XX
In the evening Peredonov went to the Club—he had been invited to play cards. Goudayevsky, the notary, was also there. Peredonov was frightened when he saw him, but Goudayevsky conducted himself quietly and Peredonov felt reassured.
They played a long time and drank a good deal. Late at night in the refreshment room Goudayevsky ran up to Peredonov and without any explanation hit him several times in the face, broke his glasses and quickly left the Club. Peredonov showed no resistance, pretended he was drunk, then fell to the floor, and began to grunt. They shook him and carried him home.
The next day the whole town was talking about this scuffle.
That same evening Varvara found an opportunity to steal the first forged letter from Peredonov. Grushina had insisted on this so that no discrepancies might be found by comparing the two forgeries. Peredonov carried this letter about with him, but on this evening he happened to leave it at home: while changing into his dress clothes, he had taken the letter from his pocket, put it under a textbook on the chest of drawers and promptly forgotten it. Varvara burnt it over a candle at Grushina’s.
When Peredonov returned home late that night and Varvara saw his broken spectacles, he told her that they had burst of themselves. She believed him and imagined that it was all the fault of Volodin’s evil tongue. Peredonov also persuaded himself that it was due to Volodin. The next day, however, Grushina told Varvara the details of the scuffle at the Club.
In the morning, when dressing, Peredonov suddenly remembered the letter, looked for it unavailingly, and felt terrified. He shouted in a savage voice:
“Varvara! Where’s that letter?”
Varvara was disconcerted.
“What letter?” she asked, looking at Peredonov with frightened eyes.
“The Princess’s!” shouted Peredonov.
Varvara somehow collected herself.
She said with an impudent smile:
“How should I know where it is? You must have thrown it among the waste paper and Klavdiushka has probably burnt it. You’d better look in your pockets for it, if it’s still to be found.”
Peredonov went to the gymnasia in a gloomy state of mind. Yesterday’s unpleasantness came into his mind. He thought of Kramarenko: how did this impudent boy dare to call him a scoundrel? That meant that he was not afraid of Peredonov. Perhaps the boy knew something about him and would inform against him.
In class Kramarenko stared at Peredonov and smiled, which terrified Peredonov even more. After the third class, Peredonov was again called to see the Headmaster. He went, vaguely apprehending something unpleasant.
Rumours of Peredonov’s doings reached Khripatch from all sides. That morning he had been told about last night’s occurrence at the Club. Yesterday, also, after lessons, Volodya Boultyakov had come to see him—the boy who had been punished by his landlady at Peredonov’s request. To prevent a repetition of this visit with similar consequences the boy complained to the Headmaster.
In a dry, sharp voice Khripatch repeated to Peredonov the reports that had reached him—from reliable sources, he added—of how Peredonov had been going to his students’ homes giving their parents and guardians false information about the children’s conduct and progress, demanding that the boys should be whipped, in consequence of which certain disagreeable incidents had occurred among the parents, as, for instance, last night’s affair at the Club with the notary Goudayevsky.
Peredonov listened fearfully and yet irritatedly. Khripatch was silent.
“What of that?” said Peredonov in a surly voice. “It was he who struck me. Is that the way to behave? He had no right to fly into my face. He doesn’t go to church. He believes in a monkey and he’s corrupting his son into the same sect. He ought to be reported—he’s a Socialist.”
Khripatch listened attentively to Peredonov and said insinuatingly:
“All this is not our affair, and I don’t understand at all what you mean by the original expression ‘he believes in a monkey.’ In my opinion there’s no need to enrich the history of religion with newly-devised cults. As for the affront you received, you ought to have brought him before a court of magistrates. But the very best thing for you to do, is to leave the school. This would be the best way out for you personally and for the gymnasia.”
“I shall be an inspector,” said Peredonov angrily.
“But until then,” continued Khripatch, “you should restrain yourself from these extraordinary visits. You will agree that such conduct is unbecoming to a schoolmaster, and it loses the master his dignity in the eyes of his pupils. To go about from house to house, whipping young boys—this you must agree …”
Khripatch did not finish, and merely shrugged his shoulders.
“But after all,” said Peredonov, “I did it for their good.”
“Please don’t let us argue about it,” Khripatch interrupted him sharply. “I request you most emphatically not to let this happen again.”
Peredonov looked angrily at the Headmaster.
That evening they decided to have a housewarming. They invited all their acquaintances. Peredonov walked about the rooms to see that everything was in order and that there was nothing which could be the cause of his being informed against. He thought:
“Well, everything seems all right—there are no forbidden books visible, the icon-lamps are alight, the Royal portraits are hanging in the place of honour on the wall.”
