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'^'N  .G  TCHERpCHEVSRY 


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N.    [;.    TCHERNYCHEWSKY, 


WHAT'S  TO  BE  DONE? 


A  ROMANCE. 


BY 

N.  a.  TCIIHUXYCIIKWSKV 


'I'UANSLAIKJJ    llY 

B.ENJ.    U.    Tl^rKKJl. 


ISOSroN  : 

I'.KN.i.  i;.    ri'cKi'.i:.  i-i  i',i.isiii:i;. 

\HHt]. 


'  URL 


TRANSLATOR'S    PREFACE. 


This  romance,  the  last  work  and  only  novel  from  Tchernychewsky's  pen,  originally  appeared 
in  1863  in  a  St.  Petersburg  magazine,  the  author  writing  it  at  that  time  in  a  St.  Petersburg 
dungeon,  where  he  was  confined  for  twenty-two  months  prior  to  being  sent  into  exile  in  Siberia 
l)y  the  cruel  Czar  who  has  since  paid  the  ])eiialty  of  tliis  crime  and  many  others  This  martyr- 
hero  of  the  modem  Revolution  still  languishes  in  a  remote  comer  of  that  cheerless  country,  his 
health  ruined  and  — if  report  be  true— his  mind  shattered  by  his  long  solitude  and  enforced 
abstention  from  literary  and  revolutionary  work.  The  present  Czar,  true  s(jii  of  his  father, 
[Kjrsisteiitly  refuses  to  mitigate  his  sentence,  despite  the  petition  for  Tchernychewsky's  freedom 
sent  not  long  ago  to  Alexander  III.  by  the  literary  celebrities  uf  the  world  gathered  in  interna- 
tional congress  at  Vienna. 

The  liussian  Nihilists  regard  the  present  work  as  a  faithful  portraiture  of  themselves  and 
their  movement,  and  as  such  they  contrast  it  with  the  celebrated  "  Fathers  and  Sons  "  of 
Ton rgui'neff,  which  they  consider  rather  as  a  caricature.  The  fundamental  idea  of  Tchcrny- 
ihewsky's  work  is  that  woman  is  a  human  being  and  not  an  animal  created  for  man's  benefit, 
and  its  <-liicf  purpose  is  to  show  the  superiority  of  free  unions  between  men  and  women  over 
the  indissoluble  marriage  aanctloncd  by  Church  and  State.  It  may  almost  be  considered  a  con- 
tinuation of  the  great  Ilerzen's  novel,  "  Who  Is  To  lilame  ?  "  written  fifteen  years  before  on  Ihc 
-amc  subject.  If  the  reader  should  find  the  work  singular  in  form  and  sometimes  obscure,  he 
must  rrmernbcr  that  it  was  written  under  the  eye  of  an  autocrat,  who  pimished  with  terrific 
severity  any  one  who  wrote  again.st  "  the  doctrines  of  (lie  Orllif>dox  (-'hurcli,  its  traditions  ami 
ceremonies,  or  the  truths  and  dogmas  of  Christian  laiili  in  general,"  against  "the  inviolability 
of  the  Supreme  Autocratic  Power  or  the  respect  due  tf)  the  Imperial  Family,"  anything  con- 
trary to  "the  fundamental  regulations  of  the  State,"  or  anything  lending  to  "  shock  good 
morals  and  propriety." 

Asa  work  of  art  "What's  To  Ite  Done?"  speaks  for  itself.  Nevertheless,  the  words  of  a 
F.uropean  writer  regarding  It  may  not  be  amiss.    "  In  the  author's  view  the  object  of  art  ia 


Trandalor's  Preface. 


not  to  embellish  and  idealize  nature,  but  to  reproduce  her  interesting  phases;  and  poetry  — 
verse,  the  drama,  the  novel  —  should  explain  nature  in  I'eproducing  her;  the  poet  must  pro- 
nounce sentence.  He  must  represent  human  beings  as  Ibey  really  are,  and  not  incarnate  in 
them  an  abstract  principle,  good  or  bad ;  that  is  why  in  this  romance  men  indisputably  good 
have  faults,  as  reality  shows  them  to  us,  while  bad  people  possess  at  the  same  time  some  good 
qualities,  as  is  almost  always  the  case  in  real  life." 

Tyranny  knows  no  better  use  for  such  an  author  than  to  exile  him.  But  Liberty  can  still 
utilize  his  work.  Tyranny,  torture  Truth's  heralds  as  it  may,  cannot  kill  Truth  itself,  —  nay, 
can  only  add  to  its  vitality.  Tchernychewsky  is  in  isolation,  but  his  glad  tidings  to  the  poor 
and  the  oppressed  are  spreading  among  tlie  peoples  of  the  earth,  and  now  in  this  translation 
for  the  first  time  find  their  way  across  the  ocean  to  enlighten  our  New  World. 

B.  R.  T. 


WHAT'S    TO     BE     DONE? 


An    Imbecile. 


On  the  morning  of  the  eleventh  of  Jul3%  1856,  the  attaches  of  one  of  the  princi- 
pal  hotels  in  St.  Petersburo;,  situated  near  the  Moscow  railwa}*  station,  became 
greatly  perplexed  and  even  somewhat  alarmed.  The  night  before,  after  eight 
o'clock,  a  traveller  had  arrived,  carrying  a  valise,  who,  after  having  given  up  his 
passport  that  it  might  be  taken  to  the  police  to  be  visaed,  had  ordered  a  cutlet  and 
8on)e  tea,  and  then,  pleading  fatigue  and  need  of  sleep  as  a  pretext,  had  asked 
that  he  might  be  disturbed  no  further,  notifying  them  at  the;  .same  time  to  awaken 
him  witiiout  fail  at  exactly  eight  o'clock  iu  the  morning,  as  he  had  prcssiu"' 
I)usine8s. 

As  soon  as  he  was  alone,  he  had  locked  his  door.  For  a  while  was  heard  the 
noise  of  the  knife,  fork,  and  tea-service;  then  all  l)ecarae  silent  again:  the  man 
doubtless  had  gone  to  sleep. 

In  the  morning,  at  eight  o'clock,  the  waiter  did  not  fail  to  knock  at  the  new- 
comer's door. 

But  the  new-comer  did  noi  rr-pond.  The  waiter  knock((d  louder,  and  louder 
yet.  Still  th(!  n(!w-(;omer  did  not.  respond:  ho  prol»al)Iy  was  very  tired.  The 
waiter  waited  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  llien  l)egan  again  to  knock  and  call,  liut  with 
no  better  success.     Then  he  went  to  consult  the  other  waiters  and  the  Ijutler. 

"  M:iy  not  sonn-thitig  have  happened  to  the  traveller?" 

"  We  must  burst  open  tlie  door,"  he  concluded. 

"No,"  said  another,  "the  door  can  bo  burst  open  only  in  presence  of  th<! 
police." 

They  decided  tf>  try  once  more,  .and  with  greater  energy,  to  aw.-iken  the  obsti- 
iiatf!  traveller,  and,  in  case  they  siiould  not  suceeeil,  to  send  for  the  police. 

Which  they  had  to  do.  While  waiting  for  the  police,  they  looked  at  each  other 
anxiously,  flaying :  "  What  can  have  happened  ?  " 

Towards  ten  o'el(»ek  the  comniissionrT  of  police  arrivcfd;  he  b(!gan  l)y  knock- 
in"-  at  the  d(»or  himscOf,  and  then  ordered  the  waitcu's  to  knock  a  last  time.  The 
same  success. 

"  There  is  nothing  left  but  tfi  burst  open  the  door,"  said  the  official ;  "  do  so,  my 
friends." 


e  What 's  To  Be  Done  ? 

The  (\ooY  yielded  ;  they  entered  ;  the  room  was  empty. 

"  Look  undiT  the  bed,"  said  the  official.  At  the  same  time,  approaching  the 
tal)le,  he  saw  a  sheet  of  paper,  unfolded,  upon  which  were  written  these  words : 

"  I  leave  at  eleven  o'clock  in  the  evening  and  shall  not  return.  I  shall  be  heard 
on  the  Liteing  Bridge  between  two  and  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Suspect 
no  one." 

"  Ah !  the  thing  is  clear  now  !  at  first  we  did  not  understand,"  said  the  official. 

"  What  do  you  mean,  Ivan  Afanacievitch  ?  "  asked  the  butler. 

"  Give  me  some  tea,  and  I  will  tell  you." 

The  story  of  the  commissioner  of  police  was  for  a  long  time  the  subject  of  con- 
versations and  discussions;  as  for  the  adventure  itself,  this  was  it:  At  half-past 
two  in  the  morning:,  the  niofht  beins:  extremelv  dark,  something  like  a  flash  was 
seen  on  the  Liteing  Bridge,  and  at  the  same  time  a  pistol  shot  was  heard.  The 
guardians  of  the  bridge  and  the  few  people  who  were  passing  ran  to  the  spot, 
but  found  nobody. 

"  It  is  not  a  murder;  some  one  has  blown  his  brains  out,"  they  said ;  and  some 
of  the  more  grenerous  off"ered  to  search  the  river.  Hooks  were  brought  and  even 
a  fisherman's  net;  but  they  pulled  from  the  water  only  a  few  pieces  of  wood. 
Of  the  body  no  trace,  and  besides  the  night  was  very  dark,  and  much  time  had 
elapsed :  the  body  had  had  time  to  drift  out  to  sea. 

"Go  search  yonder!"  said  a  group  of  carpers,  who  maintained  that  there  was 
no  body  and  that  some  drunkard  or  practical  joker  had  simply  fired  a  shot  and 
fled;  "perhaps  he  has  even  mingled  with  the  crowd,  now  so  an.xious,  and  is 
laughing  at  the  alarm  which,  he  has  caused."  These  carpers  were  evidently  ;jro- 
gressives.  But  the  majority,  conservative,  as  it  always  is  when  it  reasons  pru- 
dently, held  to  the  first  explanation. 

"  A  practical  joker  ?    Go  to !     Some  one  has  really  blown  his  brains  out." 

Being  less  numerous,  the  progressives  were  conquered.  But  the  conquerors 
split  at  the  very  moment  of  victory. 

He  had  blown  his  brains  out,  certainly,  but  why? 

"  He  was  drunk,"  said  some. 

"  He  had  dissipated  his  fortune,"  thought  others. 

"  Simply  an  imbecile  I  "  observed  somebody. 

Upon  this  word  imbecile,  all  agreed,  even  those  who  disputed  suicide. 

In  short,  whether  it  was  a  drunkard  or  a  spendthrift  who  had  blown  his  brains 
out  or  a  practical  joker  who  had  made  a  pretence  of  killing  himself  (in  the  latter 
case  the  joke  was  a  stupid  one),  he  was  an  imbecile. 

There  ended  the  night's  adventure.  At  the  hotel  was  found  the  proof  that  it 
was  no  piece  of  nonsense,  but  a  real  suicide. 

This  conclusion  satisfied  the  conservatives  especially  ;  for,  said  they,  it  proves 
that  we  are  right.     If  it  had  been  only  a  practical  joker,  we  might  have  hesitated 


An  Imbecile.  7 

between  the  terms  imbecile  and  insolent.  But  to  blow  one's  brains  out  on  a 
bridge !  On  a  bridge,  I  ask  you  ?  Does  one  blow  his  brains  out  on  a  bridge  ? 
Why  on  a  bridge?  It  would  be  stupid  to  do  it  on  a  bridge.  Indisputably,  then, 
he  was  an  imbecile. 

"  Precisely,"  objected  the  progressives ;  "  does  one  blow  his  brains  out  on  a 
bridge  ?  "    And  they  in  their  turn  disputed  the  reality  of  the  suicide. 

But  that  same  evening  the  hotel  attaches,  being  summoned  to  the  police  bureau 
to  examine  a  cap  pierced  by  a  ball,  which  had  been  taken  from  the  water,  identi- 
fied it  as  the  actual  cap  worn  by  the  traveller  of  the  night  before. 

There  had  been  a  suicide,  then,  and  the  spirit  of  negation  and  progress  was 
once  more  conquered. 

Yes,  it  was  really  an  imbecile  ;  but  suddenly  a  new  thought  struck  them  :  to 
blow  one's  brains  out  on  a  bridge,  —  why,  it  is  most  adroit!  In  that  way  one 
avoids  long  suffering  in  case  of  a  simjile  wound.  He  calculated  wisely ;  he  was 
prudent. 

Now  the  mystification  was  complete.     Imbecile  and  prudent ! 


8  ]Vhat\s  To  Be  Bone? 


i 


First  Consequence  of  the  Imbecile  Act. 

The  sanio  day,  towards  eleven  o'clock  in  the  morning,  in  a  little  country-house 
on  the  island  of  Kamennoy,*  a  young  woman  sat  sewing  and  humming  a  singu- 
larly bohl  French  song: 

Sous  nos  guenilles,  nous  sommcs 
Dc  couragcux  travailleurs : 
Nous  voulons  pour  tous  !es  hommcs 
Science  et  dcstins  meilleurs. 
Etudions,  travaillons, 
La  force  est  k  qui  saura ; 
Etudions,  travaillons, 
L'abondance  nous  vicndra ! 
Ah !  ca  ira !  ga  ira !  ga  ira ! 
Le  peuple  en  ce  jour  r6p(itc : 
Ah !  ga  ira !  ga  ira !  ga  ira ! 
Qui  vivra  verra ! 

Et  qui  de  notre  ignorance 

Souflfre  done  ?    N'cst-cc  pas  uuus  ? 

Qu'ellc  viennc,  la  sncnce 

Qui  nous  affranchira  tous !  , 

Nous  plions  sous  la  douleur ; 

Maiti,  par  la  fraternity. 

Nous  hatcrons  le  bonheur 

De  toutc  rhinnariit6. 

Ah !  ^a  ira !  &c. 

Faisons  I'union  ftconde 
Du  travail  et  du  savoir ; 
Pour  etre  heureux,  en  ce  mondc, 
S'entr'aimer  est  un  devoir. 
Instruisons-nous,  aimons-nous, 
Nous  sommcs  frfires  et  soeurs ; 
Travaillons  chacun  pour  tous; 
Devenons  toujours  meilleurs. 
Ah !  oa  ira !  &c. 


•  An  Inland  in  the  vicinity  of  St.  Petersbarg,  full  of  country  honseB,  where  dtlzenB  of  St.  Petersbiirg 
go  to  spend  their  «umincrR. 


First  Consequence  of  the  Imbecile  Act*  9 

Oui,  pour  vaincre  la  misfire, 

Instruisons-nous,  travaillons ; 

Un  paiadis  de  la  terre, 

En  nous  ainiant,  nous  ferons. 

Travaillons,  aimons,  chantons, 

Tons  les  vrais  biens  nous  aurons ; 

Un  jour  vicnt  ou  nous  serbns 

Tons  heuieux,  instruits,  et  bons. 

Ah!  gaira!  oaira!  gaira! 

Le  peuple  en  cc  jour  r*5p6tc : 

Ah !  5a  ira !  ca  iva !  na  h'a ! 

Qui  vivra  verra ! 

Done  vivons ! 

Qa  bicn  vitc  ira ! 

Qa  vicndra ! 

Nous  tons  le  verrons ! 

The  melody  of  this  audacious  song  was  gay  ;  there  were  two  or  tlirec  sad  notes 
in  it,  i)Ut  they  were  concealed  beneath  the  general  character  of  the  motive ;  they 
entirely  disappeared  in  the  refrain  and  in  the  last  conplet.  But  such  was  the 
condition  of  tJie  mind  of  the  songstress  that  these  two  or  tliree  sad  notes  sound<'d 
above  the  others  in  her  song.  She  saw  this  herself,  started,  and  tried  to  sustain 
the  gay  notes  longer  and  glide  over  the  others.  Vain  efforts!  her  thought  doni- 
inated  her  in  spite  of  herself,  and  tlie  sad  notes  always  i)rcvailcd  over  tlit! 
others. 

