AnUnpleasantPredicament

FYODORDOSTOYEVSKY

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ANUNPLEASANTPREDICAMENT

This unpleasant business occurred at the epoch when the regeneration of our

beloved fatherland and the struggle of her valiant sons towards newhopes 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,threehighlyrespectablegentlemenweresittinginacomfortableandeven

luxuriouslyfurnishedroominahandsomehouseoftwostoreysonthePetersburg

Side,andwereengagedinastaidandedifyingconversationonaveryinteresting

subject.Thesethreegentlemenwereallofgenerals’rank.Theyweresittinground

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

silverstandwithiceroundit.Thefactwasthatthehost,aprivycouncillorcalled

StepanNikiforovitchNikiforov,anoldbachelorof sixty-five,wascelebratinghis

removal intoahousehehad justbought, andas ithappened, alsohisbirthday,

whichhehadneverkeptbefore.Thefestivity,however,wasnotonaverygrand

scale;aswehaveseenalready, therewereonly twoguests,bothof themformer

colleagues and former subordinates of Mr. Nikiforov; that is, an actual civil

councillor called Semyon Ivanovitch Shipulenko, and another actual civil

councillor,IvanIlyitchPralinsky.Theyhadarrivedtoteaatnineo’clock,thenhad

begunuponthewine,andknewthatatexactlyhalf-pasteleventheywouldhaveto

setoffhome.Theirhosthadallhislifebeenfondofregularity.Afewwordsabout

him.

Hehadbegunhiscareerasapettyclerkwithnothingtobackhim,hadquietly

plodded on for forty-five years, knew very well what to work towards, had no

ambition todrawthestarsdownfromheaven, thoughhehad twostarsalready,

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;hewasabachelorbecausehewasanegoist;hehadplentyofbrains,

but he could not bear showing his intelligence; he particularly disliked

slovenlinessandenthusiasm,regardingitasmoralslovenliness;andtowardsthe

endofhislifehadbecomecompletelyabsorbedinavoluptuous,indolentcomfort

and systematic solitude.Thoughhe sometimes visitedpeople of a ratherhigher

rank than his own, yet from his youth up he could never endure entertaining

visitorshimself; andof latehehad, if hedidnot play a gameof patience, been

satisfied with the society of his dining-room clock, andwould spend the whole

evening dozing in his arm-chair, listening placidly to its ticking under its glass

case on the chimney-piece. In appearance hewas closely shaven and extremely

proper-looking,hewaswell-preserved,lookingyoungerthanhisage;hepromised

to go on livingmany years longer, and closely followed the rules of the highest

good breeding. His post was a fairly comfortable one: he had to preside

somewhereandtosignsomething.Inshort,hewasregardedasafirst-rateman.

Hehadonlyonepassion,ormoreaccurately,onekeendesire: thatwas, tohave

hisownhouse,andahousebuilt likeagentleman’sresidence,notacommercial

investment.Hisdesirewasatlastrealised:helookedoutandboughtahouseon

the Petersburg Side, a goodway off, it is true, but it had a garden andwas an

eleganthouse.Thenewownerdecidedthatitwasbetterforbeingagoodwayoff:

hedidnotlikeentertainingathome,andfordrivingtoseeanyoneortotheoffice

hehadahandsomecarriageofachocolatehue,acoachman,Mihey,andtwolittle

butstrongandhandsomehorses.Allthiswashonourablyacquiredbythecareful

frugalityoffortyyears,sothathisheartrejoicedoverit.

ThiswashowitwasthatStepanNikiforovitchfeltsuchpleasureinhisplacid

heartthatheactuallyinvitedtwofriendstoseehimonhisbirthday,whichhehad

hithertocarefullyconcealedfromhismostintimateacquaintances.Hehadspecial

designsononeofthesevisitors.Helivedintheupperstoreyofhisnewhouse,and

hewantedatenantforthelowerhalf,whichwasbuiltandarrangedinexactlythe

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 Ivanovitchmade no response. The latter, too, was a

manwhohaddoggedlymadeawayforhimselfinthecourseoflongyears.Hehad

blackhairandwhiskers,andafacethatalwayshadashadeofjaundice.Hewasa

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,knewperfectlywellwhatgoalhewasmakingfor,andbetter

still,what heneverwould reach.Hewas in a goodposition, andhewas sitting

tight there. Thoughhe lookedupon thenew reformswith a certain distaste, he

was not particularly agitated about them: he was extremely self-confident, and

listenedwith a shade of ironicalmalice to Ivan Ilyitch Pralinsky expatiating on

newthemes.Allofthemhadbeendrinkingratherfreely,however,sothatStepan

Nikiforovitch himself condescended to take part in a slight discussionwithMr.

Pralinskyconcerning the latest reforms.Butwemust saya fewwordsabouthis

Excellency,Mr.Pralinsky,especiallyasheisthechiefheroofthepresentstory.

The actual civil councillor Ivan Ilyitch Pralinsky had only been “his

Excellency” for fourmonths; inshort,hewasayounggeneral.Hewasyoung in

years, too—only forty-three, no more—and he looked and liked to look even

younger. He was a tall, handsomeman, he was smart in his dress, and prided

himselfonitssolid,dignifiedcharacter;withgreataplombhedisplayedanorder

of some consequence on his breast. From his earliest childhood he had known

how to acquire the airs and graces of aristocratic society, andbeing a bachelor,

dreamed of a wealthy and even aristocratic bride. He dreamed of many other

things, thoughhewasfar frombeingstupid.Attimeshewasagreattalker,and

evenlikedtoassumeaparliamentarypose.Hecameofagoodfamily.Hewasthe

sonofageneral,andbroughtupinthelapof luxury;inhistenderchildhoodhe

had been dressed in velvet and fine linen, had been educated at an aristocratic

school,andthoughheacquiredverylittlelearningtherehewassuccessfulinthe

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.StepanNikiforovitch,underwhomIvanIlyitchhadbegunhiscareerinthe

service,andunderwhomhehadremaineduntilhewasmadeageneral,hadnever

consideredhimagoodbusinessmanandhadnoexpectationsofhimwhatever.

Whathelikedinhimwasthathebelongedtoagoodfamily,hadproperty—thatis,

abigblockofbuildings, letoutinflats, inchargeofanoverseer—wasconnected

withpersonsofconsequence,andwhatwasmore,hadamajesticbearing.Stepan

Nikiforovitchblamedhiminwardlyforexcessofimaginationandinstability.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

tendernessofconscienceandevenakindoffaintremorse.Withbitternessanda

secretsorenessofheartherecognisednowandagainthathedidnotflysohighas

heimagined.Atsuchmomentshesankintodespondency,especiallywhenhewas

sufferingfromhæmorrhoids,calledhislifeuneexistencemanquée,andceased—

privately, of course—to believe even in his parliamentary capacities, calling

himselfatalker,amakerofphrases;andthoughallthat,ofcourse,didhimgreat

credit,itdidnotintheleastpreventhimfromraisinghisheadagainhalfanhour

later, and growing evenmore obstinately, evenmore conceitedly self-confident,

andassuringhimselfthathewouldyetsucceedinmakinghismark,andthathe

would be not only a great official, but a statesman whom Russia would long

remember.Heactuallydreamedattimesofmonuments.Fromthisitwillbeseen

thatIvanIlyitchaimedhigh,thoughhehidhisvaguehopesanddreamsdeepin

hisheart, evenwith a certain trepidation. In short,hewas a good-naturedman

andapoetatheart.Of lateyears thesemorbidmomentsofdisillusionmenthad

begun to be more frequent. He had become peculiarly irritable, ready to take

offence,andwasapttotakeanycontradictionasanaffront.ButreformedRussia

gavehimgreathopes.Hispromotiontogeneralwasthefinishingtouch.Hewas

roused;heheldhisheadup.Hesuddenlybegantalkingfreelyandeloquently.He

talkedaboutthenewideas,whichheveryquicklyandunexpectedlymadehisown

andprofessedwithvehemence.Hesoughtopportunitiesforspeaking,droveabout

thetown,andinmanyplacessucceededingainingthereputationofadesperate

Liberal,whichflatteredhimgreatly.Thatevening,afterdrinkingfourglasses,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

hithertoalways respectedandevenobeyed.Heconsideredhim for some reason

reactionary,andfelluponhimwithexceptionalheat.StepanNikiforovitchhardly

answered him, but only listened slyly, though the subject interested him. Ivan

Ilyitchgothot,andintheheatofthediscussionsippedhisglassmoreoftenthan

heoughttohavedone.ThenStepanNikiforovitchtookthebottleandatoncefilled

hisglassagain,whichforsomereasonseemedtooffendIvanIlyitch,especiallyas

SemyonIvanovitchShipulenko,whomheparticularlydespisedandindeedfeared

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,”flashedacrossIvanIlyitch’smind.

“No, itwastime,hightime,”hewentonhotly.“Wehaveput itoff toolong,

and to my thinking humanity is the first consideration, humanity with our

inferiors,rememberingthatthey,too,aremen.Humanitywillsaveeverythingand

bringoutallthatis....”

“He-he-he-he!”washeardfromthedirectionofSemyonIvanovitch.

“Butwhyareyougivingussuchatalkingto?”StepanNikiforovitchprotested

at last,with anaffable smile. “Imustown, Ivan Ilyitch, Ihavenotbeenable to

makeout,sofar,whatyouaremaintaining.Youadvocatehumanity.Thatislove

ofyourfellow-creatures,isn’tit?”

“Yes,ifyoulike.I....”

“Allowme!AsfarasIcansee,that’snottheonlything.Loveofone’sfellow-

creatureshasalwaysbeen fitting.Thereformmovement isnotconfined to that.

All sorts of questions have arisen relating to the peasantry, the law courts,

economics,governmentcontracts,moralsand...and...andthosequestionsare

endless,andalltogethermaygiverisetogreatupheavals,sotosay.Thatiswhat

wehavebeenanxiousabout,andnotsimplyhumanity....”

“Yes,thethingisabitdeeperthanthat,”observedSemyonIvanovitch.

“Iquiteunderstand,andallowmetoobserve,SemyonIvanovitch,thatIcan’t

agree to being inferior to you indepth of understanding,” Ivan Ilyitch observed

sarcastically andwith excessive sharpness. “However, Iwillmake so bold as to

assert,StepanNikiforovitch,thatyouhavenotunderstoodmeeither....”

“No,Ihaven’t.”

“And yet I maintain and everywhere advance the idea that humanity and

nothingelsewithone’ssubordinates,fromtheofficialinone’sdepartmentdown

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,soconfidenceisfeltinme.Thereisafeelingofconfidence,andsothereis

trust.Thereistrust,andsothereislove...thatis,no,Imeantosaythatifthey

trustme theywill believe in the reforms, theywill understand, so to speak, the

essentialnatureof them,will,sotospeak,embraceeachother inamoralsense,

andwillsettlethewholebusinessinafriendlyway,fundamentally.Whatareyou

laughingat,SemyonIvanovitch?Can’tyouunderstand?”

StepanNikiforovitchraisedhiseyebrowswithoutspeaking;hewassurprised.

“IfancyIhavedrunkalittletoomuch,”saidSemyonIvanovitchsarcastically,

“andsoIamalittleslowofcomprehension.Notquiteallmywitsaboutme.”

IvanIlyitchwinced.

“Weshouldbreakdown,”StepanNikiforovitchpronouncedsuddenly,aftera

slightpauseofhesitation.

“Howdoyoumeanweshouldbreakdown?”askedIvanIlyitch,surprisedat

StepanNikiforovitch’sabruptremark.

“Why,weshouldbreakunderthestrain.”StepanNikiforovitchevidentlydid

notcaretoexplainfurther.

“Isupposeyouarethinkingofnewwineinoldbottles?”IvanIlyitchreplied,

notwithoutirony.“Well,Icananswerformyself,anyway.”

Atthatmomenttheclockstruckhalf-pasteleven.

“Onesitsonandon,butonemustgoatlast,”saidSemyonIvanovitch,getting

up.ButIvanIlyitchwasbeforehim;hegotupfromthetableandtookhissable

capfromthechimney-piece.Helookedasthoughhehadbeeninsulted.

“Sohowisittobe,SemyonIvanovitch?Willyouthinkitover?”saidStepan

Nikiforovitch,ashesawthevisitorsout.

“Abouttheflat,youmean?I’llthinkitover,I’llthinkitover.”

“Well,whenyouhavemadeupyourmind,letmeknowassoonaspossible.”

“Stillonbusiness?”Mr.Pralinskyobservedaffably, inaslightly ingratiating

tone,playingwithhishat.Itseemedtohimasthoughtheywereforgettinghim.

StepanNikiforovitchraisedhiseyebrowsandremainedmute,asasignthat

hewouldnotdetainhis visitors. Semyon Ivanovitchmadehaste tobowhimself

out.

“Well . . . after that what is one to expect . . . if you don’t understand the

simplerulesofgoodmanners. . . . ”Mr.Pralinskyreflectedtohimself,andheld

outhishandtoStepanNikiforovitchinaparticularlyoffhandway.

InthehallIvanIlyitchwrappedhimselfupinhislight,expensivefurcoat;he

triedforsomereasonnottonoticeSemyonIvanovitch’sshabbyraccoon,andthey

bothbegandescendingthestairs.

“The old man seemed offended,” said Ivan Ilyitch to the silent Semyon

Ivanovitch.

“No,why?”answeredthelatterwithcoolcomposure.

“Servileflunkey,”IvanIlyitchthoughttohimself.

Theywentoutatthefrontdoor.SemyonIvanovitch’ssledgewithagreyugly

horsedroveup.

“Whatthedevil!WhathasTrifondonewithmycarriage?”criedIvanIlyitch,

notseeinghiscarriage.

The carriage was nowhere to be seen. Stepan Nikiforovitch’s servant knew

nothingabout it.Theyappealed toVarlam,SemyonIvanovitch’scoachman,and

received the answer that he had been standing there all the time and that the

carriagehadbeenthere,butnowtherewasnosignofit.

“Anunpleasantpredicament,”Mr.Shipulenkopronounced.“ShallItakeyou

home?”

“Scoundrellypeople!”Mr.Pralinskycriedwithfury.“Heaskedme,therascal,

tolethimgotoaweddingclosehereinthePetersburgSide;somecronyofhiswas

gettingmarried,deucetakeher!Isternlyforbadehimtoabsenthimself,andnow

I’llbethehasgoneoffthere.”

“Hecertainlyhasgonethere,sir,”observedVarlam;“buthepromisedtobe

backinaminute,tobehereintime,thatis.”

“Well,thereitis!Ihadapresentimentthatthiswouldhappen!I’llgiveitto

him!”

“You’dbettergivehimagoodfloggingonceortwiceatthepolicestation,then

he will do what you tell him,” said Semyon Ivanovitch, as he wrapped the rug

roundhim.

“Pleasedon’tyoutrouble,SemyonIvanovitch!”

“Well,won’tyouletmetakeyoualong?”

”Merci,bonvoyage.“

Semyon Ivanovitch drove off, while Ivan Ilyitch set off on foot along the

woodenpavement,consciousofaratheracuteirritation.

