After leaving Tenevo, I took the same road I had walked along that morning. From the sun I could tell that it was already noon. As they had done earlier that morning, peasant carts and landowners’ carriages seduced my ears with their creaking and the metallic jingle of their bells. Once again gardener Franz drove past with his sour eyes and touched his cap. His revolting face jarred on me, but this time the disagreeable impression from meeting him was erased at one stroke by the appearance of Olenka, the forester’s daughter, who had caught up with me in her cumbersome wagonette.
‘Give me a lift!’ I shouted to her.
She nodded gaily at me and stopped the vehicle. I sat beside her and the wagonette rumbled noisily along the road that ran like a bright strip across a two-mile cutting in the Tenevo forest. For two minutes we silently surveyed each other.
‘How pretty she really is!’ I thought, glancing at her slender neck and plump little chin. ‘If I were asked to choose between Nadenka and her I’d settle for this one. She’s more natural, fresher, her nature is more expansive and happy-go-lucky. If she fell into the right hands one could do a lot with her! As for the other one, she’s so gloomy, so dreamy, so cerebral!’
Two pieces of linen and several parcels were lying at Olenka’s feet.
‘So many purchases!’ I said. ‘Why do you need so much linen?’
‘I don’t really need all of it right now,’ Olenka replied. ‘I just bought it, amongst other things. You just can’t imagine the running around I’ve had to do! Today I spent a whole hour walking all over the fair and tomorrow I have to go shopping in town. And then there’s the sewing on top of it. Listen – do you know any women who could come and do some sewing for me?’
‘No, I don’t. But why did you have to go and buy so much? Why all this sewing? For heaven’s sake, your family’s not so big, is it? You can count them on one hand!’
‘How strange you men are! You understand nothing, you’d be angry enough if your wife came to you dressed like a slut right after getting married. I know Pyotr Yegorych isn’t hard up, but still, it would be a bit embarrassing if I didn’t look like a decent housewife right from the start.’
‘What’s Pyotr Yegorych got to do with it?’
‘Hm… you’re laughing – as if you didn’t know!’ Olenka said, blushing slightly.
‘You, young lady, are talking in riddles.’
‘Surely you must have heard? I’m going to marry Pyotr Yegorych!’
‘Marry?’ I asked in a startled voice, opening my eyes wide. ‘Which Pyotr Yegorych?’
‘For heaven’s sake! Why… Urbenin!’
I glanced at her blushing, smiling face.
‘You… getting married… to Urbenin? I see you like to have your little joke!’
‘It’s not a joke at all… I really don’t see what’s so surprising or peculiar about it,’ Olenka said, pouting.
A minute passed in silence. I looked at that beautiful girl, at her young, almost childish face and I was amazed – how could she make such awful jokes? At once I pictured that elderly, fat, red-faced Urbenin standing next to her with his protruding ears and rough hands, whose touch could only scratch a young female body that had just begun to live. Surely the thought of such a sight must scare this pretty, sylvan fairy, who could look at the sky with romantic eyes when lightning flashed across it and thunder angrily rumbled. I was really frightened!
‘True, he’s on the elderly side,’ Olenka sighed, ‘but then he loves me. His love is the reliable sort.’
‘It’s not a question of reliability, but of happiness.’
‘I’ll be happy with him. He’s not short of money, thank God. He’s not some sort of beggar, but a gentleman. Of course, I’m not in love with him, but are only those who marry for love happy? I know all about these love matches!’
‘My child!’ I exclaimed, looking at her bright eyes in horror. ‘When did you manage to stuff your poor little head with this terrible worldly wisdom? Granted you’re only telling me jokes, but where did you learn to joke so crudely, like an old man! Where? When?’
Olenka looked at me in amazement and shrugged her shoulders. ‘I don’t understand what you’re talking about,’ she said. ‘You don’t like it when a young girl marries an old man. True?’
Olenka suddenly blushed, her chin twitched nervously and without waiting for a reply she hastened to add:
‘You don’t like it? Then please go into the forest yourself, into that boredom, where there’s nothing but merlins and a mad father, sitting and twiddling your thumbs until a young fiancé turns up! You liked it there that evening, but you should take a look in winter – then you’re glad that death is round the corner.’