It  was  easy  to  see  that  the  young  Mupman  was  trying  to  repress  the  sadnc^ss 
which  had  taken  possession  of  her,  and  when,  from  lime  Id  linii',  she  succccih-d 
and  the  song  tiien  took  its  Joyous  pace,  lier  work  doulilcd  in  rapidity  ;  she  seemed, 
moreover,  to  be  an  excellent  seamstress.  At  this  moment  th(^  maid,  a  young  and 
pretty  person,  (snttred. 

**  Sec,  Macha,"  *  the  young  lady  sai<i  to  her.  "  iiow  well  I  sew  1  I  liav(*  almost 
finished  tiie  rulUes  which  I  am  embroidering  to  wt^ar  at  your  wedding." 

"Oh!  there  is  less  work  in  tliem  than  in  thnse  which  you  desired  nie  to 
embroider." 

"  1  readily  believe  it!  Should  not  llie  bride  be  more  lieautifully  adorncnl  than 
her  guests?" 

"I  have  iirought  you  a  letter,  V6ra  Pavlovna  " 

V6ra  Pavlovna  took  the  letter  with  an  air  of  perplexity  which  depicted  itsidf 
in  her  face.     The  envelope  bore  the  city  stamp. 

"Me  is  then  at  Moscow!"  sli(!  wliisperefl,— and  she  hastily  broke  open  tlie 
letter  and  turneii  pale. 


•  Marhii  in  the  <Hmlnullvc  of  Marin. 


10  WJial's  To  Be  Done? 

"It  is  not  possible! I  did  not  read  it  right The  letter  does 

not  Siiy  that! "  she  cried,  letting  her  arnos  fall  by  her  sides. 

Again  she  began  to  read.  This  time  her  eyes  fixed  themselves  on  the  fatal 
paper,  and  those  beautiful  clear  eyes  became  dimmer  and  dimmer.  She  let  the 
letter  fall  upon  her  work-table,  and,  hiding  her  head  in  her  hands,  she  burst  into 
sobs. 

"  What  have  I  done?  What  have  I  done?"  she  cried,  despairingly.  "What 
have  I  done?" 

"  Vo'rotchka!"  *  suddenly  exclaimed  a  young  man,  hurrying  into  the  room; 
"  Verotchka  !     What  has  happened  to  you  ?     And  why  these  tears  ?  " 

"Read!"  .  .  .  She  handed  him  the  letter.  Vera  Pavlovna  sobbed  no  longer,  but 
remained  motionless  as  if  nailed  to  her  seat,  and  scarcely  breathing. 

The  young  man  took  the  letter;  he  grew  pale,  his  hands  trembled,  and  his  eyes 
remained  fixeil  for  a  long  time  upon  the  text,  though  it  was  brief.  This  letter 
was  thus  framed : 

"  I  disturbed  your  tranquillity  :  I  quit  the  scene.  Do  not  pity  me.  I  love  you 
l)Oth  so  much  that  I  am  quite  content  in  my  resolution.    Adieu." 

Absorbed  for  a  moment  in  his  sadness,  the  young  man  then  approached  the 
young  woman,  who  still  was  motionless  and  in  a  seeming  lethargy,  and,  taking 
her  hand : 

"V6rotchka!"  .  .  . 

But  the  young  woman  uttered  a  cry  of  terror,  and,  vising,  as  if  moved  by  an 
electric  force,  she  convulsively  repulsed  the  young  man,  separating  herself  from  him. 

"  Back  !     Do  not  touch  me  !     You  are  covered  with  blood  !    Leave  me  !  " 

She  continued  to  recoil,  making  gestures  of  terror  and  waving  her  arms  in 
space  as  if  to  repel  an  object  of  fear.  Suddenly  she  staggered  and  sank  into  an 
arm-chair,  her  head  in  her  hands. 

"  It  is  also  on  me,  his  blood  !  on  me  especially  !  You  are  not  guilty  ....  it  is 
I,  I  alone !     What  have  I  done  ?     What  have  I  done  ?  " 

And  her  sobs  redoubled. 

"  V6rotchka,"  said  the  young  man,  timidly  ;  "  V6rotchka,  my  beloved !  " 

"  No,  leave  me,"  she  answered,  with  a  trembling  voice,  as  soon  as  she  could  get 
breath.    "  Do  not  speak  to  me  !     In  a  moment  you  will  find  me  calmer ;  leave  me." 

He  went  into  his  .study,  and  sat  down  again  at  the  writing-table  where  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  before  he  had  been  .so  calm  and  happy.  He  took  up  his  pen,  and, 
after  the  article  which  he  had  begun,  he  permitted  himself  to  write :  "  It  is  in 
such  moments  that  one  must  retain  self-possession.  I  have  will,  and  it  will  all 
pass  over,  it  will  all  pass  over.  But  will  she  bear  it?  Oh  !  it  is  hon-ible  !  Hap- 
piness is  lost ! " 

•  Verotchka  is  the  diminutive  of  V6ra. 


First  Consequence  of  the  Imbecile  Act.  11 

"  Shall  we  talk  together  now,  beloved  ?  "  said  an  altered  voice,  which  tried  to 
appear  firm. 

"  We  must  separate,"  continued  Vera  Pavlovna,  "  we  must  separate  !  I  have 
decided  upon  it.  It  is  frightful ;  but  it  would  be  more  frightful  still  to  continue 
to  live  in  each  other's  sight.  Am  I  not  his  murderer  ?  Have  I  not  killed  him  for 
you  ?  " 

"  But,  V6rotchka,  it  is  not  your  fault." 

"  Do  not  try  to  justify  me,  unless  you  wish  me  to  hate  you.  T  am  guilty.  Par- 
don me,  my  beloved,  for  taking  a  resolution  so  painful  to  you.  To  me  also  it  is 
painful,  but  is  the  only  one  that  we  can  take.  You  will  soon  recognize  it  your- 
self. So  be  it,  then  !  I  wish  first  to  fly  from  this  city,  which  would  remind  me 
too  vividly  of  the  past.  The  sale  of  my  eflfects  will  aftbrd  me  some  resources.  I 
will  go  to  Tver,  to  Nijni,*  I  know  not  where,  and  it  matters  little.  I  will  seek  a 
chance  to  give  singing-lessons  ;  Ijcing  in  a  great  city,  I  shall  prob.al)ly  find  one  ; 
or  else  I  will  become  a  governess.  I  can  always  earn  what  is  necessary.  But  in 
case  I  should  be  unable  to  get  enough,  I  will  appeal  to  you.  I  count  then  on 
you ;  and  let  that  prove  to  you  that  you  are  ever  dear  to  mo.  And  now  we  must 
say  farewell  ....  farewell  forever!  Go  away  directly;  I  shall  l)e  better  alone; 
and  tomorrow  you  can  come  back,  for  I  shall  be  here  no  longer.  I  go  to  Moscow  ; 
there  I  will  find  out  what  city  is  best  adapted  to  my  purpose.  I  forbid  your  pres- 
ence at  the  rlepot  at  tlie  time  of  my  departun;.  Farawell,  then,  my  beloved  ;  give 
me  your  hand  tliat  I  may  press  it  a  last  time  before  we  separate  forever." 

He  desired  to  embrace  her;  but  she  thrust  him  back  forcibly,  saying: 

"No!  that  would  be  an  outrage  upon  Jiira.  Give  mo  your  hand;  do  you  Ruil 
with  what  forct^  f  press  it?     lUit  adieu  !" 

lie  kei)t  iier  hand  in  his  till  she  withdrew  it.  he  not  daring  to  resist. 

"  EnoufTJi !     Go  !     Adieu  !  " 

And  after  having  encircled  him  with  a  look  of  inolTaljIe  tenderness,  she  retireil 
with  a  firm  sti-p  and  without  turning  back  her  head. 

He  went  about,  dazed,  like  ;i  druiikcMi  man,  uiialiie  to  find  liis  iiat,  though  he. 
helil  it  in  his  hand  without  knowing  it;  at  last,  however,  he  took  his  overcoat 
from  the  hall  and  started  off.  Mut  he  \v.u\  not  yet  reached  the  gateway  when 
he  heard  footsteps  bcOnnd  him.     l)onl)tlciHs  it  was  Maelia.     Had  .s/jc  vanished  1' 

He.   tnrn(!d    around;    it   was Vera    I'avlovna,    who    tlir(!W    herself    into    his 

arms  and  said,  embracing  him  with  ardor: 

"  I  could  not  resi.st,  dear  friend  ;  ami  now  farewell  forever!  " 

She  ran  rapidly  away,  threw  herscdf  upon  her  bed,  ami  Iturst  into  tears. 


Nljnl  Nr.vKoni'l. 


12  What's  To  Be  Done? 


PREFACE. 


Love  is  the  subject  of  this  novel ;  a  young  woman  is  its  principal  character. 

"  So  far  good,  even  though  the  novel  should  be  bad,"  says  the  feminine  reader ; 
and  she  is  right. 

But  the  masculine  reader  does  not  praise  so  readily,  thought  in  man  being 
more  intense  and  more  developed  than  in  woman.  He  says  (what  probably  the 
feminine  reader  also  thinks  without  considoring  it  proper  to  say  so,  which  excuses 
mo  from  discussing  the  point  witli  her), —  the  masculine  reader  says:  "I  know 
perfectly  well  that  the  man  who  is  said  to  have  blown  this  l^rains  out  is  all  right." 

I  attack  him  on  this  phi-ase  I  know,  and  say  to  him :  "  You  do  not  know  it,  since 
it  has  not  been  told  you.  You  know  nothing,  not  even  that  by  the  way  in  which 
I  have  begun  my  novel  I  have  made  you  ray  dupe.  For  have  you  not  failed  to 
perceive  it?" 

Know,  then,  that  my  first  pages  prove  that  I  have  a  very  poor  opinion  of  the 
public.  I  have  employed  the  ordinary  trick  of  romancers.  I  have  begun  with 
dramatic  scenes,  taken  from  tlie  middle  or  the  en<l  of  my  story,  ^^nrl  have  taken 
care  to  confuse  and  obscure  them. 

Public,  you  are  good-natured,  very  good-natured,  and  consequently  you  are 
neither  quick  to  see  nor  difficult  to  please.  One  may  be  sure  that  you  will  not  see 
from  thf  first  pages  whether  a  novel  is  worthy  of  being  read.  Your  scent  is  not 
keen,  and  to  aid  you  in  deciding  two  things  arc  necessary  :  the  name  of  the  author 
and  such  a  style  of  writing  as  will  produce  an  effect. 

This  is  the  first  novel  that  I  offer  you,  and  you  have  not  yet  made  up  your 
mind  whether  or  not  I  have  talent  and  art  (and  yet  this  talent  and  art  you  grant 
liberally  to  so  many  authors !)  My  name  does  not  yet  attract  you.  I  am  oijiiged, 
therefore,  to  decoy  you.  Do  not  consider  it  a  crime;  for  it  is  your  own  ingenu- 
ousness that  compels  me  to  stoop  to  this  triviality.  But  now  that  I  hold  you  in 
my  hands,  I  can  continue  my  .story  as  I  think  proper, —  that  is,  without  subter- 
fuge. There  will  be  no  more  mystery  ;  you  will  be  able  to  foresee  twenty  pages 
in  advance  the  climax  of  each  situation,  and  I  will  even  tell  you  that  all  will  end 
gaily  amid  vCine  and  song. 


Preface.  13 

I  do  not  desire  to  aid  in  spoiling  you,  kind  public,  you  whose  head  is  already 
80  full  of  nonsense.  How  much  useless  trouble  the  confusion  of  your  perceptions 
causes  you!  Truly,  you  are  painful  to  look  at;  and  yet  I  cannot  help  deriding 
you,  the  prejudices  with  which  your  head  is  crammed  render  you  so  base  and 
wicked! 

I  am  even  angry  with  you,  because  you  are  so  wicked  towards  men,  of  whom 
you  nevertheless  are  a  part.  Why  are  you  so  wicked  towards  yourself?  It  is  for 
your  own  good  that  I  preach  to  you ;  for  I  desire  to  be  useful  to  you,  and  am 
seeking  the  way.     In  the  meantime  you  cry  out : 

"  Who,  then,  is  this  insolent  author,  who  addresses  me  in  such  a  tone?" 

Who  am  I  ?  An  author  without  talent  who  has  not  even  a  complete  command 
of  his  own  language.  But  it  matters  little.  Read  at  any  rate,  kind  public  ;  truth 
is  a  good  thing  which  compensates  even  for  an  author's  faults.  Tliis  reading  will 
be  useful  to  you,  and  you  will  experience  no  deception,  since  I  have  warned  you 
that  you  will  find  in  my  romance  neither  talent  nor  art,  only  the  truth. 

For  the  I'est,  my  kind  public,  however  you  may  love  to  i-ead  between  the  lines, 
I  prefer  to  tell  you  all.  Because  I  have  confessed  that  I  have  no  shadow  of  talent 
and  that  my  romance  will  lack  in  the  telling,  do  not  coueUule  that  I  am  inferior 
to  the  story-tellers  whom  you  accept  and  that  this  book  is  beneath  their  writings. 
That  is  not  the  purpose  of  my  explanation.  I  merely  mean  that  my  story  is  very 
weak,  so  far  as  execution  is  concerned,  in  comparison  with  the  works  produced 
by  real  talent.  But,  as  for  the  celebrated  works  uf  your  favorite  authors,  you 
may,  even  in  point  of  execution,  put  it  on  their  level;  y*)u  may  even  place  it 
above  them  ;  for  there  is  more  art  here  than  in  liie  works  aforesaid,  you  may  be 
sure  And  now,  puldic,  thank  me!  And  since  you  love  so  well  to  bend  (hi-  knee 
before  him  who  disdains  you,  salute  me! 

Happily,  .scattered  through  your  throngs,  there  exist,  ()  public,  persons,  more 
and  more  numerous,  whom  I  (esteem.  11'  I  have  just  been  imi)udont,  it  was 
because  I  spoke  only  to  the  vast  majority  of  you.  Bel'oro  the  persons  to  whoju  I 
have  just  referred,  on  the  eonlr.iry,  1  hhall  be  modest  an<l  «'ven  timid.  Only,  with 
them,  long  ('xplanations  arqu.seless;  I  know  in  advance  that  wo  shall  get  along 
togethi-r.  Men  of  research  and  justice,  intelligeueo  and  goodness,  it  is  but  ycster- 
d.iy  that  you  arose  among  us  ;  and  already  your  iiiitiilier  is  great  and  ever  greater. 
If  you  were  the  whole  pul)li(s  I  should  not  need  to  write;  if  you  diti  not  exist,  1 
could  not  writtr.  But  you  are  .a  part  of  the  public,  without  yet  being  tin?  whole 
public  ;  an<i  that  is  why  it  is  pos.siblo,  that  is  why  it  is  necessary,  for  me  to  write. 


14  Wluit's  To  Be  Done? 


CHAPTER     FIRST. 

The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Parents. 

I. 

The  education  of  V6ra  Pavlovna  was  very  ordinary,  and  there  was  nothing 
peculiar  in  her  life  until  she  made  the  acquaintance  of  Lopoukhoff,  the  medical 
student. 

V^ra  Pavlovna  grew  up  in  a  fine  house,  situated  on  the  Rue  Gorokhovaia, 
between  the  Rue  Sadovaia  and  the  S6menovsky  Bridge.  This  house  is  now  duly 
labelled  with  a  number,  but  in  1852,  when  numbers  were  not  in  use  to  designate 
the  houses  of  any  given  street,  it  bore  this  inscription  :  — 

House  of  Ivan  Zakharovitch  Storechnikoff,  present  Councillor  of  State. 

