The Same Old Story

by Ivan Goncharov

  At this point he read Pushkin’s poem, “The barbarian artist with his sleepy brush” etc.,* wiped the tears from his eyes and withdrew inside the carriage.

  Chapter 6

  It was a fine morning. The surface of the lake, already familiar to the reader, in the village of Grachi, was barely ruffled. An onlooker would have to screw up his eyes because of the blinding glare of the sun’s rays, and – emerald and diamond by turns – the sparks and glints shooting off the water.

  The weeping birches were dipping their branches into the water. Patches of sedge had settled here and there along the banks, trying to conceal the big yellow flowers on the broad green leaves floating on the water. At intervals, feathery clouds scurried through the sky, and the sun seemed to turn its back on Grachi, momentarily leaving the lake, the wood and the village in the shade, while somewhere in the distance it was still shining brightly. The cloud would pass, and the lake would glitter again, and the fields be bathed in its golden rays.

  Anna Pavlovna had been sitting on the balcony since five o’clock. What had summoned her – the sunrise, the freshness of the air or the dawn chorus of larks? It was none of those things! She had been unable to take her eyes off the road which went through the wood. When Agrafena came to collect the keys, Anna Pavlovna could not spare her a glance, and handed her the keys without looking up or even asking why she needed them. The cook came in – and again, without looking up, she issued a whole series of instructions. Orders had been given to prepare the table for ten people for the next day.

  Anna Pavlovna was left alone again. Suddenly her eyes shone. Every nerve within her was focused on seeing: a dark dot had appeared on the road. Someone was coming, slowly and silently. Drat! It was a cart coming down the hill. Anna Pavlovna frowned. “Looks like the evil one is bringing someone this way!” she complained. “But no, it’s not passing by: they’re all coming straight towards us.”

  Reluctantly, she sat down again and trained her eyes on the wood, quivering with anticipation, blind to everything around her – and there was a lot to see around her. The scenery had changed considerably. The midday air, baked by the scorching rays of the sun, had become oppressive and suffocating. Then the sun set. The light disappeared, and the wood and the villages beyond it were swathed in a seamless blanket of an ominous blackness.

  Anna Pavlovna came to and looked up. “My God!” What appeared to be some monstrous living creature was moving from the west, an ugly black blotch with a coppery tint around its edges, and advancing rapidly towards the village and the wood, spreading what seemed to be enormous wings from its sides. All of nature turned sullen. The cows hung their heads, the horses waved their tails, inflated their nostrils and snorted and shook their manes. The dust stirred up by their hooves lay heavily on the ground only to be scattered by the wheels. A storm cloud approached menacingly. Soon a distant rumbling was moving closer.

  Everything went quiet, as if expecting something extraordinary. What had become of those birds which usually sang and darted around in such lively fashion before the sun went down? And those insects with their buzzing and humming in the grass? Everything had gone into hiding and was holding its breath: it seemed that even the inanimate objects shared the ominous premonition. The trees had stopped swaying and brushing one another with their twigs: they had straightened up, and only rarely did they bend their heads towards each other as if they were whispering warnings of the impending danger. The storm cloud had already blotted out the horizon and had taken the form of an impenetrable, leaden canopy. In the village everybody began to rush for the shelter of their homes. There followed a moment of solemn silence everywhere. A fresh breeze heralded the arrival of the storm, and blew a chill into the faces of travellers; as it passed, it rustled the leaves, slammed doors of the villagers’ huts, stirred up the dust on the street and died away in the bushes. A whirlwind of a storm followed in its wake, slowly propelling a column of dust ahead of it. It burst into the village, breaking off some rotten planks from the fence and tearing off a thatched roof in its path, lifted the skirts of a peasant woman carrying water home and chased chickens along the street with their tails in the air.

  The storm passed. Silence again. Everything was in a state of panic, trying to hide. Only a stupid ram had felt nothing coming and was nonchalantly chewing its cud right in the middle of the street, looking around him and wondering what all the fuss was about; a single feather and a blade of straw whirled along the street hurrying to catch up with the whirlwind.

