The Complete Novels of Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Fyodor Dostoyevsky

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Fatherland sitting writing notes. … A very fine object. A most edifying magazine. And what a thick one! What a job to publish such an omnibus! And the information in it almost makes one’s eyes start out of one’s head. I came in the other day, the volume was lying here, I took it up and from curiosity opened it and reeled off three pages at a go. It made me simply gape, my dear! And, you know, there is information about everything; what is meant, for instance, by a broom, a spade, a ladle, an ovenrake. To my thinking, a broom is a broom and an ovenrake an ovenrake!

      No, my boy, wait a bit. According to the learned, an ovenrako turns out not an ovenrake, but an emblem or something mythological; I don’t remember exactly, but something of the sort… . So that’s how it is! They have gone into everything!”

      I don’t know what precisely Foma was preparing to do after this fresh outburst from my uncle, but at that moment Gavrila appeared and stood with bowed head in the doorway.

      Foma Fomitch glanced at him significantly.

      “Ready, Gavrila?” he asked in a faint but resolute voice.

      “Yes, sir,” Gavrila answered mournfully, and heaved a sigh.

      “And have you put my bundle on the cart?”

      “Yes, sir.”

      “Well, then, I am ready too!” said Foma, and he deliLxr-ately go up from his easy-chair. My uncle looked at him in amazement. Madame la Générale jumped up from her seat ana looked about her uneasily.

      “Allow me, Colonel,” Foma began with dignity, “to ask you to leave for a moment the interesting subject of literary ovenrakes; you can continue it after I am gone. As I am taking leave of you for ever, I should like to say a few last words to you ——

      Every listener was spellbound with alarm and amazement.

      “Foma! Foma! but what is the matter with you? Where are you going?” my uncle cried at last.

      “I am about to leave your house, Colonel,” Foma brought out in a perfectly composed voice. “I have made up my mind to go where fortune takes me, and so I have hired at my own expense a humble peasant’s cart. My bundle is lying in it already, it is of no great dimensions’ a few favourite books, two changes of linen — that is all! I am a poor man, Yegor Ilyitch, but nothing in the world would induce me now to take your gold, which I refused even yesterday!”

      “But for God’s sake, Foma, what is the meaning of it?” cried my uncle, turning as white as a sheet.

      Madame la Générale uttered a shriek and looked in despair at Foma Fomitch, stretching out her hands to him. Miss Perepelitsyn flew to support her. The lady companions sat petrified in their chairs. Mr. Bahtcheyev got up heavily from his seat.

      “Well, here’s a pretty to-do!” Mizintchikov whispered beside me.

      At that moment a distant rumble of thunder was heard, a storm was coming on.

      CHAPTER IV

      THE EXPULSION

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       “YOU ask me, I believe, Colonel, what is the meaning of this?” Foma brought out with a solemn dignity, as though enjoying the general consternation. “I am surprised at the question I Will you on your side explain how it is you can bring yourself to look me in the face now? Explain to me this last psychological problem in human shamelessness, and then I shall depart, the richer for new knowledge of the depravity of the human race.”

      But my uncle was not equal to answering him. With open mouth and staring eyes he gazed at Foma, alarmed and annihilated.

      “Merciful heavens! What passions!’’ hissed Miss Perepelitsyn.

      “Do you understand, Colonel,” Foma went on, “that you had better let me go now, simply without asking questions? In your house even I, a man of years and understanding, begin to feel the purity of my morals gravely endangered. Believe me, that your questions can lead to nothing but putting you to shame.”

      “Foma! Foma!” cried my uncle, and a cold perspiration came out on his forehead.

      “And so allow me without further explanation to say a few farewell words at parting, my last words in your house, Yegor Ilyitch. The thing is done and there is no undoing it! I hope that you understand to what I am referring. But I implore you on my knees: if one spark of moral feeling is left in your heart, curb your unbridled passions! And if the noxious poison has not yet caught the whole edifice, then, as far as possible, extinguish the fire!”

      “Foma, I assure you that you are in error!” cried my uncle, recovering himself little by little and foreseeing with horror the climax.

      “Moderate your passions,” Foma continued in the same solemn voice, as though he had not heard my uncle’s exclamation, “conquer yourself. ‘If thou would’st conquer all the world — conquer thyself.’ That is my invariable rule. You are a landowner; you ought to shine like a diamond in your estate, and what a vile example of unbridled passion you set your inferiors! I have been praying for you the whole night, and trembled as I sought for your happiness. I did not find it, for happiness lies in virtue…

      “But this is impossible, Foma!” my uncle interrupted him again. “You have misunderstood and what you say is quite wrong.”

      “And so remember you are a landowner,” Foma went on, still regaidless of my uncle’s exclamations. “Do not imagine that repose and sensuality are the destined vocation of the landowning class. Fatal thought! Not repose, but zealous work, zealous towards God, towards your sovereign, and towards your country! Hard work, hard work is the duty of the landowner, he should work as hard as the poorest of his peasants!”

      “What, am I to plough for the peasant, or what?” growled Bahtcheyev. “Why, I am a landowner, too. …”

      “I turn to you now, servants ot the house,” Foma went on, addres-mg Gavrila and Falaley, who had appeared in the doorway. “Love your master and and his family, and obey them humbly and meekly, and they will reward you with their love. And you, Colonel, be just and compassionate to them. A fellow-man — the image of God — like a child of tender years, so to say, is entrusted to you by your sovereign and your country. Great is the duty, but great also is the merit.”

      “Foma Fomitch, my dear man, what notion is this?” cried Madame la Générale in despair, almost swooning with horror.

      “Well, that is enough, I think,” Foma concluded, paying no attention even to Madame la Generale. “Now to lesser things; they may be small, but they are essential, Yegor Ilyitch. Your hay on the Harinsky waste has not been cut yet. Do not bo too late with it: mow it and mow it quickly. That is my advice. …”

      “But, Foma …”

      “You meant to cut down the Zyryanovsky copse, I know; don’t cut it — that’s a second piece of advice. Preserve forest land, for trees retain humidity on the surface of the earth. It is a pity that you have sown the spring corn so late; it’s amazing how late you have been in sowing the spring corn! …”

      “But, Foma …”

      “But enough! One cannot convey everything, and indeed there is not time I will send you written instructions in a special book. Well, goodbye, goodbye all, God be with you, and the Lord bless you. I bless you too, my child,” he went on, turning to Ilyusha; “and may God keep you from the noxious poison of your passions. I bless you too, Falaley; forget the Komarinsky! … And all of you… . Remember Foma… . Well, let us go, Gavrila! Come and help me in, old man.”

      And Foma turned towards the door. Madame la Générale gave a piercing shriek and flew after him.

      “No, Foma, I will not let you go like this,” cried my uncle, and overtaking him, he seized him by the hand.

      “So you mean to have

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