Chapter 20: Old Servant

When Mikhail descended from his tiny room, the other tenants of the apartment were already seated at a long rectangular table near the kitchen, eating their meal.

The wooden table was worn but sturdy, and upon it lay some dark rye bread and two bowls of soup with unappetizing appearances, alongside pickled cucumbers and mushrooms as side dishes.

The variety was limited, but each portion was generous, for Landlady Pavlovna’s tenants were clearly more than just Mikhail; as agreed upon when renting, she provided meals and a maid service for each tenant.

Thus, in this relatively spacious apartment, besides the old maid Nastasya, there was also a fat cook, as broad and stout as Pavlovna herself, whose cooking was mediocre at best, but whose only advantage was low cost—this earned him Pavlovna’s favor.

Meals could be eaten here or delivered to one’s room by the landlady or maid, but this usually required waiting until others had finished—or paying a small fee to persuade the landlady and maid to give priority.

Arriving late meant only scraps remained.

Therefore, the most economical and reasonably satisfying way was to come early and eat here.

At the table sat several people, including the petty merchant Versilov, the minor landowner Tushinbach who had come to visit family, and the Fourteenth-Rank Clerk Smirnov.

Oh, and of course, our dignified landlady Pavlovna.

She had clearly already eaten; now she stood heavily beside the copper samovar, guarding it like a sentinel, while inside the samovar, of course, were tea leaves steeped multiple times and water pretending to be tea.

Notably, the samovar was a specialized Russian tea apparatus, combining boiling and insulation, holding a vital place in Russian tea culture.

Although tea had only recently entered Russia, it had swiftly swept across the entire country.

Initially, only nobles could afford it; later, as tea prices fell, it gradually reached every household, and today in Russia, from nobles to the poorest peasants, all drank tea.

Even the reigning Tsar Nicholas I, that great miser, ordered that tea be provided to imprisoned revolutionaries, for failing to do so would be inhumane.

Of course, Mikhail reasonably suspected this order was predicated on the fact that revolutionaries under Tsar Nicholas I were mostly of noble origin…

Otherwise, that great miser Nicholas would care nothing for humanity…

Moreover, Russians most preferred sweet tea, often adding sugar cubes or lemon slices to their tea, though generally, Russians drank tea in three ways:

One: put sugar in the tea, stir with a spoon, then drink; two: bite off a small piece of sugar, hold it in the mouth, and sip tea; three: gaze at the sugar while drinking tea—neither placing sugar in the tea nor holding it in the mouth, merely looking at or thinking of the sugar while drinking.

The first method was most common; the second was favored by the elderly and serfs; the third, naturally, was for those without money—this group mostly consisted of old servants.

Hence Mikhail preferred to call it Old Servant’s Joyful Tea: cheap, inexpensive, and beneficial to mental health.

Just as iced black tea later became the workers’ joyous drink.

Oh, and iced black tea must be chilled.

Returning to the matter at hand, though Landlady Pavlovna was a miser, she would at most steep the tea leaves a dozen times—she would never let tenants thirst for tea.

But tea was still not cheap in these times; if Pavlovna did not guard it closely, the tenants would drain it all in moments.

So Pavlovna stood there sternly, unmoved amid cries of “Please, just one more!” “Kind-hearted Pavlovna, another cup!” “I’m thirsty! I haven’t had any yet!”—only occasionally, impatiently, reluctantly accepting a cup, pouring only a half-full measure.

Oh, dear Pavlovna! You’re like a tsar!

Though Mikhail longed to joke with his landlady upon seeing this scene, to avoid being dragged to the police by this broad-shouldered woman, he suppressed his nature and quickly found a seat.

Upon seeing Mikhail, Pavlovna seemed to glance his way, hesitated briefly, but ultimately, remembering he had paid part of his rent recently, poured him a cup of tea and brought it over.

To be honest, it was unpleasant to drink, but when one was this poor, replenishing sugar was already a blessing.

As Mikhail nodded and smiled in thanks, Pavlovna seemed to remember something and asked: “Mikhail, how is your novel submission going? Any response? I heard writers like you receive payment for manuscripts—is that true? Then you could pay back more rent, couldn’t you?”

Before Mikhail could speak, the petty merchant Versilov, across the table, burst into laughter:

“Pavlovna, it’s not that easy! If it were, university students would be the richest people in Russia! But as far as I know, the opposite is true—they can’t survive without family support!”

“Just waving a pen, no running, no begging, no flattering—how could such easy money exist?”

“You’re wrong, Versilov,” spoke the mild-mannered Fourteenth-Rank Clerk Smirnov. “With the right direction, anyone can find success in writing.

Like me—yesterday afternoon I thought of a joke, told it to my colleagues, oh God, they laughed themselves to death! Then they took me to a tavern for a drink. I’ll write down all my jokes and get them published!”

The usually talkative minor landowner Tushinbach said nothing, only stuffing food into his mouth.

He was old and had a poor appetite, often requesting Pavlovna to reduce his meal fees—he didn’t deserve to pay full price—but Pavlovna flatly refused:

“Tushinbach, in my hometown, Khabarovsk Province, there’s an old saying: the older you get, the better your appetite—though many don’t realize it!”

Only after Versilov and Smirnov quieted down slightly did Mikhail get his chance to speak. He cleared his throat, drew everyone’s attention, and said:

“Pavlovna, my novel has been published in a magazine, but the payment will take some time. When I have more money, I’ll repay you part of the rent.”

Pay it back, yes—owing too long was bad, especially since Pavlovna charged interest…

As Mikhail thought this, everyone at the table turned to look—even the old maid Nastasya, who had been busy in the kitchen, now poked her head out from another room.

“Oh…”

(End of Chapter)