  Two or three drops of rain began to fall, and there was a sudden flash of lightning. An old man got up from his seat on the mound outside his door and rushed his grandchildren inside; his wife crossed herself and hurriedly closed the window. There was a peal of thunder, which drowned out all human noise and rumbled dramatically and majestically through the air. A startled horse broke away from its tethering post and galloped into the fields with its tether flying from its neck, and its owner in hopeless pursuit. Meanwhile the driving rain poured down in torrents more and more heavily, drumming with increasing energy on roofs and windows. A small white hand fearfully poked out onto the balcony the object of its loving care – a bunch of flowers.

  At the first peal of thunder, Anna Pavlovna crossed herself and left the balcony.

  “No – obviously no point in waiting any longer today,” she said with a sigh, “he must have stopped somewhere because of the storm, probably for the night.”

  Suddenly, the rumbling of wheels could be heard, not from the wood but from the other side. Someone was entering the courtyard. Aduyeva’s heart missed a beat.

  “How could they have come from that direction?” she wondered. “Did he want to surprise me? But no, they couldn’t have come that way.”

  She didn’t know what to think, but soon everything was made clear.

  A minute later Anton Ivanych came in. His hair was beginning to turn white, and he had put on weight; his cheeks were plumper from inactivity and overeating, and he was wearing the same old frock coat and wide trousers.

  “I’ve been waiting and waiting for you, Anton Ivanych,” Anna Pavlovna began. “I began to think you weren’t coming – I’d almost given up.”

  “How could you think such a thing about me, dear lady? It might be true if it were a matter of calling on anyone else, yes! But I don’t go calling on just anyone – you’re the exception. I was held up through no fault of my own; right now I’m having to get around with just one horse. It was at Pavel Savich’s christening that the piebald got lame. An evil spirit put it into the coachman’s head to take the old door from the barn and lay it over the ditch – those people are too poor and don’t have a spare plank. Anyway, there was a nail or a hook of some kind in that door – only the Devil knows! The horse took one step and stumbled over the edge, and I nearly got my neck broken – curse them! So the horse has been lame since then. Such skinflints! You wouldn’t believe, dear lady, what their house is like. People are treated better in the almshouse; but in Moscow at the Kuznetsky Bridge, they think nothing of spending 10,000 in a year!”

  Anna Pavlovna was too distracted to listen to him, and just gave a nod when he had finished.

  “Did you know I had received a letter from Sashenka, Anton Ivanych?” she broke in. “He wrote that he would be coming around the twentieth – I was beside myself with joy.”

  “Yes, I heard, dear lady. Proshka told me, and at first I couldn’t understand what he was saying, and I thought he had already arrived: I was so happy that I broke into a sweat.”

  “God grant you health, Anton Ivanych – you love us so much!”

  “Of course I do! I mean, I used to carry Alexander Fyodorych in my arms; he was like one of my own.”

  “Thank you, Anton Ivanych, God bless you! I haven’t been sleeping, and have been keeping everyone else up. What if he were to arrive, and there we are, all sleeping – what a welcome that would be! Yesterday and the d
ay before, I went down to the wood on foot; I would be going there now, but I’m just feeling too old – it’s a curse! And I’m exhausted from lack of sleep. Sit down, Anton Ivanych, you’re wet through; wouldn’t you like something to drink or a little something to eat? You could wait for dinner perhaps, but it wouldn’t be until late – we have to wait for our dear guest of honour to arrive.”

  “Well, yes, then, perhaps a bite to eat. Although I must confess that I’ve already had breakfast, in a manner of speaking.”

  “How did you manage that?”

  “I stopped by at Maria Karpovna’s. I had to, you see, more because of the horse than for myself: it needed a rest. It’s no joke going twelve versts without stopping in this heat! So I had a bite since I happened to be there. It’s a good thing that I didn’t listen to them and stay longer, although they urged me to, otherwise we would have been stuck there the whole day because of the storm.”

  “And how is Maria Karpovna?”

  “Well, thank God! She sends her greetings.”

