“Lost!” objected the doorman, lighting the floor. “Where could you lose something here? The stairs are clean, made of stone; you’d see a needle here. You’d hear it if you dropped it; it would ring against the stone; of course, you’d pick it up! Where could you drop something here? There’s no place you could. Drop indeed. No, his likes wouldn’t have dropped anything. Before he’d lose anything a man like that would manage to put it in his own pocket before you know it, he wouldn’t drop it! We know them, the rascals! Dropped, you say! Where?”
And they kept on crawling around the floor for a long while yet, looking for lost money.
“No, there’s nothing!” the doorman said at last with a sigh, then blew out the candle, and after squeezing the wick with two fingers, wiped them off on his sheepskin coat.
VI
That very evening around midnight when Pyotr Ivanych was on his way from his study to his bedroom to go to bed, carrying a candle and a book in one hand and holding on to the bottom of his dressing gown with the other, his valet reported that Alexander Fyodorych wanted to see him.
Pyotr Ivanych frowned slightly, thought a bit, then said calmly, “Ask him into my study, I’ll be there right away.”
“How are you, Alexander,” he greeted his nephew upon returning there. “We haven’t met for a long time. You haven’t taken time during the day and then–bang! in the middle of the night! Why so late? Why, what’s the matter with you? You don’t look well.”
Without answering a word Alexander sat down in the armchair in utmost exhaustion. Pyotr Ivanych looked at him with curiosity.
Alexander sighed.
“Are you well?” asked Pyotr Ivanych, concerned.
“Yes,” Alexander answered in a weak voice. “I move, eat, and drink; therefore I’m well.”
“But don’t toy with your health; go see a doctor.”
“Others have already told me that, but no doctor or medicine will help. My illness is not of the body…”
“What’s wrong with you? You haven’t gambled away everything or lost money?” quickly asked Pyotr Ivanych.
“You just can’t imagine any grief not connected with money!” answered Alexander, trying to smile.
“What kind of grief is it, then, if it’s not worth a red cent, as is sometimes the case with you?…”
“Yes… like now, for example. Do you know about my present grief?”
“What grief? Everything’s fine at home. I know this from the letters your dear mama favors me with monthly. At the office nothing can be worse than it’s been; they’ve put your subordinate over you–that’s the latest. You say you’re healthy, haven’t lost money or lost at cards… These are the important things, and with all the rest it’s easy to cope. So, therefore, it’s nonsense, love, I guess…”
“Yes, love. But do you know what happened? When you do, perhaps you’ll stop taking it so lightly and be horrified…”
“Tell me; I haven’t been horrified for a long time,” said his uncle, settling down with a smile, “though, by the way, it isn’t hard to guess. No doubt someone’s done you wrong.”
Alexander jumped up, wanted to say something, but said nothing and sat down again.
“So, that’s what it is? You see, I told you so, but you said, ‘No, how could that be!’”
“Could anyone have foretold it?…” said Alexander, “after all that…”
“You had not to foretell it, but to foresee it, that is, know it could happen–that’s more like it–yes, and act accordingly.”
“You can reason about it so calmly, Uncle, while I…” said Alexander.
“Why, what’s it to me?”
“Yes, I forgot. You wouldn’t even care if the whole town burned to the ground or fell apart.”
“Please! And my factory?”
“You’re joking, and I’m suffering in earnest. I’m so miserable, I’m as good as ill!”
“Have you really lost so much weight from love? How shameful! No, you were ill, but now you’re beginning to get well, yes, and high time! It’s no joke that this stupidity has been dragging on a year and a half. A little bit more, really, and I’d believe in unchanging and eternal love.”
“Uncle, spare me!” said Alexander. “There is poison in my soul right now…”
“Yes! And so what?”
Alexander moved his chair toward the table, and his uncle began to move inkwell, paperweight, and so on, out of his nephew’s reach.
“He’s come at night,” thought his uncle, “with poison in his soul. He’ll surely break something again.”
