dear but unjust friend, to behave like this to one of your most devoted
friends. Why be in such a hurry, and without explaining things fully, wound
me with such insulting suspicions? But I hasten to reply to your charges.
You did not find me yesterday, Ivan Petrovitch, because I was suddenly and
quite unexpectedly called away to a death-bed. My aunt, Yefimya Nikolaevna,
passed away yesterday evening at eleven o'clock in the night. By the
general consent of the relatives I was selected to make the arrangements
for the sad and sorrowful ceremony. I had so much to do that I had not time
to see you this morning, nor even to send you a line. I am grieved to the
heart at the misunderstanding which has arisen between us. My words about
Yevgeny Nikolaitch uttered casually and in jest you have taken in quite a
wrong sense, and have ascribed to them a meaning deeply offensive to me.
You refer to money and express your anxiety about it. But without wasting
words I am ready to satisfy all your claims and demands, though I must
remind you that the three hundred and fifty roubles I had from you last
week were in accordance with a certain agreement and not by way of a loan.
In the latter case there would certainly have been a receipt. I will not
condescend to discuss the other points mentioned in your letter. I see that
it is a misunderstanding. I see it is your habitual hastiness, hot temper
and obstinacy. I know that your goodheartedness and open character will not
allow doubts to persist in your heart, and that you will be, in fact, the
first to hold out your hand to me. You are mistaken, Ivan Petrovitch, you
are greatly mistaken!
Although your letter has deeply wounded me, I should be prepared even
to-day to come to you and apologise, but I have been since yesterday in
such a rush and flurry that I am utterly exhausted and can scarcely stand
on my feet. To complete my troubles, my wife is laid up; I am afraid she is
seriously ill. Our little boy, thank God, is better; but I must lay down my
pen, I have a mass of things to do and they are urgent. Allow me, my dear
friend, to remain, etc.
VI
(FROM IVAN PETROVITCH TO PYOTR IVANITCH)
_November 14._
DEAR SIR, PYOTR IVANITCH!
I have been waiting for three days, I tried to make a profitable use of
them--meanwhile I feel that politeness and good manners are the greatest of
ornaments for every one. Since my last letter of the tenth of this month, I
have neither by word nor deed reminded you of my existence, partly in order
to allow you undisturbed to perform the duty of a Christian in regard to
your aunt, partly because I needed the time for certain considerations and
investigations in regard to a business you know of. Now I hasten to explain
myself to you in the most thoroughgoing and decisive manner.
I frankly confess that on reading your first two letters I seriously
supposed that you did not understand what I wanted; that was how it was
that I rather sought an interview with you and explanations face to face. I
was afraid of writing, and blamed myself for lack of clearness in the
expression of my thoughts on paper. You are aware that I have not the
advantages of education and good manners, and that I shun a hollow show of
gentility because I have learned from bitter experience how misleading
appearances often are, and that a snake sometimes lies hidden under
flowers. But you understood me; you did not answer me as you should have
done because, in the treachery of your heart, you had planned beforehand to
be faithless to your word of honour and to the friendly relations existing
between us. You have proved this absolutely by your abominable conduct
towards me of late, which is fatal to my interests, which I did not expect
and which I refused to believe till the present moment. From the very
beginning of our acquaintance you captivated me by your clever manners, by
the subtlety of your behaviour, your knowledge of affairs and the
advantages to be gained by association with you. I imagined that I had
found a true friend and well-wisher. Now I recognise clearly that there are
many people who under a flattering and brilliant exterior hide venom in
their hearts, who use their cleverness to weave snares for their neighbour
and for unpardonable deception, and so are afraid of pen and paper, and at
the same time use their fine language not for the benefit of their
neighbour and their country, but to drug and bewitch the reason of those
who have entered into business relations of any sort with them. Your
treachery to me, my dear sir, can be clearly seen from what follows.
In the first place, when, in the clear and distinct terms of my letter, I
described my position, sir, and at the same time asked you in my first
letter what you meant by certain expressions and intentions of yours,
principally in regard to Yevgeny Nikolaitch, you tried for the most part to
avoid answering, and confounding me by doubts and suspicions, you calmly
put the subject aside. Then after treating me in a way which cannot be
described by any seemly word, you began writing that you were wounded.
