As a matter of fact, Anton Ivanych was of no use to anyone, but no ceremonial occasion, no wedding, no funeral was complete without him. He was in attendance at every formal dinner and party, every family discussion; no one could take a step without him. Lest it be thought that perhaps he was particularly helpful, or that he might be entrusted with some important errands, or perhaps offer useful advice or could handle some piece of business – absolutely not! No one would trust him with any function of that kind; he was as incompetent as he was ignorant: he couldn’t help with anything at the courts either as an intermediary or as a conciliator – he was of no use whatsoever.
However, people would ask him to pass on a greeting to someone if he happened to be passing by, and this chore he performed unfailingly, and just as unfailingly would happen to be available to stay for lunch. People would also ask him to tell someone or other that a certain paper had been received, although he wouldn’t be told exactly what paper it was, or to deliver a jar of honey or a handful of seeds with instructions not to spill any, and they would ask him to remind them when it was someone’s name day. They would also make use of him in matters which they thought unsuitable for a servant. “We can’t send Petrushka,” they would say. “Before you know it, he would get it all muddled. No, it’s better to let Anton Ivanych go!” Or: “It wouldn’t do to send a servant, someone might be offended; really better to send Anton Ivanych.”
How astonished everyone would be if there were ever a dinner or party at which for some reason he failed to appear!
“But where’s Anton Ivanych?” everyone would be asking in surprise. “What’s happened to him, why isn’t he here?” The dinner simply didn’t feel right without him. So then they would appoint someone to go and find out what was wrong; was he sick, had he gone away? And if he was sick, even a family member would not have enjoyed such care and attention.
Anton Ivanych approached to take the hand of Anna Pavlovna.
“My respects, Anna Pavlovna! Allow me to congratulate you on your new acquisition.”
“What acquisition, Anton Ivanych?” she asked, looking herself up and down.
“Why, that little bridge down by the gate. I see you’ve just had it put up? I could hear that the planks weren’t bobbing about under the wheels, so I took a look, and sure enough they were new!”
Whenever he met someone he knew, he would usually start by congratulating them on something or other, be it a fast, the spring or autumn, and if after the thaw frost was on its way, then he would congratulate them on the frost, and if a thaw was on its way in after a frost – then on the thaw…
This time, however, none of these opportunities presented themselves, but he was sure to come up with something.
“Alexandra Vasilyevna, Matryona Mikhailovna and Pyotr Sergeich send you their regards,” he said.
“My sincere thanks, Anton Ivanych! Are their children in good health?”
“Thank God. I bring you God’s blessing; the father will be here soon after me. “Have you heard about our Semyon Arkhipych, Anna Pavlovna?”
“What about him?” Asked Anna Pavlovna apprehensively.
“Well, he passed away.”
“Oh no! When was it?”
“Yesterday morning. I found out yesterday evening; some lad rode up to tell me. I left right away, and didn’t sleep all night. Everyone was in tears and needed consoling, and someone had to do some organizing; everyone else was helpless with grief – except me alone.”
“God in heaven! That’s life! But how could it have happened? Just last week he sent his regards through you!”
“Yes, my dear lady, but he had been poorly for quite some time, and he was an old man; it’s a wonder he lasted so long!”
“What do you mean, ‘old’? He was only a year older than my late husband. Well, God rest his soul!” Anna Pavlovna said, crossing herself. “I’m so sorry for poor Fedosya, left alone with the children on her hands. What a terrible thing, with five of them, and almost all girls! When is the funeral?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Of course, everyone has their sorrow, Anton Ivanych; here I am seeing my son off.”
“What can we do, Anna Pavlovna, we’re all mere mortals! We are born to suffering, as it says in the Bible.”
“Please don’t mind my upsetting you – we’ll get over our grief together; you love us like one of your own.”
