“Forget that: what you have is just not appropriate; in a day or two I’ll take you to my own tailor. But that’s not important. There’s something more important we have to discuss. Tell me, why did you come here?”
“Well, I came… to live.”
“To live? If you mean by that to eat, drink and sleep, it was hardly worth the trouble to come all that way, because you won’t be able to eat or sleep the way you could at home; but if you mean something else, then tell me…”
“To make the most of life is what I meant,” Alexander added, blushing all over. “I was fed up with life in the country – so monotonous…”
“Ah, so that’s it! So you’ll be renting a mansion on the Nevsky Prospekt, running a carriage, cultivating a wide circle of acquaintances, and will be entertaining ‘at home’ on certain days?”
“Well, that would be pretty expensive,” Alexander responded naively.
“Your mother writes that she gave you a thousand roubles – that’s not much,” said Pyotr Ivanych. “An acquaintance of mine came here recently; he too got tired of living in the country, and wanted to get more out of life. He brought 50,000 roubles with him, and also has 50,000 more coming in every year. Now, he really will be enjoying life in St Petersburg – unlike you. That’s not what you came for.”
“To listen to you, Uncle, it seems that I myself don’t know why I came here.”
“That’s close – and better expressed – and there’s some truth in what you say, but still not correct. When you were planning to come here, did you really never ask yourself, ‘Why am I going?’ That wouldn’t have been too much to ask.”
“The answer was already there, before I needed to ask the question!” Alexander responded proudly.
“So why not tell me the reason, then?”
“It was some kind of irresistible urge, a thirst for some noble endeavour; I was bursting to find out what that might be, and to make a start on it…”
Pyotr Ivanych half rose from the divan, took out a cigar and pricked up his ears.
“Yes, make a start on fulfilling all those hopes and dreams teeming inside me…”
“You don’t happen to write poetry, do you?” Pyotr Ivanych suddenly asked him.
“And prose too, Uncle. Shall I bring some to show you?”
“No no, some other time; I was just asking.”
“But what is it?”
“It’s the way you speak…”
“What’s wrong with it?”
“Well, maybe there’s nothing actually wrong with it: it’s just strange.”
“But that’s just the way our aesthetics professor used to speak, and he was considered the most eloquent of all the professors.” Alexander was clearly put out.
“What was he talking about when he spoke like that?”
“About his subject.”
“Ah!”
“So, Uncle, how should I be speaking”?
“A little more simply, like everyone else, and not like a professor of aesthetics. Of course, you won’t get the hang of it right away, but you’ll see for yourself in time. As far as I recall my university lectures and am able to construe your words, I believe what you’re trying to say is that you’ve come here in order to make a career and a fortune, is that correct?”
“Yes, Uncle, a career…”
“And a fortune,” Pyotr Ivanych added. “What’s a career without a fortune? It’s a nice thought, but if that’s what you had in mind, you shouldn’t have come.”
“But why do you say that? I hope not just on the basis of your own experience?” As he spoke, Alexander was looking around him.
“Well observed! Yes indeed, I am well off, and business is pretty good. But as far as I can tell, you and I are very different.”
“I wouldn’t dream of comparing myself with you.”
“That’s not the point: you may well be ten times smarter and better than me… it’s just that you’re not the type to adapt to a totally new environment, and your environment back home – my God! There, you’ve been pampered and spoilt by your mother; how could you possibly put up with what I have had to put up with? You are undoubtedly a dreamer, but here there’s simply no time for dreaming; people like us come here to get down to business.”
“Perhaps I might be able to achieve something if you were to share with me your experience and offer me some advice.”
“I’m reluctant to offer advice. I can’t be sure about the effect of your rural upbringing on your temperament: if my advice turns out to be worthless, you’ll blame me, but I don’t mind giving you my opinion, and you can heed it or not as you choose. But no, I don’t think it would work. You have your own outlook on life: how are you going to change it? You’re infatuated with the idea of love, friendship, happiness and the glittering prizes of life; people think that’s what life is all about, my oh my! So they cry, snivel and mouth pleasantries, but never get down to business… And how can I ever hope to get you to change that outlook? It wouldn’t be easy!”
“I’ll try to adapt to modern ideas, Uncle. Why, just today I was looking at these monumental buildings and those ships which bring us all these gifts from foreign lands, and I started thinking about the achievements of humanity today and understood the excitement of these crowds going so purposefully about their business, and felt myself ready to join in…”
On hearing this monologue, Pyotr Ivanych raised his eyebrows expressively, and studied his nephew carefully. Alexander fell silent.
“Well, it appears to be a simple matter,” said his uncle. “God knows what notions these people will get into their heads next. ‘Crowds going purposefully about their business’! It would really be better for you to have stayed where you were. You could live out a wonderful life back there: you might be taken for the smartest and most eloquent fellow around – you could believe in eternal and unwavering love and friendship, in family and happiness – you could marry and live to a ripe old age without noticing the time going by, and indeed be happy after your own fashion; but by our standards here you will not be happy, and all your ideas would have to be turned upside down.”
