‘Your eyes are red,’ she observed to me
in French; ’and there’s a smell of the
peasant’s hut about you. I am not going
to enter into an examination of what you’ve
been feeling and doing—I should not like
to be obliged to punish you—but I hope
you will get over all your foolishness, and begin
to conduct yourself once more in a manner befitting
a well-bred boy. However, we are soon going back
to Moscow, and I shall get you a tutor—as
I see you need a man’s hand to manage you.
You can go.’
We did, as a fact, go back soon after to Moscow.
1837
Seven years had passed by. We were living as
before at Moscow—but I was by now a student
in my second year—and the authority of my
grandmother, who had aged very perceptibly in the
last years, no longer weighed upon me. Of all
my fellow-students the one with whom I was on the friendliest
terms was a light-hearted and good-natured youth called
Tarhov. Our habits and our tastes were similar.
Tarhov was a great lover of poetry, and himself wrote
verses; while in me the seeds sown by Punin had not
been without fruit. As is often the case with
young people who are very close friends, we had no
secrets from one another. But behold, for several
days together I noticed a certain excitement and agitation
in Tarhov.... He disappeared for hours at a time,
and I did not know where he had got to—a
thing which had never happened before. I was on
the point of demanding, in the name of friendship,
a full explanation.... He anticipated me.
One day I was sitting in his room.... ‘Petya,’
he said suddenly, blushing gaily, and looking me straight
in the face, ’I must introduce you to my muse.’
’Your muse! how queerly you talk! Like
a classicist. (Romanticism was at that time, in 1837,
at its full height.) As if I had not known it ever
so long—your muse! Have you written
a new poem, or what?’
‘You don’t understand what I mean,’
rejoined Tarhov, still laughing and blushing.
‘I will introduce you to a living muse.’
‘Aha! so that’s it! But how is she—yours?’
‘Why, because ... But hush, I believe it’s
she coming here.’
There was the light click of hurrying heels, the door
opened, and in the doorway appeared a girl of eighteen,
in a chintz cotton gown, with a black cloth cape on
her shoulders, and a black straw hat on her fair,
rather curly hair. On seeing me she was frightened
and disconcerted, and was beating a retreat ... but
Tarhov at once rushed to meet her.
’Please, please, Musa Pavlovna, come in!
This is my great friend, a splendid fellow—and
the soul of discretion. You’ve no need to
be afraid of him. Petya,’ he turned to
me, ’let me introduce my Musa—Musa
Pavlovna Vinogradov, a great friend of mine.’
I bowed.
‘How is that ... Musa?’ I was beginning....
Tarhov laughed. ’Ah, you didn’t know
there was such a name in the calendar? I didn’t
know it either, my boy, till I met this dear young
lady. Musa! such a charming name! And suits
her so well!’
