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FreeThe Privy Councillor
Anton Chekhov
Adapt
At the beginning of April 1870, my mother, Klavdia Arhipovna, the widow of a lieutenant, received a letter from her brother Ivan, a privy councillor in Petersburg, in which, among other things, this passage appeared: "My liver trouble forces me to spend every summer abroad, and as I do not at the moment have the money in hand for a trip to Marienbad, it is very possible, dear sister, that I may spend this summer with you at Kotchuevko...."
On reading the letter, my mother turned pale and began trembling all over; then an expression of mingled tears and laughter came into her face. She began crying and laughing. This conflict of tears and laughter always reminds me of the flickering and spluttering of a brightly burning candle when one sprinkles it with water. Reading the letter once more, mother called together all the household, and in a voice broken with emotion began explaining to us that there had been four Gundasov brothers: one Gundasov had died as a baby; another had gone to the war, and he, too, was dead; the third, without offence to him be it said, was an actor; the fourth...
"The fourth has risen far above us," my mother said tearfully. "My own brother; we grew up together; and I am all of a tremble, all of a tremble!... A privy councillor with the rank of a general! How shall I meet him, my angel brother? What can I, a foolish, uneducated woman, talk to him about? It's fifteen years since I've seen him! Andryushenka," my mother turned to me, "you must rejoice, little stupid! It's a piece of luck for you that God is sending him to us!"
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# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 1 / 20
# chapter_page: 1
# language: en
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At the beginning of April 1870, my mother, Klavdia Arhipovna, the widow of a lieutenant, received a letter from her brother Ivan, a privy councillor in Petersburg, in which, among other things, this passage appeared: "My liver trouble forces me to spend every summer abroad, and as I do not at the moment have the money in hand for a trip to Marienbad, it is very possible, dear sister, that I may spend this summer with you at Kotchuevko...."
On reading the letter, my mother turned pale and began trembling all over; then an expression of mingled tears and laughter came into her face. She began crying and laughing. This conflict of tears and laughter always reminds me of the flickering and spluttering of a brightly burning candle when one sprinkles it with water. Reading the letter once more, mother called together all the household, and in a voice broken with emotion began explaining to us that there had been four Gundasov brothers: one Gundasov had died as a baby; another had gone to the war, and he, too, was dead; the third, without offence to him be it said, was an actor; the fourth...
"The fourth has risen far above us," my mother said tearfully. "My own brother; we grew up together; and I am all of a tremble, all of a tremble!... A privy councillor with the rank of a general! How shall I meet him, my angel brother? What can I, a foolish, uneducated woman, talk to him about? It's fifteen years since I've seen him! Andryushenka," my mother turned to me, "you must rejoice, little stupid! It's a piece of luck for you that God is sending him to us!"After we had heard a detailed history of the Gundasovs, there followed a bustle and commotion in the place such as I had been accustomed to see only before Christmas and/or Easter. The sky above and the water in the river were all that escaped; everything else was subjected to a merciless cleansing, scrubbing, and painting. If the sky had been lower and smaller and the river had not flowed so swiftly, they would have scoured them, too, with bath-bricks and rubbed them, too, with tow. Our walls were as white as snow, but they were whitewashed; the floors were bright and shining, but they were washed every day. The cat Bobtail (as a small child I had cut off a good quarter of his tail with the knife used for chopping the sugar, and that was why he was called Bobtail) was carried off to the kitchen and put in charge of Anisya; Fedka was told that if any of the dogs came near the front-door "God would punish him."
But no one was treated so badly as the poor sofas, easy-chairs, and rugs! They had never before been so violently beaten as on this occasion in preparation for our visitor. My pigeons took fright at the loud thud of the sticks, and were continually flying up into the sky.
The tailor Spiridon, the only tailor in the whole district who ventured to make clothes for the gentry, came over from Novostroevka. He was a hardworking, capable man who did not drink and had a certain flair and feeling for form, yet he was an atrocious tailor. His work was ruined by hesitation.... The idea that his cut was not fashionable enough made him alter everything half a dozen times, walk all the way to town simply to study the dandies, and in the end dress us in suits that even a caricaturist would have called outre and grotesque. We cut a dash in impossibly narrow trousers and in such short jackets that we always felt quite abashed in the presence of young ladies.
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# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
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# chapter_page: 2
# language: en
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After we had heard a detailed history of the Gundasovs, there followed a bustle and commotion in the place such as I had been accustomed to see only before Christmas and/or Easter. The sky above and the water in the river were all that escaped; everything else was subjected to a merciless cleansing, scrubbing, and painting. If the sky had been lower and smaller and the river had not flowed so swiftly, they would have scoured them, too, with bath-bricks and rubbed them, too, with tow. Our walls were as white as snow, but they were whitewashed; the floors were bright and shining, but they were washed every day. The cat Bobtail (as a small child I had cut off a good quarter of his tail with the knife used for chopping the sugar, and that was why he was called Bobtail) was carried off to the kitchen and put in charge of Anisya; Fedka was told that if any of the dogs came near the front-door "God would punish him."
But no one was treated so badly as the poor sofas, easy-chairs, and rugs! They had never before been so violently beaten as on this occasion in preparation for our visitor. My pigeons took fright at the loud thud of the sticks, and were continually flying up into the sky.
The tailor Spiridon, the only tailor in the whole district who ventured to make clothes for the gentry, came over from Novostroevka. He was a hardworking, capable man who did not drink and had a certain flair and feeling for form, yet he was an atrocious tailor. His work was ruined by hesitation.... The idea that his cut was not fashionable enough made him alter everything half a dozen times, walk all the way to town simply to study the dandies, and in the end dress us in suits that even a caricaturist would have called _outre_ and grotesque. We cut a dash in impossibly narrow trousers and in such short jackets that we always felt quite abashed in the presence of young ladies.This Spiridon spent a long time taking my measure. He measured me all over—lengthways and crossways—as though he meant to put hoops round me like a barrel; then he spent a long time noting down my measurements with a thick pencil on a bit of paper, and ticked off all the measurements with triangular signs. When he had finished with me, he set to work on my tutor, Yegor Alexyevitch Pobyedimsky. My beloved tutor was then at the stage when young men watch the growth of their moustache and are critical of their clothes, and so you can imagine the devout awe with which Spiridon approached him. Yegor Alexyevitch had to throw back his head, to straddle his legs like an inverted V, first lift up his arms, then let them fall. Spiridon measured him several times, walking round him during the process like a love-sick pigeon round its mate, going down on one knee, bending double....
My mother, weary, exhausted by her exertions and heated by ironing, watched these lengthy proceedings, and said: "Mind now, Spiridon, you will have to answer for it to God if you spoil the cloth! And it will be the worse for you if you don't make them fit!"
Mother's words first threw Spiridon into a fever, then into a sweat, for he was convinced that he would not be able to make them fit. He received one rouble twenty kopecks for making my suit, and two roubles for Pobyedimsky's, but we provided the cloth, the lining, and the buttons. The price cannot be considered excessive, as Novostroevka was about seven miles from us, and the tailor came to fit us four times. When he came to try the clothes on and we squeezed ourselves into the tight trousers and jackets adorned with basting threads, mother always frowned contemptuously and expressed her surprise: "Goodness knows what the fashions are coming to nowadays! I am positively ashamed to look at them. If brother were not used to Petersburg I would not get you fashionable clothes!"
Spiridon, relieved that the blame was thrown on the fashion and not on him, shrugged his shoulders and sighed, as though to say: "There's no help for it; it's the spirit of the age!"
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# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
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# chapter_page: 3
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This Spiridon spent a long time taking my measure. He measured me all over—lengthways and crossways—as though he meant to put hoops round me like a barrel; then he spent a long time noting down my measurements with a thick pencil on a bit of paper, and ticked off all the measurements with triangular signs. When he had finished with me, he set to work on my tutor, Yegor Alexyevitch Pobyedimsky. My beloved tutor was then at the stage when young men watch the growth of their moustache and are critical of their clothes, and so you can imagine the devout awe with which Spiridon approached him. Yegor Alexyevitch had to throw back his head, to straddle his legs like an inverted V, first lift up his arms, then let them fall. Spiridon measured him several times, walking round him during the process like a love-sick pigeon round its mate, going down on one knee, bending double....