“But Uncle, surely love and friendship are sacred and noble feelings which somehow or other just happen to have fallen upon our dirty earth from above…”
“What?”
Alexander fell silent.
“‘Love and friendship have fallen into the dirt’! What is this nonsense you’re spouting?”
“But what I meant was: aren’t those things the same whether they’re here or there?”
“Yes, we have love and friendship here too – you find those things everywhere, but they’re not the same here as where you come from; in time you’ll come to see this yourself… Above all, you should forget about all this ‘sacred’ and ‘noble’ business, and try to look at what these things actually are in practice: you would really be better off, and become a simpler and better person – and talk like one. But, really, it’s none of my business. You’re here now, and there’s no turning back. If you don’t find what you’re looking for, you will have only yourself to blame; I’m just warning you about what in my opinion is good and what is bad, but back there, you’re your own master… But let’s give it a try; perhaps we’ll be able to make something of you. Oh yes! Your mother asked me to provide you with money. Well, there’s something I want to tell you: don’t ask me for any. That always disrupts harmonious relations between decent people. But anyway, don’t think that I’m refusing you money – no, and if it comes down to that, and there’s no other way, then you’ll just have to come to me… It’s always better to borrow from an uncle than a stranger: at least, that way, there’s no interest to pay. But to avoid those dire straits, I’ll find you some work as soon as I can, and you can earn some money. Anyway, goodbye for now, and come and see me in the morning, and we’ll discuss how to make a start.”
> Alexander Fyodorych was on his way out when Pyotr Ivanych said: “Listen, wouldn’t you like some supper?”
“Well, yes Uncle, I wouldn’t mind…”
“I don’t have anything.”
Alexander thought to himself, “Then what’s the point of his asking me?”
“I don’t have meals at home, and the inns are closed now,” his uncle continued. “So this is your first lesson – and you had better learn from it. Back where you’re from, people get up and go to bed by the sun, they eat and drink at the bidding of nature; when it’s cold they put on a hat and earmuffs, and don’t give the matter a second thought; when it’s light, it must be daytime, when it’s dark it must be night-time. There, when your eyes close, I’m still at work; at the end of the month I have to do the books. There, you breathe fresh air all year round; here, it’s a luxury that costs money – and that’s the way it is with everything! Polar opposites!
“Now, people here don’t eat supper, especially at their own expense – or at mine, for that matter. That could even prove useful, because it means that you won’t be tossing and turning at night, and I don’t have time to tuck you in and make the sign of the cross over you.”
“That will be easy to get used to, Uncle…”
“Let’s hope so. But where you come from, the old ways still persist. You turn up at someone’s house at midnight and they’ll improvise some supper for you on the spot, isn’t that right?”
“But, Uncle, I hope you won’t deny that that’s a traditional Russian virtue…”
“Let me stop you right there! What do you mean, ‘virtue’? Those people are so bored that they will welcome any creature that shows up at their door: ‘How nice to see you! Eat as much as you like, but please relieve our tedium and entertain us, help us to kill time, your very presence will give us something new to look at; and we won’t stint on the food: it costs us absolutely nothing…’ What a positively revolting virtue!”
So Alexander went to bed and tried to figure out what kind of person his uncle was. He remembered the whole conversation; most of it he didn’t understand, and the rest he didn’t believe.
“So there’s something wrong with the way I speak!” he thought. “And love and friendship aren’t eternal? Uncle must be making fun of me. Can there really be such a different code of conduct here? If Sofia liked anything about me, surely it was my eloquence? And her love isn’t really eternal?… And people here really don’t eat supper?”
He spent a long time tossing and turning in bed, his head full of disturbing thoughts, and his empty belly stopped him from sleeping.
Two weeks went by.
As the days passed, Pyotr Ivanych grew more and more pleased with his nephew.
“He does have tact,” he said to one of his partners in the firm, “and that’s the last thing I ever thought I would say about a boy from the country. He doesn’t make a nuisance of himself, and never comes to see me unless I call him – and when he sees that he has overstayed his welcome, he leaves immediately; he never asks for money: a quiet lad. He does have some strange quirks… he’s given to kissing and talks like a seminarian… but he’ll get over that; and the good thing is that he hasn’t saddled himself on me.”
“Does he have a fortune?” his partner asked.
“No, only about a hundred serfs.”
“No matter! If he has some ability, he should work out here… after all, you yourself didn’t start with much, and look where you are now, thank God…”
“No! No way! He will get nowhere. With his foolish head always in the clouds, he’s just not cut out for it, oh God no! He’ll never get used to the way things are done here; how is he going to make a career? He should never have come… well, anyway, that’s his business.”
Alexander felt it his duty to love his uncle, but just could not get used to his character and cast of mind.
