New
Year's Eve Party and a Wedding
(From
notes of an unknown)
Translated
by Mark Melton
The other day I saw a wedding... But no!
Better to tell you about the New Year's Eve party. The wedding was lovely;
I liked it very much, but the other event is even better. I don't know
how, exactly, while watching this wedding, I remembered this New Year's
Eve party. Here's how it all happened. Exactly five years ago, on New
Year's Eve, I was invited to a children's ball. The person who invited
me was a certain well known businessman, with connections, intrigues,
so one could even think that the children's ball was a pretext for parents
to get together and discuss their various business matters in an innocent,
incidental manner. I was somewhat of an outsider; devoid of any business
matters, and because of that I spent the evening relatively unregarded.
There was also one gentleman present, who it seemed, was no relation
to anyone at the ball, but somewhat like myself, happened to be at the
family celebration. He caught my attention before anyone else. He was
a tall, somewhat thin man, rather serious looking, and quite well dressed.
But it was apparent that celebrating and familial joy were the last
things on his mind: whenever he found himself alone in a corner, he
immediately ceased smiling and furrowed his thick, black eyebrows. Apart
from the host, he did not know a single soul at the ball. It was apparent
that he was terribly bored, but that he was enduring bravely, until
the end, the role of a thoroughly amused and joyful person. I found
out afterwards, that this was a gentleman from the provinces, who had
some kind of pending, nerve-racking business in the capital, who brought
our host a letter of recommendation, which our host honored not at all
con amore and invited him to the ball only out of courtesy. He wasn't
asked to play cards, wasn't offered a cigar, no one attempted to engage
him in conversation, perhaps recognizing the bird by its feathers from
afar, and therefore my gentleman was obliged, if only to keep his hands
busy, to spend the whole evening stroking his sideburns. The sideburns
truly were rather nice. But he stroked them with such fervor, that looking
at him, one could certainly think, that to begin with only the sideburns
were created, and only afterwards the gentleman added to them, in order
for them to be stroked.
Apart from this individual, who was in
such a manner taking part in the family celebrations of the host who
had five well-fed little boys, I also took a liking to another gentleman.
But this one was a totally different type. This was a "somebody". His
name was Julian Mastakovich. One could tell at first glance, that he
was an honored guest, and was on the same terms with the host, as the
host was with the gentleman stroking his sideburns. The host and hostess
drowned him with never-ending kindnesses, looked after him, fetched
drinks, fussed, took their guests over to him for recommendations but
did not take him over to anyone. I noticed the twinkling of a tear in
the host's eye, when Julian Mastakovich remarked by the by, that he
seldom gets to spend time in such a pleasant manner. I felt somehow
frightened in the presence of such a figure, and therefore, after admiring
the children, I retreated to a small guest room, which was completely
empty, and sat in the flowering arbor of the hostess, which took up
almost half the whole room.
The children were all unbelievably adorable,
and obstinately did not want to resemble the "grown-ups", regardless
of all the exhortations of governesses and mommies. They picked the
whole Christmas tree clean in an instant, to the very last candy, and
already managed to break half the toys, before finding out which one
was meant for whom. One boy was especially adorable; dark eyes, curls,
who kept wanting to shoot me with his wooden rifle. But most of all,
it was his sister who attracted my attention, a girl of around eleven
years of age, beautiful as an angel, quiet, thoughtful, pale, with huge,
thoughtful eyes. The children had upset her somehow, and that was why
she left them and came into the very same guestroom where I was sitting,
and busied herself in a corner with her doll. The guests were with respect
pointing out a certain merchant, her father, and someone would comment
in a whisper, that she already had three hundred thousand roubles put
away for her dowry. I turned around to catch a glimpse of those taking
interest in this circumstance, and my eyes fell on Julian Mastakovich,
who, holding his hands behind his back, his head lowered a little to
one side, was very intently listening in on the exaltations of those
people. Afterwards, I couldn't help but be in wonder at the wisdom of
the hosts when it came to giving out the presents to the children. The
girl already in possession of the three hundred thousand roubles dowry,
received the most extravagant doll. Afterwards, came presents of receding
quality, in accordance with the receding rank of the parents of all
those happy children. Finally, the last child, a boy around ten years
old, thin, small, freckled, red haired, received only a book of stories
about the greatness of nature, the tears of joy and so on, without pictures
and even without any art on the cover. He was the son of the governess
of the host's children, a certain poor widow, a boy who was extremely
downtrodden and frightened. He was dressed in a jacket made from cheap
cloth. Having received his book, he spent a long time walking near the
other toys; he terribly wanted to play with the other children, but
didn't dare; it was apparent, that he already felt and understood his
position. I very much like to observe children. It is incredibly interesting
to observe in them, the very first, independent emergence into life.