“Yes, indeedI’llgive it toyounow,yourogue!Iamgoingonfootonpurposeto

makeyoufeelit,tofrightenyou!Hewillcomebackandhearthathismasterhas

goneoffonfoot...theblackguard!”

IvanIlyitchhadneverabusedanyone likethis,buthewasgreatlyangered,

andbesides,therewasabuzzinginhishead.Hewasnotgiventodrink,sofiveor

sixglassessoonaffectedhim.Butthenightwasenchanting.Therewasafrost,but

itwasremarkablystillandtherewasnowind.Therewasaclear,starrysky.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

particularlypleased.Peoplequicklychangefromonemoodtoanotherwhenthey

area littledrunk.Hewasevenpleasedwiththeugly littlewoodenhousesofthe

desertedstreet.

“It’s really a capital thing that I am walking,” he thought; “it’s a lesson to

Trifonandapleasuretome.Ireallyoughttowalkoftener.AndIshallsoonpick

upasledgeontheGreatProspect.It’sagloriousnight.Whatlittlehousestheyall

are! I suppose small fry live here, clerks, tradesmen, perhaps. . . . That Stepan

Nikiforovitch!Whatreactionariestheyallare,thoseoldfogies!Fogies,yes,c’estle

mot. He is a sensible man, though; he has that bon sens, sober, practical

understandingof things.But theyareold,old.There isa lackof . . .what is it?

There is a lack of something. . . . ‘We shall break down.’What did hemeanby

that?Heactuallyponderedwhenhesaid it.Hedidn’tunderstandmeabit.And

yethowcouldhehelpunderstanding?Itwasmoredifficultnot tounderstand it

than to understand it. The chief thing is that I am convinced, convinced inmy

soul.Humanity . . . the love of one’s kind.Restore aman tohimself, revivehis

personaldignity,andthen...whenthegroundisprepared,gettowork.Ibelieve

that’s clear? Yes! Allowme, your Excellency; take a syllogism, for instance: we

meet, for instance, a clerk, a poor, downtrodden clerk. ‘Well . . . who are you?’

Answer:‘Aclerk.’Verygood,aclerk;further:‘Whatsortofclerkareyou?’Answer:

‘Iamsuchandsuchaclerk,’hesays.‘Areyouintheservice?’‘Iam.’‘Doyouwant

to be happy?’ ‘I do.’ ‘What do you need for happiness?’ ‘This and that.’ ‘Why?’

‘Because. . . . ’ and there theman understandsmewith a couple of words, the

man’smine,themaniscaught,sotospeak,inanet,andIcandowhatIlikewith

him,thatis,forhisgood.HorridmanthatSemyonIvanovitch!Andwhatanasty

phizhehas!...‘Floghiminthepolicestation,’hesaidthatonpurpose.No,you

aretalkingrubbish;youcanflog,butI’mnotgoingto;IshallpunishTrifonwith

words,Ishallpunishhimwithreproaches,hewillfeelit.Asforflogging,h’m!...

it isanopenquestion,h’m! . . .WhataboutgoingtoEmerance?Oh,damnation

takeit,thecursedpavement!”hecriedout,suddenlytrippingup.“Andthisisthe

capital. Enlightenment! One might break one’s leg. H’m! I detest that Semyon

Ivanovitch;amost revoltingphiz.Hewaschucklingatme justnowwhenI said

theywouldembraceeachotherinamoralsense.Well,andtheywillembraceeach

other,andwhat’sthattodowithyou?Iamnotgoingtoembraceyou;I’drather

embraceapeasant....IfImeetapeasant,Ishalltalktohim.Iwasdrunk,though,

andperhapsdidnotexpressmyselfproperly.PossiblyIamnotexpressingmyself

rightlynow. . . .H’m!Ishallnevertouchwineagain.Intheeveningyoubabble,

andnextmorningyouaresorryforit.Afterall,Iamwalkingquitesteadily....But

theyareallscoundrels,anyhow!”

So Ivan Ilyitch meditated incoherently and by snatches, as he went on

striding along the pavement. The fresh air began to affect him, set his mind

working.Fiveminuteslaterhewouldhavefeltsoothedandsleepy.Butallatonce,

scarcelytwopacesfromtheGreatProspect,heheardmusic.Helookedround.On

theothersideofthestreet,inaverytumble-down-lookinglongwoodenhouseof

one storey, there was a great fête, there was the scraping of violins, and the

droning of a double bass, and the squeaky tooting of a flute playing a very gay

quadrille tune. Under the windows stood an audience, mainly of women in

waddedpelisseswithkerchiefsontheirheads;theywerestrainingeveryeffortto

see something through a crack in the shutters. Evidently therewas a gay party

within.Thesoundofthethudofdancingfeetreachedtheothersideofthestreet.

IvanIlyitchsawapolicemanstandingnotfaroff,andwentuptohim.

“Whose house is that, brother?” he asked, flinging his expensive fur coat

open,justfarenoughtoallowthepolicemantoseetheimposingdecorationonhis

breast.

“Itbelongs to the registrationclerkPseldonimov,”answered thepoliceman,

drawinghimselfupinstantly,discerningthedecoration.

“Pseldonimov?Bah!Pseldonimov!Whatisheupto?Gettingmarried?”

“Yes,yourHonour,toadaughterofatitularcouncillor,Mlekopitaev,atitular

councillor...usedtoserveinthemunicipaldepartment.Thathousegoeswiththe

bride.”

“SothatnowthehouseisPseldonimov’sandnotMlekopitaev’s?”

“Yes, Pseldonimov’s, your Honour. It was Mlekopitaev’s, but now it is

Pseldonimov’s.”

“H’m!Iamaskingyou,myman,becauseIamhischief.Iamageneralinthe

sameofficeinwhichPseldonimovserves.”

“Justso,yourExcellency.”

The policeman drew himself up more stiffly than ever, while Ivan Ilyitch

seemedtoponder.Hestoodstillandmeditated....

Yes, Pseldonimov really was in his department and in his own office; he

rememberedthat.Hewasalittleclerkwithasalaryoftenroublesamonth.AsMr.

Pralinskyhadreceivedhisdepartmentverylatelyhemightnothaveremembered

preciselyallhissubordinates,butPseldonimovherememberedjustbecauseofhis

surname.Ithadcaughthiseyefromtheveryfirst,sothatatthetimehehadhad

thecuriositytolookwithspecialattentionatthepossessorofsuchasurname.He

rememberednowaveryyoungmanwithalonghookednose,withtuftsofflaxen

hair, leanandill-nourished, inanimpossibleuniform,andwithunmentionables

so impossible as to be actually unseemly; he remembered how the thought had

flashedthroughhismindatthetime:shouldn’thegivethepoorfellowtenroubles

for Christmas, to spend on hiswardrobe?But as the poor fellow’s facewas too

austere, and his expression extremely unprepossessing, even exciting repulsion,

thegood-naturedideasomehowfadedawayofitself,soPseldonimovdidnotget

his tip. He had been themore surprised when this same Pseldonimov had not

morethanaweekbeforeaskedforleavetobemarried.IvanIlyitchremembered

thathehadsomehownothadtimetogointothematter,sothatthematterofthe

marriagehadbeensettledoffhand,inhaste.Butyethedidrememberexactlythat

Pseldonimovwasreceivingawoodenhouseandfourhundredroublesincashas

dowry with his bride. The circumstance had surprised him at the time; he

remembered that hehadmade a slight jest over the juxtaposition of thenames

PseldonimovandMlekopitaev.Herememberedallthatclearly.

Herecalledit,andgrewmoreandmorepensive.Itiswellknownthatwhole

trains of thought sometimespass throughour brains instantaneously as though

theywere sensationswithout being translated intohuman speech, still less into

literary language.Butwewill try to translate thesesensationsofourhero’s,and

presenttothereaderatleastthekernelofthem,sotosay,whatwasmostessential

andnearest toreality in them.Formanyofoursensationswhentranslated into

ordinarylanguageseemabsolutelyunreal.Thatiswhytheyneverfindexpression,

thougheveryonehasthem.OfcourseIvanIlyitch’ssensationsandthoughtswere

alittleincoherent.Butyouknowthereason.

“Why,” flashed through his mind, “here we all talk and talk, but when it

comestoaction—itallendsinnothing.Here,forinstance,takethisPseldonimov:

hehasjustcomefromhisweddingfullofhopeandexcitement,lookingforwardto

hisweddingfeast....Thisisoneofthemostblissfuldaysofhislife....Nowheis

busywithhisguests,isgivingabanquet,amodestone,poor,butgayandfullof

genuinegladness....WhatifheknewthatatthisverymomentI,I,hissuperior,

hischief,amstandingbyhishouselisteningtothemusic?Yes,reallyhowwould

hefeel?No,whatwouldhefeelifIsuddenlywalkedin?H’m!...Ofcourseatfirst

hewouldbefrightened,hewouldbedumbwithembarrassment....Ishouldbein

hisway,andperhapsshouldupseteverything.Yes,thatwouldbesoifanyother

generalwentin,butnotI....That’safact,anyoneelse,butnotI....

“Yes,StepanNikiforovitch!Youdidnotunderstandmejustnow,buthereis

anexamplereadyforyou.

“Yes,weallmakeanoutcryaboutactinghumanely,butwearenotcapableof

heroism,offineactions.

“What sort of heroism? This sort. Consider: in the existing relations of the

variousmembersofsociety,forme,forme,aftermidnighttogointothewedding

ofmysubordinate,a registrationclerk,at tenroubles themonth—why, itwould

meanembarrassment,arevolution,thelastdaysofPompeii,anonsensical folly.

Noonewouldunderstandit.StepanNikiforovitchwoulddiebeforeheunderstood

it. Why, he said we should break down. Yes, but that’s you old people, inert,

paralyticpeople;butIshan’tbreakdown,IwilltransformthelastdayofPompeii

toadayoftheutmostsweetnessformysubordinate,andawildactiontoanaction

normal,patriarchal,loftyandmoral.How?Likethis.Kindlylisten....

“Here...Igoin,suppose;theyareamazed,leaveoffdancing,lookwildlyat

me,drawback.Quiteso,butatonceIspeakout:Igostraightuptothefrightened

Pseldonimov,andwithamostcordial,affablesmile,inthesimplestwords,Isay:

‘Thisishowitis,IhavebeenathisExcellencyStepanNikiforovitch’s.Iexpectyou

know,closehereintheneighbourhood....’Well,then,lightly,inalaughingway,

IshalltellhimofmyadventurewithTrifon.FromTrifonIshallpassontosaying

howIwalkedhereonfoot....‘Well,Iheardmusic,Iinquiredofapoliceman,and

learned, brother, that it was your wedding. Let me go in, I thought, to my

subordinate’s;letmeseehowmyclerksenjoythemselvesand...celebratetheir

wedding. I suppose you won’t turn me out?’ Turn me out! What a word for a

subordinate! How the devil could he dream of turningme out! I fancy that he

would be half crazy, that he would rush headlong to seat me in an arm-chair,

wouldbe tremblingwithdelight,wouldhardly knowwhathewasdoing for the

firstminute!

“Why,whatcanbesimpler,moreelegantthansuchanaction?WhydidIgo

in?That’sanotherquestion!That is,so tosay, themoralaspectof thequestion.

That’sthepith.

“H’m,whatwasIthinkingabout,yes!

“Well,ofcoursetheywillmakemesitdownwiththemost importantguest,

sometitularcouncillororarelationwho’saretiredcaptainwitharednose.Gogol

describestheseeccentricssocapitally.Well,Ishallmakeacquaintance,ofcourse,

with the bride, I shall complimenther, I shall encourage the guests. I shall beg

themnot to stand on ceremony. To enjoy themselves, to go on dancing. I shall

make jokes, I shall laugh; in fact, I shall be affable and charming. I am always

affableandcharmingwhenIampleasedwithmyself....H’m...thepointisthat

IbelieveIamstillalittle,well,notdrunkexactly,but...

“Ofcourse,asagentlemanIshallbequiteonanequalitywiththem,andshall

notexpectanyespecialmarksof....Butmorally,morally,itisadifferentmatter;

they will understand and appreciate it. . . . My actions will evoke their nobler

feelings....Well,Ishallstayforhalfanhour...evenforanhour;Ishallleave,of

course,beforesupper;but theywillbebustlingabout,bakingandroasting, they

will be making low bows, but I will only drink a glass, congratulate them and

refuse supper. I shall say—‘business.’ And as soon as I pronounce the word

‘business,’ all of themwill at once have sternly respectful faces. By that I shall

delicatelyremindthemthatthereisadifferencebetweenthemandme.Theearth

andthesky.ItisnotthatIwanttoimpressthatonthem,butitmustbedone...

it’sevenessentialinamoralsense,whenallissaidanddone.Ishallsmileatonce,

however, Ishalleven laugh,andthentheywillallpluckupcourageagain. . . . I

shalljestalittleagainwiththebride;h’m!. . .ImayevenhintthatIshallcome

again in justninemonths to standgodfather,he-he!And shewill be sure tobe

brought tobedby then.Theymultiply, youknow, like rabbits.And theywill all

roar with laughter and the bride will blush; I shall kiss her feelingly on the

forehead,evengivehermyblessing...andnextdaymyexploitwillbeknownat

theoffice.NextdayIshallbesternagain,nextdayIshallbeexactingagain,even

implacable,buttheywillallknowwhatIamlike.Theywillknowmyheart,they

willknowmyessentialnature:‘Heissternaschief,butasamanheisanangel!’

And I shall have conquered them; I shall have captured them by one little act

whichwouldneverhaveenteredyourhead;theywouldbemine;Ishouldbetheir

father, they would be my children. . . . Come now, your Excellency Stepan

Nikiforovitch,goanddolikewise....

“Butdoyouknow,doyouunderstand,thatPseldonimovwilltellhischildren

howtheGeneralhimself feastedandevendrankathiswedding!Whyyouknow

thosechildrenwouldtelltheirchildren,andthosewouldtelltheirgrandchildren

asamostsacredstorythatagrandgentleman,astatesman(andIshallbeallthat

bythen)didthemthehonour,andsoon,andsoon.Why,Iammorallyelevating

thehumiliated,Irestorehimtohimself....Why,hegetsasalaryoftenroublesa

month!...IfIrepeatthisfiveortentimes,orsomethingofthesort,Ishallgain

popularityallovertheplace....Mynamewillbeprintedontheheartsofall,and

thedevilonlyknowswhatwillcomeofthatpopularity!...”

These,orsomethinglikethese,wereIvanIlyitch’sreflections,(amansaysall

sortsofthingssometimestohimself,gentlemen,especiallywhenheisinratheran

eccentriccondition).Allthesemeditationspassedthroughhismindinsomething

likehalfaminute,andofcoursehemighthaveconfinedhimselftothesedreams

and, after mentally putting Stepan Nikiforovitch to shame, have gone very

peacefullyhomeand tobed.Andhewouldhavedonewell.But the troubleof it

wasthatthemomentwasaneccentricone.

Asill-luckwouldhaveit,atthatveryinstanttheself-satisfiedfacesofStepan

Nikiforovitch and Semyon Ivanovitch suddenly rose before his heated

imagination.

“Weshallbreakdown!”repeatedStepanNikiforovitch,smilingdisdainfully.

