To prevent the skeleton in the Uskoff family cup-board escaping into
the street, the most rigorous measures were taken. One half of the
servants was packed off to the theatre and circus, and the other
half sat imprisoned in the kitchen. Orders were given to admit no
one. The wife of the culprit's uncle, her sister, and the governess,
although initiated into the mystery, pretended that they knew nothing
whatever about it; they sat silently in the dining-room, and dared
not show their faces in the drawing-room or hall. Sasha Uskoff, aged
twenty-five, the cause of all this upheaval, arrived some time ago; and
on the advice of kind-hearted Ivan Markovitch, his maternal uncle, sat
demurely in the corridor outside the study door, and prepared himself
for sincere, open-hearted confession. On the other side of the door the
family council was being held. The discussion ran on a ticklish and
very disagreeable subject. The facts of the matter were as follows.
Sasha Uskoff had discounted at a bankers a forged bill of exchange,
the term of which expired three days before; and now his two paternal
uncles, and Ivan Markovitch, an uncle on his mother's side, were
discussing the solemn problem: should the money be paid and the family
honour saved, or should they wash their hands of the whole matter, and
leave the law to take its course?
To people unconcerned and uninterested such questions seem very
trivial, but for those with whom the solution lies they are
extraordinarily complex. The three uncles had already had their say,
yet the matter had not advanced a step.
"Heavens!" cried the Colonel, a paternal uncle, in a voice betraying
both weariness and irritation. "Heavens! who said that family honour
was a prejudice? I never said anything of the kind. I only wanted to
save you from looking at the matter from a false standpoint--to point
out how easily you may make an irremediable mistake. Yet you don't seem
to understand me! I suppose I am speaking Russian, not Chinese!"
"My dear fellow, we understand you perfectly," interposed Ivan
Markovitch soothingly.
"Then why do you say that I deny family honour? I repeat what I have
said! Fam--ily hon--our falsely under--stood is a pre--ju--dice!
Falsely under--stood, mind you! That is my point of view. From any
conviction whatever, to screen and leave unpunished a rascal, no matter
who he is, is both contrary to law and unworthy of an honourable man.
It is not the saving of the family honour, but civic cowardice. Take
the Army, for example! The honour of the Army is dearer to a soldier
than any other honour. But we do not screen our guilty members ... we
judge them! Do you imagine that the honour of the Army suffers thereby?
On the contrary!"
The other paternal uncle, an official of the Crown Council, a
rheumatic, taciturn, and not very intelligent man, held his peace all
the time, or spoke only of the fact that if the matter came into court
the name of the Uskoffs would appear in the newspapers; in his opinion,
therefore, to avoid publicity it would be better to hush up the matter
while there was still time. But with the exception of this reference to
the newspapers, he gave no reason for his opinion.
But kind-hearted Ivan Markovitch, the maternal uncle, spoke fluently
and softly with a tremula in his voice. He began with the argument that
youth has its claims and its peculiar temptations. Which of us was not
once young, and which of us did not sometimes go a step too far? Even
leaving aside ordinary mortals, did not history teach that the greatest
minds in youth were not always able to avoid infatuations and mistakes.
Take for instance the biographies of great writers. What one of them
did not gamble and drink, and draw upon himself the condemnation of
all right-minded men? While on the one hand we remembered that Sasha's
errors had overstepped the boundary into crime, on the other we
must take into account that Sasha hardly received any education; he
was expelled from the gymnasium when in the fifth form; he lost his
parents in early childhood, and thus at the most susceptible age was
deprived of control and all beneficent influences. He was a nervous
boy, easily excited, without any naturally strong moral convictions,
and he had been spoiled by happiness. Even if he were guilty, still he
deserved the sympathy and concern of all sympathetic souls. Punished,
of course, he must be; but then, had he not already been punished by
his conscience, and the tortures which he must now be feeling as he
awaited the decision of his relatives. The comparison with the Army
which the Colonel had made was very flattering, and did great honour to
his generous mind; the appeal to social feelings showed the nobility of
his heart. But it must not be forgotten that the member of society in
every individual was closely bound up with the Christian.
