"Till we meet again!... But excuse me, young man, here I am again ... I
don't know how to say it ... give me your word of honour once more, as a
gentleman, that you are not her lover."
"Oh, mercy on us!"
"One more question, the last: do you know the surname of the husband of
your ... that is, I mean the lady who is the object of your devotion?"
"Of course I do; it is not your name, and that is all about it."
"Why, how do you know my name?"
"But, I say, you had better go; you are losing time; she might go away a
thousand times. Why, what do you want? Your lady's in a fox cape and a
hood, while mine is wearing a plaid cloak and a pale blue velvet hat....
What more do you want? What else?"
"A pale blue velvet hat! She has a plaid cloak and a pale blue velvet hat!"
cried the pertinacious man, instantly turning back again.
"Oh, hang it all! Why, that may well be.... And, indeed, my lady does not
come here!"
"Where is she, then--your lady?"
"You want to know that? What is it to you?"
"I must own, I am still...."
"Tfoo! Mercy on us! Why, you have no sense of decency, none at all. Well,
my lady has friends here, on the third storey looking into the street. Why,
do you want me to tell you their names?"
"My goodness, I have friends too, who live on the third storey, and their
windows look on to the street.... General...."
"General!"
"A general. If you like I will tell you what general: well, then ...
General Polovitsyn."
"You don't say so! No, that is not the same! (Oh, damnation, damnation!)."
"Not the same?"
"No, not the same."
Both were silent, looking at each other in perplexity.
"Why are you looking at me like that?" exclaimed the young man, shaking off
his stupefaction and air of uncertainty with vexation.
The gentleman was in a fluster.
"I ... I must own...."
"Come, allow me, allow me; let us talk more sensibly now. It concerns us
both. Explain to me ... whom do you know there?"
"You mean, who are my friends?"
"Yes, your friends...."
"Well, you see ... you see!... I see from your eyes that I have guessed
right!"
"Hang it all! No, no, hang it all! Are you blind? Why, I am standing here
before you, I am not with her. Oh, well! I don't care, whether you say so
or not!"
Twice in his fury the young man turned on his heel with a contemptuous wave
of his hand.
"Oh, I meant nothing, I assure you. As an honourable man I will tell you
all about it. At first my wife used to come here alone. They are relatives
of hers; I had no suspicions; yesterday I met his Excellency: he told me
that he had moved three weeks ago from here to another flat, and my wi ...
that is, not mine, but somebody else's (the husband's on the Voznesensky
Bridge) ... that lady had told me that she was with them the day before
yesterday, in this flat I mean ... and the cook told me that his
Excellency's flat had been taken by a young man called Bobynitsyn...."
"Oh, damn it all, damn it all!..."
"My dear sir, I am in terror, I am in alarm!"
"Oh, hang it! What is it to me that you are in terror and in alarm? Ah!
Over there ... some one flitted by ... over there...."
"Where, where? You just shout, 'Ivan Andreyitch,' and I will run...."
"All right, all right. Oh, confound it! Ivan Andreyitch!"
"Here I am," cried Ivan Andreyitch, returning, utterly breathless. "What is
it, what is it? Where?"
"Oh, no, I didn't mean anything ... I wanted to know what this lady's name
is."
"Glaf...."
"Glafira?"
"No, not Glafira.... Excuse me, I cannot tell you her name."
As he said this the worthy man was as white as a sheet.
"Oh, of course it is not Glafira, I know it is not Glafira, and mine's not
Glafira; but with whom can she be?"
"Where?"
"There! Oh, damn it, damn it!" (The young man was in such a fury that he
could not stand still.)
"There, you see! How did you know that her name was Glafira?"
"Oh, damn it all, really! To have a bother with you, too! Why, you
say--that yours is not called Glafira!..."
"My dear sir, what a way to speak!"
"Oh, the devil! As though that mattered now! What is she? Your wife?"
"No--that is, I am not married.... But I would not keep flinging the devil
at a respectable man in trouble, a man, I will not say worthy of esteem,
but at any rate a man of education. You keep saying, 'The devil, the
devil!'"
"To be sure, the devil take it; so there you are, do you understand?"
"You are blinded by anger, and I say nothing. Oh, dear, who is that?"
"Where?"
There was a noise and a sound of laughter; two pretty girls ran down the
steps; both the men rushed up to them.
"Oh, what manners! What do you want?"
"Where are you shoving?"
"They are not the right ones!"
"Aha, so you've pitched on the wrong ones! Cab!"
"Where do you want to go, mademoiselle?"
"To Pokrov. Get in, Annushka; I'll take you."