I noticed that the red-headed boy was to such a degree tempted by the
extravagant toys of the other children, especially by the theater, in
which he necessarily wanted to take on some kind of role, that he finally
decided to play up to them. He would smile and act playfully with the
other children, gave his apple to one thick-faced boy who had a whole
bag of sweets, and even allowed himself to be ridden by one, if only
not to be chased away from the theater. But after one minute, some rascal
gave him a solid beating. The child did not dare to cry. At that point
appeared the governess, his mother, and ordered him not to get in the
way of the playing of the other children. The child walked into the
very same guestroom where the girl was sitting. She allowed him to come
near, and both of them, with some fervor began dressing up the extravagant
doll.
I had been sitting for a half hour or
so already, in the vined arbor and almost began to doze off, listening
to the smalltalk of the red-headed boy and the beauty with a three hundred
thousand rouble dowry, busying themselves with the doll, when suddenly
into the room entered Julian Mastakovich. He took advantage of the scandalous
scene of the children fighting, and quietly slipped out from the main
hall. I noticed that a minute or so ago, he had been somewhat heatedly
speaking with the father of the future wealthy bride, whom he had just
met, over the priority of some civil service before another. Right now
he was standing in thought, and appeared to be making some calculations
using his fingers.
"Three hundred... Three hundred..." he
whispered. "Eleven... Twelve... Thirteen and so on... Sixteen - five
years! Lets say, at four times one hundred - 12, five times = 60, and
on that 60... well, lets say, in total after five years there'll be
- four hundred. Yes! Here... But surely he's not keeping four from every
hundred, the scoundrel! Could be, taking eight, or ten from each hundred...
Well, five hundred, lets say, five hundred thousand, at the very least,
that's for certain; well, a little extra in negligibles, hmm..."
He concluded his calculations, blew his
nose, and was about to leave the room, when suddenly he looked over
at the girl and stopped. He didn't see me behind the potted plants.
It appeared to me, that he was extremely nervous. Either his calculations
affected him, or it may have been something else, but he was rubbing
his hands together and could not stand still. This nervousness increased
to nec plus ultra, when he stopped and threw a different, decisive glance
at the future bride. He was about to move forward, but first looked
around. Then, tiptoeing, as if feeling guilty, began to approach the
child. He came over with a smile, bent over and kissed her head. She,
not expecting the assault, screamed from fright.
"And what are you doing here, dear child?"
He asked in a whisper, looking round and stroking the girl's cheek.
"Playing..."
"Ah? With him?" Julian Mastakovich looked
out of the corner of his eye at the boy.
"And you, dear heart, shouldn't you be
in the main hall?" He said to him.
The boy kept quiet and looked at him wide-eyed.
Julian Mastakovich again looked round, and again bent over the girl.
"And what's that you have there, a dolly,
dear child?" He asked.
"A dolly..." The girl answered, frowning,
and becoming a little timid.
"A dolly... And do you know, dear child,
what your dolly is made from?"
"Don't know..." The girl answered in a
whisper, totally lowering her head.
"From little rags, dear heart. And you,
boy, why don't you go to the main hall, to the other boys," said Julian
Mastakovich, looking sternly at the child. The girl and boy both frowned,
and grabbed each other. They did not wish to be parted.
"And do you know, why you were given this
dolly?" Asked Julian Mastakovich, lowering his voice more and more.
"Don't know..."
"Because you have been a dear and well
tempered child the whole week."
Here Julian Mastakovich, nervous to the
limit, looked all around, and lowering his voice further and further,
finally asked in an inaudible, almost perishing from nervousness and
anxiousness voice:
"And will you love me, dear girl, when
I come to call on your parents?"
Having said this, Julian Mastakovich wanted
to kiss the dear girl one more time, but the red-headed boy, seeing
that she was totally about to cry, grabbed her hands and began sobbing
from complete and utter sympathy for her. Julian Mastakovich became
angry beyond a joke.
"Away, away with you, away!" He was saying
to the boy. "Away to the hall! Away, to the other boys!"
"No, don't, don't! You go away," said
the girl, "leave him, leave him!" she was saying, almost completely
beginning to cry.
Someone made a racket in the doorway;
Julian Mastakovich immediately raised his majestic figure and became
frightened. But the redheaded boy was frightened of Julian Mastakovich
even more, let go of the girl and quietly, leaning against the wall,
walked from the guestroom into the dining room. So as not to raise suspicions,
Julian Mastakovich also went into the dining room. He was red as a lobster,
and having taken a look at himself in the mirror, almost disconcerted
his own self. It could be, he regretted his own hot-headedness and impatience.
Could be, he was so taken back by the calculations done on his fingers,
so tempted and inspired, that he, in spite of all his stature and status,
decided to act like a boy and directly border off his object, regardless
of the fact that the object could only be real at the very least five
years hence. I walked after the honorable gentleman into the dining
room and beheld a strange scene. Julian Mastakovich, completely red
from annoyance and anger, was terrorizing the red-headed boy, who, moving
away from him further and further, did not know where to run from fright.
"Away, what do you think you're doing
here, away, you louse, away! You're stealing fruit here, huh? Fruit
stealing, huh? Away you louse, away, you snotnose, away, away to the
other boys!"
