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‘Then don’t drink!’

‘I don’t drink any more – today’s the very last time, just to celebrate my reunion’ – here the Count leant over and gave me a resounding kiss on the cheek – ‘with my dear, good friend. But not a drop tomorrow! Today Bacchus takes leave of me forever! So, how about a little farewell glass of brandy, Sergey?’

We drank some brandy.

‘I’ll get well again, my dear Seryozha, and I’ll busy myself with farming. Rationalized farming! Urbenin is a good, kind man, he understands everything – but is he really the managerial type? No, he’s simply a slave to routine! We should subscribe to journals, read, follow all the news, exhibit at agricultural shows. But he’s too ignorant for that! Surely he can’t be in love with Olenka? Ha ha! I’ll take charge of things myself and make him my assistant. I’ll take part in the elections, cheer local society up a bit… eh? Come off it, you’re laughing! Yes, laughing! Really, it’s impossible to discuss anything with you.’

I felt cheerful and amused. The Count, the candles, the bottles, the plaster hares and ducks that adorned the dining-room walls all amused me. The only thing that didn’t amuse me was Kaetan’s sober physiognomy. That man’s presence irritated me.

‘Can’t you tell your lousy Pole to go to hell?’ I whispered to the Count.

What did you say? For God’s sake!’ mumbled the Count, seizing both my arms as if I were about to thrash that Pole of his. ‘Leave him alone!’

‘But I just can’t bear the sight of him!’ I said. ‘Listen,’ I went on, turning to Pshekhotsky. ‘You refuse to talk to me, but please forgive me – I haven’t abandoned all hope yet of gaining a closer acquaintance with your conversational ability…’

‘Stop it!’ exclaimed the Count, tugging my sleeve. ‘I beg you!’

‘I won’t leave you alone until you reply to my questions,’ I continued. ‘Vy are you frowning? Do you detect laughter in my voice even now?’

‘If I’d drunk as much as you, I’d be able to have a conversation vith you. But I’m not your sort,’ the Pole growled.

‘ “Not my sort” – that’s exactly what needs to be proven… that’s exactly what I meant to say. A goose is no companion for a pig… a drunkard cramps a sober man’s style and the sober man cramps the drunkard. In the next room there are the most excellent soft sofas! You can go and sleep off your sturgeon with horseradish. You won’t be able to hear me from there. Don’t you vish to head in zat direction?’

The Count clasped his hands in despair, blinked and walked up and down the dining-room. He was a coward and scared of ‘angry exchanges’. But when I was drunk, misunderstandings and unpleasantness only amused me.

‘I don’t understand. I don’t under-stand!’ moaned the Count, at a loss what to say or do.

He knew that I would take some stopping.

‘I don’t really know you yet,’ I continued. ‘Perhaps you are a very fine person and therefore I wouldn’t want to start quarrelling with you so early in the day. I don’t have any quarrel with you, I’m simply inviting you to try and get into your head that there’s no place for the sober amongst the drunk. The presence of a sober person has an irritating effect on the drunken organism! Please understand that!’

‘You can say vot you like,’ Pshekhotsky sighed. ‘Nothing you say vill get my back up, young man!’

‘Nothing? What if I called you an obstinate pig – wouldn’t you take offence at that?’

The Pole turned crimson – and that was all. White as a sheet, the Count came over to me with an imploring look and opened his arms wide.

‘Please moderate your language, I beg you!’

I was now relishing my drunken role and wanted to carry on, but fortunately for the Count and the Pole some footsteps rang out and into the dining-room came Urbenin.

‘I wish you good appetite!’ he began. ‘I’ve come to inquire if you have any orders for me, Your Excellency.’

‘None at the moment, but I do have a request,’ replied the Count. ‘I’m really delighted you’ve come, Pyotr Yegorych. Sit down and have some supper with us and let’s discuss farming.’

Urbenin sat down. The Count quaffed some brandy and started explaining his plans for the future ‘rational’ management of the estate. He spoke lengthily, tiresomely, constantly repeating himself and changing the subject. Urbenin listened to him attentively, as serious people listen to the chatter of women and children. He ate some fish soup and sadly gazed into his plate.

‘I’ve brought some first-class plans back with me,’ the Count said. ‘Remarkable plans! Would you like me to show you them?’

Karneyev jumped up and ran to his study to fetch them. Taking advantage of his absence, Urbenin quickly poured himself half a tumbler of vodka and swallowed it, without taking any food with it.

‘Vodka’s a disgusting drink!’ he said, looking hatefully at the carafe.

‘Why don’t you drink while the Count’s here, Pyotr Yegorych?’ I asked him. ‘You’re not scared, are you?’

‘Sergey Petrovich, it’s better to play the hypocrite and drink on the sly, than when you’re with the Count. You know he’s very odd. If I were to steal twenty thousand from him and he got to know, he wouldn’t be concerned and he’d say nothing. But if I forgot to account for a ten-copeck piece that I’d spent, or if I drank some vodka in front of him, he’d start moaning that his manager was a crook. You know very well what he’s like.’

Urbenin poured himself another half tumbler and swallowed it.

‘You never used to drink, Pyotr Yegorych,’ I said.

‘No – but I do now. A hell of a lot!’ he whispered. ‘A hell of a lot, day and night, never stopping for a breather! Even the Count never drank as much as I do now. Things are very hard for me, Sergey Petrovich. God alone knows how heavy my heart is. That’s exactly why I drink – to drown my sorrows… I’ve always been fond of you and respected you, Sergey Petrovich, and to tell you quite frankly… I’d willingly go and hang myself!’

‘Why is that?’

‘Because of my own stupidity. It’s not only children who are stupid… there are fools at fifty. Don’t ask the reason.’

The Count came in again and put a stop to his effusions.

‘A most excellent liqueur!’ he exclaimed, putting a pot-bellied bottle with the Benedictine seal on the table instead of his ‘first-class plans’. ‘I picked it up at Depré’s23 when I was passing through Moscow. Would you care for a drop, Seryozha?’

‘But I thought you’d gone to fetch the plans,’ I said.

‘Me? What plans? Oh yes! But the devil himself couldn’t sort my suitcases out, old chap. I kept rummaging and rummaging but I gave it up as a bad job. It’s a very nice liqueur. Would you care for a drop?’

Urbenin stayed a little longer, then he said goodbye and left. When he had gone we started on the red wine: this completely finished me off. I was intoxicated exactly the way I wanted to be when I was riding to the Count’s. I became extremely high spirited, lively, unusually cheerful. I wanted to accomplish some truly extraordinary, amusing, dashing deed… At such moments I felt I could have swum right across the lake, solved the most complicated case, conquered any woman. The world, with all its diversity of life, sent me into raptures. I loved it, but at the same time I wanted to find fault with someone, to sting with venomous witticism, to mock… I simply had to ridicule that black-browed Pole and the Count, to wear them down with biting sarcasm, to make mincemeat of them.