Pray, what am I to call that, sir? Then when every minute was precious to
me and when you had set me running after you all over the town, you wrote,
pretending personal friendship, letters in which, intentionally avoiding
all mention of business, you spoke of utterly irrelevant matters; to wit,
of the illnesses of your good lady for whom I have, in any case, every
respect, and of how your baby had been dosed with rhubarb and was cutting a
tooth. All this you alluded to in every letter with a disgusting regularity
that was insulting to me. Of course I am prepared to admit that a father's
heart may be torn by the sufferings of his babe, but why make mention of
this when something different, far more important and interesting, was
needed? I endured it in silence, but now when time has elapsed I think it
my duty to explain myself. Finally, treacherously deceiving me several
times by making humbugging appointments, you tried, it seems, to make me
play the part of a fool and a laughing-stock for you, which I never intend
to be. Then after first inviting me and thoroughly deceiving me, you
informed me that you were called away to your suffering aunt who had had a
stroke, precisely at five o'clock as you stated with shameful exactitude.
Luckily for me, sir, in the course of these three days I have succeeded in
making inquiries and have learnt from them that your aunt had a stroke on
the day before the seventh not long before midnight. From this fact I see
that you have made use of sacred family relations in order to deceive
persons in no way concerned with them. Finally, in your last letter you
mention the death of your relatives as though it had taken place precisely
at the time when I was to have visited you to consult about various
business matters. But here the vileness of your arts and calculations
exceeds all belief, for from trustworthy information which I was able by a
lucky chance to obtain just in the nick of time, I have found out that your
aunt died twenty-four hours later than the time you so impiously fixed for
her decease in your letter. I shall never have done if I enumerate all the
signs by which I have discovered your treachery in regard to me. It is
sufficient, indeed, for any impartial observer that in every letter you
style me, your true friend, and call me all sorts of polite names, which
you do, to the best of my belief, for no other object than to put my
conscience to sleep.
I have come now to your principal act of deceit and treachery in regard to
me, to wit, your continual silence of late in regard to everything
concerning our common interests, in regard to your wicked theft of the
letter in which you stated, though in language somewhat obscure and not
perfectly intelligible to me, our mutual agreements, your barbarous
forcible loan of three hundred and fifty roubles which you borrowed from me
as your partner without giving any receipt, and finally, your abominable
slanders of our common acquaintance, Yevgeny Nikolaitch. I see clearly now
that you meant to show me that he was, if you will allow me to say so, like
a billy-goat, good for neither milk nor wool, that he was neither one thing
nor the other, neither fish nor flesh, which you put down as a vice in him
in your letter of the sixth instant. I knew Yevgeny Nikolaitch as a modest
and well-behaved young man, whereby he may well attract, gain and deserve
respect in society. I know also that every evening for the last fortnight
you've put into your pocket dozens and sometimes even hundreds of roubles,
playing games of chance with Yevgeny Nikolaitch. Now you disavow all this,
and not only refuse to compensate me for what I have suffered, but have
even appropriated money belonging to me, tempting me by suggestions that I
should be partner in the affair, and luring me with various advantages
which were to accrue. After having appropriated, in a most illegal way,
money of mine and of Yevgeny Nikolaitch's, you decline to compensate me,
resorting for that object to calumny with which you have unjustifiably
blackened in my eyes a man whom I, by my efforts and exertions, introduced
into your house. While on the contrary, from what I hear from your friends,
you are still almost slobbering over him, and give out to the whole world
that he is your dearest friend, though there is no one in the world such a
fool as not to guess at once what your designs are aiming at and what your
friendly relations really mean. I should say that they mean deceit,
treachery, forgetfulness of human duties and proprieties, contrary to the
law of God and vicious in every way. I take myself as a proof and example.
In what way have I offended you and why have you treated me in this godless
fashion?
I will end my letter. I have explained myself. Now in conclusion. If, sir,
you do not in the shortest possible time after receiving this letter return
me in full, first, the three hundred and fifty roubles I gave you, and,
secondly, all the sums that should come to me according to your promise, I
will have recourse to every possible means to compel you to return it, even
to open force, secondly to the protection of the laws, and finally I beg to
inform you that I am in possession of facts, which, if they remain in the
hands of your humble servant, may ruin and disgrace your name in the eyes
of all the world. Allow me to remain, etc.
