‘Mamma, please!’ Uncle exclaimed in distress. ‘You haven’t heard a word of what I’ve just been saying to you! I can’t bring Foma back — try to understand! I cannot and I must not after his mean and slanderous attack on this angel of love and virtue. Can you not see, Mamma, that I am now in duty bound, that it is a matter of my own honour to see that virtue is redeemed! You heard me: I seek this young lady’s hand and beg you to bless our union.’

  The General’s Lady made another desperate turn and flung herself at Nastenka’s feet.

  ‘My dear, my precious girl!’ she whined, ‘don’t marry him! Don’t marry him, but do persuade him to return my Foma Fomich to me! Nastasya Yevgrafovna, my angel! All I have is yours for the taking, I’ll sacrifice everything for you, if only you don’t marry him. Old woman that I am, I haven’t spent it all yet, I’ve still some little bits and pieces left since my poor husband passed away. It’s all yours, my precious, I’ll give it all to you, and Yegor will give you some too, only don’t put me in my grave before my time is up, plead with him to let me have my Foma Fomich back! …’

  The old woman would have gone on and on had not Perepelitsyna and all the lady companions rushed forward with howls and groans to pick her up, indignant that she should be kneeling in front of an employed governess. Nastenka was swaying on her feet with fright, while Perepelitsyna even burst into tears of anger.

  ‘You’ll be the death of poor Mamma,’ Perepelitsyna shouted at Uncle, ‘You’ll be the death of her, sir! As for you, Nastasya Yevgrafovna, you ought to know better than to sow discord between mother and son; it is an ungodly thing to do …’

  ‘Anna Nilovna, hold your tongue!’ Uncle shouted. ‘I’ve had enough! …’

  ‘And I’ve had enough from you too! Just because I’ve been an orphan doesn’t mean you have to reproach me with it! How long are you going to go on insulting an orphan? I’m not your slave yet, sir! I am a Lieutenant-Colonel’s daughter myself, I’ll have you know! I shan’t stay a minute longer in this house, not a minute — this very day …!’

  But Uncle was not listening; he approached Nastenka and graciously took her hand.

  ‘Nastasya Yevgrafovna, you heard my proposal?’ he said, looking at her with sadness bordering on despair.

  ‘No, Yegor Ilyich, no! Let’s forget about it,’ Nastenka replied, also utterly dispirited. ‘It’s quite hopeless,’ she continued, pressing his hands and unable to hold back a flood of tears. ‘Yesterday was different … but nothing can come of it now, you can see that yourself. We were wrong, Yegor Ilyich … I’ll always remember you as my benefactor and … I shall never, never stop praying for you!’

  Tears prevented her from saying any more. Poor Uncle had apparently anticipated such a reply; he did not even attempt to plead or insist … He listened stooping slightly, still holding her hand, speechless and dejected. Tears welled in his eyes.

  ‘I told you yesterday I couldn’t be your wife,’ Nastenka went on. ‘You can see for yourself: I’m not wanted here … I knew it all along; your mamma will not give us her blessing … nor will other people. You might not have any regrets later yourself, being the noblest of men, but all the same you’d suffer on my account … with your kind heart …’

  ‘Kind heart, the very word! You have a kind heart, sir! You’re right there, Nastenka, you’re right!’ her aged father acquiesced, standing on the other side of her chair. ‘You have used the very word.’

  ‘I’ve no wish to be the cause of discord in your house,’ Nastenka continued. ‘And don’t you worry about me, Yegor Ilyich: nobody is going to harm me, nobody is going to insult me … I’ll go home with Father … today … Let’s just say good-bye, Yegor Ilyich …’

  And poor Nastya again burst into tears.

  ‘Nastasya Yevgrafovna! Is this really your last word?’ Uncle pursued, looking at her in utter despair. ‘Just one word, and I’ll sacrifice everything for you …!’

