CHAPTER VIII
Pavel Petrovitch did not long remain present at his brother's interviewwith his bailiff, a tall, thin man with a sweet consumptive voice andknavish eyes, who to all Nikolai Petrovitch's remarks answered,'Certainly, sir,' and tried to make the peasants out to be thieves anddrunkards. The estate had only recently been put on to the new reformedsystem, and the new mechanism worked, creaking like an ungreased wheel,warping and cracking like homemade furniture of unseasoned wood.Nikolai Petrovitch did not lose heart, but often he sighed, and wasgloomy; he felt that the thing could not go on without money, and hismoney was almost all spent. Arkady had spoken the truth; PavelPetrovitch had more than once helped his brother; more than once,seeing him struggling and cudgelling his brains, at a loss which way toturn, Pavel Petrovitch moved deliberately to the window, and with hishands thrust into his pockets, muttered between his teeth, '_mais jepuis vous de l'argent_,' and gave him money; but to-day he had nonehimself, and he preferred to go away. The petty details of agriculturalmanagement worried him; besides, it constantly struck him that NikolaiPetrovitch, for all his zeal and industry, did not set about things inthe right way, though he would not have been able to point outprecisely where Nikolai Petrovitch's mistake lay. 'My brother's notpractical enough,' he reasoned to himself; 'they impose upon him.'Nikolai Petrovitch, on the other hand, had the highest opinion of PavelPetrovitch's practical ability, and always asked his advice. 'I'm asoft, weak fellow, I've spent my life in the wilds,' he used to say;'while you haven't seen so much of the world for nothing, you seethrough people; you have an eagle eye.' In answer to which PavelPetrovitch only turned away, but did not contradict his brother.
Leaving Nikolai Petrovitch in his study, he walked along the corridor,which separated the front part of the house from the back; when he hadreached a low door, he stopped in hesitation, then pulling hismoustaches, he knocked at it.
'Who's there? Come in,' sounded Fenitchka's voice.
'It's I,' said Pavel Petrovitch, and he opened the door.
Fenitchka jumped up from the chair on which she was sitting with herbaby, and giving him into the arms of a girl, who at once carried himout of the room, she put straight her kerchief hastily.
'Pardon me, if I disturb you,' began Pavel Petrovitch, not looking ather; 'I only wanted to ask you ... they are sending into the townto-day, I think ... please let them buy me some green tea.'
'Certainly,' answered Fenitchka; 'how much do you desire them to buy?'
'Oh, half a pound will be enough, I imagine. You have made a changehere, I see,' he added, with a rapid glance round him, which glidedover Fenitchka's face too. 'The curtains here,' he explained, seeingshe did not understand him.
'Oh, yes, the curtains; Nikolai Petrovitch was so good as to make me apresent of them; but they have been put up a long while now.'
'Yes, and it's a long while since I have been to see you. Now it isvery nice here.'
'Thanks to Nikolai Petrovitch's kindness,' murmured Fenitchka.
'You are more comfortable here than in the little lodge you used tohave?' inquired Pavel Petrovitch urbanely, but without the slightestsmile.
'Certainly, it's more comfortable.'
'Who has been put in your place now?'
'The laundry-maids are there now.'
'Ah!'
Pavel Petrovitch was silent. 'Now he is going,' thought Fenitchka; buthe did not go, and she stood before him motionless.
'What did you send your little one away for?' said Pavel Petrovitch atlast. 'I love children; let me see him.'
Fenitchka blushed all over with confusion and delight. She was afraidof Pavel Petrovitch; he had scarcely ever spoken to her.
'Dunyasha,' she called; 'will you bring Mitya, please.' (Fenitchka didnot treat any one in the house familiarly.) 'But wait a minute, he musthave a frock on,' Fenitchka was going towards the door.
'That doesn't matter,' remarked Pavel Petrovitch.
'I will be back directly,' answered Fenitchka, and she went outquickly.