“I won’t get any comfort from you, nor do I ask it,” began Alexander. “I’m asking your help as an uncle, a relative… I seem stupid to you–don’t I?”
“Yes, if you weren’t pitiable.”
“So you’re sorry for me?”
“Very. Do you think I’m made of wood? A nice chap, intelligent, well brought up, and his life is ruined for nothing–and why? For trifles!”
“Show me, then, that you’re sorry for me.”
“How? You don’t need money, you say…”
“Money, money! Oh, if my unhappiness were only lack of money, I’d bless my fate.”
“Don’t say that,” warned Pyotr Ivanych in all seriousness. “You’re young–so you curse instead of blessing fate! Time was, I cursed mine more man once–I!”
“Listen to me patiently…”
“Are you staying long, Alexander?” asked his uncle.
“Yes, I need all your attention; why?”
“Well, look here, I’d like some supper then. I was about to go to bed without supper, but now if we’ll be sitting here for a while, let’s have supper and drink a bottle of wine while you tell me everything.”
“You’re able to eat supper?” asked Alexander with surprise.
“Yes, and very much so… Aren’t you really going to eat?”
“Eat! Why you won’t choke down a bite either when you learn that this is a matter of life and death.”
“Of life and death?…” his uncle repeated. “Yes, then that is indeed very important, but well… let’s try; perhaps we’ll manage to swallow something.”
He rang.
“Ask what there is for supper,” he told the valet who entered, and tell them to get a bottle of Lafitte with the green seal.
The valet went away.
“Uncle! You’re not in the right mood to listen to the sad tale of my grief,” said Alexander, taking his hat. “I’d better come tomorrow…”
“No, no, no matter,” quickly said Pyotr Ivanych, holding his nephew back by the hand. “I’m always in the same mood. Tomorrow too for sure you’ll find me eating lunch or still worse–working. Better, let’s finish it all at once. Supper won’t spoil this piece of business. I’ll listen and understand the better. On an empty stomach, you know, it’s awkward…”
Supper was brought in.
“Come, Alexander, won’t you…” said Pyotr Ivanych.
“But, Uncle, I don’t want anything to eat!” said Alexander with impatience and shrugged his shoulders, watching as his uncle fussed over the supper.
“At least, do drink a glass of wine; it’s not a bad wine!”
Alexander shook his head no.
“Well, so take a cigar and tell your story while I listen with both ears,” said Pyotr Ivanych and set about eating.
“Do you know Count Novinsky?” asked Alexander after a moment’s silence.
“Count Platon?”
“Yes.”
“We’re acquaintances. Why?”
“I congratulate you on such a friend! He’s a scoundrel!”
Pyotr Ivanych suddenly stopped chewing and looked with astonishment at his nephew.
“Now that’s blunt!” he said. “Do you really know him?”
“Very well.”
“You’ve known him long?”
“For three months.”
“How so then? I’ve known him for five years and always considered him a decent f
ellow; yes, and no matter whom you listen to, everyone praises him; and yet all of a sudden you have demolished him completely.”
“Since when have you begun defending people, Uncle? Before, you used…”
“Before I also defended decent people. And since when have you begun to berate them and stopped calling them angels?”
“I didn’t know then, but now… Oh, people, people! A pitiful species, deserving of tears and laughter! 5I admit I’m completely to blame that I didn’t listen to you when you advised me to beware of everybody…”
“I’d advise it again: It doesn’t hurt to beware. If the person proves to be a scoundrel, you won’t be deceived, but if he’s a decent fellow, you’ll be pleased to have made a mistake.”
“Show me where there are any decent people,” said Alexander contemptuously.
“Take you and me, for example–aren’t we decent? The Count, since we’ve already mentioned him, he’s a decent person too; so isn’t that a start? Everybody has faults… but they’re not entirely bad, and not everyone is bad.”
“Everyone, everyone!” said Alexander emphatically.
“And you?”
