FullReads

He put on the cap, and, with a downward slope of his whitish eyebrows, asked me who I was, and who were my parents.

‘I’m the grandson of the lady who owns this place,’ I answered. ‘I live alone with her. Papa and mamma are dead.’

Punin crossed himself. ‘May the kingdom of heaven be theirs! So then, you’re an orphan; and the heir, too. The noble blood in you is visible at once; it fairly sparkles in your eyes, and plays like this … sh … sh … sh …’ He represented with his fingers the play of the blood. ‘Well, and do you know, your noble honour, whether my friend has come to terms with your grandmamma, whether he has obtained the situation he was promised?’

‘I don’t know.’

Punin cleared his throat. ‘Ah! if one could be settled here, if only for a while! Or else one may wander and wander far, and find not a place to rest one’s head; the disquieting alarms of life are unceasing, the soul is confounded….’

‘Tell me,’ I interrupted: ‘are you of the clerical profession?’

Punin turned to me and half closed his eyelids. ‘And what may be the cause of that question, gentle youth?’

‘Why, you talk so–well, as they read in church.’

‘Because I use the old scriptural forms of expression? But that ought not to surprise you. Admitting that in ordinary conversation such forms of expression are not always in place; but when one soars on the wings of inspiration, at once the language too grows more exalted. Surely your teacher–the professor of Russian literature–you do have lessons in that, I suppose?–surely he teaches you that, doesn’t he?’

‘No, he doesn’t,’ I responded. ‘When we stay in the country I have no teacher. In Moscow I have a great many teachers.’

‘And will you be staying long in the country?’

‘Two months, not longer; grandmother says that I’m spoilt in the country, though I have a governess even here.’

‘A French governess?’

‘Yes.’

Punin scratched behind his ear. ‘A mamselle, that’s to say?’

‘Yes; she’s called Mademoiselle Friquet.’ I suddenly felt it disgraceful for me, a boy of twelve, to have not a tutor, but a governess, like a little girl! ‘But I don’t mind her,’ I added contemptuously. ‘What do I care!’

Punin shook his head. ‘Ah, you gentlefolk, you gentlefolk! you’re too fond of foreigners! You have turned away from what is Russian,–towards all that’s strange. You’ve turned your hearts to those that come from foreign parts….’

‘Hullo! Are you talking in verse?’ I asked.

‘Well, and why not? I can do that always, as much as you please; for it comes natural to me….’

But at that very instant there sounded in the garden behind us a loud and shrill whistle. My new acquaintance hurriedly got up from the bench.

‘Good-bye, little sir; that’s my friend calling me, looking for me…. What has he to tell me? Good-bye–excuse me….’

He plunged into the bushes and vanished, while I sat on some time longer on the seat. I felt perplexity and another feeling, rather an agreeable one … I had never met nor spoken to any one like this before. Gradually I fell to dreaming, but recollected my mythology and sauntered towards the house.

* * * * *

At home, I learned that my grandmother had arranged to take Baburin; he had been assigned a small room in the servants’ quarters, overlooking the stable-yard. He had at once settled in there with his friend.

When I had drunk my tea, next morning, without asking leave of Mademoiselle Friquet, I set off to the servants’ quarters. I wanted to have another chat with the queer fellow I had seen the day before. Without knocking at the door–the very idea of doing so would never have occurred to us–I walked straight into the room. I found in it not the man I was looking for, not Punin, but his protector–the philanthropist, Baburin. He was standing before the window, without his outer garment, his legs wide apart. He was busily engaged in rubbing his head and neck with a long towel.