Young men are easily carried away and are capable of being seduced even by something sordid, providing the seduction occurs under the influence of men whom they respect. Seriozha had already forgotten his dreams and was looking at this unfamiliar décor with the curiosity of a man watching some kind of chemical experiment being demonstrated. He observed impatiently what was before him, waiting to see what would come of it all; and his opinion was that it would be something most enjoyable.
On the divan a young gypsy man lay asleep. He had long, dark, curly hair, slanting, almost sinister eyes, and large white teeth. In a moment he had sprung up, pulled on some clothes and spoken a few words to the old woman in the resonant gypsy tongue; he then began smilingly to greet the guests.
‘Who is the leader of the troupe here now?’ enquired N.N. ‘I haven’t been here for some time.’
‘Ivan Matvyeich,’ answered the gypsy.
‘Vanka?’
‘Yes, that’s right, sir.’
‘And who is your chief singer?’
‘Tanya leads the singing, and Marya Vasilyevna too.’
‘Ah, Masha, that pretty little thing who used to live at Bryantsovo? She’s really back here again, is she?’
‘Yes indeed, sir,’ replied the gypsy, smiling. ‘And she sometimes joins in the dancing too.’
‘Just you go and fetch her, then, and bring us some champagne.’
The young man accepted the money which was offered him and hurried out. The old General, as befitted a seasoned patron of the gypsies, sat astride a table and struck up a conversation with the old woman about all the old gypsy men and women who used to be at the encampment in times gone by. He knew the lineage of each and every one of them. The Guards officer explained how there were no real women to be found in Moscow, yet it was out of the question to go and enjoy oneself among the gypsies because their living conditions were simply so dirty that they would put off any decent man. On the other hand, getting them to come to you was another matter entirely. N.N. told him that gypsies at home were, on the contrary, a thoroughly good thing, but they needed understanding, etc., etc. Seriozha listened attentively to what was being said, and although he remained silent, in his heart he was thoroughly on the side of N.N. and found so much in his surroundings novel and attractive that he realized he was certain to experience something special and agreeable. Now and again the door leading to the porch opened, letting in a blast of cold air, and the gypsies who made up the choir came in two by two. The men were dressed in light-blue coats of knee length which fitted tightly round their shapely waists, and wide trousers tucked into their boots, and all of them had long curly hair. The women wore fox-fur coats lined with satin and had bright silken shawls over their heads, and dresses which, though not fashionable, looked quite elegant and expensive. The young gypsy came back with the champagne, announcing that Masha would be here presently, and proposing to start the dancing without her. He said something to the leader of the band, a small, slender, handsome fellow in a pleated coat with lace trimmings, who put one foot on the windowsill and began tuning his guitar. The leader said something testily in reply; several old women joined in the discussion, which gradually grew louder and finally turned into a general shouting match; the old women, with fire in their eyes, waved their arms and shouted in the most piercing voices, and the men and a few other old women showed that they did not intend to be left out. In their arguing, which was incomprehensible to the guests, one frequently repeated word could be made out: Maka, Maka. A very pretty young girl called Steshka, whom the leader recommended as their new singer, was sitting with downcast eyes, the only one not to join in the conversation. The General realized what the trouble was. The young gypsy who had gone for the champagne had misled them in promising that Maka (i.e. Masha) would come, and the others wanted Steshka to lead the singing. The question at issue was whether or not she should receive an extra half-share of the proceeds for her services.
‘Hey there, girls,’ the General shouted, ‘listen, listen,’ but no one paid him the slightest attention. Finally he somehow got them to hear him out.
‘If Maka is not coming,’ he said, ‘then you should say so.’
‘On my honour,’ said the leader, ‘Steshka will sing just as well as she would: you should just hear how she sings “Night time” – there’s no other gypsy girl to touch her, she has all the style of Tanyusha – you’ll see. All our people here know I am speaking the truth,’ he added, knowing that this would gratify the General. ‘Please be so good as to hear her.’
The gypsy women raised their various voices to appeal to the General in similar terms.
‘Well all right, all right, so please get on with it.’
‘What song do you wish to hear?’ asked the leader, standing, guitar in hand, before the half-circle of seated gypsies.