Pavel Petrovitch was left alone, and he looked round this time withspecial attention. The small low-pitched room in which he found himselfwas very clean and snug. It smelt of the freshly painted floor and ofcamomile. Along the walls stood chairs with lyre-shaped backs, boughtby the late general on his campaign in Poland; in one corner was alittle bedstead under a muslin canopy beside an iron-clamped chest witha convex lid. In the opposite corner a little lamp was burning before abig dark picture of St. Nikolai the wonder-worker; a tiny porcelain egghung by a red ribbon from the protruding gold halo down to the saint'sbreast; by the windows greenish glass jars of last year's jam carefullytied down could be seen; on their paper covers Fenitchka herself hadwritten in big letters 'Gooseberry'; Nikolai Petrovitch wasparticularly fond of that preserve. On a long cord from the ceiling acage hung with a short-tailed siskin in it; he was constantly chirpingand hopping about, the cage was constantly shaking and swinging, whilehempseeds fell with a light tap on to the floor. On the wall just abovea small chest of drawers hung some rather bad photographs of NikolaiPetrovitch in various attitudes, taken by an itinerant photographer;there too hung a photograph of Fenitchka herself, which was an absolutefailure; it was an eyeless face wearing a forced smile, in a dingyframe, nothing more could be made out; while above Fenitchka, GeneralYermolov, in a Circassian cloak, scowled menacingly upon the Caucasianmountains in the distance, from beneath a little silk shoe for pinswhich fell right on to his brows.
Five minutes passed; bustling and whispering could be heard in the nextroom. Pavel Petrovitch took up from the chest of drawers a greasy book,an odd volume of Masalsky's _Musketeer_, and turned over a fewpages.... The door opened, and Fenitchka came in with Mitya in herarms. She had put on him a little red smock with embroidery on thecollar, had combed his hair and washed his face; he was breathingheavily, his whole body working, and his little hands waving in theair, as is the way with all healthy babies; but his smart smockobviously impressed him, an expression of delight was reflected inevery part of his little fat person. Fenitchka had put her own hair tooin order, and had arranged her kerchief; but she might well haveremained as she was. And really is there anything in the world morecaptivating than a beautiful young mother with a healthy baby in herarms?
'What a chubby fellow!' said Pavel Petrovitch graciously, and hetickled Mitya's little double chin with the tapering nail of hisforefinger. The baby stared at the siskin, and chuckled.
'That's uncle,' said Fenitchka, bending her face down to him andslightly rocking him, while Dunyasha quietly set in the window asmouldering perfumed stick, putting a halfpenny under it.
'How many months old is he?' asked Pavel Petrovitch.
'Six months; it will soon be seven, on the eleventh.'
'Isn't it eight, Fedosya Nikolaevna?' put in Dunyasha, with sometimidity.
'No, seven; what an idea!' The baby chuckled again, stared at thechest, and suddenly caught hold of his mother's nose and mouth with allhis five little fingers. 'Saucy mite,' said Fenitchka, not drawing herface away.
'He's like my brother,' observed Pavel Petrovitch.
'Who else should he be like?' thought Fenitchka.
'Yes,' continued Pavel Petrovitch, as though speaking to himself;'there's an unmistakable likeness.' He looked attentively, almostmournfully, at Fenitchka.
'That's uncle,' she repeated, in a whisper this time.
'Ah! Pavel! so you're here!' was heard suddenly the voice of NikolaiPetrovitch.
Pavel Petrovitch turned hurriedly round, frowning; but his brotherlooked at him with such delight, such gratitude, that he could not helpresponding to his smile.
'You've a splendid little cherub,' he said, and looking at his watch,'I came in here to speak about some tea.'
And, assuming an expression of indifference, Pavel Petrovitch at oncewent out of the room.
'Did he come of himself?' Nikolai Petrovitch asked Fenitchka.
'Yes; he knocked and came in.'
'Well, and has Ark
asha been in to see you again?'
'No. Hadn't I better move into the lodge, Nikolai Petrovitch?'
'Why so?'
'I wonder whether it wouldn't be best just for the first.'
'N ... no,' Nikolai Petrovitch brought out hesitatingly, rubbing hisforehead. 'We ought to have done it before.... How are you, fatty?' hesaid, suddenly brightening, and going up to the baby, he kissed him onthe cheek; then he bent a little and pressed his lips to Fenitchka'shand, which lay white as milk upon Mitya's little red smock.
'Nikolai Petrovitch! what are you doing?' she whispered, dropping hereyes, then slowly raising them. Very charming was the expression of hereyes when she peeped, as it were, from under her lids, and smiledtenderly and a little foolishly.
