The Enchanted Wanderer and Other Stories

A Little Mistake

A Moscow Family Secret

I

One evening, at Christmastime, a sensible company sat talking about faith and lack of faith. The talk, however, had to do not with the loftier questions of deism and materialism, but with faith in people endowed with special powers of foresight and prophecy, and perhaps even their own sort of wonderworking. Among the listeners was a staid man from Moscow, who said the following:

“It’s not easy, my good sirs, to judge about who lives with faith and who is without faith, for there are various applications of that in life: it may happen in such cases that our reason falls into error.”

And after that introduction he told us a curious story, which I shall try to convey in his own words:

My uncle and aunt were both equally devoted to the late wonderworker Ivan Yakovlevich.¹ Especially my aunt—she wouldn’t undertake anything without asking him. First she would go to him in the madhouse and get his advice, and then she would ask him to pray for her undertaking. My uncle kept his own counsel and relied less on Ivan Yakovlevich, though he also confided in him occasionally and did not hinder his wife’s bringing him gifts and offerings. They were not rich people, but quite well-to-do—they sold tea and sugar from a shop in their own house. They had no sons, but there were three daughters: Kapitolina Nikitishna, Katerina Nikitishna, and Olga Nikitishna. They were all quite pretty and were good at housekeeping and all sorts of handwork. Kapitolina Nikitishna was married, only not to a merchant, but to a painter—though he was a very good man and earned money enough: he took profitable commissions for decorating churches. One unpleasant thing for the whole family was that, while he worked on godly things, he was also versed in some sort of freethinking from Kurganov’s Pistnovnik.² He liked to talk about Chaos, about Ovid, about Prometheus, and was fond of comparing fables with sacred history. If not for that, everything would have been fine. Another thing was that they had no children, and my uncle and aunt were very upset about it. They had seen only their first daughter married, and suddenly she remained childless for three years. Owing to that, suitors started avoiding the other sisters.

My aunt asked Ivan Yakovlevich how it happened that her daughter did not have children: “They’re both young and handsome,” she said, “yet there are no children?”

Ivan Yakovlevich began to mutter:

“There’s a heaven of heavens, a heaven of heavens.”

His women prompters translated for my aunt: “The dear father says to tell your son-in-law to pray to God, for it must be that he’s of little faith.”

My aunt simply gasped: “Everything’s revealed to him,” she said. And she started badgering the painter to go to confession; but to him it was all horsefeathers! He treated it all very lightly … even ate meat on fast days … and besides that, they heard indirectly, he supposedly ate worms and oysters. Yet they all lived in the same house and were often distressed that in their merchant family there was such a man of no faith.

II

So my aunt went to Ivan Yakovlevich to ask him to pray that the servant of God Kapitolina’s womb be opened and that the servant of God Lary (that was the painter’s name) be enlightened by faith.

My uncle and aunt asked it together.

Ivan Yakovlevich began to babble something that couldn’t be understood at all, and the attendant women sitting around him explained:

“He’s not very clear today,” they said, “but tell us what you’re asking, and we’ll give him a little note tomorrow.”

My aunt began to tell them, and they wrote down: “Servant of God Kapitolina to have womb opened, and servant of God Lary to have faith increased.”

The old folk left this petitionary little note and went home stepping lightly.

At home they said nothing to anyone except Kapochka alone, and then only so that she shouldn’t tell her husband, the faithless painter, but simply live with him as tenderly and harmoniously as possible, and watch to see if he would get closer to faith in Ivan Yakovlevich. But he was a terrible man for cursing and as full of little sayings as a clown from Presnya.³ Everything was jokes and quips with him. He’d come to his father-in-law of an evening: “Let’s go and read the fifty-two-page prayer book,” he’d say, meaning play cards … Or he’d sit down and say: “On condition that we play till the first swoon.”