VII
(FROM PYOTR IVANITCH TO IVAN PETROVITCH)
_November 15._
IVAN PETROVITCH!
When I received your vulgar and at the same time queer letter, my impulse
for the first minute was to tear it into shreds, but I have preserved it as
a curiosity. I do, however, sincerely regret our misunderstandings and
unpleasant relations. I did not mean to answer you. But I am compelled by
necessity. I must in these lines inform you that it would be very
unpleasant for me to see you in my house at any time; my wife feels the
same: she is in delicate health and the smell of tar upsets her. My wife
sends your wife the book, _Don Quixote de la Mancha_, with her sincere
thanks. As for the galoshes you say you left behind here on your last
visit, I must regretfully inform you that they are nowhere to be found.
They are still being looked for; but if they do not turn up, then I will
buy you a new pair.
I have the honour to remain your sincere friend,
VIII
On the sixteenth of November, Pyotr Ivanitch received by post two letters
addressed to him. Opening the first envelope, he took out a carefully
folded note on pale pink paper. The handwriting was his wife's. It was
addressed to Yevgeny Nikolaitch and dated November the second. There was
nothing else in the envelope. Pyotr Ivanitch read:
DEAR EUGÈNE,
Yesterday was utterly impossible. My husband was at home the whole evening.
Be sure to come to-morrow punctually at eleven. At half-past ten my husband
is going to Tsarskoe and not coming back till evening. I was in a rage all
night. Thank you for sending me the information and the correspondence.
What a lot of paper. Did she really write all that? She has style though;
many thanks, dear; I see that you love me. Don't be angry, but, for
goodness sake, come to-morrow.
A.
Pyotr Ivanitch tore open the other letter:
PYOTR IVANITCH,
I should never have set foot again in your house anyway; you need not have
troubled to soil paper about it.
Next week I am going to Simbirsk. Yevgany Nikolaitch remains your precious
and beloved friend. I wish you luck, and don't trouble about the galoshes.
IX
On the seventeenth of November Ivan Petrovitch received by post two letters
addressed to him. Opening the first letter, he took out a hasty and
carelessly written note. The handwriting was his wife's; it was addressed
to Yevgeny Nikolaitch, and dated August the fourth. There was nothing else
in the envelope. Ivan Petrovitch read:
* * * * *
Good-bye, good-bye, Yevgeny Nikolaitch! The Lord reward you for this too.
May you be happy, but my lot is bitter, terribly bitter! It is your choice.
If it had not been for my aunt I should not have put such trust in you. Do
not laugh at me nor at my aunt. To-morrow is our wedding. Aunt is relieved
that a good man has been found, and that he will take me without a dowry. I
took a good look at him for the first time to-day. He seems good-natured.
They are hurrying me. Farewell, farewell.... My darling!! Think of me
sometimes; I shall never forget you. Farewell! I sign this last like my
first letter, do you remember?
TATYANA.
The second letter was as follows:
IVAN PETROVITCH,
To-morrow you will receive a new pair of galoshes. It is not my habit to
filch from other men's pockets, and I am not fond of picking up all sorts
of rubbish in the streets.
Yevgeny Nikolaitch is going to Simbirsk in a day or two on his
grandfather's business, and he has asked me to find a travelling companion
for him; wouldn't you like to take him with you?
AN UNPLEASANT PREDICAMENT
This unpleasant business occurred at the epoch when the regeneration of our
beloved fatherland and the struggle of her valiant sons towards new hopes
and destinies was beginning with irresistible force and with a touchingly
naïve impetuosity. One winter evening in that period, between eleven and
twelve o'clock, three highly respectable gentlemen were sitting in a
comfortable and even luxuriously furnished room in a handsome house of two
storeys on the Petersburg Side, and were engaged in a staid and edifying
conversation on a very interesting subject. These three gentlemen were all
of generals' rank. They were sitting round a little table, each in a soft
and handsome arm-chair, and as they talked, they quietly and luxuriously
sipped champagne. The bottle stood on the table on a silver stand with ice
round it. The fact was that the host, a privy councillor called Stepan
Nikiforovitch Nikiforov, an old bachelor of sixty-five, was celebrating his
removal into a house he had just bought, and as it happened, also his
birthday, which he had never kept before. The festivity, however, was not
on a very grand scale; as we have seen already, there were only two guests,
both of them former colleagues and former subordinates of Mr. Nikiforov;
that is, an actual civil councillor called Semyon Ivanovitch Shipulenko,
and another actual civil councillor, Ivan Ilyitch Pralinsky. They had
arrived to tea at nine o'clock, then had begun upon the wine, and knew that
at exactly half-past eleven they would have to set off home. Their host had
all his life been fond of regularity. A few words about him.
