Chapter 22 Chapter Twenty Two

The city was empty and lonely at this time.There is hardly a pedestrian on the street.Residents' gates and shops were locked, and the only thing to be heard was shouting or the humming of drunks near some taverns.No one was driving on the street, and the footsteps of pedestrians were rarely heard.The Povar Street was silent and deserted.The courtyard of the Rostov residence was strewn with hay clippings and horse manure, but there was no one there.At the house where Rostov had left all his property, two persons were staying in the great drawing room.Here was Ignat the porter and Mishka the little fellow, who had stayed in Moscow with his grandfather Vassilyich.Mishka lifted the lid of the clavik and began to play with one finger.The janitor stood in front of the large full-length mirror with his arms akimbo and grinning.

-------- ①The transliteration of clavichord, or "wing piano", is also called ancient piano today, because it is the predecessor of modern piano piano, but it was not ancient at that time. "How well it's played! Huh? Uncle Ignat!" said the boy, suddenly clapping his hands on the keyboard. "Tsk tsk, you!" Ignat replied, looking at the increasingly happy smile in the mirror, he was very surprised. "Don't be ashamed! Don't be ashamed!" Mavra Kuzminishna's voice came from behind them. "Look at his big fat face, grinning his teeth. I want you to do this! Nothing is closed over there, and Vasilich is exhausted. Waiting to settle your account!"

Ignat straightened his belt, suppressed his smile, lowered his eyes obediently, and hurried out of the room. "Auntie, I flicked it lightly," said the child. "I'll give you a little kick too, little rascal!" Mavra Kuzminishna called, waving at him. "Go, make tea for grandpa." Mavra Kuzminishna dusted herself off and closed the lid of the Krawikchen. Then he sighed heavily, left the living room, and locked the door. Going out into the yard, Mavra Kuzminishna thought about where she should go: whether to drink tea in Vasilyich's wing, or to go to the storeroom to pack up the unpacked things.

Hasty footsteps sounded in the silent street.The footsteps stopped by the door. The latch clicked and one hand pushed it open. Mavra Kuzminishna went to the door. "Who are you looking for?" "Count, Count Ilya Andreich Rostov." "Who are you?" "I'm an officer. I want to see him." He spoke in a melodious and elegant tone. Mavra Kuzminishna opened the door, and out into the yard came an officer of seventeen or eighteen, with a round, Rostov face. "They're all gone, sir. Yesterday evening," said Mavra Kuzminishna politely. The young officer stood in the wicket, as if hesitating—to go in or not to go in—and flicked his tongue.

"Oh, what a pity!" he said, "I should have yesterday . . . oh, what a pity! ..." Malav Kuzminishna sympathetically examined the familiar features of the Rostov blood in the young man's face, and at his torn military overcoat and worn boots. "Why do you come to the count?" he asked. "Then... there's nothing I can do!" the officer said dejectedly, grabbing the door as if to leave.He stopped hesitantly again. "Do you see?" he said suddenly, "I am the Count's family, and he has always been very kind to me. Now, do you see (he looked at his coat and boots with a friendly and pleasant smile) that all It's worn out, but I don't have any money, I want to ask the count..."

Mafra Kuzminishna stopped him. "Just a minute, sir. Just a minute," he said.No sooner had the officer put down his hand from the door than Mavra Kuzminishna turned and walked with the quick steps of an old woman to her own wing in the backyard. While Mavra Kuzminishna was running back to her room, the officer looked down at the cracked leather boots, and walked in the yard with a slight smile on his face. "It's a pity I didn't meet my uncle. But the old woman is fine! Where did she go? And how do I know which streets to take to catch up with the team? I'm afraid they have reached the Rogozh gate by now." What?" The young officer thought at this moment.Mavra Kuzminishna came out from a corner with a panicked but determined expression, holding a wrapped checkered turban in her hand.When she was a few paces away from the officer, she untied her kerchief, took out the white twenty-five ruble note inside, and handed it to him hastily.

"If the master is at home, I know. They will greet relatives, but maybe... now..." Mavra Kuzminishna felt embarrassed and flustered.However, the officer did not refuse, took the banknotes without haste, and thanked Mavra Kuzminishna. "If the count is at home," Mavra Kuzminishna was still saying apologetically. "Christ bless you, sir God bless you," said Mavra Kuzminishna, sending him out with a bow.The officer smiled and shook his head as if mocking himself, and ran almost quickly across the empty street in the direction of the Javuz Bridge to catch up with his team.

And Mavra Kuzminishna, still in tears, stood for a long time behind the bolted wicket, shaking her head thoughtfully, and suddenly felt that she had maternal tenderness and affection for the strange young officer.