“Oh my dear lady, who could I love more than you? There are so few like you! You don’t know your own worth. I’ve so much on my plate – can’t get my building project out of my mind. I spent the whole of yesterday morning wrangling with the contractor, but somehow we just couldn’t agree. Then I think, I must go to her: she’s all alone there, what will she do without me? She’s not a young woman, her head must be whirling.”
“God bless you, Anton Ivanych, for not forgetting us. I’m really not myself; can’t keep a thought in my head, I’m in a total fog. My throat hurts from crying. Please have a bite to eat; you’re tired, and you must be hungry.”
“Thank you so much. I have to confess that on the way over I did take a drop and snatched a bite at Pyotr Sergeich’s. But that doesn’t really count. The father’s on his way, and he’ll give you his blessing! Well look, here he is at the door!”
The priest came in, together with Maria Karpovna and her plump, rosy-cheeked daughter, who was smiling, but whose eyes showed signs of recent tears. Sofia’s eyes and the expression on her face clearly proclaimed: “I will love simply, unreservedly, I will look after my husband and be a nurse to him, I will obey him in all things and never appear to be cleverer than him, although how would it be possible to be cleverer than one’s husband in any case? It would be sinful! I will keep house for him diligently, sew and bear him half a dozen children. I will myself feed, nurse, dress them and make their clothes.” Her plump cheek, fresh complexion and splendid bosom fully confirmed her promise about children. But the tears in her eyes and the sadness of her smile lent her a less prosaic appearance at that moment.
First of all, a prayer service was conducted for which Anton Ivanych called in the servants, lit a candle, took the book from the priest when he had finished reading from it and handed it to the sexton; then he poured some holy water into a bottle, put it in his pocket and said, “It’s for Agafya Nikitishna.” They sat down at the table. Apart from Anton Ivanych and the priest, no one else, as was customary, touched any of the food, but Anton Ivanych did ample justice to the Homeric repast. Anna Pavlovna cried all the time and furtively wiped away the tears.
“It’s time to stop wasting your tears, Anna Pavlovna, my dear lady,” said Anton Ivanych with feigned indignation, filling his glass with liqueur. “After all, it’s not as if you’re sending him to be slaughtered.”
Then, after swallowing half the contents of his glass, he smacked his lips.
“What a fine liqueur! What fragrance! Nothing like it anywhere else in our province, my dear lady!” he said in a tone of great satisfaction.
“It’s… thr… three… ye… years old!” she managed to articulate between sobs. “We’ve op… opened it… today, just… for you!”
“Anna Pavlovna, it pains me so much to see you like this,” Anton Ivanych started up again. “There’s no one to assuage your grief. I would if I could, but it’s beyond me.”
“Judge for yourself, Anton Ivanych, my only son, and far away; I could die, and there would be no one even to bury me.”
“But what about us then? What, am I a stranger to you? And what’s all this about being in a hurry to die? Before you know it, you’ll be married and I’ll be dancing at your wedding. So let’s have no more of these tears!”
“I can’t help it, Anton Ivanych, really, I can’t; I don’t even know myself where these tears are coming from.”
“You can’t keep a young man like that locked up! Give him the freedom to spread his wings, and see wha
t wonders he will work, what success he will achieve!”
“I sincerely hope you’re right! But you’ve taken so little of the pie; do take some more!”
“Well, perhaps just this little piece, thank you. To your health, Alexander Fyodorych! And best wishes for your journey! Do come back soon – and get married too! But why are you flushing, Sofia Vasilyevna?”
“Oh, no… I was just…”
“Oh, you young people make me laugh.”
“You really make people forget their troubles, Anton Ivanych,” said Anna Ivanovna. “You’re such a comfort. May God bless you with good health. Please have a little more liqueur.”
“Of course, my dear lady: your son is leaving, we must drink to that!”
The meal came to an end. The coachman had long since loaded the luggage into the carriage, and it had been brought round to the porch. The servants came running out one after another. One carried the trunk, another a package, and a third brought a bag and went back for something else. Like flies around a drop of honey, they clustered around the carriage with everyone eager to offer help and advice.
