“Goodness, oh my goodness,” said Anna Pavlovna, shaking her head. “This life of ours! Oh, how could this have happened? He sent his greetings with you just this week!”
“Yes, Madame! But then he’s been unwell off and on for a long time, he’s a very old man. It’s a wonder he hasn’t collapsed before now!”
“What do you mean old! He’s only a year older than my dead husband. May his soul rest in Heaven!” said Anna Pavlovna, crossing herself. “I’m sorry for poor Fedosya Petrovna. She’s left with small children on her hands. That’s no laughing matter: five of them and almost all little girls! When is the funeral?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Clearly everyone has his own sorrow, Anton Ivanych. I’m just sending off my son.”
“What’s to be done, Anna Pavlovna, we’re all human! ‘Endure,’ it says in the Scriptures.”
“Don’t be angry that I’ve bothered you–sorrow should be shared with others. You love us like family.”
“Oh, Madame Anna Pavlovna! Whom should I love, if not you? Are there many here like you? You don’t know your own worth. I have my hands full–my new house is going around in my head now. Yesterday I fought the whole morning with the contractor, somehow we always disagree… but how, I thought, can I not go? What will she do alone there, I thought, without me? She’s not young: perhaps she’ll lose her head.”
“God preserve you, Anton Ivanych, for not forgetting us! I really am not myself–there’s such a vacuum in my head that I don’t see anything! My throat is completely parched from crying. Please have a bite to eat. You’re tired and you must be hungry.”
“I humbly thank you. I admit I had a little something on the way at Pyotr Sergeich’s; yes, I grabbed a bite. Well, but that won’t interfere. The priest will be coming, let him give his blessing. Why, there he is at the entrance!”
The priest had arrived and Marya Karpovna, too, with her daughter, a plump and rosy-cheeked girl with a smile and tearful eyes. Sofiya’s eyes and whole facial expression clearly said, “I shall love simply, without pretensions, I shall take care of my husband as a nanny would, obey him in everything and never appear more clever than he; indeed, how can you be more clever than your husband? That’s a sin! I shall work diligently at housekeeping, bear him half a dozen children, feed them myself, dress them and do all the family sewing.” The roundness and freshness of her cheeks and the fullness of her breasts confirmed her promise about the children. But at this moment the tears in her eyes and her sad smile gave her less conventional appeal.
First of all, morning prayers were held, for which Anton Ivanych called together the servants, lighted a candle, took the book from the priest when he had finished reading and passed it to the deacon, and then poured some holy water into a phial, hid it in his pocket, and said, “That’s for Agafya Nikitishna.” They sat down at the table. Except for Anton Ivanych and the priest, as usual nobody touched anything, but in their stead, Anton Ivanych did full honor to this Homeric breakfast. Anna Pavlovna cried the whole time and furtively wiped her tears.
“You’ve wasted enough of your tears, dear Anna Pavlovna!” said Anton Ivanych with pretended vexation, filling a small glass with liqueur. “Are you sending him to slaughter or something? ” Then, having drunk half the glass, he smacked his lips.
“What a liqueur! What an aroma!” he said with a look of great pleasure. “You won’t find the like of that in the whole province!”
“It’s aged for three years,” Anna Pavlovna burst out sobbing. “I just… now… opened it… for you.”
“Ach,Anna Pavlovna, it’s sickening to look at you,” Anton Ivanych began again. “There’s no one to punish you; if there were he’d beat and beat you!”
“Judge for yourself, Anton Ivanych, he’s my only son and now he’s going far away. If I die, there’s no one to bury me.”
“And what are we here for? Am I a stranger to you perhaps? And why are you hurrying to die? Watch out, you could be getting married! Then how I’d dance at the wedding! Enough weeping now!”
“I can’t stop, Anton Ivanych, I just can’t. I don’t know myself where the tears come from.”
“To keep such a fine fellow cooped up! Give him his freedom; he’ll spread his wings and do Heaven knows what great deeds. He’ll go far there!”
“Would it were so! Why have you taken so little of the pie? Have some more!”
