Short Stories
Nikiforovitch blamed him inwardly for excess of imagination and
instability. Ivan Ilyitch himself felt at times that he had too much
_amour-propre_ and even sensitiveness. Strange to say, he had attacks from
time to time of morbid tenderness of conscience and even a kind of faint
remorse. With bitterness and a secret soreness of heart he recognised now
and again that he did not fly so high as he imagined. At such moments he
sank into despondency, especially when he was suffering from hæmorrhoids,
called his life _une existence manquée_, and ceased--privately, of
course--to believe even in his parliamentary capacities, calling himself a
talker, a maker of phrases; and though all that, of course, did him great
credit, it did not in the least prevent him from raising his head again
half an hour later, and growing even more obstinately, even more
conceitedly self-confident, and assuring himself that he would yet succeed
in making his mark, and that he would be not only a great official, but a
statesman whom Russia would long remember. He actually dreamed at times of
monuments. From this it will be seen that Ivan Ilyitch aimed high, though
he hid his vague hopes and dreams deep in his heart, even with a certain
trepidation. In short, he was a good-natured man and a poet at heart. Of
late years these morbid moments of disillusionment had begun to be more
frequent. He had become peculiarly irritable, ready to take offence, and
was apt to take any contradiction as an affront. But reformed Russia gave
him great hopes. His promotion to general was the finishing touch. He was
roused; he held his head up. He suddenly began talking freely and
eloquently. He talked about the new ideas, which he very quickly and
unexpectedly made his own and professed with vehemence. He sought
opportunities for speaking, drove about the town, and in many places
succeeded in gaining the reputation of a desperate Liberal, which flattered
him greatly. That evening, after drinking four glasses, he was particularly
exuberant. He wanted on every point to confute Stepan Nikiforovitch, whom
he had not seen for some time past, and whom he had hitherto always
respected and even obeyed. He considered him for some reason reactionary,
and fell upon him with exceptional heat. Stepan Nikiforovitch hardly
answered him, but only listened slyly, though the subject interested him.
Ivan Ilyitch got hot, and in the heat of the discussion sipped his glass
more often than he ought to have done. Then Stepan Nikiforovitch took the
bottle and at once filled his glass again, which for some reason seemed to
offend Ivan Ilyitch, especially as Semyon Ivanovitch Shipulenko, whom he
particularly despised and indeed feared on account of his cynicism and
ill-nature, preserved a treacherous silence and smiled more frequently than
was necessary. "They seem to take me for a schoolboy," flashed across Ivan
Ilyitch's mind.
"No, it was time, high time," he went on hotly. "We have put it off too
long, and to my thinking humanity is the first consideration, humanity with
our inferiors, remembering that they, too, are men. Humanity will save
everything and bring out all that is...."
"He-he-he-he!" was heard from the direction of Semyon Ivanovitch.
"But why are you giving us such a talking to?" Stepan Nikiforovitch
protested at last, with an affable smile. "I must own, Ivan Ilyitch, I have
not been able to make out, so far, what you are maintaining. You advocate
humanity. That is love of your fellow-creatures, isn't it?"
"Yes, if you like. I...."
"Allow me! As far as I can see, that's not the only thing. Love of one's
fellow-creatures has always been fitting. The reform movement is not
confined to that. All sorts of questions have arisen relating to the
peasantry, the law courts, economics, government contracts, morals and ...
and ... and those questions are endless, and all together may give rise to
great upheavals, so to say. That is what we have been anxious about, and
not simply humanity...."
"Yes, the thing is a bit deeper than that," observed Semyon Ivanovitch.
"I quite understand, and allow me to observe, Semyon Ivanovitch, that I
can't agree to being inferior to you in depth of understanding," Ivan
Ilyitch observed sarcastically and with excessive sharpness. "However, I
will make so bold as to assert, Stepan Nikiforovitch, that you have not
understood me either...."
"No, I haven't."
"And yet I maintain and everywhere advance the idea that humanity and
nothing else with one's subordinates, from the official in one's department
down to the copying clerk, from the copying clerk down to the house serf,
from the servant down to the peasant--humanity, I say, may serve, so to
speak, as the corner-stone of the coming reforms and the reformation of
things in general. Why? Because. Take a syllogism. I am human, consequently
I am loved. I am loved, so confidence is felt in me. There is a feeling of
confidence, and so there is trust. There is trust, and so there is love ...
that is, no, I mean to say that if they trust me they will believe in the
reforms, they will understand, so to speak, the essential nature of them,
will, so to speak, embrace each other in a moral sense, and will settle the
whole business in a friendly way, fundamentally. What are you laughing at,
Semyon Ivanovitch? Can't you understand?"
Stepan Nikiforovitch raised his eyebrows without speaking; he was
surprised.
"I fancy I have drunk a little too much," said Semyon Ivanovitch
sarcastically, "and so I am a little slow of comprehension. Not quite all
my wits about me."
Ivan Ilyitch winced.
"We should break down," Stepan Nikiforovitch pronounced suddenly, after a
slight pause of hesitation.
"How do you mean we should break down?" asked Ivan Ilyitch, surprised at
Stepan Nikiforovitch's abrupt remark.
"Why, we should break under the strain." Stepan Nikiforovitch evidently did
not care to explain further.
"I suppose you are thinking of new wine in old bottles?" Ivan Ilyitch
replied, not without irony. "Well, I can answer for myself, anyway."