“He-he-he,”SemyonIvanovitchsecondedhimwithhisnastiestsmile.

“Well,we’llseewhetherwedobreakdown!”IvanIlyitchsaidresolutely,with

arushofheattohisface.

He steppeddown from thepavement andwith resolute stepswent straight

acrossthestreettowardsthehouseofhisregistrationclerkPseldonimov.

His star carried him away. He walked confidently in at the open gate and

contemptuouslythrustasidewithhisfoottheshaggy,huskylittlesheep-dogwho

flewathis legswithahoarsebark,moreasamatterof formthanwithanyreal

intention.Along awoodenplankhewent to the coveredporchwhich led like a

sentryboxtotheyard,andbythreedecayingwoodenstepshewentuptothetiny

entry.Here,thoughatallowcandleorsomethinginthewayofanight-lightwas

burningsomewhereinacorner,itdidnotpreventIvanIlyitchfromputtinghisleft

footjustasitwas,initsgalosh,intoagalantinewhichhadbeenstoodoutthereto

cool. Ivan Ilyitchbentdown, and lookingwith curiosity,he saw that therewere

two other dishes of some sort of jelly and also two shapes apparently of

blancmange.Thesquashedgalantineembarrassedhim,andforonebrief instant

thethoughtflashedthroughhismind,whetherheshouldnotslinkawayatonce.

Butheconsideredthistoolow.Reflectingthatnoonewouldhaveseenhim,and

that they would never think he had done it, he hurriedly wiped his galosh to

concealalltraces,fumbledforthefelt-covereddoor,openeditandfoundhimself

inaverylittleante-room.Halfofitwasliterallypiledupwithgreatcoats,wadded

jackets, cloaks, capes, scarvesandgaloshes. In theotherhalf themusicianshad

beeninstalled;twoviolins,aflute,andadoublebass,abandoffour,pickedup,of

course,inthestreet.Theyweresittingatanunpaintedwoodentable,lightedbya

singletallowcandle,andwiththeutmostvigourweresawingoutthelastfigureof

the quadrille. From the open door into the drawing-room one could see the

dancers in themidst of dust, tobacco smoke and fumes. There was a frenzy of

gaiety. There were sounds of laughter, shouts and shrieks from the ladies. The

gentlemenstampedlikeasquadronofhorses.AbovealltheBedlamthererangout

wordsofcommandfromtheleaderofthedance,probablyanextremelyfreeand

easy,andevenunbuttonedgentleman:“Gentlemenadvance, ladies’chain,set to

partners!”andsoon,andsoon.IvanIlyitchinsomeexcitementcastoffhiscoat

andgaloshes,andwithhiscapinhishandwentintotheroom.Hewasnolonger

reflecting,however.

For the firstminute nobody noticed him; allwere absorbed in dancing the

quadrilletotheend.IvanIlyitchstoodasthoughentranced,andcouldmakeout

nothingdefiniteinthechaos.Hecaughtglimpsesofladies’dresses,ofgentlemen

withcigarettesbetweentheirteeth.Hecaughtaglimpseofalady’spalebluescarf

whichflickedhimonthenose.After theweareramedicalstudent,withhishair

blowninalldirectionsonhishead,prancedbyinwilddelightandjostledviolently

against him on the way. He caught a glimpse, too, of an officer of some

description,wholookedhalfamilehigh.Someoneinanunnaturallyshrillvoice

shouted, “O-o-oh, Pseldonimov!” as the speaker flew by stamping. Itwas sticky

underIvanIlyitch’sfeet;evidentlythefloorhadbeenwaxed.Intheroom,which

wasaverysmallone,therewereaboutthirtypeople.

Butaminutelaterthequadrillewasover,andalmostatoncetheverything

IvanIlyitchhadpicturedwhenhewasdreamingonthepavementtookplace.

A stifled murmur, a strange whisper passed over the whole company,

including the dancers, who had not yet had time to take breath andwipe their

perspiring faces. All eyes, all faces began quickly turning towards the newly

arrivedguest.Thentheyallseemedtodrawbackalittleandbeataretreat.Those

whohadnotnoticedhimwerepulledbytheircoatsordressesandinformed.They

looked round and at once beat a retreat with the others. Ivan Ilyitch was still

standing at the doorwithoutmoving a step forward, and between him and the

company there stretched an ever widening empty space of floor strewn with

countless sweet-meatwrappings, bits of paper and cigarette ends. All at once a

youngmaninauniform,withashockofflaxenhairandahookednose,stepped

timidlyoutintothatemptyspace.Hemovedforward,hunchedup,andlookedat

theunexpected visitor exactlywith the expressionwithwhich adog looks at its

masterwhenthelatterhascalledhimupandisgoingtokickhim.

“Goodevening,Pseldonimov,doyouknowme?”saidIvanIlyitch,andfeltat

the sameminute thathehad said this very awkwardly;he felt, too, thathewas

perhapsdoingsomethinghorriblystupidatthatmoment.

“You-ourEx-cel-len-cy!”mutteredPseldonimov.

“Tobesure....Ihavecalledintoseeyouquitebychance,myfriend,asyou

canprobablyimagine....”

ButevidentlyPseldonimovcouldimaginenothing.Hestoodwithstaringeyes

intheutmostperplexity.

“You won’t turnme out, I suppose. . . . Pleased or not, youmust make a

visitorwelcome....”IvanIlyitchwenton,feelingthathewasconfusedtoapoint

ofunseemly feebleness; thathewas trying tosmileandwasutterlyunable; that

thehumorous reference toStepanNikiforovitchandTrifonwasbecomingmore

andmore impossible.Butas ill luckwouldhave it,Pseldonimovdidnotrecover

from his stupefaction, and still gazed at him with a perfectly idiotic air. Ivan

Ilyitchwinced,hefeltthatinanotherminutesomethingincrediblyfoolishwould

happen.

“Iamnotintheway,amI?...I’llgoaway,”hefaintlyarticulated,andthere

wasatremorattherightcornerofhismouth.

ButPseldonimovhadrecoveredhimself.

“Goodheavens,yourExcellency . . . thehonour. . . . ”hemuttered,bowing

hurriedly.“Graciouslysitdown,yourExcellency....”Andrecoveringhimselfstill

further,hemotionedhimwithbothhandstoasofabeforewhichatablehadbeen

movedawaytomakeroomforthedancing.

IvanIlyitchfeltrelievedandsankonthesofa;atoncesomeoneflewtomove

thetableuptohim.Hetookacursory lookroundandsawthathewastheonly

personsittingdown,alltheotherswerestanding,eventheladies.Abadsign.But

itwasnotyettimetoreassureandencouragethem.Thecompanystillheldback,

while before him, bending double, stood Pseldonimov, utterly alone, still

completelyat a lossandvery far fromsmiling. Itwashorrid; in short,ourhero

enduredsuchmiseryatthatmomentthathisHarounalRaschid-likedescentupon

hissubordinatesforthesakeofprinciplemightwellhavebeenreckonedanheroic

action.ButsuddenlyalittlefiguremadeitsappearancebesidePseldonimov,and

beganbowing.Tohis inexpressiblepleasureandevenhappiness, Ivan Ilyitchat

oncerecognisedhimastheheadclerkofhisoffice,AkimPetrovitchZubikov,and

though, of course, he was not acquainted with him, he knew him to be a

businesslikeandexemplaryclerk.HegotupatonceandheldouthishandtoAkim

Petrovitch—hiswholehand,nottwofingers.Thelattertookitinbothofhiswith

thedeepestrespect.Thegeneralwastriumphant,thesituationwassaved.

AndnowindeedPseldonimovwasnolonger,sotosay,thesecondperson,but

thethird.Itwaspossibletoaddresshisremarkstotheheadclerkinhisnecessity,

taking him for an acquaintance and even an intimate one, and Pseldonimov

meanwhile could only be silent and be in a tremor of reverence. So that the

proprietieswereobserved.And someexplanationwas essential, Ivan Ilyitch felt

that; he saw that all the guests were expecting something, that the whole

householdwasgatheredtogetherinthedoorway,almostcreeping,climbingover

oneanother in theiranxiety to seeandhearhim.Whatwashorridwas that the

headclerkinhisfoolishnessremainedstanding.

“Whyareyoustanding?”saidIvanIlyitch,awkwardlymotioninghimtoaseat

onthesofabesidehim.

“Oh,don’ttrouble....I’llsithere.”AndAkimPetrovitchhurriedlysatdown

on a chair, almost as it was being put for him by Pseldonimov, who remained

obstinatelystanding.

“Can you imagine what happened,” addressing himself exclusively to Akim

Petrovitchinaratherquavering,thoughfreeandeasyvoice.Heevendrawledout

hiswords,withspecialemphasisonsomesyllables,pronouncedthevowelahlike

eh; in short, felt and was conscious that he was being affected but could not

controlhimself: someexternal forcewasatwork.Hewaspainfully consciousof

manythingsatthatmoment.

“Can you imagine, I have only just come from Stepan Nikiforovitch

Nikiforov’s,youhaveheardofhimperhaps,theprivycouncillor.Youknow...on

thatspecialcommittee....”

AkimPetrovitch bent hiswhole person forward respectfully: asmuch as to

say,“Ofcoursewehaveheardofhim.”

“Heisyourneighbornow,”IvanIlyitchwenton,foroneinstantforthesake

of ease andgoodmanners addressingPseldonimov,buthequickly turnedaway

again,onseeingfromthelatter’seyesthatitmadeabsolutelynodifferencetohim.

“Theoldfellow,asyouknow,hasbeendreamingallhislifeofbuyinghimself

ahouse....Well,andhehasboughtit.Andaveryprettyhousetoo.Yes....And

todaywashisbirthdayandhehadnevercelebrateditbefore,heusedeventokeep

itsecret fromus,hewas toostingytokeep it,he-he.Butnowhe issodelighted

overhisnewhouse, thathe invitedSemyon IvanovitchShipulenkoandme,you

know.”

AkimPetrovitchbentforwardagain.Hebentforwardzealously.IvanIlyitch

feltsomewhatcomforted.Ithadstruckhim,indeed,thattheheadclerkpossibly

wasguessingthathewasanindispensablepointd’appuiforhisExcellencyatthat

moment.Thatwouldhavebeenmorehorridthananything.

“Sowesattogether,thethreeofus,hegaveuschampagne,wetalkedabout

problems...evendispu-ted....He-he!”

AkimPetrovitchraisedhiseyebrowsrespectfully.

“Onlythatisnotthepoint.WhenItakeleaveofhimatlast—heisapunctual

oldfellow,goestobedearly,youknow,inhisoldage—Igoout....MyTrifonis

nowheretobeseen!Iamanxious,Imakeinquiries. ‘WhathasTrifondonewith

the carriage?’ It comesout thathoping I should stayon,hehadgoneoff to the

wedding of some friend of his, or sister maybe. . . . Goodness only knows.

SomewherehereonthePetersburgSide.Andtookthecarriagewithhimwhilehe

wasaboutit.”

Again for the sake of goodmanners the general glanced in the direction of

Pseldonimov.Thelatterpromptlygaveawriggle,butnotatallthesortofwriggle

thegeneralwouldhaveliked.“Hehasnosympathy,noheart,”flashedthroughhis

brain.

“Youdon’tsayso!”saidAkimPetrovitch,greatlyimpressed.Afaintmurmur

ofsurpriseranthroughallthecrowd.

“Canyou fancymyposition. . . . ” (IvanIlyitchglancedat themall.) “There

wasnothingforit,Isetoffonfoot,IthoughtIwouldtrudgetotheGreatProspect,

andtherefindsomecabby...he-he!”

“He-he-he!” Akim Petrovitch echoed. Again a murmur, but this time on a

morecheerfulnote,passedthroughthecrowd.Atthatmomentthechimneyofa

lamp on the wall broke with a crash. Some one rushed zealously to see to it.

Pseldonimovstartedandlookedsternlyatthelamp,butthegeneraltooknonotice

ofit,andallwassereneagain.

“Iwalked...andthenightwassolovely,sostill.AllatonceIheardaband,

stamping,dancing.Iinquiredofapoliceman;itisPseldonimov’swedding.Why,

you are giving a ball to all Petersburg Side, my friend. Ha-ha.” He turned to

Pseldonimovagain.

“He-he-he!Tobesure,”AkimPetrovitchresponded.Therewasastiramong

the guests again, but what was most foolish was that Pseldonimov, though he

bowed,didnotevennowsmile,butseemedasthoughheweremadeofwood.“Is

hea foolorwhat?”thoughtIvanIlyitch.“Heoughttohavesmiledat thatpoint,

theass,andeverythingwouldhaveruneasily.”Therewasafuryofimpatiencein

hisheart.

“IthoughtIwouldgointoseemyclerk.Hewon’tturnmeoutIexpect . . .

pleasedornot,onemustwelcomeaguest.Youmustpleaseexcuseme,mydear

fellow.IfIamintheway,Iwillgo...Ionlycameintohavealook....”

Butlittlebylittleageneralstirwasbeginning.

AkimPetrovitchlookedathimwithamawkishlysweetexpressionasthough

tosay,“HowcouldyourExcellencybeintheway?”alltheguestsstirredandbegan

todisplaythefirstsymptomsofbeingattheirease.Almostalltheladiessatdown.

A good sign and a reassuring one. The boldest spirits among them fanned

themselveswith their handkerchiefs.One of them in a shabby velvet dress said

something with intentional loudness. The officer addressed by her would have

liked to answer her as loudly, but seeing that theywere the only ones speaking

aloud, he subsided. Themen, for themost part government clerks,with two or

threestudentsamongthem,lookedatoneanotherasthougheggingeachotheron

to unbend, cleared their throats, and began to move a few steps in different

directions.Noone,however,wasparticularlytimid,buttheywereallrestive,and

almostallofthemlookedwithahostileexpressionatthepersonagewhohadburst

inuponthem,todestroytheirgaiety.Theofficer,ashamedofhiscowardice,began

toedgeuptothetable.

“But I say,my friend, allowme to ask you your name,” Ivan Ilyitch asked

Pseldonimov.

“PorfiryPetrovitch,yourExcellency,”answeredthelatter,withstaringeyesas

thoughonparade.

“Introduceme,PorfiryPetrovitch,toyourbride....Takemetoher...I....”

Andheshowedsignsofadesiretogetup.ButPseldonimovranfullspeedto

thedrawing-room.Thebride,however,wasstandingclosebyatthedoor,butas

soonassheheardherselfmentioned,shehid.AminutelaterPseldonimovledher

upbythehand.Theguestsallmovedasidetomakewayforthem.IvanIlyitchgot

upsolemnlyandaddressedhimselftoherwithamostaffablesmile.

“Very,verymuchpleasedtomakeyouracquaintance,”hepronouncedwitha

mostaristocratichalf-bow,“especiallyonsuchaday....”

Hegaveameaningsmile.Therewasanagreeableflutteramongtheladies.

”Charmé,”theladyinthevelvetdresspronounced,almostaloud.

