'Hush, hush, Sasha,' she broke in quickly; 'why are you calling down such things on your head ? No, no, whatever happens, if such a thing comes to pass, let me suffer alone. You are young, you are only beginning life, you will have friends, you will marry—a young woman will
f
fill the place of your mother and of every one for you. No, may God bless you as I bless you !'
She kissed him on the forehead and so ended her sermon
' But why is it nobody comes ? ' she said. ' Not Maria Karpovna, nor Anton Ivanitch nor the priest are come. The mass must be over by now, I should think. Ah, here is some one coming! Anton Ivanitch, I fancy—yes, it is he; speak of the devil '
Who does not know Anton Ivanit ch ? He is a Wandering Jew. He has existed always, everywhere, from 'the niSst ancient times, and has never become extinct. He was present at the Greek and Roman symposiums, and certainly tasted the fatted calf killed by the happy father on the return of the Prodigal Son.
Among us in Russia he takes various forms. The one in question had twelve serfs mortgaged over and over again; he lived almost in a hut, a kind of queer building resembling a loghouse—the entrance somewhere behind over some timber, close up to the hedge; but for twelve years he had been continually declaring that in the following spring he would start building a new house. He kept no housekeeper in his house. There was not a man of his acquaintance who had dined, supped or drunk a cup of tea in his house, but also there was not a man with whom he had not dined, supped or drunk tea fifty times a year. In days gone by Anton Ivanitch used to walk about in loose pantaloons and a full skirted overcoat, now he wears on weekdays a surtout and trousers, on holidays, a frock-coat—of what sort of cut God only knows. In figure he is fat, because he has no sorrows, no cares, no emotions, though he pretends that he spends his whole life in the sorrows and cares of others; but it is well-known that the sorrows and cares of others do not make us thin; that is a fact admitted on all hands.
In reality Anton Ivanitch was never of use to any one, yet without him not a single ceremony took place, not a wedding, nor a funeral. He was at all the formal dinners and evening parties and at all family gatherings; no one would stir a step without him. You may imagine perhaps that he was very useful, giving good advice here, arranging some difficulty there. Not a bit of it! No-one had ever
entrusted him with anything of the kind; he understood nothing, could do nothing; could not manage a matter in the law courts, could not act as go-between or mediator, could do absolutely nothing.
But yet they did commission him sometimes to call in and take a polite message from such a one to such a one, and he takes it without fail and seizes the opportunity to get a breakfast there ; or to inform such a one that certain papers have been received, but their exact nature they would not confide to him; or to take somewhere a little jar of honey or a handful of seeds with the precept ' not to spill and not to spoil; ' or to carry congratulations on some one's birthday. And they employ Anton Ivanitch, too, in such matters as they consider it unsuitable to leave to a servant. 'We can't send Petrushka, he would be sure to make a mistake about it. 'No, better let Anton Ivanitch go with it! It would never do to send a man ; so and so would be offended, better get Anton Ivanitch to go!'
So every one would have been astonished if he were nowhere to be seen at a dinner or a supper. 'But where is Anton Ivanitch ?' every one would be sure to ask in surprise. ' What's wrong with him ?—why isn't he here ? ' And the dinner would hardly seem a dinner at all.
Anton Ivanitch came in and took Anna Pavlovna's hand.
' Good-morning, ma'am, good-morning, Anna Pavlovna! I have the honour of congratulating you on something new.'
'W T hat is that, Anton Ivanitch?' inquired Anna Pavlovna, looking at herself from head to foot.
' Why the little bridge at the gates! You must have only just had it put up. Why, I listened—the planks didn't dance under my feet. I looked, and it was new !'
He always used when he met acquaintances to congratulate them on something or other, either on Lent, or on the spring* or on the autumn; if, after a spell of warm weather, frost had set in, then he would congratulate them on the frost, if the frost had just broken up, then on the thaw.
On this occasion there was nothing of this kind to fix on, but he still managed to find something.
' Kind regards to you from Alexandra Vassilievna, Matrena Mihailovna and Piotr Sergeitch,' said he.
'I thank you sincerely, Anton Ivanitch! Are their children well ? '
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' Yes, thanks be to God. I bring you the blessing of the church, the good father is just on my heels. But have you heard, ma'am, our good Semen Arkhipytch ? '
' What is it ? ' asked Anna Pavlovna, in dismay,
' Ah, he has taken leave of us for ever.'
' You don't say it ? When did it happen ? '
' Yesterday morning. They sent to let me know in the evening; a lad galloped up; and I set off and did not sleep all night. They were all in tears; I had to console them and see to everything; every one in the house was quite overcome, nothing but weeping. I was all alone.'
'Merciful heavens,' said Anna Pavlovna, shaking her head, ' such is life ! But how could it happen ? Only this week he sent us his greetings.'
' Yes, ma'am—ah ! but he had been ailing a long while, the old man was a good age, the wonder is that he had never been laid up till now.'
'A good age? He was only a year older than my poor husband. Well, God's peace be with him!' said Anna Pavlovna, crossing herself. 'I am grieved for poor Fedosia Petrovna, she is left with little children on her hands, it's a serious matter—five, and almost all little girls. And when is the funeral to be ? '
' To-morrow.'
'Ah, every heart has its own sorrow, Anton Ivanitch, here am I seeing my son off.'
'There's no help for it, Anna Pavlovna, we are all mortal;' man is born to sorrow,' is written in the Scriptures.'
'Well, don't be vexed with me for distressing you a little, let us sorrow together; you love us like one of our own family.'
' Ah, Anna Pavlovna ! and whom could I love as I do you? Have I many friends like you? You know how precious you are. 1 have so many cares, and that reminds me of my building. Only yesterday I was disputing all the morning with the contractor, but somehow we could not agree on anything. Yet how, thought I, am I to keep away ? What, thought I, will she do without me ? She is no longer young. Why she will be beside herself!'
' God reward you, Anton Ivanitch, for not forgetting us! And, indeed, I am not myself; my head is in such a whirl.
I can see nothing; my throat is sore with crying. I beg you to take a little to eat; you must be tired and hungry.'
' I thank you sincerely. I confess that I had a drop at Piotr Sergeitch's as I was passing and took a mouthful with him. But that is no hindrance. The father is comipg; let him give the benediction. Yes, here he is on the stairs !'
The priest came in. Maria Karpovna, too, arrived with her daughter, a plump and rosy girl, with a smile and tearful eyes. The eyes and the whole expression of face of Sophia said plainly : ' I will love simply without caprice, I will be married like a nursemaid, and will obey my husband in everything and never think I know better than he; indeed, and how could one know better than one's husband ? it would be a sin. I will be diligent in housekeeping and sewing; I will bear him half-a-dozen children, and will suckle them, tend them, dress them and make their clothes.' The plumpness and brilliance of her cheeks and the fine contours of her throat confirmed the promise of robust motherhood. But the tears in her eyes and her pathetic smile lent her at this moment a more romantic interest
Before anything else they listened to a prayer, for which Anton Ivanitch called in the domestics, lighted the candle, and took the book from the priest, when he had finished reading it, and handed it to the deacon, and afterwards poured the holy water into a little flask and put it into his pocket, saying ' That's for Agafea Nikitishnya.' They sat down to table. Except Anton Ivanitch and the priest, they could hardly eat a morsel, but to make up for this, Anton Ivanitch did full justice to the Homeric breakfast. Anna Pavlovna kept weeping and stealthily wiping her eyes.
' Don't keep on so, ma'am,' said Anton Ivanitch with assumed vexation, pouring out some liqueur for himself.