My mother, weary, exhausted by her exertions and heated by ironing, watched these lengthy proceedings, and said: "Mind now, Spiridon, you will have to answer for it to God if you spoil the cloth! And it will be the worse for you if you don't make them fit!"
Mother's words first threw Spiridon into a fever, then into a sweat, for he was convinced that he would not be able to make them fit. He received one rouble twenty kopecks for making my suit, and two roubles for Pobyedimsky's, but we provided the cloth, the lining, and the buttons. The price cannot be considered excessive, as Novostroevka was about seven miles from us, and the tailor came to fit us four times. When he came to try the clothes on and we squeezed ourselves into the tight trousers and jackets adorned with basting threads, mother always frowned contemptuously and expressed her surprise: "Goodness knows what the fashions are coming to nowadays! I am positively ashamed to look at them. If brother were not used to Petersburg I would not get you fashionable clothes!"
Spiridon, relieved that the blame was thrown on the fashion and not on him, shrugged his shoulders and sighed, as though to say: "There's no help for it; it's the spirit of the age!"The excitement with which we awaited the arrival of our guest can only be compared with the strained suspense with which spiritualists wait from minute to minute for the appearance of a ghost. Mother went about with a sick headache, and was continually melting into tears. I lost my appetite, slept badly, and did not learn my lessons. Even in my dreams I was haunted by an impatient longing to see a general--that is, a man with epaulettes and an embroidered collar sticking up to his ears, and with a naked sword in his hands, exactly like the one who hung over the sofa in the drawing-room and glared with terrible black eyes at everyone who dared to look at him. Pobyedimsky was the only one who felt himself in his element. He was neither terrified nor delighted, and merely said from time to time, when he heard the history of the Gundasov family: "Yes, it will be pleasant to have someone fresh to talk to."
My tutor was regarded among us as an exceptional person. He was a young man of twenty, with a pimply face, shaggy locks, a low forehead, and an unusually long nose. His nose was so big that when he wanted to look closely at anything he had to tilt his head to one side like a bird. In our opinion, there was not a man in the province cleverer, more cultivated, or more stylish. He had graduated from high school in the class next to the top, and had then entered a veterinary college, from which he was expelled before the end of the first semester. The reason for his expulsion he carefully concealed, which enabled anyone who wished to do so to regard my instructor as an injured and, to some extent, mysterious person.
He spoke little, and only about intellectual subjects; he ate meat during the fasts, and looked with contempt and condescension at the life going on around him, which did not prevent him, however, from accepting presents, such as suits of clothes, from my mother, and drawing funny faces with red teeth on my kites. Mother disliked him for his "pride," but stood in awe of his cleverness.
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# book_title: The Privy Councillor
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# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
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The excitement with which we awaited the arrival of our guest can only be compared with the strained suspense with which spiritualists wait from minute to minute for the appearance of a ghost. Mother went about with a sick headache, and was continually melting into tears. I lost my appetite, slept badly, and did not learn my lessons. Even in my dreams I was haunted by an impatient longing to see a general--that is, a man with epaulettes and an embroidered collar sticking up to his ears, and with a naked sword in his hands, exactly like the one who hung over the sofa in the drawing-room and glared with terrible black eyes at everyone who dared to look at him. Pobyedimsky was the only one who felt himself in his element. He was neither terrified nor delighted, and merely said from time to time, when he heard the history of the Gundasov family: "Yes, it will be pleasant to have someone fresh to talk to."
My tutor was regarded among us as an exceptional person. He was a young man of twenty, with a pimply face, shaggy locks, a low forehead, and an unusually long nose. His nose was so big that when he wanted to look closely at anything he had to tilt his head to one side like a bird. In our opinion, there was not a man in the province cleverer, more cultivated, or more stylish. He had graduated from high school in the class next to the top, and had then entered a veterinary college, from which he was expelled before the end of the first semester. The reason for his expulsion he carefully concealed, which enabled anyone who wished to do so to regard my instructor as an injured and, to some extent, mysterious person.
He spoke little, and only about intellectual subjects; he ate meat during the fasts, and looked with contempt and condescension at the life going on around him, which did not prevent him, however, from accepting presents, such as suits of clothes, from my mother, and drawing funny faces with red teeth on my kites. Mother disliked him for his "pride," but stood in awe of his cleverness.Our visitor did not keep us waiting long. At the beginning of May, two wagon-loads of large boxes arrived from the station. These boxes looked so majestic that the drivers instinctively took off their hats as they lifted them down.
"There must be uniforms and gunpowder in those boxes," I thought.
Why "gunpowder"? Probably the conception of a general was closely connected in my mind with cannons and gunpowder.
When I woke up on the morning of the tenth of May, the nurse told me in a whisper that "my uncle had come." I dressed rapidly, and, washing in a makeshift fashion, flew out of my bedroom without saying my prayers. In the vestibule I came upon a tall, solid gentleman with fashionable whiskers and a foppish-looking overcoat. Half dead with devout awe, I went up to him and, remembering the ceremonial my mother had impressed upon me, scraped my foot before him, made a very low bow, and craned forward to kiss his hand; but the gentleman did not allow me to kiss his hand: he informed me that he was not my uncle, but my uncle's footman, Pyotr. The appearance of this Pyotr, far better dressed than Pobyedimsky or me, excited in me the utmost astonishment, which, to tell the truth, has lasted to this day. Can such dignified, respectable people with stern and intellectual faces really be footmen? And for what purpose?
Pyotr told me that my uncle was in the garden with my mother. I rushed into the garden.
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# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
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# chapter_page: 5
# language: en
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Our visitor did not keep us waiting long. At the beginning of May, two wagon-loads of large boxes arrived from the station. These boxes looked so majestic that the drivers instinctively took off their hats as they lifted them down.
"There must be uniforms and gunpowder in those boxes," I thought.
Why "gunpowder"? Probably the conception of a general was closely connected in my mind with cannons and gunpowder.
When I woke up on the morning of the tenth of May, the nurse told me in a whisper that "my uncle had come." I dressed rapidly, and, washing in a makeshift fashion, flew out of my bedroom without saying my prayers. In the vestibule I came upon a tall, solid gentleman with fashionable whiskers and a foppish-looking overcoat. Half dead with devout awe, I went up to him and, remembering the ceremonial my mother had impressed upon me, scraped my foot before him, made a very low bow, and craned forward to kiss his hand; but the gentleman did not allow me to kiss his hand: he informed me that he was not my uncle, but my uncle's footman, Pyotr. The appearance of this Pyotr, far better dressed than Pobyedimsky or me, excited in me the utmost astonishment, which, to tell the truth, has lasted to this day. Can such dignified, respectable people with stern and intellectual faces really be footmen? And for what purpose?
Pyotr told me that my uncle was in the garden with my mother. I rushed into the garden.Nature, knowing nothing of the history of the Gundasov family and the rank of my uncle, felt far more at ease and unconstrained than I. There was a clamour going on in the garden such as one only hears at fairs. Masses of starlings flitting through the air and hopping about the walks were noisily chattering as they hunted for cockchafers. There were swarms of sparrows in the lilac-bushes, which threw their tender, fragrant blossoms straight in one's face. Wherever one turned, from every direction came the note of the golden oriole and the shrill cry of the hoopoe and the red-legged falcon. At any other time I would have begun chasing dragonflies or throwing stones at a crow that was sitting on a low mound under an aspen tree, its blunt beak turned away; but at that moment I was in no mood for mischief.
My heart was throbbing, and I felt a cold sinking at my stomach; I was preparing myself to confront a gentleman with epaulettes, with a naked sword, and with terrible eyes!
But imagine my disappointment!
A dapper little foppish gentleman in white silk trousers, with a white cap on his head, was walking beside my mother in the garden. With his hands behind him and his head thrown back, every now and then running on ahead of mother, he looked quite young. There was so much life and movement in his whole figure that I could only detect the treachery of age when I came close up behind and saw beneath his cap a fringe of close-cropped silver hair. Instead of the staid dignity and stolidity of a general, I saw an almost schoolboyish nimbleness; instead of a collar sticking up to his ears, an ordinary light blue necktie. Mother and my uncle were walking in the avenue, talking together. I went softly up to them from behind, and waited for one of them to look round.
