Читать книгу The Complete Novels of Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Страница 108

Table of Contents

I MUST own I was actually a little daunted. My romantic dreams suddenly seemed to me extremely queer, even rather stupid as soon as I reached Stepantchikovo. That was about five o’clock in the afternoon. The road ran by the manor house. I saw again after long absence the immense garden in which some happy days of my childhood had been passed, and which I had often seen afterwards in my dreams, in the dormi-

tones of the various schools which undertook my education. I jumped out of the carriage and walked across the garden to the hause. I very much wanted to arrive unannounced, to inquire for my uncle, to fetch him out and to talk to him first of all. And so I did. Passing down the avenue of lime trees hundreds of years old, I went up on to the veranda, from which one passed by a glass door into the inner rooms. The veranda was surrounded by flower-beds and adorned with pots of expensive flowers. Here I met one of the natives, old Gavrila, who had at one time looked after me and was now the honoured valet of my uncle. The old fellow was wearing spectacles, and was holding in his hand a manuscript book which he was reading with great attention. I had seen him three years before in Petersburg, where he had come with my uncle, and so he recognised me at once. With exclamations of joy he fell to kissing my hand, and as he did so the spectacles fell off his nose on to the floor. Such devotion on the part of the old man touched me very much. But disturbed by my recent conversation with Mr. Bahtcheyev, I looked first at the suspicious manuscript book which had been in Gavrila’s hands.

“What’s this, Gavrila? Surely they have not begun teaching you French too?” I asked the old man.

“They are teaching me in my old age, like a starling, sir,” Gavrila answered mournfully.

“Does Foma himself teach you?”

“Yes, sir; a very clever man he must be.”

“Not a doubt that he is clever! Does he teach you by conversations?”

“By a copybook, sir.”

“Is that what you have in your hands? Ah! French words in Russian letters, a sharp dodge! You give in to such a blockhead, such an arrant fool, aren’t you ashamed, Gavrila?” I cried, instantly forgetting my lofty theories about Foma Fomitch for which I had caught it so hotly from Mr. Bahtcheyev.

“How can he be a fool, sir?” answered the old man, “if he manages our betters as he does.”

“H’m, perhaps you are right, Gavrila,” I muttered, pulled up by this remark. “Take me to my uncle.”

“My falcon! But I can’t show myself, I dare not, I have begun to be afraid even of him. I sit here in my misery and step behind the flower-beds when he is pleased to come out.”

“But why are you afraid?”

“I didn’t know my lesson this morning, Foma Fomitch made me go down on my knees, but I didn’t stay on my knees. I am too old, Sergey Alexandrovitch, for them to play such tricks with me. The master was pleased to be vexed at my disobeying Foma Fomitch, ‘he takes trouble about your education, old greybeard,’ said he; ‘he wants to teach you the pronunciation.’ So here I am walking to and fro repeating the vocabulary. Foma Fomitch promised to examine me again this evening.”

It seemed to me that there was something obscure about this.

“There must be something connected with French,” I thought, “which the old man cannot explain.”

“One question, Gavrila: what sort of man is he? Good-looking, tall?”

“Foma Fomitch? No, sir, he’s an ugly little scrub of a man.”

“H’m! Wait a bit, Gavrila, perhaps it can be all set right; in fact I can promise you it certainly will be set right. But … where is my uncle?”

“He is behind the stables seeing some peasants. The old men have come from Kapitonovko to pay their respects to him. They had heard that they were being made over to Foma Fomitch. They want to beg not to be.”

“But why behind the stables?”

“They are frightened, sir. …”

I did, in fact, find my uncle behind the stables. There he was, standing before a group of peasants who were bowing down to the ground and earnestly entreating him. Uncle was explaining something to them with warmth. I went up and called to him. He turned round and we rushed into each other’s arms.

