‘How much do you need for your father’s treatment?’ I shouted. ‘Take the money from me! A hundred? Two hundred? A thousand? You’re lying, Olenka! It’s not treatment for your father that you need!’
The news conveyed by Olenka excited me so much that I didn’t notice that our wagonette had passed my village, driven into the Count’s courtyard and stopped at the manager’s front door. When I saw the children running out and the smiling face of Urbenin, who had jumped up to help Olenka out, I leapt from the wagonette and ran into the Count’s house without even saying goodbye. Here some fresh news awaited me.
‘Well timed! Well timed!’ the Count greeted me, scratching my face with his long, prickly moustache. ‘You couldn’t have picked a better time! We’ve only this minute sat down to lunch. Of course, you’ve met… perhaps you’ve had more than one little confrontation in the legal department… ha ha!’
With both hands the Count pointed out two gentlemen sitting in soft armchairs and eating cold tongue. One of them I had the pleasure of recognizing as Kalinin, the JP. But the other, a little grey-haired old gentleman with a large, moon-shaped bald patch, was my good friend Babayev, a rich landowner who held the position of permanent member in our district council. After I had exchanged bows I looked at Kalinin in astonishment. I knew how much he hated the Count and the rumours he had spread in the district about the man at whose house he was now tucking into tongue and peas with such relish and drinking ten-year-old liqueurs. How could any self-respecting man explain this visit of his? The JP caught my glance – and most likely he clearly guessed its meaning.
‘I’ve devoted today to visits,’ he told me. ‘I’ve been running around the whole district. And, as you can see, I’ve also dropped in on His Excellency.’
Ilya brought the fourth course. I sat down, drank a glass of vodka and started lunch.
‘It’s bad, Your Excellency… very bad!’ Kalinin said, continuing the conversation which had been interrupted by my arrival. ‘For us small fry it’s no sin, but you’re rich, a brilliant celebrity – it’s a sin to neglect things as you do.’
‘That’s true, it’s a sin,’ agreed Babayev.
‘What’s all this about?’ I asked.
‘Nikolay Ignatych has given me a good idea,’ the Count said, nodding towards the JP. ‘Here he comes visiting me, sits down to lunch and I complain to him that I’m bored…’
‘Yes, he complains he’s bored,’ Kalinin interrupted the Count. ‘He’s bored, miserable, this and that. In short, he’s disenchanted. A kind of Onegin.35 “But you yourself are to blame, Your Excellency,” I say. “And why is that?” Very simple. “You,” I tell him, “should do a spot of work to avoid being bored, you should busy yourself with farming. Farming is excellent, wonderful.” He replies that he intends taking it up, but he’s still bored. He lacks – in a manner of speaking – a stimulating, uplifting element. He lacks… what shall I say?… er… powerful sensations!’
‘Well, what sort of idea did you give him?’
‘As a matter of fact, I didn’t give him any idea, but simply ventured to rebuke His Excellency. “How is it, Your Excellency,” I say, “that such a young, educated, brilliant man can shut himself off like this? Surely it’s a sin? You never go anywhere, you’re like some old man or hermit. How much effort would it take to arrange social gatherings, at-homes, so to speak?” I ask.’
‘Why should he give “at-homes”,’ I asked.
‘You ask why? Firstly, His Excellency would get acquainted with local society if he held at-homes, he’d learn all about it, so to speak. Secondly, society in turn would have the honour of becoming more closely acquainted with one of our richest landowners. There would be a mutual exchange of ideas, so to speak, conversation, conviviality. Come to think of it, how many educated young ladies, how many gallants we have among us! What musical evenings, dances, picnics could be arranged – just think of it! The rooms here are enormous, there’s summer-houses in the garden, and so on. Such amateur dramatics and concerts could be given that were never dreamt of in this province. Yes, I swear it. Judge for yourselves! And now all this is almost going for naught, buried in the ground. But then… you must only try and understand! If I had His Excellency’s means I’d show you all how to live! And he says he’s bored! My God, just listening to him makes me laugh… ashamed even!’
And Kalinin blinked – he wanted to show that he really did feel ashamed.
‘That’s all perfectly true,’ the Count said, getting up and thrusting his hands into his pockets. ‘I could give superb evenings… concerts, private theatricals – all that could in fact be arranged most charmingly. What’s more, these evenings would not only amuse society, they would have an educational influence as well! Isn’t that so?’
‘Oh yes,’ I agreed. ‘The moment our young ladies see your mustachioed physiognomy they’d be immediately saturated with the spirit of civilization.’
‘You’re always joking, Seryozha,’ said the Count, taking offence. ‘But you never give me friendly advice! Everything’s a joke with you! It’s time, my friend, you dropped these student habits of yours!’
The Count started pacing from corner to corner and describing to me in lengthy, boring terms the benefit that his parties might bestow on humanity. Music, literature, drama, riding, hunting. Hunting alone could bring together all the local elite!
‘We’ll talk about it later!’ the Count told Kalinin, taking leave of him after lunch.
‘So, if I may make so bold, the district has grounds for hope, Your Excellency?’ the JP asked.
‘Of course, of course… I’ll work on the idea, I’ll make an effort… I’m delighted, absolutely delighted. You can tell everyone that.’
One should have seen the utter bliss written all over the JP’s face when he took his seat in his carriage and said: ‘Let’s go!’ He was so pleased that he even forgot our disagreements and when we parted called me ‘dear chap’ and firmly shook my hand.
After the visitors had left, the Count and I sat at the table and continued our lunch. We lunched until seven o’clock in the evening, when the crockery was removed from the table and dinner was served. Young drunkards are expert at whiling away the long intervals between meals! We drank continuously, taking small nibbles in between, which enabled us to preserve our appetites, which would have been lost had we stopped eating altogether.
‘Did you send some money to anyone today?’ I asked the Count, remembering the packets of one-hundred rouble notes I’d seen that morning in the Tenevo post office.
‘To no one.’
‘Can you please tell me – is your new friend – what’s his name… that… Kazimir Kaetanych or Kaetan Kazimirovich… is he wealthy?’
‘No, Seryozha. He’s an out-and-out pauper. But what a fine soul he has, what a heart! It’s not right that you should speak contemptuously of him and… bully him. You must learn to be discerning with people, dear chap! Shall we have another glass?’
Pshekhotsky returned towards dinner-time. When he saw me sitting at the table drinking he frowned and after hovering for a while around our table considered it prudent to retire to his room. He declined dinner, pleading a headache, but he offered no objection when the Count advised him to have dinner in his room, in bed.
Urbenin made his entry during the second course. I barely recognized him. His broad, red face was beaming with pleasure. A contented smile seemed to be playing even on his protruding ears and on the thick fingers with which he constantly kept adjusting his dashing new tie.
‘One of our cows is poorly, Your Excellency. I sent for our own vet but he seems to have gone away somewhere. Should we send for the vet in town, Your Excellency? If I send for him he won’t take any notice and he won’t come, but it would be a different matter if you wrote to him. It’s probably something trivial, on the other hand it might be serious.’