So  said  the  inscription,  although  Ivan  Zakharovitch  Storechnikoff  died  in  1837. 
After  that,  according  to  the  legal  title-deeds,  the  owner  of  the  house  was  his  son, 
Mikhail  Ivanytch.  But  the  tenants  knew  that  Mikhail  Ivanytch  was  only  the  son 
of  the  mistress,  and  that  the  mistress  of  the  house  was  Anna  Petrovna. 

The  house  was  what  it  still  is,  large,  with  two  carriage-ways,  four  flights  ot 
steps  from  the  street,  and  three  interior  court-yards. 

Then  (as  is  still  the  case  today)  the  mistress  of  the  house  and  her  son  lived 
on  the  first  and  natural!}'  the  principal  floor.  Anna  Petrovna  has  remained  a 
beautiful  lady,  and  Mikhail  Ivanytch  is  to-day,  as  he  was  in  1852,  an  elegant  and 
handsome  officer.  Who  lives  now  in  the  dirtiest  of  the  innumerable  flats  of  the 
first  court,  fifth  door  on  the  right?  I  do  not  know.  But  in  1852  it  was  inhabited 
by  the  steward  of  the  house,  Pavel  Konstantinytch  liosalsky,  a  robust  and  fine- 
looking  man.  Mis  wife,  Maria  Alexevna,  a  slender  person,  tall  and  possessed  of 
a  .strong  constitution,  his  young  and  beautiful  daughter  (V6ra  Pavlovna),  and  his 
son  F6dia,  nine  years  old,  made  up  the  family. 

Besides  his  position  of  steward,  Pavel  Konstantinytch  was  employed  as  chief 
deputy  in  I  know  not  which  ministerial  bureau.  As  an  employee  he  had  no  per- 
quisites ;  his  perquisites  as  steward  were  very  moderate ;  for  Pavel  Konstan- 
tinytch, as  he  said  to  himself,  had  a  conscience,  which  he  valued  at  least  as  highly 
as  the  benevolence  of  the  proprietor.  In  short,  the  worthy  steward  had  amassed 
in  fourteen  years  about  ten  thousand  roubles,  of  which  but  three  thousand  had 
come  from  the  proprietor's  pocket.  The  rest  was  derived  from  a  little  business 
peculiarly  his  own  :  Pavel  Konstantinytch  combined  with  his  other  functions 
that  of  a  pawn-broker.  Maria  Alexevna  also  had  her  little  capital :  almost  five 
thousand  roubles,  she  told  the  gossips,  but  really  much  more.     She  had  begun 


TJie  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Parents.  15 

fifteen  years  before  by  the  sale  of  a  fur-lined  pelisse,  a  poor  lot  of  furniture,  and 
an  old  coat  left  her  by  her  brother,  a  deceased  government  employee. 

These  brought  her  one  hundred  and  fifty  roubles,  which  she  lost  no  time  in 
lending  on  security.  Much  bolder  than  her  husband,  she  braved  risks  for  the 
sake  of  greater  gains.  More  than  once  she  had  been  caught.  One  day  a  sharper 
pawned  to  her  for  five  roubles  a  stolen  passport,  and  Maria  Alexevna  not  only 
lost  the  five  roubles,  but  had  to  pay  fifteen  to  get  out  of  the  scrape.  Another 
time  a  swindler,  in  consideration  of  a  loan  of  twenty  roubles,  left  with  her  a  gold 
watch,  the  proceeds  of  a  murder  followed  by  robbery,  and  Maria  Alexevna  had 
to  jiay  heavily  this  time  to  get  clear.  But  if  she  suffered  losses  which  her  more 
prudent  husband  had  no  occasion  to  fear,  on  the  other  hand  she  saw  her  profits 
rolling  up  more  rapidly. 
To  make  money  she  would  stop  at  nothing. 

One  day  —  Vera  Pavlovna  was  still  small  and  her  mother  did  not  mistrust  her 
ears  —  a  somewhat  strange  event  occurred.  V6rotchka»  indeed,  would  not  have 
understood  it,  had  not  the  cook,  beaten  by  Maria  Alexevna,  been  eager  to 
explain  to  the  little  girl,  in  a  very  int<;lligible  fashion,  the  matter  in  (pioslion. 

Matroena  was  often  beaten  for  indulging  the  passion  of  love,  —  nol\vilhst:ind- 
ing  which  she  always  had  a  black  eye  given  her  really  by  her  lover. 

Maria  Alexevna  passed  over  this  black  eye  because  cooks  of  that  ciiaracler 
W(irk  for  less  money.     Having  said  this,  we  come  to  the  .story. 

A  lady  as  beautiful  as  she  was  richly  dressed  stopped  for  some  timi?  at  the 
liouse  of  Maria  Alexevna. 

This  lady  received  the  visits  of  a  very  fine-looking  gentleman,  who  often  gave 
boni)r)n3  to  Veroti'hka  and  even  made  her  a  present  of  two  illustrated  books. 
Th<!  engravings  in  one  of  these  liooks  represented  animals  and  cities;  as  for  the 
other,  Maria  Alexevna  took  it  away  from  her  daughter  us  .soon  as  tho  visitor  had 
gone,  and  tin;  only  time  when  V6rotchka  saw  tho  engravings  was  on  that  same 
day  when  hv.  showed  them  to  her. 

While  the  lady  remained,  an  unusual  traniiuiility  prevaileil  in  tin;  apartments 
«»f  the  pawn-brokers;  Maria  Alexevna  neghjcted  the  closet  (of  which  she  always 
carried  the  key)  in  which  the  d<!canler  of  i)randy  was  kept ;  she  whipped  neither 
Matrf)ena  nor  V6rotchka,  and  even  ceased  iier  continual  vociferations.  Hut  one 
niglit  the  little  girl  was  awaki'iied  and  rrightened  by  the  eriiis  of  the  tenant  and 
by  a  gnsat  stir  antl  uproar  going  on  in  llio  house.  In  the  morning,  neverlhelcss^ 
Maria  Alexevna,  in  i)etter  humor  than  ever,  opened  the  famous  closet  and  said 
between  two  dniughts  of  i)randy  : 

"  Tliank  (Jod  !  all  has  gone  well."     Then  she  called  Matroena,  and  instead  of 
abusing  or  lieating  her,  as  was  generally  th(!  case  wIkmj   hIic   had  iieen  drinking, 
she  offered  her  a  glass  of  l)randy,  saying: 
"Go  on  !     Drink  !     Yon  too  worked  well.' 


16  What's  To  Be  Done? 

After  which  she  went  to  embrace  her  daughter  and  lie  down.  As  for  the  ten- 
ant, she  cried  no  more,  did  not  even  leave  her  room,  and  was  not  slow  in  taking 
her  departure. 

Two  days  after  she  had  gone  a  captain  of  police,  accompanied  by  two  of  his 
oflBcers,  came  and  roundly  abused  Maria  Alexevna,  who,  it  must  be  allowed,  took 
no  pains  on  her  part,  as  the  phrase  goes,  to  keep  her  tongue  in  her  pocket.  Over 
and  over  again  she  repeated : 

"  I  do  not  know  what  you  mean.  If  you  wish  to  find  out,  you  will  see  by  the 
books  of  the  establishment  that  the  woman  who  was  here  is  named  Savastianoff, 
one  of  my  acquaintances,  engaged  in  business  at  Pskow.     And  tliat  is  all." 

After  having  redoubled  his  abuse,  the  captain  of  police  finally  went  away. 

That  is  what  V6rotchka  saw  at  the  age  of  eight. 

At  the  age  of  nine  she  received  an  explanation  of  the  affair  fi'om  Matroena. 
For  the  rest,  there  had  been  but  one  case  of  the  kind  in  the  house.  Sometimes 
other  adventures  of  a  difi'ei-ent  sort,  but  not  very  numerous. 

One  day,  as  Verotchka,  then  a  girl  of  ten  years,  was  accompanying  her  mother 
as  usual  to  the  old  clothes  shop,  at  the  corner  of  the  Rue  Gorokhovaia  and  the 
Rue  Sadovala  she  was  struck  a  blow  on  the  neck,  dealt  her  doubtless  to  make  her 
heed  this  observation  of  her  mother  : 

"  Instead  of  sauntering,  why  do  you  not  cross  yourself  as  you  go  by  the  church  P 
Do  j'ou  not  see  that  all  respectable  people  do  so  ?  " 

At  twelve  Verotchka  was  sent  to  boarding-school,  and  received  in  addition  les- 
sons in  piano-playing  from  a  teacher  who,  though  a  great  drunkard,  was  a  worthy 
man  and  an  excellent  pianist,  but,  on  account  of  his  drunkenness,  had  to  content 
himself  with  a  very  moderate  reward  for  his  services. 

At  fourteen  V6rotchka  did  the  sewing  for  the  whole  family,  which,  to  be  sure, 
was  not  a  large  one. 

When  she  was  fifteen,  such  remarks  as  this  were  daily  addressed  to  her : 

"  Go  wash  your  face  cleaner!  It  is  as  black  as  a  gypsy's.  But  you  will  wash 
it  in  vain  ;  you  have  the  face  of  a  .scarecrow ;  you  are  like  nobody  else." 

The  little  girl,  much  mortified  at  her  dark  complexion,  gradually  came  to  con- 
sider herself  very  homely. 

Nevertheless,  her  mother,  who  formerly  covered  her  with  nothing  but  rags,  be- 
gan to  dress  her  up.  When  V6rotchka  in  fine  array  followed  her  mother  to 
church,  she  said  sadly  to  herself: 

"  Why  this  finery  ?  For  a  gypsy's  complexion  like  mine  a  dress  of  serge  is  as 
good  as  a  dress  of  silk.  This  luxury  would  become  others  better.  It  must  be 
very  nice  to  be  pretty !     How  I  should  like  to  be  pretty  ! " 

When  she  was  sixteen,  V6rotchka  stopped  taking  music  lessons,  and  became  a 
piano-teacher  herself  in  a  boarding-school.  In  a  short  time  Maria  Alexevna 
lound  her  other  lessons. 


Tlie  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Parents,  17 

Soon  V6rotcbka's  mother  stopped  calling  her  gypsy  and  scare-crow ;  she 
dressed  her  even  with  greater  care,  and  Matroena  (this  was  a  third  Matroena, 
who,  like  her  predecessors,  always  had  a  black  eye  and  sometimes  a  swollen 
cheek),  Matroena  told  V6rotchka  that  the  chief  of  her  father's  bureau  desired  to 
ask  her  hand  in  marriage,  and  that  this  chief  was  a  grave  man,  wearing  a  cross 
upon  his  neck. 

In  fact,  the  employees  of  the  ministry  had  noticed  the  advances  of  the  chief  of 
the  department  towards  his  subordinate.  And  this  chief  said  to  one  of  his  col- 
leao^ues  that  he  intended  to  marry  and  that  the  dowry  was  of  little  consequence, 
provided  the  woman  was  beautiful ;  he  added  that  Pavel  Konstantinytch  was  an 
excellent  ofiicial. 

What  would  have  happened  no  one  knows;  but,  while  the  chief  of  the  depart- 
ment was  in  this  frame  of  mind,  an  important  event  occurred  : 

The  son  of  the  mistress  appeared  at  the  steward's  to  say  that  his  mother  desired 
Pavel  Konstantinytch  to  bring  her  several  samples  of  wall  paper,  as  slic  wished 
to  newly  furnish  her  apartments.  Orders  of  this  nature  were  generally  trans- 
mitted by  tiie  major-domo.  The  intention  was  evident,  and  would  have  been  lo 
people  of  less  experience  than  Verotchka's  parents.  Moreover,  the  st)n  of  tht3 
proprietor  remained  more  tlian  half  an  hour  to  take  tea. 

The  next  day  Maria  Alexevna  gave  her  daugiiter  a  bracelet  which  had  not  been 
redeemed  and  ordered  new  dresses  for  lier.  Verotclika  much  aibnired  bolli  the 
bracelet  and  the  dresses,  and  was  given  further  occasion  to  rejoii-e  by  lier  moth- 
er's purchase  for  her  at  last  of  some  glossy  boots  of  admirable  elegance.  These 
toilet  expenses  were  not  lost,  for  Mikhail  Ivanytch  came  every  day  to  the  stew- 
ard's and  found  —  it  goes  without  saying  —  in  V6rotchka's  conversation  :i  pecu- 
liar charm,  which— and  this  too  goes  without  saying  — was  n(jt  displeasing  to 
the  steward  and  his  wife.  At  least  the  latter  gave  her  daugiiter  long  instructions, 
which  it  Is  useless  to  detail. 

"  Dress  yourself,  V6rotchka,"  she  said  to  her  one  evening,  on  rising  from  the 
tal)le;  '•  I  have  prepared  a  surprise  for  you.  Wo  are  going  to  the  opera,  and  I 
have  taken  a  i)ox  in  the  second  tier,  where  there  are  none  l)ut  genc'rals.  All  this 
is  for  you,  little  stupid.  For  it  I  do  not  hesitate  U)  spend  my  last  copecks,  and 
your  f;ither  on  his  side  scatters  his  Hul)Hlanco  in  foolish  ("xpenditures  for  your 
sake.  To  the  governess,  to  tlie  boarding-school,  to  the  iMano-teaeher,  wli:it  ;i  .sum 
we  have  paid  !  You  know  noliiing  of  all  that,  ingrate  that  you  are!  You  have 
neither  soul  nor  sensibilities." 

Maria  Alexevna  said  nothing  further;  for  she  no  longc-r  abused  h<r  diughler, 
anil,  since  the  reports  about  the  chief  of  the  deparlmcnt,  had  even  ceasc'd  to  beat 

her. 

So  they  went  to  the  opera.  After  the  first  act  the  son  of  the  mistress  came  in, 
followed  by  two  friends,  one  of  whom,  dressed  as  a  civilian,  was  very  thin  and 


18  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

very  polite,  wliile  tlie  other,  a  soldier,  inclined  to  stoutness  and  had  simple  man- 
ners. ^Mikhail  Ivanytch,  I  say,  came  into  the  box  occupied  by  Verotchka  and  her 
parents. 

Witliout  further  ceremony,  after  the  customary  salutations,  they  sat  down  and 
began  to  converse  in  low  tones  in  French,  Mikhail  Ivanytch  and  the  civilian  espe- 
cially ;  the  soldier  talked  little. 

Maria  Alexevna  lent  an  attentive  ear  and  tried  to  catch  the  conversation ;  but 
her  knowledge  of  French  was  limited.  However,  she  knew  the  meaning  of  cer- 
tain words  which  j^erpetually  recurred  in  the  conversation  :  beautiful,  charming, 
love,  happiness. 

Beautiful '.  Charming!  Maria  Alexevna  has  long  heard  those  adjectives  ap- 
plied to  her  daughter.  Love!  She  clearly  sees  that  Mikhail  Ivanytch  is  madly 
in  love.  Where  there  is  foye  there  is  happiness.  It  is  complete;  but  when  will 
he  speak  of  marriage  ? 

"  You  are  very  ungrateful,  V6rotchka,"  said  Maria  Alexevna  in  a  low  voice  to 
her  daughter ;  "  why  do  you  turn  away  your  head  ?  They  certainly  pay  you 
enough  attention,  little  stupid!  Tell  me  the  French  for  engaged  and  marriage. 
Have  they  said  those  words  ?  " 

"No,  mamma." 