"What a delightful place you have here, Klavdia!" said my uncle. "How charming and lovely it is! Had I known before that you had such a charming place, nothing would have induced me to go abroad all these years."
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# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 6 / 20
# chapter_page: 6
# language: en
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Nature, knowing nothing of the history of the Gundasov family and the rank of my uncle, felt far more at ease and unconstrained than I. There was a clamour going on in the garden such as one only hears at fairs. Masses of starlings flitting through the air and hopping about the walks were noisily chattering as they hunted for cockchafers. There were swarms of sparrows in the lilac-bushes, which threw their tender, fragrant blossoms straight in one's face. Wherever one turned, from every direction came the note of the golden oriole and the shrill cry of the hoopoe and the red-legged falcon. At any other time I would have begun chasing dragonflies or throwing stones at a crow that was sitting on a low mound under an aspen tree, its blunt beak turned away; but at that moment I was in no mood for mischief.
My heart was throbbing, and I felt a cold sinking at my stomach; I was preparing myself to confront a gentleman with epaulettes, with a naked sword, and with terrible eyes!
But imagine my disappointment! A dapper little foppish gentleman in white silk trousers, with a white cap on his head, was walking beside my mother in the garden. With his hands behind him and his head thrown back, every now and then running on ahead of mother, he looked quite young. There was so much life and movement in his whole figure that I could only detect the treachery of age when I came close up behind and saw beneath his cap a fringe of close-cropped silver hair. Instead of the staid dignity and stolidity of a general, I saw an almost schoolboyish nimbleness; instead of a collar sticking up to his ears, an ordinary light blue necktie. Mother and my uncle were walking in the avenue, talking together. I went softly up to them from behind, and waited for one of them to look round.
"What a delightful place you have here, Klavdia!" said my uncle. "How charming and lovely it is! Had I known before that you had such a charming place, nothing would have induced me to go abroad all these years."My uncle stooped down rapidly and sniffed at a tulip. Everything he saw moved him to rapture and excitement, as though he had never been in a garden on a sunny day before. The queer man moved about as though he were on springs, and chattered incessantly, without allowing Mother to utter a single word. All of a sudden Pobyedimsky came into sight from behind an elder-tree at the turn of the avenue. His appearance was so unexpected that my uncle positively started and stepped back a pace. On this occasion my tutor was attired in his best Inverness cape with sleeves, in which, especially from the back, he looked remarkably like a windmill. He had a solemn and majestic air. Pressing his hat to his bosom in Spanish style, he took a step towards my uncle and made a bow such as a marquis makes in a melodrama, bending forward, a little to one side.
"I have the honour to present myself to your high excellency," he said aloud: "the teacher and instructor of your nephew, formerly a pupil of the veterinary institute, and a nobleman by birth, Pobyedimsky!"
This politeness on the part of my tutor pleased my mother very much. She gave a smile, and waited in thrilled suspense to hear what clever thing he would say next; but my tutor, expecting his dignified address to be answered with equal dignity--that is, that my uncle would say "H'm!" like a general and hold out two fingers--was greatly confused and abashed when the latter laughed genially and shook hands with him. He muttered something incoherent, cleared his throat, and walked away.
"Come! isn't that charming?" laughed my uncle. "Just look! he has made his little flourish and thinks he's a very clever fellow! I do like that--on my soul I do! What youthful aplomb, what life in that foolish flourish! And what boy is this?" he asked, suddenly turning and looking at me.
"That is my Andryushenka," my mother introduced me, flushing crimson. "My consolation..."
I made a scrape with my foot in the sand and bowed low.
"A fine fellow... a fine fellow..." muttered my uncle, taking his hand from my lips and stroking me on the head. "So your name is Andrusha? Yes, yes.... H'm!... On my soul!... Do you learn your lessons?"
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# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
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# chapter_page: 7
# language: en
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My uncle stooped down rapidly and sniffed at a tulip. Everything he saw moved him to rapture and excitement, as though he had never been in a garden on a sunny day before. The queer man moved about as though he were on springs, and chattered incessantly, without allowing Mother to utter a single word. All of a sudden Pobyedimsky came into sight from behind an elder-tree at the turn of the avenue. His appearance was so unexpected that my uncle positively started and stepped back a pace. On this occasion my tutor was attired in his best Inverness cape with sleeves, in which, especially from the back, he looked remarkably like a windmill. He had a solemn and majestic air. Pressing his hat to his bosom in Spanish style, he took a step towards my uncle and made a bow such as a marquis makes in a melodrama, bending forward, a little to one side.
"I have the honour to present myself to your high excellency," he said aloud: "the teacher and instructor of your nephew, formerly a pupil of the veterinary institute, and a nobleman by birth, Pobyedimsky!"
This politeness on the part of my tutor pleased my mother very much. She gave a smile, and waited in thrilled suspense to hear what clever thing he would say next; but my tutor, expecting his dignified address to be answered with equal dignity--that is, that my uncle would say "H'm!" like a general and hold out two fingers--was greatly confused and abashed when the latter laughed genially and shook hands with him. He muttered something incoherent, cleared his throat, and walked away.
"Come! isn't that charming?" laughed my uncle. "Just look! he has made his little flourish and thinks he's a very clever fellow! I do like that--on my soul I do! What youthful aplomb, what life in that foolish flourish! And what boy is this?" he asked, suddenly turning and looking at me.
"That is my Andryushenka," my mother introduced me, flushing crimson. "My consolation..."
I made a scrape with my foot in the sand and bowed low.
"A fine fellow... a fine fellow..." muttered my uncle, taking his hand from my lips and stroking me on the head. "So your name is Andrusha? Yes, yes.... H'm!... On my soul!... Do you learn your lessons?"My mother, exaggerating and embellishing as all mothers do, began to describe my achievements in the sciences and the excellence of my behaviour, and I walked round my uncle and, following the ceremonial laid down for me, continued to make low bows. Then my mother began dropping hints that, with my remarkable abilities, it would not be amiss for me to get a government nomination to the cadet school; but at the point when I was supposed to burst into tears and beg for my uncle's protection, my uncle suddenly stopped and flung up his hands in amazement.
"My goodness! What's that?" he asked.
Tatyana Ivanovna, the wife of our bailiff, Fyodor Petrovna, was coming towards us. She was carrying a starched white petticoat and a long ironing-board. As she passed us, she looked shyly at the visitor through her eyelashes and blushed crimson.
"Wonders will never cease..." my uncle muttered through his teeth, looking after her with friendly interest. "You have a fresh surprise at every step, sister... on my soul!"
"She's a beauty..." said mother. "They chose her as a bride for Fyodor, though she lived over seventy miles from here...."
Not everyone would have called Tatyana a beauty. She was a plump little woman of twenty, with black eyebrows and a graceful figure, always rosy and attractive-looking, but in her face and in her whole person there was not one striking feature, not one bold line to catch the eye, as though nature had lacked inspiration and confidence when creating her. Tatyana Ivanovna was shy, bashful, and modest in her behaviour; she moved softly and smoothly, said little, seldom laughed, and her whole life was as regular as her face and as flat as her smooth, tidy hair. My uncle screwed up his eyes looking after her, and smiled. Mother looked intently at his smiling face and grew serious.
"And so, brother, you've never married!" she sighed.
"No; I haven't married."
"Why not?" asked mother softly.
"How can I tell you? It happened that way. In my youth I was too hard at work; I had no time to live, and when I longed to live--I looked round--and there I had fifty years on my back already. I was too late! However, talking about it... is depressing."
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# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
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# language: en
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My mother, exaggerating and embellishing as all mothers do, began to describe my achievements in the sciences and the excellence of my behaviour, and I walked round my uncle and, following the ceremonial laid down for me, continued to make low bows. Then my mother began dropping hints that, with my remarkable abilities, it would not be amiss for me to get a government nomination to the cadet school; but at the point when I was supposed to burst into tears and beg for my uncle's protection, my uncle suddenly stopped and flung up his hands in amazement.
"My goodness! What's that?" he asked.
Tatyana Ivanovna, the wife of our bailiff, Fyodor Petrovna, was coming towards us. She was carrying a starched white petticoat and a long ironing-board. As she passed us, she looked shyly at the visitor through her eyelashes and blushed crimson.