  ‘She’s said her last word, her last word, Yegor Ilyich, sir,’ Yezhevikin again chimed in. ‘And she has explained herself so well to you — I’d never have expected it, I must say. You’re the kindest person of all, Yegor Ilyich, truly the kindest, and you’ve been gracious enough to do us a great honour! a great honour, a great honour indeed! … All the same, we’re no match for you, Yegor Ilyich. You need a bride, Yegor Ilyich, who is wealthy, well-connected and fabulously beautiful, with a fine voice, who adorns herself with diamonds and ostrich plumes as she moves about your house … Maybe even Foma Fomich would be inspired to make a concession then … and grant his blessing! You really ought to call him back! There was no need to hurt him so, no need at all! He was moved by the best intentions and carried away by zeal … You’ll be the first to admit it — mark my words! A worthier gentleman you never saw! And now getting soaked in the rain! You really ought to fetch him back now … seeing as you’ll be fetching him back sooner or later no matter what happens …’

  ‘Bring him back! bring him back!’ the General’s Lady screeched, ‘he’s telling you the truth, my dearest! …’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ Yezhevikin continued, ‘look how mortified your mamma is — and really no need for it … Bring him back! And while you’re about it, Nastenka and I will be on our way …’

  ‘Wait, Yevgraf Larionych!’ Uncle cried, ‘I beg you! One more word, Yevgraf, just one more word …’

  With this he withdrew into a corner, sat down on a chair and remained seated, his head hung low, shielding his eyes with his hands as if in deep thought.

  At this moment a deafening clap of thunder resounded almost overhead and fairly rocked the whole house. First the General’s Lady let out a cry, and then Perepelitsyna, while the lady companions, and with them Mr Bakhcheyev, all scared out of their wits, repeatedly made the sign of the cross.

  ‘The prophet Ilya have mercy upon us!’ five or six voices whispered together.

  The thunder was immediately followed by such a downpour of rain as though a whole lake had been tipped over the village of Stepanchikovo.

  ‘Foma Fomich, what will become of him out in the open,’ Perepelitsyna screeched.

  ‘Yegor, my darling, bring him back!’ the General’s Lady wailed in despair and, like a woman demented, hurled herself towards the door. She was held back by her ever faithful companions, who clamoured around her, in turn snivelling, whimpering and attempting to comfort her. The pandemonium was terrible.

  ‘All he had on was his dressing-jacket — not even a coat on him!’ Perepelitsyna continued. ‘And no umbrella either. He’ll be struck dead by lightning, that’s for sure!’

  ‘He’ll certainly be killed!’ Bakhcheyev agreed, ‘and soaked to the skin afterwards.’

  ‘Don’t you start!’ I whispered to him.

  ‘But he’s human, isn’t he?’ Bakhcheyev retorted angrily. ‘He’s not a dog! You wouldn’t go out in this! Go and take a plunge if you think it’s such great fun!’

  Foreseeing and dreading the outcome, I approached Uncle, who was still sitting in his chair as if paralysed.

  ‘Uncle,’ I said, bending down to his ear, ‘you can’t be thinking of having Foma Fomich back in the house? Can’t you see it’ll be the height of impropriety, at least while Nastasya Yevgrafovna is here?’

  ‘My dear boy,’ Uncle replied, raising his head and looking me straight in the eyes with a gaze of resolution, ‘I’ve been considering my position, and I know what to do next! Don’t worry, Nastenka shan’t be offended — I’ll see to it …’

  He rose from his chair and went up to his mother.

  ‘Mamma!’ he said, ‘calm yourself: I’ll bring Foma Fomich back, I’ll catch up with him: he couldn’t have got far. But I swear, he’ll come back on one condition only: that he confesses his guilt, publicly, in front of all the witnesses here present, and solemnly asks this most noble young lady’s forgiveness. I’ll have it my way this time! I’ll make him! Or he will not cross the threshold of this house! I’ll solemnly promise one more thing to you, Mamma: if he agrees to do this voluntarily, I’ll be ready to fall at his feet and give him everything, everything that I can afford to give without depriving my children! As for me, I shall withdraw from everything from now on. My race is run, my star has set! I’m leaving Stepanchikovo. I wish you all peace and happiness here. I’m off to join my regiment — I shall live out my desperate lot in clash of arms and storm of battle … Enough! I must away.’

  At this moment the door opened and Gavrila appeared, dripping wet and covered in mud from head to toe, to add to the consternation of the company.

  ‘What’s the matter? Where have you come from? Where’s Foma?’ Uncle cried, rushing up to Gavrila. The others surrounded Gavrila with avid curiosity, as literally streams of muddy water poured off his clothes. Oohs and ahs of disbelief followed every word he spoke.

  ‘I left him by the beech grove about a verst and a half from here,’ the old man began in a mournful voice. ‘The horse bolted into the ditch from the lightning.’