“I? At least I shall walk away from the crowd with a heart that, though broken, is free of meanness, a soul that is wounded but beyond the reproach of lying, hypocrisy, betrayal; I shan’t succumb to that…”
“Well, good, let’s see. But what has the Count done to you?”
“What has he done? He’s robbed me of everything.”
“Be more precise. Under the word everything one can mean Heaven knows what, say, money. But the Count wouldn’t do that…”
“I mean what is dearer to me than all the treasures of the world,” said Alexander.
“And what would that be?”
“Everything–happiness, life.”
“Look, you’re alive!”
“Unfortunately, yes! But this life is worse than a hundred deaths.”
“Tell me exactly what happened?”
“It’s terrible!” exclaimed Alexander. “Oh God! God!”
“I see! He’s taken your girl, hasn’t he, this… what’s her name? Yes, he’s good at that; it’s hard for you to compete with him. A charmer! a charmer!” said Pyotr Ivanych, putting a piece of turkey in his mouth.
“He’ll pay dearly for his mastery of the art!” said Alexander, flaring up. “I won’t yield without a fight. Death will decide which of us is to have Nadenka. I’ll destroy that wretched womanizer! He shan’t live, shan’t enjoy his stolen treasure… I’ll wipe him from the face of the earth…”
Pyotr Ivanych burst into laughter.
“How provincial!” he said. “A propos the Count, Alexander, did he say whether he’d gotten his china from abroad? This spring he ordered a set; I would have liked to have a look…”
“We’re not talking about china, Uncle; did you hear what I said?” Alexander interrupted threateningly.
“Mm-m!” assented his uncle, as he gnawed a little bone clean.
“What did you say?”
“Why, nothing. I’m listening to what you say.”
“Listen attentively at least once in your life. I came on business. I want to set my mind at rest, resolve a million tormenting questions that agitate me… I’m lost… out of my mind, help me…”
“Excuse me, I’m at your service, just say what I should do… I’m even ready with money… if only not for trifles…”
“Trifles! No, not trifles, when in a few hours perhaps I’ll have departed this world, or else I shall have become a murderer… but you’re laughing, calmly eating supper.”
“I beg you! You’ve had your supper, I believe, yet you disapprove my eating!”
“For forty-eight hours I haven’t known what it is to eat.”
“Oh, is it really something important?”
“Give me a single word: will you do me a very great service?”
“What service?”
“Will you agree to be my witness?…”
“The cutlets are quite cold!” remarked Pyotr Ivanych with displeasure, pushing the dish away.
“You’re laughing, Uncle?”
“Judge for yourself; how can one listen seriously to such nonsense, asking someone to be his second in a duel!”
“What do you mean?”
“It’s obvious: I won’t do it.”
“Good. I’ll find someone else, a stranger who’ll feel for the bitter insult I’ve suffered. Just take upon yourself the task of talking to the Count to learn his conditions…”
“I can’t. My tongue won’t twist itself into putting such a stupid thing to him.”
“Then, farewell!” said Alexander, picking up his hat.
“What, you’re leaving already? You won’t drink any wine?…”
Alexander was headed for the door, but at the door he sat down in deepest dejection.
“Whom shall I turn to, to whom shall I look for sympathy?…” he said quietly.
“Listen, Alexander!” Pyotr Ivanych began, wiping his mouth with his napkin and pushing an armchair toward his nephew. “I see I must really talk to you a bit without joking. Let’s talk. You’ve come to me for help. I shall help you, but not the way you imagine and under the condition that you obey. Don’t ask anyone to be your witness; there’s no use in that. You’ll make a big thing out of nothing; the story will spread everywhere. People will laugh at you, or worse, make trouble.
Nobody will back you up, or if some madman finally is found, it’ll be no use; the Count is not going to fight; I know him.”
“He won’t! Then there’s not a drop of noble blood in him!” remarked Alexander hatefully. “I didn’t suppose he was so base!”
“He’s not base, but only intelligent.”
“So that makes me stupid in your view?”