"Wonders will never cease..." my uncle muttered through his teeth, looking after her with friendly interest. "You have a fresh surprise at every step, sister... on my soul!"
"She's a beauty..." said mother. "They chose her as a bride for Fyodor, though she lived over seventy miles from here...."
Not everyone would have called Tatyana a beauty. She was a plump little woman of twenty, with black eyebrows and a graceful figure, always rosy and attractive-looking, but in her face and in her whole person there was not one striking feature, not one bold line to catch the eye, as though nature had lacked inspiration and confidence when creating her. Tatyana Ivanovna was shy, bashful, and modest in her behaviour; she moved softly and smoothly, said little, seldom laughed, and her whole life was as regular as her face and as flat as her smooth, tidy hair. My uncle screwed up his eyes looking after her, and smiled. Mother looked intently at his smiling face and grew serious.
"And so, brother, you've never married!" she sighed.
"No; I haven't married."
"Why not?" asked mother softly.
"How can I tell you? It happened that way. In my youth I was too hard at work; I had no time to live, and when I longed to live--I looked round--and there I had fifty years on my back already. I was too late! However, talking about it... is depressing."My mother and my uncle both sighed at once and walked on, and I left them and flew off to find my tutor, that I might share my impressions with him. Pobyedimsky was standing in the middle of the yard, looking majestically at the heavens.
"One can see he is a man of culture!" he said, twisting his head round. "I hope we shall get on together."
An hour later mother came to us.
"I am in trouble, my dears!" she began, sighing. "You see, brother has brought a valet with him, and the valet, God bless him, is not one you can put in the kitchen or in the hall; we must give him a room apart." I can't think what I am to do! I'll tell you what, children: couldn't you move out somewhere—to Fyodor's lodge, for instance—and give your room to the valet? What do you say?"
We readily agreed, for living in the lodge was much freer than in the house, under Mother's watchful eye.
"It's a nuisance, and that's a fact!" said Mother. "Brother says he won't have dinner in the middle of the day, but between six and seven, as they do in Petersburg. I am simply distracted with worry! By seven o'clock the dinner will be ruined in the oven. Really, men understand nothing about housekeeping, even though they have so much intellect. Oh, dear! We shall have to cook two dinners every day! You will have dinner at midday as before, children, while your poor old mother has to wait until seven, for the sake of her brother."
Then Mother heaved a deep sigh, told me to try and please my uncle, whose arrival was a piece of luck for me—for which we must thank God—and hurried off to the kitchen. Pobyedimsky and I moved into the lodge the same day. We were installed in a room that formed the passage from the entrance to the bailiff's bedroom.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-087b428ec894478497ad60251f2f1a5d
# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 9 / 20
# chapter_page: 9
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
My mother and my uncle both sighed at once and walked on, and I left them and flew off to find my tutor, that I might share my impressions with him. Pobyedimsky was standing in the middle of the yard, looking majestically at the heavens.
"One can see he is a man of culture!" he said, twisting his head round. "I hope we shall get on together."
An hour later mother came to us.
"I am in trouble, my dears!" she began, sighing. "You see, brother has brought a valet with him, and the valet, God bless him, is not one you can put in the kitchen or in the hall; we must give him a room apart." I can't think what I am to do! I'll tell you what, children: couldn't you move out somewhere—to Fyodor's lodge, for instance—and give your room to the valet? What do you say?"
We readily agreed, for living in the lodge was much freer than in the house, under Mother's watchful eye.
"It's a nuisance, and that's a fact!" said Mother. "Brother says he won't have dinner in the middle of the day, but between six and seven, as they do in Petersburg. I am simply distracted with worry! By seven o'clock the dinner will be ruined in the oven. Really, men understand nothing about housekeeping, even though they have so much intellect. Oh, dear! We shall have to cook two dinners every day! You will have dinner at midday as before, children, while your poor old mother has to wait until seven, for the sake of her brother."
Then Mother heaved a deep sigh, told me to try and please my uncle, whose arrival was a piece of luck for me—for which we must thank God—and hurried off to the kitchen. Pobyedimsky and I moved into the lodge the same day. We were installed in a room that formed the passage from the entrance to the bailiff's bedroom.Contrary to my expectations, life went on just as before, drearily and monotonously, despite my uncle's arrival and our move into new quarters. We were excused lessons "on account of the visitor." Pobyedimsky, who never read anything or occupied himself in any way, spent most of his time sitting on his bed, with his long nose thrust into the air, thinking. Sometimes he would get up, try on his new suit, and sit down again to relapse into contemplation and silence. Only one thing worried him: the flies, which he mercilessly crushed between his hands. After dinner he usually "rested," and his snores were a cause of annoyance to the whole household. I ran about the garden from morning to night, or sat in the lodge sticking my kites together. For the first two or three weeks we did not see my uncle often. For days on end he sat in his own room working, in spite of the flies and the heat.
His extraordinary ability to sit as though glued to his table produced on us the effect of an inexplicable conjuring trick. To us idlers, knowing nothing of systematic work, his industry seemed simply miraculous. Getting up at nine, he sat down at his table, and did not leave it until dinner-time; after dinner he set to work again, and continued until late at night.
Whenever I peeked through the keyhole, I invariably saw the same thing: my uncle sitting at the table working. The work consisted of his writing with one hand while he turned the pages of a book with the other, and, strange to say, he kept moving all over—swinging his leg as though it were a pendulum, whistling, and nodding his head in time. He had an extremely careless and frivolous expression all the while, as though he were not working, but playing at noughts and crosses. I always saw him wearing a smart short jacket and a jauntily tied cravat, and he always smelt, even through the keyhole, of delicate feminine perfumery. He only left his room for dinner, but he ate little.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-087b428ec894478497ad60251f2f1a5d
# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 10 / 20
# chapter_page: 10
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Contrary to my expectations, life went on just as before, drearily and monotonously, despite my uncle's arrival and our move into new quarters. We were excused lessons "on account of the visitor." Pobyedimsky, who never read anything or occupied himself in any way, spent most of his time sitting on his bed, with his long nose thrust into the air, thinking. Sometimes he would get up, try on his new suit, and sit down again to relapse into contemplation and silence. Only one thing worried him: the flies, which he mercilessly crushed between his hands. After dinner he usually "rested," and his snores were a cause of annoyance to the whole household. I ran about the garden from morning to night, or sat in the lodge sticking my kites together. For the first two or three weeks we did not see my uncle often. For days on end he sat in his own room working, in spite of the flies and the heat.
His extraordinary ability to sit as though glued to his table produced on us the effect of an inexplicable conjuring trick. To us idlers, knowing nothing of systematic work, his industry seemed simply miraculous. Getting up at nine, he sat down at his table, and did not leave it until dinner-time; after dinner he set to work again, and continued until late at night.
Whenever I peeked through the keyhole, I invariably saw the same thing: my uncle sitting at the table working. The work consisted of his writing with one hand while he turned the pages of a book with the other, and, strange to say, he kept moving all over—swinging his leg as though it were a pendulum, whistling, and nodding his head in time. He had an extremely careless and frivolous expression all the while, as though he were not working, but playing at noughts and crosses. I always saw him wearing a smart short jacket and a jauntily tied cravat, and he always smelt, even through the keyhole, of delicate feminine perfumery. He only left his room for dinner, but he ate little."I can't make brother out!" mother complained about him. "Every day we kill a turkey and pigeons on purpose for him; I make a compote with my own hands, and he eats a plateful of broth and a bit of meat the size of a finger and gets up from the table. I begin begging him to eat; he comes back and drinks a glass of milk. And what is there in that, in a glass of milk? It's no better than washing-up water! You might die of such a diet.... If I try to persuade him, he laughs and makes a joke of it.... No; he does not care for our fare, poor dear!"
We spent the evenings far more gaily than the days. As a rule, by the time the sun was setting and long shadows were lying across the yard, we--that is, Tatyana Ivanovna, Pobyedimsky, and I--were sitting on the steps of the lodge. We did not talk until it grew quite dusk. And, indeed, what is one to talk of when every subject has been talked over already? There was only one new thing: my uncle's arrival, and even that subject was soon exhausted. My tutor never took his eyes off Tatyana Ivanovna's face, and frequently heaved deep sighs.... At the time I did not understand those sighs, and did not try to fathom their significance; now they explain a great deal to me.