"Oh, I'll sit on the other side; off! Now, mind you drive quickly."
The cab drove off.
"Where did they come from?"
"Oh, dear, oh, dear! Hadn't we better go there?"
"Where?"
"Why, to Bobynitsyn's...."
"No, that's out of the question."
"Why?"
"I would go there, of course, but then she would tell me some other story;
she would ... get out of it. She would say that she had come on purpose to
catch me with some one, and I should get into trouble."
"And, you know, she may be there! But you--I don't know for what
reason--why, you might go to the general's...."
"But, you know, he has moved!"
"That doesn't matter, you know. She has gone there; so you go, too--don't
you understand? Behave as though you didn't know the general had gone away.
Go as though you had come to fetch your wife, and so on."
"And then?"
"Well, and then find the person you want at Bobynitsyn's. Tfoo, damnation
take you, what a senseless...."
"Well, and what is it to you, my finding? You see, you see!"
"What, what, my good man? What? You are on the same old tack again. Oh,
Lord have mercy on us! You ought to be ashamed, you absurd person, you
senseless person!"
"Yes, but why are you so interested? Do you want to find out...."
"Find out what? What? Oh, well, damnation take you! I have no thoughts for
you now; I'll go alone. Go away; get along; look out; be off!"
"My dear sir, you are almost forgetting yourself!" cried the gentleman in
raccoon in despair.
"Well, what of it? What if I am forgetting myself?" said the young man,
setting his teeth and stepping up to the gentleman in raccoon in a fury.
"What of it? Forgetting myself before whom?" he thundered, clenching his
fists.
"But allow me, sir...."
"Well, who are you, before whom I am forgetting myself? What is your name?"
"I don't know about that, young man; why do you want my name?... I cannot
tell it you.... I better come with you. Let us go; I won't hang back; I am
ready for anything.... But I assure you I deserve greater politeness and
respect! You ought never to lose your self-possession, and if you are upset
about something--I can guess what about--at any rate there is no need to
forget yourself.... You are still a very, very young man!..."
"What is it to me that you are old? There's nothing wonderful in that! Go
away. Why are you dancing about here?"
"How am I old? Of course, in position; but I am not dancing about...."
"I can see that. But get away with you."
"No, I'll stay with you; you cannot forbid me; I am mixed up in it, too; I
will come with you...."
"Well, then, keep quiet, keep quiet, hold your tongue...."
They both went up the steps and ascended the stairs to the third storey. It
was rather dark.
"Stay; have you got matches?"
"Matches! What matches?"
"Do you smoke cigars?"
"Oh, yes, I have, I have; here they are, here they are; here, stay...." The
gentleman in raccoon rummaged in a fluster.
"Tfoo, what a senseless ... damnation! I believe this is the door...."
"This, this, this?"
"This, this, this... Why are you bawling? Hush!..."
"My dear sir, overcoming my feelings, I ... you are a reckless fellow, so
there!..."
The light flared up.
"Yes, so it is; here is the brass plate. This is Bobynitsyn's; do you see
Bobynitsyn?"
"I see it, I see it."
"Hu-ush!"
"Why, has it gone out?"
"Yes, it has."
"Should we knock?"
"Yes, we must," responded the gentleman in raccoon.
"Knock, then."
"No, why should I? You begin, you knock!"
"Coward!"
"You are a coward yourself!"
"G-et a-way with you!"
"I almost regret having confided my secret to you; you...."
"I--what about me?"
"You take advantage of my distress; you see that I am upset...."
"But do I care? I think it's ridiculous, that's all about it!"
"Why are you here?"
"Why are you here, too?..."
"Delightful morality!" observed the gentleman in raccoon, with indignation.
"What are you saying about morality? What are you?"
"Well, it's immoral!"
"What?..."
"Why, to your thinking, every deceived husband is a noodle!"
"Why, are you the husband? I thought the husband was on Voznesensky
Bridge? So what is it to you? Why do you meddle?"
"I do believe that you are the lover!..."
"Listen: if you go on like this I shall be forced to think you are a
noodle! That is, do you know who?"
"That is, you mean to say that I am the husband," said the gentleman in
raccoon, stepping back as though he were scalded with boiling water.
"Hush, hold your tongue. Do you hear?..."
"It is she."
"No!"
"Tfoo, how dark it is!"
There was a hush; a sound was audible in Bobynitsyn's flat.
"Why should we quarrel, sir?" whispered the gentleman in raccoon.
"But you took offence yourself, damn it all!"
"But you drove me out of all patience."
"Hold your tongue!"
"You must admit that you are a very young man."
"Hold your tongue!"
