Страница 90 из 93
"Fancy, what a strange circumstance!" Yaroslav Ilyitch interrupted suddenly. "I confess I was utterly astounded when this worthy old man told me this morning of your intention. But . . ."
"He told you," said Ordynov, looking at Murin with surprise.
Murin stroked his beard and laughed in his sleeve.
"Yes," Yaroslav Ilyitch rejoined; "though I may have made
a mistake. But I venture to say for you—I can answer for it on my honour that there was not a shadow of an3^hing derogatory to you in this worthy old man's words. . . ."
Here Yaroslav Ilyitch blushed and controlled his emotion with an effort. Murin, aitei enjoying to his heart's content the discomfiture of the other two men, took a step forward.
"It is like this, your honour," he began, bowing politely to Ordynov: "His honour made bold to take a little trouble on your behalf. As it seems, sir^—^you know yourself—^the mistress and I, that is, we would be glad, freely and heartily, and we would not have made bold to say a word . . . but the way I live, you know yourself, you see for yourself, sir! Of a truth, the Lord barely keeps us alive, for which we pray His holy will; else you see yourself, sir, whether it is for me to make lamentation." Here Murin again wiped his beard with his sleeve.
Ordynov almost turned sick.
"Yes, yes, I told you about him, mjreelf; he is ill, that is this nudhemr. I should ]^ke to express myself in French but, excuse me, I don't speak French quite easily; that is . , ."
"Quite so . . ."
"Quite so, that is . . ."
Ord3mov and Yaroslav Ilyitch made each other a half bow, each a Uttle on one side of his chair, and both covered their confusion with an apologetic laugh. The practical Yaroslav Ilyitch recovered at once.
"I have been questioning this honest man minutely," he began. "He has been telling me that the illness of this woman. . . ." Here the dehcate Yaroslav Ilyitch, probably wishing to conceal a slight embarrassment that showed itself in his face, hurriedly looked at Murin with inquiry.
"Yes, of our mistress ..."
The refined Yaroslav Ilyitch did not insist further.
"The mistress, that is, your former landlady; I don't know how . . . but there! She is an afflicted woman, you see . . . She says that she is hindering you ... in your studies, and he himself . . . you concealed from me one important circumstance, Vassily MihaUtchI"
"What?"
"About the gun," Yaroslav Ilyitch brought out, almost whispering in the most indulgent tone with the millionth fraction of reproach softly ringing in his friendly tenor.
"But," he added hurriedly, "he has told me all about it.
And you acted nobly in overlooking his involxintary wrong to you. I swear I saw tears in his eyes."
Yaroslav Ilyitch flushed again, his eyes shone and he shifted in hia chair with emotion.
"I, that is, we, sir, that is, your honour, I, to be sure, and my mistress remember you in our prayers," began Murin, addressing Ordynov and looking at him while Yaroslav Iljdtch overcame his luibitual agitation; "and you know yourself, sir, she is a sick, foolish woman; my legs will hardly support me . . ."
"Yes, I am ready," Ordynov said impatiently; "please, that's enough, I am going directly ..."
"No, that is, sir, we are very grateful for your kindness" (Muiin made a very low bow); "that is not what I meant to tell you, sir; I wanted to say a word—^you see, sir, she came to me almost from her home, that is from far, as the sa5^ng is, beyond the seventh water—do not scorn our humble talk, sir, we are ignorant folk—and from a tiny child she has been like this! A sick brain, hasty, she grew up in the forest, grew up a peasant, aJl among bargemen and factory hands; and then their house must bum down; her mother, sir, was burnt, her father burnt to death—I daresay there is no knowing what she'll tell you ... I don't meddle, but the Chir—chir-urgi-cal Council examined her at Moscow. You see, sir, she's quite incurable, that's what it is. I am all that's left her, and she lives with me. We live, we pray to God and trust in the Almighty; I never cross her in an3Hiiing."
Ordynov's face changed. Yaroslav Ilyitch looked first at one, then at the other.
"But, that is not what I wanted to say . . . no!" Murin corrected himself, shaking his head gravely. "She is, so to say, such a featherhead, such a whirligig, such a loving, headstrong creature, she's always wanting a sweetheart—^if you will pardon my saying so—and someone to love; it's on that she's mad. I amuse her with fairy tales, I do my best at it. I saw, sir, how she—^forgive my foolish words, sir," Murin went on, bowing cind wiping his beard with his sleeve—"how she made friends with you; you, so to say, your excellency, were desirous to approach her with a view to love."
Yaroslav Ilyitch flushed crimson, and looked reproachfully at Murin. Ordynov could scarcely sit still in his seat.
"No . . . that is not it, sir ... I speak simply, sir, I am a peasant, I am at your service. ... Of course, we are ignorant
folk, we are your servants, sir," he brought out, bowing low; "and my wife and I will pray with all our hearts for your honour. . . . What do we need? To be strong and have enough to eat—we do not repine; but what am I to do, sir; put my head in the noose? You know yourself, sir, what life is and will have pity on us; but what will it be like, sir, if she has a lover, too! . . . Forgive my rough words, sir; I am a peasant, sir, and you are a gentleman. . . . You're a young man, your excellency, proud and hasty, and she, you know yourself, sir, is a little child with no sense—^it's easy for hei to fall into sin. She's a buxom lass, rosy and sweet, while I am an old man always ailing. Well, the devil, it seems, has tempted your honour. I always flatter her with fairy tales, I do indeed; I flatter her; and how we will pray, my wife and I, for your honour! How we will pray I And what is she to you, your excellency, if she is pretty? Still she is a simple woman, an unwashed peasant woman, a foolish rustic maid, a match for a peasant like me. It is not for a gentleman like you, sir, to be friends with peasants! But she and I will pray to God for your honour; how we will pray!" •
Here Murin bowed very low and for a long while remained with his back bent, continuaJly wiping his beard with his sleeve.
Yaroslav Il3atch did not know where he was standing.
"Yes, this good man," he observed in conclusion, "spoke to me of some undesirable incidents; I did not venture to believe him, Vassily Mihalitch, I heard that you were still ill," he interrupted hurriedly, looking at Ordynov in extreme embarrassment, with eyes full of tears of emotion.
"Yes, how much do I owe you?" Ordynov asked Murin hurriedly.
"What are you saying, your honour? Give over. Why, we are not Judases. Why, you are insulting us, sir, we should be ashamed, sir. Have I and my good woman offended you?"
"But this is really strange, my good man; why, his honour took the room from you; don't you feel that you are insulting him by refusing?" Yaroslav Ilyitch interposed, thinking it his duty to show Murin the strangeness and indelicacy of his conduct.
"But upon my word, sir! What do you mean, sir? What did we not do to please your honour? Why, we tried our very best, we did our utmost, upon my word! Give over, sir, give over, yo'ir honour. Christ have mercy upon you! Why, are
we infidels or what? You might have lived, you might have eaten our humble fare with us and welcome; you might have lain there—we'd have said nothing against it, and we wouldn't have dropped a word; but the evil one tempted you. I am an afflicted man and my mistress is afflicted—^what is one to do? There was no one to wait on you, or we would have been glad, glad from our hearts. And how the mistress and I will pray for your honour, how we will pray for you!"