When the shadows merged into one thick mass of shade, the bailiff Fyodor would come in from shooting or from the field. This Fyodor gave me the impression of being a fierce and even a terrible man. The son of a Russified gypsy from Izyumskoe, swarthy-faced and curly-haired, with big black eyes and a matted beard, he was never called by any other name among our Kotchuevko peasants than "The Devil." And, indeed, there was a great deal of the gypsy about him apart from his appearance. He could not, for instance, stay at home, and would go off for days at a time into the countryside or into the woods to shoot. He was gloomy, ill-humored, taciturn, feared nobody, and refused to recognize any authority. He was rude to mother, addressed me familiarly, and was contemptuous of Pobyedimsky's learning.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-087b428ec894478497ad60251f2f1a5d
# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 11 / 20
# chapter_page: 11
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"I can't make brother out!" mother complained about him. "Every day we kill a turkey and pigeons on purpose for him; I make a compote with my own hands, and he eats a plateful of broth and a bit of meat the size of a finger and gets up from the table. I begin begging him to eat; he comes back and drinks a glass of milk. And what is there in that, in a glass of milk? It's no better than washing-up water! You might die of such a diet.... If I try to persuade him, he laughs and makes a joke of it.... No; he does not care for our fare, poor dear!"
We spent the evenings far more gaily than the days. As a rule, by the time the sun was setting and long shadows were lying across the yard, we--that is, Tatyana Ivanovna, Pobyedimsky, and I--were sitting on the steps of the lodge. We did not talk until it grew quite dusk. And, indeed, what is one to talk of when every subject has been talked over already? There was only one new thing: my uncle's arrival, and even that subject was soon exhausted. My tutor never took his eyes off Tatyana Ivanovna's face, and frequently heaved deep sighs.... At the time I did not understand those sighs, and did not try to fathom their significance; now they explain a great deal to me.
When the shadows merged into one thick mass of shade, the bailiff Fyodor would come in from shooting or from the field. This Fyodor gave me the impression of being a fierce and even a terrible man. The son of a Russified gypsy from Izyumskoe, swarthy-faced and curly-haired, with big black eyes and a matted beard, he was never called by any other name among our Kotchuevko peasants than "The Devil." And, indeed, there was a great deal of the gypsy about him apart from his appearance. He could not, for instance, stay at home, and would go off for days at a time into the countryside or into the woods to shoot. He was gloomy, ill-humored, taciturn, feared nobody, and refused to recognize any authority. He was rude to mother, addressed me familiarly, and was contemptuous of Pobyedimsky's learning.We forgave him all this, seeing him as a hot-tempered and nervous man; mother liked him because, in spite of his gypsy nature, he was ideally honest and industrious. He loved his Tatyana Ivanovna passionately, like a gypsy, but this love took on a gloomy form in him, as though it cost him suffering. He was never affectionate to his wife in our presence, but simply rolled his eyes angrily at her and twisted his mouth.
When he came in from the fields, he would noisily and angrily put down his gun, come out to us on the steps, and sit down beside his wife. After resting a little, he would ask his wife a few questions about household matters, and then sink into silence.
"Let us sing," I would suggest.
My tutor would tune his guitar, and in a deep deacon's bass strike up "In the midst of the valley." We would begin singing. My tutor took the bass, Fyodor sang in a barely audible tenor, while I sang soprano in unison with Tatyana Ivanovna.
When the whole sky was covered with stars and the frogs had stopped croaking, they would bring in our supper from the kitchen. We went into the lodge and sat down to the meal. My tutor and the gypsy ate greedily, with such a sound that it was hard to tell whether it was the bones crunching or their jaws, and Tatyana Ivanovna and I barely managed to get our share. After supper, the lodge was plunged into a deep sleep.
One evening, at the end of May, we were sitting on the steps, waiting for supper. A shadow suddenly fell across us, and Gundasov stood before us as though he had sprung out of the earth. He looked at us for a long time, then clasped his hands and laughed gaily.
"An idyll!" he said. "They sing and dream in the moonlight! It's charming, on my soul! May I sit down and dream with you?"
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-087b428ec894478497ad60251f2f1a5d
# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 12 / 20
# chapter_page: 12
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
We forgave him all this, seeing him as a hot-tempered and nervous man; mother liked him because, in spite of his gypsy nature, he was ideally honest and industrious. He loved his Tatyana Ivanovna passionately, like a gypsy, but this love took on a gloomy form in him, as though it cost him suffering. He was never affectionate to his wife in our presence, but simply rolled his eyes angrily at her and twisted his mouth.
When he came in from the fields, he would noisily and angrily put down his gun, come out to us on the steps, and sit down beside his wife. After resting a little, he would ask his wife a few questions about household matters, and then sink into silence.
"Let us sing," I would suggest.
My tutor would tune his guitar, and in a deep deacon's bass strike up "In the midst of the valley." We would begin singing. My tutor took the bass, Fyodor sang in a barely audible tenor, while I sang soprano in unison with Tatyana Ivanovna.
When the whole sky was covered with stars and the frogs had stopped croaking, they would bring in our supper from the kitchen. We went into the lodge and sat down to the meal. My tutor and the gypsy ate greedily, with such a sound that it was hard to tell whether it was the bones crunching or their jaws, and Tatyana Ivanovna and I barely managed to get our share. After supper, the lodge was plunged into a deep sleep.
One evening, at the end of May, we were sitting on the steps, waiting for supper. A shadow suddenly fell across us, and Gundasov stood before us as though he had sprung out of the earth. He looked at us for a long time, then clasped his hands and laughed gaily.
"An idyll!" he said. "They sing and dream in the moonlight! It's charming, on my soul! May I sit down and dream with you?"We looked at one another and said nothing. My uncle sat down on the bottom step, yawned, and looked at the sky. A silence followed. Pobyedimsky, who had for a long time been wanting to talk to someone new, was delighted at the opportunity, and was the first to break the silence. He had only one subject for intellectual conversation: epizootic diseases. It sometimes happens that after one has been in an immense crowd, only some one countenance of the thousands remains long imprinted on the memory; in the same way, of all that Pobyedimsky had heard during his six months at the veterinary institute, he remembered only one passage: "Epizootics do immense damage to the country's livestock. It is the duty of society to work hand in hand with the government in waging war on them."
Before saying this to Gundasov, my tutor cleared his throat three times, and several times, in his excitement, wrapped himself up in his Inverness. On hearing about the epizootics, my uncle looked intently at my tutor and made a sound between a snort and a laugh.
"On my soul, that's charming!" he said, scrutinizing us as though we were mannequins. "This is actually life.... This is really what reality is bound to be. Why are you silent, Pelagea Ivanovna?" he said, addressing Tatyana Ivanovna.
She coughed, overcome with confusion.
"Talk, my friends, sing... play!... Don't lose time. You know, time, the rascal, runs away and waits for no man! On my soul, before you have time to look round, old age is upon you.... Then it is too late to live! That's how it is, Pelagea Ivanovna.... We mustn't sit still and be silent...."
At that point supper was brought out from the kitchen. Uncle went into the lodge with us, and to keep us company ate five curd fritters and the wing of a duck. He ate and looked at us. He was touched and delighted by us all. Whatever silly nonsense my precious tutor talked, and whatever Tatyana Ivanovna did, he thought charming and delightful. When after supper Tatyana Ivanovna sat quietly down and took up her knitting, he kept his eyes fixed on her fingers and chatted away without ceasing.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-087b428ec894478497ad60251f2f1a5d
# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 13 / 20
# chapter_page: 13
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
We looked at one another and said nothing. My uncle sat down on the bottom step, yawned, and looked at the sky. A silence followed. Pobyedimsky, who had for a long time been wanting to talk to someone new, was delighted at the opportunity, and was the first to break the silence. He had only one subject for intellectual conversation: epizootic diseases. It sometimes happens that after one has been in an immense crowd, only some one countenance of the thousands remains long imprinted on the memory; in the same way, of all that Pobyedimsky had heard during his six months at the veterinary institute, he remembered only one passage: "Epizootics do immense damage to the country's livestock. It is the duty of society to work hand in hand with the government in waging war on them."
