' Presents ? '
' Yes a barrel of honey, a bag of dried raspberries.'
Piotr Ivanitch shrugged his shoulders.
' And two pieces of linen, and preserves.'
' Very fine linen, I should imagine!'
' Yes, the linen is fine, and the preserves are of sugar/'
' Well, you can go, I will see them directly.'
He took one letter, broke it open, and took a comprehensive look at the page. It was written in a large round hand like print, without punctuation,
Adouev began to read in an undertone.
' Honoured Sir, —Having been closely acquainted and friendly with your lamented parents, and having amused you not a little in your childhood and ofttimes eaten bread and salt in your house, therefore I cherish a warm feeling and an ardent hope that you have not forgotten the old man Vassili Tihovitch, as we here remember you and your parents with every kindness and we pray God '
'What a rigmarole? Who is it from?' said Piotr Ivanitch, looking at the signature. 'Vassili Zayeshaloff! Zayeshaloff!—I'll be hanged if I remember it. What does he want from me ? '
And he began reading further.
' But my most humble petition and importunity to you —do not refuse it< little father—to you in Petersburg, unlike us in these parts, all of course is known and everything is in your reach. There has been fixed upon me a cursed lawsuit, and here's the seventh year come and gone, and I cannot shake it off my neck. Do you remember the little copse which lies one mile from my property ? The court made a mistake in the purchase deeds, and my adversary, Medvyedev, still persists in it; the point, he says, is a got-up one, and this he sticks to through thick and thin. This same Medvyedev is the fellow who always used to be poaching fish from your ponds without permission; your lamented father drove him away and put him to shame, and would have lodged a complaint with the governor for his impudence, but in the kindness of his heart—God rest his soul!—let him off, and he should not have had mercy on such a rogue. Help me, little father, Piotr Ivanitch; the affair is now before the Senate of Appeal, I don't know in what department, or under whom; but to be sure they will
tell you directly. Go and see the secretary and the senators; incline them in my favour, tell, them it's all a mistake, simply from a mistake in the purchase-deed that I am suffering ; for you they will do everything. While you are there, by the way, kindly trouble to obtain for me a patent of promotion and send it me. Further, little father, Piotr Ivanitch, there is a. little matter of the utmost importance: give your heart-felt sympathy to an innocently oppressed victim, and aid with advice and assistance. We have in the governor's service a councillor, Droshoff, a heart of gold more than a man ; he would die before he would betray a friend; in the town I have no lodging but his house. As soon as I arrive I go straight to him, I live there for weeks, and God forbid you should not make yourself at home; he will overwhelm you with good things to eat and drink, and cards from dinner till the middle of the night. And such a man has been passed over, without promotion, and now they are forcing him to send in his resignation. Go and see, my dear father, all the grandees there, and suggest to them what a man Afanasy Ivanitch is; if there is work to be done it goes like a house on fire in his hands; tell them he has been falsely denounced by an intrigue of the governor's secretary—they will listen to you, and write me by return of post. And go and see my old colleague KostyakofF. I have heard from one of your Petersburgers who has arrived here, Studentsin—no doubt you know him—that he is living at Peska; there the street boys will tell you the house ; write by the same post, don't be lazy, whether he is alive or dead, whether he is in good health, what he is doing, whether he remembers me. Get acquainted and make friends with him—he is a capital fellow —an open heart, and such an amusing fellow. I conclude my letter with a further request '
Adouev ceased reading, slowly tore the letter into four pieces and threw it under the table into a basket, and then stretched and yawned.
He took the other letter and began to read it also in an undertone.
' Dearest Brother, Gracious Sir, Piotr Ivanitch.'
. , ' What—a sister! ' said Adouev, looking at the signature: *' Maria Gorbatov.' He looked up at the ceiling, trying to
recollect something. 'How is it?—some recollection— there, that's good—my brother was_ married to a Gorbatov; this is_htf.sistfav,thisj§==a'hl 1 rememberT**' V
Hefrowned and began to read. >
' Though fate has severed us, perhaps, for ever, and an ; abyss lies between us; years have rolled by '
He skipped a few lines and began further on:
'To the day of my death I shall remember that walk together near our lake, when you, at risk of your life and health, went knee-deep into the water and picked for me some great yellow flowers among the rushes, and how a kind • of juice ran out of the stems and stained our hands and ' you fetched water in your cap for us to wash them; we 1 laughed so much at it then. Ah, how happy I was that day! That flower I have still pressed in a book.'
Adouev stopped. It was clear that this circumstance was . not very gratifying to him; he shook his head rather / suspiciously.
' But have you still kept the ribbons [he continued reading] that you snatched out of my drawer, in spite of my , entreaties ? '
' I snatched out a ribbon!' he said aloud, frowning ' angrily. He skipped a few more lines in silence and, read:
' But I was destined for the unwedded state, and have always been happy in it: there is no one to hinder my recalling those happy days.'
' Ah, the old maid !' thought Piotr Ivanitch. ' Isn't it astonishing she should still have yellow flowers in her mind? What more is there ? '
'Are you married, dearest brother, and to whom ? Who is that dear unknown friend, who smoothes the path of your existence ? tell me her name. I will love her like my own sister, and in my dreams her image will be joined with yours, and I will remember her in my prayers. But if you are not married, now what is the reason—write me frankly; no one will tear your secrets from me, I shall bury them in my bosom, and they shall be torn from me only together with my heart Do not delay; I am burning with eagerness to read your words, so incomprehensible '
' No, it's your words that are so incomprehensible!' thought Piotr Tvanitch.
'I did not know [he read] that our dear Sashenka had suddenly decided to visit the splendid metropolis— happy boy! he will see the magnificent houses and shops, will enjoy the luxuries of town, and will press his adored uncle to his bosom; but I—I—meanwhile shall be shedding tears over the memory of my own happy days. If I had known of his departure, I should have worked day and night and have embroidered a cushion for you: a negress with two dogs. You would not believe how often I have wept looking at that pattern; what is more sacred than friendship and fidelity ? Now I am possessed by one only thought; I shall devote my days to it; but I have no wool here good enough, and so I am venturing to beg you, dearest brother, to send me some like this pattern which I have enclosed, of the very best English wool as soon as possible from the first shop. But what am I saying ? what an awful thought arrests my pen! perhaps you have already forgotten me, and how should you remember the poor sufferer, who can but weep secluded from the world ? But no! I cannot think that you are a monster, like all men; no! my heart speaks and tells me that you have kept your old sentiment towards me—towards all—in the midst of all the pomps and pleasures of the great metropolis. This thought is a balm for my suffering heart. Forgive me, I cannot write more, my hand trembles.
' I remain till death yours,
'Maria Gorbatov.'
'P.S.—Have you, brother, any good books by you? Send me some if you have any to spare; on every page I should remember you and weep, or get me some new from a shop, if they are not dear. They say the works of Mr. Zagoskin and of Mr. Marlinsky are very good—let it be those; and I have seen in the papers the title— 4 Of Prejudices' by Poozin—send me that—I can't endure prejudices.'
Having read it through, Adouev was just going to get rid of the letter, but he stopped short.
a No,' he thought, ' I will keep it; there are people who make a speciality of such letters; some of them have whole collections—perhaps some one would be glad to have it.
He threw the letter into the beaded basket, which hung on the wall, then took up the third letter and began to read it:
