The Complete Novels of Fyodor Dostoyevsky. Fyodor Dostoevsky

      Chapter 10

      At spas—and, probably, all over Europe—hotel landlords and managers are guided in their allotment of rooms to visitors, not so much by the wishes and requirements of those visitors, as by their personal estimate of the same. It may also be said that these landlords and managers seldom make a mistake. To the Grandmother, however, our landlord, for some reason or another, allotted such a sumptuous suite that he fairly overreached himself; for he assigned her a suite consisting of four magnificently appointed rooms, with bathroom, servants' quarters, a separate room for her maid, and so on. In fact, during the previous week the suite had been occupied by no less a personage than a Grand Duchess: which circumstance was duly explained to the new occupant, as an excuse for raising the price of these apartments. The Grandmother had herself carried—or, rather, wheeled—through each room in turn, in order that she might subject the whole to a close and attentive scrutiny; while the landlord—an elderly, bald-headed man—walked respectfully by her side.

      What every one took the Grandmother to be I do not know, but it appeared, at least, that she was accounted a person not only of great importance, but also, and still more, of great wealth; and without delay they entered her in the hotel register as "Madame la Generale, Princesse de Tarassevitcheva," although she had never been a princess in her life. Her retinue, her reserved compartment in the train, her pile of unnecessary trunks, portmanteaux, and strong-boxes, all helped to increase her prestige; while her wheeled chair, her sharp tone and voice, her eccentric questions (put with an air of the most overbearing and unbridled imperiousness), her whole figure—upright, rugged, and commanding as it was—completed the general awe in which she was held. As she inspected her new abode she ordered her chair to be stopped at intervals in order that, with finger extended towards some article of furniture, she might ply the respectfully smiling, yet secretly apprehensive, landlord with unexpected questions. She addressed them to him in French, although her pronunciation of the language was so bad that sometimes I had to translate them. For the most part, the landlord's answers were unsatisfactory, and failed to please her; nor were the questions themselves of a practical nature, but related, generally, to God knows what.

      For instance, on one occasion she halted before a picture which, a poor copy of a well-known original, had a mythological subject.

      "Of whom is this a portrait?" she inquired.

      The landlord explained that it was probably that of a countess.

      "But how know you that?" the old lady retorted.

      "You live here, yet you cannot say for certain! And why is the picture there at all? And why do its eyes look so crooked?"

      To all these questions the landlord could return no satisfactory reply, despite his floundering endeavours.

      "The blockhead!" exclaimed the Grandmother in Russian.

      Then she proceeded on her way—only to repeat the same story in front of a Saxon statuette which she had sighted from afar, and had commanded, for some reason or another, to be brought to her. Finally, she inquired of the landlord what was the value of the carpet in her bedroom, as well as where the said carpet had been manufactured; but, the landlord could do no more than promise to make inquiries.

      "What donkeys these people are!" she commented. Next, she turned her attention to the bed.

      "What a huge counterpane!" she exclaimed. "Turn it back, please." The lacqueys did so.

      "Further yet, further yet," the old lady cried. "Turn it RIGHT back. Also, take off those pillows and bolsters, and lift up the feather bed."

      The bed was opened for her inspection.

      "Mercifully it contains no bugs," she remarked.

      "Pull off the whole thing, and then put on my own pillows and sheets. The place is too luxurious for an old woman like myself. It is too large for any one person. Alexis Ivanovitch, come and see me whenever you are not teaching your pupils."

      "After tomorrow I shall no longer be in the General's service," I replied, "but merely living in the hotel on my own account."

      "Why so?"

      "Because, the other day, there arrived from Berlin a German and his wife—persons of some importance; and, it chanced that, when taking a walk, I spoke to them in German without having properly compassed the Berlin accent."

      "Indeed?"

      "Yes: and this action on my part the Baron held to be an insult, and complained about it to the General, who yesterday dismissed me from his employ."

      "But I suppose you must have threatened that precious Baron, or something of the kind? However, even if you did so, it was a matter of no moment."

      "No, I did not. The Baron was the aggressor by raising his stick at me."

      Upon that the Grandmother turned sharply to the General.

      "What? You permitted yourself to treat your tutor thus, you nincompoop, and to dismiss him from his post? You are a blockhead—an utter blockhead! I can see that clearly."

      "Do not alarm yourself, my dear mother," the General replied with a lofty air—an air in which there was also a tinge of familiarity. "I am quite capable of managing my own affairs. Moreover, Alexis Ivanovitch has not given you a true account of the matter."

      "What did you do next?" The old lady inquired of me.

      "I wanted to challenge the Baron to a duel," I replied as modestly as possible; "but the General protested against my doing so."

      "And WHY did you so protest?" she inquired of the General. Then she turned to the landlord, and questioned him as to whether HE would not have fought a duel, if challenged. "For," she added, "I can see no difference between you and the Baron; nor can I bear that German visage of yours." Upon this the landlord bowed and departed, though he could not have understood the Grandmother's compliment.

      "Pardon me, Madame," the General continued with a sneer, "but are duels really feasible?"

      "Why not? All men are crowing cocks, and that is why they quarrel. YOU, though, I perceive, are a blockhead—a man who does not even know how to carry his breeding. Lift me up. Potapitch, see to it that you always have TWO bearers ready.