  “Thank you, and that daughter of hers, Sofia Mikhailovna – how about her hubby?”

  “She’s fine, dear lady – a sixth baby on the way. It’s expected in a couple of weeks. They asked me to come around that time. You wouldn’t believe how poor they are – it’s painful to see. You’d think the last thing they’d want is more children, wouldn’t you? But no, they keep on.”

  “What are you saying?”

  “I swear to God! Their doorposts are all crooked; the floor sags under your feet, the roof leaks and there’s no money to pay for repairs, and all they put on the table is soup, cheese curds and mutton; yet they never tire of inviting me!”

  “Yes, the same thing with that one – she was after my Sashenka!”

  “The nerve of her, dear lady! After a fine young man like that! I can hardly wait to set eyes on him – what a handsome fellow! I have a hunch, Anna Pavlovna; I wouldn’t mind betting that he’s engaged to some princess or countess, and is coming to ask for your blessing and ask you to the wedding.”

  “Oh, come now, Anton Ivanych!” said Anna Pavlovna, absolutely delighted.

  “No, I mean it!”

  “Oh, my dear fellow, may God give you health! Oh yes, it slipped my mind; I wanted to tell you, but I clean forgot. I kept trying to think what it was; it was on the tip of my tongue; would you believe, it just slipped my mind completely. Would you like to have some breakfast first, or should I tell you now?”

  “As you please, dear lady, you could even tell me during breakfast; I can assure you that I won’t miss a single crumb… I mean ‘word’, that is.”

  “Well, here’s the thing,” Anna Pavlovna began, after breakfast had been brought in and Anton Ivanych was safely seated at the table, “I dreamt…”

  “But you mean you’re not having anything to eat yourself?” Anton Ivanych asked.

  “Oh no! I couldn’t eat a thing right now! It would stick in my throat. The last few days I haven’t even been able to finish a cup of tea. So, I dreamt that I was sitting just like this, and right in front of me Agrafena is standing with a tray, and I’m saying to her in my dream, ‘Agrafena, how come you’re standing there with an empty tray?’ She doesn’t say anything, but just stands there staring at the door. So I’m thinking – in my dream – ‘Goodness me! What can she be staring at like that?’ So I start looking in the same direction myself, and as I’m looking, who should suddenly come in but Sashenka, looking very sad; he comes up to me and says, for all the world as if he’s really there, ‘Goodbye, Mummy, I’m going somewhere over there far away,’ and points to the lake, ‘and I won’t be coming back,’ he says. ‘Where is it you’re going, my dear?’ I ask, with my heart sinking. And it’s like he’s not saying anything, but giving me a strange, mournful look, and I’m asking him again, ‘Where have you come from?’ and my darling sighs and points again to the lake and whispers, ‘From the whirlpool at the bottom, from the water sprites.’ I’m all shaken up – and I wake up. My pillow is soaked with tears, and I can hardly wake up from the dream; I’m sitting up in the bed and crying my eyes out. I got up and lit the lamp in front of the Kazan Holy Mother of God,* our Protector, praying that in her mercy she will keep him safe from all trouble and misfortune. I can’t tell you the anxieties that overwhelmed me! I couldn’t understand what it all meant. Maybe something happened to him? Such a terrible storm!…”

  “My dear lady, it’s a good sign when you cry in your sleep,” said Anton Ivanych, knocking an egg against the side of the plate. “It means he will definitely be here tomorrow.”

  “I was thinking that maybe we should go down to the wood to meet him after breakfast; we could make our way there somehow, although it’s suddenly become very muddy down there.”

  “No, something tells me he won’t come today!”

  At that very moment the distant sound of a bell was wafted on the breeze, and then instantly died away. Anna Pavlovna stopped breathing.

  “Oh!” she exclaimed, heaving a deep sigh of relief. “I was just thinking…”

  The sound could be heard again.

  “My God! Couldn’t it be the bell?” she said rushing out to the balcony.