‘Oh, all this is so silly, Olenka, so immature, so stupid! If you’re not joking then… I really don’t know what to say, really I don’t! You’d better say nothing and not pollute the air with your little tongue! In your position I would have hanged myself on seven aspens, but you calmly go and buy linen… and you’re smiling! A-ah!’
‘At least he’ll get treatment for my father with the money he’s got,’ she whispered.
‘How much do you need for your father’s treatment?’ I shouted. ‘Take the money from me! A hundred? Two hundred? A thousand? You’re lying, Olenka! It’s not treatment for your father that you need!’
The news conveyed by Olenka excited me so much that I didn’t notice that our wagonette had passed my village, driven into the Count’s courtyard and stopped at the manager’s front door. When I saw the children running out and the smiling face of Urbenin, who had jumped up to help Olenka out, I leapt from the wagonette and ran into the Count’s house without even saying goodbye. Here some fresh news awaited me.
‘Well timed! Well timed!’ the Count greeted me, scratching my face with his long, prickly moustache. ‘You couldn’t have picked a better time! We’ve only this minute sat down to lunch. Of course, you’ve met… perhaps you’ve had more than one little confrontation in the legal department… ha ha!’
With both hands the Count pointed out two gentlemen sitting in soft armchairs and eating cold tongue. One of them I had the pleasure of recognizing as Kalinin, the JP. But the other, a little grey-haired old gentleman with a large, moon-shaped bald patch, was my good friend Babayev, a rich landowner who held the position of permanent member in our district council. After I had exchanged bows I looked at Kalinin in astonishment. I knew how much he hated the Count and the rumours he had spread in the district about the man at whose house he was now tucking into tongue and peas with such relish and drinking ten-year-old liqueurs. How could any self-respecting man explain this visit of his? The JP caught my glance – and most likely he clearly guessed its meaning.
‘I’ve devoted today to visits,’ he told me. ‘I’ve been running around the whole district. And, as you can see, I’ve also dropped in on His Excellency.’
Ilya brought the fourth course. I sat down, drank a glass of vodka and started lunch.
‘It’s bad, Your Excellency… very bad!’ Kalinin said, continuing the conversation which had been interrupted by my arrival. ‘For us small fry it’s no sin, but you’re rich, a brilliant celebrity – it’s a sin to neglect things as you do.’
‘That’s true, it’s a sin,’ agreed Babayev.
‘What’s all this about?’ I asked.
‘Nikolay Ignatych has given me a good idea,’ the Count said, nodding towards the JP. ‘Here he comes visiting me, sits down to lunch and I complain to him that I’m bored…’
‘Yes, he complains he’s bored,’ Kalinin interrupted the Count. ‘He’s bored, miserable, this and that. In short, he’s disenchanted. A kind of Onegin.35 “But you yourself are to blame, Your Excellency,” I say. “And why is that?” Very simple. “You,” I tell him, “should do a spot of work to avoid being bored, you should busy yourself with farming. Farming is excellent, wonderful.” He replies that he intends taking it up, but he’s still bored. He lacks – in a manner of speaking – a stimulating, upliftin
g element. He lacks… what shall I say?… er… powerful sensations!’
‘Well, what sort of idea did you give him?’
‘As a matter of fact, I didn’t give him any idea, but simply ventured to rebuke His Excellency. “How is it, Your Excellency,” I say, “that such a young, educated, brilliant man can shut himself off like this? Surely it’s a sin? You never go anywhere, you’re like some old man or hermit. How much effort would it take to arrange social gatherings, at-homes, so to speak?” I ask.’
‘Why should he give “at-homes”,’ I asked.
‘You ask why? Firstly, His Excellency would get acquainted with local society if he held at-homes, he’d learn all about it, so to speak. Secondly, society in turn would have the honour of becoming more closely acquainted with one of our richest landowners. There would be a mutual exchange of ideas, so to speak, conversation, conviviality. Come to think of it, how many educated young ladies, how many gallants we have among us! What musical evenings, dances, picnics could be arranged – just think of it! The rooms here are enormous, there’s summer-houses in the garden, and so on. Such amateur dramatics and concerts could be given that were never dreamt of in this province. Yes, I swear it. Judge for yourselves! And now all this is almost going for naught, buried in the ground. But then… you must only try and understand! If I had His Excellency’s means I’d show you all how to live! And he says he’s bored! My God, just listening to him makes me laugh… ashamed even!’
And Kalinin blinked – he wanted to show that he really did feel ashamed.
‘That’s all perfectly true,’ the Count said, getting up and thrusting his hands into his pockets. ‘I could give superb evenings… concerts, private theatricals – all that could in fact be arranged most charmingly. What’s more, these evenings would not only amuse society, they would have an educational influence as well! Isn’t that so?’
‘Oh yes,’ I agreed. ‘The moment our young ladies see your mustachioed physiognomy they’d be immediately saturated with the spirit of civilization.’
‘You’re always joking, Seryozha,’ said the Count, taking offence. ‘But you never give me friendly advice! Everything’s a joke with you! It’s time, my friend, you dropped these student habits of yours!’
The Count started pacing from corner to corner and describing to me in lengthy, boring terms the benefit that his parties might bestow on humanity. Music, literature, drama, riding, hunting. Hunting alone could bring together all the local elite!
‘We’ll talk about it later!’ the Count told Kalinin, taking leave of him after lunch.
‘So, if I may make so bold, the district has grounds for hope, Your Excellency?’ the JP asked.
‘Of course, of course… I’ll work on the idea, I’ll make an effort… I’m delighted, absolutely delighted. You can tell everyone that.’
One should have seen the utter bliss written all over the JP’s face when he took his seat in his carriage and said: ‘Let’s go!’ He was so pleased that he even forgot our disagreements and when we parted called me ‘dear chap’ and firmly shook my hand.
After the visitors had left, the Count and I sat at the table and continued our lunch. We lunched until seven o’clock in the evening, when the crockery was removed from the table and dinner was served. Young drunkards are expert at whiling away the long intervals between meals! We drank continuously, taking small nibbles in between, which enabled us to preserve our appetites, which would have been lost had we stopped eating altogether.
‘Did you send some money to anyone today?’ I asked the Count, remembering the packets of one-hundred rouble notes I’d seen that morning in the Tenevo post office.
‘To no one.’
‘Can you please tell me – is your new friend – what’s his name… that… Kazimir Kaetanych or Kaetan Kazimirovich… is he wealthy?’
‘No, Seryozha. He’s an out-and-out pauper. But what a fine soul he has, what a heart! It’s not right that you should speak contemptuously of him and… bully him. You must learn to be discerning with people, dear chap! Shall we have another glass?’
Pshekhotsky returned towards dinner-time. When he saw me sitting at the table drinking he frowned and after hovering for a while around our table considered it prudent to retire to his room. He declined dinner, pleading a headache, but he offered no objection when the Count advised him to have dinner in his room, in bed.
Urbenin made his entry during the second course. I barely recognized him. His broad, red face was beaming with pleasure. A contented smile seemed to be playing even on his protruding ears and on the thick fingers with which he constantly kept adjusting his dashing new tie.
‘One of our cows is poorly, Your Excellency. I sent for our own vet but he seems to have gone away somewhere. Should we send for the vet in town, Your Excellency? If I send for him he won’t take any notice and he won’t come, but it would be a different matter if you wrote to him. It’s probably something trivial, on the other hand it might be serious.’
‘Very well, I’ll write to him,’ muttered the Count.
‘My congratulations, Pyotr Yegorych,’ I said, standing up and offering the estate manager my hand.
‘On what?’
‘You’re getting married, aren’t you?’
‘Yes, fancy that – he’s getting married,’ said the Count, winking at the blushing Urbenin. ‘What do you think of him! Ha ha! He kept it all hush-hush and then suddenly – right out of the blue! And do you know who he’s marrying? Both of us guessed it that evening, didn’t we? We, Pyotr Yegorych, had decided even then that something highly improper was brewing in your rascally heart! And when Sergey Petrovich looked at you and Olenka he even said that nice fellow’s smitten! Ha ha! Sit down and have some dinner with us, Pyotr Yegorych!’
