the glass. After filling the glass, he proceeded, writhing and wriggling,
as it were stealthily, as it were furtively, to pour himself out some, with
this difference, that he did not fill his own glass to within a finger
length of the top, and this seemed somehow more respectful. He was like a
woman in travail as he sat beside his chief. What could he talk about,
indeed? Yet to entertain his Excellency was an absolute duty since he had
the honour of keeping him company. The champagne served as a resource, and
his Excellency, too, was pleased that he had filled his glass--not for the
sake of the champagne, for it was warm and perfectly abominable, but just
morally pleased.
"The old chap would like to have a drink himself," thought Ivan Ilyitch,
"but he doesn't venture till I do. I mustn't prevent him. And indeed it
would be absurd for the bottle to stand between as untouched."
He took a sip, anyway it seemed better than sitting doing nothing.
"I am here," he said, with pauses and emphasis, "I am here, you know, so to
speak, accidentally, and, of course, it may be ... that some people would
consider ... it unseemly for me to be at such ... a gathering."
Akim Petrovitch said nothing, but listened with timid curiosity.
"But I hope you will understand, with what object I have come.... I
haven't really come simply to drink wine ... he-he!"
Akim Petrovitch tried to chuckle, following the example of his Excellency,
but again he could not get it out, and again he made absolutely no
consolatory answer.
"I am here ... in order, so to speak, to encourage ... to show, so to
speak, a moral aim," Ivan Ilyitch continued, feeling vexed at Akim
Petrovitch's stupidity, but he suddenly subsided into silence himself. He
saw that poor Akim Petrovitch had dropped his eyes as though he were in
fault. The general in some confusion made haste to take another sip from
his glass, and Akim Petrovitch clutched at the bottle as though it were his
only hope of salvation and filled the glass again.
"You haven't many resources," thought Ivan Ilyitch, looking sternly at poor
Akim Petrovitch. The latter, feeling that stern general-like eye upon him,
made up his mind to remain silent for good and not to raise his eyes. So
they sat beside each other for a couple of minutes--two sickly minutes for
Akim Petrovitch.
A couple of words about Akim Petrovitch. He was a man of the old school, as
meek as a hen, reared from infancy to obsequious servility, and at the same
time a good-natured and even honourable man. He was a Petersburg Russian;
that is, his father and his father's father were born, grew up and served
in Petersburg and had never once left Petersburg. That is quite a special
type of Russian. They have hardly any idea of Russia, though that does not
trouble them at all. Their whole interest is confined to Petersburg and
chiefly the place in which they serve. All their thoughts are concentrated
on preference for farthing points, on the shop, and their month's salary.
They don't know a single Russian custom, a single Russian song except
"Lutchinushka," and that only because it is played on the barrel organs.
However, there are two fundamental and invariable signs by which you can
at once distinguish a Petersburg Russian from a real Russian. The first
sign is the fact that Petersburg Russians, all without exception, speak of
the newspaper as the _Academic News_ and never call it the _Petersburg
News_. The second and equally trustworthy sign is that Petersburg Russians
never make use of the word "breakfast," but always call it "Frühstück" with
especial emphasis on the first syllable. By these radical and
distinguishing signs you can tell them apart; in short, this is a humble
type which has been formed during the last thirty-five years. Akim
Petrovitch, however, was by no means a fool. If the general had asked him a
question about anything in his own province he would have answered and kept
up a conversation; as it was, it was unseemly for a subordinate even to
answer such questions as these, though Akim Petrovitch was dying from
curiosity to know something more detailed about his Excellency's real
intentions.
And meanwhile Ivan Ilyitch sank more and more into meditation and a sort of
whirl of ideas; in his absorption he sipped his glass every half-minute.
Akim Petrovitch at once zealously filled it up. Both were silent. Ivan
Ilyitch began looking at the dances, and immediately something attracted
his attention. One circumstance even surprised him....
