Short Stories
"'I don't know, Emelyan Ilyitch,' said I, 'if you are thinking of taking it
you should certainly ask three roubles to begin with.'
"Emelyanoushka was silent for a time, and then he addressed me again--
"'Astafy Ivanovitch.'
"'What is it, Emelyanoushka?' I asked.
"'Sell my coat when I die, and don't bury me in it. I can lie as well
without it; and it's a thing of some value--it might come in useful.'
"I can't tell you how it made my heart ache to hear him. I saw that the
death agony was coming on him. We were silent again for a bit. So an hour
passed by. I looked at him again: he was still staring at me, and when he
met my eyes he looked down again.
"'Do you want some water to drink, Emelyan Ilyitch?' I asked.
"'Give me some, God bless you, Astafy Ivanovitch.'
"I gave him a drink.
"'Thank you, Astafy Ivanovitch,' said he.
"'Is there anything else you would like, Emelyanoushka?'
"'No, Astafy Ivanovitch, there's nothing I want, but I--sort of----'
"'What?'
"'I only----'
"'What is it, Emelyanoushka?'
"'Those riding breeches----it was----sort of----I who took them----Astafy
Ivanovitch.'
"'Well, God forgive you, Emelyanoushka,' said I, 'you poor, sorrowful
creature. Depart in peace.'
"And I was choking myself, sir, and the tears were in my eyes. I turned
aside for a moment.
"'Astafy Ivanovitch----'
"I saw Emelyanoushka wanted to tell me something; he was trying to sit up,
trying to speak, and mumbling something. He flushed red all over suddenly,
looked at me ... then I saw him turn white again, whiter and whiter, and he
seemed to sink away all in a minute. His head fell back, he drew one breath
and gave up his soul to God."
A NOVEL IN NINE LETTERS
I
(FROM PYOTR IVANITCH TO IVAN PETROVITCH)
DEAR SIR AND MOST PRECIOUS FRIEND, IVAN PETROVITCH,
For the last two days I have been, I may say, in pursuit of you, my friend,
having to talk over most urgent business with you, and I cannot come across
you anywhere. Yesterday, while we were at Semyon Alexeyitch's, my wife made
a very good joke about you, saying that Tatyana Petrovna and you were a
pair of birds always on the wing. You have not been married three months
and you already neglect your domestic hearth. We all laughed heartily--from
our genuine kindly feeling for you, of course--but, joking apart, my
precious friend, you have given me a lot of trouble. Semyon Alexeyitch said
to me that you might be going to the ball at the Social Union's club!
Leaving my wife with Semyon Alexeyitch's good lady, I flew off to the
Social Union. It was funny and tragic! Fancy my position! Me at the
ball--and alone, without my wife! Ivan Andreyitch meeting me in the
porter's lodge and seeing me alone, at once concluded (the rascal!) that I
had a passion for dances, and taking me by the arm, wanted to drag me off
by force to a dancing class, saying that it was too crowded at the Social
Union, that an ardent spirit had not room to turn, and that his head ached
from the patchouli and mignonette. I found neither you, nor Tatyana
Petrovna. Ivan Andreyitch vowed and declared that you would be at _Woe from
Wit_, at the Alexandrinsky theatre.
I flew off to the Alexandrinsky theatre: you were not there either. This
morning I expected to find you at Tchistoganov's--no sign of you there.
Tchistoganov sent to the Perepalkins'--the same thing there. In fact, I am
quite worn out; you can judge how much trouble I have taken! Now I am
writing to you (there is nothing else I can do). My business is by no means
a literary one (you understand me?); it would be better to meet face to
face, it is extremely necessary to discuss something with you and as
quickly as possible, and so I beg you to come to us to-day with Tatyana
Petrovna to tea and for a chat in the evening. My Anna Mihalovna will be
extremely pleased to see you. You will truly, as they say, oblige me to my
dying day. By the way, my precious friend--since I have taken up my pen
I'll go into all I have against you--I have a slight complaint I must make;
in fact, I must reproach you, my worthy friend, for an apparently very
innocent little trick which you have played at my expense.... You are a
rascal, a man without conscience. About the middle of last month, you
brought into my house an acquaintance of yours, Yevgeny Nikolaitch; you
vouched for him by your friendly and, for me, of course, sacred
recommendation; I rejoiced at the opportunity of receiving the young man
with open arms, and when I did so I put my head in a noose. A noose it
hardly is, but it has turned out a pretty business. I have not time now to
explain, and indeed it is an awkward thing to do in writing, only a very
humble request to you, my malicious friend: could you not somehow very
delicately, in passing, drop a hint into the young man's ear that there are
a great many houses in the metropolis besides ours? It's more than I can
stand, my dear fellow! We fall at your feet, as our friend Semyonovitch
says. I will tell you all about it when we meet. I don't mean to say that
the young man has sinned against good manners, or is lacking in spiritual
qualities, or is not up to the mark in some other way. On the contrary, he
is an amiable and pleasant fellow; but wait, we shall meet; meanwhile if
you see him, for goodness' sake whisper a hint to him, my good friend. I
would do it myself, but you know what I am, I simply can't, and that's all
about it. You introduced him. But I will explain myself more fully this
evening, anyway. Now good-bye. I remain, etc.
P.S.--My little boy has been ailing for the last week, and gets worse and
worse every day; he is cutting his poor little teeth. My wife is nursing
him all the time, and is depressed, poor thing. Be sure to come, you will
give us real pleasure, my precious friend.