Before saying this to Gundasov, my tutor cleared his throat three times, and several times, in his excitement, wrapped himself up in his Inverness. On hearing about the epizootics, my uncle looked intently at my tutor and made a sound between a snort and a laugh.
"On my soul, that's charming!" he said, scrutinizing us as though we were mannequins. "This is actually life.... This is really what reality is bound to be. Why are you silent, Pelagea Ivanovna?" he said, addressing Tatyana Ivanovna.
She coughed, overcome with confusion.
"Talk, my friends, sing... play!... Don't lose time. You know, time, the rascal, runs away and waits for no man! On my soul, before you have time to look round, old age is upon you.... Then it is too late to live! That's how it is, Pelagea Ivanovna.... We mustn't sit still and be silent...."
At that point supper was brought out from the kitchen. Uncle went into the lodge with us, and to keep us company ate five curd fritters and the wing of a duck. He ate and looked at us. He was touched and delighted by us all. Whatever silly nonsense my precious tutor talked, and whatever Tatyana Ivanovna did, he thought charming and delightful. When after supper Tatyana Ivanovna sat quietly down and took up her knitting, he kept his eyes fixed on her fingers and chatted away without ceasing."Make all the haste you can to live, my friends..." he said. "God forbid you should sacrifice the present for the future! There is youth, health, fire in the present; the future is smoke and deception! As soon as you are twenty begin to live."
Tatyana Ivanovna dropped a knitting-needle. My uncle jumped up, picked up the needle, and handed it to Tatyana Ivanovna with a bow, and for the first time in my life I learned that there were people in the world more refined than Pobyedimsky.
"Yes..." my uncle went on, "love, marry, do silly things. Foolishness is a great deal more alive and healthy than our straining and striving after a rational life."
My uncle talked a great deal, so much that he bored us; I sat on a box listening to him and falling asleep. It distressed me that he did not once all evening pay attention to me. He left the lodge at two o'clock, when, overcome with drowsiness, I was sound asleep.
From that time forth my uncle began coming to the lodge every evening. He sang with us, had supper with us, and always stayed on till two o'clock in the morning, chatting incessantly, always about the same subject. His evening and night work was abandoned, and by the end of June, when the privy councillor had learned to eat mother's turkey and compote, his work by day was abandoned too. My uncle tore himself away from his table and plunged into "life." During the day he walked up and down the garden, whistled to the workmen and hindered them from working, making them tell him their various histories. When his eye fell on Tatyana Ivanovna he ran up to her, and, if she were carrying anything, offered his assistance, which embarrassed her dreadfully.
As the summer advanced, my uncle grew more and more frivolous, volatile, and careless. Pobyedimsky was completely disillusioned regarding him.
"He is too one-sided," he said. "There is nothing to show that he is in the very foremost ranks of the service." And he doesn't even know how to talk. Every word he says is 'on my soul.' No, I don't like him!"
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-087b428ec894478497ad60251f2f1a5d
# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 14 / 20
# chapter_page: 14
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"Make all the haste you can to live, my friends..." he said. "God forbid you should sacrifice the present for the future! There is youth, health, fire in the present; the future is smoke and deception! As soon as you are twenty begin to live."
Tatyana Ivanovna dropped a knitting-needle. My uncle jumped up, picked up the needle, and handed it to Tatyana Ivanovna with a bow, and for the first time in my life I learned that there were people in the world more refined than Pobyedimsky.
"Yes..." my uncle went on, "love, marry, do silly things. Foolishness is a great deal more alive and healthy than our straining and striving after a rational life."
My uncle talked a great deal, so much that he bored us; I sat on a box listening to him and falling asleep. It distressed me that he did not once all evening pay attention to me. He left the lodge at two o'clock, when, overcome with drowsiness, I was sound asleep.
From that time forth my uncle began coming to the lodge every evening. He sang with us, had supper with us, and always stayed on till two o'clock in the morning, chatting incessantly, always about the same subject. His evening and night work was abandoned, and by the end of June, when the privy councillor had learned to eat mother's turkey and _compote_, his work by day was abandoned too. My uncle tore himself away from his table and plunged into "life." During the day he walked up and down the garden, whistled to the workmen and hindered them from working, making them tell him their various histories. When his eye fell on Tatyana Ivanovna he ran up to her, and, if she were carrying anything, offered his assistance, which embarrassed her dreadfully.
As the summer advanced, my uncle grew more and more frivolous, volatile, and careless. Pobyedimsky was completely disillusioned regarding him.
"He is too one-sided," he said. "There is nothing to show that he is in the very foremost ranks of the service." And he doesn't even know how to talk. Every word he says is 'on my soul.' No, I don't like him!"From the time that my uncle began visiting the lodge, there was a noticeable change in both Fyodor and my tutor. Fyodor gave up going out shooting, came home early, sat more taciturn than ever, and stared with particular ill-humour at his wife. In my uncle's presence, my tutor stopped talking about epizootics, frowned, and even laughed sarcastically.
"Here comes our little bantam cock!" he growled on one occasion when my uncle was coming into the lodge.
I put down this change in both of them to their being offended with my uncle. My absent-minded uncle mixed up their names, and right up to the day of his departure failed to distinguish which was my tutor and which was Tatyana Ivanovna's husband. Tatyana Ivanovna herself he sometimes called Nastasya, sometimes Pelagea, and sometimes Yevdokia. Touched and delighted by us, he laughed and behaved exactly as though in the company of small children.... All this, of course, might well offend young men. It was not a case of offended pride, however, but, as I realize now, subtler feelings.
I remember one evening I was sitting on the box struggling with sleep. My eyelids felt glued together and my body, tired out by running about all day, drooped sideways. But I struggled against sleep and tried to look on. It was about midnight. Tatyana Ivanovna, rosy and unassuming as always, was sitting at a little table sewing at her husband's shirt. Fyodor, sullen and gloomy, was staring at her from one corner, and in the other sat Pobyedimsky, snorting angrily and retreating into the high collar of his shirt. My uncle was walking up and down the room thinking. Silence reigned; nothing was to be heard but the rustling of the linen in Tatyana Ivanovna's hands. Suddenly my uncle stood still before Tatyana Ivanovna, and said: "You are all so young, so fresh, so nice; you live so peacefully in this quiet place, that I envy you. I have become attached to your way of life here; my heart aches when I remember I have to go away....
You may believe in my sincerity!"
Sleep closed my eyes and I lost myself. When some sound woke me, my uncle was standing before Tatyana Ivanovna, looking at her with a softened expression. His cheeks were flushed.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-087b428ec894478497ad60251f2f1a5d
# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 15 / 20
# chapter_page: 15
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
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From the time that my uncle began visiting the lodge, there was a noticeable change in both Fyodor and my tutor. Fyodor gave up going out shooting, came home early, sat more taciturn than ever, and stared with particular ill-humour at his wife. In my uncle's presence, my tutor stopped talking about epizootics, frowned, and even laughed sarcastically.
"Here comes our little bantam cock!" he growled on one occasion when my uncle was coming into the lodge.
I put down this change in both of them to their being offended with my uncle. My absent-minded uncle mixed up their names, and right up to the day of his departure failed to distinguish which was my tutor and which was Tatyana Ivanovna's husband. Tatyana Ivanovna herself he sometimes called Nastasya, sometimes Pelagea, and sometimes Yevdokia. Touched and delighted by us, he laughed and behaved exactly as though in the company of small children.... All this, of course, might well offend young men. It was not a case of offended pride, however, but, as I realize now, subtler feelings.
I remember one evening I was sitting on the box struggling with sleep. My eyelids felt glued together and my body, tired out by running about all day, drooped sideways. But I struggled against sleep and tried to look on. It was about midnight. Tatyana Ivanovna, rosy and unassuming as always, was sitting at a little table sewing at her husband's shirt. Fyodor, sullen and gloomy, was staring at her from one corner, and in the other sat Pobyedimsky, snorting angrily and retreating into the high collar of his shirt. My uncle was walking up and down the room thinking. Silence reigned; nothing was to be heard but the rustling of the linen in Tatyana Ivanovna's hands. Suddenly my uncle stood still before Tatyana Ivanovna, and said: "You are all so young, so fresh, so nice; you live so peacefully in this quiet place, that I envy you. I have become attached to your way of life here; my heart aches when I remember I have to go away....
