Works of Ivan Turgenev (Illustrated) (245 page)

ORDER

From the Chief Office of the Manor of Ananyevo to the Agent, Mihal Vikulov.

No. 209.

‘Whereas some person unknown entered the garden at Ananyevo last night in an intoxicated condition, and with unseemly songs waked the French governess, Madame Engêne, and disturbed her; and whether the watchmen saw anything, and who were on watch in the garden and permitted such disorderliness: as regards all the above - written matters, your orders are to investigate in detail, and report immediately to the Office.’

‘
Head - Clerk
, NIKOLAI HVOSTOV.’

A huge heraldic seal was attached to the order, with the inscription: ‘Seal of the chief office of the manor of Ananyevo’; and below stood the signature: ‘To be executed exactly, Elena Losnyakov.’

‘Your lady signed it herself, eh?’ I queried.

‘To be sure; she always signs herself. Without that the order would be of no effect.’

‘Well, and now shall you send this order to the agent?’

‘No, sir. He’ll come himself and read it. That’s to say, it’ll be read to him; you see, he’s no scholar.’ (The clerk on duty was silent again for a while.) ‘But what do you say?’ he added, simpering; ‘is it well written?’

‘Very well written.’

‘It wasn’t composed, I must confess, by me. Konstantin is the great one for that.’

‘What?… Do you mean the orders have first to be composed among you?’

‘Why, how else could we do? Couldn’t write them off straight without making a fair copy.’

‘And what salary do you get?’ I inquired.

‘Thirty - five roubles, and five roubles for boots.’

‘And are you satisfied?’

‘Of course I am satisfied. It’s not everyone can get into an office like ours. It was God’s will, in my case, to be sure; I’d an uncle who was in service as a butler.’

‘And you’re well - off?’

‘Yes, sir. Though, to tell the truth,’ he went on, with a sigh, ‘a place at a merchant’s, for instance, is better for the likes of us. At a merchant’s they’re very well off. Yesterday evening a merchant came to us from Venev, and his man got talking to me…. Yes, that’s a good place, no doubt about it; a very good place.’

‘Why? Do the merchants pay more wages?’

‘Lord preserve us! Why, a merchant would soon give you the sack if you asked him for wages. No, at a merchant’s you must live on trust and on fear. He’ll give you food, and drink, and clothes, and all. If you give him satisfaction, he’ll do more…. Talk of wages, indeed! You don’t need them…. And a merchant, too, lives in plain Russian style, like ourselves; you go with him on a journey — he has tea, and you have it; what he eats, you eat. A merchant … one can put up with; a merchant’s a very different thing from what a gentleman is; a merchant’s not whimsical; if he’s out of temper, he’ll give you a blow, and there it ends. He doesn’t nag nor sneer…. But with a gentleman it’s a woeful business! Nothing’s as he likes it — this is not right, and that he can’t fancy. You hand him a glass of water or something to eat: “Ugh, the water stinks! positively stinks!” You take it out, stay a minute outside the door, and bring it back: “Come, now, that’s good; this doesn’t stink now.” And as for the ladies, I tell you, the ladies are something beyond everything!… and the young ladies above all!…’

‘Fedyushka!’ came the fat man’s voice from the office.

The clerk went out quickly. I drank a glass of tea, lay down on the sofa, and fell asleep. I slept for two hours.

When I woke, I meant to get up, but I was overcome by laziness; I closed my eyes, but did not fall asleep again. On the other side of the partition, in the office, they were talking in subdued voices. Unconsciously I began to listen.

‘Quite so, quite so, Nikolai Eremyitch,’ one voice was saying; ‘quite so. One can’t but take that into account; yes, certainly!… Hm!’ (The speaker coughed.)

‘You may believe me, Gavrila Antonitch,’ replied the fat man’s voice: ‘don’t I know how things are done here? Judge for yourself.’

‘Who does, if you don’t, Nikolai Eremyitch? you’re, one may say, the first person here. Well, then, how’s it to be?’ pursued the voice I did not recognise; ‘what decision are we to come to, Nikolai Eremyitch? Allow me to put the question.’

‘What decision, Gavrila Antonitch? The thing depends, so to say, on you; you don’t seem over anxious.’

‘Upon my word, Nikolai Eremyitch, what do you mean? Our business is trading, buying; it’s our business to buy. That’s what we live by, Nikolai Eremyitch, one may say.’

‘Eight roubles a measure,’ said the fat man emphatically.

A sigh was audible.

‘Nikolai Eremyitch, sir, you ask a heavy price.’ ‘Impossible, Gavrila Antonitch, to do otherwise; I speak as before God Almighty; impossible.’

Silence followed.

I got up softly and looked through a crack in the partition. The fat man was sitting with his back to me. Facing him sat a merchant, a man about forty, lean and pale, who looked as if he had been rubbed with oil. He was incessantly fingering his beard, and very rapidly blinking and twitching his lips.

‘Wonderful the young green crops this year, one may say,’ he began again; ‘I’ve been going about everywhere admiring them. All the way from Voronezh they’ve come up wonderfully, first - class, one may say.’

‘The crops are pretty fair, certainly,’ answered the head - clerk; ‘but you know the saying, Gavrila Antonitch, autumn bids fair, but spring may be foul.’