He was extremely glad to see me; his delight was almost ecstatic. He hugged me, pressed my hands, as though his own son had returned to him after escaping some mortal danger, as though by my arrival I had rescued him from some mortal danger and brought with me the solution of all his perplexities, as well as joy and lifelong happiness for him and all whom he loved. Uncle would not have consented to be happy alone. After the first outburst of delight, he got into such a fuss that at last he was quite flustered and bewildered. He showered questions upon me, wanted to take me at once to see his family. We were just going, but my uncle turned back, wishing to present me first to the peasants of Kapitonovko. Then, I remember, he suddenly began talking, apropos of I don’t know what, of some Mr. Korovkin, a remarkable man whom he had met three days before, on the high road, and whom he was very impatiently expecting to pay him a visit. Then he dropped Mr. Korovkin too and spoke of something else. I looked at him with enjoyment. Answering his hurried questions, I told him that I did not want to go into the service, but to continue my studies. As soon as the subject of study was broached, my uncle at once knitted his brows and assumed an extraordinarily solemn air. Learning that of late I had been engaged on mineralogy, he raised his head and looked about him proudly, as though he had himself, alone and unaided, discovered the whole of that science and written all that was published about it. I have mentioned already that he cherished the most disinterested reverence for the word “science”, the more disinterested that he himself had no scientific knowledge whatever.

“Ah, my boy, there are people in the world who know everything,” he said to me once, his eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “One sits among them, listens, and one knows one understands nothing of it all, and yet one loves it. And why? Because it is in the cause of reform, of enlightenment, of the general welfare! That I do understand. Here I now travel by train, and my Ilyusha, perhaps, may fly through the air… . And then trade, manufactures — those channels, so to say … that is, I mean, turn it which way you will, it’s of service… . It is of service, isn’t it?”

But to return to our meeting.

“But wait a bit, wait a bit, my dear,” lie began, speaking rapidly and rubbing his hands, “you will see a man! A rare man, I tell you, a learned man, a man of science; ‘he will survive his century.’ It’s a good saying, isn’t it, ‘will survive his century’? Foma explained it to me… . Wait a little, I will introduce you to him.”

“Are you speaking of Foma Fomitch, uncle?”

“No, no, my dear, I was speaking of Korovkin, though Foma too, he too … but I am simply talking of Korovkin just now,” he added, for some unknown reason turning crimson, and seeming embarrassed as soon as Foma’s name was mentioned.

“What sciences is he studying, uncle?”

“Science, my boy, science, science in general. I can’t tell you which exactly, I only know that it is science. How he speaks about railways! And, you know,” my uncle added in a half whisper, screwing up his right eye significantly, “just a little of the freethinker. I noticed it, especially when he was speaking of marriage and the family … it’s a pity I did not understand much of it myself (there was no time), I would have told you all about it in detail. And he is a man of the noblest qualities, too! I have invited him to visit me. I am expecting him from hour to hour.”

Meanwhile the peasants were gazing at me with round eyes and open mouths as though at some marvel.

“Listen, uncle,” I interrupted him; “I believe I am hindering the peasants. No doubt they have come about something urgent. What do they want? I must own I suspect something, and I should be very glad to hear. …”

Uncle suddenly seemed nervous and flustered.

“Oh, yes! I had forgotten. Here, you see … what is one to do with them? They have got a notion — and I should very much like to know who first started it — they have got a notion, that I am giving them away together with the whole of Kapitonovko — do you remember Kapitonovko? We used to drive out there in the evenings with dear Katya — the whole of Kapitonovko with the sixty-eight souls in it to Foma Fomitch. ‘Wo don’t want to leave you,’ they say, and that is all about it.”

“So it is not true, uncle, you are not giving him Kapitonovko,” I cried, almost rapturously.

“I never thought of it, it never entered my head! And from whom did you hear it? Once one drops a word, it is all over the place, And why do they so dislike Foma? Wait a little, Sergey, I will introduce you to him,” he added, glancing at me timidly, as though he were aware in me, too, of hostility towards Foma Fomitch. “He is a wonderful man, my boy.”

“We want no one but you, no one!” the peasants suddenly wailed in chorus. “You are our father, we are your children!”

