by Boris Akunin
As he approached the age of twenty-three, with only a short time remaining to the end of his course, Alexei Stepanovich was definitely all set to become a new Evariste Gaulois or Michael Faraday, as everyone around him acknowledged and he himself was not shy of saying. Indeed, in addition to his great abilities, the youth also possessed an extremely high opinion of himself, which is not unusual among talents that mature early. He was disrespectful to authorities, insolent, sharp-tongued, and overbearing—all of those qualities that, as is well known, prevented Evariste Gaulois from attaining a mature age and astounding the world with the full brilliance of his highly promising genius.
No, Alexei Stepanovich was not killed in a duel like the young Frenchman, but he became embroiled in a certain business that turned out badly for him.
One day he dared to disagree with an assessment of one of his essays on either chemistry or physics, an assessment penned by the hand of none other than Serafim Vikentievich Nosachevsky, a leading light of Russian science who was also a privy counselor and the vice-chancellor of the university in K——. In his assessment this highly experienced scientist had failed to express sufficient admiration of Lentochkin's conclusions, and this had thrown the gifted student into a fury. The young man had added a highly impertinent remark to Nosachevsky's comments and sent the notebook containing the essay back to him.
The scientist was terribly offended (the remark had cast doubt on the discoveries that he had made, and on the value of his excellency's contribution to science in general) and he used his administrative authority to have the impudent rogue's personal grant rescinded.
Alexei Stepanovich's wild act had, of course, been quite outrageous, but, bearing in mind the student's youth and undoubted talent, Nosachevsky could have limited himself to a less severe punishment. Losing the grant meant that Lentochkin would have to leave the university and take some kind of job—even as an accountant in a shipping line—as a matter of urgency, and that would mean the end of all his great dreams; he could bury them all.
The cruelty of the vice-chancellor's verdict was condemned by many, and there were some who urged Alexei Stepanovich to go and apologize, saying that although Nosachevsky was stern he did not bear grudges, but the young student's pride would not allow him to do it. Instead he chose a different path, imagining himself to be a knight joining battle with a dragon. And he dealt the perfidious beast a fatal blow. The revenge he took was so comprehensive that the privy counselor was obliged …
But let us not run ahead of ourselves. This is a story that deserves to be told properly, from the beginning.
Serafim Vikentievich Nosachevsky had one weakness, which was known to the entire city—he was a martyr to voluptuousness. This high priest of science, although he was already advanced in years, could not see a pretty little face or a curling lock above a dainty ear without instantly being transformed into a cloven-hoofed satyr, and in this matter he made no distinction between respectable ladies and demi-mondaines of the very lowest sort. If this immoral behavior was forgiven by society in K——, it was only out of respect for the city's leading light of scholarship, and also because Nosachevsky did not make a show of his escapades and sensibly kept them private.
This was the Achilles’ heel at which our young Paris struck the fatal blow.
Alyosha was wonderfully good-looking, but with a beauty that was not so much manly as girlish: curly-haired, with thick eyebrows and long, elegantly curved eyelashes, and with a peachy fuzz on his ruddy cheeks—in short, he was one of those good-lookers who do not age for a very long time, retaining a fresh complexion and smooth skin until about forty, but thereafter rapidly beginning to shrivel and wrinkle, like an apple that has been bitten and then forgotten.
Alyosha's age was not so great, but he appeared even younger than he really was—a genuine page Cherubino from The Marriage of Figaro. And therefore, when he dressed up in his sister's best party dress, donned a sumptuous wig, glued on a beauty spot, and painted his lips with lipstick, he made such a convincing she-devil that the lustful Serafim Vikentievich could not possibly fail to notice her, especially since the seductive wench was always strolling, as if by design, in the vicinity of his excellency's town house.