“I shall, only let me finish this piece. To your health, Alexander Fyodorych! Bon voyage! Come back very soon; yes, and get married! Oh, Sofiya Vasilievna, why did you blush?”
“It’s nothing… I only…”
“Oh, youth, youth! hee, hee, hee!”
“With you here, Anton Ivanych, one doesn’t feel grief,” said Anna Pavlovna. “You know how to comfort so well, God keep you! Do have more liqueur.”
“I will, Madame, I will. How could I not drink to the departure?”
The breakfast ended. The driver had harnessed the carriage long ago. It was brought up to the entrance. People ran out, one after another. Someone carried the trunk, another a bundle, a third a sack. People swarmed about the carriage like flies around something sweet, and they all were thrusting their arms toward it.
“It’s better to put the trunk here like this,” said one, “and the basket of food there.”
“But where will they put their legs?” another answered. “Better put the trunk in lengthwise, then you can put the basket on one side.”
“That way the eiderdown will slide off, if the trunk is lengthwise. Better put it crosswise. What else? Did they pack the boots?”
“I don’t know. Who packed?”
“I didn’t. Wait, have a look–aren’t they there on top?”
“You go look.”
“And why don’t you? I really have no time!”
“Here, this too, here don’t forget this!” cried a maid, thrusting her hand with a bundle past the heads.
“Give it here!”
“Put it in the trunk somehow, they forgot it just now,” said another, getting up on the coach step and handing in a brush and comb.
“Where are we to put it now?” a stout lackey cried out at her angrily. “Go away! you see the trunk’s at the very bottom!”
“The mistress gave orders; what’s it to me, throw it away, you devils!”
“Well, give it here all the same, but quick. We can put it here in the side pocket.”
The shaft horse incessantly raised and shook his head. The little bell thereupon each time gave out a sharp sound signalling the departure, while the side horses stood thoughtfully, drooping their heads, as if they understood the whole delight of the journey ahead, and infrequently switching their tails or sticking out their lower lip toward the shaft horse. Finally the fateful moment came. One more prayer was said.
“Get in the carriage, get in everyone!” commanded Anton Ivanych. “Kindly get in, Alexander Fyodorych! And you, Evsei, get in. Get in, please, get in!” And he himself sat down sideways on a chair for just a second! “Now, then, god-speed!”
At this point Anna Pavlovna cried out and hung on Alexander’s neck.
“Farewell, farewell, my dear!” was audible amid her sobs, “will I see you again?…”
That was all that could be understood. At that moment the sound of a different bell was heard: a cart drawn by a troika flew into the courtyard. Jumping down from the cart, a young man, covered with dust, ran into the room and threw himself upon Alexander’s neck.
“Pospelov!” “Aduyev!” they exclaimed simultaneously, squeezing each other in an embrace.
“Where have you come from, how?”
“From home; I’ve galloped round the clock purposely to say goodbye to you.”
“My friend! My friend! A true friend!” said Aduyev with tears in his eyes. “To gallop a hundred miles to say farewell! Oh, there is friendship in the world! Forever, isn’t that so?” said Alexander fervently, pressing his friend’s hand and springing toward him.
“To the grav
e!” answered the friend, pressing Alexander’s hand harder and springing toward him.
“Write to me!”
“Yes, yes, and you to me!”
Anna Pavlovna didn’t know how to welcome Pospelov enough. The departure was delayed half an hour. Finally they were ready.
They all set off on foot as far as the orchard. At the moment they were passing through the dark entrance hall, Sophie and Alexander threw themselves at each other.
“Sasha! dear Sasha!…” “Dear Sonya!” they whispered, and the words died in a kiss.
“Will you forget me there?” she said tearfully.
“Oh, how little you know me! I shall return, believe me, and another girl will never…”
“Here, take this quickly; it’s my hair and a little ring.”
He skillfully hid both in his pocket.
Anna Pavlovna walked ahead with her son and Pospelov, then Marya Karpovna with her daughter, finally the priest with Anton Ivanych. The carriage followed them at some distance. The driver could hardly hold the horses. The servants surrounded Evsei at the gate.
