A cool, blustery, autumn wind whipped around the black coach as it rattled and clattered through the streets of St. Petersburg. There were two horses attached to said coach, one of which knew, from long years of hauling various owners through various parts of Russia, exactly what her driver wanted of her with the slightest flick of the whip. The other horse, however, was arrogant and sloppy, if such terms could be applied to horses. He was much clumsier then his companion, and required most of the driver’s attention. His rump was already smarting from the near constant cracks of the whip.
The coach rounded a corner and slowed, as it neared its destination.
The destination was a large brick block with large arch top windows on the first floor. The brick was old and weathered, as these buildings tend to be in these truly ancient cities. The current owners of this grand house were the Polenin’s, a wealthy and extraordinarily respected family. They hailed from the Ukraine, but had lived in St. Petersburg for many generations. The son of this family was a young Cossack named Ivan Arkadyevich Polenin. Ivan’s father was a lawyer in a prestigious St. Petersburg law firm. It was widely believed that Ivan would follow his father into the law firm after finishing his military service.
The coach contained, within its dark embrace, three people, clad in their best liveries. The first person was a landowner from the regions south of Moscow. He’d been a friend of Ivan’s father... a client in fact. A relative had left the man a large portion of land, and it seemed that the man, a military engineer by occupation, had abandoned the comforts and expectations of high St. Petersburg culture in favor of a more elegant and simple existence as a landowner.
His wife, the second person in the coach had been an important figure amongst the wealthy and decadent. The move to the country had been a source of contention between the woman and her husband, but he’d been adamant upon leaving the criminals and vagrants of high society, as he put it, so they’d moved and only on occasion did they return to St. Petersburg.
The third person in the coach was their son, a tall, lanky Nozdryonic(1) figure. He’d never been a friend of Ivan Polenin, who was too standoffish and quiet for his tastes, but he’d accompanied his parents at their bidding.
The coach jolted to a halt and the three got out, into the cold of the September evening. A butler was waiting at the door to greet them, take their coats, gloves, scarves, and hats, and show them into the parlor which had filled almost to capacity.
The son, Pyotr Dmitrivich, snickered to think that Ivan, his arch-nemesis from their younger years, likely knew about ten percent of the people present. The vast majority were colleagues, friends, and acquaintances of Ivan’s parents.
Pyotr, who had always despised Ivan for being and associating with cossacks, was horrified to discover that perhaps a dozen cossacks had been invited, and were well on their way to becoming completely intoxicated.
Then, as was certain to happen at some point throughout the evening, he spotted Ivan, dressed in his awful cossack’s uniform, sans the ornate cap, talking to a group of obviously stuffy people whom he’d probably never even met.
Here, we must leave our friend Pyotr in favor of a more entertaining and polite figure, the reason for the celebration himself, Ivan Arkadyevich Polenin.
(1)Nozdryonic referring to a character in Nikolai Gogol's Dead Souls.