“Listen, uncle,” I said. “I have not seen Foma Fomitch yet, but … you see … I have heard something. I must confess that I met Mr. Bahtcheyev to-day. However, I have my own idea on that subject. Anyway, uncle, finish with the peasants and let them go, and let us talk by ourselves without witnesses. I must own, that’s what I have come for. …”

“To be sure, to be sure,” my uncle assented; “to be sure. We’ll dismiss the peasants and then we can have a talk, you know, a friendly, affectionate, thorough talk. Come,” he went on, speaking rapidly and addressing the peasants, “you can go now, my friends. And for the future come to me whenever there is need; straight to me, and come at any time.”

“You are our father, we are your children! Do not give us to Foma Fomitch for our undoing! All we, poor people, are beseeching you!” the peasants shouted once more.

“See what fools! But I am not giving you away, I tell you.”

“Or he’ll never leave off teaching us, your honour. He does nothing but teach the fellows here, so they say.”

“Why, you don’t mean to say he is teaching you French?” I cried, almost in alarm.

“No, sir, so far God has had mercy on us!” answered one of the peasants, probably a great talker, a red-haired man with a huge bald patch on the back of his head, with a long, scanty, wedge-shaped beard, which moved as he talked as though it were a separate individual. “No, sir, so far God has had mercy on us.”

“But what does he teach you?”

“Well, your honour, what he teaches us, in a manner of speaking, is buying a gold casket to keep a brass farthing in.”

“How do you mean, a brass farthing?”

“Seryozha, you are mistaken, it’s a slander!” cried my uncle, turning crimson and looking terribly embarrassed. “The fools have misunderstood what was said to them. He merely … there was nothing about a brass farthing. There is no need for you to understand everything, and shout at the top of your voice,” my uncle continued, addressing the peasant reproachfully. “One wants to do you good and you don’t understand, and make an uproar!”

“Upon my word, uncle, teaching them French?”

“That’s for the sake of pronunciation, Seryozha, simply for the pronunciation,” said my uncle in an imploring voice. “He said himself that it was for the sake of the pronunciation… . Besides, something special happened in connection with this, which you know nothing about and so you cannot judge. You must investigate first and then blame. … It is easy to find fault!”

“But what are you about?” I shouted, turning impetuously to the peasants again. “You ought to speak straight out. You should say, This won’t do, Foma Fomitch, this is how it ought to be!’ You have got a tongue, haven’t you?”

“Where is the mouse who will bell the cat, your honour? ‘I am teaching you, clodhoppers, cleanliness and order,’ he says. ‘Why is your shirt not clean?’ Why, one is always in a sweat, that’s why it isn’t clean! One can’t change every day. Cleanliness won’t save you and dirt won’t kill you.”

“And look here, the other day he came to the threshing floor,” began another peasant, a tall lean fellow all in patches and wearing wretched bark shoes, apparently one of those men who are always discontented about something and always have some vicious venomous word ready in reserve. Till then he had been hidden behind the backs of the other peasants, had been listening in gloomy silence, and had kept all the time on his face an ambiguous, bitterly subtle smile. “He came to the threshing floor. ‘Do you know, he said, ‘how many miles it is to the sun?”Why, who can tell? Such learning is not for us but for the gentry.”No, says he; ‘you are a fool, a lout, you don’t understand what is good for you; but I,’ said he, ‘am an astronomer! I know all God’s planets.’”

“Well, and did he tell you how many miles it is to the sun?” my uncle put in, suddenly reviving and winking gaily at me, as though to say, “See what’s coming!”

“Yes, he did tell us how many,” the peasant answered reluctantly, not expecting such a question.

“Well, how many did he say, how many exactly?”

“Your honour must know best, we live in darkness.”

“Oh, I know, my boy, but do you remember?”

“Why, he said it would be so many hundreds or thousands, it was a big number, he said. More than you could carry in three cartloads.”

“Try and remember, brother! I dare say you thought it would be about a mile, that you could reach up to it with your hand. No, my boy; you see, the earth is like a round ball, do you understand?” my uncle went on, describing a sphere in the air with his hands.