“Farewell, Evsei Ivanych, farewell, darling, don’t forget us!” was heard on all sides.
“Farewell, friends; don’t bear me any grudges!”
“Farewell, dear Evsei, farewell, my dearest!” said his mother, embracing him. “Here’s a little icon; it’s my blessing. Remember your faith, Evsei, don’t abandon me and take up with the heathen there, or I’ll curse you! Don’t drink, don’t steal; serve the master faithfully and truthfully. Farewell, farewell!”
She covered her face with her apron and went away.
“Farewell, Mother dear!” lazily mumbled Evsei.
A little girl about twelve years old threw herself toward him.
“Say goodbye to your little sister!” said one woman.
“And you go on back!” said Evsei, kissing her, “so, farewell! Farewell! Get going now, with your bare feet, back to the hut!”
Agrafena stood apart from everyone, the last one. Her face paled.
“Farewell, Agrafena Ivanovna!” Evsei said, drawing it out and raising his voice; he even held out his hands to her.
She let herself be embraced, but did not respond to the embrace. Only her face was distorted.
“It’s for you!” she said, taking out a bag with something from under her apron and thrusting it at him. “So then, I guess you’ll have your fun with the Petersburg girls!” she added, attentively observing him from the side. And in this glance all her sorrow and jealousy showed.
“Me have my fun, me?” Evsei began. “May God strike me dead on the spot, put out my eyes! May the earth swallow me, if I do anything of the kind there…”
“All right, all right!” Agrafena murmured distrustfully.
“Oh, I almost forgot!” said Evsei, and pulled a soiled pack of cards from his pocket. “They’re for you, Agrafena Ivanovna, to remember me by; after all, there’s no place for you to get them here.”
He held out his hand.
“Give them to me, Evsei Ivanych,” Proshka called out of the crowd.
“To you! I’d rather burn them than give them to you!” and he hid the cards in his pocket.
“So give them to me, you fool!” said Agrafena.
“No, Agrafena Ivanovna, do what you will, but I shan’t give them to you; you’d start to play with him. Farewell!”
Not looking back, he waved his hand and lazily walked after the carriage, which, it seemed, he could have carried off on his shoulders, Alexander, driver, horses and all.
“Damn him!” said Agrafena, looking after him and wiping tears from her eyes with an end of her scarf.
They stopped at the orchard. While Anna Pavlovna sobbed and said goodbye to her son, Anton Ivanych patted one horse on the neck, then took it by the nostrils and shook it to both sides, which the horse seemed to resent greatly, for it bared its teeth and snorted.
“Tighten the breeching on the shaft horse,” he said to the driver, “see, the strap on the side.”
The driver looked at the strap, and seeing that it was in its proper place, didn’t move off the box, but only straightened the breeching a little with the whip.
“Well, it’s time, God be with you,” said Anton Ivanych. “You’ve tortured yourself enough, Anna Pavlovna. And you, get in, Alexander Fyodorych. You must get to Shishko while it’s light. Farewell, farewell, God give you happiness, promotion, medals, all things favorable and good, and property!!! Now, God be with you, start the horses, and mind you drive more easily there on the downgrade!” he added, turning to the driver.
Alexander got into the carriage, bathed in tears, and Evsei went up to the mistress, made a bow to her toes and kissed her hand. She gave him a five-ruble note.
“Look now, Evsei, remember: If you’re a good servant, I’ll marry you to Agrafena, but if not, then…”
She could not speak further. Evsei climbed up on the box. The driver, bored with the long wait, seemed to come alive. He pressed down his hat, straightened himself in his seat and picked up the reins; the horses moved first in a gentle trot. He flicked the side horses once, one after the other; they jumped, stretched, and the troika sped along the road into the forest. The crowd that saw them off was left behind in a cloud of dust, silent and motionless, until the carriage disappeared altogether from sight. Anton Ivanych came to first.
“Well, let us all go home now!” he said.