The dances were certainly lively. Here people danced in the simplicity of
their hearts to amuse themselves and even to romp wildly. Among the dancers
few were really skilful, but the unskilled stamped so vigorously that they
might have been taken for agile ones. The officer was among the foremost;
he particularly liked the figures in which he was left alone, to perform a
solo. Then he performed the most marvellous capers. For instance, standing
upright as a post, he would suddenly bend over to one side, so that one
expected him to fall over; but with the next step he would suddenly bend
over in the opposite direction at the same acute angle to the floor. He
kept the most serious face and danced in the full conviction that every
one was watching him. Another gentleman, who had had rather more than he
could carry before the quadrille, dropped asleep beside his partner so that
his partner had to dance alone. The young registration clerk, who had
danced with the lady in the blue scarf through all the figures and through
all the five quadrilles which they had danced that evening, played the same
prank the whole time: that is, he dropped a little behind his partner,
seized the end of her scarf, and as they crossed over succeeded in
imprinting some twenty kisses on the scarf. His partner sailed along in
front of him, as though she noticed nothing. The medical student really did
dance on his head, and excited frantic enthusiasm, stamping, and shrieks of
delight. In short, the absence of constraint was very marked. Ivan Ilyitch,
whom the wine was beginning to affect, began by smiling, but by degrees a
bitter doubt began to steal into his heart; of course he liked free and
easy manners and unconventionality. He desired, he had even inwardly prayed
for free and easy manners, when they had all held back, but now that
unconventionality had gone beyond all limits. One lady, for instance, the
one in the shabby dark blue velvet dress, bought fourth-hand, in the sixth
figure pinned her dress so as to turn it into--something like trousers.
This was the Kleopatra Semyonovna with whom one could venture to do
anything, as her partner, the medical student, had expressed it. The
medical student defied description: he was simply a Fokin. How was it? They
had held back and now they were so quickly emancipated! One might think it
nothing, but this transformation was somehow strange; it indicated
something. It was as though they had forgotten Ivan Ilyitch's existence. Of
course he was the first to laugh, and even ventured to applaud. Akim
Petrovitch chuckled respectfully in unison, though, indeed, with evident
pleasure and no suspicion that his Excellency was beginning to nourish in
his heart a new gnawing anxiety.
"You dance capitally, young man," Ivan Ilyitch was obliged to say to the
medical student as he walked past him.
The student turned sharply towards him, made a grimace, and bringing his
face close into unseemly proximity to the face of his Excellency, crowed
like a cock at the top of his voice. This was too much. Ivan Ilyitch got up
from the table. In spite of that, a roar of inexpressible laughter
followed, for the crow was an extraordinarily good imitation, and the whole
performance was utterly unexpected. Ivan Ilyitch was still standing in
bewilderment, when suddenly Pseldonimov himself made his appearance, and
with a bow, began begging him to come to supper. His mother followed him.
"Your Excellency," she said, bowing, "do us the honour, do not disdain our
humble fare."
"I ... I really don't know," Ivan Ilyitch was beginning. "I did not come
with that idea ... I ... meant to be going...."
He was, in fact, holding his hat in his hands. What is more, he had at that
very moment taken an inward vow at all costs to depart at once and on no
account whatever to consent to remain, and ... he remained. A minute later
he led the procession to the table. Pseldonimov and his mother walked in
front, clearing the way for him. They made him sit down in the seat of
honour, and again a bottle of champagne, opened but not begun, was set
beside his plate. By way of _hors d'oeuvres_ there were salt herrings and
vodka. He put out his hand, poured out a large glass of vodka and drank it
off. He had never drunk vodka before. He felt as though he were rolling
down a hill, were flying, flying, flying, that he must stop himself, catch
at something, but there was no possibility of it.
His position was certainly becoming more and more eccentric. What is more,
it seemed as though fate were mocking at him. God knows what had happened
to him in the course of an hour or so. When he went in he had, so to say,
opened his arms to embrace all humanity, all his subordinates; and here not
more than an hour had passed and in all his aching heart he felt and knew
that he hated Pseldonimov and was cursing him, his wife and his wedding.
What was more, he saw from his face, from his eyes alone, that Pseldonimov
himself hated him, that he was looking at him with eyes that almost said:
"If only you would take yourself off, curse you! Foisting yourself on us!"
All this he had read for some time in his eyes.