The peasant smiled bitterly.

“Yes, like a ball, it hangs in the air of itself and moves round the sun. And the sun stands still, it only seems to you that it moves. There’s a queer thing! And the man who discovered this was Captain Cook, a navigator … devil only knows who did discover it,” he added in a half whisper, turning to me. “I know nothing about it myself, my boy. … Do you know how far it is to the sun?”

“I do, uncle,” I answered, looking with surprise at all this scene. “But this is what I think: of course ignorance means slovenliness; but on the other hand … to teach peasants astronomy …”

“Just so, just so, slovenliness,” my uncle assented, delighted with my expression, which struck him as extremely apt. “A noble thought! Slovenliness precisely! That is what I have always said … that is, I never said so, but I felt it. Do you hear?” he cried to the peasants. “Ignorance is as bad as slovenliness, it’s as bad as dirt. That’s why Foma wanted to teach you. He wanted to teach you something good — that was all right. That’s as good as serving one’s country — it’s as good as any official rank. So you see what science is! Well, that’s enough, that’s enough, my friends. Go, in God’s name; and I am glad, glad… . Don’t worry yourselves, I won’t forsake you.”

“Protect us, father!”

“Let us breathe freely!”

And the peasants plumped down at his feet.

“Come, come, that’s nonsense. Bow down to God and your Tsar, and not to me… . Come, go along, behave well, be deserving . . and all that. You know,” he said, turning suddenly to me as soon as the peasants had gone away, and beaming with pleasure, “the peasant loves a kind word, and a little present would do no harm. Shall I give them something, eh? What do you think? In honour of your arrival… . Shall I or not?”

“But you are a kind of Frol Silin, uncle, a benevolent person, I see.”

“Oh, one can’t help it, my boy, one can’t help it; that’s nothing. I have been meaning to give them a present for a long time,” he said, as though excusing himself. “And as for your thinking it funny of me to give the peasants a lesson in science, I simply did that, my boy, in delight at seeing you, Seryozha. I simply wanted the peasants to hear how many miles it was to the sun and gape in wonder. It’s amusing to see them gape, my dear… . One seems to rejoice over them. Only, my boy, don’t speak in the drawing-room of my having had an interview with the peasants, you know. I met them behind the stables on purpose that we should not be seen. It was impossible to have it there, my boy: it is a delicate business, and indeed they came in secret themselves. I did it more for their sake… .”

“Well, here I have come, uncle,” I began, changing the conversation and anxious to get to the chief point as quickly as possible. “I must own your letter so surprised me that I …”

“My dear, not a word of that,” my uncle interrupted, as though in alarm, positively dropping his voice. “Afterwards, afterwards, all that shall be explained. I have, perhaps, acted wrongly towards you, very wrongly, perhaps. …”

“Acted wrongly towards me, uncle?”

“Afterwards, afterwards, my dear, afterwards! It shall all be explained. But what a fine fellow you have grown! My dear boy! How eager I have been to see you! I wanted to pour out my heart, so to speak … you are clever, you are my only hope … you and Korovkin. I must mention to you that they are all angry with you here. Mind, be careful, don’t be rash.”

“Angry with me?” I asked, looking at uncle in wonder, unable to understand how I could have angered people with whom I was as yet unacquainted. “Angry with me?”

“Yes, with you, my boy. It can’t be helped! Foma Fomitch is a little … and … well … mother following his example. Be careful, respectful, don’t contradict. The great thing is to be respectful. …”

“To Foma Fomitch, do you mean, uncle?”

“It can’t be helped, my dear; you see, I don’t defend him. Certainly he has his faults, perhaps, and especially just now, at this particular moment… . Ah, Seryozha, dear, how it all worries me. And if only it could be settled comfortably, if only we could all be satisfied and happy! … But who has not faults? We are not perfect ourselves, are we?”

“Upon my word, uncle! Consider what he is doing… .”