“Better lay the trunk this way,” said one, “and put the food hamper over here.”
“But where are they going to put their legs?” another one put in. “Better put the trunk in lengthwise with the hamper beside it.”
“That way the feather bed will slide off, if the trunk is in lengthwise; better turn it round sideways. Now, what else? Oh yes, has anyone packed the boots?”
“I don’t know. Who did the packing?”
“It wasn’t me. Someone go and take a look – couldn’t they be upstairs?”
“Well, you go!”
“What about you – can’t you see I have no time?”
“Look, here’s something else; don’t forget it!” one of the girls shouted, poking a package through the crowd of heads.
“Give it here!”
“Cram this into the trunk somehow: it must have been left behind,” said another, standing on the footboard, holding brush and a comb in her outstretched hand.
“Nowhere to put it now,” a stout footman scolded her. “Get out of the way; can’t you see the trunk is right near the bottom?”
“It’s the mistress’s orders, but what’s it to me? The hell with it!”
“Well all right, just give it here, it can go in the side pocket.”
The shaft horse kept on raising and shaking its head, making the bell ring shrilly every time it did so, reminding everyone of the impending departure, while the trace horses stood still, apparently deep in thought with their heads lowered, as they contemplated the delights of the journey ahead, occasionally waving their tails or stretching out their lower lips in the direction of the shaft horse.
The fateful moment was at hand, and another prayer was said.
“Everyone sit down!” commanded Anton Ivanych. “Kindly be seated, Alexander Fyodorych. And you sit down too, Yevsei, yes, sit down!” And just for a second, he himself sat down on the very edge of a chair.
“And now, Godspeed!”
At this very moment, Anna Pavlovna burst into tears and flung her arms around Alexander’s neck.
“Goodbye, goodbye, my love – when will I ever see you again?…”
Suddenly her words were drowned by the sound of another bell from a cart which came hurtling into the courtyard drawn by three horses. A young man covered in dust jumped down from the cart, ran into the room and threw his arms around Alexander’s neck.
“Pospelov!… Aduyev!…” they both exclaimed at the same time, as they embraced.
“What are you doing here, where have you come from?”
“From home, I’ve been galloping day and night to get here to say goodbye.”
“My friend! My friend! What a true friend you are,” said Aduyev with tears in his eyes, “to have galloped 160 versts just to say goodbye! To think that there’s such friendship in the world! For ever, right?” Alexander declared fervently, clasping his friend’s hand, and crushing him in his embrace.
“To the grave!” his friend replied, grasping the other’s hand even more tightly and returning his hug.
“Write to me!”
“Yes, of course, and you too!”
Anna Pavlovna did not know how to express the affection she felt for Pospelov. The leave-takings took another half-hour, before everyone was ready for the departure.
They all escorted the travellers as far as the wood on foot. On their way through the dark passageway to the porch, Sofia and Alexander rushed into each other’s arms.
“Sasha! Dear Sasha!… Sonechka!” they whispered, and their words were silenced by a kiss.
“Will you forget me when you’re there?” she said tearfully.
“How little you know me! I will return, believe me, and no other woman will ever…”
“Here, take this quickly – a lock of my hair and a ring.”
He swiftly pocketed both.
Anna Pavlovna led the way with her son and Pospelov, followed by Maria Karpovna and her daughter, with the priest and Anton Ivanych bringing up the rear. The carriage followed some distance behind. The coachman could barely restrain the horses. At the gate, the servants crowded round Yevsei.
And cries of “Goodbye, Yevsei Ivanych – goodbye, old friend, don’t forget us,” rang out from every side.
“Goodbye, my friends, goodbye – remember me fondly!”
“Goodbye, Yevseyushka, goodbye my darling,” said his mother, embracing him. “Take this icon, it’s my blessing. Keep the faith, Yevsei. Don’t let me see you joining the infidels, otherwise I’ll be cursing you! Don’t get drunk and don’t steal, and serve your master loyally and faithfully. Goodbye, goodbye…”
She turned and left, covering her face with her apron.