My aunt simply couldn’t listen to such words. My uncle said to him, “Don’t upset her so: she loves you and has made a promise for you.” He started laughing and said to his mother-in-law:

“Why do you make unwitting promises? Or don’t you know that because of such a promise John the Baptist had his head cut off?⁴ Watch out, there may be some unexpected misfortune in our house.”

This frightened his mother-in-law still more, and every day, in her anxiety, she went running to the madhouse. There they calmed her down—said things were going well: the dear father read their note each day, and what was now written there would soon come true.

And suddenly it did come true, but how it came true I’m reluctant to say.

III

My aunt’s second daughter, Katechka, comes to her, and falls right at her feet, and sobs, and weeps bitterly.

My aunt asks:

“What’s wrong—has someone offended you?”

The girl answers through her tears:

“Dearest mama, I myself don’t know what it is or why … it’s the first and last time it’s happened … Only conceal my sin from papa.”

My aunt looked at her, poked her finger right into her belly, and said:

“Is it here?”

Katechka replies:

“Yes, mama … how did you guess … I myself don’t know why …”

My aunt only gasped and clasped her hands.

“My child,” she says, “don’t even try to find out: it may be that I’m guilty of a mistake, I’ll go at once and find out,” and she flew off at once in a cab to Ivan Yakovlevich.

“Show me the note,” she says, “with our request that the dear father ask the fruit of the womb for the servant of God: how is it written?”

The hangers-on found it on the windowsill and handed it to her.

My aunt looked and nearly went out of her mind. What do you think? It all actually came about through a mistaken prayer, because instead of the servant of God Kapitolina, who was married, there was written the servant of God Katerina, who was still unmarried, a maiden.

The women say:

“Just imagine, what a sin! The names are very similar … but never mind, it can be set right.”

But my aunt thought: “No, nonsense, you can’t set it right now: Katya’s been prayed for,” and she tore the note into little pieces.

IV

The main thing was their fear of telling my uncle. He was the sort of man who was hard to calm down once he got going. Besides, he loved Katya least of all, and his favorite daughter was the youngest, Olenka—it was to her he had promised the most.

My aunt thought and thought and saw that her mind alone could not think over this calamity—she invited her painter son-in-law to a council and revealed everything to him in detail, and then begged:

“Though you have no faith,” she says, “there may be some feeling in you—please take pity on Katya, help me to conceal her maidenly sin.”

The painter suddenly scowled and said sternly:

“Excuse me, please, but first of all, though you’re my wife’s mother, I resent being considered a man of no faith, and, second of all, I don’t understand what can be counted as Katya’s sin here, if Ivan Yakovlevich has been pleading so long for her. I have all a brother’s feelings for Katechka, and I’ll stand up for her, because she’s not to blame for anything here.”

My aunt bit her fingers and wept, saying:

“Well … how not for anything?”

“Of course, not for anything. It’s your wonderworker who made a mess of it, and he’s got to answer for it.”

“How can he answer for it? He’s a righteous man.”

“Well, if he’s righteous, then keep quiet. Send me Katya with three bottles of champagne.”

My aunt asked him to repeat himself:

“What’s that?”

And again he answers:

“With three bottles of champagne—one right now to me in my rooms, and two later, I’ll tell you where, but keep them ready here at home and on ice.”

My aunt looked at him and only shook her head.

“God help you,” she said. “I thought you only had no faith, though you paint holy images, but it turns out you have no feelings at all … That’s why I cannot venerate your icons.”

And he replied:

“No, leave off about faith: it seems it’s you who have doubts and keep thinking about nature, as if Katya had her own reasons here, but I firmly believe that Ivan Yakovlevich alone is the cause of it all; and you’ll see my feelings when you send Katya to my studio with champagne.”

V

My aunt thought and thought, and did send the wine to the painter with Katechka herself. She came in with the tray, all in tears, but he jumped up, seized her by the arms, and wept himself.

“My little dove,” he said, “I grieve at what’s happened to you, but there’s no time for nodding over it—quickly let me in on all your secrets.”

The girl confided her mischief to him, and he locked her in his studio with a key.