“Oh, my dear! It’s all trivial nonsense, nothing more! Here, for instance, let me tell you, he is angry with me, and what for, do you suppose? … Though perhaps it’s my own fault. … I’d better tell you afterwards. …”

“But, do you know, uncle, I have formed an idea of my own about it,” I interrupted, in haste to give expression to my theory. Indeed, we both seemed nervous and hurried. “In the first place, he has been a buffoon; that has mortified him, rankled, outraged his ideal; and that has made his character embittered, morbid, resentful, so to say, against all humanity… . But if one could reconcile him with mankind, if one could bring him back to himself …”

“Just so, just so,” cried my uncle, delighted; “that’s just it. A generous idea! And in fact it would be shameful, ungenerous of us to blame him! Just so! … Oh, my dear, you understand me; you have brought me comfort! If only things could be set straight, somehow! Do you know, I am afraid to show myself. Here you have come, and I shall certainly catch it from them!’

“Uncle, if that is how it is …”I began, disconcerted by this confession.

“No-no-no I For nothing in the world,” he cried, clutching my hands. “You are my guest and I wish it!”

“Uncle, tell me at once,” I began insistently, “why did you send for me? What do you expect of me, and, above all, in what way have you been to blame towards me?”

“My dear, don’t ask. Afterwards, afterwards; all that shall be explained afterwards. I have been very much to blame, perhaps, but I wanted to act like an honest man, and … and … you shall marry her! You will marry her, if there is one grain of gentlemanly feeling in you,” he added, flushing all over with some sudden feeling and warmly and enthusiastically pressing my hand. “But enough, not another word, you will soon see for yourself. It will depend on you… . The great thing is that you should be liked, that you should make a good impression. Above all — don’t be nervous.”

“Come, listen, uncle. Whom have you got there? I must own I have been so little in society, that …”

“That you are rather frightened,” put in my uncle, smiling. “Oh, that’s no matter. Cheer up, they are all our own people I The great thing is to be bold and not afraid. I keep feeling anxious about you. Whom have we got there, you ask? Yes, who is there. … In the first place, my mother,” he began hurriedly. “Do you remember mamma or not? The most kindhearted, generous woman, no airs about her — that one can say; a little of the old school, perhaps, but that’s all to the good. To be sure she sometimes takes fancies into her head, you know, will say one thing and another; she is vexed with me now, but it is my own fault, I know it is my own fault. And the fact is — you know she is what is called a grande dame, a general’s lady … her husband was a most excellent man. To begin with, he was a general, a most cultivated man; he left no property, but he was covered with wounds — he was deserving of respect, in fact. Then there’s Miss Perepelitsyn; well, she … I don’t know … of late she has been rather … her character is so … but one mustn’t find fault with everyone. There, never mind her … you mustn’t imagine she is in a menial position, she’s a major’s daughter herself, my boy, she is mother’s confidante and favourite, my dear! Then there is my sister Praskovya Ilyinitchna. Well, there is no need to say much about her, she is simple and goodnatured, a bit fussy, but what a heart! The heart is the great thing. Though she is middle-aged, yet, do you know, I really believe that queer fellow Bahtcheyev is making up to her. He wants to make a match of it. But mind you don’t say a word, it is a secret! Well, and who else is there? I won’t tell you about the children, you will see for yourself. It’s Ilyusha’s nameday tomorrow… . Why there, I was almost forgetting, we have had staying with us for the last month Ivan Ivanitch Mizintchikov, your second cousin, I believe; yes, of course, he is your second cousin! He has lately given up his commission; he was a lieutenant in the Hussars; still a young man. A noble soul! But, you know, he has got through his money. I really can’t think how he managed to get rid of it. Though indeed he had next to nothing, but anyway he got through it and ran into debt… . Now he is staying with me. I didn’t know him at all till lately; he came and introduced himself. He is a dear fellow, goodhumoured, quiet and respectful. No one gets a word out of him. He is always silent. Foma calls him in jest the ‘silent stranger’ — he doesn’t mind; he isn’t vexed. Foma’s satisfied, he says Ivan’s not very bright. And Ivan never contradicts him, but always falls in with everything he says. H’m! he seems so crushed … but there, God bless him, you will see for yourself. There are guests from the town, Pavel Semyonitch Obnoskin and his mother; he’s young but a man of superior mind, something mature, steadfast, you know … only I don’t know how to express it; and what’s more, of the highest principles; strict morals. And lastly there is staying with us, you know, a lady called Tatyana Ivanovna; she, too, may be a distant relation. You don’t know her. She is not quite young, that one mu^t own, but … she is not without attractions: she is rich enough to buy Stepantchikovo twice over, she has only lately come into her money, and has had a wretched time of it till now. Please, Seryozha, my boy, be careful; she is such a nervous invalid … something phantasmagorial in her character, you know. Well, you are a gentleman, you will understand; she has had troubles, you know, one has to be doubly careful with a person who has had troubles! But you mustn’t imagine anything, you know. Of course she has her weaknesses; sometimes she is in such a hurry, she speaks so fast, that she says the wrong thing. Not that she lies, don’t imagine that … it all comes, my boy, from a pure and noble heart, so to say. I mean, even if she does say something false, it’s simply from excess of noble-heartedness, so to say — do you understand?”