“Goodbye, mother!” Yevsei muttered casually.
A twelve-year-old girl rushed up to him.
“You should say goodbye to your little sister!” one of the women urged.
“Hey, where are you going!” said Yevsei, and kissed her. “All right, goodbye, goodbye; now, off with you and your bare feet, and go back home!”
The last one left was Agrafena, who was standing apart from the others. Her face had a greenish tinge.
“Goodbye, Agrafena Ivanovna,” said Yevsei, dragging out the words, and raising his voice, even stretching out his hands to her.
She submitted to his embrace, but did not return it, and just made a wry grimace.
“Here, take this!” she said, taking out a package of something from under her pinafore and thrusting it at him.
“Well, I suppose you’ll be gadding about with those St Petersburg girls then!” she added without looking him straight in the eye – but that look expressed all her feelings of hurt and jealousy.
“Me, gad about?” Yevsei began. “May the Lord strike me dead on the spot – let Him pluck out my eyes, and may the earth open up and swallow me, if I ever did any such thing…”
“All right, all right!” she mumbled, not entirely convinced. “But with you, I…”
“Oh, I almost forgot,” said Yevsei, and produced from his pocket a soiled pack of cards and held it out to Agrafena. “Here, take these to remember me by; you won’t be able to get any here.”
She stretched out her hand.
“Give it to me, Yevsei Ivanych!” Proshka called out from somewhere in the crowd.
“Give them to you! I’d sooner burn them!” And he put the cards back in his pocket.
“Come on, give them to me, you fool!” said Agrafena.
“No, Agrafena Ivanovna, do whatever you want, but I’m not giving them to you; you would play with him. Goodbye!”
Without looking round, and with a wave of the hand he sauntered after the carriage, which it seemed he could have carried off single-handedly on his s
houlders along with Alexander, the coachman, as well as the horses.
“To hell with you!” said Agrafena, watching him go and wiping away the tears she was shedding with the corner of her kerchief.
Everyone came to a halt at the grove. While Anna Pavlovna was sobbing her farewell to her son, Anton Ivanych patted one of the horses on the neck, and then took it by the nostrils and shook it back and forth. The horse immediately manifested its displeasure by baring its teeth and snorting.
“Tighten the shaft horse’s saddle girth – look, the pad’s sliding to one side,” he said to the coachman.
The coachman took a look at the pad and, seeing that it was in its proper place, didn’t stir from his coach box, but just adjusted the breast band a little with his whip.
“Have it your way,” said Anton Ivanych. “Anyway, it’s time to go – Anna Pavlovna, time to stop tormenting yourself! Alexander – time to take your seat: you have to get to Shishkov before nightfall. Goodbye, goodbye, may God bless you with happiness, success, honours, worldly goods and everything that’s good. And you, be on your way; get the horses moving and watch out for the hill and go easy!” he added for the benefit of the coachman.
Alexander, now in tears, took his seat in the carriage, and Yevsei went up to his mistress, knelt at her feet and kissed her hand. She gave him a five-rouble note.
“Listen, Yevsei, and remember: serve your master well and I’ll marry you to Agrafena, otherwise…”
She was unable to complete her sentence. Yevsei climbed up to the box. The coachman, impatient because of the long delay, came to life, pulled his cap down firmly, sat up straight and took up the reins; the horses moved off at a slow trot. The coachman whipped the trace horses one by one and, plunging forward, they broke into a gallop, and the troika sped along the road towards the wood. The crowd that had gathered to see them off were left behind silent and still in a cloud of dust until the coach had completely disappeared from view. Anton Ivanych was the first to break the silence.
“All right, time to go home!” he said.
Alexander looked back for as long as he could from the coach, and then fell upon the cushion and buried his face in it.
The Same Old Story Page 3