Nosachevsky sent his butler out to the pretty stroller, and he reported that the mademoiselle was indeed a streetwalker, but a very choosy one, and she took her strolls along Paris Street, not in order to earn money, but for the sake of exercise. Then the satyr immediately ordered his servant to lace him into his corset, put on his satin waistcoat and velvet frock coat with the gold sparkles, and set out to conduct negotiations in person.
The enchanting girl laughed and shot Serafim Vikentievich seductive glances from her glittering eyes over the top of her fan, but she refused to go to him and soon took her leave, having completely turned the man of science's head.
He stayed at home for two days without once going out, always gazing out the window in case the nymph appeared again.
And she did appear—on the third day. This time she submitted to his blandishments, that is, to the promise of a sapphire ring in addition to two hundred rubles. But she set one condition: her admirer had to rent the very finest apartment in the Sans-Souci Hotel—a luxurious establishment, but one with a somewhat dubious reputation—and arrive for the rendezvous at ten o'clock that evening. Nosachevsky happily agreed to all of this, and at five minutes to ten he was already knocking at the door of the apartment he had rented in advance, clutching an absolutely huge bouquet of roses.
The drawing room was lit by two candles and smelled of oriental incense. The tall, slim figure in white first reached out its arms to the vice-chancellor, then immediately pulled back with a laugh and began flirting gently with Nosachevsky, who was consumed with passion. She ran playfully around the table until Serafim Vikentievich was completely out of breath and begged for mercy, and then she delivered her ultimatum: he must unquestioningly obey all of his conqueror's instructions.
His excellency gladly capitulated, especially since the conditions sounded so seductive: the beauty would undress her lover with her own hands and lead him into the boudoir.
Trembling in sweet anticipation, Nosachevsky allowed her light, fleeting fingers to remove all of his clothes. He did not resist, even when the fantasist blindfolded him with a head scarf, put a lace cap on his head, and bound his rheumatic knee with a pink bandage.
“Let us proceed into the abode of dreams, my little duckling,” the perfidious temptress whispered, and began nudging the blind vice-chancellor toward the bedroom.
He heard the door squeak as it opened, and then he received a rather powerful push in the back, so hard that he ran forward several steps and almost fell. The door slammed shut behind him.
“Sweetie pie!” Serafim Vikentievich called out, bewildered. “Lovey-dove! Where are you?”
The reply was a thunderous chorus of laughter from a dozen coarse male voices, and then a discordant choir began bellowing:
We have a welcome visitor,
Serafim Vikentievich, our dear friend!
And that was followed by a truly hideous refrain, complete with mewing and howling:
Serafima, Sima, Sima,
Sima, Sima, Sima,
Sima, Sima, Sima,
Sima, Serafima, drain your glass!
Horrified, Nosachevsky tore off his blindfold and saw before him some of the most dissolute desperadoes among the students at the university of K——, sitting in a row on the vast bed à la Louis Quinze, insolently surveying their mentor's shameful nakedness and guzzling expensive champagne straight from the bottle—they had already devoured the fruits and chocolate.
It was only then that the miserable vice-chancellor realized he had fallen victim to a conspiracy. Serafim Vikentievich dashed to the door and began tugging at the handle, but he couldn't open it—the vengeful Alyosha had locked it from the other side. The hooting and shouting brought the hotel corridor staff running in through the service door, followed by a police con
stable from the street. All in all, it was quite the most abominable scandal one could possibly imagine.
That is to say, in the official sense there was no scandal, because the awkward incident was hushed up, but already on the following day the city of K—— and the whole of K—— province knew about the privy counselor's “benefit performance,” complete with all the shocking details, which, as is the way with these things, had been considerably exaggerated.
Nosachevsky voluntarily submitted his resignation and left K——, for it was quite impossible for him to stay there. In the middle of some highly serious, even scholarly discussion, his interlocutor would suddenly start turning crimson, puffing out his cheeks and clearing his throat loudly in order to suppress his laughter—he was clearly picturing the vice-chancellor without his Order of St. Anne, wearing nothing but a lacy mobcap and a pink bandage.
