The Privy Councillor by Anton Chekhov
AT the beginning of April in 1870 my mother, Klavdia Arhipovna, the widow
of a lieutenant, received from her brother Ivan, a privy councillor in
Petersburg, a letter in which, among other things, this passage occurred:
"My liver trouble forces me to spend every summer abroad, and as I have
not at the moment the money in hand for a trip to Marienbad, it is very
possible, dear sister, that I may spend this summer with you at
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
"The fourth has risen far above us," my mother brought out 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
fuss and bustle in the place such as I had been accustomed to see only
before Christmas and Easter. The sky above and the water in the river were
all that escaped; everything else was subjected to a merciless cleansing,
scrubbing, 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-brick 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 so badly treated 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 for the gentry, came over from Novostroevka. He was a hard-working
capable man who did not drink and was not without a certain fancy and
feeling for form, but 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 the 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 threw Spiridon first into a fever, then into a
perspiration, for he was convinced that he would not make them fit. He
received one rouble twenty kopecks for making my suit, and for
Pobyedimsky's two roubles, 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 things 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 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 everybody 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 from time to
time, when he heard the history of the Gundasov family, said:
"Yes, it will be pleasant to have some one fresh to talk to."
My tutor was looked upon among us as an exceptional nature. 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 close
at anything he had to put his head on one side like a bird. To our
thinking, there was not a man in the province cleverer, more cultivated,
or more stylish. He had left the 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 half-year. The reason of his expulsion he
carefully concealed, which enabled any one who wished to do so to look
upon my instructor as an injured and to some extent a mysterious person.
He spoke little, and only of intellectual subjects; he ate meat during the
fasts, and looked with contempt and condescension on the life going on
around him, which did not prevent him, however, from taking 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 long waiting. At the beginning of May two
wagon-loads of big boxes arrived from the station. These boxes looked so
majestic that the drivers instinctively took off their hats as they lifted
"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, nurse told me in a
whisper that "my uncle had come." I dressed rapidly, and, washing after a
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 mother had impressed upon me, I
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 what for?
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 bears 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 should have begun chasing
dragon-flies or throwing stones at a crow which was sitting on a low mound
under an aspen-tree, with his 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 back-view, 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—upon
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
I made a scrape with my foot on the sand and dropped a low bow.
"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!... upon my soul!... Do you learn 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, I continued making low bows. Then my mother began throwing
out 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 to have burst into tears and begged for my uncle's protection, my
uncle suddenly stopped and flung up his hands in amazement.
"My goo-oodness! 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 flushed crimson.
"Wonders will never cease..." my uncle filtered through his teeth, looking
after her with friendly interest. "You have a fresh surprise at every
step, sister... upon 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 every one 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've not married."
"Why not?" asked mother softly.
"How can I tell you? It has happened so. 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 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 gave our ready consent, for living in the lodge was a great deal more
free than in the house, under mother's 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 done to rags in the oven. Really, men don't understand
anything about housekeeping, 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 till
seven, for the sake of her brother."
Then my mother heaved a deep sigh, bade me try and please my uncle, whose
coming 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 which formed the passage from the entry to the
Contrary to my expectations, life went on just as before, drearily and
monotonously, in spite of 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 used mercilessly to squash 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 together he sat in
his own room working, in spite of the flies and the heat. His
extraordinary capacity for sitting as though glued to his table produced
upon 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 to his table, and did not leave it till
dinner-time; after dinner he set to work again, and went on till late at
night. Whenever I peeped through the keyhole I invariably saw the same
thing: my uncle sitting at the table working. The work consisted in his
writing with one hand while he turned over the leaves 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 of 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 may die of a diet like
that.... 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 till it grew quite dusk. And, indeed, what
is one to talk of when every subject has been talked over already? There
was only one thing new, 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
Russianized gipsy from Izyumskoe, swarthy-faced and curly-headed, with big
black eyes and a matted beard, he was never called among our Kotchuevko
peasants by any name but "The Devil." And, indeed, there was a great deal
of the gipsy about him apart from his appearance. He could not, for
instance, stay at home, and went off for days together into the country or
into the woods to shoot. He was gloomy, ill-humoured, taciturn, was afraid
of nobody, and refused to recognize any authority. He was rude to mother,
addressed me familiarly, and was contemptuous of Pobyedimsky's learning.