“N… no, in love,” said Pyotr Ivanych, hesitating.
“Uncle, if you intend to convince me of the senselessness of a duel by calling it premature judgment, then I warn you, the effort’s in vain: I shall remain firm.”
“No. It was proven long ago that in general duelling is a stupidity; yet everybody fights duels–there are many asses in the world, aren’t there? You won’t bring them to reason. I only want to prove to you that fighting a duel is not the right thing for you in particular.”
“I’m curious how you’ll persuade me.”
“Well, listen. Let’s say you’re especially angry at somebody, at the Count or at her… what’s her name… Anyuta, is it?”
“I hate him, disdain her,” said Alexander.
“Let’s begin with the Count. Let’s assume he accepts your challenge, let’s even assume that you find some fool of a second–what will be the result? The Count will kill you like a fly and afterwards everybody will laugh at you; a fine revenge! But, see, that’s not what you want. You’d like to blot out the Count.”
“We don’t know who’ll kill whom,” said Alexander.
“Probably he’ll kill you. Look, apparently you don’t even know how to shoot, but according to the rules the first shot is his.”
“Divine Judgment will decide the matter.”
“Well, as you like–but He’ll decide in the Count’s favor. It’s said that the Count puts bullet after bullet on the mark at fifteen paces, yet for your sake he’ll miss on purpose! Suppose that Divine Judgment permits such awkwardness and injustice: you somehow even kill him by accident–what’s the sense in that? Do you think you’ll get your beauty’s love back that way? No, she’d truly begin to hate you, and you’d be drafted into the army for this… And the main thing, the very next day you’d start tearing your hair in desperation and at the same time cool off toward your love…”
Alexander shrugged his shoulders contemptuously.
“You reason so cleverly about this, Uncle,” he said. Give me your reasoning on what I should do in my situation.”
“Nothing! Leave it as it is. Everything’s already ruined.”
“Leave happiness in his hands. Leav
e him the proud possessor… oh! can some threat or other stop me? You don’t know my tortures! You’ve never loved if you thought you’d prevent me with cold moralizing… milk flows in your veins, not blood…”
“Stop talking nonsense, Alexander! Don’t you think there are lots of girls in the world like your Marya–or Sofiya, what’s her name?”
“Her name is Nadezhda.”
“Nadezhda? And who was Sofiya then?”
“Sofiya… that was in the country,” said Alexander unwillingly.
“Do you see?” his uncle went on. “There Sofiya, here Nadezhda, somewhere else Marya. The heart is a deep well; you probe for a long while to reach bottom. The heart keeps on loving till old age…”
“No, the heart loves once…”
“And you’re repeating what you’ve heard from others. The heart keeps on loving until it loses its strength. It lives its own life and like everything in the human being has its youth and old age. If one love fails, it is only quiescent, it remains silent until the next. If this next is thwarted, if the lovers are parted–the capacity to love remains unfulfilled till the third, till the fourth time, until finally the heart puts all its strength into one happy encounter which no one prevents, and then it slowly and gradually cools. Some love happily that first time; they’re the ones who shout that it’s possible to love only once. As long as a man isn’t old, is healthy…”
“You keep talking about youth, Uncle, therefore about physical, material love…”
“I talk about youth because in old age love is a mistake, an aberration. And what sort of thing is material love? There isn’t any such love, or it isn’t love, just as there isn’t any uniquely ideal love. Both soul and body play equal parts in love; if not, love is incomplete; we are not spirits and not beasts. You say yourself, ‘Milk, not blood, flows in the veins.’ Well, do you see then: on the one hand, take the blood in the veins–that’s the physical part; on the other hand, self-love, habit–that’s the non-physical; and there you have love! Where did I leave off… yes, drafted into the army! Besides, after this scandal the girl won’t let you come near her. You will have done harm both to her and to yourself, you see. I hope we’ve gone over this question in depth from one point of view. Now…”
An Ordinary Story Page 17
