Part 28 (1/2)

He drove rather slowly by cross tracks, without any special adventures; only once the tire of a hind wheel broke; a blacksmith hammered and welded it, swearing both at the tire and at himself, and positively flung up the job; luckily it turned out that among us one can travel capitally even with a tire broken, especially on the 'soft,' that's to say on the mud. On the other hand, Litvinov did come upon some rather curious chance-meetings. At one place he found a Board of Mediators sitting, and at the head of it Pishtchalkin, who made on him the impression of a Solon or a Solomon, such lofty wisdom characterised his remarks, and such boundless respect was shown him both by landowners and peasants.... In exterior, too, he had begun to resemble a sage of antiquity; his hair had fallen off the crown of his head, and his full face had completely set in a sort of solemn jelly of positively blatant virtue. He expressed his pleasure at Litvinov's arrival in--'if I may make bold to use so ambitious an expression, my own district,' and altogether seemed fairly overcome by an excess of excellent intentions.

One piece of news he did, however, succeed in communicating, and that was about Voros.h.i.+lov; the hero of the Golden Board had re-entered military service, and had already had time to deliver a lecture to the officers of his regiment on Buddhism or Dynamism, or something of the sort--Pishtchalkin could not quite remember. At the next station it was a long while before the horses were in readiness for Litvinov; it was early dawn, and he was dozing as he sat in his coach. A voice, that struck him as familiar, waked him up; he opened his eyes.... Heavens!

wasn't it Gubaryov in a grey pea-jacket and full flapping pyjamas standing on the steps of the posting hut, swearing?... No, it wasn't Mr.

Gubaryov.... But what a striking resemblance!... Only this worthy had a mouth even wider, teeth even bigger, the expression of his dull eyes was more savage and his nose coa.r.s.er, and his beard thicker, and the whole countenance heavier and more repulsive.

'Scou-oundrels, scou-oundrels!' he vociferated slowly and viciously, his wolfish mouth gaping wide. 'Filthy louts.... Here you have ... vaunted freedom indeed ... and can't get horses ... scou-oundrels!'

'Scou-oundrels, scou-oundrels!' thereupon came the sound of another voice from within, and at the same moment there appeared on the steps--also in a grey smoking pea-jacket and pyjamas--actually, unmistakably, the real Gubaryov himself, Stepan Nikolaevitch Gubaryov.

'Filthy louts!' he went on in imitation of his brother (it turned out that the first gentleman was his elder brother, the man of the old school, famous for his fists, who had managed his estate). 'Flogging's what they want, that's it; a tap or two on the snout, that's the sort of freedom for them.... Self-government indeed.... I'd let them know it....

But where is that M'sieu Roston?... What is he thinking about?... It's his business, the lazy scamp ... to see we're not put to inconvenience.'

'Well, I told you, brother,' began the elder Gubaryov, 'that he was a lazy scamp, no good in fact! But there, for the sake of old times, you ... M'sieu Roston, M'sieu Roston!... Where have you got to?'

'Roston! Roston!' bawled the younger, the great Gubaryov. 'Give a good call for him, do brother Dorimedont Nikolaitch!'

'Well, I am shouting for him, Stepan Nikolaitch! M'sieu Roston!'

'Here I am, here I am, here I am!' was heard a hurried voice, and round the corner of the hut skipped Bambaev.

Litvinov fairly gasped. On the unlucky enthusiast a shabby braided coat, with holes in the elbows, dangled ruefully; his features had not exactly changed, but they looked pinched and drawn together; his over-anxious little eyes expressed a cringing timorousness and hungry servility; but his dyed whiskers stood out as of old above his swollen lips. The Gubaryov brothers with one accord promptly set to scolding him from the top of the steps; he stopped, facing them below, in the mud, and with his spine curved deprecatingly, he tried to propitiate them with a little nervous smile, kneading his cap in his red fingers, s.h.i.+fting from one foot to the other, and muttering that the horses would be here directly.... But the brothers did not cease, till the younger at last cast his eyes upon Litvinov. Whether he recognised Litvinov, or whether he felt ashamed before a stranger, anyway he turned abruptly on his heels like a bear, and gnawing his beard, went into the station hut; his brother held his tongue at once, and he too, turning like a bear, followed him in. The great Gubaryov, evidently, had not lost his influence even in his own country.

Bambaev was slowly moving after the brothers.... Litvinov called him by his name. He looked round, lifted up his head, and recognising Litvinov, positively flew at him with outstretched arms; but when he had run up to the carriage, he clutched at the carriage door, leaned over it, and began sobbing violently.

'There, there, Bambaev,' protested Litvinov, bending over him and patting him on the shoulder.

But he went on sobbing. 'You see ... you see ... to what....' he muttered brokenly.

'Bambaev!' thundered the brothers from the hut.

Bambaev raised his head and hurriedly wiped his tears.

'Welcome, dear heart,' he whispered, 'welcome and farewell!... You hear, they are calling me.'

'But what chance brought you here?' inquired Litvinov, 'and what does it all mean? I thought they were calling a Frenchman....'

'I am their ... house-steward, butler,' answered Bambaev, and he pointed in the direction of the hut. 'And I'm turned Frenchman for a joke. What could I do, brother? You see, I'd nothing to eat, I'd lost my last farthing, and so one's forced to put one's head under the yoke. One can't afford to be proud.'

'But has he been long in Russia? and how did he part from his comrades?'

'Ah, my boy, that's all on the shelf now.... The wind's changed, you see.... Madame Suhantchikov, Matrona Semyonovna, he simply kicked out.

She went to Portugal in her grief.'

'To Portugal? How absurd!'

'Yes, brother, to Portugal, with two Matronovtsys.'

'With whom?'