All this we forgave him, looking upon him as a hot-tempered and nervous
man; mother liked him because, in spite of his gipsy nature, he was
ideally honest and industrious. He loved his Tatyana Ivanovna
passionately, like a gipsy, but this love took in him a gloomy form, 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, would 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 hardly audible tenor, while I sang soprano in unison with
When the whole sky was covered with stars and the frogs had left off
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 gipsy 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 scarcely succeeded in
getting our share. After supper the lodge was plunged in deep sleep.
One evening, it was 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,
upon 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 somebody fresh, was delighted
at the opportunity, and was the first to break the silence. He had only
one subject for intellectual conversation, the 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:
"The epizootics do immense damage to the stock of the country. It is the
duty of society to work hand in hand with the government in waging war
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.
"Upon 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
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! Upon 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 learnt 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 living and healthy than our straining and striving after
My uncle talked a great deal, so much that he bored us; I sat on a box
listening to him and dropping to sleep. It distressed me that he did not
once all the 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 took to 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 given up, 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." In the daytime he walked up and down the
garden, he 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 in regard to 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. At every word it's 'upon my soul.' No, I don't like him!"
From the time that my uncle began visiting the lodge there was a
noticeable change both in 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 gave up
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 them both to their being offended with my uncle.
My absent-minded uncle mixed up their names, and to the very 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,
"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 waked 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 to the day of my death. It would be a pleasure to me to take
you with me to Petersburg."
"What for?" 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 have not this true sort 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, 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 brought his fist down on the table with a bang, 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
"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 been taken
ill? What's the matter?"
Looking at Tatyana's pale, frightened face and at her infuriated husband,
mother probably guessed what was the matter. She sighed and shook her
"Come! give over banging on the table!" she said. "Leave off, Fyodor! And
why are you thumping, Yegor Alexyevitch? What have you got 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 upon as a dream. I saw
Fyodor seize my tutor, lift him up in the air, and thrust him out of the
When I woke up in the morning my tutor's bed was empty. To my question
where he was nurse told me in a whisper that he had been taken off early
in the morning to the hospital, as his arm was broken. Distressed at this
intelligence and remembering the scene of the previous evening, I went out
of doors. It was a grey day. The sky was covered with storm-clouds and
there was a wind blowing dust, bits of paper, and feathers along the
ground.... It felt as though rain were coming. There was a look of boredom
in the servants and in 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 fell to trying to discover 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 which never dried up, ran into the main
road. I looked at the telegraph-posts, about which clouds of dust were
whirling, 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 by me in at the gate. While I was puzzling 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 stood 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 of 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 five minutes had
scarcely passed when a coach drove in at our gate. It dashed by me so
swiftly that I could only get 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
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 gander was to mother, were
sacrificed. It was a long while before I could forgive the governor their
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 covered him with confusion, poor fellow! No,
that won't do.... Simplicity is a very good thing, but there must be
limits to it.... Upon 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 here I've got heartburn! I am ill!"
My uncle made a sour, tearful face, and went on:
"It was the devil sent that governor! As though I wanted his visit!
Pff!... heartburn! I can't work or sleep... I am completely out of
sorts.... And I can't understand how you can live here without anything to
do... in this boredom! Here I've got a pain coming under my
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!...
My uncle stopped to look dejectedly at the grey, overcast prospect from
the window, and began pacing to and fro again.
A silence followed.... Mother looked a long while at the ikon, pondering
something, then she began crying, and said:
"I'll give you the three thousand, brother...."
Three days later the majestic boxes went off to the station, and the privy
councillor drove off after them. As he said good-bye 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.
"What boy is this?" he asked.
My mother, who had declared my uncle's coming was a piece of luck for
which I must thank God, was bitterly mortified at this question. I was in
no mood for questions. I looked at my uncle's happy face, and for some
reason I felt fearfully 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, upon
my soul! How natural, how living it all is, upon my soul!..."
The carriage set off.... I looked after him, and long afterwards that
farewell "upon my soul" was ringing in my ears.