"  Perhaps  you  are  not  telling  me  the  truth  ?    Take  care !  " 

"  No ;  no  such  words  have  passed  their  lips.  .  .  .  Let  us  go ;  I  can  stay  here 
no  longer ! " 

"  Go !  What  do  you  say,  wretch  ?"  muttered  Maria  Alexevna,  into  whose  eyes 
the  blood  shot. 

"  Yes,  let  us  go !  Do  with  me  what  you  will ;  but  I  stay  here  no  longer. 
Later  I  will  tell  you  why.  Mamma,"  continued  the  young  girl,  in  a  loud  voice, 
"  I  have  too  severe  a  headache ;  I  can  remain  no  longer.  Let  us  go,  I  beg  of 
you." 

And  at  the  same  time  V6rotchka  rose. 

"  It  is  nothing,"  said  Maria  Alexevna,  severely;  "  promenade  in  the  corridor  a 
little  while  with  Mikhail  Ivanytch,  and  it  will  pass  away." 

"  Mamma,  I  feel  very  ill ;  come  quickly,  I  beg  of  you." 

The  young  people  hastened  to  open  the  door  and  ofifcred  their  arms  to 
Verotchka,  who  had  the  impoliteness  to  refuse.  Tiicy  placed  the  ladies  in  the 
carriage.  ^leanwhile  Maria  Alexevna  looked  upon  the  valets  with  an  air  which 
seemed  to  say :  "  See,  rabble,  how  eager  these  fine  gentlemen  are  in  their  atten- 
tions, and  that  one  there  will  be  my  son-in-law,  and  soon  I  too  shall  have  at  my 
bidding  wretches  like  you."    Then  mentally  addressing  her  daughter: 

"Must  you  be  obstinate,  stupid  that  3'ou  are!  But  I  will  put  you  on  your  good 
behavior.  .  .  .  Stay,  stay,  my  future  son-in-law  is  speaking  to  her ;  he  arranges 
her  in  the  carriage.     Listen  :  health,  visit,  permit  (he  is  asking  her  permission  to 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Parents.  19 

call  and  inquire  after  her  health.)"    Without  becoming  any  the  less  angry,  Maria 
Alexevna  took  into  cousifleration  the  words  she  had  just  heard. 

"  What  did  he  say  on  leaving  you  ?  "  she  asked,  as  soon  as  the  carriage  had 
started. 

"  He  told  me  that  tomorrow  morning  he  would  come  to  our  house  to  ask  after 
my  health." 

"  You  are  not  lying  ?    He  really  said  tomorrow  ?" 

Verotchka  said  nothing. 

"  You  have  escaped  finely,"  resumed  her  mother,  who  could  not  refrain  from 
pulling  her  hair;  "but  once  only  and  narrowly  enough.  I  will  not  beat  you," 
she  continued,"  but  be  gay  tomorrow !  Sleep  tonight,  stupid,  and  above  all  do 
not  take  it  into  your  head  to  weep;  for  If  tomorrow  morning  you  are  pale,  if 
your  eyes  are  red,  beware  !  I  shall  be  pitiless  ;  your  pretty  lace  will  be  gone  ; 
but  I  shall  have  asserted  myself!" 

"  I  long  since  ceased  to  weep,  as  you  well  know." 

"  That's  right !     But  talk  with  him  a  little  more." 

"  I  will  try  tomorrow." 

"That's  right !  It  is  time  to  become  reasonable.  Fear  God  and  have  a  liltlo 
pity  for  your  mother,  boldface  that  you  are !  " 

After  a  silence  often  minutes: 

"  Verotclika,  do  not  be  angry  with  mo;  it  is  through  love  for  you  and  fur  your 
good  that  I  torment  you.  Children  are  sf)  dear  to  thi'ir  mothers.  I  carried  you 
for  nine  months  in  my  womb.  1  ask  of  you  only  gratitude  and  obedience.  Do 
as  I  tell  you,  and  tomorrow  he  will  propose." 

"  You  an;  mistaken,  mamma;  ho  does  not  dream  of  if.  Ifyoukncwof  what 
they  talked!" 

"  I  know  it.  If  he  does  not  think  of  marriage,  I  know  of  what  Ik;  thinks.  I5ut 
ho  does  not  know  the  people  with  whom  ho  lias  to  deal.  We  will  reduce  him  to 
servile  obedicncf,  and,  if  neccs.sary,  I  will  carry  him  to  the  altar  in  a  sack,  or  I 
will  drag  him  tlnire  by  tlm  hair,  and  still  ho  will  bo  content.  But  a  truce  to  bab- 
bling! I  have  already  said  too  much  to  you;  young  girls  should  not  know  ko 
much.  It  i-^  tlic  business  of  their  mothers.  The  daughters  have  only  to  obey. 
Tomorrow  you  will  speak  to  him." 

"  Yes." 

"And  you,  Pavel  Konstantinylch,  of  what  are  you  thinking  with  your  chilly 
air?  You  tell  her  also,  in  the  nam<!  of  your  paternal  authority,  that  you  order 
her  to  f)bey  her  mother  in  everything." 

"  Maria  Alexevna,  you  arc  a  wise  woman  ;  l)Ut  Ihi!  affair  is  ilinh-ult,  and  even 
dangerous.     Can  you  carry  it  tli rough?  " 

"  Imbecile !    That  is  very  appropriate  now  !     And  before  V6rotcbka,  too !    Tho 


20  Wliat  's  To  Be  Done  ? 

proverb  is  quite  riglit:  do  not  stir  tip  ordure  if  you  fear  its  stench.  It  is  not  your 
ailvice  that  I  aslv  ;  only  this :  slioukl  a  daughter  obey  her  motlier  ?  " 

"  Certainly  !     Certainly !     Maria  Alexevna,  that  is  just." 

"  Well,  do  you  order  her  as  a  father?  " 

"  VtTOtchka,  obey  in  all  things  your  mother,  who  is  a  wise  woman,  an  experi- 
enced woman.  She  will  not  teach  you  to  do  evil.  This  obedience  I  enjoin  upon 
yon  as  a  father." 

On  stepping  from  the  carriage  Verotchka  said  to  her  mother: 

"  It  is  well ;  I  will  talk  with  him  tomorrow.  But  I  am  very  tired,  and  I  need 
rest." 

"Yes,  go  to  bed.  I  will  not  disturb  you.  Sleep  well ;  you  need  to  for  tomor- 
row." 

In  order  to  keep  her  promise  Maria  Alexevna  entered  the  house  without  mak- 
ing a  disturbance.  How  much  that  cost  her !  IIow  much  it  cost  her  also  to  see 
Verotchka  enter  her  room  directly  without  stopping  to  take  tea! 

"  Verotchka,  come  here !  "  she  said  to  her,  pleasantly. 

The  young  girl  obej'ed. 

"  Bow  your  little  head ;  I  wish  to  bless  you.  There !  May  God  bless  you, 
Verotchka,  as  I  bless  you !  " 

Three  times  in  succession  she  blessed  her  daughter,  after  which  she  offered  her 
her  hand  to  kiss. 

"  No,  mamma.  I  long  ago  told  you  that  I  will  not  kiss  your  hand.  Let  me  go 
now,  for  I  really  feel  very  ill." 

The  eyes  of  Maria  Alexevna  blazed  with  hatred,  but  she  again  restrained  her- 
self, and  gentlj'  said : 

"Go!     Rest  yourself!" 

Verotchka  spent  much  time  in  undressing. 

While  taking  off  her  dress  and  putting  it  in  the  closet,  while  taking  off  her 
bracelets  and  ear-rings,  each  of  tliose  simple  operations  was  followed  by  a  long 
reverie.  It  was  some  time  before  she  discovered  that  she  was  very  tired,  and 
that  she  had  sunk  into  an  arm-chair,  being  unable  to  stand  erect  before  the  mir- 
ror.   At  last  she  perceived  it,  and  made  haste  to  get  into  bed.  , 

She  had  scarcely  lain  down  when  her  mother  entered,  carrying  on  a  tray  a  large 
cup  of  tea  and  a  number  of  biscuits. 

"Come,  eat,  V6rotehka,  it  will  do  you  good.  You  see  that  your  mother  does 
not  forget  you.  I  said  to  myself:  Why  has  my  daughter  gone  to  bed  with- 
out her  tea?  And  I  desired  to  bring  it  to  you  myself;  help  yourself,  dear 
child." 

This  kind  and  gentle  voice  which  V6rotchka  had  never  heard  surprised  her 
very  much,  till,  looking  at  her  mother,  she  saw  her  cheeks  inflamed  and  her  eyes 
disordered. 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Parents.  21 

"  Eat ! "  continued  Maria  Alexevna ;  "  when  you  have  finished,  I  will  go  for 
more." 

The  tea  and  cream  which  she  had  brought  aroused  Verotchka's  appetite,  and, 
raising  herself  on  her  elbow,  she  be;;an  to  drink. 

"  Tea  is  really  good  when  it  is  fresh  and  strong,  with  plenty  of  sugar  and 
cream.  When  I  get  rich,  I  shall  always  drink  it  so  ;  it  is  not  like  warmed-over, 
half-sweetened  tea,  which  is  so  unp  ilatablo.    Thank  you,  mamma." 

"  Do  not  go  to  sleep ;  I  am  going  to  get  you  another  cup.  Drink,"  she  con- 
tinued, as  she  came  back  b^'ariug  an  excellent  cup  of  tea;  "  drink,  my  child;  I 
wish  to  staj-  with  you  longer." 

Accordingly  she  sat  down,  and,  after  a  moment's  silence,  she  began  to  talk  in 
a  somewhat  confused  voice,  now  slowly,  now  rapidly. 

"  Vurotchka,  you  just  said  '  Thank  you'  tome;  it  is  a  long  time  since  those 
words  escaped  your  lips.  You  think  me  wicked ;  well,  yes,  I  am  wioked  !  Can 
one  help  it? 

*'  Rut,  dear  me !  how  weak  I  am  !  Three  punches  in  succession  —  at  ray  age ! 
And  then  you  vexed  me ;  that  is  why  1  am  weak, 

"  My  life  has  been  a  very  hard  one,  my  daughter  !  I  do  not  want  you  to  live 
one  like  it.  You  shall  live  in  luxury.  How  many  torments  I  have  endured ! 
Oh,  yes!  how  many  torments  ! 

'•  You  do  not  remember  the  life  that  wc  lived  b;!fore  your  fathpr  got  his 
stewardship.  We  lived  very  poorly  ;  I  was  virtuous  then,  Verotchka.  IJut  now 
1  am  no  longer  so,  and  I  will  not  burden  my  soul  witli  a  new  sin  by  falsely  tell- 
ing you  that  I  am  still  virtuous.  T  li  ivc  not  been  for  a  long  time,  Vorotehlca ; 
you  are  eduoatcMl,  I  am  not;  but  I  know  all  that  is  written  in  yonr  books,  and  I 
know  that  it  is  written  there  that  no  one  should  be  treatetl  as  I  have  been.  They 
reproach  mc  for  not  being  virtuous,  too!  and  ycjiu-  father  the  lirst,  the 
imb(!cile  ! 

"  My  little  Na<liiika  was  born  ;  he  was  not  her  fall)er.  Well,  what  ol  it !  What 
barm  <1id  that  do  him  ? 

"  Was  it  I  who  received  the  position  of  chief  deputy  ? 

"  And  was  it  not  his  fault  as  much  as  mine,  and  more? 

"They  took  my  child  to  put  it  with  \\w.  foundlings,  and  I  kimw  not  what 
beeamc!  of  her.  Now  1  hardly  care  whether  siie  is  still  living;  l)iit  (hen  I 
sulTered  mueh.  I  became  wioked,  and  then  all  bogan  to  go  well.  I  made  your 
father  chief  deputy,  I  made  him  steward,  and  at  last  we  were  where  wo  could 
live  well.  Now,  how  have  T  sueeeede<l  in  doing  that?  Hy  becoming  dishonent; 
for  it  is  written  in  your  books,  I  know,  Verolchka,  tint  none  lnit  raseals  make 
any  figure  in  the  world.     Is  it  not  true? 

"  Now  your  f  lol  of  a  f  ithor  has  money,  thanks  to  me.  And  I  too  have  money  I 
Perhaps  more  than  he.     It  was  I  who  made  it  all ! 


22  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

"  Your  fool  of  a  father  has  come  to  esteem  me,  and  I  have  made  him  walk 
straight.  When  I  was  virtuous,  he  ill-treated  me  without  reason,  and  just 
because  I  was  good.     I  had  to  become  wicked. 

"  It  is  written  in  j-our  books  that  we  should  be  good ;  but  can  one  in  the 
present  arrangement  of  things?  For  it  is  necessary  to  live.  Wliy  do  they  not 
make  society  anew,  and  in  accordance  with  the  beautiful  order  which  exists  only 
in  your  books?  It  would  be  better,  I  know,  but  the  people  arc  so  stupid  !  What 
can  be  done  with  such  people  ?  Let  us  live,  then,  according  to  the  old  order. 
The  old  order,  your  books  say,  is  built  on  robbery  and  falsehood.  The  new 
order  not  existing,  we  must  live  according  to  the  old.  Steal  and  lie,  my 
daughter;  it  is  through  love  of  you  .  .  .  that  I  speak  .  .  .  and  .  .  ." 

The  voice  of  Maria  Alexevna  was  extinguished  in  a  loud  snore. 

11. 

Maria  Alexevna,  while  she  knew  what  had  happened  at  the  theatre,  did  not 
however  know  the  sequel.  While  she  was  snoring  on  a  chair,  Storechnikoff,  his 
two  friends,  and  the  officer's  French  mistress  were  finishing  supper  in  one  of  the 
most  fashionable  restaurants. 

"  M'sieur  Storechnik  !  "  —  Storechnikoff  beamed,  this  being  the  third  time  that 
the  young  Frenchwoman  had  addressed  him  since  the  beginning  of  the  supper.— 
"  M'sieur  Storechnik !  let  me  call  you  so,  it  sounds  better  and  is  easier  to  pro- 
nounce ;  you  did  not  tell  me  that  I  was  to  be  the  only  lady  in  your  society.  I 
hoped  to  meet  Adele  here ;  I  should  have  been  pleased,  for  I  see  her  so 
rareh^ ! " 

"  Adele,  unfortunately,  has  fallen  out  with  me." 

The  officer  started  as  if  to  speak  ;  then,  changing  his  mind,  kept  silent.  It  was 
the  civilian  who  said  : 

"  Do  not  believe  him.  Mademoiselle  Julie.  He  is  afraid  to  tell  you  the  truth 
and  confess  that  he  has  abandoned  this  Frenchwoman  for  a  Russian." 

"  I  do  not  clearly  understand  why  we  came  here  either,"  muttered  the 
officer. 

"  But,"  replied  Julie,  "  why  not.  Serge,  since  Jean  invited  us?  I  am  very  glad 
to  make  the  acquaintance  of  M.  Ston^chnik,  though  he  has  very  bad  taste,  I 
admit.  I  should  have  nothing  to  say,  M.  Storechnik,  if  you  had  abandoned 
Adele  for  the  beautiful  Georgian  whom  you  visited  in  her  box,  but  to  exchange 
a  Frenchwoman  for  a  Russian  !  I  can  fancy  her  pale  cheeks,  —  no,  I  beg  pardon, 
that  is  not  exactly  the  word  ;  blood  with  cream  in  it,  as  you  call  it, —  that  is,  a 
dish  which  only  you  Esquimaux  are  able  to  relish.  Jean,  hand  me  the  cigar-ash 
tray  to  pass  to  M.  Storechnik  that  he  may  humble  his  guilty  head  beneath  the 
ashes." 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Parents,  23 

"  You  have  just  said  so  many  foolish  things,  Julie,  that  you  are  the  one  to 
humble  your  guilty  head  beneath  the  ashes.  She  whom  you  call  Georgian  is 
precisely  the  Russian  In  question."     Thus  spoke  the  officer. 