ThebridewasamatchforPseldonimov.Shewasa thin little ladynotmore

than seventeen, pale, with a very small face and a sharp little nose.Her quick,

activelittleeyeswerenotatallembarrassed;onthecontrary,theylookedathim

steadily and even with a shade of resentment. Evidently Pseldonimov was

marryingherforherbeauty.Shewasdressedinawhitemuslindressoverapink

slip.Herneckwas thin, and shehada figure likea chicken’swith thebonesall

stickingout.Shewasnotequaltomakinganyresponsetothegeneral’saffability.

“Butshe isverypretty,”hewenton, inanundertone,as thoughaddressing

Pseldonimovonly,thoughintentionallyspeakingsothatthebridecouldhear.

But on this occasion, too, Pseldonimov again answered absolutely nothing,

and did not even wriggle. Ivan Ilyitch fancied that there was something cold,

suppressed inhis eyes, as thoughhehad somethingpeculiarlymalignant inhis

mind.Andyethehadatallcoststowringsomesensibilityoutofhim.Why,that

wastheobjectofhiscoming.

“Theyareacouple,though!”hethought.

Andheturnedagaintothebride,whohadseatedherselfbesidehimonthe

sofa,butinanswertohistwoorthreequestionshegotnothingbut“yes”or“no,”

andhardlythat.

“Ifonlyshehadbeenovercomewithconfusion,”hethoughttohimself,“then

Ishouldhavebeguntobanterher.Butasitis,mypositionisimpossible.”

Andasill-luckwouldhaveit,AkimPetrovitch,too,wasmute;thoughthiswas

onlyduetohisfoolishness,itwasstillunpardonable.

“My friends! Haven’t I perhaps interfered with your enjoyment?” he said,

addressingthewholecompany.

Hefeltthattheverypalmsofhishandswereperspiring.

“No...don’ttrouble,yourExcellency;wearebeginningdirectly,butnow...

wearegettingcool,”answeredtheofficer.

Thebridelookedathimwithpleasure;theofficerwasnotold,andworethe

uniformofsomebranchoftheservice.Pseldonimovwasstillstandinginthesame

place, bending forward, and it seemed as though his hooked nose stood out

further than ever. He looked and listened like a footman standing with the

greatcoat on his arm,waiting for the end of hismaster’s farewell conversation.

IvanIlyitchmadethiscomparisonhimself.Hewaslosinghishead;hefeltthathe

wasinanawkwardposition,thatthegroundwasgivingwayunderhisfeet,thathe

hadgot insomewhereandcouldnot findhiswayout,as thoughhewere in the

dark.

Suddenlytheguestsallmovedaside,andashort, thick-set,middle-agedwoman

madeherappearance,dressedplainlythoughshewasinherbest,withabigshawl

onhershoulders,pinnedather throat,andonherheadacaptowhichshewas

evidently unaccustomed. In her hands she carried a small round tray onwhich

stoodafullbutuncorkedbottleofchampagneandtwoglasses,neithermorenor

less.Evidentlythebottlewasintendedforonlytwoguests.

Themiddle-agedladyapproachedthegeneral.

“Don’tlookdownonus,yourExcellency,”shesaid,bowing.“Sinceyouhave

deignedtodomysonthehonourofcomingtohiswedding,webegyougraciously

todrinktothehealthoftheyoungpeople.Donotdisdainus;dousthehonour.”

IvanIlyitchclutchedatherasthoughshewerehissalvation.Shewasbyno

meansanoldwoman—forty-fiveorforty-six,notmore;butshehadsuchagood-

natured,rosy-cheeked,sucharoundandcandidRussianface,shesmiledsogood-

humouredly,bowedsosimply,thatIvanIlyitchwasalmostcomfortedandbegan

tohopeagain.

“Soyouarethemo-otherofyourso-on?”hesaid,gettingupfromthesofa.

“Yes,mymother,yourExcellency,”mumbledPseldonimov,craninghis long

neckandthrustingforwardhislongnoseagain.

“Ah!Iamdelighted—deligh-tedtomakeyouracquaintance.”

“Donotrefuseus,yourExcellency.”

“Withthegreatestpleasure.”

The traywasputdown.Pseldonimovdashed forward topourout thewine.

IvanIlyitch,stillstanding,tooktheglass.

“Iamparticularly,particularlygladonthisoccasion,thatIcan...”hebegan,

“thatIcan...testifybeforeallofyou....Inshort,asyourchief...Iwishyou,

madam”(heturnedtothebride),“andyou,friendPorfiry,Iwishyouthefullest,

completesthappinessformanylongyears.”

And he positively drained the glasswith feeling, the seventh he had drunk

thatevening.Pseldonimov lookedathimgravelyandevensullenly.Thegeneral

wasbeginningtofeelanagonisinghatredofhim.

“Andthatscarecrow”(helookedattheofficer)“keepsobtrudinghimself.He

might at least have shouted ‘hurrah!’ and itwouldhave gone off, itwouldhave

goneoff....”

“And you too, Akim Petrovitch, drink a glass to their health,” added the

mother,addressing theheadclerk. “Youarehis superior,he isunderyou.Look

aftermyboy,Ibegyouasamother.Anddon’tforgetusinthefuture,ourgood,

kindfriend,AkimPetrovitch.”

“How nice these old Russian women are,” thought Ivan Ilyitch. “She has

livenedusallup.Ihavealwayslovedthedemocracy....”

Atthatmomentanothertraywasbroughttothetable;itwasbroughtinbya

maid wearing a crackling cotton dress that had never been washed, and a

crinoline.Shecouldhardlygraspthetrayinbothhands,itwassobig.Onitthere

were numbers of plates of apples, sweets, fruit meringues and fruit cheeses,

walnutsandsoon,andsoon.Thetrayhadbeentilltheninthedrawing-roomfor

thedelectationofalltheguests,andespeciallytheladies.Butnowitwasbrought

tothegeneralalone.

“Do not disdain our humble fare, your Excellency. What we have we are

pleasedtooffer,”theoldladyrepeated,bowing.

“Delighted!” said Ivan Ilyitch, and with real pleasure took a walnut and

crackeditbetweenhisfingers.Hehadmadeuphismindtowinpopularityatall

costs.

Meantimethebridesuddenlygiggled.

“Whatisit?”askedIvanIlyitchwithasmile,encouragedbythissignoflife.

“IvanKostenkinitch,here,makesmelaugh,”sheanswered,lookingdown.

Thegeneraldistinguished, indeed, a flaxen-headedyoungman, exceedingly

good-looking,whowassittingonachairattheotherendofthesofa,whispering

somethingtoMadamePseldonimov.Theyoungmanstoodup.Hewasapparently

veryyoungandveryshy.

“Iwastellingtheladyabouta‘dreambook,’yourExcellency,”hemutteredas

thoughapologising.

“Aboutwhatsortof‘dreambook’?”askedIvanIlyitchcondescendingly.

“There is a new ‘dream book,’ a literary one. I was telling the lady that to

dreamofMr.Panaevmeansspillingcoffeeonone’sshirtfront.”

“Whatinnocence!”thoughtIvanIlyitch,withpositiveannoyance.

Though the young man flushed very red as he said it, he was incredibly

delightedthathehadsaidthisaboutMr.Panaev.

“Tobesure,Ihaveheardofit....”respondedhisExcellency.

“No, there is something better than that,” said a voice quite close to Ivan

Ilyitch.“Thereisanewencyclopædiabeingpublished,andtheysayMr.Kraevsky

willwritearticles...andsatiricalliterature.”

Thiswassaidbyayoungmanwhowasbynomeansembarrassed,butrather

freeandeasy.Hewaswearingglovesandawhitewaistcoat,andcarriedahatin

hishand.Hedidnotdance,andlookedcondescending,forhewasonthestaffofa

satirical paper calledThe Firebrand, and gave himself airs accordingly.He had

comecasuallytothewedding,invitedasanhonouredguestofthePseldonimovs’,

withwhomhewason intimate termsandwithwhomonlyayearbeforehehad

livedinverypoorlodgings,keptbyaGermanwoman.Hedrankvodka,however,

andforthatpurposehadmorethanoncewithdrawntoasnuglittlebackroomto

whichalltheguestsknewtheirway.Thegeneraldislikedhimextremely.

“Andthereasonthat’sfunny,”brokeinjoyfullytheflaxen-headedyoungman,

whohadtalkedoftheshirtfrontandatwhomtheyoungmanonthecomicpaper

looked with hatred in consequence, “it’s funny, your Excellency, because it is

supposedbythewriterthatMr.Kraevskydoesnotknowhowtospell,andthinks

that‘satirical’oughttobewrittenwitha‘y’insteadofan‘i.’”

Butthepooryoungmanscarcelyfinishedhissentence;hecouldseefromhis

eyes that the general knew all this long ago, for the general himself looked

embarrassed, and evidently because he knew it. The young man seemed

inconceivably ashamed. He succeeded in effacing himself completely, and

remainedverymelancholyalltherestoftheevening.

ButtomakeupforthattheyoungmanonthestaffoftheFirebrandcameup

nearer,andseemedtobeintendingtositdownsomewherecloseby.Suchfreeand

easymannersstruckIvanIlyitchasrathershocking.

“Tellme,please,Porfiry,”hebegan,inordertosaysomething,“why—Ihave

always wanted to ask you about it in person—why you are called Pseldonimov

insteadofPseudonimov?YournamesurelymustbePseudonimov.”

“Icannotinformyouexactly,yourExcellency,”saidPseldonimov.

“Itmust have been thatwhenhis fatherwent into the service theymade a

mistake inhispapers, so thathehas remainednowPseldonimov,”put inAkim

Petrovitch.“Thatdoeshappen.”

“Un-doubted-ly,” the general said with warmth, “undoubted-ly; for only

think,Pseudonimovcomesfromtheliterarywordpseudonym,whilePseldonimov

meansnothing.”

“Duetofoolishness,”addedAkimPetrovitch.

“Youmeanwhatisduetofoolishness?”

“The Russian common people in their foolishness often alter letters, and

sometimes pronounce them in their own way. For instance, they say nevalid

insteadofinvalid.”

“Oh,yes,nevalid,he-he-he....”

“Mumber, too, they say, yourExcellency,” boomed out the tall officer,who

hadlongbeenitchingtodistinguishhimselfinsomeway.

“Whatdoyoumeanbymumber?”

“Mumberinsteadofnumber,yourExcellency.”

“Oh,yes,mumber...insteadofnumber....Tobesure,tobesure....He-

he-he!”IvanIlyitchhadtodoachuckleforthebenefitoftheofficertoo.

Theofficerstraightenedhistie.

“Anotherthingtheysayisnighby,”theyoungmanonthecomicpaperputin.

But his Excellency tried not to hear this. His chuckles were not at everybody’s

disposal.

“Nighby, insteadofnear,” theyoungmanon the comicpaperpersisted, in

evidentirritation.

IvanIlyitchlookedathimsternly.

“Come,whypersist?”Pseldonimovwhisperedtohim.

“Why,Iwastalking.Mayn’tonespeak?”thelatterprotestedinawhisper;but

hesaidnomoreandwithsecretfurywalkedoutoftheroom.

Hemade his way straight to the attractive little back room where, for the

benefitofthedancinggentlemen,vodkaoftwosorts,saltfish,caviareintoslices

and a bottle of very strong sherry of Russian make had been set early in the

eveningonalittletable,coveredwithaYaroslavcloth.Withangerinhishearthe

waspouringhimselfoutaglassofvodka,whensuddenlythemedicalstudentwith

thedishevelled locks, the foremostdancerandcutterofcapersatPseldonimov’s

ball,rushedin.Hefellonthedecanterwithgreedyhaste.

“Theyare just going tobegin!”he said rapidly,helpinghimself. “Comeand

look, I am going to dance a solo onmy head; after supper I shall risk the fish

dance. It is just the thing for the wedding. So to speak, a friendly hint to

Pseldonimov.She’sa jollycreaturethatKleopatraSemyonovna,youcanventure

onanythingyoulikewithher.”

“He’sareactionary,”saidtheyoungmanonthecomicpapergloomily,ashe

tossedoffhisvodka.

“Whoisareactionary?”

“Why, the personage before whom they set those sweet-meats. He’s a

reactionary,Itellyou.”

“What nonsense!” muttered the student, and he rushed out of the room,

hearingtheopeningbarsofthequadrille.

Left alone, the youngman on the comic paper poured himself out another

glasstogivehimselfmoreassuranceandindependence;hedrankandateasnack

of something, and never had the actual civil councillor Ivan Ilyitch made for

himselfabittererfoemoreimplacablybentonrevengethanwastheyoungman

onthestaffoftheFirebrandwhomhehadsoslighted,especiallyafterthelatter

haddrunktwoglassesofvodka.Alas!IvanIlyitchsuspectednothingofthesort.

Hedidnotsuspectanothercircumstanceofprimeimportanceeither,whichhad

aninfluenceonthemutualrelationsoftheguestsandhisExcellency.Thefactwas

thatthoughhehadgivenaproperandevendetailedexplanationofhispresenceat

hisclerk’swedding,thisexplanationdidnotreallysatisfyanyone,andthevisitors

were still embarrassed. But suddenly everything was transformed as though by

magic, allwere reassured and ready to enjoy themselves, to laugh, to shriek; to

dance,exactlyasthoughtheunexpectedvisitorwerenotintheroom.Thecauseof

itwasarumour,awhisper,areportwhichspreadinsomeunknownwaythatthe

visitorwasnotquite...itseemed—was,infact,“alittletop-heavy.”Andthough

this seemed at first a horrible calumny, it began by degrees to appear to be

justified;suddenlyeverythingbecameclear.Whatwasmore,theyfeltallatonce

extraordinarily free.And itwas justat thismoment that thequadrille forwhich

themedicalstudentwasinsuchhaste,thelastbeforesupper,began.

And just as Ivan Ilyitch meant to address the bride again, intending to

provokeherwithsomeinnuendo, thetallofficersuddenlydasheduptoherand

withaflourishdroppedononekneebeforeher.Sheimmediatelyjumpedupfrom

thesofa,andwhiskedoffwithhimtotakeherplaceinthequadrille.Theofficer

did not even apologise, and she did not even glance at the general as shewent

away;sheseemed,infact,relievedtoescape.

“Afterallshehasarighttobe,’thoughtIvanIlyitch,‘andofcoursetheydon’t

knowhowtobehave.’“Hm!Don’tyoustandonceremony,friendPorfiry,”hesaid,

addressing Pseldonimov. “Perhaps you have . . . arrangements tomake . . . or

something...pleasedon’tputyourselfout.”‘Whydoeshekeepguardoverme?’”

hethoughttohimself.

Pseldonimov,withhislongneckandhiseyesfixedintentlyuponhim,began

tobeinsufferable.Infact,allthiswasnotthething,notthethingatall,butIvan

Ilyitchwasstillfarfromadmittingthis.

Thequadrillebegan.

“Will you allow me, your Excellency?” asked Akim Petrovitch, holding the

bottlerespectfullyinhishandsandpreparingtopourfromitintohisExcellency’s

glass.

“I...Ireallydon’tknow,whether....”

