Short Stories
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