Of course as he sat down to table, Ivan Ilyitch would sooner have had his
hand cut off than have owned, not only aloud, but even to himself, that
this was really so. The moment had not fully arrived yet. There was still a
moral vacillation. But his heart, his heart ... it ached! It was clamouring
for freedom, for air, for rest. Ivan Ilyitch was really too good-natured.
He knew, of course, that he ought long before to have gone away, not merely
to have gone away but to have made his escape. That all this was not the
same, but had turned out utterly different from what he had dreamed of on
the pavement.
"Why did I come? Did I come here to eat and drink?" he asked himself as he
tasted the salt herring. He even had attacks of scepticism. There was at
moments a faint stir of irony in regard to his own fine action at the
bottom of his heart. He actually wondered at times why he had come in.
But how could he go away? To go away like this without having finished the
business properly was impossible. What would people say? They would say
that he was frequenting low company. Indeed it really would amount to that
if he did not end it properly. What would Stepan Nikiforovitch, Semyon
Ivanovitch say (for of course it would be all over the place by to-morrow)?
what would be said in the offices, at the Shembels', at the Shubins'? No,
he must take his departure in such a way that all should understand why he
had come, he must make clear his moral aim.... And meantime the dramatic
moment would not present itself. "They don't even respect me," he went on,
thinking. "What are they laughing at? They are as free and easy as though
they had no feeling.... But I have long suspected that all the younger
generation are without feeling! I must remain at all costs! They have just
been dancing, but now at table they will all be gathered together.... I
will talk about questions, about reforms, about the greatness of Russia....
I can still win their enthusiasm! Yes! Perhaps nothing is yet lost....
Perhaps it is always like this in reality. What should I begin upon with
them to attract them? What plan can I hit upon? I am lost, simply lost....
And what is it they want, what is it they require?... I see they are
laughing together there. Can it be at me, merciful heavens! But what is it
I want ... why is it I am here, why don't I go away, why do I go on
persisting?"... He thought this, and a sort of shame, a deep unbearable
shame, rent his heart more and more intensely.
* * * * *
But everything went on in the same way, one thing after another.
Just two minutes after he had sat down to the table one terrible thought
overwhelmed him completely. He suddenly felt that he was horribly drunk,
that is, not as he was before, but hopelessly drunk. The cause of this was
the glass of vodka which he had drunk after the champagne, and which had
immediately produced an effect. He was conscious, he felt in every fibre of
his being that he was growing hopelessly feeble. Of course his assurance
was greatly increased, but consciousness had not deserted him, and it kept
crying out: "It is bad, very bad and, in fact, utterly unseemly!" Of course
his unstable drunken reflections could not rest long on one subject; there
began to be apparent and unmistakably so, even to himself, two opposite
sides. On one side there was swaggering assurance, a desire to conquer, a
disdain of obstacles and a desperate confidence that he would attain his
object. The other side showed itself in the aching of his heart, and a sort
of gnawing in his soul. "What would they say? How would it all end? What
would happen to-morrow, to-morrow, to-morrow?"...
He had felt vaguely before that he had enemies in the company. "No doubt
that was because I was drunk," he thought with agonising doubt. What was
his horror when he actually, by unmistakable signs, convinced himself now
that he really had enemies at the table, and that it was impossible to
doubt of it.
"And why--why?" he wondered.