ButAkimPetrovitch,with reverent and radiant face,wasalready filling the

glass. After filling the glass, he proceeded, writhing and wriggling, as it were

stealthily,asitwerefurtively,topourhimselfoutsome,withthisdifference,that

hedidnotfillhisownglasstowithinafingerlengthofthetop,andthisseemed

somehowmore respectful. He was like a woman in travail as he sat beside his

chief.What couldhe talk about, indeed?Yet to entertain hisExcellencywas an

absolutedutysincehehadthehonourofkeepinghimcompany.Thechampagne

served as a resource, andhisExcellency, too,waspleased thathehad filledhis

glass—not for the sake of the champagne, for it was warm and perfectly

abominable,butjustmorallypleased.

“Theoldchapwouldliketohaveadrinkhimself,”thoughtIvanIlyitch,“but

hedoesn’tventuretillIdo.Imustn’tpreventhim.Andindeeditwouldbeabsurd

forthebottletostandbetweenasuntouched.”

Hetookasip,anywayitseemedbetterthansittingdoingnothing.

“Iamhere,”hesaid,withpausesandemphasis,“Iamhere,youknow,soto

speak,accidentally,and,ofcourse,itmaybe...thatsomepeoplewouldconsider

...itunseemlyformetobeatsuch...agathering.”

AkimPetrovitchsaidnothing,butlistenedwithtimidcuriosity.

“ButIhopeyouwillunderstand,withwhatobjectIhavecome....Ihaven’t

reallycomesimplytodrinkwine...he-he!”

AkimPetrovitchtriedtochuckle,followingtheexampleofhisExcellency,but

againhecouldnotgetitout,andagainhemadeabsolutelynoconsolatoryanswer.

“Iamhere...inorder,sotospeak,toencourage...toshow,sotospeak,a

moral aim,” Ivan Ilyitch continued, feelingvexedatAkimPetrovitch’s stupidity,

buthesuddenlysubsidedintosilencehimself.HesawthatpoorAkimPetrovitch

haddroppedhiseyesas thoughhewere in fault.Thegeneral insomeconfusion

madehastetotakeanothersipfromhisglass,andAkimPetrovitchclutchedatthe

bottleasthoughitwerehisonlyhopeofsalvationandfilledtheglassagain.

“Youhaven’tmany resources,” thought Ivan Ilyitch, looking sternly at poor

AkimPetrovitch.Thelatter,feelingthatsterngeneral-likeeyeuponhim,madeup

hismind to remain silent for good andnot to raisehis eyes. So they sat beside

eachotherforacoupleofminutes—twosicklyminutesforAkimPetrovitch.

AcoupleofwordsaboutAkimPetrovitch.Hewasamanoftheoldschool,as

meekasahen,rearedfrominfancytoobsequiousservility,andatthesametimea

good-naturedandevenhonourableman.HewasaPetersburgRussian;thatis,his

fatherandhisfather’sfatherwereborn,grewupandservedinPetersburgandhad

never once left Petersburg. That is quite a special type of Russian. They have

hardlyany ideaofRussia, thoughthatdoesnot trouble thematall.Theirwhole

interest is confined to Petersburg and chiefly the place inwhich they serve. All

their thoughts are concentrated on preference for farthing points, on the shop,

and their month’s salary. They don’t know a single Russian custom, a single

Russian song except “Lutchinushka,” and that only because it is played on the

barrelorgans.However,therearetwofundamentalandinvariablesignsbywhich

you can at oncedistinguish aPetersburgRussian froma realRussian.The first

sign is the fact that Petersburg Russians, all without exception, speak of the

newspaper as theAcademic News and never call it the Petersburg News. The

secondandequallytrustworthysignisthatPetersburgRussiansnevermakeuseof

theword“breakfast,”butalwayscallit“Frühstück”withespecialemphasisonthe

firstsyllable.Bytheseradicalanddistinguishingsignsyoucantellthemapart;in

short, this is a humble type which has been formed during the last thirty-five

years.AkimPetrovitch,however,wasbynomeansafool.Ifthegeneralhadasked

himaquestionaboutanythinginhisownprovincehewouldhaveansweredand

kept up a conversation; as it was, it was unseemly for a subordinate even to

answersuchquestionsasthese,thoughAkimPetrovitchwasdyingfromcuriosity

toknowsomethingmoredetailedabouthisExcellency’srealintentions.

AndmeanwhileIvanIlyitchsankmoreandmoreintomeditationandasort

ofwhirl of ideas; in his absorption he sipped his glass every half-minute. Akim

Petrovitch at once zealously filled it up. Both were silent. Ivan Ilyitch began

looking at the dances, and immediately something attracted his attention. One

circumstanceevensurprisedhim....

Thedanceswerecertainlylively.Herepeopledancedinthesimplicityoftheir

heartstoamusethemselvesandeventorompwildly.Amongthedancersfewwere

reallyskilful,but theunskilledstampedsovigorously that theymighthavebeen

takenforagileones.Theofficerwasamongtheforemost;heparticularlylikedthe

figuresinwhichhewasleftalone,toperformasolo.Thenheperformedthemost

marvellous capers. For instance, standing upright as a post, hewould suddenly

bendovertooneside,sothatoneexpectedhimtofallover;butwiththenextstep

hewouldsuddenlybendoverintheoppositedirectionatthesameacuteangleto

the floor. He kept themost serious face and danced in the full conviction that

everyonewaswatchinghim.Anothergentleman,whohadhadrathermorethan

hecouldcarrybeforethequadrille,droppedasleepbesidehispartnersothathis

partnerhadtodancealone.Theyoungregistrationclerk,whohaddancedwiththe

lady in the blue scarf through all the figures and through all the five quadrilles

whichtheyhaddancedthatevening,playedthesameprankthewholetime:that

is,hedroppedalittlebehindhispartner,seizedtheendofherscarf,andasthey

crossedoversucceededinimprintingsometwentykissesonthescarf.Hispartner

sailedalonginfrontofhim,asthoughshenoticednothing.Themedicalstudent

really did dance on his head, and excited frantic enthusiasm, stamping, and

shrieks of delight. In short, the absence of constraint was very marked. Ivan

Ilyitch,whomthewinewasbeginningtoaffect,beganbysmiling,butbydegreesa

bitterdoubtbegantostealintohisheart;ofcoursehelikedfreeandeasymanners

andunconventionality.Hedesired,hehadeveninwardlyprayedforfreeandeasy

manners,whentheyhadallheldback,butnowthatunconventionalityhadgone

beyondall limits.One lady, for instance, theone in the shabbydarkbluevelvet

dress,boughtfourth-hand,inthesixthfigurepinnedherdresssoastoturnitinto

—something like trousers. Thiswas the Kleopatra Semyonovnawithwhom one

couldventuretodoanything,asherpartner,themedicalstudent,hadexpressed

it. Themedical student defied description: hewas simply a Fokin.Howwas it?

Theyhadheldbackandnowtheyweresoquicklyemancipated!Onemightthinkit

nothing,butthistransformationwassomehowstrange;itindicatedsomething.It

was as though they had forgotten Ivan Ilyitch’s existence.Of course hewas the

first to laugh, and even ventured to applaud. Akim Petrovitch chuckled

respectfullyinunison,though,indeed,withevidentpleasureandnosuspicionthat

hisExcellencywasbeginningtonourishinhisheartanewgnawinganxiety.

“You dance capitally, young man,” Ivan Ilyitch was obliged to say to the

medicalstudentashewalkedpasthim.

The student turnedsharply towardshim,madeagrimace,andbringinghis

facecloseintounseemlyproximitytothefaceofhisExcellency,crowedlikeacock

atthetopofhisvoice.Thiswastoomuch.IvanIlyitchgotupfromthetable.In

spite of that, a roar of inexpressible laughter followed, for the crow was an

extraordinarily good imitation, and the whole performance was utterly

unexpected. Ivan Ilyitch was still standing in bewilderment, when suddenly

Pseldonimovhimselfmadehisappearance,andwithabow,beganbegginghimto

cometosupper.Hismotherfollowedhim.

“YourExcellency,” she said, bowing, “dous thehonour, donot disdain our

humblefare.”

“I . . .Ireallydon’tknow,”IvanIlyitchwasbeginning.“Ididnotcomewith

thatidea...I...meanttobegoing....”

Hewas,infact,holdinghishatinhishands.Whatismore,hehadatthatvery

moment taken an inward vow at all costs to depart at once and on no account

whatever to consent to remain, and . . . he remained.Aminute laterhe led the

processiontothetable.Pseldonimovandhismotherwalkedinfront,clearingthe

wayforhim.Theymadehimsitdownintheseatofhonour,andagainabottleof

champagne, opened but not begun, was set beside his plate. By way of hors

d’oeuvres thereweresaltherringsandvodka.Heputouthishand,pouredouta

largeglassofvodkaanddrankitoff.Hehadneverdrunkvodkabefore.Hefeltas

thoughhewere rollingdownahill,were flying, flying, flying, thathemust stop

himself,catchatsomething,buttherewasnopossibilityofit.

Hispositionwascertainlybecomingmoreandmoreeccentric.Whatismore,

itseemedasthoughfateweremockingathim.Godknowswhathadhappenedto

himinthecourseofanhourorso.Whenhewentinhehad,sotosay,openedhis

arms to embrace all humanity, all his subordinates; andherenotmore than an

hour had passed and in all his aching heart he felt and knew that he hated

Pseldonimovandwascursinghim,hiswifeandhiswedding.Whatwasmore,he

sawfromhisface,fromhiseyesalone,thatPseldonimovhimselfhatedhim,that

hewaslookingathimwitheyesthatalmostsaid:“Ifonlyyouwouldtakeyourself

off,curseyou!Foistingyourselfonus!”Allthishehadreadforsometimeinhis

eyes.

Of course as he sat down to table, Ivan Ilyitch would sooner have had his

handcutoff thanhaveowned,notonlyaloud,buteventohimself, thatthiswas

reallyso.Themomenthadnotfullyarrivedyet.Therewasstillamoralvacillation.

Buthisheart,hisheart . . . it ached! Itwasclamouring for freedom, forair, for

rest.IvanIlyitchwasreallytoogood-natured.

Heknew,ofcourse,thatheoughtlongbeforetohavegoneaway,notmerely

tohavegoneawaybuttohavemadehisescape.Thatallthiswasnotthesame,but

hadturnedoututterlydifferentfromwhathehaddreamedofonthepavement.

“WhydidIcome?DidIcomeheretoeatanddrink?”heaskedhimselfashe

tastedthesaltherring.Heevenhadattacksofscepticism.Therewasatmomentsa

faintstirof irony inregardtohisownfineactionat thebottomofhisheart.He

actuallywonderedattimeswhyhehadcomein.

Buthowcouldhegoaway?Togoawaylikethiswithouthavingfinishedthe

businessproperlywasimpossible.Whatwouldpeoplesay?Theywouldsaythathe

wasfrequentinglowcompany.Indeeditreallywouldamounttothatifhedidnot

enditproperly.WhatwouldStepanNikiforovitch,SemyonIvanovitchsay(forof

course it would be all over the place by tomorrow)?whatwould be said in the

offices,attheShembels’,attheShubins’?No,hemusttakehisdepartureinsucha

waythatallshouldunderstandwhyhehadcome,hemustmakeclearhismoral

aim....Andmeantimethedramaticmomentwouldnotpresentitself.“Theydon’t

evenrespectme,”hewenton,thinking.“Whataretheylaughingat?Theyareas

freeandeasyasthoughtheyhadnofeeling....ButIhavelongsuspectedthatall

theyoungergenerationarewithoutfeeling!Imustremainatallcosts!Theyhave

justbeendancing,butnowattabletheywillallbegatheredtogether....Iwilltalk

aboutquestions,aboutreforms,aboutthegreatnessofRussia.. . .Icanstillwin

theirenthusiasm!Yes!Perhapsnothingisyetlost....Perhapsitisalwayslikethis

inreality.WhatshouldIbeginuponwiththemtoattractthem?WhatplancanI

hit upon? I am lost, simply lost. . . . And what is it they want, what is it they

require? . . . I see they are laughing together there. Can it be at me, merciful

heavens!ButwhatisitIwant...whyisitIamhere,whydon’tIgoaway,whydo

Igoonpersisting?”. . .Hethoughtthis,andasortofshame,adeepunbearable

shame,renthisheartmoreandmoreintensely.

Buteverythingwentoninthesameway,onethingafteranother.

Just two minutes after he had sat down to the table one terrible thought

overwhelmedhimcompletely.Hesuddenlyfeltthathewashorriblydrunk,thatis,

not as he was before, but hopelessly drunk. The cause of this was the glass of

vodka which he had drunk after the champagne, and which had immediately

producedaneffect.Hewasconscious,hefeltineveryfibreofhisbeingthathewas

growing hopelessly feeble. Of course his assurance was greatly increased, but

consciousnesshadnotdesertedhim,and itkept cryingout: “It isbad,verybad

and, in fact,utterlyunseemly!”Ofcoursehisunstabledrunkenreflectionscould

not rest long on one subject; there began to be apparent and unmistakably so,

eventohimself,twooppositesides.Ononesidetherewasswaggeringassurance,a

desiretoconquer,adisdainofobstaclesandadesperateconfidencethathewould

attainhisobject.Theothersideshoweditselfintheachingofhisheart,andasort

ofgnawinginhissoul.“Whatwouldtheysay?Howwoulditallend?Whatwould

happentomorrow,tomorrow,tomorrow?”...

Hehad felt vaguelybefore thathehadenemies in the company. “Nodoubt

thatwas because Iwas drunk,” he thoughtwith agonising doubt.Whatwas his

horrorwhenhe actually, by unmistakable signs, convinced himself now that he

reallyhadenemiesatthetable,andthatitwasimpossibletodoubtofit.

“Andwhy—why?”hewondered.

Atthetabletherewereallthethirtyguests,ofwhomseveralwerequitetipsy.

Others were behaving with a careless and sinister independence, shouting and

talking at the top of their voices, bawling out the toasts before the time, and

peltingtheladieswithpelletsofbread.Oneunprepossessingpersonageinagreasy

coathadfallenoffhischairassoonashesatdown,andremainedsotilltheendof

supper.Another onemadedesperate efforts to stand on the table, to propose a

toast,andonlytheofficer,whoseizedhimbythetailsofhiscoat,moderatedhis

premature ardour. The supperwas a pell-mell affair, although theyhadhired a

cookwhohadbeenintheserviceofageneral;therewasthegalantine,therewas

tongue and potatoes, there were rissoles with green peas, there was, finally, a

goose,andlastofallblancmange.Amongthedrinkswerebeer,vodkaandsherry.

Theonlybottleofchampagnewasstandingbesidethegeneral,whichobligedhim

to pour it out for himself and also forAkimPetrovitch,who did not venture at

suppertoofficiateonhisowninitiative.Theotherguestshadtodrinkthetoastsin

Caucasianwineoranythingelsetheycouldget.Thetablewasmadeupofseveral

tables put together, among them even a card-table. It was covered with many

tablecloths, amongst them one coloured Yaroslav cloth; the gentlemen sat

alternatelywiththeladies.Pseldonimov’smotherwouldnotsitdowntothetable;

shebustledaboutandsupervised.Butanothersinisterfemalefigure,whohadnot

shownherselftillthen,appearedonthescene,wearingareddishsilkdress,witha

veryhighcaponherheadandabandageroundherfacefortoothache.Itappeared

thatthiswasthebride’smother,whohadatlastconsentedtoemergefromaback

room for supper. She had refused to appear till then owing to her implacable

hostilitytoPseldonimov’smother,buttothatwewillreferlater.Thisladylooked

spitefully, even sarcastically, at the general, and evidently did not wish to be

presentedtohim.ToIvanIlyitchthisfigureappearedsuspiciousintheextreme.

