The Cathedral Clergy: A Chronicle

Chapter 11

Chapter 11 While the above scene between Mrs. Bizyukina’s newly arrived guests was taking place, Darya Nikolaevna assembled all her servants and launched an intensive operation to restore her living quarters. Overjoyed at learning that she did not have to lead a Spartan existence, she even decided to give a small reception where she could demonstrate to her visitors her clear superiority over small-town society, where she, a sensitive and vivacious woman, was wasting away unappreciated and misunderstood. Everyone worked at full speed and made rapid progress: the rooms were soon spruced up. Darya Nikolaevna worked, too; she stood on a table and personally arranged the pleats of the fluffy, white pink-lined curtains at her bedroom windows. Scarcely had the curtains been hung when all sorts of other fancy things crawled out of the dark storerooms into the light of day. Picture after picture appeared on the walls, the most exquisite screen stood by the fireplace, a black marble clock with a star-shaped pendulum found a place on the mantlepiece, and the tables were covered with expensive new cloths; lamps, porcelain, bronzes, figurines, and all sorts of knickknacks occupied every spot in the bedroom and living room where something could possibly be crammed or wedged. It made the whole house look like the logement [apartment] of a wealthy lady of the demimonde who acquired things haphazardly and for no reason. Right when the work was in full swing, Prepotensky, the teacher, made an appearance and gasped. Naturally he could by no means approve of such “affectations.” Quite reasonably, he did not understand how a “new woman” could display such immodesty before enterprising visitors from St. Petersburg unless she had completely lost her mind, and therefore Prepotensky just stood and stared at all the ostentation with a sarcastic smile. But when Darya Nikolaevna, paying no attention to him whatsoever, boldly instructed the servants, in the teacher’s presence, to remove the slip covers from the furniture, Prepotensky could restrain himself no longer and asked: “Aren’t you ashamed of yourself?” “Not in the least.” And then, again paying no attention to the astonished teacher, Mrs. Bizyukina had the trellis with green ivy, which had been carried out the day before, brought back in and placed behind the sofa, and then she CHAPTER 11 183 began arranging her best upholstered furniture to form the most enchanting nook in front of the fireplace. “This certainly takes a lot of nerve!” Prepotensky exclaimed and, moving to one side, he sat down and began leafing through a new book. “Just you wait—you’ll get bawled out for that!” Darya Nikolaevna said to him in place of a reply. “I’ll get bawled out? What for, ma’am?” “So you won’t dare to think like that.” “Who, may I ask, has the right to bawl me out? Who can forbid me to have honest thoughts?…” But at that moment Termosesov could be heard coughing, and Mrs. Bizyukina told Prepotensky abruptly and decisively: “Listen, please get out of here!” This was so unexpected that he did not even fully comprehend the harsh meaning of her words, and she was obliged to repeat her command. “What do you mean ‘get out’?” Prepotensky questioned her in amazement. “Just what I said—it’s very simple. I don’t want you in my house anymore.” “No, listen … you aren’t serious, are you?” “I couldn’t be more serious.” More stirring could be heard in the guest room. “I’m asking you, Prepotensky—get out!” Mrs. Bizyukina exclaimed impatiently. “You hear me—out!” “Just a minute now … I’m not interfering with anything, after all.” “No, that’s not true! You are!” “Then I can stop, you know.” “Oh, no, you can’t,” his hostess insisted with impatient annoyance, trying to pull her guest out of his seat. But Prepotensky also displayed determination and calmly but persistently pressed for an explanation as to why she thought he could not stop interfering. “Because you’re a complete idiot!” Madame Bizyukina finally screamed, furious. “Ah, that’s another matter,” Prepotensky replied, rising from his seat. “But in that case please let me have my bones back…” “Go ask Yermoshka for them. I gave them to him to throw out.” “Throw out!” cried the teacher and dashed into the kitchen; when he returned half an hour later, Darya Nikolaevna had put on such a dazzling gown that when the teacher saw her, he actually reeled and clutched...