The frightened boy, deciding on an extreme
measure, tried to crawl under the table. His vanquisher, flustered beyond
extreme, took out his fine cotton handkerchief, and began lashing at
the child in order to drive him from under the table. The child by this
point, was terrified to the last degree. It must be noted, that Julian
Mastakovich was somewhat portly. This was a person who was quite well
fed, rosy-cheeked, solid looking, with a belly, fat thighs, in a word,
what is called of a "strong build"; round as a walnut. He sweated, panted,
and became terribly red. Finally, he almost became wild, so great in
him was the feeling of indignation, and could be, (who knows?) jealousy.
I totally burst out laughing. Julian Mastakovich turned round and, in
spite of all his stature, fell to utter disconcertion. At this moment,
the host entered from the opposite door. The boy crawled from under
the table and began rubbing his knees and elbows. Julian Mastakovich
hurriedly brought the handkerchief, which he was holding by the corner
with one hand, up to his nose.
The host looked at the three of us with
some confusion; but, as a person well versed in life, and accustomed
to viewing it from a serious perspective, immediately took advantage
of catching his guest alone.
"There, that's the boy," he said, pointing
at the redhead, "about whom I had the honor to inquire..."
"Ah?" Answered Julian Mastakovich, having
not yet fully recovered.
"The son of the governess of my children,"
continued the host imploringly, "poor woman, widow, wife of a certain
honest civil servant; and therefore... Julian Mastakovich, if it would
be possible..."
"Ah, no, no," Julian Mastakovich exclaimed
hurriedly, "no, forgive me, Philip Alekseivich, completely impossible.
I made inquiries: no vacancy is available, and even if there was one,
there's already ten candidates lined up, with greatly higher qualifications
than him... Great pity, great pity..."
"Pity," repeated the host, "the boy's
modest, quiet..."
"A great rascal, as I have noticed," replied
Julian Mastakovich, screwing up his mouth, "away, boy, why are you standing
there, away to your friends!" He said, addressing the child.
Here, it seemed he was unable to restrain
himself, and looked over at me with one eye. I also couldn't hold back,
and burst out laughing directly into his face. Julian Mastakovich immediately
turned away, and quite within earshot of me asked the host, who was
this strange young man? They began to whisper and left the room. Afterwards
I saw Julian Mastakovich listening to the host and skeptically nodding
his head.
Having laughed to my satisfaction, I returned
to the main hall. There, a great man, surrounded by fathers and mothers
of the family, hostess and host, was heatedly speaking to a certain
lady, to whom he was only just introduced. The lady was holding by the
hand a child, the one with whom, ten minutes ago, Julian Mastakovich
had the scene in the guestroom. Now he was oozing compliments and exaltations
of the beauty, talents, graciousness and well behavior of the dear child.
He was noticeably playing the flatterer in front of the mother. The
mother listened to him almost with tears of joy. The lips of the father
were smiling. The host was rejoicing at the outpouring of communal joy.
Even all the guests sympathized, even the playing of the children was
stopped, so as not to get in the way of the conversation. The whole
air was filled of awe. I heard afterwards, how the mother of the interesting
girl, touched to the depths of her heart, was requesting, with carefully
selected expressions, of Julian Mastakovich to do her the special honor,
to grace their house with his priceless acquaintance; heard with what
genuine joy Julian Mastakovich accepted the invitation and how afterwards
the guests, having parted, as manners dictated, to separate sides, were
oozing compliments in front of each other, to the merchant, his wife,
the girl, and especially Julian Mastakovich.
"Is this gentleman married?" I asked,
almost out loud, of one of my acquaintances, who was standing closer
than all others to Julian Mastakovich.
Julian Mastakovich threw me a questioning
and malicious glance.
"No!" My acquaintance answered me, saddened
to the depths of his heart by my awkwardness, which I committed on purpose...
Recently
I was going past the ***skoy church; the crowd and gathering amazed
me. All around was talk of a wedding. The day was overcast, it was beginning
to frost; I made my way into the church after the crowd and saw the
groom. He was a small, round, well-fed little man with a belly, rather
dolled up. He ran around, fussed and gave orders. Finally word came,
that the bride had arrived. I squeezed my way through the crowd and
saw a wondrous beauty, whose first Spring had only just arrived. But
the beauty was pale and sad. She looked about as if lost; it even seemed
to me, that her eyes were red from recent tears. The antique strictness
of each feature of her face added a kind of stature and grandeur to
her beauty. But through this strictness and stature, through this sadness
shined forth still the very first childlike, innocent countenance; appeared
something to the limit naive, unsettled, juvenile and, it seemed, without
request, of itself imploring of mercy.
It was said, that she had only just turned
sixteen. Having looked intently at the groom, I suddenly recognized
Julian Mastakovich, whom I had not seen for exactly five years. I looked
over at her... My God! I quickly began to push my way out of the church.
There was talk through the crowd, that the bride was wealthy, that the
bride has five hundred thousand in dowry... And something or other on
top in negligibles...
"But really, the calculations were solid!"
thought I, having pushed my way out into the street...
Translation Copyright © 2001 Mark Melton
