in every ear! I would not say to him father! I would not forgive him for my mother and myself! He felt no need of that forgiveness, of that name…. It could not be, it could not be that he felt no need of it! But he should not have forgiveness, he should not, he should not!
God knows whether I should have kept my vow, and whether my heart would not have softened, whether I should not have overcome my shyness, my shame, and my pride… but it happened with Ivan Matveitch just as with my mother. Death carried him off suddenly, and also in the night. It was again Mr. Ratsch who waked me, and ran with me to the big house, to Ivan Matveitch’s bedroom…. But I found not even the last dying gestures, which had left such a vivid impression on my memory at my mother’s bedside. On the embroidered, lace-edged pillows lay a sort of withered, dark-coloured doll, with sharp nose and ruffled grey eyebrows…. I shrieked with horror, with loathing, rushed away, stumbled in doorways against bearded peasants in smocks with holiday red sashes, and found myself, I don’t remember how, in the fresh air….
I was told afterwards that when the valet ran into the bedroom, at a violent ring of the bell, he found Ivan Matveitch not in the bed, but a few feet from it. And that he was sitting huddled up on the floor, and that twice over he repeated, ‘Well, granny, here’s a pretty holiday for you!’ And that these were his last words. But I cannot believe that. Was it likely he would speak Russian at such a moment, and such a homely old Russian saying too!
For a whole fortnight afterwards we were awaiting the arrival of the new master, Semyon Matveitch Koltovsky. He sent orders that nothing was to be touched, no one was to be discharged, till he had looked into everything in person. All the doors, all the furniture, drawers, tables—all were locked and sealed up. All the servants were downcast and apprehensive. I became suddenly one of the most important persons in the house, perhaps the most important. I had been spoken of as ‘the young lady’ before; but now this expression seemed to take a new significance, and was pronounced with a peculiar emphasis. It began to be whispered that ‘the old master had died suddenly, and hadn’t time to send for a priest, indeed and he hadn’t been at confession for many a long day; but still, a will doesn’t take long to make.’
Mr. Ratsch, too, thought well to change his mode of action. He did not affect good-nature and friendliness; he knew he would not impose upon me, but his face wore an expression of sulky resignation. ‘You see, I give in,’ he seemed to say. Every one showed me deference, and tried to please me… while I did not know what to do or how to behave, and could only marvel that people failed to perceive how they were hurting me. At last Semyon Matveitch arrived.
Semyon Matveitch was ten years younger than Ivan Matveitch, and his whole life had taken a completely different turn. He was a government official in Petersburg, filling an important position…. He had married and been left early a widower; he had one son. In face Semyon Matveitch was like his brother, only he was shorter and stouter, and had a round bald head, bright black eyes, like Ivan Matveitch’s, only more prominent, and full red lips. Unlike his brother, whom he spoke of even after his death as a French philosopher, and sometimes bluntly as a queer fish, Semyon Matveitch almost invariably talked Russian, loudly and fluently, and he was constantly laughing, completely closing his eyes as he did so and shaking all over in an unpleasant way, as though he were shaking with rage. He looked after things very sharply, went into everything himself, exacted the strictest account from every one. The very first day of his arrival he ordered a service with holy water, and sprinkled everything with water, all the rooms in the house, even the lofts and the cellars, in order, as he put it, ‘radically to expel the Voltairean and Jacobin spirit.’ In the first week several of Ivan Matveitch’s favourites were sent to the right-about, one was even banished to a settlement, corporal punishment was inflicted on others; the old valet—he was a Turk, knew French, and had been given to Ivan Matveitch by the late field-marshal Kamensky—received his freedom, indeed, but with it a command to be gone within twenty-four hours, ‘as an example to others.’ Semyon Matveitch turned out to be a harsh master; many probably regretted the late owner.
‘With the old master, Ivan Matveitch,’ a butler, decrepit with age, wailed in my presence, ‘our only trouble was to see that the linen put out was clean, and that the rooms smelt sweet, and that the servants’ voices weren’t heard in the passages—God forbid! For the rest, you might do as you pleased. The old master never hurt a fly in his life! Ah, it’s hard times now! It’s time to die!’
Rapid, too, was the change in my position, that is to say in the position in which I had been placed for a few days against my own will…. No sort of will was found among Ivan Matveitch’s papers, not a line written for my benefit. At once every one seemed in haste to avoid me…. I am not speaking of Mr. Ratsch… every one else, too, was angry with me, and tried to show their anger, as though I had deceived them.
One Sunday after matins, in which he invariably officiated at the altar, Semyon Matveitch sent for me. Till that day I had seen him by glimpses, and he seemed not to have noticed me. He received me in his study, standing at the window. He was wearing an official uniform with two stars. I stood still, near the door; my heart was beating violently from fear and from another feeling, vague as yet, but still oppressive. ‘I wish to see you, young lady,’ began Semyon Matveitch, glancing first at my feet, and then suddenly into my eyes. The look was like a slap in the face. ‘I wished to see you to inform you of my decision, and to assure you of my unhesitating inclination to be of service to you.’ He raised his voice. ‘Claims, of course, you have none, but as… my brother’s reader you may always reckon on my… my consideration. I am… of course convinced of your good sense and of your principles. Mr. Ratsch, your stepfather, has already received from me the necessary instructions. To which I must add that your attractive exterior seems to me a pledge of the excellence of your sentiments.’ Semyon Matveitch went off into a thin chuckle, while I… I was not offended exactly… but I suddenly felt very sorry for myself… and at that moment I fully realised how utterly forsaken and alone I was. Semyon Matveitch went with short, firm steps to the table, took a roll of notes out of the drawer, and putting it in my hand, he added: ‘Here is a small sum from me for pocket-money. I won’t forget you in future, my pretty; but good-bye for the present, and be a good girl.’ I took the roll mechanically: I should have taken anything he had offered me, and going back to my own room, a long while I wept, sitting on my bed. I did not notice that I had dropped the roll of notes on the floor. Mr. Ratsch found it and picked it up, and, asking me what I meant to do with it, kept it for himself.
An important change had taken place in his fortunes too in those days. After a few conversations with Semyon Matveitch, he became a great favourite, and soon after received the position of head steward. From that time dates his cheerfulness, that eternal laugh of his; at first it was an effort to adapt himself to his patron… in the end it became a habit. It was then, too, that he became a Russian patriot. Semyon Matveitch was an admirer of everything national, he called himself ‘a true Russian bear,’ and ridiculed the European dress, which he wore however. He sent away to a remote village a cook, on whose training Ivan Matveitch had spent vast sums: he sent him away because he had not known how to prepare pickled giblets.
Semyon Matveitch used to stand at the altar and join in the responses with the deacons, and when the serf-girls were brought together to dance and sing choruses, he would join in their songs too, and beat time with his feet, and pinch their cheeks…. But he soon went back to Petersburg, leaving my stepfather practically in complete control of the whole property.
Bitter days began for me…. My one consolation was music, and I gave myself up to it with my whole soul. Fortunately Mr. Ratsch was very fully occupied, but he took every opportunity to make me feel his hostility; as he had promised, he ‘did not forget’ my refusal. He ill-treated me, made me copy his long and lying reports to Semyon Matveitch, and correct for him the mistakes in spelling. I was forced to obey him absolutely, and I did obey him. He announced that he meant to tame me, to make me as soft as silk. ‘What do you mean by those mutinous eyes?’ he shouted sometimes
