第 三 章 · AN UPHEAVAL

. AN UPHEAVAL

MASHENKA PAVLETSKY, a young girl who had only just finished her studies

at a boarding school, returning from a walk to the house of the

Kushkins, with whom she was living as a governess, found the household

in a terrible turmoil. Mihailo, the porter who opened the door to her,

was excited and red as a crab.

Loud voices were heard from upstairs.

"Madame Kushkin is in a fit, most likely, or else she has quarrelled

with her husband," thought Mashenka.

In the hall and in the corridor she met maid-servants. One of them was

crying. Then Mashenka saw, running out of her room, the master of the

house himself, Nikolay Sergeitch, a little man with a flabby face and a

bald head, though he was not old. He was red in the face and twitching

all over. He passed the governess without noticing her, and throwing up

his arms, exclaimed:

"Oh, how horrible it is! How tactless! How stupid! How barbarous!

Abominable!"

Mashenka went into her room, and then, for the first time in her life,

it was her lot to experience in all its acuteness the feeling that is so

familiar to persons in dependent positions, who eat the bread of the

rich and powerful, and cannot speak their minds. There was a search

going on in her room. The lady of the house, Fedosya Vassilyevna, a

stout, broad-shouldered, uncouth woman with thick black eyebrows, a

faintly perceptible moustache, and red hands, who was exactly like a

plain, illiterate cook in face and manners, was standing, without her

cap on, at the table, putting back into Mashenka's workbag balls of

wool, scraps of materials, and bits of paper.... Evidently the

governess's arrival took her by surprise, since, on looking round and

seeing the girl's pale and astonished face, she was a little taken

aback, and muttered:

"_Pardon_. I ... I upset it accidentally.... My sleeve caught in it ..."

And saying something more, Madame Kushkin rustled her long skirts and

went out. Mashenka looked round her room with wondering eyes, and,

unable to understand it, not knowing what to think, shrugged her

shoulders, and turned cold with dismay. What had Fedosya Vassilyevna

been looking for in her work-bag? If she really had, as she said, caught

her sleeve in it and upset everything, why had Nikolay Sergeitch dashed

out of her room so excited and red in the face? Why was one drawer of

the table pulled out a little way? The money-box, in which the governess

put away ten kopeck pieces and old stamps, was open. They had opened it,

but did not know how to shut it, though they had scratched the lock all

over. The whatnot with her books on it, the things on the table, the

bed--all bore fresh traces of a search. Her linen-basket, too. The linen

had been carefully folded, but it was not in the same order as Mashenka

had left it when she went out. So the search had been thorough, most

thorough. But what was it for? Why? What had happened? Mashenka

remembered the excited porter, the general turmoil which was still going

on, the weeping servant-girl; had it not all some connection with the

search that had just been made in her room? Was not she mixed up in

something dreadful? Mashenka turned pale, and feeling cold all over,

sank on to her linen-basket.

A maid-servant came into the room.

"Liza, you don't know why they have been rummaging in my room?" the

governess asked her.

"Mistress has lost a brooch worth two thousand," said Liza.

"Yes, but why have they been rummaging in my room?"

"They've been searching every one, miss. They've searched all my things,

too. They stripped us all naked and searched us.... God knows, miss, I

never went near her toilet-table, let alone touching the brooch. I shall

say the same at the police-station."

"But ... why have they been rummaging here?" the governess still

wondered.

"A brooch has been stolen, I tell you. The mistress has been rummaging

in everything with her own hands. She even searched Mihailo, the porter,

herself. It's a perfect disgrace! Nikolay Sergeitch simply looks on and

cackles like a hen. But you've no need to tremble like that, miss. They

found nothing here. You've nothing to be afraid of if you didn't take

the brooch."

"But, Liza, it's vile ... it's insulting," said Mashenka, breathless

with indignation. "It's so mean, so low! What right had she to suspect

me and to rummage in my things?"

"You are living with strangers, miss," sighed Liza. "Though you are a

young lady, still you are ... as it were ... a servant.... It's not like

living with your papa and mamma."

Mashenka threw herself on the bed and sobbed bitterly. Never in her life

had she been subjected to such an outrage, never had she been so deeply

insulted.... She, well-educated, refined, the daughter of a teacher, was

suspected of theft; she had been searched like a street-walker! She

could not imagine a greater insult. And to this feeling of resentment

was added an oppressive dread of what would come next. All sorts of

absurd ideas came into her mind. If they could suspect her of theft,

then they might arrest her, strip her naked, and search her, then lead

her through the street with an escort of soldiers, cast her into a cold,

dark cell with mice and woodlice, exactly like the dungeon in which

Princess Tarakanov was imprisoned. Who would stand up for her? Her

parents lived far away in the provinces; they had not the money to come

to her. In the capital she was as solitary as in a desert, without

friends or kindred. They could do what they liked with her.