This business also had other sad consequences for Serafim Vikentievich. Not only did he completely lose all interest in the fair sex from that time on, he also acquired an unattractive tremor of the head and a nervous tic in his eye, and his former scientific brilliance disappeared without a trace.
But the joker did not get away with his prank scot-free. Naturally, everyone immediately learned who had played such a vicious joke on the vice-chancellor (Alexei Stepanovich and his comrades took no great pains to conceal who was the instigator of the prank) and the provincial authorities made it clear to the former student that it would be best for him to change his place of residence.
That was when his inconsolable mother wrote to our reverend bishop, imploring him to take Major Lentochkin's wayward offspring under his pastoral supervision in Zavolzhsk, arrange some kind of work for him, and wean him away from his nonsense and mischief.
Mitrofanii had agreed—initially in memory of his comrade-in-arms; but later, when he had come to know Alexei Stepanovich better, he was truly glad to have such an interesting charge.
Lentochkin junior had captured the stern bishop's affection with his reckless daring and his total disdain for his own position, which depended in every respect on His Grace. In Alexei Stepanovich, things that Mitrofanii would never have suffered from anyone else—including disrespect and even open mockery—not only failed to anger the bishop, but they merely amused him, and perhaps even inspired his admiration.
Let us start with the fact that Alyosha was a nonbeliever—and not just one of those agnostics who are now a penny a dozen among the educated classes, so that almost anyone you ask replies, “I can allow the possible existence of a Supreme Reason, but I cannot entirely vouch for it.” Oh, no, he was an absolutely out-and-out, thoroughgoing atheist. At his very first meeting with His Grace at the episcopal residence, right there in the icon room, under the radiant gaze of the evangelists, the holy saints, and the female martyrs, the young man and Mitrofanii had had an argument about the omniscience and grace of the Lord that had ended with the bishop throwing the blasphemer out on his ear. But when Mitrofanii had cooled off, he had ordered Lentochkin to be sent for again, regaled him with clear broth and pies, and spoken to him in a different manner—one that was cheerful and friendly. He had found the young man an appropriate position as a junior consistorial auditor, lodged him with a good, conscientious landlady, and told him to feel at home in the episcopal chambers, an invitation of which Lentochkin, who had not yet managed to make any acquaintances in Zavolzhsk, had taken full advantage without the slightest ceremony: he dined there, spent hours in the bishop's library, and even chatted with Mitrofanii about all manner of things. Very many people would have regarded it as a great good fortune to listen to what the bishop said, for his speech was always not only instructive, but also highly delightful to the ear, but Lentochkin for the most part held forth himself—and Mitrofanii did not object or interrupt, but listened with evident enjoyment.
There can be no doubt that this friendship took hold because the bishop ranked sharpness of wit and independence of thought more highly than almost all other human qualities, and Lentochkin possessed these particular characteristics in the highest degree. Sister Pelagia, who took a dislike to Alexei Stepanovich from the very beginning (for after all, the feeling of envy is sometimes encountered among individuals of the monastic calling), said that Mitrofanii's partiality to the boy was also motivated by his competitive spirit—he wanted to crack this hard nut, to awaken him to Faith. When the nun accused the bishop of vain pride, he did not argue with her, but he justified himself by saying that it was not a great sin and to some extent it was even excused by Holy Scripture, for it was written: “I say unto you, there shall be greater rejoicing over one sinner who repents than over ninety-nine righteous who are in no need of repentance.”