He had begun his career as a petty clerk with nothing to back him, had
quietly plodded on for forty-five years, knew very well what to work
towards, had no ambition to draw the stars down from heaven, though he had
two stars already, and particularly disliked expressing his own opinion on
any subject. He was honest, too, that is, it had not happened to him to do
anything particularly dishonest; he was a bachelor because he was an
egoist; he had plenty of brains, but he could not bear showing his
intelligence; he particularly disliked slovenliness and enthusiasm,
regarding it as moral slovenliness; and towards the end of his life had
become completely absorbed in a voluptuous, indolent comfort and systematic
solitude. Though he sometimes visited people of a rather higher rank than
his own, yet from his youth up he could never endure entertaining visitors
himself; and of late he had, if he did not play a game of patience, been
satisfied with the society of his dining-room clock, and would spend the
whole evening dozing in his arm-chair, listening placidly to its ticking
under its glass case on the chimney-piece. In appearance he was closely
shaven and extremely proper-looking, he was well-preserved, looking younger
than his age; he promised to go on living many years longer, and closely
followed the rules of the highest good breeding. His post was a fairly
comfortable one: he had to preside somewhere and to sign something. In
short, he was regarded as a first-rate man. He had only one passion, or
more accurately, one keen desire: that was, to have his own house, and a
house built like a gentleman's residence, not a commercial investment. His
desire was at last realised: he looked out and bought a house on the
Petersburg Side, a good way off, it is true, but it had a garden and was an
elegant house. The new owner decided that it was better for being a good
way off: he did not like entertaining at home, and for driving to see any
one or to the office he had a handsome carriage of a chocolate hue, a
coachman, Mihey, and two little but strong and handsome horses. All this
was honourably acquired by the careful frugality of forty years, so that
his heart rejoiced over it.
This was how it was that Stepan Nikiforovitch felt such pleasure in his
placid heart that he actually invited two friends to see him on his
birthday, which he had hitherto carefully concealed from his most intimate
acquaintances. He had special designs on one of these visitors. He lived in
the upper storey of his new house, and he wanted a tenant for the lower
half, which was built and arranged in exactly the same way. Stepan
Nikiforovitch was reckoning upon Semyon Ivanovitch Shipulenko, and had
twice that evening broached the subject in the course of conversation. But
Semyon Ivanovitch made no response. The latter, too, was a man who had
doggedly made a way for himself in the course of long years. He had black
hair and whiskers, and a face that always had a shade of jaundice. He was a
married man of morose disposition who liked to stay at home; he ruled his
household with a rod of iron; in his official duties he had the greatest
self-confidence. He, too, knew perfectly well what goal he was making for,
and better still, what he never would reach. He was in a good position, and
he was sitting tight there. Though he looked upon the new reforms with a
certain distaste, he was not particularly agitated about them: he was
extremely self-confident, and listened with a shade of ironical malice to
Ivan Ilyitch Pralinsky expatiating on new themes. All of them had been
drinking rather freely, however, so that Stepan Nikiforovitch himself
condescended to take part in a slight discussion with Mr. Pralinsky
concerning the latest reforms. But we must say a few words about his
Excellency, Mr. Pralinsky, especially as he is the chief hero of the
present story.
