Having arrived at this decision, Irene wrote to Père Etienne, telling him that the mountain air was agreeing with her splendidly, and that she would not return to Rome till Easter. She posted her letter, and feeling pleased and relieved, went for a stroll in the balmy evening air. What was her astonishment and annoyance when, on her return, she found Gzhatski in the entrance-hall of the hotel, eagerly questioning the proprietor about something. Her face expressed such frank displeasure, that Gzhatski felt provoked.
“What an unexpected meeting!” he said as naturally as possible, pretending, somewhat unsuccessfully, to be much astonished. “I was told you had taken the veil in one of the Roman convents.”
“Not yet,” smiled Irene, “but it is as a preparation for that event that I am recuperating here in the mountain air.”
“Yes, the air is lovely,” agreed Gzhatski, hurriedly. “And the views are beautiful. I hardly expected to find all this in the Apennines.”
Irene took it upon herself to show Gzhatski all the sights of Assisi. Sergei Grigorievitch praised everything, was delighted with all he saw, was respectful to the monks who acted as guides in the churches and monasteries, and bought a whole collection of various Catholic souvenirs.
“Can you guess what I have found to amuse me in Rome?” he asked Irene one day at dinner. “I go to the churches and listen to the Catechism lessons. I assure you it is most interesting. On one side of the church sits a nun, surrounded by little girls, and on the other, a monk, with a class of little boys, to whom he addresses questions, in turn. If you could only see what lovely little faces they have! These same Italians, that are so horrid when they grow up, are, at the age of eight or ten, exactly like Raphael’s cherubs. Of course, they don’t understand anything yet about the Catechism. What is the use of a catechism when the little legs of the pupils run all by themselves, so that there is no stopping them? The greater part of the lesson consists, for the ‘Pater,’ in persuading his listeners to sit still, not to swing on their chairs, not to jump up, not to run about the church, and not to fight.
“It is amusing, too, to listen to their conversations with their teacher. I remember once, for instance, he asked one such little Cupid the number of the Sacraments, or something like that. The answer had to be five. The young rascal thought for a moment, then smiled roguishly, spread out all the five fingers of his right hand, and, silently, with a triumphant air, held them to the Pater’s nose. Do you imagine the priest was offended at this lack of respect? Not in the least! He is an Italian himself, and teaches his Catechism more by means of gestures than words. Oh! what amusing people! When I look at those children, I feel a great heartache because I have not a little sonlet like that of my own!”
“But why do you not get married, if you so much want to have children?”
“Get married? That is not so easy. I will tell you a conversation I once had on the subject with my small nephew Seryozha. He is my godson, and will probably be my heir. We are enormous friends. When I go to stay in the country with his mother, my cousin, Seryozha never leaves me for a moment, and if only you could hear our conversations! He has the straightforward, logical, fearless intelligence of most small boys of his age. And so, on one occasion, he announced to me that as soon as ever he grows up, he will get married, just because he wants to have little children, whom he likes. ‘There is only one trouble,’ he added, very seriously, ‘I shall have to live all the time with my wife; there is no escape.’ He said it so well, that I gave him a hearty kiss. You see, although I am forty, and Seryozha is only eight, he explained to me quite clearly why I do not marry.”
“The poor wife!” laughed Irene.