"  You  are  laughing  at  me." 

"  Not  at  all ;  she  is  a  pure-blooded  Russian." 

"  It  is  impossible." 

"  You  are  wrong  in  supposing,  my  dear  Julie,  that  our  country  has  but  one 
type  oi"  beauty.  Have  you  not  brunettes  and  blondes  in  France?  As  tor  us,  we 
are  a  mixture  of  tribes  including  blondes  like  the  Finns  ("  Finns !  that  is  it !  ihat 
is  it!  "  exrlaimed  the  Frenchwoman)  and  brunettes  darker  than  the  Italians,  the 
Tartars,  and  ihe  Mongolians  ("  The  Mongolians  !  very  good  !  "  again  exclaimed 
the  Frenchwoman).  These  diflerent  types  are  mingled,  and  our  blondes  whom 
you  so  hate  are  but  a  local  type,  very  numerous,  but  not  exclusive." 

"That  is  astonishing!  But  she  is  splendid!  Why  does  she  not  become  an 
actress?  But  mind,  gentlemen,  I  speak  only  of  what  1  have  seen;  tliL're  is  s:ill 
an  important  cpustion  to  be  settled,  —  her  foot?  lias  not  your  great  poet 
Karassin  said  that  in  all  Russia  there  could  not  be  found  five  pairs  uf  dainty 
little  feet?" 

"Julie,  it  was  not  Karassin  who  said  that.  Karassin,  whom  you  would  do 
better  to  call  Kurainzine,  is  neitlier  a  Kussian  nor  a  poet;  he  is  a  Tartar  histo- 
rian. It  was  I'ouchkiiie  who  spoke  of  the  little  feet.  That  poet's  verses,  very 
popular  in  his  day,  have  lost  a  liitlc  of  their  value.  As  for  the  Esquimaux,  they 
live  in  America,  and  our  savages  who  drink  stags'  blood  are  called  Samoyddes." 

"1  thank  you.  Serge;  Karaiiizin(!  historian.  Pouchkine :  .  .  .  I  know.  The 
Ksquimiiux  in  America,  the  Russians  Samoyedes  .  .  .  Samoyt-des,  tliat  name 
sounds  well,  Sa-mo-yedes.  I  shall  remember,  gentlemen,  and  will  niaUi;  Sergo 
repeat  it  all  to  me  when  we  get  home.  These  things  are  useful  to  know  in  a 
conversation.  Besides,  I  have  a  passion  for  kiiowlrdg*' ;  I  was  l)oni  (o  b(>  a 
Stael.  Bui  that  is  another  allair.  Let  us  come  back  to  the  4Ut'>iIoii,  —  Inr 
foot  ?  •' 

"  If  you  will  allow  me  to  call  upon  you  to-morrow,  M'elle  Julio,  I  shall  have 
the  honor  to  bring  you  her  shoe."' 

"  I  liope  .so;  I  will  try  it  on  ;  lli.it  excites  my  curio.^^ily." 

Storechnikoir  was  enelianled.  AncI  how  could  he  help  it?  Ilitliertu  he  li:ui 
been  the  follower  of  Jean,  who  had  been  liie  follower  of  Serge,  who  had  been 
the  follow4-r  of  Julie,  one  of  tlie  nio.si  elegant  of  the  Frenchwomen  in  Serge's 
society.     It  was  a  great  honor  that  they  did  him. 

"The  foot  is  satisfactory,"' .-^aid  .lean  ;  "  I,  as  a  positive  man,  am  interested  in 
that  which  is  more  essential ;  I  looked  at  licr  neck  " 

"Ilcrneek  is  very  beautiful,"  an^were<i  Store<-hTiikoll",  Hollered  nt  tlu3  praises 
bestowed  upon  the  object  of  his  choice,  and  he  added,  to  llatler  Julie: 


24  What's  To  Be  Done? 

"  Yes,  ravishing !  And  I  say  it,  though  it  be  a  sacrilege  in  this  presence  to 
praise  the  neck  of  another  woman." 

"Ha!  Ila!  Ha!  He  thinks  to  pay  me  a  comi)liment !  I  am  neither  a 
hypocrit'3  nor  a  liar,  M.  Storechnik ;  I  do  not  praise  myself,  nor  do  1  sutler  others 
to  praise  me  where  I  am  unworthy.  I  have  plenty  of  other  charms  left,  thank 
God!  But  my  neck!  .  .  .  Jean,  tell  him  what  it  is.  Give  me  your  hand,  M. 
Storechnik,  and  feel  here,  and  there.  You  see  that  I  wear  a  false  neck,  as  I  wear 
a  dress,  a  petticoat,  a  chemise.  Not  that  it  pleases  me ;  I  do  not  like  such 
hypocrisies ;  but  it  is  admitted  in  society :  a  woman  who  has  led  the  life  that  I 
have  led  —  M.  Storechnik,  I  am  now  an  anchorite  in  comparison  with  what  I 
have  been  —  such  a  woman  cannot  preserve  the  beauty  of  her  throat." 

And  Julie  burst  into  tears,  crying : 

"  O  my  youth  !  O  my  purity  !  O  God !  was  it  for  so  much  infamy  that  I  was 
born  ?  " 

"  You  lie,  gentlemen,"  she  cried,  rising  suddenly  from  her  seat  and  striking 
her  hand  up  )n  the  table;  "you  slander  this  young  girl;  you  are  vile!  She  is 
not  his  mistress;  I  saw  it  all.  He  wishes  to  buy  her  of  her  mother.  I  saw  her 
turn  her  back  upon  him,  quivering  with  indignation.  Your  conduct  is  abomina- 
ble !     She  is  a  pure  and  noble  girl !  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Jean,  languidly  sti'etching  himself.  "  My  dear  Storechnik  off,  you 
must  prove  your  words.  You  describe  very  well  wh:it  you  have  not  seen.  What 
mat;er.s  it,  after  all,  whether  it  be  a  week  before  or  a  week  after.  For  you  will 
not  be  disenchanted,  and  the  reality  will  surpass  your  imagination.  I  surveyed 
her;  you  will  be  content." 

Storechnikoff  held  back  no  longer: 

"Pardon,  Mademoiselle  Julie,  you  are  mistaken  in  your  conclusions;  she  is 
really  my  mistress.  It  was  a  cloud  caused  by  jealousy.  She  had  taken  offence 
becau.'^e  during  the  first  act  I  had  remained  in  Mademoiselle  Mathilde's  box. 
ITiat  was  all." 

"  You  are  lying,  my  dear,"  said  Jean,  yawning. 

"  Xo,  truly  !  "  *• 

"  Prove  it !     I  am  positive,  and  do  not  believe  without  proofs." 

"  What  proof  can  I  give  you  ?  " 

"You  yield  already!  What  proof?  This,  for  instance.  Tomorrow  we  will 
take  supper  here  again  together.  Mademoiselle  Julie  shall  bring  Serge,  I  will 
bring  my  little  Berthe,  and  you  shall  bring  the  beauty  in  question.  If  you  liring 
her,  I  lose,  and  will  pay  for  the  sui:)per;  if  you  do  not  bring  her,  we  will  banish 
you  in  shame  from  our  circle." 

While  speaking  Jean  hid  rung,  and  a  waiter  had  come. 

"Simon,"  he  said  to  him,  "prepare  a  supper  tomorrow  for  six  persons.    A 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  loith  her  Parents.  25 

supper  such  as  we  bad  here  at  the  time  of  my  marriage  to  Borthe.    Do  you 
remember  it,  before  Christmas  ?    In  th;*  same  room." 

"  Ah,  sir,  could  one  forget  such  a  supper?    You  shall  have  it." 

"  Abominable  people  !  "  resumed  Julie ;  "  do  you  not  see  that  he  will  set  some 
trap  for  her?  I  have  been  plunged  in  all  the  filth  of  Paris,  and  I  nevor  met 
three  men  like  these!  In  what  society  must  I  live?  for  what  crime  do  I  deserve 
such  ignominy  ?  " 

And  falling  on  her  knees : 

"  AI}'  God  !  I  was  only  a  poor  and  weak  woman  !  I  endured  hunger  and  cold 
in  Paris.  But  the  cold  was  so  intense,  the  temptations  so  irresistible.  I  wi-hed 
to  live ;  I  wished  to  love  !  Was  that,  then,  so  great  a  crime  that  you  punish  me 
thus  severely  ?  Lift  me  from  this  mire !  My  old  life  in  Paris !  Rather  that  than 
live  among  such  people !  " 

She  rose  suddenly  and  ran  to  the  oflBcer : 

" Serge,  are  you  like  these  people?    No,  you  are  better." 

"  Z?e«f  r,"  echoed  the  officer,  phlegmatically. 

"  Is  this  not  abominable?  " 

"Abominable!  Julie." 

"  And  you  s  ly  nothing  !    You  let  them  go  on  ?    You  become  an  accomplice ! " 

"Come  and  sit  on  my  knee,  my  gill."  And  he  began  to  caress  her  until  she 
grew  calm : 

••  Come,  now,  you  are  a  br.ave  little  woman  ;  I  adore  you  at  such  times.  AN'hy 
will  you  not  marry  nie?     I  have  asked  you  so  often.'' 

"Marriage!  Yoke!  Appearances!  No,  never!  I  have  already  forhiddfn 
you  to  talk  to  me  of  such  nonsense.  Uo  not  vex  me.  But,  my  beloved  Serge, 
defend  her.     He  fears  you ;  save  her !  " 

"Be  calm,  Julie!  What  wouM  you  have  me  do?  If  it  is  not  lie,  it  will  bo 
another;  it  comes  to  the  same  tiling.  Do  you  not  s;>o  that  Jean,  too,  already 
dreams  of  capt'uing  her?  And  people  of  his  sort,  you  know,  are  to  bo  found 
l)y  thousands.  One  cannot  defend  her  against  cveryl)(,dy,  cHpeeially  wlien  thct 
mother  desires  to  put  her  daughter  into  the  market.  As  well  might  one  butt  his 
head  against  the  will,  as  the  Russian  proverl)  says.  We  are  u  wisi!  people,  Julio: 
see  how  caltn  my  life  is,  be(;aus(!  I  know  how  to  bow  to  f  ite." 

"That  is  not  the  way  of  wisilorn.  T,  a  Kreueiiwonian,  struggli-;  I  may  suc- 
cumi),  but  I  struggle.  I,  for  my  part,  will  not  tolerate  this  infamy!  Do  you 
know  wiio  this  young  girl  is  anrj  wliere  she  lives?" 

"  Perfectly  well." 

"  Well,  l(!t  us  go  to  her  home  ;  I  will  warn  her." 

"To  her  home!  And  past  midnight!  Let  us  rather  go  to  bed.  An  rrviir, 
Jean ;  au  revoir,  Storechuikoflf.    You  will  not  look  for  rao  at  your  supper  to- 


26  What's  To  Be  Done? 

morrow.    JiUie  is  incensed,  and   this  afifair  does  not  please   me  either.    Au 
revoir.'''' 

"  That  Frenchwoman  is  a  devil  unchained,"  said  Jean,  yawning,  when  the 
officer  and  his  mistress  had  gone.  "She  is  very  piquant;  but  she  is  getting 
stout  alrcad}'.  Very  aiireeable  to  the  eye  is  a  beautiful  woman  in  anger!  All 
the  same,  I  would  not  h  ive  lived  with  her  four  years,  like  Serge.  Four  years ! 
Not  even  a  quarter  of  an  hour!  But,  at  any  rate,  this  little  caprice  shall  not 
lose  us  our  supper.  Instead  nf  them  I  will  bring  Paul  and  Mathilde.  Now  it 
is  time  to  separate.  I  am  going  to  see  lierthe  a  moment,  and  then  to  tlae  little 
Lotchen's,  who  is  veritably  charming." 

III. 

"  It  is  well,  Vera ;  your  eyes  are  not  red ;  hereafter  you  will  be  tractable,  will 
you  not  ?  " 

Verotchka  made  a  gesture  of  impatience. 

"Come!  come!"  continued  the  mother, "  do  not  get  impatient;  I  am  silent. 
Last  night  I  fell  asleep  in  your  room ;  perhaps  I  said  too  much :  but  you  see,  I 
was  drunk,  so  do  not  believe  anything  I  told  you.  Believe  none  of  it,  do  you 
understand?  "  she  repeated,  threateningly. 

The  young  girl  had  concluded  the  night  before  that,  beneath  her  wild  beast's 
aspect,  her  mother  had  pi'eserved  some  human  feelings,  and  her  hatred  for  her 
had  changed  into  pity  ;  suddenl}-  she  saw  the  wild  beast  reappear,  and  felt  the 
hatred  returning ;  but  at  least  the  pity  remained. 

"  Dress  yourself,"  resumed  Maria  Alexevna, "  he  will  probably  come  soon." 
After  a  careful  survey  of  her  daughter's  toilet,  she  added  : 

"  If  you  behave  yourself  well,  I  will  give  you  those  beautiful  emerald  ear- 
rings left  with  me  as  security  for  one  hundred  and  fifty  roubles.  That  is  to  say, 
they  are  worth  two  hundred  and  fifty  roubles,  and  cost  over  four  hundred.  Act 
accordingly,  then  ! " 

Storechnikofi"  had  pondered  as  to  the  method  of  winning  his  wager  and  keep- 
ing his  word,  and  for  a  long  time  sought  in  vain.  But  at  last,  while  walking 
home  from  the  restaurant,  he  had  hit  upon  it,  and  it  was  with  a  tranquil  mind 
that  he  entered  the  steward's  apartments.  Having  inquired  first  as  to  the  health 
of  Vera  Pavlovna,  who  answered  him  with  a  brief  "  1  am  well,"  StorechnikoflE 
said  that  youth  and  health  should  be  made  the  most  of,  and  proposed  to  Vera 
Pavlovna  and  her  mother  to  take  a  sleigh-ride  that  very  evening  in  the  fine  frosty 
weather.  Maria  iVlexevna  consented;  addin":  that  she  would  make  haste  to 
prepare  a  breakfast  of  meat  and  coffee,  Verotchka  meanwhile  to  sing  something. 

"  Sing  us  something,  Verotchka,"  she  said,  in  a  tone  that  sufi"ered  no  reply. 


I 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Parents.  27 

Verotchka  sang  "  Troika,"  *  which  describes,  as  we  know,  a  girl  of  charming 
beauty  all  eyes  to  see  an  officer  pass. 

"  Well,  now,  that's  not  so  bad,"  murmured  the  old  woman  from  the  adjoining 
room.     "  When  she  likes,  this  Verkaf  can  be  very  agreeable  at  least." 

Soon  Verotchka  stopped  singing  and  began  to  talk  with  Storechnikoff,  but  in 
French. 

'•  Imbecile  that  I  am  !  "  thought  the  old  woman  ;  "  to  think  that  I  should  have 
forgotten  to  tell  her  to  speak  Russian  !  But  she  talks  in  a  low  voice,  she  smiles ; 
it's  going  well !  it's  going  we'll  !  Why  does  he  make  such  big  eyes  ?  It  is  easy 
to  see  that  he  is  an  imbecile,  and  that  is  wlrat  we  are  after.  Good  !  she  extends 
her  hand  to  liim.    Is  she  not  agreeable,  this  Verka?  " 

This  is  what  Verotchka  said  to  Storechnikoff: 

"  I  mut  speak  severely  to  you,  sir;  last  evening  at  the  theatre  yon  told  your 
friends  that  I  was  your  mistress.  I  will  not  tell  you  that  this  lie  was  cowardly  ; 
for,  if  you  had  understood  the  whole  import  of  your  words,  I  do  not  think  that  you 
would  have  uttered  them.  But  I  warn  you  that  if,  at  the  theatre  or  iu  the  street, 
you  ever  approach  me,  I  will  give  you  a  blow.  I  know  that  my  mother  will  kill 
me  with  ill-treatment  [it  was  here  that  Verotchka  smiled] ,  but  what  does  that 
matter,  since  life  is  so  little  to  me?  This  evening  you  will  receive  from  my 
mollwr  a  note  informing  you  that  I  am  indisposed  and  unable  to  join  you  in  the 
sleigh-ride." 

lie  looked  at  her  with  big  eyes,  as  Maria  Alexcvna  had  observed. 

