“What landowners are there then?”

“Bobroff, Svinin, Kanapatieff, Kharpakin, Trepakin, Plyeshakoff.”

“Are they rich men?”

“No, father, not very rich. One of them owns twenty souls (serfs), another thirty; but there isn’t one who owns a hundred.”

Tchitchikoff perceived that he had arrived in a regular wilderness. “Tell me, at least, is it far to the town?”

“About sixty versts. How sorry I am that I have nothing to offer you to eat! But will you drink some tea, friend?”

“Thank you, my good woman, I only want a bed.”

“In truth, rest is necessary after such a journey. Place yourself here, my friend, on this divan. Hey, there, Fetinya, fetch a feather-bed, some pillows, and a coverlet. What weather God has sent us! such thunder! My light has been burning all night before the holy pictures. Why! my father, your back and your side are all muddy, like a boar’s! Where did you get so dirty?”

“Glory be to God, that I only soiled my clothes! I must return thanks for not having broken my ribs.”

“Ye saints, how dreadful! Don’t you want something to wipe your coat?”

“Thank you, thank you. Don’t trouble yourself, but please give your maid orders to dry my clothes.”

“Do you hear, Fetinya?” said the lady, turning to the same woman, who had come out to the porch with a light. She had already succeeded in dragging in a feather-bed, and, after beating it up on both sides with her hands, she had sent a flood of feathers flying about the room. “Take the gentleman’s caftan and his other clothes,” resumed the lady, “first dry them before the fire, as you used to do for your dead master, and then brush and beat them thoroughly.”

“I hear, sudarinya!4 said Fetinya, as she spread a sheet over the feather-bed and placed the pillows.

“Well, now your bed is ready,” said the lady. “Farewell, my friend: I wish you a good-night. Do you need anything more? Perhaps, father, you are accustomed to have someone to tickle your heels at night. My late husband could never get to sleep without it.”

But the guest declined to have his heels tickled. The lady took her departure; and Tchitchikoff immediately undressed, giving everything to Fetinya, who, after wishing him good-night in her turn, carried all the wet garments away. When he was left alone he glanced, not without satisfaction, at his couch, which reached almost to the ceiling. Fetinya was evidently an adept in the art of beating up a feather-bed. Then with the aid of a chair, he climbed into the bed, which so gave way beneath him that he sank almost to the floor, while the feathers which he pressed out at the seams flew all over the room. He blew out the candle, drew the calico coverlet over him, and at once fell asleep.

It was already quite late in the morning when he awoke on the following day. The sun was shining through the shutters straight into his eyes, and the flies were buzzing about. Casting a glance round the room he perceived that birds did not form the subjects of all the pictures: among them hung a portrait of Kutusoff, and an oil-painting of an old man in a uniform such as was worn under Pavel Petrovitch. The clock again hissed, and then struck ten: a feminine face peeped in at the door, and immediately disappeared again; for Tchitchikoff, during his sleep, had thrown off all the bedclothes. The face which had peeped in seemed familiar to him in some way. He endeavoured to recall who it belonged to, and finally remembered that it was the countenance of his hostess. He put on his shirt: his garments, all dried and brushed, lay beside him. When he was dressed he approached the window, and began to survey the view before


  By PanEris using Melati.

Previous chapter/page Back Home Email this Search Discuss Bookmark Next chapter/page
Copyright: All texts on Bibliomania are © Bibliomania.com Ltd, and may not be reproduced in any form without our written permission. See our FAQ for more details.