At that moment the clock struck half-past eleven.
"One sits on and on, but one must go at last," said Semyon Ivanovitch,
getting up. But Ivan Ilyitch was before him; he got up from the table and
took his sable cap from the chimney-piece. He looked as though he had been
insulted.
"So how is it to be, Semyon Ivanovitch? Will you think it over?" said
Stepan Nikiforovitch, as he saw the visitors out.
"About the flat, you mean? I'll think it over, I'll think it over."
"Well, when you have made up your mind, let me know as soon as possible."
"Still on business?" Mr. Pralinsky observed affably, in a slightly
ingratiating tone, playing with his hat. It seemed to him as though they
were forgetting him.
Stepan Nikiforovitch raised his eyebrows and remained mute, as a sign that
he would not detain his visitors. Semyon Ivanovitch made haste to bow
himself out.
"Well ... after that what is one to expect ... if you don't understand the
simple rules of good manners...." Mr. Pralinsky reflected to himself, and
held out his hand to Stepan Nikiforovitch in a particularly offhand way.
In the hall Ivan Ilyitch wrapped himself up in his light, expensive fur
coat; he tried for some reason not to notice Semyon Ivanovitch's shabby
raccoon, and they both began descending the stairs.
"The old man seemed offended," said Ivan Ilyitch to the silent Semyon
Ivanovitch.
"No, why?" answered the latter with cool composure.
"Servile flunkey," Ivan Ilyitch thought to himself.
They went out at the front door. Semyon Ivanovitch's sledge with a grey
ugly horse drove up.
"What the devil! What has Trifon done with my carriage?" cried Ivan
Ilyitch, not seeing his carriage.
The carriage was nowhere to be seen. Stepan Nikiforovitch's servant knew
nothing about it. They appealed to Varlam, Semyon Ivanovitch's coachman,
and received the answer that he had been standing there all the time and
that the carriage had been there, but now there was no sign of it.
"An unpleasant predicament," Mr. Shipulenko pronounced. "Shall I take you
home?"
"Scoundrelly people!" Mr. Pralinsky cried with fury. "He asked me, the
rascal, to let him go to a wedding close here in the Petersburg Side; some
crony of his was getting married, deuce take her! I sternly forbade him to
absent himself, and now I'll bet he has gone off there."
"He certainly has gone there, sir," observed Varlam; "but he promised to be
back in a minute, to be here in time, that is."
"Well, there it is! I had a presentiment that this would happen! I'll give
it to him!"
"You'd better give him a good flogging once or twice at the police station,
then he will do what you tell him," said Semyon Ivanovitch, as he wrapped
the rug round him.
"Please don't you trouble, Semyon Ivanovitch!"
"Well, won't you let me take you along?"
"_Merci, bon voyage._"
Semyon Ivanovitch drove off, while Ivan Ilyitch set off on foot along the
wooden pavement, conscious of a rather acute irritation.
* * * * *
"Yes, indeed I'll give it to you now, you rogue! I am going on foot on
purpose to make you feel it, to frighten you! He will come back and hear
that his master has gone off on foot ... the blackguard!"
Ivan Ilyitch had never abused any one like this, but he was greatly
angered, and besides, there was a buzzing in his head. He was not given to
drink, so five or six glasses soon affected him. But the night was
enchanting. There was a frost, but it was remarkably still and there was no
wind. There was a clear, starry sky. The full moon was bathing the earth in
soft silver light. It was so lovely that after walking some fifty paces
Ivan Ilyitch almost forgot his troubles. He felt particularly pleased.
People quickly change from one mood to another when they are a little
drunk. He was even pleased with the ugly little wooden houses of the
deserted street.
"It's really a capital thing that I am walking," he thought; "it's a lesson
to Trifon and a pleasure to me. I really ought to walk oftener. And I shall
soon pick up a sledge on the Great Prospect. It's a glorious night. What
little houses they all are! I suppose small fry live here, clerks,
tradesmen, perhaps.... That Stepan Nikiforovitch! What reactionaries they
all are, those old fogies! Fogies, yes, _c'est le mot_. He is a sensible
man, though; he has that _bon sens_, sober, practical understanding of
things. But they are old, old. There is a lack of ... what is it? There is
a lack of something.... 'We shall break down.' What did he mean by that? He
actually pondered when he said it. He didn't understand me a bit. And yet
how could he help understanding? It was more difficult not to understand it
than to understand it. The chief thing is that I am convinced, convinced in
my soul. Humanity ... the love of one's kind. Restore a man to himself,
revive his personal dignity, and then ... when the ground is prepared, get
to work. I believe that's clear? Yes! Allow me, your Excellency; take a
syllogism, for instance: we meet, for instance, a clerk, a poor,
downtrodden clerk. 'Well ... who are you?' Answer: 'A clerk.' Very good, a
clerk; further: 'What sort of clerk are you?' Answer: 'I am such and such a
clerk,' he says. 'Are you in the service?' 'I am.' 'Do you want to be
happy?' 'I do.' 'What do you need for happiness?' 'This and that.' 'Why?'
'Because....' and there the man understands me with a couple of words, the
man's mine, the man is caught, so to speak, in a net, and I can do what I
like with him, that is, for his good. Horrid man that Semyon Ivanovitch!
And what a nasty phiz he has!... 'Flog him in the police station,' he said
that on purpose. No, you are talking rubbish; you can flog, but I'm not