"And how should we violate our social duty," asked Ivan Markovitch,
"if instead of punishing a guilty boy we stretch out to him the hand
of mercy?" Then Ivan Markovitch reverted to the question of the family
honour. He himself had not the honour to belong to the distinguished
family of Uskoff, but he knew very well that that illustrious race
dated its origin from the thirteenth century, and he could not forget
for a moment that his beloved, unforgotten sister was the wife of
a scion of the race. In one word--the Uskoff family was dear to him
for many reasons, and he could not for a moment entertain the thought
that for a paltry fifteen hundred roubles a shadow should be cast for
ever upon the ancestral tree. And if all the arguments already adduced
were insufficiently convincing then he, in conclusion, asked his
brothers-in-law to explain the problem: What is a crime? A crime was
an immoral action, having its impulse in an evil will. So most people
thought. But could we affirm that the human will was free to decide?
To this important question science could give no conclusive answer.
Metaphysicians maintained various divergent theories. For instance, the
new school of Lombroso refused to recognise free-will, and held that
every crime was the product of purely anatomical peculiarities in the
individual.
"Ivan Markovitch!" interrupted the Colonel imploringly. "Do, for
Heaven's sake, talk sense. We are speaking seriously about a serious
matter ... and you, about Lombroso! You are a clever man, but think for
a moment--how can all this rattle-box rhetoric help us to decide the
question?"
Sasha Uskoff sat outside the door and listened. He felt neither fear
nor shame nor tedium--only weariness and spiritual vacuity. He felt
that it did not matter a kopeck whether he was forgiven or not; he had
come here to await his sentence and to offer a frank explanation, only
because he was begged to do so by kindly Ivan Markovitch. He was not
afraid of the future. It was all the same to him, here in the corridor,
in prison, or in Siberia.
"Siberia is only Siberia--the devil take it!"
Life has wearied Sasha, and has become insufferably tedious. He is
inextricably in debt, he has not a kopeck in his pocket, his relatives
have become odious to him; with his friends and with women he must
part sooner or later, for they are already beginning to look at him
contemptuously as a parasite. The future is dark.
Sasha, in fact, is indifferent, and only one thing affects him. That
is, that through the door he can hear himself being spoken of as a
scoundrel and a criminal. All the time he is itching to jump up, burst
into the room, and, in answer to the detestable metallic voice of the
Colonel, to cry:
"You are a liar!"
A criminal--it is a horrid word. It is applied as a rule to murderers,
thieves, robbers, and people incorrigibly wicked and morally hopeless.
But Sasha is far from this.... True, he is up to his neck in debts,
and never attempts to pay them. But then indebtedness is not a crime,
and there are very few men who are not in debt. The Colonel and Ivan
Markovitch are both in debt.
"What on earth am I guilty of?" asked Sasha. He had obtained money
by presenting a forged bill. But this was done by every young man he
knew. Khandrikoff and Von Burst, for instance, whenever they wanted
money, discounted bills with forged acceptance of their parents and
friends, and when their own money came in met them. Sasha did exactly
the same thing, and only failed to meet his bill owing to Khandrikoff's
failure to lend the money which he had promised. It was not he, but
circumstance which was at fault. ... It was true that imitating another
man's signature was considered wrong, but that did not make it a crime
but merely an ugly formality, a manoeuvre constantly adopted which
injured nobody; and Sasha when he forged the Colonel's name had no
intention of causing loss to anyone.
"It is absurd to pretend that I have been guilty of a crime," thought
Sasha. "I have not the character of men who commit crimes. On the
contrary, I am easy-going and sensitive ... when I have money I help
the poor...."
While Sasha reasoned thus, the discussion continued on the other side
of the door.
"But, gentlemen, this is only the beginning!" cried the Colonel.
"Suppose, for the sake of argument, that we let him off and pay the
money! He will go on still in the same way and continue to lead his
unprincipled life. He will indulge in dissipation, run into debt, go
to our tailors and order clothes in our names. What guarantee have we
that this scandal will be the last? As far as I am concerned, I tell
you frankly that I do not believe in his reformation for one moment."
The official of the Crown Council muttered something in reply. Then
Ivan Markovitch began to speak softly and fluently. The Colonel
impatiently shifted his chair, and smothered Ivan Markovitch's argument
with his detestable, metallic voice. At last the door opened, and
out of the study came Ivan Markovitch with red spots on his meagre,
clean-shaven face. "Come!" he said, taking Sasha by the arm. "Come in
and make an open-hearted confession. Without pride, like a good boy ...
humbly and from the heart."
Sasha went into the study. The official of the Crown Council continued
to sit, but the Colonel, hands in pockets, and with one knee resting
on his chair, stood before the table. The room was full of smoke
and stiflingly hot. Sasha did not look at either the Colonel or his
brother, but suddenly feeling ashamed and hurt, glanced anxiously at
Ivan Markovitch and muttered:
"I will pay ... I will give...."