Sho  resumed : 

"  I  adiiress  you,  sir,  as  a  man  of  honor  not  yet  utterly  dcpi  avc(l.  If  1  am  right, 
I  pray  you  to  cease  your  attentions,  and  1,  for  my  part,  will  pardon  your  calumny. 
If  you  accept,  give  me  your  Iiand." 

He  shook  her  hand  without  knowing  what  he  did. 

"Thank  you,"  she  atldc;! ;  "  aii<l  now  go.  You  can  give  as  a  pretext  (lie 
necessity  for  ordering  the  horses." 

lie  stood  as  one  stupcificd,  while  .she  began  once  more  to  sing  "  Troika  " 

If  connoisseurs  had  heard  Vi'-roAchka,  they  would  have  l)een  astonisln-i]  at  flm 
extraordinary  feeling  wliich  sho  i)ut  into  her  song;  in  In-r,  IVeling  surely  domi- 
nated art. 

]\Ieanwliil(f  Maria  Alexevna  was  coming,  followed  l)y  her  cook  carrying  the 
breakfast  and  coflee  on  a  tray.  I'.nt  StorcehnikofT,  ju-elending  that  he  had  or- 
ders to  give  concerning  tli«;  preparation  of  the  horses,  withdrew  toward  the  dour 
instead  of  approaching,  and,  iieforo  the  steward's  wife  could  protest,  the  young 
man  went  out. 


•A  Kong  by  NettroMiiotr. 

t  Vurlca  Ik  uti  lll-imlurcd  diminutive  of  Vuro. 


28  Whal  's  To  Be  Done  ? 

Maria  Alexevna,  pale  with  rage  and  fists  lifted  iu  the  air,  rushed  into  the  par- 
lor, crying : 

'•  What  have  you  done,  wench  ?     Wait  for  me  !  " 

Verotchku  had  hurried  into  her  room.  Thither  the  mother  ran  like  a  hurri- 
cane ;  but  the  door  was  locked.  Beside  herself,  she  tried  to  break  down  the  door, 
and  struck  it  heavy  blows. 

"  If  you  break  down  the  door,"  cried  the  young  girl,  "  I  will  break  the  windows 
and  cull  for  help ;  in  any  case,  I  warn  you  tliafc  you  shall  not  take  me  alive." 

The  calm  and  decided  tone  with  which  these  words  were  uttered  did  not  fail  to 
make  an  impression  on  the  mother,  who  contented  herself  with  shouting  and 
made  no  more  attacks  on  the  door. 

As  soon  as  she  could  make  herself  heard,  Verotehka  said  to  her : 

"  I  use.l  to  detest  you,  but  since  last  night  I  have  pitied  you.  You  have  suf- 
fered, and  that  has  made  you  wicked.  If  you  wish  it,  we  will  talk  together 
pleasantly,  as  we  have  never  talked  together  before." 

These  words  did  not  go  straight  to  the  heart  of  Maria  Alexevna,  but  her  tired 
nerves  demanded  rest :  she  asked  herself  if,  after  all,  it  were  not  better  to  enter 
into  negotiations.  She  will  no  longer  obey,  and  yet  she  must  be  married  to  that 
fool  of  a  ]Michka.*     And  then,  one  cannot  tell  exactly  what  has  happened  ;  they 

shook  hands no,  one  cannot  tell.     She  was  still  Iiesitating  between 

stratagem  and  ferocity,  when  a  ring  of  the  bell  interrupted  her  reflections ;  it  was 
Serge  and  Julie.  ' 

IV. 

*'  Serge,  does  her  mother  speak  French?"  had  been  Julie' :S  first  word  on  wak- 
ing. 

'•  I  know  nothing  about  it.    What!   have  you  still  that  idea  ?  " 

"  Still.     But  I  do  not  believe  she  speaks  French  :  you  shall  be  my  interpreter." 

Had  Vura's  mother  been  Cardinal  Mezzofanti,t  Serge  would  have  consented  to 
go  to  her  with  Julie  To  follow  Julie  everywhere,  as  the  confidant  always  fol- 
lows the  heroines  of  Corneille,  had  become  his  destiny,  and  we  must  add  that  he 
did  not  complain  of  it.  • 

But  Julie  had  waked  late  and  had  stoi^ped  at  four  or  five  stores  on  the  way,  so 
that  Storechnikofi"  had  time  to  explain  himself  and  Maria  Alexevna  to  rage  and 
calm  down  again  before  their  arrival. 

"  What  horrible  stairs !  I  never  saw  anything  like  them  in  Paris.  And,  b}'  the 
way,  what  shall  be  our  excuse  for  calling? " 

"No  mitter  what;  the  mother  is  a  usurer;  we  will  pawn  your  brooch.    No,  I 

•Michka  is  an  ill-natured  diminutive  of  Milihail. 
t  Who  epoke  Bizty  lanjjaages,  it  ie  said. 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  loiih  her  Parents.  29 

have  a  better  idea ;  tbe  daughter  gives  piano  lessons.  We  will  say  that  you  have 
a  niece,  etc." 

At  the  sight  of  Serge's  beautiiul  uniform  and  Julie's  dazzling  toilette  TlIalToena 
blushed  for  the  first  time  in  her  life ;  she  had  never  seen  su^h  line  people.  No 
less  were  the  enthusiasm  and  awe  of  Maria  Alexevua  when  Matroena  announced 
Colonel  X.  and  his  wife. 

And  his  wife! 

The  scandals  which  ]\Iaria  Alexevna  started  or  heard  of  concerned  nobody 
higher  in  station  than  counsellors.  Consequently  she  did  not  suspect  that  Serge's 
marriage  might  be  only  one  of  those  so-called  Parisian  man-iages,  in  which 
legality  goes  lor  nothing.  Besides,  Serge  was  brilliant ;  he  explained  to  her  that 
he  was  fortunate  in  having  met  them  at  the  theatre,  that  his  wife  had  a  niece,  etc., 
and  that,  his  wife  not  speaking  Russian,  he  had  come  to  act  as  an  interpreter. 

"Oh  yes!  I  may  thank  heaven;  my  daughter  is  a  very  talented  musician,  and 
were  .she  to  be  appreciated  in  a  house  like  yours  I  should  be  extremely  happy  ; 
only,  she  is  not  very  well ;  I  do  not  know  whether  she  can  leave  her  room." 

Maria  Alexevna  spoke  purposely  in  a  very  loud  voice  in  order  that  Verotchka 
might  hear  and  understand  that  an  armistice  was  proposed.  At  the  same  time 
she  devoured  her  callers  with  her  eyes. 

"  Verotchka,  can  you  come,  my  dear?" 

Why  should  she  not  go  out?  Her  mother  certainly  would  not  dare  to  make  a 
scene  in  puldic.  So  .she  opened  her  door ;  but  at  sight  of  Serge  she  blushed  wi(h 
shame  and  anger.  This  would  have  been  noticed  oven  by  poor  eyes,  and  Julio's 
eyes  were  very  good;  therefore,  without  indirection,  she  explained  herself: 

"  My  dear  child,  you  are  astonished  and  indignant  at  seeing  here  ihe  man  b;-- 
forc  whom  last  night  j'ou  were  so  shajnefiilly  outraged.  But  though  he  be 
thoughtless,  my  husband  at  least  is  not  wicked  ;  he  is  better  than  the  scamps  who 
.surround  him.  Forgiv(!  him  for  lovo  of  me;  I  hive  come  witii  good  intentions. 
Tlii.s  niece  is  but  a  prfitext;  but  your  mother  nnist  think  it  genuine.  IM.ay  8:»me- 
tliing,  no  matter  what,  provided  it  be  very  short,  and  then  we  will  retire  to  your 
room  to  talk." 

Is  this  tiie  Julie  known  to  all  (he  rakes  of  the  aristocracy,  and  whose  joKes 
hav(>  oft(;n  cause;]  even  tlu;  libidinous  to  blush?  One  would  say,  nither,  a  prin- 
ce.ss  whose  ear  has  never  been  soiled. 

Verotchka  went  to  the  piano  ;  Jidio  sat  near  her,  and  Si-rgo  busied  hiiusidf  in 
sounding  Maria  Alexevna  in  order  to  ascertain  the  situation  regarding  Storeeli- 
nikf>(T.  A  few  minutes  latr-r  Julie  stopped  Verotchka,  .and,  taking  her  around  the 
waist,  led  her  to  iier  roon).  Serge  explained  that  his  wifj  wished  to  talk  a  liltlo 
longer  with  V6rotchka  in  order  to  know  her  character,  etc.  Then  he  led  tho 
conversation  back  to  Storcchnikoff.     All  Ibis  might  bo  charming;  but  Maria 


30  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

Alexovna,  who  was  by  no  means  innocent,  began  to  cast  suspicious  looks  about 
her.     Meanwhile  Julie  went  straight  to  the  matter  in  hand. 

"  My  dear  child,  your  mother  is  certainly  a  very  bad  woman,  but  in  order  that 
I  mixy  know  how  to  speak  to  you,  tall  me  why  yoa  woro  taken  to  the  theatre  last 
evening.  I  know  already  from  my  husband  ;  but  I  wish  to  get  your  view  of  the 
matter." 

Vurotchka  needed  no  urging,  and,  when  she  had  finished,  Julie  cried : 

"  Yes,  I  may  tell  you  all !  " 

And  in  t!ie  most  fitting  and  chaste  language  she  told  her  of  the  wager  of  the 
night  before.  To  which  Verotchka  answered  by  informing  her  of  the  invitation 
to  a  sleigh-ride. 

"  Did  he  intend  to  deceive  your  mother  ?     Or  were  they  in  conspiracy  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  "  quickly  cried  Verotchka,  "  my  mother  does  not  go  as  fur  as  that." 

"  [  shall  know  presently.     Stay  here ;  there  you  would  be  in  the  way." 

Julie  went  back  to  the  parlor. 

"  Serge,"  she  said,  "  he  has  alread}'  invited  this  woman  and  her  daughter  to  a 
sleigh-ride  this  evening.     Tell  her  about  the  supper." 

"  Your  daughter  pleases  my  wife ;  it  remains  but  to  fix  the  price,  and  we  shall 
be  agreed.  Let  us  come  back  to  our  mutual  acquaintance,  Storeclmikoflf.  You 
Ijraise  him  highly.  Do  you  know  what  he  says  of  his  relations  with  your  daugh- 
ter ?    Do  you  know  his  object  in  inviting  us  into  your  box  ?  " 

Maria  Alcxevna's  eyes  flashed. 
^  "  I  do  not  retail  scandal,  and  seldom  listen  to  it,"  she  said,  with  restrained 
anger;  "and  besides,"  she  added,  while  striving  to  appear  humble,  "the  chatter 
of  young  people  is  of  little  consequence." 

"  Possibly  !  But  what  do  you  say  to  this  ?  "  And  he  told  the  story  of  the  pre- 
vious night's  wager. 

"  Ah  !  the  rascal,  the  wretch,  the  ruffian  !  That  is  why  he  desired  to  take  us 
out  of  the  city, —  to  get  rid  of  me  and  dishonor  my  daughter." 

Maria  Alexevna  continued  a  long  time  in  this  strain;  then  she  thanked  the 
colonel ;  she  had  .seen  clearly  that  the  lessons  sought  were  but  a  feint ;  she  had 
suspected  ihem  of  desiring  to  take  Storechnikoff  away  from  her;  she  had  mis- 
judged them  ;  and  humbly  asked  their  pardon. 

Julie,  having  heard  all,  hastened  back  to  Verotchka,  and  told  her  that  her 
mother  was  not  guilty,  that  she  was  full  of  indignation  again.st  the  impostor,  but 
that  her  thirst  for  lucre  would  soon  lead  her  to  look  for  a  new  suitor,  which 
would  at  once  subject  Verotchka  to  new  annoyances.  Then  .she  asked  her  if  she 
had  relatives  in  St.  Petersburg,  and,  being  answered  in  the  negative,  Julie  said 
further : 

"  That  is  a  pity.     Have  you  a  lover  ?  " 

Verotchka  opened  her  eyes  wide. 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Parents.  31 

"  Forgive  me,  forgive  me !  That  is  imderstood.  But  then  you  are  without 
protection  ?  What's  to  be  done  ?  But  wait,  I  am  not  what  you  think  me ;  I  am 
not  his  wife,  but  his  mistress;  I  cannot  ask  you  to  my  house,  T  am  not  married  ; 
all  St.  Petersburg  knows  me.  Your  reputation  would  be  lost;  it  is  enough 
already  that  I  should  have  come  here;  to  come  a  second  time  would  be  to  ruin 
you.  But  I  must  see  you  once  more,  and  still  again  perhaps,  —  that  is,  if  you 
have  confidence  in  me?  Yes?  Good!  At  what  hour  shall  you  be  free  to- 
morrow ?  " 

"  At  noon." 

Noon  was  a  little  early  for  Julie ;  nevertheless  she  will  arrange  to  be  called 
and  will  meet  Vurotchka  by  the  side  of  the  Gastinoi  Dvor,*  opposite  the  Nevsky.f 
Ther(3  no  one  knows  Julie. 

"  What  a  good  idea ! "  continued  the  Frenchwoman.  "  Now  give  me  some 
paper,  that  I  may  write  to  M.  Storecbnikoff." 

The  note  which  she  wrote  read  as  follows  : 

"Monsieur,  yon  are  probably  very  much  disturbed  by  your  position.  If  you 
wish  me  to  aid  you,  call  on  me  this  evening  at  seven  o'clock. 

"  Now,  adieu. 

"J.  Letfjxier." 

But  instead  of  taking  the  hand  which  she  extended,  V6rotchka  threw  herself 
upon  hor  nock  and  wept  as  she  kissed  her.  Julie,  also  much  moved,  likewise 
could  not  restrain  her  tears,  and  with  an  outI)urst  of  extreme  tenderness  she 
kissed  the  young  girl  several  times,  while  making  a  thousand  protests  of  affec- 
tion. 

"Dear  cliild,"  she  said  at  last,  "  you  cannot  understand  my  present  Icelings. 
For  the  first  time  in  many  yeurs  pure  lips  iiave  touciuMJ  mine.  ()  my  cliiid,  if 
you  knew!  .  .  .  Never  give  a  kiss  without  love!  Choose  death  before  such  a 
calamity ! " 


Storechnikoff's  plan  was  not  so  lilack  as  IMaria  Alexevna  had  imagined,  .she 
having  no  reason  to  disljclieve  in  evil ;  but  it  was  none  the  less  infamous.  Tlicy 
were  to  start  off  in  a  sleigh  and  get  belated  in  the  evc-ning;  the  ladies  .soon  Iti'- 
oniing  ciild  and  hungry,  .Storeclinikoff  was  to  offer  them  some  tea;  in  the 
mother's  cup  he  w:is  to  put  a  little  opium  ;  then,  t:iking  ailvantage  of  the  young 
girl's  anxiety  and  fright,  he  was  to  conduct  her  to  the  supper-room,  and  the 
wager  was  won.  What  would  happen  then  chance  was  t<»  decide;  j)erli!i|)8 
V6rotchka,  dazed  and  not  clearly  understanding,  would  remain  a  moment;  if,  on 

•  The  PoIqIs  Iloyal  of  81.  rclorsburif. 

t  That  Is,  tbo  Pcrapcctlvo  Nevnky,  the  flactl  •trcet  In  St.  Petersburg. 