But apart from her, several other persons were suspicious and inspired

involuntaryapprehensionanduneasiness.Itevenseemedthattheywereinsome

sort of plot together against Ivan Ilyitch. At any rate it seemed so to him, and

throughout the whole supper he became more and more convinced of it. A

gentlemanwithabeard,somesortoffreeartist,wasparticularlysinister;heeven

lookedatIvanIlyitchseveraltimes,andthenturningtohisneighbour,whispered

something.Anotherpersonpresentwasunmistakablydrunk,butyet,fromcertain

signs,was tobe regardedwith suspicion.Themedical student, too, gave rise to

unpleasant expectations. Even the officer himselfwas not quite to be depended

on.Buttheyoungmanonthecomicpaperwasblazingwithhatred,helolledinhis

chair,helookedsohaughtyandconceited,hesnortedsoaggressively!Andthough

therestof theguests tookabsolutelynonoticeof theyoung journalist,whohad

contributed only four wretched poems to theFirebrand, and had consequently

becomeaLiberalandevidently, indeed,dislikedhim,yetwhenapelletofbread

aimedinhisdirectionfellnearIvanIlyitch,hewasreadytostakehisheadthatit

hadbeenthrownbynootherthantheyoungmaninquestion.

Allthis,ofcourse,hadapitiableeffectonhim.

Anotherobservationwasparticularlyunpleasant.IvanIlyitchbecameaware

that he was beginning to articulate indistinctly and with difficulty, that he was

longingtosayagreatdeal,butthathistonguerefusedtoobeyhim.Andthenhe

suddenlyseemedtoforgethimself,andworstofallhewouldsuddenlyburstintoa

loudguffawof laughter,àproposofnothing.This inclinationquicklypassedoff

afteraglassofchampagnewhichIvanIlyitchhadnotmeanttodrink,thoughhe

hadpoureditoutandsuddenlydrunkitquitebyaccident.Afterthatglasshefelt

at once almost inclined to cry.He felt that hewas sinking into amost peculiar

stateofsentimentality;hebegantobeagainfilledwithlove,helovedeveryone,

evenPseldonimov,eventheyoungmanonthecomicpaper.Hesuddenlylonged

toembraceallofthem,toforgeteverythingandtobereconciled.Whatismore,to

tellthemeverythingopenly,all,all;thatis,totellthemwhatagood,nicemanhe

was,withwhatwonderfultalents.Whatserviceshewoulddoforhiscountry,how

goodhewasatentertaining the fair sex,andaboveall,howprogressivehewas,

howhumanelyreadyhewastobeindulgenttoall,totheverylowest;andfinallyin

conclusiontotellthemfranklyallthemotivesthathadimpelledhimtoturnupat

Pseldonimov’s uninvited, to drink two bottles of champagne and to make him

happywithhispresence.

“Thetruth,theholytruthandcandourbeforeallthings!Iwillcapturethem

by candour. Theywill believeme, I see it clearly; they actually look atmewith

hostility,butwhenI tell themall I shall conquer themcompletely.Theywill fill

theirglassesanddrinkmyhealthwithshouts.Theofficerwillbreakhisglasson

hisspur.Perhapstheywillevenshouthurrah!Eveniftheywanttotossmeafter

theHussarfashionIwillnotopposethem,andindeeditwouldbeveryjolly!Iwill

kiss the bride on her forehead; she is charming. AkimPetrovitch is a very nice

man, too. Pseldonimov will improve, of course, later on. He will acquire, so to

speak,asocietypolish. . . .Andalthough,ofcourse, theyoungergenerationhas

notthatdelicacyoffeeling,yet...yetIwilltalktothemaboutthecontemporary

significance of Russia among the European States. I will refer to the peasant

question,too;yes,and...andtheywillalllikemeandIshallleavewithglory!...

”

Thesedreamswere,ofcourse,extremelyagreeable,butwhatwasunpleasant

was that in the midst of these roseate anticipations, Ivan Ilyitch suddenly

discovered in himself another unexpected propensity, that was to spit. Anyway

salivabeganrunningfromhismouthapartfromanywillofhisown.Heobserved

thisonAkimPetrovitch,whosecheekhespluttereduponandwhosatnotdaring

towipeitofffromrespectfulness.IvanIlyitchtookhisdinnernapkinandwipedit

himself,butthisimmediatelystruckhimhimselfassoincongruous,soopposedto

allcommonsense,thathesankintosilenceandbeganwondering.ThoughAkim

Petrovitch emptied his glass, yet he sat as though hewere 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

seemedembarrassedashe listened,butpositively 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

actuallyseemedtobekeepingawatchonhim.Turninghiseyesupontherestof

the company,he saw thatmanywere looking straight athimand laughing.But

whatwasstrangestofallwas,thathewasnot inthe leastembarrassedbyit;on

the contrary, he sippedhis glass again and suddenly began speaking so that all

couldhear:

“I was saying just now,” he began as loudly as possible, “I was saying just

now,ladiesandgentlemen,toAkimPetrovitch,thatRussia...yes,Russia...in

short,youunderstand,thatImeantos-s-say...Russiaisliving,itismyprofound

conviction,throughaperiodofhu-hu-manity....”

“Hu-hu-manity...”washeardattheotherendofthetable.

“Hu-hu....”

“Tu-tu!”

IvanIlyitchstopped.Pseldonimovgotupfromhischairandbegantryingto

see who had shouted. Akim Petrovitch stealthily shook his head, as though

admonishingtheguests.IvanIlyitchsawthisdistinctly,butinhisconfusionsaid

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,sotospeak,ofthings....”

“YourExcellency!”washeardaloudexclamationattheotherendofthetable.

“Whatisyourpleasure?”answeredIvanIlyitch,pulledupshortandtryingto

distinguishwhohadcalledtohim.

“Nothingat all, yourExcellency. Iwas carriedaway, continue!Con-ti-nue!”

thevoicewasheardagain.

IvanIlyitchfeltupset.

“Theregeneration,sotospeak,ofthosesamethings.”

“YourExcellency!”thevoiceshoutedagain.

“Whatdoyouwant?”

“Howdoyoudo!”

ThistimeIvanIlyitchcouldnotrestrainhimself.Hebrokeoffhisspeechand

turned to the assailantwho had disturbed the general harmony.Hewas a very

younglad,stillatschool,whohadtakenmorethanadroptoomuch,andwasan

objectofgreatsuspiciontothegeneral.Hehadbeenshoutingforalongtimepast,

andhadevenbrokenaglassandtwoplates,maintainingthatthiswastheproper

thingtodoatawedding.AtthemomentwhenIvanIlyitchturnedtowardshim,

theofficerwasbeginningtopitchintothenoisyyoungster.

“Whatareyouabout?Whyareyouyelling?Weshallturnyouout,that’swhat

weshalldo.”

“I don’tmean you, yourExcellency, I don’tmean you.Continue!” cried the

hilarious schoolboy, lollingback inhis chair. “Continue, I am listening, and am

very,ve-ry,ve-rymuchpleasedwithyou!Praisewor-thy,praisewor-thy!”

“Thewretchedboyisdrunk,”saidPseldonimovinawhisper.

“Iseethatheisdrunk,but....”

“I was just telling a very amusing anecdote, your Excellency!” began the

officer, “abouta lieutenant inour companywhowas talking just like that tohis

superiorofficers; so this youngman is imitatinghimnow.Toeverywordofhis

superior officershe said ‘praiseworthy, praiseworthy!’Hewas turnedout of the

armytenyearsagoonaccountofit.”

“Wha-atlieutenantwasthat?”

“In our company, your Excellency, he went out of hismind over the word

praiseworthy.Atfirsttheytriedgentlemethods,thentheyputhimunderarrest.

. . .His commanding officer admonished him in themost fatherlyway, and he

answered,‘praiseworthy,praiseworthy!’Andstrangetosay,theofficerwasafine-

looking man, over six feet. They meant to court-martial him, but then they

perceivedthathewasmad.”

“So...aschoolboy.Aschoolboy’sprankneednotbetakenseriously.Formy

partIamreadytooverlookit....”

“Theyheldamedicalinquiry,yourExcellency.”

“Uponmyword,buthewasalive,wasn’the?”

“What!Didtheydissecthim?”

A loud and almost universal roar of laughter resounded among the guests,

whohadtillthenbehavedwithdecorum.IvanIlyitchwasfurious.

“Ladiesandgentlemen!”heshouted,atfirstscarcelystammering,“Iamfully

capableofapprehendingthatamanisnotdissectedalive.I imaginedthatinhis

derangementhehadceasedtobealive. . .thatis,thathehaddied. . .thatis,I

meantosay...thatyoudon’tlikeme...andyetIlikeyouall...Yes,IlikePor

...Porfiry...Iamloweringmyselfbyspeakinglikethis....”

AtthatmomentIvanIlyitchsplutteredsothatagreatdabofsalivaflewonto

thetableclothinamostconspicuousplace.Pseldonimovflewtowipeitoffwitha

table-napkin.Thislastdisastercrushedhimcompletely.

“Myfriends,thisistoomuch,”hecriedindespair.

“Themanisdrunk,yourExcellency,”Pseldonimovpromptedhimagain.

“Porfiry,Iseethatyou...all...yes!IsaythatIhope...yes,Icalluponyou

alltotellmeinwhatwayhaveIloweredmyself?”

IvanIlyitchwasalmostcrying.

“YourExcellency,goodheavens!”

“Porfiry, Iappeal toyou. . . .Tellme,whenIcame . . .yes . . .yes, toyour

wedding,Ihadanobject.Iwasaimingatmoralelevation....Iwantedittobefelt.

...Iappealtoall:amIgreatlyloweredinyoureyesornot?”

A deathlike silence. That was just it, a deathlike silence, and to such a

downrightquestion. “Theymightat least shoutat thisminute!” flashed through

hisExcellency’shead.Buttheguestsonlylookedatoneanother.AkimPetrovitch

satmoredeadthanalive,whilePseldonimov,numbwithterror,wasrepeatingto

himselftheawfulquestionwhichhadoccurredtohimmorethanoncealready.

“WhatshallIhavetopayforallthistomorrow?”

Atthispointtheyoungmanonthecomicpaper,whowasverydrunkbutwho

had hitherto sat in morose silence, addressed Ivan Ilyitch directly, and with

flashingeyesbeganansweringinthenameofthewholecompany.

“Yes,”hesaidinaloudvoice,“yes,youhaveloweredyourself.Yes,youarea

reactionary...reaction-ary!”

“Youngman, you are forgetting yourself! Towhom are you speaking, so to

expressit?”IvanIlyitchcriedfuriously,jumpingupfromhisseatagain.

“To you; and secondly, I am not a young man. . . . You’ve come to give

yourselfairsandtrytowinpopularity.”

“Pseldonimov,whatdoesthismean?”criedIvanIlyitch.

ButPseldonimovwasreducedtosuchhorrorthathestoodstilllikeapostand

wasutterlyatalosswhattodo.Theguests,too,satmuteintheirseats.Allbutthe

artistandtheschoolboy,whoapplaudedandshouted,“Bravo,bravo!”

The young man on the comic paper went on shouting with unrestrained

violence:

“Yes,youcametoshowoffyourhumanity!You’vehinderedtheenjoymentof

everyone.You’vebeendrinkingchampagnewithoutthinkingthatitisbeyondthe

meansofaclerkattenroublesamonth.AndIsuspectthatyouareoneofthose

highofficialswhoarealittletoofondoftheyoungwivesoftheirclerks!Whatis

more,IamconvincedthatyousupportStatemonopolies....Yes,yes,yes!”

“Pseldonimov,Pseldonimov,” shouted IvanIlyitch,holdingouthishands to

him.Hefeltthateverywordutteredbythecomicyoungmanwasafreshdaggerat

hisheart.

“Directly,yourExcellency;pleasedonotdisturbyourself!”Pseldonimovcried

energetically, rushingup to thecomicyoungman, seizinghimby thecollarand

dragginghimawayfromthetable.Suchphysicalstrengthcouldindeednothave

been expected from theweakly lookingPseldonimov.But the comic youngman

wasverydrunk,whilePseldonimovwasperfectlysober.Thenhegavehimtwoor

threecuffsintheback,andthrusthimoutofthedoor.

“You are all scoundrels!” roared the youngman of the comic paper. “Iwill

caricatureyoualltomorrowintheFirebrand.”

Theyallleaptupfromtheirseats.

“Your Excellency, your Excellency!” cried Pseldonimov, his mother and

several others, crowding round the general; “your Excellency, do not be

disturbed!”

“No,no,”criedthegeneral,“Iamannihilated....Icame...Imeanttobless

you,sotospeak.AndthisishowIampaid,foreverything,everything!...”

Hesankontoachairasthoughunconscious,laidbothhisarmsonthetable,

andbowedhisheadover them,straight intoaplateofblancmange.There isno

needtodescribethegeneralhorror.Aminutelaterhegotup,evidentlymeaning

togoout,gavealurch,stumbledagainstthelegofachair,fellfulllengthonthe

floorandsnored....

Thisiswhatisapttohappentomenwhodon’tdrinkwhentheyaccidentally

takeaglasstoomuch.Theypreservetheirconsciousnesstothelastpoint,tothe

lastminute,andthenfalltothegroundasthoughstruckdown.IvanIlyitchlayon

the floor absolutely unconscious. Pseldonimov clutched at his hair and sat as

thoughpetrified in thatposition.Theguestsmadehaste todepart, commenting

eachinhisownwayontheincident.Itwasaboutthreeo’clockinthemorning.

Theworstof itwasthatPseldonimov’scircumstanceswere farworsethancould

havebeenimagined,inspiteoftheunattractivenessofhispresentsurroundings.

AndwhileIvanIlyitchislyingonthefloorandPseldonimovisstandingoverhim

tearinghishairindespair,wewillbreakoffthethreadofourstoryandsayafew

explanatorywordsaboutPorfiryPetrovitchPseldonimov.

Not more than a month before his wedding he was in a state of hopeless

destitution. He came from a province where his father had served in some

departmentandwherehehaddiedwhileawaitinghistrialonsomecharge.When

fivemonthsbeforehiswedding,Pseldonimov,whohadbeeninhopelessmiseryin

Petersburg for a whole year before, got his berth at ten roubles a month, he

revivedbothphysicallyandmentally,buthewassooncrushedbycircumstances

again. There were only two Pseldonimovs left in the world, himself and his

mother,whohadlefttheprovinceafterherhusband’sdeath.Themotherandson

barely existed in the freezing cold, and sustained life on the most dubious

substances. There were days when Pseldonimov himself went with a jug to the

Fontankaforwatertodrink.Whenhegothisplacehesucceededinsettlingwith

hismotherina“corner.”Shetookinwashing,whileforfourmonthshescraped

togethereveryfarthingtogethimselfbootsandanovercoat.Andwhattroubleshe

hadtoendureathisoffice;hissuperiorsapproachedhimwiththequestion:“How

longwasitsincehehadhadabath?”Therewasarumourabouthimthatunder

thecollarofhisuniformtherewerenestsofbugs.ButPseldonimovwasamanof

strong character. On the surface he was mild and meek; he had the merest

smatteringofeducation,hewaspracticallyneverheard to talkofanything. Ido

notknowforcertainwhetherhethought,madeplansandtheories,haddreams.