Suddenly Mickiewicz winked at him from the wall.
“He might get me into trouble,” thought Peredonov in fear. “I’d better take the portrait and put it in the privy and bring Pushkin back here.”
“After all Pushkin was a courtier,” he thought, as he hung the portrait on the dining-room wall.
Then he remembered that they would play cards in the evening, so he decided to examine the cards. He took the opened pack of cards which had only been used once and looked through them as if he were trying to find something. The faces of the court cards did not please him—they had such big eyes.
Latterly when he was playing it seemed to him that the cards smiled like Varvara. Even the ordinary six of spades had an insolent and unfriendly look.
Peredonov gathered together all the cards he had and put out the eyes of all the kings, queens and knaves, so that they should not stare at him. He did this first with the cards that had already been used, and afterwards he unsealed the new packs. He did this with furtive glances around him, as if he were afraid that he would be detected. Luckily for him, Varvara was busy in the kitchen and did not come into the rooms—how could she leave such an abundance of eatables: Klavdia might help herself. When she wanted anything from one of the rooms, she sent Klavdia. Each time Klavdia came into the room, Peredonov trembled, hid the scissors in his pocket and pretended that he was dealing the cards for patience. While Peredonov was in this way depriving the kings and queens of any possibility of their irritating him with their stares, an unpleasantness was approaching him from another side. The hat, which Peredonov had thrown on the stove of his former house in order to keep from wearing it, had been found by Ershova. She suspected that the hat had not been left there by a simple accident: her former tenants detested her and it was likely, Ershova thought, that they had put a spell in the hat which would prevent others from taking the house. In fear and vexation she took the hat to a sorceress. The latter looked at the hat, whispered something over it mysteriously and severely, spat to each of the four quarters and said to Ershova:
“They’ve done you some harm and you ought to pay them back. A strong sorcerer has made the spell, but I am more cunning and I will outdo him and I’ll get the better of him.”
And for a long time she recited her spells over the hat, and having received generous gifts from Ershova she told her that she was to give the hat to a young man with red hair, and that he should take it to Peredonov’s house, give it to the first person he met there and then run away without turning round.
As it happened, the first red-haired boy whom Ershova met was one of the locksmith’s sons, who had a grudge against Peredonov for revealing their nocturnal prank. He took with great satisfaction the five-kopeck piece Ershova gave him, and on the way he spat zealously into the hat on his own account. He met Varvara herself in the dark hall of Peredonov’s house. He stuck the hat into her hand and ran away so quickly that Varvara had not time to recognise him.
Peredonov had barely time enough to blind the last knave, when Varvara entered his room, astonished and rather frightened, and said in a trembling voice:
“Ardalyon Borisitch! Look at this!”
Peredonov looked and almost fell over in his terror. The very hat which he had tried to get rid of was now in Varvara’s hands, all crumpled up, dusty, with scarcely a trace of its former magnificence. He asked, panting with fear:
“Where did it come from?”
Varvara recounted in a frightened voice how she had received the hat from a nimble boy who seemed to rise from the ground in front of her and then vanish into it again. She said:
“It must be Ershikha. She has thrown a spell on to your hat. There can’t be any doubt about it.”
Peredonov mumbled something incoherent, and his teeth chattered with fear. Gloomy fears and forebodings tormented him. He walked up and down frowning and the grey nedotikomka ran under the chairs and sniggered.
The guests arrived early. They brought many tarts, apples and pears to the house warming. Varvara accepted everything gladly, saying, merely from politeness:
“Why did you take the trouble to bring such lovely things?”
But if she thought that someone had brought something poor or cheap she felt angry. She was also displeased when two guests brought the same thing.
They lost no time, but sat down at once to play cards. They played stoukolka.
“Good heavens!” exclaimed Grushina suddenly. “I’ve got a blind king!”
“And my queen has no eyes,” said Prepolovenskaya, examining her cards. “And the knave too!”
The guests laughingly examined their cards. Prepolovensky said:
“I wondered why these cards kept catching each other. That’s the reason. I kept feeling. Why is it, I thought, that they have such rough backs? Now I see it comes from these little holes. That’s it—it’s the backs that are rough!”
Everyone laughed except Peredonov, who looked morose. Varvara said with a smile:
“You know my Ardalyon Borisitch has strange whims. He’s always thinking of different tricks.”
“Why did you do it?” asked Routilov with a loud laugh.
“Why should they have eyes?” said Peredonov morosely. “They don’t need to see!”
Everyone roared with laughter, but Peredonov remained morose and silent. It seemed to him that the blinded figures were making wry faces, mocking at him and winking with the gaping little holes in their eyes.