"Of course I share your idea, that a husband in such a position is a
noodle."
"Oh, will you hold your tongue? Oh!..."
"But why such savage persecution of the unfortunate husband?..."
"It is she!"
But at that moment the sound ceased.
"Is it she?"
"It is, it is, it is! But why are you--you worrying about it? It is not
your trouble!"
"My dear sir, my dear sir," muttered the gentleman in raccoon, turning
pale and gulping, "I am, of course, greatly agitated ... you can see for
yourself my abject position; but now it's night, of course, but
to-morrow ... though indeed we are not likely to meet to-morrow, though
I am not afraid of meeting you--and besides, it is not I, it is my
friend on the Voznesensky Bridge, it really is he! It is his wife, it is
somebody else's wife. Poor fellow! I assure you, I know him very
intimately; if you will allow me I will tell you all about it. I am a
great friend of his, as you can see for yourself, or I shouldn't be in
such a state about him now--as you see for yourself. Several times I
said to him: 'Why are you getting married, dear boy? You have position,
you have means, you are highly respected. Why risk it all at the caprice
of coquetry? You must see that.' 'No, I am going to be married,' he
said; 'domestic bliss.'... Here's domestic bliss for you! In old days he
deceived other husbands ... now he is drinking the cup ... you must
excuse me, but this explanation was absolutely necessary.... He is an
unfortunate man, and is drinking the cup--now!..." At this point the
gentleman in raccoon gave such a gulp that he seemed to be sobbing in
earnest.
"Ah, damnation take them all! There are plenty of fools. But who are you?"
The young man ground his teeth in anger.
"Well, you must admit after this that I have been gentlemanly and open with
you ... and you take such a tone!"
"No, excuse me ... what is your name?"
"Why do you want to know my name?..."
"Ah!"
"I cannot tell you my name...."
"Do you know Shabrin?" the young man said quickly.
"Shabrin!!!"
"Yes, Shabrin! Ah!!!" (Saying this, the gentleman in the wadded overcoat
mimicked the gentleman in raccoon.) "Do you understand?"
"No, what Shabrin?" answered the gentleman in raccoon, in a fluster. "He's
not Shabrin; he is a very respectable man! I can excuse your discourtesy,
due to the tortures of jealousy."
"He's a scoundrel, a mercenary soul, a rogue that takes bribes, he steals
government money! He'll be had up for it before long!"
"Excuse me," said the gentleman in raccoon, turning pale, "you don't know
him; I see that you don't know him at all."
"No, I don't know him personally, but I know him from others who are in
close touch with him."
"From what others, sir? I am agitated, as you see...."
"A fool! A jealous idiot! He doesn't look after his wife! That's what he
is, if you like to know!"
"Excuse me, young man, you are grievously mistaken...."
"Oh!"
"Oh!"
A sound was heard in Bobynitsyn's flat. A door was opened, voices were
heard.
"Oh, that's not she! I recognise her voice; I understand it all now, this
is not she!" said the gentleman in raccoon, turning as white as a sheet.
"Hush!"
The young man leaned against the wall.
"My dear sir, I am off. It is not she, I am glad to say."
"All right! Be off, then!"
"Why are you staying, then?"
"What's that to you?"
The door opened, and the gentleman in raccoon could not refrain from
dashing headlong downstairs.
A man and a woman walked by the young man, and his heart stood still.... He
heard a familiar feminine voice and then a husky male voice, utterly
unfamiliar.
"Never mind, I will order the sledge," said the husky voice.
"Oh, yes, yes; very well, do...."
"It will be here directly."
The lady was left alone.
"Glafira! Where are your vows?" cried the young man in the wadded overcoat,
clutching the lady's arm.
"Oh, who is it? It's you, Tvorogov? My goodness! What are you doing here?"
"Who is it you have been with here?"
"Why, my husband. Go away, go away; he'll be coming out directly ...
from ... in there ... from the Polovitsyns'. Go away; for goodness'
sake, go away."
"It's three weeks since the Polovitsyns moved! I know all about it!"
"_Aïe!_" The lady dashed downstairs. The young man overtook her.
"Who told you?" asked the lady.
"Your husband, madam, Ivan Andreyitch; he is here before you, madam...."
Ivan Andreyitch was indeed standing at the front door.
"_Aïe_, it's you," cried the gentleman in raccoon.
"Ah! _C'est vous_," cried Glafira Petrovna, rushing up to him with
unfeigned delight. "Oh, dear, you can't think what has been happening to
me. I went to see the Polovitsyns; only fancy ... you know they are living
now by Izmailovsky Bridge; I told you, do you remember? I took a sledge
from there. The horses took fright and bolted, they broke the sledge, and I
was thrown out about a hundred yards from here; the coachman was taken up;
I was in despair. Fortunately Monsieur Tvorogov ..."