Butontheotherhandtherewasbeingformedwithinhimaninstinctive,furtive,

unconsciousdeterminationtofighthiswayoutofhiswretchedcircumstances.He

had thepersistenceofanant.Destroyanants’nest,and theywillbeginatonce

reerectingit;destroyitagain,andtheywillbeginagainwithoutwearying.Hewas

aconstructivehouse-buildinganimal.Onecouldseefromhisbrowthathewould

makehisway,wouldbuildhisnest, andperhaps even save for a rainyday.His

mother was the only creature in the world who loved him, and she loved him

beyond everything. She was a woman of resolute character, hard-working and

indefatigable, and at the same time good-natured. So perhaps theymight have

lived intheircorner for fiveorsixyears till theircircumstanceschanged, if they

hadnot come across the retired titular councillorMlekopitaev,whohadbeen a

clerkinthetreasuryandhadservedatonetimeintheprovinces,buthadlatterly

settledinPetersburgandhadestablishedhimselftherewithhisfamily.Heknew

Pseldonimov,andhadatone timebeenundersomeobligation tohis father.He

hadalittlemoney,notalargesum,ofcourse,butthereitwas;howmuchitwasno

one knew, not his wife, nor his elder daughter, nor his relations. He had two

daughters, and as hewas an awful bully, a drunkard, a domestic tyrant, and in

addition to thatan invalid,he took it intohisheadoneday tomarryoneofhis

daughters to Pseldonimov: “I knew his father,” he would say, “he was a good

fellowandhissonwillbeagoodfellow.”Mlekopitaevdidexactlyasheliked,his

wordwas law.Hewas a very queer bully. For themost part he spent his time

sittinginanarm-chair,havinglosttheuseofhislegsfromsomediseasewhichdid

not, however, preventhim fromdrinking vodka.Fordays togetherhewouldbe

drinking and swearing. He was an ill-natured man. He always wanted to have

someonewhomhecouldbecontinuallytormenting.Andforthatpurposehekept

severaldistantrelations:hissister,asicklyandpeevishwoman;twoofhiswife’s

sisters,alsoill-naturedandveryfreewiththeirtongues,andhisoldaunt,whohad

through some accident a broken rib; he kept another dependent also, a

RussianisedGerman, for thesakeofher talent forentertaininghimwithstories

from theArabianNights.His sole gratification consisted in jeering at all these

unfortunatewomenandabusingthemeveryminutewithallhisenergies;though

the latter,not exceptinghiswife,whohadbeenbornwith toothache,darednot

utterawordinhispresence.Hesetthematloggerheadsatoneanother,inventing

andfosteringspitefulbackbitinganddissensionsamongthem,andthenlaughed

andrejoicedseeinghowtheywerereadytotearoneanothertopieces.Hewasvery

muchdelightedwhenhis elderdaughter,whohad lived ingreatpoverty for ten

yearswithherhusband,anofficerofsomesort,andwasatlastleftawidow,came

tolivewithhimwiththreelittlesicklychildren.Hecouldnotendureherchildren,

butasherarrivalhadincreasedthematerialuponwhichhecouldworkhisdaily

experiments,theoldmanwasverymuchpleased.Alltheseill-naturedwomenand

sicklychildren,togetherwiththeirtormentor,werecrowdedtogetherinawooden

houseonPetersburgSide,anddidnotgetenoughtoeatbecausetheoldmanwas

stingyandgaveouttothemmoneyafarthingatatime,thoughhedidnotgrudge

himselfvodka;theydidnotgetenoughsleepbecausetheoldmansufferedfrom

sleeplessnessandinsistedonbeingamused.Inshort,theyallwereinmiseryand

cursedtheirfate.ItwasatthattimethatMlekopitaev’seyefelluponPseldonimov.

He was struck by his long nose and submissive air. His weakly and

unprepossessingyoungerdaughterhadjustreachedtheageofseventeen.Though

shehadatonetimeattendedaGermanschool,shehadacquiredscarcelyanything

but the alphabet. Then she grew up rickety and anæmic in fear of her crippled

drunken father’scrutch, inaBedlamofdomesticbackbiting,eavesdroppingand

scolding. Shehadnever had any friends or anybrains. Shehad for a long time

beeneagertobemarried.Incompanyshesatmute,butathomewithhermother

and the women of the household she was spiteful and cantankerous. She was

particularly fond of pinching and smacking her sister’s children, telling tales of

theirpilferingbreadandsugar,andthisledtoendlessandimplacablestrifewith

hereldersister.Herold fatherhimselfofferedher toPseldonimov.Miserableas

thelatter’spositionwas,heyetaskedforalittletimetoconsider.Hismotherand

hehesitatedforalongtime.Butwiththeyoungladytherewastocomeasdowrya

house, and though it was a nasty little wooden house of one storey, yet it was

propertyofakind.Moreover,theywouldgivewithherfourhundredroubles,and

howlongitwouldtakehimtosaveituphimself!“WhatamItakingthemaninto

myhousefor?”shoutedthedrunkenbully.“Inthefirstplacebecauseyouareall

females,andIamsickoffemalesociety.IwantPseldonimov,too,todancetomy

piping.ForIamhisbenefactor.AndinthesecondplaceIamdoingitbecauseyou

areallcrossanddon’twantit,soI’lldoittospiteyou.WhatIhavesaid,Ihave

said!Andyoubeather,Porfiry,whensheisyourwife;shehasbeenpossessedof

sevendevils ever since shewasborn.Youbeat themout of her, and I’ll get the

stickready.”

Pseldonimov made no answer, but he was already decided. Before the

weddinghismotherandheweretakenintothehouse,washed,clothed,provided

with boots and money for the wedding. The old man took them under his

protectionpossiblyjustbecausethewholefamilywasprejudicedagainstthem.He

positivelylikedPseldonimov’smother,sothatheactuallyrestrainedhimselfand

didnot jeerather.Ontheotherhand,hemadePseldonimovdancetheCossack

danceaweekbeforethewedding.

“Well, that’s enough. I only wanted to see whether you remembered your

positionbeforemeornot,”hesaidattheendofthedance.Heallowedjustenough

money for thewedding,withnothing to spare, and invited all his relations and

acquaintances.OnPseldonimov’ssidetherewasnoonebut theyoungmanwho

wrotefortheFirebrand,andAkimPetrovitch,theguestofhonour.Pseldonimov

wasperfectlyawarethathisbridecherishedanaversionforhim,andthatshewas

setuponmarrying theofficer insteadofhim.Butheputupwitheverything,he

hadmadeacompactwithhismothertodoso.Theoldfatherhadbeendrunkand

abusiveand foul-tongued thewholeof theweddingdayandduring theparty in

theevening.Thewhole family took refuge in theback roomsandwerecrowded

theretosuffocation.Thefrontroomsweredevotedtothedanceandthesupper.At

lastwhentheoldmanfellasleepdeaddrunkateleveno’clock,thebride’smother,

whohadbeenparticularlydispleasedwithPseldonimov’smotherthatday,made

uphermindtolayasideherwrath,becomegraciousandjointhecompany.Ivan

Ilyitch’s arrival had turned everything upside down. MadameMlekopitaev was

overcomewithembarrassment,andbegangrumblingthatshehadnotbeentold

that thegeneralhadbeen invited.Shewasassured thathehadcomeuninvited,

but was so stupid as to refuse to believe it. Champagne had to be got.

Pseldonimov’smother had only one rouble,while Pseldonimov himself had not

onefarthing.Hehadtogrovelbeforehisill-naturedmother-in-law,tobegforthe

moneyforonebottleandthenforanother.Theypleadedforthesakeofhisfuture

position in theservice, forhis career, they tried topersuadeher.Shedidat last

givefromherownpurse,butsheforcedPseldonimovtoswallowsuchacupfulof

gall andbitterness thatmore thanoncehe ran into the roomwhere thenuptial

couchhadbeenprepared,andmadlyclutchingathishairandtremblingallover

withimpotentrage,heburiedhisheadinthebeddestinedforthejoysofparadise.

No, indeed, Ivan Ilyitch had no notion of the price paid for the two bottles of

Jacksonhehaddrunkthatevening.Whatwasthehorror,themiseryandeventhe

despairofPseldonimovwhenIvanIlyitch’svisitendedinthisunexpectedway.He

hadaprospectagainofnoendofmisery,andperhapsanightoftearsandoutcries

from his peevish bride, and upbraidings from her unreasonable relations. Even

apart fromthishisheadachedalready,and therewasdizzinessandmistbefore

hiseyes.Andhere Ivan Ilyitchneeded lookingafter,at threeo’clockatnighthe

hadtohuntforadoctororacarriagetotakehimhome,andacarriageitmustbe,

for it would be impossible to let an ordinary cabby take him home in that

condition. And where could he get the money even for a carriage? Madame

Mlekopitaev,furiousthatthegeneralhadnotaddressedtwowordstoher,andhad

notevenlookedatheratsupper,declaredthatshehadnotafarthing.Possiblyshe

reallyhadnotafarthing.Wherecouldhegetit?Whatwashetodo?Yes,indeed,

hehadgoodcausetotearhishair.

MeanwhileIvanIlyitchwasmovedtoalittleleathersofathatstoodinthedining-

room.While theywere clearing the tables andputting themaway,Pseldonimov

wasrushingallover theplace toborrowmoney,heeventried toget it fromthe

servants,butitappearedthatnobodyhadany.HeevenventuredtotroubleAkim

Petrovitchwhohadstayedaftertheotherguests.Butgood-naturedashewas,the

latterwasreducedtosuchbewildermentandevenalarmatthementionofmoney

thatheutteredthemostunexpectedandfoolishphrases:

“Another time, with pleasure,” hemuttered, “but now . . . you reallymust

excuseme....”

Andtakinghiscap,heranasfastashecouldoutofthehouse.Onlythegood-

naturedyouthwhohadtalkedaboutthedreambookwasanyuseatall;andeven

thatcametonothing.He,too,stayedaftertheothers,showinggenuinesympathy

with Pseldonimov’smisfortunes. At last Pseldonimov, together with hismother

andtheyoungman,decidedinconsultationnottosendforadoctor,butratherto

fetchacarriageandtaketheinvalidhome,andmeantimetotrycertaindomestic

remedies till the carriage arrived, such asmoistening his temples and his head

with cold water, putting ice on his head, and so on. Pseldonimov’s mother

undertook this task.The friendlyyouth flewoff insearchofacarriage.As there

werenotevenordinarycabstobefoundonthePetersburgSideatthathour,he

wentofftosomeliverystablesatadistancetowakeupthecoachmen.Theybegan

bargaining,anddeclaredthat fiveroubleswouldbe little toask foracarriageat

that time of night. They agreed to come, however, for three.When at last, just

beforefiveo’clock,theyoungmanarrivedatPseldonimov’swiththecarriage,they

hadchangedtheirminds.ItappearedthatIvanIlyitch,whowasstillunconscious,

hadbecomesoseriouslyunwell,wasmoaningandtossingsoterribly,thattomove

himandtakehimhomeinsuchaconditionwas impossibleandactuallyunsafe.

“Whatwill it leadtonext?”saidPseldonimov,utterlydisheartened.Whatwasto

bedone?Anewproblemarose:iftheinvalidremainedinthehouse,whereshould

hebemovedandwherecouldtheyputhim?Therewereonlytwobedsteadsinthe

house: one large double bed in which old Mlekopitaev and his wife slept, and

anotherdoublebedof imitationwalnutwhichhad justbeenpurchasedandwas

destinedforthenewlymarriedcouple.Alltheotherinhabitantsofthehouseslept

onthefloorsidebysideonfeatherbeds, forthemostpart inbadconditionand

stuffy, anything but presentable in fact, and even of these the supply was

insufficient;therewasnotonetospare.Wherecouldtheinvalidbeput?Afeather

bedmightperhapshavebeenfound—itmightinthelastresorthavebeenpulled

fromundersomeone,butwhereandonwhatcouldabedhavebeenmadeup?It

seemedthatthebedmustbemadeupinthedrawing-room,forthatroomwasthe

furthest from the bosomof the family andhad a door into the passage. But on

whatcouldthebedbemade?Surelynotuponchairs.Weallknowthatbedscan

onlybemadeuponchairsforschoolboyswhentheycomehomefortheweekend,

and it would be terribly lacking in respect tomake up a bed in that way for a

personage like Ivan Ilyitch. What would be said next morning when he found

himselflyingonchairs?Pseldonimovwouldnothearofthat.Theonlyalternative

was to put him on the bridal couch. This bridal couch, as we have mentioned

already,wasinalittleroomthatopenedoutofthedining-room,onthebedstead

wasadoublemattressactuallynewlyboughtfirst-hand,cleansheets,fourpillows

inpinkcalicocoveredwithfrilledmuslincases.Thequiltwasofpinksatin,andit

wasquiltedinpatterns.Muslincurtainshungdownfromagoldenringoverhead,

infactitwasalljustasitshouldbe,andtheguestswhohadallvisitedthebridal

chamber had admired the decoration of it; though the bride could not endure

Pseldonimov,shehadseveraltimesinthecourseoftheeveningrunintohavea

lookatitonthesly.Whatwasherindignation,herwrath,whenshelearnedthat

theymeanttomoveaninvalid,sufferingfromsomethingnotunlikeamildattack

ofcholera,toherbridalcouch!Thebride’smothertookherpart,brokeintoabuse

and vowed she would complain to her husband next day, but Pseldonimov

assertedhimselfandinsisted:IvanIlyitchwasmovedintothebridalchamber,and

abedwasmadeuponchairsfortheyoungpeople.Thebridewhimpered,would

havelikedtopinchhim,butdarednotdisobey;herpapahadacrutchwithwhich

shewasveryfamiliar,andsheknewthatherpapawouldcallhertoaccountnext

day. To console her they carried the pink satin quilt and the pillows inmuslin

casesintothedrawing-room.Atthatmomenttheyoutharrivedwiththecarriage,

andwashorriblyalarmedthatthecarriagewasnotwanted.Hewaslefttopayfor

it himself, and he never had as much as a ten-kopeck piece. Pseldonimov

explainedthathewasutterlybankrupt.Theytriedtoparleywiththedriver.Buthe

begantobenoisyandeventobatterontheshutters.HowitendedIdon’tknow

exactly.IbelievetheyouthwascarriedofftoPeskibywayofahostagetoFourth

Rozhdensky Street, where he hoped to rouse a student who was spending the

nightatafriend’s,andtotrywhetherhehadanymoney.Itwasgoingonforsix

o’clockinthemorningwhentheyoungpeoplewereleftaloneandshutupinthe

drawing-room.Pseldonimov’smotherspentthewholenightbythebedsideofthe

sufferer.Sheinstalledherselfonarugonthefloorandcoveredherselfwithanold

coat,butcouldnotsleepbecauseshehadtogetupeveryminute:IvanIlyitchhad

aterribleattackofcolic.MadamePseldonimov,awomanofcourageandgreatness

of soul, undressedhimwithherownhands, tookoff all his things, lookedafter

himas if hewereher own son, and spent thewholenight carryingbasins, etc.,

fromthebedroomacross thepassageandbringingthembackagainempty.And

yetthemisfortunesofthatnightwerenotyetover.