32  What's  To  Be  Done? 

the  contrary,  she  only  entered  and  at  once  went  out  again,  he  would  assert  that 
it  ^tas  the  first  time  she  had  been  out  alone,  and  the  wager  would  be  won  just  the 
same.  Finally  he  was  to  offer  money  to  Maria  Alexcvna.  .  .  .  Yes,  it  was  well 
planned.  But  now.  .  .  .  lie  cursed  his  presumption,  and  wished  himself  under 
the  earth. 

It  was  in  this  frame  of  mind  l^hat  he  received  Julie's  letter;  it  was  like  a  sov- 
ereign elixir  to  a  sick  man,  a  ray  of  light  in  utter  darkness,  firm  ground  under 
the  feet  of  one  sinking.     Storechnikoff  rose  at  a  bound  to  the  mo•^t  sanguine  hope 

"  She  will  save  me,  this  generous  woman.  She  is  so  intelligent  that  she  can 
invent  something  imperative.    O  noble  Julie  !  " 

At  ten  minutes  before  seven,  he  stood  at  her  door. 

"  Madame  is  waiting  for  you ;  please  come  in." 

Julie  received  him  without  rising.  What  majesty  in  her  mien  !  What  severity 
in  her  look ! 

"  I  am  very  glad  to  see  you ;  be  seated,"  she  said  to  him  in  answer  to  his  respect- 
fill  salutation. 

Not  a  muscle  of  his  face  moved ;  Storechnikoff  was  about  to  receive  a  stern 
reprimand.     What  matter,  provided  she  would  save  him  ? 

"  Monsieur  Storechnikoff,"  began  Julio,  in  a  cold,  slow  voice,  "  you  know  my 
opinion  of  the  affair  which  occasions  oiir  interview ;  it  is  useless  to  recall  the 
details.  I  have  seen  the  person  in  question,  and  I  know  the  proposition  that  you 
made  to  her  this  morning.  Therefore  I  know  all,  and  am  very  glad  to  be  re- 
lieved from  questioning  you.  Your  position  is  clear,  to  you  and  to  me.  ('•  God  !  " 
thought  Storechnikoff,  "  I  would  rather  be  upbraided  by  far !  ")  You  can  escape 
only  through  me.  If  you  have  any  reply  to  make,  I  am  waiting.  .  .  .  You  do 
not  reply  ?  You  believe,  then,  that  I  alone  can  come  to  your  aid.  I  will  tell  you 
what  I  can  do,  and,  if  you  deem  it  satisfoctory,  I  will  submit  my  conditions." 

Storechnikoff  having  "^iven  sign  of  assent,  she  resumed : 

"  I  have  prepared  here  a  letter  for  Jean,  in  which  I  tell  him  that,  since  the 
scene  of  last  night,  I  have  changed  my  mind,  and  that  I  will  join  in  the  supper, 
but  not  this  evening,  being  engaged  elsewhere;  so  I  beg  him  to  induce  you  to 
postpone  the  supper.  I  wi!l  make  him  understand  that,  having  won  your  wager, 
it  will  be  haril  for  30U  to  put  off  your  triumph.    Does  this  letter  suit  you  ?" 

"  Perfectly." 

"  Hut  I  will  send  the  letter  only  on  two  conditions.  You  can  refuse  to  accept 
them,  and  in  that  case  I  will  burn  the  letter. 

"  These  two  conditions,"  she  continued,  in  a  slow  voice  which  tortured  Storech- 
nikoff, —  "  these  two  conditions  are"  as  follows : 

"  First,  you  shall  stop  persecuting  this  young  person. 

"  Second,  you  shall  never  speak  her  name  again  in  your  conversations." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  " 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Parents.  33 

«  Yes." 

A  ray  of  joy  illuminated  StorechnikoflTs  countenance.  "  Only  that,"  he  thought. 
"  It  was  h;irclly  worth  while  to  frighten  me  so.  God  knows  how  ready  I  was  to 
grant  it." 

But  Julie  continued  with  the  same  solemnity  and  deliberation  : 

"  The  first  is  necessary  for  her,  the  second  for  her  also,  but  still  more  for  you ; 
I  will  postpone  the  supper  from  week  to  week  until  it  has  been  for;L!:otten.  And 
you  must  see  that  it  will  not  be  forgotten  unless  you  speak  the  name  of  this 
young  person  no  more." 

Then,  in  the  same  tone,  she  went  into  the  details  of  carrying  out  tlie  plan. 
"  Jean  will  receive  the  letter  in  season.  1  have  found  out  th:it  he  is  to  dine  at 
Bertha's.  He  will  go  to  your  house  after  smoking  his  cigar.  We  will  send  the 
letter,  then.  Do  you  wish  to  read  it?  Here  is  the  envelope.  I  will  ring  .  .  . 
Bauline,  you  will  take  this  letter.  We  have  not  seen  each  other  today.  Mon- 
sieur Storechnikoff  and  I.    Do  you  understand  ?  " 

At  last  the  letter  is  sent ;  Storechnikoff  breathes  more  freely,  and  is  quite  over- 
joyed at  his  deliverance. 

But  Julie  has  not  yet  done. 

"  In  a  <juart(!r  of  an  hour  you  must  be  at  home  in  order  that  Jean  may  find  you 
there;  you  have  a  moment  left,  and  I  wish  to  take  advantage  of  it  to  say  a  few 
words  more.  Yon  will  follow  my  advice,  or  not,  as  you  please;  l)iit  you  will 
reflc -t  upon  it. 

"  I  will  not  speak  of  the  duties  of  an  honest  man  toward  a  young  girl  whoso 
reputation  he  has  compromised.  I  know  our  worldly  youth  too  well  to  think  it 
useful  to  examine  that  side  of  the  question  at  any  Icnglh.  Yoin-  maniage  with 
this  young  person  would  seem  to  me  :i  good  thing  for  you.  I  will  i-xplaiii  myself 
with  my  usual  frankness,  and  thoiigli  souk?  of  the  things  lh;it  I  am  going  (o  .say 
may  wound  you.     If  I  go  too  far,  a  word  from  you  will  slop  nic  short.    Listen,  then  : 

"You  have  a  weak  character,  and,  if  you  fall  into  the  hands  of  a  Icid  woman, 
yon  will  lie  dnpt-d,  deceived,  and  toriun-d  iiild  th<!  bargain.  Shr  is  gooil,  and  has 
a  nol)le  he.irt;  in  spite  of  her  plebeinn  l.inli  mih!  poverty,  she  will  .lid  3 on 
singularly  in  your  career. 

"  Introduced  info  the  world  by  you,  she  will  shine  and  wield  an  influence  there. 
Thr;  advant;iges  whi'  h  such  a  situation  procure  for  .1  husfmnd  are  easy  to  see. 
Besides  these  (external  advantages,  there  are  others  Uiore  intimate  anti  precious 
still.  You  need  a  peac<'ful  home  and  even  a  little  watchful  care.  All  this  she 
can  give  you.  I  speak  in  all  seriousness;  my  observations  of  this  morning  tell 
me  that  she  is  perfection.     Think  of  what  I  have  said  to  yon. 

"  If  she  accei)t3,  whi(!h  I  very  much  dould,  I  '^h '11  consider  llie  aceeptanco  a 
great  piece  of  good  i'ortime  for  you. 

"  1  keep  you  no  longer ;  it  is  time  for  you  to  go." 


34  What's  To  Be  Done? 


VI. 

Verotchka  was  at  least  tranquil  for  the  time  being ;  her  mother  could  not  in 
fairness  be  angry  with  her  for  having  escaped  a  trap  so  basely  laid  ;  consequently 
she  was  left  free  enongli  the  next  day  to  enable  her  to  go  to  the  Gastinoi  Dvor 
without  hindrance. 

"  It  is  very  cold  here,  and  I  do  not  like  the  cold.  But  wait  here  a  moment," 
said  Julie,  on  arriving.     She  entered  a  store,  where  she  bought  a  very  thick  veil. 

"  Put  that  on  !  Now  you  may  come  with  me  without  being  recognized.  Pau- 
line is  ver}^  discreet;  yet  I  do  not  wish  her  to  see  you.  so  jealous  am  I  of  your 
reputation ;  and,  above  all,  do  not  lift  your  veil  while  we  are  together." 

Julie  was  dressed  in  her  servant's  cloak  and  hat,  and  her  face  was  hidden 
beneath  a  thick  veil.  First  they  were  obliged  to  warm  themselves;  after  which, 
being  questioned  by  Julie,  Verotchka  gave  her  the  latest  details. 

"  Good,  my  dear  child  ;  now  be  sure  that  he  asks  your  hand  in  marriage  Men 
like  him  become  madly  amorous  when  their  gallantries  are  received  unfavorably. 
Do  you  know  that  you  have  dealt  with  him  like  an  experienced  coquette  ? 
r'oquetry  —  I  do  not  mean  the  affected  and  fiilse  imitation  of  this  method  of  act- 
'ng  —  coquetry  is  nothing  but  a  high  degree  of  wit  and  tact  applied  to  the  rela- 
tions between  man  and  wnman.  Thus  it  is  that  innocent  young  girls  act  like 
experienced  coquettes  without  knowing  it ;  all  that  they  need  is  wit.  Perhaps, 
too,  my  arguments  will  have  some  influence  on  him.  But  the  principal  thing  is 
your  firmness;  however  that  may  be,  he  is  almost  sure  to  make  you  a  jjroposi- 
tion  of  marriage,  and  I  advise  you  to  accept  him." 

"  You  !  who  told  me  yesterday  that  it  was  better  to  die  than  to  give  a  kiss 
without  love." 

"  My  dear  child,  I  said  that  in  a  moment  of  exaltation  ;  it  is  right,  but  it  is 
poetry,  and  life  is  made  up  of  very  prosaic  interests." 

'•  No  !  I  will  never  marry  him  ;  he  fills  me  with  horror  !  I  will  never  stoop  to 
that !  I  would  rather  die,  throw  myself  out  of  the  window,  ask  alms !  Yes, 
rather  death  than  a  man  so  debased  !  " 

Julie,  without  being  disconcerted,  began  to  explain  the  advantages  of  the  mar- 
riage which  she  had  planned: 

"  You  would  be  delivered  from  your  mother's  persecutions ;  you  would  run  no 
more  risk  of  being  .«old.  As  for  him,  he  is  rather  stupid,  but  he  is  not  such  a 
wretch.  A  husband  of  that  sort  is  what  an  intelligent  woman  like  you  needs; 
you  would  rule  the  household." 

Then  she  told  her  in  a  lively  way  of  the  actresses  and  singers  who,  far  from 
being  made  submissive  to  men  through  love,  subjugate  them,  on  the  contrary.    -^ 

"  That  is  a  fine  position  for  a  woman  !  and  (imn-  yet  when  she  joins  to  such 
independence  and  power  a  legality  of  ties  which  comujands  tlie  respect  of  society  j 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  icith  her  Parents.  35 

that  is,  when  she  is  married,  and  loved  and  admired  by  her  husband,  as  the 
actress  is  by  the  lover  whom  she  has  subjugated." 

The  conversation  grew  more  and  more  animated.  Julie  said  much,  and 
Verotchka  replied : 

"  You  call  me  whimsical,  and  you  ask  me  how  I  look  upon  life.  I  wish  neither 
to  dominate  nor  be  dominated  ;  I  wish  neither  to  dissimulate  nor  deceive ;  nor  do 
I  wish  to  exert  myself  to  acquire  that  which  I  am  told  is  necessary,  but  of  which 
I  do  not  feel  the  need.  I  do  not  desire  wealth  ;  why  should  I  seek  it?  The  world 
does  not  attract  me ;  to  shine  in  society  is  of  little  moment  to  me ;  why  should  I 
make  efforts  in  that  direction  ? 

"  Not  only  would  I  not  sacrilicc  mj  self  for  those  things  of  wliich  tlie  world 
boasts  so  loudly,  but  I  would  not  even  sacrifice  one  of  my  capriies.  I  wish  to  be 
independent  and  live  in  my  own  fashion.  What  I  need  I  feel  that  I  have  the 
strength  to  earn  ;  w  hat  I  do  not  need  I  do  not  desire.  You  say  that  I  am  young, 
inexperienced,  and  that  I  shall  change  with  time;  that  remains  to  be  seen.  For 
the  present  I  have  no  concern  with  the  wealth  and  splendor  of  the  world. 

"  You  will  ask  me  what  I  desire.  I  do  not  know.  If  I  ne^'d  ti)  be  in  love,  I  do 
Tii(t  know  it.  Did  I  know,  yesterday  morning,  that  I  was  goinir  to  love  you? 
tliat  my  heart  was  going  to  be  taken  iKJSsession  of  by  friendship  a  few  liours 
later?  Certainly  not.  No  more  can  I  know  how  I  .shall  fed  toward  a  man  wlicn 
I  shall  be  in  love  with  liini.  \\hat  I  do  know  is  that  I  wish  to  be  free;  that  I  dc 
not  wish  to  be  under  obligations  to  any  one,  djjpendent  on  any  one  ;  I  wish  to  a(!t 
after  my  own  fancy  ;  let  others  do  the  SLime.  I  respect  the  liberty  of  dthers.  as 
I  wi.sh  them  to  respect  mine."' 

Julie  listened,  moveil  and  thoughtful,  and  several  times  she  blushed. 

"Oh!  my  dear  <-liild,  how  thoroughly  right  you  an;!"  .she  cried,  in  a  broken 
voice.  "  Ah  !  if  1  were  not  so  (h  pr.ived  !  'J'hey  (mH  n)e  an  immor.il  woman,  my 
body  has  l)een  polluted,  i  huve  siilVered  so  much, —  but  lli;it  is  not  wh.il  I  eou- 
sidiT  my  depravity.  My  depravity  consists  in  being  habidiiited  to  luxury  and 
idleness;  in  not  being  abb;  to  live  without  <»thers  .... 

"  Tliifortuiiati;  lli;it  I  am  !  I  (leprav(!  you,  poor  ehil.l,  and  willioiit  intending  it. 
Forgive  me,  and  forget  :ill  that  1  have  sai<l.  Yon  wy,-  right  in  di'spising  (he 
world  ;  it  is  vile  and  even  more  worthles.s  tli m  I 

"Wherever  idleness  is,  there  is  vice  ;iii(l  .ilioinination  ;  wherever  luxury  is 
there  also  i.s  vice  .ind  abomination.     Adieu  !     ( ',u  ipiickly !  " 

vir. 

Storeehnikoff  rem.iined  |)Iunged  in  this  thought,  cherisluMJ  more  and  more:  //' 
indcvd  J  should  inarrij  hir.  Under  thcst;  cireimistances  then;  happi;?ied  lo  liini 
what  happens,  not  only  to  incouslant  m»rn  like  him,  but  also  \a)  men  of  (inner 


36  What 's  To  Be  Bone  9 

character.  The  history  of  peoples  is  full  of  similar  cases :  see  the  pages  of 
Hume,  Gibbon,  Ranke,  Thierry.  Men  drag  themselves  along  in  a  beaten  track 
simply  because  they  have  been  told  to  do  so ;  but  tell  them  in  a  very  loud  voice 
to  take  another  road,  and,  though  they  will  not  hear  you  at  first,  they  will  soon 
throw  themselves  into  the  new  path  with  the  same  spirit.  Storechnikofif  had 
been  told  that,  with  a  great  fortune,  a  young  man  has  only  to  choose  among  the 
poor  the  beauty  whom  he  desires  for  a  mistress,  and  that  is  why  he  had  thought 
of  making  a  mistress  of  Verotchka.  Now  a  new  word  h  id  been  thrown  into  his 
head :  Marriage  !  And  he  pondered  over  this  question  :  Shall  I  marry  her  ?  as 
before  he  had  pondered  over  the  other :  Shall  I  make  her  my  mistress  ? 