I fancied that my uncle was horribly confused.

“Listen, uncle,” I began, “I am so fond of you … forgive the direct question: are you going to marry someone here or not?”

“Why, from whom did you hear that?” he answered, blushing like a child. “You see, my dear … I’ll tell you all about it; in the first place, I am not going to get married. Mamma, my sister to some extent, and most of all Foma Fomitch, whom mamma worships — and with good reason, with good reason, he has done a great deal for her — they all want me to marry that same Tatyana Ivanovna, as a sensible step for the benefit of all. Of course they desire nothing but my good — I understand that, of course; but nothing will induce me to marry — I have made up my mind about that. In spite of that I have not succeeded in giving them a decided answer, I have not said yes, or no. It always happens like that with me, my boy. They thought that I had consented and are insisting that tomorrow, in honour of the festive occasion, I should declare myself … and so there is such a flutter in preparation for tomorrow that I really don’t know what line to take! And besides, Foma Fomitch, I don’t know why, is vexed with me, and mamma is too. I must say, my boy, I have simply been reckoning on you and on Korovkin. … I wanted to pour out my troubles, so to say. …”

“But how can Korovkin be of any use in this matter, uncle?”

“He will help, he will help, my dear — he is a wonderful man; in short, a man of learning! I build upon him as on a rock; a man who would conquer anything! How he speaks of domestic happiness! I must own I have been reckoning on you too; I thought you might bring them to reason. Consider and judge … granted that I have been to blame, really to blame — I understand all that — I am not without feeling. But all the same I might be forgiven some day! Then how well we should get on together! Oh, my boy, how my Sashenka has grown up, she’ll be thinking of getting married directly! What a fine boy my Ilyusha has become! Tomorrow is his nameday. But I am afraid for my Sashenka — that’s the trouble.”

“Uncle! Where is my portmanteau? I will change my things and make my appearance in a minute, and then …”

“In the upper room, my boy, in the upper room. I gave orders beforehand that as soon as you arrived you should be taken straight up there, so that no one should see you. Yes, yes, change your things! That’s capital, capital, first-rate. And meanwhile I will prepare them all a little. Well, good luck to us! You know, my boy, we must be diplomatic. One is forced to become a Talleyrand. But there, never mind. They are drinking tea there now. We have tea early. Foma Fomitch likes to have his tea as soon as he wakes up; it is better, you know. Well, Til go in, then, and you make haste and follow me, don’t leave me alone; it will be awkward for me, my boy, alone… . But, stay! I have another favour to ask of you: don’t cry out at me in there as you did out here just now — will you? If you want to make some criticism you can make it afterwards here when we are alone; till then hold yourself in and wait! You see, I have put my foot in it already with them. They are annoyed with me …”

“I say, uncle, from all that I have seen and heard it seems to me that you …”

“That I am as soft as butter, eh? Don’t mind speaking out!” he interrupted me quite unexpectedly. “There is no help for it, my boy. I know it myself. Well, so you will come? Come as quick as you can, please!”

