Fifty-Two Stories

Olga Mikhailovna recalled how, in the first months of marriage, so as not to be bored alone at home, she had driven to the appellate court, where Pyotr Dmitrich occasionally presided in place of her godfather, Count Alexei Petrovich. On the presidential chair, in his uniform, with a chain on his chest, he was totally transformed. Majestic gestures, a thundering voice, “well, sir” and “hm-yes, sir,” the condescending tone…All that was ordinarily human, his own, that Olga Mikhailovna was used to seeing in him at home, was swallowed up in grandeur, and it was not Pyotr Dmitrich who sat in the chair, but some other man, whom everyone called Mister President. The consciousness that he was in power kept him from sitting calmly in his place, and he looked for an occasion to ring the bell, glance sternly at the public, shout…Whence came this nearsightedness and deafness, when he would suddenly begin to see and hear poorly, and, wincing majestically, demanded that people speak louder and come closer to the table. From the height of his grandeur he poorly distinguished faces and sounds, so it seemed that if Olga Mikhailovna herself had come up to him in those moments, even to her he would have shouted, “What is your last name?” He spoke familiarly to peasant witnesses, yelled so loudly at the public that his voice could be heard outside, and behaved impossibly with lawyers. If an attorney happened to speak, Pyotr Dmitrich sat slightly sideways to him and squinted at the ceiling, wishing to show thereby that there was no need for any attorney here and that he did not recognize or listen to him; if a gray-clad local attorney spoke, Pyotr Dmitrich was all ears, and looked the attorney up and down with a mocking, annihilating gaze: now here’s a real lawyer for you! “What do you mean to say by that?” he would interrupt. If a grandiloquent attorney used some sort of foreign word and, for instance, said “factitious” instead of “fictitious,” Pyotr Dmitrich would suddenly perk up and ask: “How’s that, sir? What? Factitious? What might that mean?”—and then observe didactically: “Do not use words you don’t understand.” And the attorney, finishing his speech, would leave the table red-faced and all in a sweat, while Pyotr Dmitrich, with a self-contented smile, would throw himself against the back of his chair in celebration of his victory. In his treatment of lawyers he imitated Count Alexei Petrovich somewhat, but when the count said, for instance, “Defense, keep quiet for a little!” it came out unaffectedly and with elderly good nature, while from Pyotr Dmitrich it sounded rude and forced.

II

Applause was heard. The young man had finished playing. Olga Mikhailovna remembered about her guests and hastened to the drawing room.

“Listening to you, I forgot myself,” she said, going to the piano. “I forgot myself. You have an astonishing ability! But don’t you find our piano out of tune?”

At that moment the two schoolboys came into the drawing room and the student along with them.

“My God, Mitya and Kolya?” Olga Mikhailovna said drawlingly and joyfully, going to meet them. “How big you’ve become! I hardly recognized you! And where is your mama?”

“Congratulations on your husband’s name-day,” the student began casually. “I wish you all the best. Ekaterina Andreevna sends her best wishes and her apologies. She’s not feeling well.”

“How unkind of her! I’ve been waiting all day for her. And did you come from Petersburg long ago?” Olga Mikhailovna asked the student. “How’s the weather there now?” And without waiting for an answer, she looked tenderly at the boys and repeated, “How big you’ve grown! Just recently they came here with a nanny, and now they’re already schoolboys! The old grow older, and the young grow up…Have you eaten?”

“Ah, don’t go to any trouble, please!” said the student.

“So you haven’t eaten?”

“For God’s sake, don’t go to any trouble!”

“But don’t you want to eat?” Olga Mikhailovna asked in a rude and harsh voice, impatiently and with vexation—it came out of her inadvertently, but she immediately coughed, smiled, and blushed. “How big you’ve grown!” she said softly.

“Don’t go to any trouble, please!” the student said again.

The student asked her not to go to any trouble, the children said nothing; obviously, all three wanted to eat. Olga Mikhailovna took them to the dining room and told Vassily to set the table.

“Your mother is unkind!” she said, seating them. “She’s completely forgotten me. Unkind, unkind, unkind…Tell her so. And what are you studying?” she asked the student.

“Medicine.”

“Well, and I have a weakness for doctors, just imagine. I’m very sorry my husband isn’t a doctor. What courage one must have, for instance, to do surgery or cut up corpses! Terrible! You’re not afraid? I think I’d die of fear. You’ll have some vodka, of course?”

“Don’t go to any trouble, please.”