But it seems to us that in addition to this praiseworthy aspiration, meaning the salvation of a human soul, there was another, psychological reason, of which His Grace himself was probably not even aware. While his vocation as a monk had deprived him of the sweet burden of fatherhood, Mitrofanii had still not entirely overcome the corresponding emotional impulse, and while to a certain extent Pelagia had taken the place of his daughter, the position of son had remained vacant until Alexei Stepanovich appeared. The perceptive Matvei Bentsionovich, himself an experienced father with numerous children, was the first to draw Sister Pelagia's attention to this possible reason for His Graces exceptional partiality for the impertinent youth, and although deep in his heart, of course, he was stung, he was able to summon up enough irony to joke: “The bishop might have been glad to regard me as his son, but then he would have had to accept a dozen grandchildren into the bargain, and not many men are brave enough to attempt such a heroic feat.”
When they were in each other's company, Mitrofanii and Alyosha resembled most of all (we beg the reader's forgiveness for such a disrespectful comparison) a big old dog with a frisky puppy who gambols around his parent, sometimes grabbing him by the ear, sometimes trying to clamber up on him, sometimes snapping at his nose with his sharp little teeth; for a certain time the giant bears this pestering uncomplainingly, but when the puppy gets too carried away, he will growl at him quietly or press him to the floor with his mighty paw—but gently, so as not to crush him.
On the day following the portentous tea party, Mitrofanii had to leave for one of his outlying deaneries on urgent business, but the bishop did not forget his decision, and on his return he summoned Alexei Stepanovich Lentochkin; but even before that he sent for Berdichevsky and Pelagia to explain his reasoning to them, this time without any shade of paradox.
“There is a double logic to sending Lentochkin,” the bishop told his advisers. “First, it is best for the matter at hand if these chimeras are dealt with not by a person who has leanings toward mysticism”—at this point His Grace cast a sideways glance at his spiritual daughter—“but by someone who holds a thoroughly unabashed skeptical and even material view of the world. Alexei Stepanovich's character is such that his natural inclination is to get straight to the bottom of any strange phenomenon, and he takes nothing on trust. He is intelligent, resourceful, and also extremely impudent, which may prove useful in the present case. And second,” said Mitrofanii, raising one finger in the air, “I believe that this mission will not be without benefit to the envoy himself. Let him see that there are people—and many of them—to whom spiritual things are dearer than those of the flesh. Let him breathe the fresh air of a holy monastery for a while. I have heard that the air there in Ararat has a special quality: it sets your whole chest vibrating deliciously, as if you are breathing everything bad out of yourself and breathing in heavenly ambrosia.”
The bishop lowered his eyes and added in a quieter voice, as if he were speaking reluctantly: “He is a lively boy, full of curiosity, but he lacks the strong core that only Faith gives to a man. Someone less talented, with less lively feelings, might perhaps get by anyway, but without God, Alyosha is doomed for certain.”
Berdichevsky and Pelagia exchanged furtive glances, instantly concluding an unspoken agreement
not to contradict the bishop—it would have been disrespectful, not to mention cruel.
Soon after this Alexei Stepanovich arrived, still not suspecting what far-reaching plans the bishop had in mind for him.
After greeting everyone present, Lentochkin tossed his head of chestnut curls, which reached almost down to his shoulders, and inquired jocularly, “Why have you convened your entire inquisition, Torque-mada? What torment have you devised for the heretic now?”
As we have already said, the youths wit was exceptionally keen—he had realized immediately that there was some special purpose to this meeting, and he had also spotted the special expressions on their faces. And as for “Torquemada,” that was Alexei Stepanovich's little joke— calling Father Mitrofanii by the name of some figure from church history: either Cardinal Richelieu or Archpriest Avvakum or someone else, depending on the way the conversation turned and the bishop's mood, which on occasion did indeed seem to express the stern raison d'etat of the French duke or the passionate fury of the schismatic martyr or the menace of the Castilian exterminator of spiritual pollution.
Mitrofanii did not smile at the joke. Speaking with emphatic coolness, he told Lentochkin about the alarming manifestations at New Ararat and explained the meaning of the young man's mission to him tersely, concluding as follows: “According to his job description, a con-sistorial auditor is not only responsible for the accounts, but also for other diocesan business that requires special verification. So go and verify this. I am counting on you.”