Nikolai Petrovitch had made Fenitchka's acquaintance in the followingmanner. He had once happened three years before to stay a night at aninn in a remote district town. He was agreeably struck by the cleannessof the room assigned to him, the freshness of the bed-linen. Surely thewoman of the house must be a German? was the idea that occurred to him;but she proved to be a Russian, a woman of about fifty, neatly dressed,of a good-looking, sensible countenance and discreet speech. He enteredinto conversation with her at tea; he liked her very much. NikolaiPetrovitch had at that time only just moved into his new home, and notwishing to keep serfs in the house, he was on the look-out forwage-servants; the woman of the inn on her side complained of the smallnumber of visitors to the town, and the hard times; he proposed to herto come into his house in the capacity of housekeeper; she consented.Her husband had long been dead, leaving her an only daughter,Fenitchka. Within a fortnight Arina Savishna (that was the newhousekeeper's name) arrived with her daughter at Maryino and installedherself in the little lodge. Nikolai Petrovitch's choice proved asuccessful one. Arina brought order into the household. As forFenitchka, who was at that time seventeen, no one spoke of her, andscarcely any one saw her; she lived quietly and sedately, and only onSundays Nikolai Petrovitch noticed in the church somewhere in a sideplace the delicate profile of her white face. More than a year passedthus.
One morning, Arina came into his study, and bowing low as usual, sheasked him if he could do anything for her daughter, who had got a sparkfrom the stove in her eye. Nikolai Petrovitch, like all stay-at-homepeople, had studied doctoring and even compiled a homoeopathic guide.He at once told Arina to bring the patient to him. Fenitchka was muchfrightened when she heard the master had sent for her; however, shefollowed her mother. Nikolai Petrovitch led her to the window and tookher head in his two hands. After thoroughly examining her red andswollen eye, he prescribed a fomentation, which he made up himself atonce, and tearing his handkerchief in pieces, he showed her how itought to be applied. Fenitchka listened to all he had to say, and thenwas going. 'Kiss the master's hand, silly girl,' said Arina. NikolaiPetrovitch did not give her his hand, and in confusion himself kissedher bent head on the parting of her hair. Fenitchka's eye was soon wellagain, but the impression she had made on Nikolai Petrovitch did notpass away so quickly. He was for ever haunted by that pure, delicate,timidly raised face; he felt on the palms of his hands that soft hair,and saw those innocent, slightly parted lips, through which pearlyteeth gleamed with moist brilliance in the sunshine. He began to watchher with great attention in church, and tried to get into conversationwith her. At first she was shy of him, and one day meeting him at theapproach of evening in a narrow footpath through a field of rye, sheran into the tall thick rye, overgrown with cornflowers and wormwood,so as not to meet him face to face. He caught sight of her little headthrough a golden network of ears of rye, from which she was peeping outlike a little animal, and called affectionately to her--
'Good-evening, Fenitchka! I don't bite.'
'Good-evening,' she whispered, not coming out of her ambush.
By degrees she began to be more at home with him, but was still shy inhis presence, when suddenly her mother, Arina, died of cholera. Whatwas to become of Fenitchka? She inherited from her mother a love fororder, regularity, and respectability; but she was so young, so alone.Nikolai Petrovitch was himself so good and considerate.... It'sneedless to relate the rest....
'So my brother came in to see you?' Nikolai Petrovitch questioned her.'He knocked and came in?'
'Yes.'
'Well, that's a good thing. Let me give Mitya a swing.'
And Nikolai Petrovitch began tossing him almost up to the ceiling, tothe huge delight of the baby, and to the considerable uneasiness of themother, who every time he flew up stretched her arms up towards hislittle bare legs.
Pavel Petrovitch went back to his artistic study, with its wallscovered with handsome bluish-grey hangings, with weapons hanging upon avariegated Persian rug nailed to the wall; with walnut furniture,upholstered in dark green velveteen, with a _renaissance_ bookcase ofold black oak, with bronze statuettes on the magnificent writing-table,with an open hearth. He threw himself on the sofa, clasped his handsbehind his head, and remained without moving, looking with a facealmost of despair at the ceiling. Whether he wanted to hide from thevery walls that which was reflected in his face, or for some otherreason, he got up, drew the heavy window curtains, and again threwhimself on the sofa.
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