which came from the maidservants' room, until the thought would occur to
my mind, "How if I were to go in now and, like Woloda, kiss Masha? What
should I say when she asked me--ME with the huge nose and the tuft on
the top of my head--what I wanted?" Sometimes, too, I could hear her
saying to Woloda,
"That serves you right! Go away! Nicolas Petrovitch never comes in here
with such nonsense." Alas! she did not know that Nicolas Petrovitch was
sitting on the staircase just below and feeling that he would give all
he possessed to be in "that bold fellow Woloda's" place! I was shy by
nature, and rendered worse in that respect by a consciousness of my own
ugliness. I am certain that nothing so much influences the development
of a man as his exterior--though the exterior itself less than his
belief in its plainness or beauty.
Yet I was too conceited altogether to resign myself to my fate. I tried
to comfort myself much as the fox did when he declared that the grapes
were sour. That is to say, I tried to make light of the satisfaction
to be gained from making such use of a pleasing exterior as I believed
Woloda to employ (satisfaction which I nevertheless envied him from
my heart), and endeavoured with every faculty of my intellect and
imagination to console myself with a pride in my isolation.
VII. SMALL SHOT
"Good gracious! Powder!" exclaimed Mimi in a voice trembling with alarm.
"Whatever are you doing? You will set the house on fire in a moment, and
be the death of us all!" Upon that, with an indescribable expression of
firmness, Mimi ordered every one to stand aside, and, regardless of
all possible danger from a premature explosion, strode with long and
resolute steps to where some small shot was scattered about the floor,
and began to trample upon it.
When, in her opinion, the peril was at least lessened, she called for
Michael and commanded him to throw the "powder" away into some remote
spot, or, better still, to immerse it in water; after which she adjusted
her cap and returned proudly to the drawing-room, murmuring as she went,
"At least I can say that they are well looked after."
When Papa issued from his room and took us to see Grandmamma we found
Mimi sitting by the window and glancing with a grave, mysterious,
official expression towards the door. In her hand she was holding
something carefully wrapped in paper. I guessed that that something was
the small shot, and that Grandmamma had been informed of the occurrence.
In the room also were the maidservant Gasha (who, to judge by her
angry flushed face, was in a state of great irritation) and Doctor
Blumenthal--the latter a little man pitted with smallpox, who was
endeavouring by tacit, pacificatory signs with his head and eyes to
reassure the perturbed Gasha. Grandmamma was sitting a little askew and
playing that variety of "patience" which is called "The Traveller"--two
unmistakable signs of her displeasure.
"How are you to-day, Mamma?" said Papa as he kissed her hand
respectfully. "Have you had a good night?"
"Yes, very good, my dear; you KNOW that I always enjoy sound health,"
replied Grandmamma in a tone implying that Papa's inquiries were
out of place and highly offensive. "Please give me a clean
pocket-handkerchief," she added to Gasha.
"I HAVE given you one, madam," answered Gasha, pointing to the
snow-white cambric handkerchief which she had just laid on the arm of
Grandmamma's chair.
"No, no; it's a nasty, dirty thing. Take it away and bring me a CLEAN
one, my dear."
Gasha went to a cupboard and slammed the door of it back so violently
that every window rattled. Grandmamma glared angrily at each of us, and
then turned her attention to following the movements of the servant.
After the latter had presented her with what I suspected to be the same
handkerchief as before, Grandmamma continued:
"And when do you mean to cut me some snuff, my dear?"
"When I have time."
"What do you say?"
"To-day."
"If you don't want to continue in my service you had better say so at
once. I would have sent you away long ago had I known that you wished
it."
"It wouldn't have broken my heart if you had!" muttered the woman in an
undertone.
Here the doctor winked at her again, but she returned his gaze so firmly
and wrathfully that he soon lowered it and went on playing with his
watch-key.
"You see, my dear, how people speak to me in my own house!" said
Grandmamma to Papa when Gasha had left the room grumbling.
"Well, Mamma, I will cut you some snuff myself," replied Papa, though
evidently at a loss how to proceed now that he had made this rash
promise.
"No, no, I thank you. Probably she is cross because she knows that no
one except herself can cut the snuff just as I like it. Do you know, my
dear," she went on after a pause, "that your children very nearly set
the house on fire this morning?"
Papa gazed at Grandmamma with respectful astonishment.
"Yes, they were playing with something or another. Tell him the story,"
she added to Mimi.
Papa could not help smiling as he took the shot in his hand.
"This is only small shot, Mamma," he remarked, "and could never be
dangerous."
"I thank you, my dear, for your instruction, but I am rather too old for
that sort of thing."
"Nerves, nerves!" whispered the doctor.
Papa turned to us and asked us where we had got the stuff, and how we
could dare to play with it.
"Don't ask THEM, ask that useless 'Uncle,' rather," put in Grandmamma,
laying a peculiar stress upon the word "UNCLE." "What else is he for?"
"Woloda says that Karl Ivanitch gave him the powder himself," declared
Mimi.
"Then you can see for yourself what use he is," continued Grandmamma.
"And where IS he--this precious 'Uncle'? How is one to get hold of him?
Send him here."
"He has gone an errand for me," said Papa.
"That is not at all right," rejoined Grandmamma. "He ought ALWAYS to be
here. True, the children are yours, not mine, and I have nothing to do
with them, seeing that you are so much cleverer than I am; yet all the
same I think it is time we had a regular tutor for them, and not this
'Uncle' of a German--a stupid fellow who knows only how to teach them
rude manners and Tyrolean songs! Is it necessary, I ask you, that they
should learn Tyrolean songs? However, there is no one for me to consult
about it, and you must do just as you like."
The word "NOW" meant "NOW THAT THEY HAVE NO MOTHER," and suddenly
awakened sad recollections in Grandmamma's heart. She threw a glance at
the snuff-box bearing Mamma's portrait and sighed.
"I thought of all this long ago," said Papa eagerly, "as well as taking
your advice on the subject. How would you like St. Jerome to superintend
their lessons?"
"Oh, I think he would do excellently, my friend," said Grandmamma in a
mollified tone, "He is at least a tutor comme il faut, and knows how to
instruct des enfants de bonne maison. He is not a mere 'Uncle' who is
good only for taking them out walking."
"Very well; I will talk to him to-morrow," said Papa. And, sure enough,