run to the quay and have a look at them. When he had washed and was putting on his red shirt, the latch of the door clicked, and Father Christopher appeared in the doorway, wearing his top-hat and a brown silk cassock over his canvas coat and carrying his staff in his hand. Smiling and radiant (old men are always radiant when they come back from church), he put a roll of holy bread and a parcel of some sort on the table, prayed before the ikon, and said:
'God has sent us blessings-well, how are you?'
'Quite well now,' answered Yegorushka, kissing his hand.
'Thank God. . . . I have come from mass. I've been to see a sacristan I know. He invited me to breakfast with him, but I didn't go. I don't like visiting people too early, God bless them!'
He took off his cassock, stroked himself on the chest, and without haste undid the parcel. Yegorushka saw a little tin of caviare, a piece of dry sturgeon, and a French loaf.
'See; I passed a fish-shop and brought this,' said Father Christopher. 'There is no need to indulge in luxuries on an ordinary weekday; but I thought, I've an invalid at home, so it is excusable. And the caviare is good, real sturgeon. . . .'
The man in the white shirt brought in the samovar and a tray with tea-things.
'Eat some,' said Father Christopher, spreading the caviare on a slice of bread and handing it to Yegorushka. 'Eat now and enjoy yourself, but the time will soon come for you to be studying. Mind you study with attention and application, so that good may come of it. What you have to learn by heart, learn by heart, but when you have to tell the inner sense in your own words, without regard to the outer form, then say it in your own words. And try to master all subjects. One man knows mathematics excellently, but has never heard of Pyotr Mogila; another knows about Pyotr Mogila, but cannot explain about the moon. But you study so as to understand everything. Study Latin, French, German, . . . geography, of course, history, theology, philosophy, mathematics, . . . and when you have mastered everything, not with haste but with prayer and with zeal, then go into the service. When you know everything it will be easy for you in any line of life. . . . You study and strive for the divine blessing, and God will show you what to be. Whether a doctor, a judge or an engineer. . . .'
Father Christopher spread a little caviare on a piece of bread, put it in his mouth and said:
'The Apostle Paul says: 'Do not apply yourself to strange and diverse studies.' Of course, if it is black magic, unlawful arts, or calling up spirits from the other world, like Saul, or studying subjects that can be of no use to yourself or others, better not learn them. You must undertake only what God has blessed. Take example . . . the Holy Apostles spoke in all languages, so you study languages. Basil the Great studied mathematics and philosophy- so you study them; St. Nestor wrote history-so you study and write history. Take example from the saints.'
Father Christopher sipped the tea from his saucer, wiped his moustaches, and shook his head.
'Good!' he said. 'I was educated in the old-fashioned way; I have forgotten a great deal by now, but still I live differently from other people. Indeed, there is no comparison. For instance, in company at a dinner, or at an assembly, one says something in Latin, or makes some allusion from history or philosophy, and it pleases people, and it pleases me myself. . . . Or when the circuit court comes and one has to take the oath, all the other priests are shy, but I am quite at home with the judges, the prosecutors, and the lawyers. I talk intellectually, drink a cup of tea with them, laugh, ask them what I don't know, . . . and they like it. So that's how it is, my boy. Learning is light and ignorance is darkness. Study! It's hard, of course; nowadays study is expensive. . . . Your mother is a widow; she lives on her pension, but there, of course . . .'
Father Christopher glanced apprehensively towards the door, and went on in a whisper:
'Ivan Ivanitch will assist. He won't desert you. He has no children of his own, and he will help you. Don't be uneasy.'
He looked grave, and whispered still more softly:
'Only mind, Yegory, don't forget your mother and Ivan Ivanitch, God preserve you from it. The commandment bids you honour your mother, and Ivan Ivanitch is your benefactor and takes the place of a father to you. If you become learned, God forbid you should be impatient and scornful with people because they are not so clever as you, then woe, woe to you!'
Father Christopher raised his hand and repeated in a thin voice:
'Woe to you! Woe to you!'
Father Christopher's tongue was loosened, and he was, as they say, warming to his subject; he would not have finished till dinnertime but the door opened and Ivan Ivanitch walked in. He said good-morning hurriedly, sat down to the table, and began rapidly swallowing his tea.
'Well, I have settled all our business,' he said. 'We might have gone home to-day, but we have still to think about Yegor. We must arrange for him. My sister told me that Nastasya Petrovna, a friend of hers, lives somewhere here, so perhaps she will take him in as a boarder.'
He rummaged in his pocket-book, found a crumpled note and read:
''Little Lower Street: Nastasya Petrovna Toskunov, living in a house of her own.' We must go at once and try to find her. It's a nuisance!'
Soon after breakfast Ivan Ivanitch and Yegorushka left the inn.
'It's a nuisance,' muttered his uncle. 'You are sticking to me like a burr. You and your mother want education and gentlemanly breeding and I have nothing but worry with you both. . . .'
When they crossed the yard, the waggons and the drivers were not there. They had all gone off to the quay early in the morning. In a far-off dark corner of the yard stood the chaise.
'Good-bye, chaise!' thought Yegorushka.
At first they had to go a long way uphill by a broad street, then they had to cross a big marketplace; here Ivan Ivanitch asked a policeman for Little Lower Street.
'I say,' said the policeman, with a grin, 'it's a long way off, out that way towards the town grazing ground.'
They met several cabs but Ivan Ivanitch only permitted himself such a weakness as taking a cab in exceptional cases and on great holidays. Yegorushka and he walked for a long while through paved streets, then along streets where there were only wooden planks at the sides and no pavements, and in the end got to streets where there were neither planks nor pavements. When their legs and their tongues had brought them to Little Lower Street they were both red in the face, and taking off their hats, wiped away the perspiration.
'Tell me, please,' said Ivan Ivanitch, addressing an old man sitting on a little bench by a gate, 'where is Nastasya Petrovna Toskunov's house?'
'There is no one called Toskunov here,' said the old man, after pondering a moment. 'Perhaps it's Timoshenko you want.'
'No, Toskunov. . . .'
'Excuse me, there's no one called Toskunov. . . .'
Ivan Ivanitch shrugged his shoulders and trudged on farther.
'You needn't look,' the old man called after them. 'I tell you there isn't, and there isn't.'
'Listen, auntie,' said Ivan Ivanitch, addressing an old woman who was sitting at a corner with a tray of pears and sunflower seeds, 'where is Nastasya Petrovna Toskunov's house?'
The old woman looked at him with surprise and laughed.
'Why, Nastasya Petrovna live in her own house now!' she cried. 'Lord! it is eight years since she married her daughter and gave up the house to her son-in-law! It's her son-in-law lives there now.'
And her eyes expressed: 'How is it you didn't know a simple thing like that, you fools?'
'And where does she live now?' Ivan Ivanitch asked.
'Oh, Lord!' cried the old woman, flinging up her hands in surprise. 'She moved ever so long ago! It's eight years since she gave up her house to her son-in-law! Upon my word!'
She probably expected Ivan Ivanitch to be surprised, too, and to exclaim: 'You don't say so,' but Ivan Ivanitch asked very calmly:
'Where does she live now?'
The old woman tucked up her sleeves and, stretching out her bare arm to point, shouted in a shrill piercing voice:
'Go straight on, straight on, straight on. You will pass a little red house, then you will see a little alley on your left. Turn down that little alley, and it will be the third gate on the right. . . .'
