The Chekhov Collection: Novellas, Short Stories, Plays, Letters & Diary. Anton Chekhov
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with fashionably trimmed whiskers and a smart overcoat. Frozen with sacred terror, and remembering the ceremony of greeting taught by my mother, I shuffled my feet, bowed deeply, and bent over his hand. But the gentleman refused to allow me to kiss his hand, and added that he was not my uncle, but only his servant, Piotr. The sight of this Piotr, who was better dressed than I or Pobiedimsky, caused me intense surprise, which survives indeed to this day, for I cannot understand how such solid, representative men with clever, severe faces, can serve as valets. Piotr told me that my uncle was in the garden with my mother. I rushed into the garden.
Nature, being unconscious both of the Gundasoff pedigree and of uncle's official rank, was much freer and more at ease than I. Tlie tumult in the garden reminded me of a fair. Innumerable starlings clove the air, hopped on the paths, and with noise and cries hunted the May-flies. Sparrows rustled in the lilac trees, whose delicate, perfumed blooms stretched out at my face. On all sides orioles sang, hoopoes and hawks flew. On any other occasion I should have hunted the dragon-flies or thrown stones at the crow on the hayrick close by the aspen, and bent its blunt nose, but now I was in no mood for such pranks. My heart palpitated; I felt a chill in my stomach; I prepared to see an epauletted hero with a naked sword and terrible menacing eyes.
Imagine my disappointment! By the side of my mother walked a little, slender fop in white jacket and trousers and white forage cap. With hands in pockets, head thrown back — sometimes almost running in front — he had the air of a mere youth. His figure showed extreme briskness and life, and treacherous age was betrayed only behind by a patch of silver-grey hair under the edge of his cap. Instead of a general's solidity and stilfiiess, there was a boyish nimbleness ; instead of a collar stiff" to the ears, an ordinary blue necktie. My mother and my uncle walked down the path and talked. I followed them, waiting patiently till one or the other should turn.
“What a ravishing little home you have, Claudia!” said my uncle. “How sweet! How charming! Had I known that you lived in such a paradise, nothing would have induced me to spend my summers abroad in past years.”
My uncle bent in two and smelt a tulip. Everything that met his eyes inspired, it seemed, interest and delight ; it was as if for the first time in life he had seen a garden and a sunny day. The strange man walked as if on springs and chattered without cease, so that my mother never spoke a word. At a corner of the path from behind an elder-bush suddenly appeared Pobiedimsky. His appearance was unexpected. My uncle started and took a step to the rear. My tutor wore his best cloak, in which, viewed from behind, he closely resembled a windmill. His air was solemn and dignified. Pressing, as a Spaniard, his hat to his breast, he took one step towards uncle and bowed, as marquises bow in melodramas — forward and a little on one side.
“I have the honour to introduce myself to your Excellency,” he said loudly. “I am a pedagogue, the tutor of your nephew, an ex-veterinary student, and a noble, Pobiedimsky!”
My tutor's polished manners pleased my mother intensely. She smiled and waited expectantly, hoping that Pobiedimsky would say something brilliant. But my tutor, who expected that his impressive greeting would be received equally impressively — that is, that my uncle, like a true general, would answer “H-m-m-m!” and extend two of his fingers — lost his self-possession when my uncle smiled at him genially and warmly pressed his hand. He muttered incoherently, coughed, and turned aside.
“He's too delightful for words,” said my uncle, smiling. “Just look at him ! He's put on his best manners, and finds himself a very clever man! I like it, I swear to God! What youthful aplomb, what realism in this droll magniloquence! And who is this little boy?” he asked, turning suddenly and catching sight of me.
“That is my Andriushenka,” said my mother, blushing. “My only treasure!”
I shuffled my feet on the gravel and bowed low.
“And a fine little fellow . . . a first-rate boy,” muttered my uncle, taking his hand from his lips and stroking my head. “So you're called Andriushenka. Indeed. . . . A fine little boy! I swear to God! . . . You learn your lessons?”
My mother, boasting and exaggerating, described my progress in learning and manners, and I walked beside my uncle, and, remembering the protocol, never ceased to bow to the ground. My mother hinted that with such remarkable talents I should enter the Cadets' Corpus at the State's expense; arid I, still observing the protocol, was about to weep and beg my kinsman's protection, when suddenly my uncle started and opened his arms with a look of intense surprise.
“Lord in heaven, what is that?” he asked.
Down the path came Tatiana Ivanovna, wife of Feodor Petrovitch, our steward. She was carrying a white, well-starched petticoat, and a long ironing board. When passing she looked timidly at the guest through her long eyelashes, and blushed.
“Still more miracles!” cried my uncle, through his teeth, looking genially after her. “One can't walk a yard with you, sister, without a fresh surprise. . . . I swear to God!”
“That is our local beauty,” said my mother. “She was courted for Feodor in town, a hundred versts from this.”
Few would have found Tatiana Ivanovna beautiful. She was a little plump woman of about twenty, black-browed, and always rosy and pleasing. But neither face nor figure contained one striking trait, one bold stroke to catch the eye; it seemed as if Nature, creating her, had lost inspiration and confidence. Tatiana Ivanovna was timid, confused, and well-mannered; she walked quietly and smoothly, spoke little, and seldom smiled ; her whole life was as flat and eventless as her face and her smoothly dressed hair. My uncle looked after her and smiled ; and my mother looked earnestly at her smiling face, and became serious.
“And you, brother ... so you never married!” She sighed.
“Never!”
“Why?” asked my mother softly.
“It's hard to explain. Somehow it worked out that way. When young I worked hard, and thought little of such things; and when I began to feel the desire to live, I suddenly remembered that I was over fifty. . . . I never, somehow, managed to get married. But that is a tiresome subject.”
My mother and my uncle both sighed, and went on. I remained behind and sought my tutor to exchange impressions. Pobiedimsky stood in the middle of the yard and looked solemnly at the sky.
“You can see that he is a cultivated man,” he said. “I hope we shall get on with him.”
An hour later my mother returned to us.
“What a pity, my dears!” she began. “My brother has brought a servant; and a servant, God love him, whom I can't put in the kitchen, or the hall. He must have a room to himself. I don't know how to manage. The two of you must remove into the wing with Feodor, and give up your room to the valet.”
We consented readily. There was more freedom in the wing than under my mother's eyes.
“But that's not the worst!” continued my mother. “Your uncle says he will dine late, at seven o'clock, as at St. Petersburg. I'll go out of my mind! At seven the dinner will be cooked to death. In spite of their big brains, men never understand house-keeping. We must have two dinners. You, my dears, will dine early as before; I, old woman, will wait till seven for my brother's sake.”
My mother sighed deeply, advised me to please my uncle, whom God had sent for my welfare, and ran into the kitchen. Pobiedimsky and I migrated to the wing, where we made ourselves cosy in a room with two doors, between the hall and the steward's bedroom.
My uncle's arrival and our migration made little difference in our lives. Contrary to expectation, things remained as of old, drowsy and monotonous. Pobiedimsky, who read no books and had no interests in life, sat hours on his bed, moved his long nose, and thought. Occasionally he rose, tried on his new suit, and again sat, silent and thoughtful. The flies alone worried him, and he slapped them ruthlessly. After dinner when he usually “rested,” his snores caused agony to the whole household. As for me, morning to night I ran wild about the garden or sat in the wing and glued my kites. For the first few weeks we seldom even saw my uncle. All day long, ignoring the flies and the heat, he sat in his