  ‘Well …’ Uncle exclaimed.

  ‘The cart overturned …’

  ‘What about Foma?’

  ‘He fell into the ditch.’

  ‘Go on, finish the story!’

  ‘He hurt his ribs and he cried. I took the horse out of harness and rode back here to tell you.’

  ‘Did Foma stay behind then?’

  ‘He picked himself up and limped away on a stick,’ Gavrila concluded, sighing deeply and hanging his head.

  The weeping and sobbing of the womenfolk beggared all description.

  ‘My horse!’ Uncle cried and dashed out of the room. Uncle’s horse was brought to the door; he mounted it bareback, and a moment later the sound of horse’s hooves proclaimed the chase for Foma Fomich. Uncle had galloped off without even stopping to put on his hat.

  The ladies crowded round the windows. Amongst the gasps and groans were some practical suggestions. There was talk of preparing a hot bath at once, of giving Foma Fomich a rubbing-down with surgical spirit followed by some herbal tea; it was remarked that he had not touched a crust of bread all day long and was now on an empty stomach. Miss Perepelitsyna suddenly produced his spectacles in their case, which he had left behind. This find had an extraordinary effect: the General’s Lady seized the spectacle-case, weeping and wailing, pressed it to her bosom, and turned back to the window to keep a look-out on the road. By now the tension in the room was at breaking-point … In one corner Sashenka was comforting Nastenka; the two friends had their arms clasped round each other, and both were in tears. Nastenka held on to Ilyusha’s hand and repeatedly kissed her pupil good-bye. Ilyusha too was sobbing, without knowing why. Yezhevikin and Mizinchikov were discussing something in a corner. I had the impression that Bakhcheyev too was about to start snivelling as he looked at the girls. I went up to him.

  ‘No, my friend,’ he said to me, ‘Foma Fomich may leave this house one day, but the hour has not yet come: not until we provide him with gold-horned bulls for his chariot! Rest assured, my friend, he’ll have his hosts out in the end and take the house over himself.’

  The storm was over, and Mr Bakhcheyev had apparently undergone a change in his convictions.

  Suddenly the cry went up: ‘They’re here! They’re here!’ and all the ladies rushed shrieking to the door. Barely ten minutes had elapsed since Uncle’s departure, and it seemed impossible that Foma Fomich could have been brought back in so short a time. But the mystery was soon cleared up: after taking leave of Gavrila, Foma Fomich had indeed ‘limped away on a stick’; but finding himself completely alone amid crashing thunder and pouring rain, had become simply terrified and turned back at once for Stepanchikovo, following Gavrila. Uncle had picked him up when he had reached the village. They had halted a passing farm cart, and Foma Fomich, by now much subdued, was helped into it by villagers who had arrived on the scene. Thus he was restored to the welcoming arms of the General’s Lady, who all but went out of her mind when she beheld the state he was in. He was even muddier and more drenched than Gavrila. A terrible commotion ensued: some were for dragging him upstairs immediately to change his underclothes; others advocated elderberry syrup and similar bracing remedies; everybody was talking at once and running about in panic without sense or purpose … But Foma Fomich seemed totally oblivious of what was going on around him. He was led into the room supported under both arms. As soon as he reached his chair, he slumped into it and shut his eyes. Somebody called out that he was dying: this was greeted by agonized screams; but it was Falaley who screamed the loudest of all as he desperately attempted to break through the female cordon to plant a kiss on Foma’s hand …

  5

  Foma Fomich Creates Universal Happiness

  ‘Where am i?’ Foma Fomich uttered at last, in the voice of a man dying in the cause of truth.

  ‘He makes me sick!’ Mizinchikov whispered, standing next to me. ‘As though he couldn’t see for himself. There’ll be no end to his play-acting now!’

  ‘You’re at home, Foma, with friends!’ Uncle exclaimed. ‘Calm yourself and cheer up! And you ought to change that suit of yours, Foma, or you’ll catch a chill … I say, what about a drink, eh? A glass of something to warm you up …’

  ‘I could drink some malaga now,’ groaned Foma Fomich, and closed his eyes again.

  ‘Malaga! I don’t suppose we’ve got any!’ Uncle said, looking anxiously at Praskovya Ilyinichna.