You may believe in my sincerity!"
Sleep closed my eyes and I lost myself. When some sound woke me, my uncle was standing before Tatyana Ivanovna, looking at her with a softened expression. His cheeks were flushed."My life has been wasted," he said. "I have not lived! Your young face makes me think of my own lost youth, and I should be ready to sit here watching you until the day of my death. It would be a pleasure for me to take you with me to Petersburg."
"For what?" Fyodor asked in a husky voice.
"I should put her under a glass case on my work-table. I should admire her and show her to other people. You know, Pelagea Ivanovna, we have no women like you there. Among us there is wealth, distinction, sometimes beauty, but we do not have this true kind of life, this healthy serenity...."
My uncle sat down facing Tatyana Ivanovna and took her by the hand.
"So you won't come with me to Petersburg?" he laughed. "In that case give me your little hand.... A charming little hand!... You won't give it? Come on, you miser! Let me kiss it, anyway.... "
At that moment there was the scrape of a chair.
Fyodor jumped up, and with heavy, measured steps went up to his wife. His face was pale, grey, and quivering. He slammed his fist down on the table and said in a hollow voice: "I won't allow it!"
At the same moment Pobyedimsky jumped up from his chair. He, too, pale and angry, went up to Tatyana Ivanovna, and he, too, struck the table with his fist.
"I... I won't allow it!" he said.
"What, what's the matter?" asked my uncle in surprise.
"I won't allow it!" repeated Fyodor, banging on the table.
My uncle jumped up and blinked nervously. He tried to speak, but in his amazement and alarm could not utter a word; with an embarrassed smile, he shuffled out of the lodge with the hurried step of an old man, leaving his hat behind. When, a little later, my mother ran into the lodge, Fyodor and Pobyedimsky were still hammering on the table like blacksmiths and repeating, "I won't allow it!"
"What has happened here?" asked mother. "Why has my brother taken ill? What's the matter?"
Looking at Tatyana's pale, frightened face and at her infuriated husband, mother probably guessed what the matter was. She sighed and shook her head.
"Come! Stop banging on the table!" she said. "Stop it, Fyodor! And why are you thumping, Yegor Alexyevitch? What do you have to do with it?"
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-087b428ec894478497ad60251f2f1a5d
# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 16 / 20
# chapter_page: 16
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"My life has been wasted," he said. "I have not lived! Your young face makes me think of my own lost youth, and I should be ready to sit here watching you until the day of my death. It would be a pleasure for me to take you with me to Petersburg."
"For what?" Fyodor asked in a husky voice.
"I should put her under a glass case on my work-table. I should admire her and show her to other people. You know, Pelagea Ivanovna, we have no women like you there. Among us there is wealth, distinction, sometimes beauty, but we do not have this true kind of life, this healthy serenity...."
My uncle sat down facing Tatyana Ivanovna and took her by the hand.
"So you won't come with me to Petersburg?" he laughed. "In that case give me your little hand.... A charming little hand!... You won't give it? Come on, you miser! Let me kiss it, anyway.... "
At that moment there was the scrape of a chair.
Fyodor jumped up, and with heavy, measured steps went up to his wife. His face was pale, grey, and quivering. He slammed his fist down on the table and said in a hollow voice: "I won't allow it!"
At the same moment Pobyedimsky jumped up from his chair. He, too, pale and angry, went up to Tatyana Ivanovna, and he, too, struck the table with his fist.
"I... I won't allow it!" he said.
"What, what's the matter?" asked my uncle in surprise.
"I won't allow it!" repeated Fyodor, banging on the table.
My uncle jumped up and blinked nervously. He tried to speak, but in his amazement and alarm could not utter a word; with an embarrassed smile, he shuffled out of the lodge with the hurried step of an old man, leaving his hat behind. When, a little later, my mother ran into the lodge, Fyodor and Pobyedimsky were still hammering on the table like blacksmiths and repeating, "I won't allow it!"
"What has happened here?" asked mother. "Why has my brother taken ill? What's the matter?"
Looking at Tatyana's pale, frightened face and at her infuriated husband, mother probably guessed what the matter was. She sighed and shook her head.
"Come! Stop banging on the table!" she said. "Stop it, Fyodor! And why are you thumping, Yegor Alexyevitch? What do you have to do with it?"Pobyedimsky was startled and confused. Fyodor looked intently at him, then at his wife, and began walking about the room. When mother had gone out of the lodge, I saw what for long afterwards I looked on as a dream. I saw Fyodor seize my tutor, lift him up in the air, and thrust him out of the door.
When I woke up in the morning, my tutor's bed was empty. To my question about where he was, the nurse told me in a whisper that he had been taken to the hospital early in the morning, as his arm was broken. Distressed by this news and remembering the scene of the previous evening, I went outside. It was a grey day. The sky was covered with storm clouds, and a wind was blowing dust, bits of paper, and feathers along the ground.... It felt as though rain were coming. There was a look of boredom on the faces of the servants and the animals. When I went into the house, I was told not to make such a noise with my feet, as Mother was ill and in bed with a migraine. What was I to do? I went outside the gate, sat down on the little bench there, and began trying to figure out the meaning of what I had seen and heard the day before. From our gate there was a road which, passing the forge and the pool that never dried up, ran into the main road.
I looked at the telegraph poles, around which clouds of dust were swirling, and at the sleepy birds sitting on the wires, and I suddenly felt so dreary that I began to cry.
A dusty wagonette crammed full of townspeople, probably going to visit the shrine, drove by along the main road. The wagonette was hardly out of sight when a light chaise with a pair of horses came into view. In it was Akim Nikititch, the police inspector, standing up and holding on to the coachman’s belt. To my great surprise, the chaise turned into our road and flew past me at the gate. While I was puzzling over why the police inspector had come to see us, I heard a noise, and a carriage with three horses came into sight on the road. In the carriage sat the police captain, directing his coachman towards our gate.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-087b428ec894478497ad60251f2f1a5d
# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 17 / 20
# chapter_page: 17
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
Pobyedimsky was startled and confused. Fyodor looked intently at him, then at his wife, and began walking about the room. When mother had gone out of the lodge, I saw what for long afterwards I looked on as a dream. I saw Fyodor seize my tutor, lift him up in the air, and thrust him out of the door.
When I woke up in the morning, my tutor's bed was empty. To my question about where he was, the nurse told me in a whisper that he had been taken to the hospital early in the morning, as his arm was broken. Distressed by this news and remembering the scene of the previous evening, I went outside. It was a grey day. The sky was covered with storm clouds, and a wind was blowing dust, bits of paper, and feathers along the ground.... It felt as though rain were coming. There was a look of boredom on the faces of the servants and the animals. When I went into the house, I was told not to make such a noise with my feet, as Mother was ill and in bed with a migraine. What was I to do? I went outside the gate, sat down on the little bench there, and began trying to figure out the meaning of what I had seen and heard the day before. From our gate there was a road which, passing the forge and the pool that never dried up, ran into the main road.
I looked at the telegraph poles, around which clouds of dust were swirling, and at the sleepy birds sitting on the wires, and I suddenly felt so dreary that I began to cry.
A dusty wagonette crammed full of townspeople, probably going to visit the shrine, drove by along the main road. The wagonette was hardly out of sight when a light chaise with a pair of horses came into view. In it was Akim Nikititch, the police inspector, standing up and holding on to the coachman’s belt. To my great surprise, the chaise turned into our road and flew past me at the gate. While I was puzzling over why the police inspector had come to see us, I heard a noise, and a carriage with three horses came into sight on the road. In the carriage sat the police captain, directing his coachman towards our gate."And why is he coming?" I thought, looking at the dusty police captain. "Most probably Pobyedimsky has complained about Fyodor to him, and they have come to take him to prison."
But the mystery was not so easily solved. The police inspector and the police captain were only the first instalment, for scarcely five minutes had passed when a coach drove in at our gate. It dashed by me so swiftly that I could only catch a glimpse of a red beard.
Lost in conjecture and full of misgivings, I ran to the house. In the passage, first of all, I saw mother; she was pale and looking with horror towards the door, from which came the sounds of men's voices. The visitors had taken her by surprise in the very throes of migraine.
