The White Poodle Page #3

"The White Poodle" is a novella by Russian author Aleksandr Kuprin, known for its captivating narrative and rich character development. The story revolves around a young boy who becomes infatuated with a beautiful white poodle that symbolizes innocence and beauty in a sometimes harsh world. Through the boy’s experiences and his bond with the poodle, Kuprin explores themes of love, loss, and the fleeting nature of happiness. The tale poignantly captures the bittersweet moments of childhood and the profound impact that animals can have on our lives.

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but one last estate on the way. This was on the left-hand side.

The house itself was not visible, the wall being high, and over the
wall loomed a fine array of dusty cypresses. Only through the wide
cast-iron gate, whose fantastical design gave it the appearance of
lace, was it possible to get a glimpse of the lovely lawn. Thence one
peered upon fresh green grass, flower-beds, and in the background a
winding pergola of vines. In the middle of the lawn stood a gardener
watering the roses. He put a finger to the pipe in his hand, and caused
the water in the fountain to leap in the sun, glittering in myriads of
little sparkles and flashes.

Grandfather was going past, but looking through the gate he stopped in
doubt.

"Wait a bit, Sergey," said he. "Surely there are no folk here! There's
a strange thing! Often as I've come along this road, I've never seen a
soul here before. Oh, well, brother Sergey, get ready!"

A notice was fixed on the wall:

"Friendship Villa: Trespassers will be prosecuted," and Sergey read
this out aloud.

"Friendship?" questioned grandfather, who himself could not read.
"Vo-vo! That's one of the finest of words--friendship. All day we've
failed, but this house will make up for it. I smell it with my nose,
as if I were a hunting dog. Now, Arto, come here, old fellow. Walk up
bravely, Serozha. Keep your eye on me, and if you want to know anything
just ask me. I know all."

III

The paths were made of a well-rolled yellow gravel, crunching under the
feet; and at the sides were borders of large rose-coloured shells.
In the flower-beds, above a carpet of various coloured grasses, grew
rare plants with brilliant blossoms and sweet perfume. Crystal water
rose and splashed continually from the fountains, and garlands of
beautiful creeping plants hung downward from beautiful vases, suspended
in mid-air from wires stretched between the trees. On marble pillars
just outside the house stood two splendid spheres of mirror glass, and
the wandering troupe, coming up to them, saw themselves reflected feet
upwards in an amusing twisted and elongated picture.

In front of the balcony was a wide, much-trampled platform. On this
Sergey spread his little mattress, and grandfather, having fixed the
organ on its stick, prepared to turn the handle. But just as he was in
the act of doing this, a most unexpected and strange sight suddenly
attracted his attention.

A boy of nine or ten rushed suddenly out of the house on to the
terrace like a bomb, giving forth piercing shrieks. He was in a sailor
suit, with bare arms and legs. His fair curls hung in a tangle on his
shoulders. Away he rushed, and after him came six people; two women in
aprons, a stout old lackey, without moustache or beard but with grey
side-whiskers, wearing a frock coat, a lean, carrotty-haired, red-nosed
girl in a blue-checked dress, a young sickly-looking but very beautiful
lady in a blue dressing-jacket trimmed with lace, and, last of all,
a stout, bald gentleman in a suit of Tussore silk, and with gold
spectacles. They were all very much excited, waved their arms, spoke
loudly, and even jostled one another. You could see at one that the
cause of all their anxiety was the boy in the sailor suit, who had so
suddenly rushed on to the terrace.

And the boy, the cause of all this hurly-burly, did not cease screaming
for one second, but threw himself down on his stomach, turned quickly
over on to his back, and began to kick out with his legs on all sides.
The little crowd of grown-ups fussed around him. The old lackey in the
frock coat pressed his hands to his starched shirt-front and begged and
implored the boy to be quiet, his long side-whiskers trembling as he
spoke:

"Little father, master!... Nikolai Apollonovitch!... Do not vex your
little mamma. Do get up, sir; be so good, so kind--take a little, sir.
The mixture's sweet as sweet, just syrup, sir. Now let me help you
up...."

The women in the aprons clapped their hands and chirped
quickly-quickly, in seemingly passionate and frightened voices. The
red-nosed girl made tragic gestures, and cried out something evidently
very touching, but completely incomprehensible, as it was in a
foreign language. The gentleman in the gold spectacles made speeches
to the boy in a reasoning bass voice, wagged his head to and fro as
he spoke, and slowly waved his hands up and down. And the beautiful,
delicate--looking lady moaned wearily, pressing a lace handkerchief to
her eyes.

"Ah, Trilly, ah, God in Heaven!... Angel mine, I beseech you, listen,
your own mother begs you. Now do, do take the medicine, take it and
you'll see, you'll feel better at once, and the stomach-ache will go
away and the headache. Now do it for me, my joy! Oh, Trilly, if you
want it, your mamma will go down on her knees. See, darling, I'm on my
knees before you. If you wish it, I'll give you gold--a sovereign, two
sovereigns, five sovereigns. Trilly, would you like a live ass? Would
you like a live horse? Oh, for goodness' sake, say something to him,
doctor."

"Pay attention, Trilly. Be a man!" droned the stout gentleman in the
spectacles.

"Ai-yai-yai-ya-a-a-a!" yelled the boy, squirming on the ground, and
kicking about desperately with his feet.

Despite his extreme agitation he managed to give several kicks to
the people around him, and they, for their part, got out of his way
sufficiently cleverly.

Sergey looked upon the scene with curiosity and astonishment, and at
last nudged the old man in the side and said:

"Grandfather Lodishkin, what's the matter with him? Can't they give him
a beating?"

"A beating--I like that.... That sort isn't beaten, but beats everybody
else. A crazy boy; ill, I expect."

"Insane?" enquired Sergey.

"How should I know? Hst, be quiet!..."

"Ai-yai-ya-a! Scum, fatheads!" shouted the boy, louder and louder.

"Well, begin, Sergey. Now's the time, for I know!" ordered Lodishkin
suddenly, taking hold of the handle of his organ and turning it with
resolution. The snuffling and false notes of the ancient galop rose in
the garden. All the people stopped suddenly and looked round; even the
boy became silent for a few seconds.

"Ah, God in heaven, they will upset my poor Trilly still more!"
cried the lady in the blue dressing-jacket, with tears in her eyes.
Chase them off, quickly, quickly. Drive them away, and the dirty dog
with them. Dogs have always such dreadful diseases. Why do you stand
there helplessly, Ivan, as if you were turned to stone? She shook her
handkerchief wearily in the direction of grandfather and the little
boy; the lean, red-nosed girl made dreadful eyes; someone gave a
threatening whisper; the lackey in the dress coat ran swiftly from the
balcony on his tiptoes, and, with an expression of horror on his face,
cried to the organ grinder, spreading out his arms like wings as he
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