II
(FROM IVAN PETROVITCH TO PYOTR IVANITCH)
DEAR SIR, PYOTR IVANITCH!
I got your letter yesterday, I read it and was perplexed. You looked for
me, goodness knows where, and I was simply at home. Till ten o'clock I was
expecting Ivan Ivanitch Tolokonov. At once on getting your letter I set out
with my wife, I went to the expense of taking a cab, and reached your house
about half-past six. You were not at home, but we were met by your wife. I
waited to see you till half-past ten, I could not stay later. I set off
with my wife, went to the expense of a cab again, saw her home, and went on
myself to the Perepalkins', thinking I might meet you there, but again I
was out in my reckoning. When I get home I did not sleep all night, I felt
uneasy; in the morning I drove round to you three times, at nine, at ten
and at eleven; three times I went to the expense of a cab, and again you
left me in the lurch.
I read your letter and was amazed. You write about Yevgeny Nikolaitch, beg
me to whisper some hint, and do not tell me what about. I commend your
caution, but all letters are not alike, and I don't give documents of
importance to my wife for curl-papers. I am puzzled, in fact, to know with
what motive you wrote all this to me. However, if it comes to that, why
should I meddle in the matter? I don't poke my nose into other people's
business. You can be not at home to him; I only see that I must have a
brief and decisive explanation with you, and, moreover, time is passing.
And I am in straits and don't know what to do if you are going to neglect
the terms of our agreement. A journey for nothing; a journey costs
something, too, and my wife's whining for me to get her a velvet mantle of
the latest fashion. About Yevgeny Nikolaitch I hasten to mention that when
I was at Pavel Semyonovitch Perepalkin's yesterday I made inquiries without
loss of time. He has five hundred serfs in the province of Yaroslav, and he
has expectations from his grandmother of an estate of three hundred serfs
near Moscow. How much money he has I cannot tell; I think you ought to know
that better. I beg you once for all to appoint a place where I can meet
you. You met Ivan Andreyitch yesterday, and you write that he told you that
I was at the Alexandrinsky theatre with my wife. I write, that he is a
liar, and it shows how little he is to be trusted in such cases, that only
the day before yesterday he did his grandmother out of eight hundred
roubles. I have the honour to remain, etc.
P.S.--My wife is going to have a baby; she is nervous about it and feels
depressed at times. At the theatre they sometimes have fire-arms going off
and sham thunderstorms. And so for fear of a shock to my wife's nerves I do
not take her to the theatre. I have no great partiality for the theatre
myself.
III
(FROM PYOTR IVANITCH TO IVAN PETROVITCH)
MY PRECIOUS FRIEND, IVAN PETROVITCH,
I am to blame, to blame, a thousand times to blame, but I hasten to defend
myself. Between five and six yesterday, just as we were talking of you with
the warmest affection, a messenger from Uncle Stepan Alexeyitch galloped up
with the news that my aunt was very bad. Being afraid of alarming my wife,
I did not say a word of this to her, but on the pretext of other urgent
business I drove off to my aunt's house. I found her almost dying. Just at
five o'clock she had had a stroke, the third she has had in the last two
years. Karl Fyodoritch, their family doctor, told us that she might not
live through the night. You can judge of my position, dearest friend. We
were on our legs all night in grief and anxiety. It was not till morning
that, utterly exhausted and overcome by moral and physical weakness, I lay
down on the sofa; I forgot to tell them to wake me, and only woke at
half-past eleven. My aunt was better. I drove home to my wife. She, poor
thing, was quite worn out expecting me. I snatched a bite of something,
embraced my little boy, reassured my wife and set off to call on you. You
were not at home. At your flat I found Yevgeny Nikolaitch. When I got home
I took up a pen, and here I am writing to you. Don't grumble and be cross
to me, my true friend. Beat me, chop my guilty head off my shoulders, but
don't deprive me of your affection. From your wife I learned that you will
be at the Slavyanovs' this evening. I will certainly be there. I look
forward with the greatest impatience to seeing you.
I remain, etc.
P.S.--We are in perfect despair about our little boy. Karl Fyodoritch
prescribes rhubarb. He moans. Yesterday he did not know any one. This
morning he did know us, and began lisping papa, mamma, boo.... My wife
was in tears the whole morning.
IV
(FROM IVAN PETROVITCH TO PYOTR IVANITCH)
MY DEAR SIR, PYOTR IVANITCH!
I am writing to you, in your room, at your bureau; and before taking up my
pen, I have been waiting for more than two and a half hours for you. Now
allow me to tell you straight out, Pyotr Ivanitch, my frank opinion about
this shabby incident. From your last letter I gathered that you were
expected at the Slavyanovs', that you were inviting me to go there; I
turned up, I stayed for five hours and there was no sign of you. Why, am I
to be made a laughing-stock to people, do you suppose? Excuse me, my dear
sir ... I came to you this morning, I hoped to find you, not imitating
certain deceitful persons who look for people, God knows where, when they
can be found at home at any suitably chosen time. There is no sign of you
at home. I don't know what restrains me from telling you now the whole
harsh truth. I will only say that I see you seem to be going back on your
bargain regarding our agreement. And only now reflecting on the whole
affair, I cannot but confess that I am absolutely astounded at the artful
workings of your mind. I see clearly now that you have been cherishing your
unfriendly design for a long time. This supposition of mine is confirmed by
the fact that last week in an almost unpardonable way you took possession