"What!"
Monsieur Tvorogov was more like a fossil than like Monsieur Tvorogov.
"Monsieur Tvorogov saw me here and undertook to escort me; but now you are
here, and I can only express my warm gratitude to you, Ivan Ilyitch...."
The lady gave her hand to the stupefied Ivan Ilyitch, and almost pinched
instead of pressing it.
"Monsieur Tvorogov, an acquaintance of mine; it was at the Skorlupovs' ball
we had the pleasure of meeting; I believe I told you; don't you remember,
Koko?"
"Oh, of course, of course! Ah, I remember," said the gentleman in raccoon
addressed as Koko. "Delighted, delighted!" And he warmly pressed the hand
of Monsieur Tvorogov.
"Who is it? What does it mean? I am waiting...." said a husky voice.
Before the group stood a gentleman of extraordinary height; he took out a
lorgnette and looked intently at the gentleman in the raccoon coat.
"Ah, Monsieur Bobynitsyn!" twittered the lady. "Where have you come from?
What a meeting! Only fancy, I have just had an upset in a sledge ... but
here is my husband! Jean! Monsieur Bobynitsyn, at the Karpovs' ball...."
"Ah, delighted, very much delighted!... But I'll take a carriage at once,
my dear."
"Yes, do, Jean, do; I still feel frightened; I am all of a tremble, I feel
quite giddy.... At the masquerade to-night," she whispered to Tvorogov....
"Good-bye, good-bye, Mr. Bobynitsyn! We shall meet to-morrow at the
Karpovs' ball, most likely."
"No, excuse me, I shall not be there to-morrow; I don't know about
to-morrow, if it is like this now...." Mr. Bobynitsyn muttered something
between his teeth, made a scrape with his boot, got into his sledge and
drove away.
A carriage drove up; the lady got into it. The gentleman in the raccoon
coat stopped, seemed incapable of making a movement and gazed blankly at
the gentleman in the wadded coat. The gentleman in the wadded coat smiled
rather foolishly.
"I don't know...."
"Excuse me, delighted to make your acquaintance," answered the young man,
bowing with curiosity and a little intimidated.
"Delighted, delighted!..."
"I think you have lost your galosh...."
"I--oh, yes, thank you, thank you. I keep meaning to get rubber ones."
"The foot gets so hot in rubbers," said the young man, apparently with
immense interest.
"_Jean!_ Are you coming?"
"It does make it hot. Coming directly, darling; we are having an
interesting conversation! Precisely so, as you say, it does make the foot
hot.... But excuse me, I ..."
"Oh, certainly."
"Delighted, very much delighted to make your acquaintance!..."
The gentleman in raccoon got into the carriage, the carriage set off, the
young man remained standing looking after it in astonishment.
II
The following evening there was a performance of some sort at the Italian
opera. Ivan Andreyitch burst into the theatre like a bomb. Such furore,
such a passion for music had never been observed in him before. It was
known for a positive fact, anyway, that Ivan Andreyitch used to be
exceeding fond of a nap for an hour or two at the Italian opera; he even
declared on several occasions how sweet and pleasant it was. "Why, the
prima donna," he used to say to his friends, "mews a lullaby to you like a
little white kitten." But it was a long time ago, last season, that he used
to say this; now, alas! even at home Ivan Andreyitch did not sleep at
nights. Nevertheless he burst into the crowded opera-house like a bomb.
Even the conductor started suspiciously at the sight of him, and glanced
out of the corner of his eye at his side-pocket in the full expectation of
seeing the hilt of a dagger hidden there in readiness. It must be observed
that there were at that time two parties, each supporting the superior
claims of its favourite prima donna. They were called the ----_sists_ and
the ----_nists_. Both parties were so devoted to music, that the conductors
actually began to be apprehensive of some startling manifestation of the
passion for the good and the beautiful embodied in the two prima donnas.
This was how it was that, looking at this youthful dash into the parterre
of a grey-haired senior (though, indeed, he was not actually grey-haired,
but a man about fifty, rather bald, and altogether of respectable
appearance), the conductor could not help recalling the lofty judgment of
Hamlet Prince of Denmark upon the evil example set by age to youth, and, as
we have mentioned above, looking out of the corner of his eye at the
gentleman's side-pocket in the expectation of seeing a dagger. But there
was a pocket-book and nothing else there.