Notmorethantenminutesaftertheyoungpeoplehadbeenshutupaloneinthe

drawing-room,apiercingshriekwassuddenlyheard,notacryofjoy,butashriek

ofthemostsinisterkind.Thescreamswerefollowedbyanoise,acrash,asthough

ofthefallingofchairs,andinstantlythereburstintothestilldarkroomaperfect

crowd of exclaiming and frightenedwomen, attired in every kind ofdéshabillé.

These women were the bride’s mother, her elder sister, abandoning for the

moment the sick children, and her three aunts, even the onewith a broken rib

dragged herself in. Even the cook was there, and the German lady who told

stories,whoseownfeatherbed,thebestinthehouse,andheronlyproperty,had

been forcibly dragged from under her for the young couple, trailed in together

with theothers.All theserespectableandsharp-eyed ladieshad,aquarterofan

hourbefore,made theirwayon tiptoe from thekitchenacross thepassage, and

werelisteningintheante-room,devouredbyunaccountablecuriosity.Meanwhile

some one lighted a candle, and a surprising spectacle met the eyes of all. The

chairs supporting the broad feather bed only at the sides had parted under the

weight,andthefeatherbedhadfallenbetweenthemonthefloor.Thebridewas

sobbingwith anger, this time shewasmortally offended. Pseldonimov,morally

shattered, stood like a criminal caught in a crime. He did not even attempt to

defend himself. Shrieks and exclamations sounded on all sides. Pseldonimov’s

motherranupatthenoise,butthebride’smammaonthisoccasiongottheupper

hand. She began by showering strange and for themost part quite undeserved

reproaches, suchas: “Anicehusbandyouare, after this.Whatareyougood for

aftersuchadisgrace?”andsoon;andatlastcarriedherdaughterawayfromher

husband,undertakingtobearthefullresponsibilityfordoingsowithherferocious

husband, who would demand an explanation. All the others followed her out

exclaiming and shaking their heads.No one remainedwithPseldonimov except

hismother,whotriedtocomforthim.Buthesentherawayatonce.

Hewasbeyondconsolation.Hemadehiswaytothesofaandsatdowninthe

mostgloomyconfusionofmindjustashewas,barefootedandinnothingbuthis

nightattire.Histhoughtswhirledinatangledcriss-crossinhismind.Attimeshe

mechanicallylookedabouttheroomwhereonlyalittlewhileagothedancershad

been whirlingmadly, and in which the cigarette smoke still lingered. Cigarette

endsandsweet-meatpapersstilllitteredthesloppedanddirtyfloor.Thewreckof

thenuptialcouchandtheoverturnedchairsborewitnesstothetransitorinessof

thefondestandsurestearthlyhopesanddreams.Hesatlikethisalmostanhour.

Themostoppressivethoughtskeptcomingintohismind,suchasthedoubt:What

wasinstoreforhimintheofficenow?Herecognisedwithpainfulclearnessthat

hewouldhave,atallcosts,toexchangeintoanotherdepartment;thathecouldnot

possibly remain where he was after all that had happened that evening. He

thought, too, ofMlekopitaev,whowouldprobablymakehimdance theCossack

dancenextday to testhismeekness.He reflected, too, that thoughMlekopitaev

had given fifty roubles for the wedding festivities, every farthing of which had

been spent, he had not thought of giving him the four hundred roubles yet, no

mentionhadbeenmadeof it, in fact.And, indeed,eventhehousehadnotbeen

formallymadeover tohim.Hethought, too,ofhiswifewhohad lefthimat the

mostcriticalmomentofhislife,ofthetallofficerwhohaddroppedononeknee

before her. He had noticed that already; he thought of the seven devils which

accordingtothetestimonyofherownfatherwereinpossessionofhiswife,andof

thecrutchinreadinesstodrivethemout....Ofcoursehefeltequaltobearinga

greatdeal,butdestinyhad let loosesuchsurprisesuponhimthathemightwell

have doubts of his fortitude. So Pseldonimov mused dolefully. Meanwhile the

candle end was going out, its fading light, falling straight upon Pseldonimov’s

profile,threwacolossalshadowofitonthewall,withadrawn-outneck,ahooked

nose,andwithtwotuftsofhairstickingoutonhis foreheadandthebackofhis

head.Atlast,whentheairwasgrowingcoolwiththechillofearlymorning,hegot

up,frozenandspirituallynumb,crawledtothefeatherbedthatwaslyingbetween

thechairs,andwithoutrearranginganything,withoutputtingoutthecandleend,

withoutevenlayingthepillowunderhishead,fell intoaleaden,deathlikesleep,

suchasthesleepofmencondemnedtofloggingonthemorrowmustbe.

On the other hand, what could be comparedwith the agonising night spent by

IvanIlyitchPralinskyonthebridalcouchoftheunluckyPseldonimov!Forsome

time,headache,vomitingandothermostunpleasantsymptomsdidnotleavehim

for one second. He was in the torments of hell. The faint glimpses of

consciousness that visited his brain, lighted up such an abyss of horrors, such

gloomyandrevoltingpictures,thatitwouldhavebeenbetterforhimnottohave

returnedtoconsciousness.Everythingwasstillinaturmoilinhismind,however.

HerecognisedPseldonimov’smother,forinstance,heardhergentleadmonitions,

suchas:“Bepatient,mydear;bepatient,goodsir,itwon’tbesobadpresently.”

He recognisedher, but could giveno logical explanationof her presencebeside

him.Revoltingphantomshauntedhim,mostfrequentlyofallhewashauntedby

Semyon Ivanitch; but looking more intently, he saw that it was not Semyon

IvanitchbutPseldonimov’snose.Hehadvisions,too,ofthefree-and-easyartist,

andtheofficerandtheoldladywithherfacetiedup.Whatinterestedhimmostof

allwasthegiltringwhichhungoverhishead,throughwhichthecurtainshung.

Hecoulddistinguishitdistinctlyinthedimlightofthecandleendwhichlighted

uptheroom,andhekeptwonderinginwardly:Whatwastheobjectofthatring,

why was it there, what did it mean? He questioned the old lady several times

about it, but apparently did not say what hemeant; and she evidently did not

understand it, however much he struggled to explain. At last by morning the

symptomshadceasedandhefellintoasleep,asoundsleepwithoutdreams.He

sleptaboutanhour,andwhenhewokehewasalmostcompletelyconscious,with

aninsufferableheadache,andadisgustingtasteinhismouthandonhistongue,

whichseemedturnedintoapieceofcloth.Hesatupinthebed,lookedabouthim,

and pondered. The pale light of morning peeping through the cracks of the

shuttersinanarrowstreak,quiveredonthewall.Itwasaboutseveno’clockinthe

morning.ButwhenIvanIlyitchsuddenlygraspedthepositionandrecalledallthat

hadhappenedtohimsincetheevening;whenherememberedallhisadventures

at supper, the failure of hismagnanimous action, his speech at table; when he

realisedallatoncewithhorrifyingclearnessall thatmightcomeof thisnow,all

thatpeoplewouldsayandthinkofhim;whenhelookedroundandsawtowhata

mournfulandhideousconditionhehadreducedthepeacefulbridalcouchofhis

clerk—oh,thensuchdeadlyshame,suchagonyoverwhelmedhim,thatheuttered

ashriek,hidhisfaceinhishandsandfellbackonthepillowindespair.Aminute

laterhejumpedoutofbed,sawhisclothescarefullyfoldedandbrushedonachair

besidehim,andseizingthem,andasquicklyashecould,indesperatehastebegan

puttingthemon,lookingroundandseemingterriblyfrightenedatsomething.On

anotherchairclosebylayhisgreatcoatandfurcap,andhisyellowgloveswerein

hiscap.Hemeant tostealawaysecretly.Butsuddenly thedooropenedandthe

elderMadamePseldonimovwalkedinwithanearthenwarejugandbasin.Atowel

was hanging over her shoulder. She set down the jug, and without further

conversationtoldhimthathemustwash.

“Come,mygoodsir,wash;youcan’tgowithoutwashing....”

AndatthatinstantIvanIlyitchrecognisedthatiftherewasonebeinginthe

wholeworldwhomheneednotfear,andbeforewhomheneednotfeelashamed,

itwasthatold lady.Hewashed.Andlongafterwards,atpainfulmomentsofhis

life, he recalled among other pangs of remorse all the circumstances of that

waking, and that earthenware basin, and the china jug filledwith coldwater in

whichtherewerestillfloatingicicles,andtheovalcakeofsoapatfifteenkopecks,

in pink paper with letters embossed on it, evidently bought for the bridal pair

thoughitfelltoIvanIlyitchtouseit,andtheoldladywiththelinentoweloverher

left shoulder.Thecoldwater refreshedhim,hedriedhis face,andwithouteven

thankinghissisterofmercy,hesnatcheduphishat,flungoverhisshouldersthe

coat handed to him by Pseldonimov, and crossing the passage and the kitchen

wherethecatwasalreadymewing,andthecooksittingupinherbedstaringafter

himwithgreedycuriosity,ranoutintotheyard,intothestreet,andthrewhimself

into the first sledgehecameacross. Itwasa frostymorning.Achillyyellow fog

still hid thehouse andeverything. Ivan Ilyitch turneduphis collar.He thought

thateveryonewaslookingathim,thattheywereallrecognisinghim,all....

Foreightdayshedidnotleavethehouseorshowhimselfattheoffice.Hewasill,

wretchedlyill,butmoremorallythanphysically.Helivedthroughaperfecthellin

thosedays,andtheymusthavebeenreckonedtohisaccountintheotherworld.

There were moments when he thought of becoming a monk and entering a

monastery. There really were. His imagination, indeed, took special excursions

during that period. He pictured subdued subterranean singing, an open coffin,

living in a solitary cell, forests and caves; but when he came to himself he

recognisedalmostatonce thatall thiswasdreadfulnonsenseandexaggeration,

and was ashamed of this nonsense. Then began attacks ofmoral agony on the

themeofhisexistencemanquée. Then shame flamed up again in his soul, took

complete possession of him at once, consumed him like fire and reopened his

wounds.Heshudderedaspicturesofallsortsrosebeforehismind.Whatwould

people say about him, what would they think when he walked into his office?

Whatawhisperwoulddoghisstepsforawholeyear,tenyears,hiswholelife!His

storywouldgodown toposterity.Hesometimes fell into suchdejection thathe

wasreadytogostraightofftoSemyonIvanovitchandaskforhisforgivenessand

friendship. He did not even justify himself, there was no limit to his blame of

himself.Hecouldfindnoextenuatingcircumstances,andwasashamedoftrying

to.

Hehad thoughts, too,of resigninghispost atonceanddevotinghimself to

human happiness as a simple citizen, in solitude. In any case he would have

completely to changehiswhole circleof acquaintances, and so thoroughly as to

eradicateallmemoryofhimself.Thenthethoughtoccurredtohimthatthis,too,

was nonsense, and that if he adopted greater severity with his subordinates it

mightallbesetright.Thenhebegantofeelhopeandcourageagain.Atlast,atthe

expirationofeightdaysofhesitationandagonies,hefeltthathecouldnotendure

tobeinuncertaintyanylonger,andunbeaumatinhemadeuphismindtogoto

theoffice.

Hehadpictured a thousand times over his return to the office as he sat at

home in misery. With horror and conviction he told himself that he would

certainly hear behind him an ambiguous whisper, would see ambiguous faces,

wouldinterceptominoussmiles.Whatwashissurprisewhennothingofthesort

happened. He was greeted with respect; he wasmet with bows; every one was

grave;everyonewasbusy.Hisheartwasfilledwithjoyashemadehiswaytohis

ownroom.

Heset toworkatoncewith theutmostgravity,he listened to somereports

and explanations, settled doubtful points. He felt as though he had never

explainedknottypointsandgivenhisdecisionsso intelligently,so judiciouslyas

thatmorning.Hesawthattheyweresatisfiedwithhim,thattheyrespectedhim,

thathewas treatedwith respect.Themost thin-skinnedsensitiveness couldnot

havediscoveredanything.

AtlastAkimPetrovitchmadehisappearancewithsomedocument.Thesight

ofhimsentastabtoIvanIlyitch’sheart,butonlyforaninstant.Hewentintothe

businesswithAkimPetrovitch,talkedwithdignity,explainedthings,andshowed

himwhatwastobedone.Theonlythinghenoticedwasthatheavoidedlookingat

AkimPetrovitchforanylengthoftime,orratherAkimPetrovitchseemedafraidof

catchinghiseye,butatlastAkimPetrovitchhadfinishedandbegantocollecthis

papers.

“And there is one othermatter,” he began as dryly as he could, “the clerk

Pseldonimov’s petition to be transferred to another department.His Excellency

SemyonIvanovitchShipulenkohaspromisedhimapost.Hebegsyourgracious

assent,yourExcellency.”

“Oh, so he is being transferred,” said Ivan Ilyitch, and he felt as though a

heavyweighthadrolledoffhisheart.HeglancedatAkimPetrovitch,andatthat

instant their eyesmet. “Certainly, I formy part . . . I will use,” answered Ivan

Ilyitch;“Iamready.”

AkimPetrovitchevidentlywantedtoslipawayasquicklyashecould.Butina

rushof generous feeling Ivan Ilyitchdetermined to speakout.Apparently some

inspirationhadcometohimagain.

“Tellhim,”hebegan,bendingacandidglancefullofprofoundmeaningupon

AkimPetrovitch,“tellPseldonimovthatIfeelnoill-will,no,Idonot!...Thaton

thecontraryIamreadytoforgetallthatispast,toforgetitall....”

But all at once Ivan Ilyitch broke off, looking with wonder at the strange

behaviourofAkimPetrovitch,whosuddenlyseemedtransformedfromasensible

personintoafearfulfool.InsteadoflisteningandhearingIvanIlyitchtotheend,

he suddenly flushed crimson in the silliestway, beganwith positively unseemly

hastemakingstrangelittlebows,andatthesametimeedgingtowardsthedoor.

His whole appearance betrayed a desire to sink through the floor, or more

accurately, togetbacktohistableasquicklyaspossible.IvanIlyitch, leftalone,

gotupfromhischairinconfusion;helookedinthelooking-glasswithoutnoticing

hisface.

“No, severity, severity and nothing but severity,” he whispered almost

unconsciously,andsuddenlyavivid flushover-spreadhis face.He felt suddenly

more ashamed,moreweighed down than he had been in themost insufferable

momentsofhiseightdaysoftribulation.“Ididbreakdown!”hesaidtohimself,

andsankhelplesslyintohischair.