Short Stories
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.
"Ladies and gentlemen!" he shouted, at first scarcely stammering, "I am
fully capable of apprehending that a man is not dissected alive. I imagined
that in his derangement he had ceased to be alive ... that is, that he had
died ... that is, I mean to say ... that you don't like me ... and yet I
like you all ... Yes, I like Por ... Porfiry ... I am lowering myself by
speaking like this...."
At that moment Ivan Ilyitch spluttered so that a great dab of saliva flew
on to the tablecloth in a most conspicuous place. Pseldonimov flew to wipe
it off with a table-napkin. This last disaster crushed him completely.
"My friends, this is too much," he cried in despair.
"The man is drunk, your Excellency," Pseldonimov prompted him again.
"Porfiry, I see that you ... all ... yes! I say that I hope ... yes, I call
upon you all to tell me in what way have I lowered myself?"
Ivan Ilyitch was almost crying.
"Your Excellency, good heavens!"
"Porfiry, I appeal to you.... Tell me, when I came ... yes ... yes, to your
wedding, I had an object. I was aiming at moral elevation.... I wanted it
to be felt.... I appeal to all: am I greatly lowered in your eyes or not?"
A deathlike silence. That was just it, a deathlike silence, and to such a
downright question. "They might at least shout at this minute!" flashed
through his Excellency's head. But the guests only looked at one another.
Akim Petrovitch sat more dead than alive, while Pseldonimov, numb with
terror, was repeating to himself the awful question which had occurred to
him more than once already.
"What shall I have to pay for all this to-morrow?"
At this point the young man on the comic paper, who was very drunk but who
had hitherto sat in morose silence, addressed Ivan Ilyitch directly, and
with flashing eyes began answering in the name of the whole company.
"Yes," he said in a loud voice, "yes, you have lowered yourself. Yes, you
are a reactionary ... re-ac-tion-ary!"
"Young man, you are forgetting yourself! To whom are you speaking, so to
express it?" Ivan Ilyitch cried furiously, jumping up from his seat again.
"To you; and secondly, I am not a young man.... You've come to give
yourself airs and try to win popularity."
"Pseldonimov, what does this mean?" cried Ivan Ilyitch.
But Pseldonimov was reduced to such horror that he stood still like a post
and was utterly at a loss what to do. The guests, too, sat mute in their
seats. All but the artist and the schoolboy, who applauded and shouted,
"Bravo, bravo!"
The young man on the comic paper went on shouting with unrestrained
violence:
"Yes, you came to show off your humanity! You've hindered the enjoyment of
every one. You've been drinking champagne without thinking that it is
beyond the means of a clerk at ten roubles a month. And I suspect that you
are one of those high officials who are a little too fond of the young
wives of their clerks! What is more, I am convinced that you support State
monopolies.... Yes, yes, yes!"
"Pseldonimov, Pseldonimov," shouted Ivan Ilyitch, holding out his hands to
him. He felt that every word uttered by the comic young man was a fresh
dagger at his heart.
"Directly, your Excellency; please do not disturb yourself!" Pseldonimov
cried energetically, rushing up to the comic young man, seizing him by the
collar and dragging him away from the table. Such physical strength could
indeed not have been expected from the weakly looking Pseldonimov. But the
comic young man was very drunk, while Pseldonimov was perfectly sober. Then
he gave him two or three cuffs in the back, and thrust him out of the
door.
"You are all scoundrels!" roared the young man of the comic paper. "I will
caricature you all to-morrow in the _Firebrand_."
They all leapt up from their seats.
"Your Excellency, your Excellency!" cried Pseldonimov, his mother and
several others, crowding round the general; "your Excellency, do not be
disturbed!"
"No, no," cried the general, "I am annihilated.... I came... I meant to
bless you, so to speak. And this is how I am paid, for everything,
everything!..."
He sank on to a chair as though unconscious, laid both his arms on the
table, and bowed his head over them, straight into a plate of blancmange.
There is no need to describe the general horror. A minute later he got up,
evidently meaning to go out, gave a lurch, stumbled against the leg of a
chair, fell full length on the floor and snored....
This is what is apt to happen to men who don't drink when they accidentally
take a glass too much. They preserve their consciousness to the last point,
to the last minute, and then fall to the ground as though struck down. Ivan