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Page 18
Several years passed, and family circumstances compelled me to settle in
the poor little village of M---. Occupied with agricultural pursuits, I
ceased not to sigh in secret for my former noisy and careless life. The
most difficult thing of all was having to accustom myself to passing the
spring and winter evenings in perfect solitude. Until the hour for
dinner I managed to pass away the time somehow or other, talking with
the bailiff, riding about to inspect the work, or going round to look at
the new buildings; but as soon as it began to get dark, I positively did
not know what to do with myself. The few books that I had found in the
cupboards and storerooms I already knew by heart. All the stories that
my housekeeper Kirilovna could remember I had heard over and over again.
The songs of the peasant women made me feel depressed. I tried drinking
spirits, but it made my head ache; and moreover, I confess I was afraid
of becoming a drunkard from mere chagrin, that is to say, the saddest
kind of drunkard, of which I had seen many examples in our district.
I had no near neighbors, except two or three topers, whose conversation
consisted for the most part of hiccups and sighs. Solitude was
preferable to their society. At last I decided to go to bed as early as
possible, and to dine as late as possible; in this way I shortened the
evening and lengthened out the day, and I found that the plan answered
very well.
Four versts from my house was a rich estate belonging to the Countess
B---; but nobody lived there except the steward. The Countess had only
visited her estate once, in the first year of her married life, and then
she had remained there no longer than a month. But in the second spring
of my hermitical life a report was circulated that the Countess, with
her husband, was coming to spend the summer on her estate. The report
turned out to be true, for they arrived at the beginning of June.
The arrival of a rich neighbor is an important event in the lives of
country people. The landed proprietors and the people of their
households talk about it for two months beforehand and for three years
afterwards. As for me, I must confess that the news of the arrival of a
young and beautiful neighbor affected me strongly. I burned with
impatience to see her, and the first Sunday after her arrival I set out
after dinner for the village of A---, to pay my respects to the Countess
and her husband, as their nearest neighbor and most humble servant. A
lackey conducted me into the Count's study, and then went to announce
me. The spacious apartment was furnished with every possible luxury.
Around the walls were cases filled with books and surmounted by bronze
busts; over the marble mantelpiece was a large mirror; on the floor was
a green cloth covered with carpets. Unaccustomed to luxury in my own
poor corner, and not having seen the wealth of other people for a long
time, I awaited the appearance of the Count with some little
trepidation, as a suppliant from the provinces awaits the arrival of the
minister. The door opened, and a handsome-looking man, of about thirty-
two years of age, entered the room. The Count approached me with a frank
and friendly air; I endeavored to be self-possessed and began to
introduce myself, but he anticipated me. We sat down. His conversation,
which was easy and agreeable, soon dissipated my awkward bashfulness;
and I was already beginning to recover my usual composure, when the
Countess suddenly entered, and I became more confused than ever. She was
indeed beautiful. The Count presented me. I wished to appear at ease,
but the more I tried to assume an air of unconstraint, the more awkward
I felt. They, in order to give me time to recover myself and to become
accustomed to my new acquaintances, began to talk to each other,
treating me as a good neighbor, and without ceremony. Meanwhile, I
walked about the room, examining the books and pictures. I am no judge
of pictures, but one of them attracted my attention. It represented some
view in Switzerland, but it was not the painting that struck me, but the
circumstance that the canvas was shot through by two bullets, one
planted just above the other.
"A good shot that!" said I, turning to the Count.
"Yes," replied he, "a very remarkable shot. . . . Do you shoot well?" he
continued.
"Tolerably," replied I, rejoicing that the conversation had turned at
last upon a subject that was familiar to me. "At thirty paces I can
manage to hit a card without fail,--I mean, of course, with a pistol
that I am used to."
"Really?" said the Countess, with a look of the greatest interest. "And
you, my dear, could you hit a card at thirty paces?"
"Some day," replied the Count, "we will try. In my time I did not shoot
badly, but it is now four years since I touched a pistol."
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