Darting into the theatre, Ivan Andreyitch instantly scanned all the boxes
of the second tier, and, oh--horror! His heart stood still, she was here!
She was sitting in the box! General Polovitsyn, with his wife and
sister-in-law, was there too. The general's adjutant--an extremely alert
young man, was there too; there was a civilian too.... Ivan Andreyitch
strained his attention and his eyesight, but--oh, horror! The civilian
treacherously concealed himself behind the adjutant and remained in the
darkness of obscurity.
She was here, and yet she had said she would not be here!
It was this duplicity for some time displayed in every step Glafira
Petrovna took which crushed Ivan Andreyitch. This civilian youth reduced
him at last to utter despair. He sank down in his stall utterly
overwhelmed. Why? one may ask. It was a very simple matter....
It must be observed that Ivan Andreyitch's stall was close to the
baignoire, and to make matters worse the treacherous box in the second tier
was exactly above his stall, so that to his intense annoyance he was
utterly unable to see what was going on over his head. At which he raged,
and got as hot as a samovar. The whole of the first act passed unnoticed by
him, that is, he did not hear a single note of it. It is maintained that
what is good in music is that musical impressions can be made to fit any
mood. The man who rejoices finds joy in its strains, while he who grieves
finds sorrow in it; a regular tempest was howling in Ivan Andreyitch's
ears. To add to his vexation, such terrible voices were shouting behind
him, before him and on both sides of him, that Ivan Andreyitch's heart was
torn. At last the act was over. But at the instant when the curtain was
falling, our hero had an adventure such as no pen can describe.
It sometimes happens that a playbill flies down from the upper boxes. When
the play is dull and the audience is yawning this is quite an event for
them. They watch with particular interest the flight of the extremely soft
paper from the upper gallery, and take pleasure in watching its zigzagging
journey down to the very stalls, where it infallibly settles on some head
which is quite unprepared to receive it. It is certainly very interesting
to watch the embarrassment of the head (for the head is invariably
embarrassed). I am indeed always in terror over the ladies' opera-glasses
which usually lie on the edge of the boxes; I am constantly fancying that
they will fly down on some unsuspecting head. But I perceive that this
tragic observation is out of place here, and so I shall send it to the
columns of those newspapers which are filled with advice, warnings against
swindling tricks, against unconscientiousness, hints for getting rid of
beetles if you have them in the house, recommendations of the celebrated
Mr. Princhipi, sworn foe of all beetles in the world, not only Russian but
even foreign, such as Prussian cockroaches, and so on.
But Ivan Andreyitch had an adventure, which has never hitherto been
described. There flew down on his--as already stated, somewhat bald--head,
not a playbill; I confess I am actually ashamed to say what did fly down
upon his head, because I am really loath to remark that on the respectable
and bare--that is, partly hairless--head of the jealous and irritated Ivan
Andreyitch there settled such an immoral object as a scented love-letter.
Poor Ivan Andreyitch, utterly unprepared for this unforeseen and hideous
occurrence, started as though he had caught upon his head a mouse or some
other wild beast.
That the note was a love-letter of that there could be no mistake. It was
written on scented paper, just as love-letters are written in novels, and
folded up so as to be treacherously small so that it might be slipped into
a lady's glove. It had probably fallen by accident at the moment it had
been handed to her. The playbill might have been asked for, for instance,
and the note, deftly folded in the playbill, was being put into her hands;
but an instant, perhaps an accidental, nudge from the adjutant, extremely
adroit in his apologies for his awkwardness, and the note had slipped from
a little hand that trembled with confusion, and the civilian youth,
stretching out his impatient hand, received instead of the note, the empty
playbill, and did not know what to do with it. A strange and unpleasant
incident for him, no doubt, but you must admit that for Ivan Andreyitch it
was still more unpleasant.
"_Prédestiné_," he murmured, breaking into a cold sweat and squeezing the
note in his hands, "_prédestiné!_ The bullet finds the guilty man," the
thought flashed through his mind. "No, that's not right! In what way am I
guilty? But there is another proverb, 'Once out of luck, never out of
trouble.'..."
But it was not enough that there was a ringing in his ears and a dizziness
in his head at this sudden incident. Ivan Andreyitch sat petrified in his
chair, as the saying is, more dead than alive. He was persuaded that his
adventure had been observed on all sides, although at that moment the whole
theatre began to be filled with uproar and calls of encore. He sat
overwhelmed with confusion, flushing crimson and not daring to raise his
eyes, as though some unpleasant surprise, something out of keeping with the
brilliant assembly had happened to him. At last he ventured to lift his
eyes.
"Charmingly sung," he observed to a dandy sitting on his left side.