"May I ask you on what you relied when you obtained the money on this
bill?" rang out the metallic voice.
"I ... Khandrikoff promised to lend me the money in time."
Sasha said nothing more. He went out of the study and again sat on the
chair outside the door. He would have gone away at once had he not been
stifled with hatred and with a desire to tear the Colonel to pieces
or at least to insult him to his face. But at this moment in the dim
twilight around the dining-room door appeared a woman's figure. It was
the Colonel's wife. She beckoned Sasha, and, wringing her hands, said
with tears in her voice:
"Alexandre, I know that you do not love me, but ... listen for a
moment! My poor boy, how can this have happened P It is awful, awful!
For Heaven's sake beg their forgiveness ... justify yourself, implore
them!"
Sasha looked at her twitching shoulders, and at the big tears which
flowed down her cheeks; he heard behind him the dull, nervous voices of
his exhausted uncles, and shrugged his shoulders. He had never expected
that his aristocratic relatives would raise such a storm over a paltry
fifteen hundred roubles. And he could understand neither the tears nor
the trembling voices.
An hour later he heard indications that the Colonel was gaining the
day. The other uncles were being won over to his determination to leave
the matter to the law.
"It is decided!" said the Colonel stiffly. "Basta!" But having decided
thus, the three uncles, even the inexorable Colonel, perceptibly lost
heart.
"Heavens!" sighed Ivan Markovitch. "My poor sister!"
And he began in a soft voice to announce his conviction that his
sister, Sasha's mother, was invisibly present in the room. He felt in
his heart that this unhappy, sainted woman was weeping, anguishing,
interceding for her boy. For the sake of her repose in the other
world it would have been better to spare Sasha. Sasha heard someone
whimpering. It was Ivan Markovitch. He wept and muttered something
inaudible through the door. The Colonel rose and walked from corner to
corner. The discussion began anew....
The clock in the drawing-room struck two. The council was over at last.
The Colonel, to avoid meeting a man who had caused him so much shame,
left the room through the antechamber. Ivan Markovitch came into the
corridor. He was plainly agitated, but rubbed his hands cheerfully. His
tear-stained eyes glanced happily around him, and his mouth was twisted
into a smile.
"It is all right, my boy!" he said to Sasha. "Heaven be praised! You
may go home, child, and sleep quietly. We have decided to pay the
money, but only on the condition that you repent sincerely, and agree
to come with me to the country to-morrow, and set to work."
A minute afterwards, Ivan Markovitch and Sasha, having put on their
overcoats and hats, went downstairs together. Uncle Ivan muttered
something edifying. But Sasha didn't listen; he felt only that
something heavy and painful had fallen from his shoulders. He was
forgiven--he was free! Joy like a breeze burst into his breast and
wrapped his heart with refreshing coolness. He wished to breathe, to
move, to live. And looking at the street lamps and at the black sky he
remembered that to-day at "The Bear," Von Burst would celebrate his
name-day. A new joy seized his soul.
"I will go!" he decided.
But suddenly he remembered that he had not a kopeck, and that his
friends already despised him for his penuriousness. He must get money
at all cost. "Uncle, lend me a hundred roubles!" he said to Ivan
Markovitch.
Ivan Markovitch looked at him in amazement, and staggered back against
a lamp-post.
"Lend me a hundred roubles!" cried Sasha, impatiently shifting from
foot to foot, and beginning to lose his temper. "Uncle, I beg of you
... lend me a hundred roubles!"
His face trembled with excitement, and he nearly rushed at his uncle.
"You won't give them?" he cried, seeing that his uncle was too
dumfounded to understand. "Listen, if you refuse to lend them, I'll
inform on myself to-morrow. I'll refuse to let you pay the money. I'll
forge another to-morrow!"
Thunderstruck, terror-stricken, Ivan Markovitch muttered something
incoherent, took from his pocket a hundred-rouble note, and handed it
silently to Sasha. And Sasha took it and hurriedly walked away. And
sitting in a droschky, Sasha grew cool again, and felt his heart expand
with renewed joy. The claims of youth of which kind-hearted uncle Ivan
had spoken at the council-table had inspired and taken possession of
him again. He painted in imagination the coming feast, and in his mind,
among visions of bottles, women, and boon companions, twinkled a little
thought:
"Now I begin to see that I was in the wrong."