At the table there were all the thirty guests, of whom several were quite
tipsy. Others were behaving with a careless and sinister independence,
shouting and talking at the top of their voices, bawling out the toasts
before the time, and pelting the ladies with pellets of bread. One
unprepossessing personage in a greasy coat had fallen off his chair as soon
as he sat down, and remained so till the end of supper. Another one made
desperate efforts to stand on the table, to propose a toast, and only the
officer, who seized him by the tails of his coat, moderated his premature
ardour. The supper was a pell-mell affair, although they had hired a cook
who had been in the service of a general; there was the galantine, there
was tongue and potatoes, there were rissoles with green peas, there was,
finally, a goose, and last of all blancmange. Among the drinks were beer,
vodka and sherry. The only bottle of champagne was standing beside the
general, which obliged him to pour it out for himself and also for Akim
Petrovitch, who did not venture at supper to officiate on his own
initiative. The other guests had to drink the toasts in Caucasian wine or
anything else they could get. The table was made up of several tables put
together, among them even a card-table. It was covered with many
tablecloths, amongst them one coloured Yaroslav cloth; the gentlemen sat
alternately with the ladies. Pseldonimov's mother would not sit down to the
table; she bustled about and supervised. But another sinister female
figure, who had not shown herself till then, appeared on the scene, wearing
a reddish silk dress, with a very high cap on her head and a bandage round
her face for toothache. It appeared that this was the bride's mother, who
had at last consented to emerge from a back room for supper. She had
refused to appear till then owing to her implacable hostility to
Pseldonimov's mother, but to that we will refer later. This lady looked
spitefully, even sarcastically, at the general, and evidently did not wish
to be presented to him. To Ivan Ilyitch this figure appeared suspicious in
the extreme. But apart from her, several other persons were suspicious and
inspired involuntary apprehension and uneasiness. It even seemed that they
were in some sort of plot together against Ivan Ilyitch. At any rate it
seemed so to him, and throughout the whole supper he became more and more
convinced of it. A gentleman with a beard, some sort of free artist, was
particularly sinister; he even looked at Ivan Ilyitch several times, and
then turning to his neighbour, whispered something. Another person present
was unmistakably drunk, but yet, from certain signs, was to be regarded
with suspicion. The medical student, too, gave rise to unpleasant
expectations. Even the officer himself was not quite to be depended on. But
the young man on the comic paper was blazing with hatred, he lolled in his
chair, he looked so haughty and conceited, he snorted so aggressively! And
though the rest of the guests took absolutely no notice of the young
journalist, who had contributed only four wretched poems to the
_Firebrand_, and had consequently become a Liberal and evidently, indeed,
disliked him, yet when a pellet of bread aimed in his direction fell near
Ivan Ilyitch, he was ready to stake his head that it had been thrown by no
other than the young man in question.
All this, of course, had a pitiable effect on him.
Another observation was particularly unpleasant. Ivan Ilyitch became aware
that he was beginning to articulate indistinctly and with difficulty, that
he was longing to say a great deal, but that his tongue refused to obey
him. And then he suddenly seemed to forget himself, and worst of all he
would suddenly burst into a loud guffaw of laughter, _à propos_ of nothing.
This inclination quickly passed off after a glass of champagne which Ivan
Ilyitch had not meant to drink, though he had poured it out and suddenly
drunk it quite by accident. After that glass he felt at once almost
inclined to cry. He felt that he was sinking into a most peculiar state of
sentimentality; he began to be again filled with love, he loved every one,
even Pseldonimov, even the young man on the comic paper. He suddenly longed
to embrace all of them, to forget everything and to be reconciled. What is
more, to tell them everything openly, all, all; that is, to tell them what
a good, nice man he was, with what wonderful talents. What services he
would do for his country, how good he was at entertaining the fair sex, and
above all, how progressive he was, how humanely ready he was to be
indulgent to all, to the very lowest; and finally in conclusion to tell
them frankly all the motives that had impelled him to turn up at
Pseldonimov's uninvited, to drink two bottles of champagne and to make him
happy with his presence.
"The truth, the holy truth and candour before all things! I will capture
them by candour. They will believe me, I see it clearly; they actually look
at me with hostility, but when I tell them all I shall conquer them
completely. They will fill their glasses and drink my health with shouts.
The officer will break his glass on his spur. Perhaps they will even shout
hurrah! Even if they want to toss me after the Hussar fashion I will not
oppose them, and indeed it would be very jolly! I will kiss the bride on
her forehead; she is charming. Akim Petrovitch is a very nice man, too.
Pseldonimov will improve, of course, later on. He will acquire, so to
speak, a society polish.... And although, of course, the younger generation
has not that delicacy of feeling, yet ... yet I will talk to them about the
contemporary significance of Russia among the European States. I will refer
to the peasant question, too; yes, and ... and they will all like me and I
shall leave with glory!..."
These dreams were, of course, extremely agreeable, but what was unpleasant
was that in the midst of these roseate anticipations, Ivan Ilyitch suddenly
discovered in himself another unexpected propensity, that was to spit.
Anyway saliva began running from his mouth apart from any will of his own.