“My uncle seems to be a decent fellow,” he wrote one morning to Pospelov,
he’s very intelligent, but extremely matter-of-fact; all he ever thinks about is business and accounts… He seems totally earth-bound, and simply doesn’t seem capable of raising his sights from those banal earthly concerns to the pure contemplation of man’s spiritual nature. For him the heavens are securely anchored to the earth, and it looks as if he and I will never become kindred spirits. Coming here, I thought that as my uncle he would surely find me a place in his heart and warm me up from the coldness of these crowds of strangers in his affectionate embrace, and offer me his friendship – and, as you know, friendship is ‘the Second Providence’! But he too is nothing but a manifestation of those same crowds. I thought I would share my time with him – never stray from his side for a minute, but what did I find? Cold advice, which he describes as practical; but I would much prefer that it was impractical, but full of warm, heartfelt concern. It’s not that he’s proud, exactly, but dead against any demonstration of true feelings; we don’t have dinner or supper together, and never go anywhere together. When he comes home, he never says where he’s been or what he’s been doing; nor does he ever say where he is going or why, who his friends are, what his likes or dislikes are or how he spends his time. He never loses his temper, is never affectionate, never upset and never cheerful. His heart is closed to any display of love, friendliness or any proclivity to beauty. Often you may be speaking like a prophet in the grip of inspiration, almost like our own great unforgettable Ivan Semyonych when, you remember, he thundered from the pulpit while we trembled in rapture at his fiery rhetoric and piercing gaze. But my uncle? He just listens with raised eyebrows, gives you a strange look and that special laugh of his which turns your blood to ice – and it’s goodbye to inspiration! I sometimes see in him Pushkin’s demon*… he doesn’t believe in love and that sort of thing; he says there’s no such thing as happiness, and no one has ever even promised it, and that all there is is life, equally divided between good and evil, between pleasure, success, good health, peace and quiet and, on the other hand, pain, failure, anxiety, sickness and the rest. He says that you must simply face this fact, and not fill your head with all these useless – yes, useless! – thoughts about why we were created, and what we should aspire to – no, that’s not our concern – and it’s because of that that we fail to see what’s in front of our noses, and don’t get on with our business… business, yes that’s all you ever hear from him! You can never tell whether he is experiencing some kind of pleasure, or whether he’s dwelling on some purely down-to-earth matter; whether he’s doing his books or at the theatre, he’s just the same; he is immune to any strong emotions, and appears to have no feeling for the finer things; why, I don’t believe he has even read Pushkin…
Pyotr Ivanych suddenly appeared in his nephew’s room and found him writing this letter.
“I came to see how you were settling in,” said his uncle, “and to talk about a practical matter.”
Alexander jumped up and quickly covered something with his hand.
“That’s right, hide your secret,” said Pyotr Ivanych, “I’ll turn away. Well, have you hidden it? But something just fell out, what is it?”
“It’s nothing, Uncle…” Alexander began, but was too embarrassed to go on and broke off.
“It looks like hair! Nothing indeed! Now that I’ve seen one thing, you might as well show me what else you’re hiding in your hand.”
Like a schoolboy caught in the act, Alexander opened his hand and revealed a ring.
“What’s that? Where did you get it?”
“A material token… of an abstraction, a relationship…”
“What? What, give it here – this token.”
“It’s a pledge…”
“No doubt; you brought it with you from the country?”
“It’s from Sofia, Uncle, a memento… a farewell present…”
“All right. And you brought it 1,500 versts all the way here?” His un
cle shook his head. “You’d have done better to bring another bag of dried strawberries; you could at least have sold them to that shopkeeper, but these keepsakes…”
He looked at the hair and the ring in turn, sniffed the hair and weighed the ring in his hand. Then he picked up the piece of paper from the table and wrapped it around both keepsakes, crumpled it into a small ball and flung it out of the window just like that!
“Uncle!” Alexander screamed out in a fury, grabbing his hand. But it was too late. The crumpled ball flew past the corner of the neighbouring roof and fell into the canal, bounced off the deck of a barge carrying a load of bricks and into the water.
Alexander fell silent and gave his uncle a look of bitter reproach.
“Uncle!” he repeated.
“What?”
“What would you call what you just did?”
“Throwing out of the window into the canal a bunch of immaterial tokens and any other kind of useless rubbish cluttering up this room…”
“Rubbish, you call that ‘useless rubbish’!”
“And what did you think it was? Half of your heart? I came here to discuss practical matters with him, and what do I find him doing? Sitting and brooding over rubbish!”
“And according to you, that interferes with practical matters?”
“Very much so. Time is passing, and I still haven’t heard a word from you about your intentions: do you want to find a position, or have you chosen some other line of work? Not a word! And all because you have Sofia and her keepsakes on your mind. And if I’m not mistaken, here you are writing her a letter. Am I right?”
“Well yes… I was just beginning…”
“And have you written to your mother?”
“Not yet, I was going to tomorrow.”
“And why tomorrow? So, it’s your mother tomorrow, and this Sofia, whom you will have forgotten in a month, today…”
“Sofia? You think I could forget her?”
“Of course. If I hadn’t thrown out your keepsakes, I suppose you might just have gone on remembering her for another month. I’ve just done you a double favour. In a few years, all those keepsakes would have done would be to remind you of your foolishness, and you would blush at the thought.”
The Same Old Story Page 6