Urbenin gingerly and respectfully took his seat and motioned to Ilya with his eyes to bring him some soup.
I poured him a glass of vodka.
‘I don’t drink,’ he said.
‘Rubbish! You drink more than we do!’
‘I used to drink, sir, but not any more,’ the manager smiled. ‘I don’t need to drink now, I’ve no reason to. Thank God everything’s turned out so well, everything’s settled to my heart’s desire – even better than I could ever have hoped.’
‘Well, you could at least drink this to celebrate,’ I said, pouring him some sherry.
‘Well, perhaps I will. I used to drink a great deal, in fact. Now I can admit it in front of His Excellency. I used to drink from dawn to dusk. The moment I got up my first thought was drink. Well, naturally, I’d go straight to the cabinet. But now, thank God, I’ve no reason to drown my sorrows in vodka!’
Urbenin downed the sherry. I poured him another. He drank that too and imperceptibly grew tipsy.
‘I just can’t believe it,’ he said, suddenly laughing happily, like a child. ‘As I look at this ring I recall her words when she gave her consent – and I still can’t believe it! It’s even quite funny – how could someone of my age and with my looks ever have dreamed that this worthy girl wouldn’t turn her nose up at becoming my… the mother of my little orphans? Really, she’s a beauty, as you saw for yourselves, an angel in the flesh! It’s a sheer miracle!… Is that some more sherry you’ve poured me? Well, why not, for the very last time. I used to drink to drown my sorrows, now I’m drinking to celebrate. And how I suffered, gentlemen, what I went through! I first saw her a year ago and – would you believe it? – since then I didn’t have one good night’s sleep, not one day passed without my drowning that silly weakness of mine in vodka, without my blaming myself for my stupidity. I would look at her through the window and admire her – and I’d tear my hair out. I could have hanged myself at the time… But thank God I took a chance. I proposed and – you know – you could have knocked me down with a feather! Ha ha! I listened and I just couldn’t believe my ears. She said: “I consent”, but I thought she said: “Go to hell, you old fogey!” But afterwards, when she kissed me, I was certain…’
&
nbsp; As he recalled the first time he kissed poetic Olenka the fifty-year-old Urbenin closed his eyes and blushed like a schoolboy. I found all this disgusting.
‘Gentlemen,’ he said, looking at us with happy, friendly eyes. ‘Why don’t you get married? Why are you wasting your lives, throwing them out of the window? Why are you avoiding the greatest blessing for any mortal on this earth? Surely the pleasure you derive from debauchery can’t provide a fraction of what a quiet family life might offer! You’re a young man, Your Excellency. And you too, Sergey Petrovich. I’m happy now and – as God is my witness – I’m so very fond of you both! Please forgive this stupid advice of mine, but I only want both of you to be happy. Why don’t you get married? Family life is a blessing… it’s every man’s duty!’
The blissful, melting look of that elderly man who was about to marry a young girl and who was now advising us to exchange our dissipated existence for a quiet family life became too much to bear.
‘Yes,’ I said, ‘family life is a duty. I agree with you. So, you’re fulfilling this duty for the second time?’
‘Yes, for the second time. In general, I like family life. To be a bachelor or widower is only half a life for me. Whatever you may say, gentlemen, matrimony is a wonderful thing!’
‘Well, of course… even when the husband is almost three times his wife’s age?’
Urbenin flushed. The hand bearing the spoonful of soup to his lips trembled and the soup spilled back into the plate.
‘I understand what you wish to say, Sergey Petrovich,’ he mumbled. ‘Thank you for being so frank. And in fact I do ask myself: isn’t this all rather low? Yes, I’m going through hell! But why should I question myself, make problems for myself when I feel constantly happy, when I can forget my old age and ugliness… everything! Homo sum,36 Sergey Petrovich! And when the question of age difference enters my old noddle for one fleeting moment, I’m not lost for a reply and I calm myself as best I can. I feel that I’ve made Olenka happy, that I’ve given her a father and my children a mother. However, it’s all rather like in a novel… my head’s going round! You shouldn’t have made me drink all that sherry!’
The Shooting Party Page 12