  “No,” replied Anton Ivanych, “it’s the foal which is grazing right near here with a bell tied to its neck. I saw it on my way here. I gave it a fright to stop it straying into the rye. Why don’t you tell them to hobble it?”

  Suddenly the sound of the bell could be heard, this time as if it were coming from right under the balcony, and getting louder and louder.

  “Good Lord! That must be it, it’s coming here! He’s here, he’s here!” Anna Pavlovna screamed. “Hurry, Anton Ivanych! Where are the servants? Where’s Agrafena? Where is everyone? It’s as if he were arriving at some stranger’s house. My God!”

  She was in a state of total confusion – and the bell was ringing as loud as if it were inside the room.

  Anton Ivanych leapt up from the table.

  “It’s him, it’s him!” he cried out. “And there’s Yevsei on the coach box! Where’s the icon, where’s the bread and salt? Bring them quick! I don’t have anything to greet him with on the porch! How can I, without bread and salt? It would be a bad omen! Why is everything so disorganized here! No one is prepared! And look at you, Anna Pavlovna, just standing there – why don’t you go out to greet him? Hurry!”

  “I can’t!” she said, struggling to bring out the words. “My legs won’t move.” And with these words she collapsed into an armchair. Anton Ivanych snatched a hunk of bread from the table, put it on a plate along with a salt cellar and looked as if he was about to fly out of the room.

  “Nothing is ready!” he complained. But before he could move towards the door, in burst three menservants and two housemaids.

  “He’s coming! He’s coming! He’s here!” they were shouting, as pale and terrified as if robbers were breaking in.

  They were followed in by Alexander himself.

  “Sashenka, my love!” exclaimed Anna Pavlovna, but stopped suddenly and regarded Alexander in bewilderment.

  “But where’s Sashenka?” she asked.

  “It’s me, Mummy!” he replied, kissing her hand.

  “You?”

  She stared at him.

  “Is it really you, my dear?” she said, hugging him tightly. Then she took another look at him.

  “What’s happened to you? Are you ill?” she asked in a worried voice, without letting go of him.

  “I’m fine, Mummy.”

  “Fine! What has happened to you, my darling? This isn’t the way you looked when you left?”

  She pulled him to her and burst into tears, kissing his head, his cheeks and his eyes.

  “What’s happened to your hair? It was like silk!” she asked, speaking through her tears. “Your eyes sparkled like two little stars; your cheeks were red as blood and as wh
ite as milk, like a ripe apple! Evil people must have robbed you of your beauty and my happiness out of envy. But wasn’t your uncle watching out for you? And I thought I was entrusting you to the care of a responsible person! But he didn’t know how to care for this precious treasure, my darling!”

  The old woman wept and covered Alexander with kisses.

  “It seems that tears in a dream are not a good omen,” Anton Ivanych thought to himself.

  “But, my dear lady, why are you weeping and wailing over him, as if he were dead?” he whispered. “It’s a bad omen.”

  “How are you, Alexander Fyodorych!” he said. “It was God’s will that we should meet again in this life.”

  Without speaking, Alexander offered him his hand. Anton Ivanych went to check that all the luggage had been brought in, and then proceeded to summon the whole household to come and greet the young master, but they had already congregated in the entrance and the hallway. He lined them all up and issued instructions about who was to kiss his hand, his shoulder or the hem of his garment, and what they should say to him in the process. One of the lads he simply threw out, telling him not to come back until he had washed his face and wiped his nose.

  Yevsei, with a leather strap around his waist and covered in dust, was greeting the servants. He distributed gifts he had brought from St Petersburg – a silver ring for this one and a birchwood snuffbox to that one. When he saw Agrafena, he stood rooted to the spot and regarded her in silence with a stupefied grin of delight. She gave him a sidelong distrustful glance which in spite of herself was transformed in an instant into a radiant smile, and she burst into laughter. On the verge of tears, she suddenly turned away with a frown.

  “Why don’t you say something?” she said. “Standing there like a dummy; can’t you even say hello?”

  But he couldn’t find anything to say, and went up to her with that same stupid grin on his face. She fended off his attempt to hug her.