"I will go to all the courts and all the lawyers," Mashenka thought,

trembling. "I will explain to them, I will take an oath.... They will

believe that I could not be a thief!"

Mashenka remembered that under the sheets in her basket she had some

sweetmeats, which, following the habits of her schooldays, she had put

in her pocket at dinner and carried off to her room. She felt hot all

over, and was ashamed at the thought that her little secret was known to

the lady of the house; and all this terror, shame, resentment, brought

on an attack of palpitation of the heart, which set up a throbbing in

her temples, in her heart, and deep down in her stomach.

"Dinner is ready," the servant summoned Mashenka.

"Shall I go, or not?"

Mashenka brushed her hair, wiped her face with a wet towel, and went

into the dining-room. There they had already begun dinner. At one end of

the table sat Fedosya Vassilyevna with a stupid, solemn, serious face;

at the other end Nikolay Sergeitch. At the sides there were the visitors

and the children. The dishes were handed by two footmen in swallowtails

and white gloves. Every one knew that there was an upset in the house,

that Madame Kushkin was in trouble, and every one was silent. Nothing

was heard but the sound of munching and the rattle of spoons on the

plates.

The lady of the house, herself, was the first to speak.

"What is the third course?" she asked the footman in a weary, injured

voice.

"_Esturgeon à la russe_," answered the footman.

"I ordered that, Fenya," Nikolay Sergeitch hastened to observe. "I

wanted some fish. If you don't like it, _ma chère_, don't let them serve

it. I just ordered it...."

Fedosya Vassilyevna did not like dishes that she had not ordered

herself, and now her eyes filled with tears.

"Come, don't let us agitate ourselves," Mamikov, her household doctor,

observed in a honeyed voice, just touching her arm, with a smile as

honeyed. "We are nervous enough as it is. Let us forget the brooch!

Health is worth more than two thousand roubles!"

"It's not the two thousand I regret," answered the lady, and a big tear

rolled down her cheek. "It's the fact itself that revolts me! I cannot

put up with thieves in my house. I don't regret it--I regret nothing;

but to steal from me is such ingratitude! That's how they repay me for

my kindness...."

They all looked into their plates, but Mashenka fancied after the lady's

words that every one was looking at her. A lump rose in her throat; she

began crying and put her handkerchief to her lips.

"_Pardon_," she muttered. "I can't help it. My head aches. I'll go

away."

And she got up from the table, scraping her chair awkwardly, and went

out quickly, still more overcome with confusion.

"It's beyond everything!" said Nikolay Sergeitch, frowning. "What need

was there to search her room? How out of place it was!"

"I don't say she took the brooch," said Fedosya Vassilyevna, "but can

you answer for her? To tell the truth, I haven't much confidence in

these learned paupers."

"It really was unsuitable, Fenya.... Excuse me, Fenya, but you've no

kind of legal right to make a search."

"I know nothing about your laws. All I know is that I've lost my brooch.

And I will find the brooch!" She brought her fork down on the plate with

a clatter, and her eyes flashed angrily. "And you eat your dinner, and

don't interfere in what doesn't concern you!"

Nikolay Sergeitch dropped his eyes mildly and sighed. Meanwhile

Mashenka, reaching her room, flung herself on her bed. She felt now

neither alarm nor shame, but she felt an intense longing to go and slap

the cheeks of this hard, arrogant, dull-witted, prosperous woman.

Lying on her bed she breathed into her pillow and dreamed of how nice it

would be to go and buy the most expensive brooch and fling it into the

face of this bullying woman. If only it were God's will that Fedosya

Vassilyevna should come to ruin and wander about begging, and should

taste all the horrors of poverty and dependence, and that Mashenka, whom

she had insulted, might give her alms! Oh, if only she could come in for

a big fortune, could buy a carriage, and could drive noisily past the

windows so as to be envied by that woman!

But all these were only dreams, in reality there was only one thing left

to do--to get away as quickly as possible, not to stay another hour in

this place. It was true it was terrible to lose her place, to go back to

her parents, who had nothing; but what could she do? Mashenka could not

bear the sight of the lady of the house nor of her little room; she felt

stifled and wretched here. She was so disgusted with Fedosya

Vassilyevna, who was so obsessed by her illnesses and her supposed

aristocratic rank, that everything in the world seemed to have become

coarse and unattractive because this woman was living in it. Mashenka

jumped up from the bed and began packing.

