.

  ‘No, my boy, that’s not the point!’ Uncle interrupted hastily. ‘You see, he’s in a bad way now. The girl is a high-spirited and mischievous thing, she has set everybody against him: wherever he turns he gets laughed and jeered at, even the village children make a fool of him …’

  ‘And it’s Matryona that’s to blame,’ Vidoplyasov remarked. ‘She really is a stupid, silly girl, that Matryona — she’s a woman of unruly temperament — it’s because of her I have to endure a life of insults.’

  ‘My dear Grigory, when will you learn?’ Uncle said, glancing reproachfully at Vidoplyasov. ‘You see, Sergey, they made up a couple of disgusting lines to rhyme with his surname and now he’s complaining and begging me to have it changed; he says he’s never been really happy with the way it sounds.’

  ‘Yes, it is a graceless name,’ Vidoplyasov put in.

  ‘Keep quiet, Grigory! Foma has given his approval … well, he hasn’t exactly approved, but you see, there is this to remember: if the verses do go into print, as Foma plans, then a name like his might turn out a handicap — don’t you think?’

  ‘So, Uncle, he wants to publish his poems, does he?’

  ‘Yes, quite, my boy. It’s all been settled — I’m paying for it. On the title-page it will say: “The bonded serf of **” and there will be an introduction with the author’s acknowledgement to Foma for providing his education. The book will be dedicated to Foma, and Foma himself will write the introduction. Now just imagine if, after all this, the work is called Vidoplyasov’s Compositions …’

  ‘Vidoplyasov’s Laments, sir,’ Vidoplyasov corrected.

  ‘Well, there you are, it’s Laments now! Anyway, how can the author be called Vidoplyasov? It’s an offence to the finer feelings; that’s what Foma says too. Then again, you’ve got to consider the critics — what a merciless lot they can be: Brambeus, for instance … They’ll stop at nothing! Any excuse for tearing an author to pieces, even his name! They’ll give you such a going-over, you’ll be smarting for evermore — that’s true, isn’t it? So I said: look here, as far as I’m concerned, you can put any name you like to the verses — a pseudonym, that’s what they call it, isn’t it? Some nym anyway. Oh no, he says, I want you to see that everybody in the house calls me by my new name, and it should be refined, as befits my talent …’

  ‘And I bet you agreed, Uncle?’

  ‘My dear Seryozha, anything for a quiet life; let him! I had my hands full with Foma at the time. And then it started: every week he used to come up with a new version; very genteel, some of them: Oleandrov, Tulpanov … Just think, Grigory, first you wanted to be called simply “The Faithful” — “Grigory the Faithful”; then you wanted it changed, because some damned fool turned it into “Disgraceful”. You complained — the culprit was punished. You spent the next two weeks looking for a new surname — think how many you tried! finally you settled upon “Ulanov”. Now tell me, my friend, what could be more ridiculous than Ulanov? But I didn’t object: I put in a second order for your surname to be changed to “Ulanov”. I assure you, my boy,’ Uncle added, turning to me, ‘just to get him off my back. For three days you walked around as “Ulanov”. You made a mess of every wall and window-sill in the summer-house with pencil scrawls of your new signature “Ulanov”. Do you know, the summer-house was in such a state it had to be repainted. You ruined reams of best parchment paper with “Ulanov, sample signature”, “Ulanov, sample signature”. Finally, disaster again — somebody added: “Silly old Bolvanov”. You didn’t like it — another change of surname! What did you choose next, I forget now?’

  ‘Tantsev,’ Vidoplyasov replied. ‘If I am to present myself as a dancer through my name, let it have a refined, foreign-sounding flavour, Tantsev.’

  ‘That’s right, Tantsev. I gave in yet again, my dear Sergey. Only this time they rhymed it with something I daren’t repeat. So he’s back today with something new again. I bet you anything, he’s got another surname ready. Have you or have you not? I want the truth, Grigory!’

  ‘Yes — I’ve been wanting to lay my refined name before you for a long time.’

  ‘What is it?’

  ‘Essbouquetov.’

  ‘Shame on you, shame on you, Grigory! Straight off a powder box! And you call yourself a sensible fellow! Why couldn’t you have given it a bit of thought! It’s a name you see on a bottle of perfume.’

  ‘Uncle, please,’ I said in a half-whisper, ‘he’s just a fool, a half-wit!’

  ‘Can’t be helped, my boy!’ Uncle replied, also in a whisper. ‘Everybody thinks he’s clever and that it’s his noble qualities at work …’

  ‘Get rid of him, for heaven’s sake!’

  ‘Listen, Grigory! — you see I’m busy, have a heart, my friend!’ Uncle began plaintively, as if Vidoplyasov too was somebody to be afraid of. ‘You’ve got to understand, I can’t deal with your troubles now! You say you’ve been insulted again? Very well: I give you my word — I’ll go into it all tomorrow, but be off with you now … Wait! How is Foma Fomich?’

  ‘He’s retired to rest. If anyone inquires, I’m to say he’ll be a prayer long into the night.’

  ‘Hm! Well, off you go now, off you go, my friend! You see, Seryozha, he and Foma are inseparable now, so I’m wary of him. The servants aren’t fond of him either because he reports everything back to Foma. He’s gone now, but who knows what he’ll come up with tomorrow! You see, my boy, I’ve just managed to get everything settled, so it’s a weight off my chest … I was in such a hurry to see you. At last we’re together again!’ He shook my hand with feeling. ‘You know, I thought you’d be mad with anger and give me the slip. I even had someone keep an eye on you. Everything’s fine now, thank God! What did you think of Gavrila’s little act though, eh? And then Falaley, then you — one thing after another! Anyway, thank God, thank God! Now I can talk to you to my heart’s content. Sergey, you mustn’t leave me: you’re all I’ve got now, you and Korovkin …’

  ‘Just a minute, Uncle, what is it that you’ve managed to settle? And by the way — what’s the point of my staying here after what’s happened? My head’s reeling!’