"Who has come, mother?" I asked.
"Sister," I heard my uncle's voice, "will you send in something to eat for the governor and me?"
"It is easy to say 'something to eat,'" whispered my mother, numb with horror. "What have I time to get ready now? I am put to shame in my old age!"
Mother clutched at her head and ran into the kitchen. The governor's sudden visit stirred and overwhelmed the whole household. A ferocious slaughter followed. A dozen fowls, five turkeys, eight ducks, were killed, and in the fluster the old gander, the progenitor of our whole flock of geese and a great favourite of mother's, was beheaded. The coachmen and the cook seemed frenzied, and slaughtered birds at random, without distinction of age or breed. For the sake of some wretched sauce, a pair of valuable pigeons, as dear to me as the goose was to Mother, were sacrificed. It was a long while before I could forgive the governor for their deaths.
In the evening, when the governor and his suite, after a sumptuous dinner, had got into their carriages and driven away, I went into the house to look at the remains of the feast. Glancing into the drawing-room from the passage, I saw my uncle and my mother. My uncle, with his hands behind his back, was walking nervously up and down close to the wall, shrugging his shoulders. Mother, exhausted and looking much thinner, was sitting on the sofa and watching his movements with heavy eyes.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-087b428ec894478497ad60251f2f1a5d
# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 18 / 20
# chapter_page: 18
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"And why is he coming?" I thought, looking at the dusty police captain. "Most probably Pobyedimsky has complained about Fyodor to him, and they have come to take him to prison."
But the mystery was not so easily solved. The police inspector and the police captain were only the first instalment, for scarcely five minutes had passed when a coach drove in at our gate. It dashed by me so swiftly that I could only catch a glimpse of a red beard.
Lost in conjecture and full of misgivings, I ran to the house. In the passage, first of all, I saw mother; she was pale and looking with horror towards the door, from which came the sounds of men's voices. The visitors had taken her by surprise in the very throes of migraine.
"Who has come, mother?" I asked.
"Sister," I heard my uncle's voice, "will you send in something to eat for the governor and me?"
"It is easy to say 'something to eat,'" whispered my mother, numb with horror. "What have I time to get ready now? I am put to shame in my old age!"
Mother clutched at her head and ran into the kitchen. The governor's sudden visit stirred and overwhelmed the whole household. A ferocious slaughter followed. A dozen fowls, five turkeys, eight ducks, were killed, and in the fluster the old gander, the progenitor of our whole flock of geese and a great favourite of mother's, was beheaded. The coachmen and the cook seemed frenzied, and slaughtered birds at random, without distinction of age or breed. For the sake of some wretched sauce, a pair of valuable pigeons, as dear to me as the goose was to Mother, were sacrificed. It was a long while before I could forgive the governor for their deaths.
In the evening, when the governor and his suite, after a sumptuous dinner, had got into their carriages and driven away, I went into the house to look at the remains of the feast. Glancing into the drawing-room from the passage, I saw my uncle and my mother. My uncle, with his hands behind his back, was walking nervously up and down close to the wall, shrugging his shoulders. Mother, exhausted and looking much thinner, was sitting on the sofa and watching his movements with heavy eyes."Excuse me, sister, but this won't do at all," my uncle grumbled, wrinkling up his face. "I introduced the governor to you, and you didn't offer to shake hands. You embarrassed him terribly, poor fellow! No, that won't do.... Simplicity is a very good thing, but there must be limits to it.... On my soul! And then that dinner! How can one give people such things? What was that mess, for instance, that they served for the fourth course?"
"That was duck with sweet sauce..." Mother answered softly.
"Duck! Forgive me, sister, but... but I've got heartburn! I'm ill!"
My uncle made a sour, tearful face, and went on: "It was the devil who sent that governor! As if I wanted his visit! Pff!... heartburn! I can't work or sleep... I'm completely out of sorts.... And I can't understand how you can live here with nothing to do... in this boredom!" Here I've got a pain coming under my shoulder-blade!..."
My uncle frowned, and walked about more rapidly than ever.
"Brother," my mother inquired softly, "what would it cost to go abroad?"
"At least three thousand..." my uncle answered in a tearful voice. "I would go, but where am I to get it? I haven't a farthing. Pff!... heartburn!"
My uncle stopped to look dejectedly at the grey, overcast view from the window, and began pacing back and forth again.
A silence followed.... Mother looked for a long while at the icon, pondering something, then she began crying, and said: "I'll give you the three thousand, brother...."
Three days later the majestic boxes were sent off to the station, and the privy councillor drove off after them. As he said goodbye to mother he shed tears, and it was a long time before he took his lips from her hands, but when he got into his carriage his face beamed with childlike pleasure.... Radiant and happy, he settled himself comfortably, kissed his hand to my mother, who was crying, and all at once his eye was caught by me. A look of the utmost astonishment came into his face.
"Which boy is this?" he asked.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-087b428ec894478497ad60251f2f1a5d
# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 19 / 20
# chapter_page: 19
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
"Excuse me, sister, but this won't do at all," my uncle grumbled, wrinkling up his face. "I introduced the governor to you, and you didn't offer to shake hands. You embarrassed him terribly, poor fellow! No, that won't do.... Simplicity is a very good thing, but there must be limits to it.... On my soul! And then that dinner! How can one give people such things? What was that mess, for instance, that they served for the fourth course?"
"That was duck with sweet sauce..." Mother answered softly.
"Duck! Forgive me, sister, but... but I've got heartburn! I'm ill!"
My uncle made a sour, tearful face, and went on: "It was the devil who sent that governor! As if I wanted his visit! Pff!... heartburn! I can't work or sleep... I'm completely out of sorts.... And I can't understand how you can live here with nothing to do... in this boredom!" Here I've got a pain coming under my shoulder-blade!..."
My uncle frowned, and walked about more rapidly than ever.
"Brother," my mother inquired softly, "what would it cost to go abroad?"
"At least three thousand..." my uncle answered in a tearful voice. "I would go, but where am I to get it? I haven't a farthing. Pff!... heartburn!"
My uncle stopped to look dejectedly at the grey, overcast view from the window, and began pacing back and forth again.
A silence followed.... Mother looked for a long while at the icon, pondering something, then she began crying, and said: "I'll give you the three thousand, brother...."
Three days later the majestic boxes were sent off to the station, and the privy councillor drove off after them. As he said goodbye to mother he shed tears, and it was a long time before he took his lips from her hands, but when he got into his carriage his face beamed with childlike pleasure.... Radiant and happy, he settled himself comfortably, kissed his hand to my mother, who was crying, and all at once his eye was caught by me. A look of the utmost astonishment came into his face.
"Which boy is this?" he asked.My mother, who had declared my uncle's coming a piece of luck for which I must thank God, was bitterly mortified by this question. I was in no mood for questions. I looked at my uncle's happy face, and for some reason I felt terribly sorry for him. I could not resist jumping up to the carriage and hugging that frivolous man, weak as all men are. Looking into his face and wanting to say something pleasant, I asked: "Uncle, have you ever been in a battle?"
"Ah, the dear boy..." laughed my uncle, kissing me. "A charming boy, on my soul! How natural, how living it all is, on my soul!..."
The carriage set off.... I looked after him, and long afterwards that farewell "on my soul" was ringing in my ears.
# book_id: global-gutenberg-story-087b428ec894478497ad60251f2f1a5d
# book_title: The Privy Councillor
# chapter_id: 1-the-privy-councillor
# chapter_title: The Privy Councillor
# book_page: 20 / 20
# chapter_page: 20
# language: en
# content_format: markdown
# reading_structure: unknown
# render_mode: prose
My mother, who had declared my uncle's coming a piece of luck for which I must thank God, was bitterly mortified by this question. I was in no mood for questions. I looked at my uncle's happy face, and for some reason I felt terribly sorry for him. I could not resist jumping up to the carriage and hugging that frivolous man, weak as all men are. Looking into his face and wanting to say something pleasant, I asked: "Uncle, have you ever been in a battle?"
"Ah, the dear boy..." laughed my uncle, kissing me. "A charming boy, on my soul! How natural, how living it all is, on my soul!..."
The carriage set off.... I looked after him, and long afterwards that farewell "on my soul" was ringing in my ears.
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