My aunt met her son-in-law with teary eyes and said nothing. But he embraced her and kissed her and said:

“Now, don’t be afraid, don’t weep. Maybe God will help.”

“Tell me,” my aunt whispered, “who’s to blame for it all?”

But the painter tenderly shook his finger at her and said:

“That’s not nice: you yourself constantly reproach me with having no faith, and now, when your faith is being tested, I see you haven’t any faith at all. Isn’t it clear to you that there’s no one to blame, and the wonderworker simply made a little mistake?”

“But where is my poor Katechka?”

“I charmed her with a fearsome painter’s charm and—poof!—she disappeared.”

And he showed his mother-in-law the key.

My aunt realized that he had hidden the girl from her father’s first wrath, and she embraced him.

She whispered:

“Forgive me—there are tender feelings in you.”

VI

My uncle came, had his tea as usual, and said:

“Well, shall we read the fifty-two-page prayer book?”

They sat down. And the family closed all the doors around them and went about on tiptoe. My aunt now moved away from the door, then went up to it again—listening and crossing herself.

Finally, something clanked in there … She ran off and hid.

“He’s revealed it,” she says, “he’s revealed the secret! Now there’ll be a hellish performance.”

And just so: all at once the door opened, and my uncle cried out:

“My overcoat and my big stick!”

The painter holds him back by the arm and says:

“What is it? Where are you going?”

My uncle says:

“I’m going to the madhouse to give the wonderworker a thrashing!”

My aunt moaned behind the other door.

“Quick,” she says, “run to the madhouse, have them hide our dear Ivan Yakovlevich!”

And indeed my uncle would have thrashed him for certain, but his painter son-in-law kept him from it by frightening him with his own faith.

VII

The son-in-law started reminding his father-in-law that he had one more daughter.

“Never mind,” my uncle says, “she’ll have her portion, but I want to thrash Koreisha. Let them take me to court afterwards.”

“But I’m not frightening you with court,” says the painter. “Look at what harm Ivan Yakovlevich can do Olga. No, it’s terrible, what you’re risking!”

My uncle stopped and pondered:

“Well,” he says, “what harm can he do?”

“Exactly the same harm he’s done to Katechka.”

My uncle glanced up and replied:

“Stop pouring out drivel! As if he could do that!”

The painter replies:

“Well, if, as I see, you’re an unbeliever, do as you know best, only don’t grieve afterwards and blame the poor girls.”

My uncle stopped at that. And his son-in-law dragged him back into the room and began persuading him.

“In my opinion,” he says, “it’s better to leave the wonderworker out of it and try to set this matter straight by domestic means.”

The old man agreed, only he did not know how to set it straight himself, but his son-in-law helped him here as well. He says:

“Good thoughts must be sought not in wrath, but in joy.”

“What joy can there be, brother, in a case like this?”

“Here’s what,” says the painter. “I’ve got two bottles of fizzy, and until you drink them with me, I won’t say a single word to you. Agree to it. You know my character.”

The old man looked at him and said:

“Go on, go on. What next?”

But all the same he agreed.

VIII

The painter marched off briskly and came back, followed by his assistant, a young artist, with a tray bearing two bottles and glasses.

As soon as they came in, the son-in-law locked the door behind him and put the key in his pocket. My uncle looked and understood everything, and the son-in-law nodded towards the assistant—the lad stood there in humble petition.

“I’m to blame—forgive me and give us your blessing.”

My uncle asks his son-in-law:

“Can I thrash him?”

The son-in-law says:

“You can, but you needn’t.”

“Well, then at least let him kneel before me.”

The son-in-law whispered:

“Well, kneel before the father for the sake of the girl you love.”

The lad knelt.

The old man began to weep.

“Do you love her very much?” he asked.

“I do.”

“Well, kiss me.”

So Ivan Yakovlevich’s little mistake was covered up. And it all remained safely hidden, and suitors began to pursue the youngest sister, because they saw that the girls were trustworthy.