Marya softened her father’s crude expressions in her translation, and Kirila Petrovich sent his Frenchman off to the wing, where a room had been assigned to him.
Masha, having been brought up with aristocratic prejudices, paid no attention to the young Frenchman. For her a tutor was a sort of servant or artisan, and servants or artisans did not seem like men to her. Nor did she notice the impression she had made on M. Desforges, his confusion, his trembling, his altered voice. After that, for several days in a row she met him rather often, without paying any greater attention to him. In an unexpected way, she acquired a completely new idea of him.
Several bear cubs were usually reared in Kirila Petrovich’s yard and constituted one of the Pokrovskoe landowner’s chief amusements. While still young, the cubs would be brought each day to the drawing room, where Kirila Petrovich would spend hours at a time playing with them, setting them at cats and puppies. Grown up, they would be put on chains, in anticipation of real baiting. Now and then they would be brought before the windows of the master’s house and an empty wine barrel bristling with nails would be rolled up to them. The bear would sniff it, then touch it lightly, pricking its paws, angrily shove it harder, and make the pain worse. It would fly into a complete rage, rush at the barrel with a roar, and stop only when the object of the poor beast’s vain fury was taken away. Or else a team of bears would be hitched to a wagon, some guests, willingly or unwillingly, would be seated in it, and they would be sent galloping off God knows where. But to Kirila Petrovich’s mind the best joke was the following.
A hungry bear would be locked in an empty room, tied with a rope to a ring screwed into the wall. The rope was almost the length of the whole room, so that only the opposite corner could be safe from the fearsome beast’s attack. They would bring someone, usually a novice, to the door of this room, as if inadvertently shove him in with the bear, lock the door, and the unfortunate victim would be left alone with the shaggy hermit. The poor guest, his coattails shredded and himself scratched and bleeding, would soon find the safe corner, but would sometimes be forced to stand for a whole three hours pressed to the wall and watch as the infuriated beast two steps away roared, jumped, reared, and strained, trying to reach him. Such were the noble amusements of the Russian squire! A few days after the tutor’s arrival, Troekurov remembered about him and conceived the idea of treating him to the bear room. To that end, summoning him one morning, he led him along the dark corridors; suddenly a side door opened, two servants shoved the Frenchman in and locked the door with a key. Coming to his senses, the tutor saw the tied-up bear; the beast began to snort, sniffing at his guest from a distance, and suddenly, rising on his hind legs, came towards him…The Frenchman did not panic, did not run, but waited for the attack. The bear came close; Desforges drew a small pistol from his pocket, put it into the hungry beast’s ear, and fired. The bear collapsed. Everyone came running, the door opened, Kirila Petrovich came in, amazed at the outcome of his joke. Kirila Petrovich wanted the whole matter explained at once: who had warned Desforges of the joke prepared for him, or why was there a loaded pistol in his pocket? He sent for Masha. Masha came running and translated her father’s questions for the Frenchman.
“I had not heard about the bear,” Desforges replied, “but I always carry pistols on me, because I do not intend to put up with offenses for which, owing to my position, I cannot demand satisfaction.”
Masha looked at him in amazement and translated his words for Kirila Petrovich. Kirila Petrovich made no reply, ordered the bear taken away and skinned; then, turning to his servants, he said: “There’s a fine fellow! He wasn’t scared, by God, he wasn’t scared!” From that moment on he came to like Desforges and no longer thought of testing him.
But this incident made a still greater impression on Marya Kirilovna. Her imagination was struck: she saw the dead bear, and Desforges calmly standing over him and calmly conversing with her. She saw that courage and proud self-esteem did not belong exclusively to one estate, and from then on she began to show the young tutor a respect which grew more attentive by the hour. Certain relations were established between them. Masha had a beautiful voice and great musical ability. Desforges volunteered to give her lessons. After that it will not be hard for the reader to guess that Masha fell in love with him, though she did not yet admit it to herself.
Volume Two
CHAPTER NINE
On the eve of the feast, the guests began to arrive. Some stayed in the manor house or in the wings, others at the steward’s, still others at the priest’s, and others again with well-to-do peasants. The stables were filled with carriage horses, the yards and coach houses were cluttered with all sorts of vehicles. At nine o’clock in the morning, the bells rang for the liturgy, and everyone moved towards the new stone church, built by Kirila Petrovich and adorned every year with his offerings. Such a multitude of honorable worshippers gathered that simple peasants could not get into the church and stood on the porch or inside the fence. The liturgy had not started yet; they were waiting for Kirila Petrovich. He drove up in a coach-and-six and solemnly walked to his place accompanied by Marya Kirilovna. The eyes of men and women turned to her; the former marveled at her beauty, the latter attentively examined her dress. The liturgy began, the serf choir sang, Kirila Petrovich himself joined in, prayed, looking neither right nor left, and bowed to the ground with proud humility when the deacon made vociferous mention of “the benefactor of this church.”
The liturgy ended. Kirila Petrovich went up first to kiss the cross. Everyone followed after him, then the neighbors approached him deferentially. The ladies surrounded Masha. Kirila Petrovich, coming out of the church, invited them all to dinner, got into his carriage, and went home. They all drove along behind him. The rooms filled with guests. New persons came in every minute and could barely make their way to the host. The ladies sat in a decorous semicircle, dressed in outmoded fashion, in much-worn but expensive outfits, all covered with pearls and diamonds; the men crowded around the caviar and vodka, talking among themselves in a loud hubbub. In the reception room the table was being laid for eighty people. Servants bustled about, arranging bottles and carafes and adjusting tablecloths. Finally the butler announced “Dinner is served”—and Kirila Petrovich went first to take his place at the table; the ladies followed after him and solemnly took their seats, with some observance of seniority; the girls crowded together like a flock of timid little goats and chose seats next to each other. The men placed themselves opposite them. At the end of the table sat the tutor beside little Sasha.
The servants began to serve dishes according to rank, guiding themselves in perplexing cases by Lavaterian guesswork,10 almost always unerringly. The clatter of dishes and spoons merged with the loud talk of the guests. Kirila Petrovich cheerfully surveyed his table and fully relished the happiness of a hospitable host. Just then a carriage drawn by six horses drove into the yard.
“Who’s this?” asked the host.
“Anton Pafnutych,” replied several voices.
The door opened and Anton Pafnutych Spitsyn, a fat man of about fifty with a round and pockmarked face adorned by a triple chin, lumbered into the dining room, bowing, smiling, and already preparing to apologize…
“A place for him!” shouted Kirila Petrovich. “Welcome, Anton Pafnutych, sit down and tell us what this means: you weren’t in church and you’re late for dinner. It’s not like you: you’re very devout and you love to eat.”
“Sorry,” replied Anton Pafnutych, tying a napkin to the buttonhole of his pea-green kaftan, “sorry, my dear Kirila Petrovich. I set out early, but before I’d gone seven miles, the tire on the front wheel suddenly broke in two—what was I to do? Fortunately, there was a village not far away. By the time we dragged ourselves there, and found the blacksmith, and everything got somehow fixed, three hours had gone by—no help for it. I didn’t dare take the short cut through the Kistenevka wood, so I went around…”