‘That’s so, indeed, Nikolai Eremyitch; all is in God’s hands; it’s the absolute truth what you’ve just remarked, sir…. But perhaps your visitor’s awake now.’

The fat man turned round … listened….

‘No, he’s asleep. He may, though….’

He went to the door.

‘No, he’s asleep,’ he repeated and went back to his place.

‘Well, so what are we to say, Nikolai Eremyitch?’ the merchant began again; ‘we must bring our little business to a conclusion…. Let it be so, Nikolai Eremyitch, let it be so,’ he went on, blinking incessantly; ‘two grey notes and a white for your favour, and there’ (he nodded in the direction of the house), ‘six and a half. Done, eh?’

‘Four grey notes,’ answered the clerk.

‘Come, three, then.’

‘Four greys, and no white.’

‘Three, Nikolai Eremyitch.’

‘Three and a half, and not a farthing less.’

‘Three, Nikolai Eremyitch.’

‘You’re not talking sense, Gavrila Antonitch.’

‘My, what a pig - headed fellow!’ muttered the merchant. ‘Then I’d better arrange it with the lady herself.’

‘That’s as you like,’ answered the fat man; ‘far better, I should say.

Why should you worry yourself, after all?… Much better, indeed!’

‘Well, well! Nikolai Eremyitch. I lost my temper for a minute! That was nothing but talk.’

‘No, really, why?…’

‘Nonsense, I tell you…. I tell you I was joking. Well, take your three and a half; there’s no doing anything with you.’

‘I ought to have got four, but I was in too great a hurry — like an ass!’ muttered the fat man.

‘Then up there at the house, six and a half, Nikolai Eremyitch; the corn will be sold for six and a half?’

‘Six and a half, as we said already.’

‘Well, your hand on that then, Nikolai Eremyitch’ (the merchant clapped his outstretched fingers into the clerk’s palm). ‘And good - bye, in God’s name!’ (The merchant got up.) ‘So then, Nikolai Eremyitch, sir, I’ll go now to your lady, and bid them send up my name, and so I’ll say to her, “Nikolai Eremyitch,” I’ll say, “has made a bargain with me for six and a half.”‘

‘That’s what you must say, Gavrila Antonitch.’

‘And now, allow me.’

The merchant handed the manager a small roll of notes, bowed, shook his head, picked up his hat with two fingers, shrugged his shoulders, and, with a sort of undulating motion, went out, his boots creaking after the approved fashion. Nikolai Eremyitch went to the wall, and, as far as I could make out, began sorting the notes handed him by the merchant. A red head, adorned with thick whiskers, was thrust in at the door.

‘Well?’ asked the head; ‘all as it should be?’

‘Yes.’

‘How much?’

The fat man made an angry gesture with his hand, and pointed to my room.

‘Ah, all right!’ responded the head, and vanished.

The fat man went up to the table, sat down, opened a book, took out a reckoning frame, and began shifting the beads to and fro as he counted, using not the forefinger but the third finger of his right hand, which has a much more showy effect.

The clerk on duty came in.

‘What is it?’

‘Sidor is here from Goloplek.’

‘Oh! ask him in. Wait a bit, wait a bit…. First go and look whether the strange gentleman’s still asleep, or whether he has waked up.’

The clerk on duty came cautiously into my room. I laid my head on my game - bag, which served me as a pillow, and closed my eyes.

‘He’s asleep,’ whispered the clerk on duty, returning to the counting - house.

The fat man muttered something.

‘Well, send Sidor in,’ he said at last.

I got up again. A peasant of about thirty, of huge stature, came in — a red - cheeked, vigorous - looking fellow, with brown hair, and a short curly beard. He crossed himself, praying to the holy image, bowed to the head - clerk, held his hat before him in both hands, and stood erect.

‘Good day, Sidor,’ said the fat man, tapping with the reckoning beads.

‘Good - day to you, Nikolai Eremyitch.’

‘Well, what are the roads like?’

‘Pretty fair, Nikolai Eremyitch. A bit muddy.’ (The peasant spoke slowly and not loud.)

‘Wife quite well?’

‘She’s all right!’

The peasant gave a sigh and shifted one leg forward. Nikolai Eremyitch put his pen behind his ear, and blew his nose.

‘Well, what have you come about?’ he proceeded to inquire, putting his check handkerchief into his pocket.

‘Why, they do say, Nikolai Eremyitch, they’re asking for carpenters from us.’

‘Well, aren’t there any among you, hey?’

‘To be sure there are, Nikolai Eremyitch; our place is right in the woods; our earnings are all from the wood, to be sure. But it’s the busy time, Nikolai Eremyitch. Where’s the time to come from?’

‘The time to come from! Busy time! I dare say, you’re so eager to work for outsiders, and don’t care to work for your mistress…. It’s all the same!’

‘The work’s all the same, certainly, Nikolai Eremyitch … but….’

‘Well?’

‘The pay’s … very….’

‘What next! You’ve been spoiled; that’s what it is. Get along with you!’

‘And what’s more, Nikolai Eremyitch, there’ll be only a week’s work, but they’ll keep us hanging on a month. One time there’s not material enough, and another time they’ll send us into the garden to weed the path.’