“Perhaps,” thought Peredonov, “they’ve managed to learn to see with their noses.”
He had bad luck, as he nearly always did, and it seemed to him that the faces of the kings, queens and knaves expressed spite and mockery; the queen of spades even gritted her teeth, evidently enraged by his blinding her. Finally, after a heavy loss, Peredonov seized the pack of cards and in his rage began to tear them to shreds. The guests roared with laughter. Varvara said with a smile:
“He’s always like that—whenever he takes a drop he always does strange things.”
“You mean when he’s drunk,” said Prepolovenskaya spitefully. “Do you hear, Ardalyon Borisitch, what your cousin thinks of you?”
Varvara flushed and said angrily:
“Why do you twist my words?”
Prepolovenskaya smiled and was silent.
A new pack of cards was produced in place of the torn pack, and the game was continued.
Suddenly a crash was heard—a pane of glass was broken and a stone fell on the floor near Peredonov. Under the window could be heard a whispering, laughter and then quickly receding footsteps. Everyone jumped from his place in alarm; the women screamed—as they always do. They picked up the stone and examined it fearfully; no one ventured near the window—they first sent Klavdia into the street, and only when she came back, saying that the street was deserted, did they examine the broken window.
Volodin suggested that the stone had been thrown by some schoolboys. His guess seemed a likely one, and everyone looked significantly at Peredonov. Peredonov frowned and mumbled something incoherently. The guests began to talk of the boys of the place, remarking how impudent and wild they were.
It was, of course, not the schoolboys, but the locksmith’s sons.
“The Headmaster put the boys up to it,” announced Peredonov suddenly, “he’s always trying to pick a quarrel with me. He’s thought of this to annoy me.”
“Well, that is a fine idea,” shouted Routilov with a loud laugh.
Everyone laughed.
Grushina alone said:
“Well, what do you expect? He’s such a poisonous man. Anything might be expected of him. He doesn’t do it himself, but puts his sons up to it.”
“It doesn’t make any difference that they’re aristocrats,” bleated Volodin in an injured tone. “Anything might be expected from aristocrats.”
Many of the guests then began to think that perhaps it was time they stopped laughing.
“You seem to have bad luck with glass, Ardalyon Borisitch,” said Routilov. “First your spectacles were broken and now they’ve smashed your window.”
This evoked a new outburst of laughter.
“Broken windows mean long life,” said Prepolovenskaya with a restrained smile.
When Peredonov and Varvara were going to bed that night, it seemed to him that Varvara had something evil in her mind; he took from her the knives and forks and hid them under the mattress. He mumbled in a slow, dull way:
“I know you: as soon as you marry me you’ll inform against me in order to get rid of me. You’ll get a pension and I’ll be in Petropavlosk jail working on the treadmill.”
That night Peredonov’s mind wandered. Dim, terrible figures walked about noiselessly, kings and knaves, swinging their sceptres. They whispered to each other, tried to hide from Peredonov, and stealthily crept towards him under the pillow. But soon they grew bolder and began to walk and run and stir around Peredonov everywhere, upon the floor, upon the bed, upon the pillows. They whispered, they mocked at Peredonov, thrust out their tongues at him, made terrible grimaces before him, stretching out their mouths into deformed shapes. Peredonov saw that they were little and mischievous, that they would not kill him, but were only deriding him, and foreboding evil. But he felt a terrible fear—now he muttered exorcisms, fragments of spells he had heard in his childhood, now he began to curse them and to drive them from him, waving his arms and shouting in a hoarse voice.
Varvara woke and called out irately:
“What are you making such a row about, Ardalyon Borisitch? You won’t let me sleep.”
“The queen of spades is annoying me. She’s got a quilted capote on,” mumbled Peredonov.
Varvara rose, grumbling and cursing, and gave Peredonov some medicine.
In the local district newspaper a short article appeared recounting how a certain Madame K. whipped schoolboys who lived in her house—sons of the best local gentry. The notary, Goudayevsky, carried this news over the whole town and waxed indignant.
And various other absurd rumours about the local gymnasia went through the town: they talked about the girl who was dressed up as a schoolboy, later the name of Pilnikov came gradually to be mentioned with Liudmilla’s. Sasha’s companions began to tease him about his love for Liudmilla. At first he regarded their jests lightly, but later he would sometimes get indignant and defend Liudmilla, trying to convince them that nothing of the sort had happened.
This made him ashamed to go to Liudmilla, and yet it drew him more strongly to her: confused, burning feelings of shame and attraction agitated him and vaguely passionate visions filled his imagination.