"May I come in?" asked Nikolay Sergeitch at the door; he had come up

noiselessly to the door, and spoke in a soft, subdued voice. "May I?"

"Come in."

He came in and stood still near the door. His eyes looked dim and his

red little nose was shiny. After dinner he used to drink beer, and the

fact was perceptible in his walk, in his feeble, flabby hands.

"What's this?" he asked, pointing to the basket.

"I am packing. Forgive me, Nikolay Sergeitch, but I cannot remain in

your house. I feel deeply insulted by this search!"

"I understand.... Only you are wrong to go. Why should you? They've

searched your things, but you ... what does it matter to you? You will

be none the worse for it."

Mashenka was silent and went on packing. Nikolay Sergeitch pinched his

moustache, as though wondering what he should say next, and went on in

an ingratiating voice:

"I understand, of course, but you must make allowances. You know my wife

is nervous, headstrong; you mustn't judge her too harshly."

Mashenka did not speak.

"If you are so offended," Nikolay Sergeitch went on, "well, if you like,

I'm ready to apologise. I ask your pardon."

Mashenka made no answer, but only bent lower over her box. This

exhausted, irresolute man was of absolutely no significance in the

household. He stood in the pitiful position of a dependent and

hanger-on, even with the servants, and his apology meant nothing either.

"H'm!... You say nothing! That's not enough for you. In that case, I

will apologise for my wife. In my wife's name.... She behaved

tactlessly, I admit it as a gentleman...."

Nikolay Sergeitch walked about the room, heaved a sigh, and went on:

"Then you want me to have it rankling here, under my heart.... You want

my conscience to torment me...."

"I know it's not your fault, Nikolay Sergeitch," said Mashenka, looking

him full in the face with her big tear-stained eyes. "Why should you

worry yourself?"

"Of course, no.... But still, don't you ... go away. I entreat you."

Mashenka shook her head. Nikolay Sergeitch stopped at the window and

drummed on the pane with his finger-tips.

"Such misunderstandings are simply torture to me," he said. "Why, do you

want me to go down on my knees to you, or what? Your pride is wounded,

and here you've been crying and packing up to go; but I have pride, too,

and you do not spare it! Or do you want me to tell you what I would not

tell as Confession? Do you? Listen; you want me to tell you what I won't

tell the priest on my deathbed?"

Mashenka made no answer.

"I took my wife's brooch," Nikolay Sergeitch said quickly. "Is that

enough now? Are you satisfied? Yes, I ... took it.... But, of course, I

count on your discretion.... For God's sake, not a word, not half a hint

to any one!"

Mashenka, amazed and frightened, went on packing; she snatched her

things, crumpled them up, and thrust them anyhow into the box and the

basket. Now, after this candid avowal on the part of Nikolay Sergeitch,

she could not remain another minute, and could not understand how she

could have gone on living in the house before.

"And it's nothing to wonder at," Nikolay Sergeitch went on after a

pause. "It's an everyday story! I need money, and she ... won't give it

to me. It was my father's money that bought this house and everything,

you know! It's all mine, and the brooch belonged to my mother, and ...

it's all mine! And she took it, took possession of everything.... I

can't go to law with her, you'll admit.... I beg you most earnestly,

overlook it ... stay on. _Tout comprendre, tout pardonner._ Will you

stay?"

"No!" said Mashenka resolutely, beginning to tremble. "Let me alone, I

entreat you!"

"Well, God bless you!" sighed Nikolay Sergeitch, sitting down on the

stool near the box. "I must own I like people who still can feel

resentment, contempt, and so on. I could sit here forever and look at

your indignant face.... So you won't stay, then? I understand.... It's

bound to be so ... Yes, of course.... It's all right for you, but for

me--wo-o-o-o!... I can't stir a step out of this cellar. I'd go off to

one of our estates, but in every one of them there are some of my wife's

rascals ... stewards, experts, damn them all! They mortgage and

remortgage.... You mustn't catch fish, must keep off the grass, mustn't

break the trees."

"Nikolay Sergeitch!" his wife's voice called from the drawing-room.

"Agnia, call your master!"

"Then you won't stay?" asked Nikolay Sergeitch, getting up quickly and

going towards the door. "You might as well stay, really. In the evenings

I could come and have a talk with you. Eh? Stay! If you go, there won't

be a human face left in the house. It's awful!"

Nikolay Sergeitch's pale, exhausted face besought her, but Mashenka

shook her head, and with a wave of his hand he went out.

Half an hour later she was on her way.