Fifty-Two Stories

AFTER A STROLL, Mashenka Pavletskaya, a girl who had just finished her courses at boarding school, came back to the Kushkins’ house, where she lived as a governess, to find an extraordinary commotion. The porter Mikhailo, who opened the door for her, was agitated and red as a lobster.

Noise came from upstairs.

“The mistress is probably having a fit…,” thought Mashenka, “or she’s quarreled with her husband…”

In the front hall and in the corridor she met housemaids. One of the maids was weeping. Then Mashenka saw the master himself, Nikolai Sergeich, a short man, not yet old, with a flabby face and a big bald spot, come running out of her room. He was red in the face. His body was twitching…He passed by the governess without noticing her, and, raising his arms, exclaimed:

“Oh, how terrible this is! How tactless! How stupid! Wild! Disgusting!”

Mashenka went into her room, and here for the first time in her life she experienced in all its keenness that feeling so familiar to dependent, uncomplaining people who live by the bread of the rich and well-born. In her room a search was going on. The mistress, Fedosya Vassilyevna, a buxom, broad-shouldered lady with bushy black eyebrows, bareheaded and angular, with a scarcely noticeable little moustache and red hands, in face and manners more resembling a simple kitchen maid, was standing by the governess’s desk, putting balls of yarn, scraps of cloth and paper, back into her work bag…Obviously the governess’s appearance was unexpected, because, turning and seeing her pale, astonished face, the mistress became slightly embarrassed and murmured:

“Pardon, I…I accidentally spilled…caught it on my sleeve…”

And saying something more, Madame Kushkin rustled her train and left. Mashenka cast an astonished glance around her room and, understanding nothing, having no idea what to think, hunched her shoulders and went cold with fear…What had Fedosya Vassilyevna been looking for in her bag? If indeed, as she said, she had caught it on her sleeve and spilled things, why then had Nikolai Sergeich come running out of the room so red-faced and agitated? Why was one of the desk drawers pulled slightly open? The piggy bank, in which the governess put small change and old stamps, had been unlocked. But whoever had unlocked it had not managed to lock it again and had only left scratches around the lock. The bookshelf, the desktop, the bed—everything bore fresh traces of a search. The linen basket, too. The linen was neatly folded, but not in the order Mashenka had left it in when she went out for her stroll. It meant the search had been a real one, quite real, but why, for what? What had happened? Mashenka recalled the porter’s agitation, the commotion that was still going on, the weeping maid; did it all have to do with the just-performed search? Was she mixed up in something terrible? Mashenka turned pale and, cold all over, sank onto the linen basket.

A maid came into the room.

“Liza, do you know why they…searched me?” asked the governess.

“The lady’s two-thousand-rouble brooch has disappeared…,” said Liza.

“Yes, but why search me?”

“Everybody got searched, miss. They searched me all over…They stripped us all naked and searched us…And me, miss, I swear to God…Never mind the lady’s brooch, I never even went near her dressing table. I’ll say the same to the police.”

“But…why search me?” the governess went on in perplexity.

“I’m telling you, the brooch got stolen…The lady went through everything with her own hands. She even searched the porter Mikhailo. A real shame! Nikolai Sergeich just stares and clucks like a hen. And you’re trembling for nothing, miss. She didn’t find anything in your room. Since you didn’t take the brooch, you’ve got nothing to be afraid of.”

“But it’s mean, Liza…it’s insulting!” said Mashenka, choking with indignation. “It’s vile, base! What right does she have to suspect me and rummage through my things?”

“You live among strangers, miss,” sighed Liza. “You’re from gentlefolk, but all the same…it’s as if you’re a servant…It’s not like living with papa and mama…”

Mashenka collapsed on her bed and wept bitterly. Never before had she been so violated, never before had she been so deeply insulted as now…She, a well-brought-up, sensitive girl, a teacher’s daughter, had been suspected of theft, had been searched like a streetwalker! It seemed impossible to think up a worse insult. And to this feeling of offense was added an oppressive fear: what now?! All sorts of absurdities filled her head. If it was possible to suspect her of theft, it meant she could now be arrested, stripped naked and searched, then led down the street under guard, put in a dark, cold cell with mice and woodlice, exactly like the one in which Princess Tarakanova¹ was confined. Who will stand up for her? Her parents live far away in the provinces; they have no money to come to her. She is alone in the capital, as in an empty field, with no relations or acquaintances. They can do whatever they like with her.