He observed this on Akim Petrovitch, whose cheek he spluttered upon and who
sat not daring to wipe it off from respectfulness. Ivan Ilyitch took his
dinner napkin and wiped it himself, but this immediately struck him himself
as so incongruous, so opposed to all common sense, that he sank into
silence and began wondering. Though Akim Petrovitch emptied his glass, yet
he sat as though he were scalded. Ivan Ilyitch reflected now that he had
for almost a quarter of an hour been talking to him about some most
interesting subject, but that Akim Petrovitch had not only seemed
embarrassed as he listened, but positively frightened. Pseldonimov, who was
sitting one chair away from him, also craned his neck towards him, and
bending his head sideways, listened to him with the most unpleasant air. He
actually seemed to be keeping a watch on him. Turning his eyes upon the
rest of the company, he saw that many were looking straight at him and
laughing. But what was strangest of all was, that he was not in the least
embarrassed by it; on the contrary, he sipped his glass again and suddenly
began speaking so that all could hear:
"I was saying just now," he began as loudly as possible, "I was saying
just now, ladies and gentlemen, to Akim Petrovitch, that Russia ... yes,
Russia ... in short, you understand, that I mean to s-s-say ... Russia is
living, it is my profound conviction, through a period of hu-hu-manity...."
"Hu-hu-manity ..." was heard at the other end of the table.
"Hu-hu...."
"Tu-tu!"
Ivan Ilyitch stopped. Pseldonimov got up from his chair and began trying to
see who had shouted. Akim Petrovitch stealthily shook his head, as though
admonishing the guests. Ivan Ilyitch saw this distinctly, but in his
confusion said nothing.
"Humanity!" he continued obstinately; "and this evening ... and only this
evening I said to Stepan Niki-ki-foro-vitch ... yes ... that ... that the
regeneration, so to speak, of things...."
"Your Excellency!" was heard a loud exclamation at the other end of the
table.
"What is your pleasure?" answered Ivan Ilyitch, pulled up short and trying
to distinguish who had called to him.
"Nothing at all, your Excellency. I was carried away, continue!
Con-ti-nue!" the voice was heard again.
Ivan Ilyitch felt upset.
"The regeneration, so to speak, of those same things."
"Your Excellency!" the voice shouted again.
"What do you want?"
"How do you do!"
This time Ivan Ilyitch could not restrain himself. He broke off his speech
and turned to the assailant who had disturbed the general harmony. He was a
very young lad, still at school, who had taken more than a drop too much,
and was an object of great suspicion to the general. He had been shouting
for a long time past, and had even broken a glass and two plates,
maintaining that this was the proper thing to do at a wedding. At the
moment when Ivan Ilyitch turned towards him, the officer was beginning to
pitch into the noisy youngster.
"What are you about? Why are you yelling? We shall turn you out, that's
what we shall do."
"I don't mean you, your Excellency, I don't mean you. Continue!" cried the
hilarious schoolboy, lolling back in his chair. "Continue, I am listening,
and am very, ve-ry, ve-ry much pleased with you! Praisewor-thy,
praisewor-thy!"
"The wretched boy is drunk," said Pseldonimov in a whisper.
"I see that he is drunk, but...."
"I was just telling a very amusing anecdote, your Excellency!" began the
officer, "about a lieutenant in our company who was talking just like that
to his superior officers; so this young man is imitating him now. To every
word of his superior officers he said 'praiseworthy, praiseworthy!' He was
turned out of the army ten years ago on account of it."
"Wha-at lieutenant was that?"
"In our company, your Excellency, he went out of his mind over the word
praiseworthy. At first they tried gentle methods, then they put him under
arrest.... His commanding officer admonished him in the most fatherly way,
and he answered, 'praiseworthy, praiseworthy!' And strange to say, the
officer was a fine-looking man, over six feet. They meant to court-martial
him, but then they perceived that he was mad."
"So ... a schoolboy. A schoolboy's prank need not be taken seriously. For
my part I am ready to overlook it...."
"They held a medical inquiry, your Excellency."
"Upon my word, but he was alive, wasn't he?"
"What! Did they dissect him?"
A loud and almost universal roar of laughter resounded among the guests,
who had till then behaved with decorum. Ivan Ilyitch was furious.