The actual civil councillor Ivan Ilyitch Pralinsky had only been "his
Excellency" for four months; in short, he was a young general. He was young
in years, too--only forty-three, no more--and he looked and liked to look
even younger. He was a tall, handsome man, he was smart in his dress, and
prided himself on its solid, dignified character; with great aplomb he
displayed an order of some consequence on his breast. From his earliest
childhood he had known how to acquire the airs and graces of aristocratic
society, and being a bachelor, dreamed of a wealthy and even aristocratic
bride. He dreamed of many other things, though he was far from being
stupid. At times he was a great talker, and even liked to assume a
parliamentary pose. He came of a good family. He was the son of a general,
and brought up in the lap of luxury; in his tender childhood he had been
dressed in velvet and fine linen, had been educated at an aristocratic
school, and though he acquired very little learning there he was successful
in the service, and had worked his way up to being a general. The
authorities looked upon him as a capable man, and even expected great
things from him in the future. Stepan Nikiforovitch, under whom Ivan
Ilyitch had begun his career in the service, and under whom he had remained
until he was made a general, had never considered him a good business man
and had no expectations of him whatever. What he liked in him was that he
belonged to a good family, had property--that is, a big block of buildings,
let out in flats, in charge of an overseer--was connected with persons of
consequence, and what was more, had a majestic bearing. Stepan
Nikiforovitch blamed him inwardly for excess of imagination and
instability. Ivan Ilyitch himself felt at times that he had too much
_amour-propre_ and even sensitiveness. Strange to say, he had attacks from
time to time of morbid tenderness of conscience and even a kind of faint
remorse. With bitterness and a secret soreness of heart he recognised now
and again that he did not fly so high as he imagined. At such moments he
sank into despondency, especially when he was suffering from hæmorrhoids,
called his life _une existence manquée_, and ceased--privately, of
course--to believe even in his parliamentary capacities, calling himself a
talker, a maker of phrases; and though all that, of course, did him great
credit, it did not in the least prevent him from raising his head again
half an hour later, and growing even more obstinately, even more
conceitedly self-confident, and assuring himself that he would yet succeed
in making his mark, and that he would be not only a great official, but a
statesman whom Russia would long remember. He actually dreamed at times of
monuments. From this it will be seen that Ivan Ilyitch aimed high, though
he hid his vague hopes and dreams deep in his heart, even with a certain
trepidation. In short, he was a good-natured man and a poet at heart. Of
late years these morbid moments of disillusionment had begun to be more
frequent. He had become peculiarly irritable, ready to take offence, and
was apt to take any contradiction as an affront. But reformed Russia gave
him great hopes. His promotion to general was the finishing touch. He was
roused; he held his head up. He suddenly began talking freely and
eloquently. He talked about the new ideas, which he very quickly and
unexpectedly made his own and professed with vehemence. He sought
opportunities for speaking, drove about the town, and in many places
succeeded in gaining the reputation of a desperate Liberal, which flattered
him greatly. That evening, after drinking four glasses, he was particularly
exuberant. He wanted on every point to confute Stepan Nikiforovitch, whom
he had not seen for some time past, and whom he had hitherto always
respected and even obeyed. He considered him for some reason reactionary,
and fell upon him with exceptional heat. Stepan Nikiforovitch hardly
answered him, but only listened slyly, though the subject interested him.
Ivan Ilyitch got hot, and in the heat of the discussion sipped his glass
more often than he ought to have done. Then Stepan Nikiforovitch took the
bottle and at once filled his glass again, which for some reason seemed to
offend Ivan Ilyitch, especially as Semyon Ivanovitch Shipulenko, whom he
particularly despised and indeed feared on account of his cynicism and
ill-nature, preserved a treacherous silence and smiled more frequently than
was necessary. "They seem to take me for a schoolboy," flashed across Ivan
Ilyitch's mind.
"No, it was time, high time," he went on hotly. "We have put it off too
long, and to my thinking humanity is the first consideration, humanity with
our inferiors, remembering that they, too, are men. Humanity will save
everything and bring out all that is...."
"He-he-he-he!" was heard from the direction of Semyon Ivanovitch.
"But why are you giving us such a talking to?" Stepan Nikiforovitch
protested at last, with an affable smile. "I must own, Ivan Ilyitch, I have
not been able to make out, so far, what you are maintaining. You advocate
humanity. That is love of your fellow-creatures, isn't it?"
"Yes, if you like. I...."
"Allow me! As far as I can see, that's not the only thing. Love of one's
fellow-creatures has always been fitting. The reform movement is not
confined to that. All sorts of questions have arisen relating to the
peasantry, the law courts, economics, government contracts, morals and ...
and ... and those questions are endless, and all together may give rise to
great upheavals, so to say. That is what we have been anxious about, and
not simply humanity...."
"Yes, the thing is a bit deeper than that," observed Semyon Ivanovitch.