  ‘And you suppose mine isn’t? It’s been whirling in a waltz for the last six months if you want to know! But, thank God, everything has been settled now. First, I’ve been granted pardon, full pardon, with some conditions attached, of course; but at least I’m not afraid of anything any more. Sasha has also been pardoned. Sashenka, Sashenka, bless her heart! … She got carried away a little this afternoon, but her heart’s in the right place! I’m proud of this girl of mine, Seryozha! May the Good Lord bless and protect her always! You’ve been pardoned too — and you know how generously? You are free to do anything you wish, you may enter any of the rooms and go into the garden, even when there are guests — in short, you are free to do whatever you please; but on one condition only, that tomorrow you keep perfectly quiet in front of Foma and Mamma — this is an indispensable condition, not a syllable, understand? I’ve promised already that you will — just listen to what your elders and betters … I mean what the others have to say! They say you’re very young still. Don’t be cross, Sergey; you really are young, you know … Anna Nilovna said so too …’

  Of course I was very young, and immediately gave proof of it by flying into a rage at such humiliating conditions.

  ‘Listen, Uncle,’ I shouted, fairly choking with anger, ‘just tell me one thing to put my mind at rest: have I wandered into a madhouse or have I not?’

  ‘Now, now, my boy, what an impulsive fellow you are! Pull yourself together, my boy,’ Uncle replied, visibly distressed. ‘Who said anything about a madhouse? You lost your temper as much as he did. You must admit you went rather too far. My, how you tore into him — a man of his years commands respect.’

  ‘A man like him commands no respect, whatever his age, Uncle!’

  ‘Well, that’s really too much, my boy! That’s free-thinking! I’m all for rational free-thinking, but not if it goes to such lengths, I mean, you really do surprise me, Sergey.’

  ‘Don’t be angry, Uncle. I’m in the wrong, but only as far as you’re concerned. As for your Foma …’

  ‘There you go again, why your? My dear Sergey, don’t judge him too harshly: he’s a misanthrope, that’s all, sick at heart! You can’t ask too much of him. He’s a noble man, the noblest alive, there’s no getting away from it! You’ve just seen him yourself — wasn’t he magnificent? As for his little tantrums, they’re not worth talking about. It happens to all of us!’

  ‘But, Uncle, on the contrary, who does it happen to?’

  ‘There you go again! You haven’t any compassion, Seryozha; you don’t know what it is to forgive! …’

  ‘All right, Uncle, all right! Let’s not talk about it any more. Tell me, have you seen Nastasya Yevgrafovna?’

  ‘My boy, she’s the cause of it all. Look here, Seryozha, first things first: we’ve all decided to wish him many happy returns tomorrow on his birthday, Foma I mean, because it really is his birthday tomorrow. Sashenka’s a fine girl, but she’s wrong. Anyway, we’re all going together in a congregation, nice and early, before mass. Ilyusha’s going to read him some poems, which will please him no end — flattery’s the best policy. Seryozha, if only you too would join us in congratulating him! He would probably forgive you altogether! Wouldn’t it be marvellous if you made it up with him! Stop feeling sorry for yourself! You know you wronged him too … He’s the worthiest of men!’

  ‘Uncle! Uncle!’ I exclaimed, my patience exhausted. ‘I want to discuss something serious, while you … Do you know — I repeat, do you know what Nastasya Yevgrafovna is having to endure?’

  ‘Hush, my boy, hush! Don’t shout! Why do you think all the trouble started just now? I mean, it really started long ago, but I kept it from you so as not to upset you too much. They were planning to turn her out of the house and insisted that I should be the one to do it. Can you imagine my position … Well, thank God, everything’s been settled now. You see, they thought — I might as well be perfectly frank with you — that I was in love with her and wanted to marry her myself; in short, that I was set to bring about my own downfall — because it really would have been my downfall; they explained it all to me … so in order to save me, they decided to turn her out. It’s all Mamma’s idea, but Anna Nilovna’s most of all. Foma hasn’t said anything yet. But I’ve managed to put their minds at rest, and you might as well know, I’ve announced that you’re already engaged to Nastenka, and that’s why I asked you to come. Well, this eased their minds somewhat, and she can stay on now, not permanently but for a trial period, anyway, she’s staying. You rose in their estimation too when I announced your engagement. Mamma at all events seemed to calm down. The only one who keeps grumbling is Anna Nilovna! I wish I could think of some way of humouring her. What on earth can she want, this Anna Nilovna of ours!’

  ‘Uncle, how you deceive yourself! Don’t you realize that Nastasya Yevgrafovna is leaving tomorrow, if she hasn’t left already? Don’t you realize her father has come today for the express purpose of taking her away, that everything has been decided and that she personally told him about it all today and asked me to say good-bye to you for her? Do you or don’t you realize all this?’

  Uncle stared at me open-mouthed. It seemed to me he shuddered and let out an involuntary groan.

  I wasted no time in recounting to him the whole of my conversation with Nastenka: my proposal, her outright rejection, her indignation that he should have sent for me by letter; I explained that by departing now she was hoping to save him from marriage to Tatyana Ivanovna — in short, I concealed nothing and even took extra care to exaggerate the unpleasant aspects of events. My aim was to shock Uncle so as to compel him to take a firm stand — and I certainly succeeded in shocking him. He uttered a cry and buried his head in his hands.

  ‘Where is she, do you know? Where is she now?’ he said at last, pale with fright. ‘What a fool I am,’ he added in despair, ‘relaxing and imagining everything had been settled.’