  ‘Yes we have!’ Praskovya Ilyinichna hastened to reply. ‘Four bottles — untouched,’ and jingling her bundle of keys, she immediately scurried off to fetch the malaga, accompanied by anxious exclamations on the part of all the women, who buzzed around Foma like bees about a honey-pot. But Mr Bakhcheyev was in a state of the utmost indignation.

  ‘He wants malaga, does he?’ he growled, hardly bothering to lower his voice. ‘A wine nobody ever drinks! Now who but a rogue like him would drink malaga! Bah, confound you all! Why am I still here! What am I waiting for here?’

  ‘Foma!’ Uncle began, stumbling over every word, ‘now that … you’ve had a rest and are back with us … that is, I meant to say, Foma, I quite understand that just now, having so to speak accused the most innocent creature —’

  ‘Where, o where is my innocence?’ Foma rejoined, as though in feverish delirium. ‘Where be yon halcyon days? Thou precious childhood, when I skipped about the fields, innocent and splendid, in pursuit of the spring butterfly? Where, where be yon days? Give me back my innocence, give it back to me!’

  And spreading out his arms, Foma turned to each person in turn as though his innocence were hidden in somebody’s pocket. Bakhcheyev was beside himself with rage.

  ‘What will he ask for next!’ he growled furiously. ‘Bring him his innocence indeed! Does he want to kiss it or something? He must have been the rogue he is now even as a child! I swear he was!’

  ‘Foma!’ Uncle began again.

  ‘Where, where be those days when I still believed in love and loved all humankind?’ Foma shouted at the top of his voice, ‘when I would embrace my fellow man and weep on his bosom? And now — where am I? Where am I?’

  ‘Amongst friends, Foma, calm yourself!’ Uncle called out. ‘I wanted to tell you something, Foma …’

  ‘I do wish you’d keep quiet,’ Perepelitsyna hissed, flashing her reptilian eyes.

  ‘Where am I?’ continued Foma Fomich. ‘Who are these people? Bulls and buffaloes pointing their horns at me! Life, what art thou? Does a man live on and on, in the end only to be disgraced, demeaned, humbled, beaten, and when he’s dead and buried under the sod, will people only then come to their senses and crush his poor remains under a monument?’

  ‘Holy fire, he begins to speak of monuments!’ Yezhevikin whispered, throwing up his arms.

  ‘Erect no monument for me!’ Foma shouted, ‘erect none for me! I need no monuments of stone! Set me up a monument in your hearts, and nothing more, nothing, nothing!’

  ‘Foma!’ Uncle interrupted, ‘That’s enough! Calm yourself! No need to talk of monuments. Just listen … You see, Foma, I appreciate, you may well have been fired by noble sentiments when you reproached me just now; but I must tell you, Foma, you got carried away — you overstepped the bounds of propriety — I assure you, you were in the wrong, Foma …’

  ‘Will you never stop?’ Perepelitsyna screeched again. ‘Do you want to kill the poor man or something, just because he’s in your power? …’

  Following Perepelitsyna’s example, the General’s Lady herself was stirred to action, and her entourage with her; in no time at all they were all waving their hands at Uncle and bidding him to be silent.

  ‘Anna Nilovna, be quiet yourself, I know exactly what I am talking about!’ Uncle replied firmly. ‘This is a sacred matter! A matter of honour and justice! Foma, you’re a man of sense, you offended a virtuous young lady and you must beg her pardon at once!’

  ‘Whose pardon? What young lady have I offended?’ said Foma Fomich, looking about him in bewilderment as though he had completely forgotten everything that had happened and had no idea what Uncle meant.

  ‘Yes, Foma, if only you will agree of your own free will to make a noble admission of your guilt, upon my soul, Foma, I’ll throw myself at your feet, and then …’

  ‘Whom have I offended?’ Foma Fomich wailed. ‘What young lady? Where is she? Where is this lady? Remind me of this young lady!’

  At this moment Nastenka, frightened and embarrassed, approached Yegor Ilyich and tugged him by the sleeve.

  ‘Yegor Ilyich, leave him alone!’ she pleaded, ‘there’s no need for apologies! What’s the point? Leave him!’

  ‘Ah! Now I begin to remember!’ exclaimed Foma Fomich. ‘My God! I remember! Oh help me, help me to remember!’ he pleaded in supreme agitation. ‘Tell me: is it true I was driven out of here like the mangiest of dogs? Is it true I’ve been struck by lightning? Is it true someone threw me down a flight of steps? Is it all true, is it really all true?’