Going upstairs, I hurriedly opened my portmanteau, remembering my uncle’s instructions to come down as soon as possible. As I was dressing, I realised that I had so far learned scarcely anything I wanted to know, though I had been talking to my uncle for a full hour. That struck me. Only one thing was pretty clear to me: my uncle was still set upon my getting married; consequently, all rumours to the opposite, that is, that my uncle was in love with the same lady himself, were wide of the mark. I remember that I was much agitated. Among other things the thought occurred to me that by my coming, and by my silence, I had almost made a promise, given my word, bound myself for ever. “It is easy,” I thought, “it is easy to say a word which will bind one, hand and foot, for ever. And I have not yet seen my proposed bride!” And again: why this antagonism towards me on the part of the whole family? Why were they bound to take a hostile attitude to my coming as my uncle said they did? And what a strange part my uncle was playing here in his own house! What was the cause of his secretiveness? Why these worries and alarms? I must own that it all struck me suddenly as something quite senseless; and my romantic and heroic dreams took flight com-

pletely at the first contact with reality. Only now, after my conversation with my uncle, I suddenly realised all the incongruity and eccentricity of his proposition, and felt that no one but my uncle would have been capable of making such a proposal and in such circumstances. I realised, too, that I was something not unlike a fool for galloping here full speed at his first word, in high delight at his suggestion. I was dressing hurriedly, absorbed in my agitating doubts, so that I did not at first notice the man who was waiting on me.

“Will your honour wear the Adelaida-coloured tie or the one with the little checks on it?” the man asked suddenly, addressing me with exceptionally mawkish obsequiousness.

I glanced at him, and it seemed to me that he, too, was worthy of attention. He was a man still young, for a flunkey well dressed, quite as well as many a provincial dandy. The brown coat, the white breeches, the straw-coloured waistcoat, the patent-leather boots and the pink tie had evidently been selected with intention. All this was bound at once to attract attention to the young dandy’s refined taste. The watch-chain was undoubtedly displayed with the same object. He was pale, even greenish in fact, and had a long hooked nose, thin and remarkably white, as though it were made of china. The smile on his thin lips expressed melancholy, a refined melancholy, however. His large prominent eyes, which looked as though made of glass, had an extraordinarily stupid expression, and yet there was a gleam of refinement in them. His thin soft ears were stuffed up with cotton-wool — also a refinement. His long, scanty, flaxen hair was curled and pomaded. His hands were white, clean, and might have been washed in rose-water; his fingers ended in extremely long dandified pink nails. All this indicated a spoilt and idle fop. He lisped and mispronounced the letter “r” in fashionable style, raised and dropped his eyes, sighed and gave himself incredibly affected airs. He smelt of scent. He was short, feeble and flabby-looking, and moved about with knees and haunches bent, probably thinking this the height of refinement — in fact he was saturated with refinement, subtlety and an extraordinary sense of his own dignity. This last characteristic displeased me, I don’t know why, and moved me to wrath.

“So that tie is Adelaida colour?” I asked, looking severely at the young valet.

“Yes, Adelaida,” he answered, with undisturbed refinement.

“And is there an Agrafena colour?”

“No, sir, there cannot be such a colour.”

“Why not?”

“Agrafena is not a polite name, sir.”

“Not polite! Why not?”

“Why, Adelaida, we all know, is a foreign name anyway, a ladylike name, but any low peasant woman can be called Agrafena.”

“Are you out of your mind?”

“No, sir, I am in my right mind, sir. Of course you are free to call me any sort of name, but many generals and even some counts in Moscow and Petersburg have been pleased with my conversation, sir.”

“And what’s your name?”

“Vidoplyasov.”

“Ah, so you are Vidoplyasov?”

“Just so, sir.”

“Well, wait a bit, my lad, and I will make your acquaintance.”

“It is something like Bedlam here,” I thought to myself as I went downstairs.