Alexander looked back from the carriage as long as possible, then fell face forward on the cushion.
Anna Pavlovna said, “Don’t leave me when I’m so miserable, Anton Ivanych, stay for dinner here!”
“All right, dear lady, I’m ready! And for supper too, if you’d like.”
“Yes, and you could stay the night too.”
“Impossible, the funeral’s tomorrow!”
“Oh, that’s right! Well, I won’t keep you. Give Fedosya Petrovna my greetings, say that I deeply sympathize with her grief and would have visited her myself, but that, God, tell her, sent sorrow to me too–I have said goodbye to my son.”
“I’ll tell her, I’ll tell her, I shan’t forget.”
“My darling, dear Sasha,” she whispered, looking around, “and now you’ve gone, vanished from my sight!”
Aduyeva sat silent a whole day, ate no dinner or supper. To make up, Anton Ivanych talked, dined and supped.
“Where is he now, my darling?” was all she would say at times.
“He should be in Neplyuev by now. No, what am I imagining? Not yet in Neplyuev, but getting there. He’ll have tea there,” Anton Ivanych replied.
“No, he never drinks tea at this hour.”
And so in her thoughts Anna Pavlovna traveled with him. Then, when by her count he should have arrived in St. Petersburg, she prayed, told his fortune with cards, or talked about him with Marya Karpovna.
And he?
We’ll meet him in St. Petersburg.
II
Our hero’s uncle, Pyotr Ivanovich Aduyev, had, like him, been sent off at age twenty to St. Petersburg by his older brother, Alexander’s father, and had lived there seventeen years without returning. After his brother’s death he no longer corresponded with his relatives, and Anna Pavlovna knew nothing about him after he sold his modest estate not far from her village.
In Petersburg he was said to be wealthy and perhaps not inexplicably. He worked in the civil service under some important person or other and wore several honorary ribbons in his buttonhole. He lived on a big street, occupied a good apartment, kept three servants and as many horses. He was not old, but rather “a man in the best years” between thirty-five and forty. Incidentally he did not like going into the subject of his years, not out of petty self-love, but because of some considered calculation, as if he meant to insure his life for a higher fee. Yet in his manner of hiding his actual age, at least one could not discern any vain intentions to charm the fair sex.
He was a tall, well-proportioned man with large, regular features and a swar
thy complexion; he had an even, pleasing gait and reserved, but pleasant manners. Such men are usually called beaux hommes.
Reserve appeared in his face also, that is, the ability to control himself, not to let his face be the mirror of his soul. He was of the opinion that this was awkward–both for himself and for others. That’s how he was in society. His face couldn’t be called wooden, though; no, it was merely calm. But sometimes traces of weariness were perceptible–doubtless from doubled efforts. He had the reputation of a busy and energetic man. He was always carefully, even stylishly dressed, not to any extreme, rather only with taste. He wore fine shirts; his hands were full and white, the nails long and transparent.
One day when he awoke in the morning and rang, his manservant brought three letters with his tea and a message that a young gentleman had come by, who had called himself Alexander Fyodorych Aduyev and called him, Pyotr Ivanych, his uncle, and he had promised to drop by around twelve.
Pyotr Ivanych listened calmly as usual to this news, pricking up his ears only a little and raising his eyebrows.
“Good, you may go,” he told the servant.
Then he took one letter, started to open it, but stopped and thought a moment.
“A nephew from the country–that’s a surprise!” he muttered. “And I’d hoped they’d forgotten me down there. Anyway, why bother with them! I’ll get rid of him…”
He rang again.
“Tell that gentleman when he comes, that after I got up, I immediately left to go to the factory and will be back in three months.”
“Very good, sir,” answered the servant, “but what shall I do with the presents?”
“With what presents?”
“His servant brought them. The mistress, he said, sent presents from the country.”
“Presents?”
“Yes, sir: a tub of honey, a bag of dried raspberries…”
Pyotr Ivanovich shrugged his shoulders.
“Two pieces of cloth, and jam…”
“I can imagine the cloth must be good…”
An Ordinary Story Page 4