That  is  the  common  trait  by  which  Stoi-echnikoflf  represented  in  his  person,  in 
a  satisfactory  manner,  nine-tenths  of  his  fellow-citizens  of  the  world.  Historians 
and  psychologists  tell  us  that  in  each  special  fact  the  common  fact  is  individual- 
ized by  local,  temporary,  individual  elements,  and  that  tliese  particular  elements 
are  precisely  those  of  most  importance.  Let  us  examine,  then,  our  particular 
case.  The  main  feature  had  been  pointed  out  by  Julie  (as  if  she  had  taken  it 
from  Russian  novels,  which  all  speak  of  it)  :  resistance  excites  desire.  Storech- 
uikoff  had  become  accustomed  to  dream  of  the  possession  of  Verotchka.  Like 
Julie  I  caH  things  by  their  names,  as,  moreover,  almost  all  of  us  do  in  current 
conversation.  For  some  time  his  imagination  had  represented  Verotchka  in  poses 
each  more  voluptuous  than  its  predecessor ;  these  pictures  had  inflamed  his  mind, 
and,  when  he  believed  himself  on  the  point  of  their  realization,  Verotchka  had 
IjIowq  upon  his  dream,  and  all  had  vanished.  But  if  he  could  not  have  her  as  a 
mistress,  he  could  have  her  as  a  wife ;  and  what  matters  it  which  after  all,  pro- 
vided his  gross  sensuality  be  satisiied,  provided  his  wildest  erotic  dreams  be 
realized  P  O  human  degradation !  to  possess !  Who  dares  possess  a  human 
being?  One  may  possess  a  pair  of  slippers,  a  dressing-gown.  But  what  do  I 
say .''  Each  of  us,  men,  possesses  some  one  of  you,  our  sisters  !  Are  you,  then,  our 
sisters  ?  You  are  our  servants.  There  are,  I  know,  some  women  who  subjugate 
some  men ;  but  what  of  that  ?  Many  valets  rule  their  masters,  but  that  does  not 
prevent  valets  from  being  valets. 

These  amorous  images  had  developed  in  Storechnikofi's  mind  after  the  inter- 
view at  the  theatre ;  he  had  found  her  a  hundred  times  more  beautiful  than  at 
first  he  deemed  her,  and  his  polluted  imagination  was  excited. 

It  is  with  beauty  as  with  wit,  as  with  all  qualities;  men  value  it  by  the  judg- 
ment of  general  opinion.  Every  one  sees  that  a  beautiful  face  is  beautiful,  but 
how  Ijeautiful  is  it?  It  is  at  this  point  that  the  data  of  current  opinion  become 
necessary  to  classification.  As  long  as  V6rotchka  sat  in  the  galleries  or  in  the 
back  rows  gf  the  pit,  she  was  not  noticed  ;  but  when  she  appeared  in  one  of  the 
boxes  of  the  second  tier,  several  glasses  were  levelled  at  her ;  and  how  many 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Parents.  37 

were  the  expressions  of  admiration  heard  by  Storechnikoff  when  he  returned  to 
the  lobby  after  escorting  her  to  the  carriage ! 

"  Serge,"  said  Storechnikoff,  "  is  a  man  of  very  fine  taste  !  And  Julie  ?  how 
about  her  ?  Hut  .  ,  .  when  one  has  only  to  lay  his  hand  on  such  a  marvel,  he 
does  not  ask  himself  by  what  title  he  shall  possess  her." 

His  ambition  was  aroused  as  well  as  his  desires.  Julie's  phrase,  "  I  doubt  very 
ranch  whether  she  accepts  you,"  excited  him  still  more.  "  What !  she  will  not 
accept  me,  with  such  a  uniform  and  such  a  house  !  I  will  prove  to  you,  French- 
woman, that  she  will  accept  me ;  yes,  she  shall  accejit  me  !  " 

There  was  still  another  influence  that  tended  to  inflame  StorechnikolTs  pas- 
sion :  his  mother  would  certainly  oppose  the  marriage,  and  in  this  she  repre- 
sented the  opinion  of  society.  Now,  heretofore  Storecbnikofl'  had  feared  his 
mother ;  but  evidently  this  dependence  was  a  burden  to  him.  And  the  thought, 
"  I  <lo  not  fear  her,  I  have  a  character  of  my  own,"  was  very  well  calculated  to 
flatter  the  ambition  of  a  man  as  devoid  of  character  as  he. 

He  was  also  urged  onby  the  desire  to  advance  a  little  in  his  career  through 
the  influence  of  his  wife. 

And  to  all  this  it  must  be  added  that  Storechnikoff  could  not  present  himself 
before  Verotchka  in  his  former  role,  and  he  desired  so  much  to  see  her ! 

In  short,  ho  dreamed  of  the  marriage  more  and  more  every  day,  and  a  week 
afterwards,  on  Sunday,  while  Maria  Alexevna,  after  attending  mass,  was  con- 
sidering how  she  could  best  coax  him  back,  he  presented  himself  and  formulated 
his  request.  V/irotchka  remaining  in  her  room,  he  had  to  address  himself  to 
iMaria  Alexevna,  who  answered  that  for  lier  part  the  marriage  would  be  a  great 
hf)nor,  but  that  as  an  affectionate  motiiLM-  she  wished  to  consult  her  daiighler, 
and  that  he  might  return  the  next  mornTng  to  get  his  answer. 

"  What  an  excellent  daughter  we  have!  "  said  Maria  Alexevna  to  her  husband 
a  moment  later.  "  How  well  she  know  how  to  take  him  !  And  I  who,  not  know- 
ing hf»w  to  rofinticn  him,  thought  that  all  was  to  begin  over  again!  I  oven 
thought  it  a  hopidcss  affair.  But  she,  my  Verka,  did  not  spoil  matters;  she  con- 
ducted them  with  perfect  strategy,     (iood  girl  !  " 

"  It  is  thus  that  the  Lord  inspires  ohihlron,"  said  P.ivel  Koustanliiiytcli. 

He  rarely  played  a  part  in  the  family  life.  liut  Maria  Alexevna  w;is  a  Htriet 
observer  of  traditions,  and  in  a  cast;  like  this,  of  convoying  to  her  daughter  the 
proposition  that  hail  been  made,  she  hastened  to  give  her  husband  the  rdlr  of 
honor  which  by  right  belongs  to  the  head  of  the  family  and  the  master. 

Pavel  Konstantinvtch  and  Maria  Alexevna  installed  themselvcH  upon  tiic 
divan,  the  only  place  Sf)lemn  enough  for  such  a  purpose,  and  sent  Matroena  to 
ask  Mademoiselle  to  be  good  enough  to  come  to  them. 

"V6ra,"  began  Pavel  Konstantinyteh,  "Mikhail  Ivanytch  does  us  a  groat 
honor :  he  asks  your  hand.     Wo  have  answered  him  that,  as  affoctionato  parents. 


y 


38  What's  To  Be  Done? 

we  did  not  wish  to  coorco  you,  but  tliat  for  our  part  we  were  pleased  with  his 
suit.  Like  the  obedient  and  wise  daughter  that  we  have  always  found  you  to  be, 
trust  to  our  (Experience:  we  have  never  dared  to  ask  of  God  such  a  suitor.  Do 
you  accept  Iiiiu,  Vera  ?  " 

*TS^b,"  safd  T6rotchka. 

"  What  do  I  hear,  Vera?"  cried  Pavel  Konstantinytch  (the  thing  was  so  clear 
that  he  could  fall  into  a  rage  witliout  asking  his  wife's  advice). 

"  Are  you  mad  or  an  idiot?  Just  dare  to  repeat  what  you  said,  detestable  rag 
that  you  are !  "  cried  Maria  Alexevna,  beside  herself  and  her  fists  raiseti  over  her 
daughter. 

"Calm  yourself.  Mamma,"  said  Vcrotchka,  rising  also.  "  If  you  touch  me,  I 
will  leave  the  house ;  if  you  shut  me  up,  I  will  throw  myself  out  of  the  window. 
I  knew  how  you  would  receive  my  refusal,  and  have  considered  well  all  that  I 
have  to  do.    Seat  yourself,  and  be  tranquil,  or  I  go." 

Maria  Alexevna  sat  down  again.  "  What  stupidity  !  "  she  thought ;  "  we  did 
not  lock  the  outer  door.  It  takes  but  a  second  to  push  the  bolt  back.  This  mad 
creature  will  go,  as  she  says,  and  no  one  will  stop  her." 

"  I  will  not  be  his  Avifej,"  repeated  the  young  girl,  "  and  without  my  consent 
the  marriage  cannot  take  place." 

"  Vera,  you  are  mad,"  insisted  the  mother  with  a  stifled  voice. 

"  Is  it  possible?     What  shall  we  say  to  him  tomorrow  ?  "  added  the  father. 

"  It  is  not  your  fault ;  i^;  is  I  who  refuse." 

The  scene  laste<l  nearly  two  hours.  Maria  Alexevna,  furious,  cried,  and 
twenty  times  raised  her  tightly  clenched  fists :  but  at  each  outbreak  Vcrotchka 
said : 

"  Do  not  rise,  or  I  go  " 

Thus  they  disputed  without  coming  to  any  conclusion,  when  the  entrance  of 
Matroena  to  ask  if  it  was  time  to  serve  dinniu- — the  cake  havinj;  been  in  the 
oven  too  long  already  —  put  an  end  to  it  all. 

"  Reflect  until  evening.  Vera,  there  is  yet  time ;  reconsider  your  determina- 
tion ;  it  would  be  unspeakable  foolishness." 

Then  Maria  Alexevna  said  something  in  Matroena's  ear. 

"  ilamma,  you  are  trying  to  set  some  trap  for  me,  to  take  the  key  from  my 
chamber  door,  or  something  of  that  sort.  Do  nothing  of  the  kind  :  it  would  be 
worse." 

Again  Maria  Alexevna  yielded. 

"  Do  not  do  it,"  she  said,  addressing  the  cook.  "  This  jade  is  a  wild  beast. 
Oh  !  if  it  were  not  that  he  wants  her  for  her  face,  I  would  tear  it  to  pieces.  But 
if  I  touch  her,  she  is  capable  of  self-mutilation.  Oh,  wretch  !  Oh,  serpent !  If  I 
could!" 

They  dined  without  saying  a  word.    After  dinner  V6rotchka  went  back  to  her 


The  Life  of  Vera  Paulovna  wUh  her  Parents.  39 

room.  Pavel  Konstantinytch  lay  down,  according  to  his  habit,  to  slc«'i>  a  little; 
but  he  did  not  succeed,  for  hardly  had  he  begun  to  doze  when  IMatrocna  in- 
formed him  that  the  servant  of  the  mistress  of  the  house  had  come  to  ask  him  to 
call  upon  her  instantly, 

Matroena  trembl';d  like  a  leaf. 

Why? 

VIII. 

And  why  should  she  not  tremble  ?  Had  she  not,  without  loss  of  time,  told  the 
wife  of  the  mistress's  cook  of  the  suit  of  Mikhail  Ivanytch  ?  The  latter  had  com- 
plained to  the  second  waiting-maid  of  the  secrets  that  were  kept  from  her.  The 
second  servant  had  protested  her  innocence :  if  she  had  known  anythin<'-,  she 
would  have  said  so ;  she  had  no  secrets,  she  told  everything.  The  cook's  wife- 
then  made  apologies ;  but  the  second  servant  ran  straight  to  the  first  servant  anil 
told  her  the  great  news. 

"  Is  it  possible  ?  "  cried  the  latter.  "  As  I  did  not  know  it,  then  Madame  docs 
not;  ho  has  concealed  his  course  from  his  mother."  And  she  ran  to  warn  Anna 
Petrovna. 

See  what  a  fuss  Matroena  had  caused. 

"(J  my  wicked  tongue!  "  said  she,  angrily.  "  Fine  things  arc  going  to  happcM 
to  me  nf)W !     Maria  Alexevna  will  make  inquiries." 

But  the  affair  took  such  a  turn  that  Maria  Alexevna  forgot  to  look  for  ilic 
origin  of  the  indiscretion. 

.Anna  I'ctruvna  sighcil  and  groaned;  twice  slio  I'aiulcil  Ik-Ium'  licr  lirsi  waidng- 
maid.  That  showed  that  she  was  deeply  afflicted.  She  sent  in  search  of  her 
won. 

He  camt'. 

"  Can  what  I  li.iv(!  iieanl,  Michel,  i;e  true!'"  she  said  to  liiui  in  licncli  in  :i 
voice  at  onc(!  broken  and  furious. 

"What  have  you  heard,  Mamma?" 

"That  you  hav(Mn.idu  a  |)roposilion  of  m.irriage  to  that lolliil   .  .  . 

to  that to  the  daughter  of  our  .steward." 

"  It  is  true.  Mamma." 

"  Without  asking  your  mother'.-*  advice?  " 

"  I  intend(!d  to  wait,  before  .asking  your  cons-nt,  unlil  I  lia<l  receive"!  hers." 

"  You  ought  to  know,  it  seems  to  nm,  th.it  it  is  easier  to  obtain  iier  uunaenl 
than  mine." 

"  Mamma,  it  is  now  allowable  to  first  aak  the  consent  of  the  young  girl  .and 
then  speak  to  the  parents." 

"  That  is  allowaljle,  for  you?     I'orbap.s  fi>r  you  it  is  also  allowal)le  that  sons  ol 


40  W/uii's  To  Be  Bone? 

good  family  should    marry  a one  knows  not  what,  and  that  mothera 

should  give  their  consent !  " 

"  Mamma,  she  is  not  a  one  knows  not  what;  when  you  know  her,  you  will  ap- 
prove my  choice." 

"  When  I  know  her !  I  shall  never  know  her !  Approve  your  choice !  I 
forbid  you  to  think  of  it  any  longer  !     I  forbid  you,  do  you  understand?  " 

''  iNIamma,  this  parental  aljsolntism  is  now  somewhat  out  of  date;  I  am  not  a 
little  boy,  to  be  led  by  the  end  of  the  nose.     I  know  what  I  am  about." 

"  Ah !  "  cried  Anna  Petrovna,  closing  her  eyes. 

Though  to  Maria  Alexevna,  Julie,  and  Verotchka,  Mikhail  Ivanytch  seemed  ^ 
stupid  and  irresolute,  it  was  because  they  were  women  of  mind  and  character : 
but  here,  so  far  as  mind  was  concerned,  the  weapons  were  equal,  and  if,  in  point 
of  character,  the  balance  was  in  favor  of  the  mother,  the  son  had  quite  another 
advantage.  Hitherto  he  had  feared  his  mother  from  habit ;  but  he  had  as  good  a 
memory  as  hers.  They  both  knew  that  he,  Mikhail  Ivanytch,  w^as  the  real  pro- 
prietor of  the  establishment.  This  explains  why  Anna  Petrovna,  instead  oi 
coming  straight  to  the  decisive  words,  I  forbid  you,  availed  herself  of  expedi- 
ents and  prolonged  the  conversation.  But  Mikhail  Ivanytch  had  akeady  gone  so 
far  that  he  could  not  recoil. 

"  I  assure  you,  Mamma,  that  you  could  not  have  a  better  daughter." 

"  Monster  !     Assassin  of  your  mother !  " 

"  Mamma,  let  us  talk  in  cold  blood.  Sooner  or  later  I  must  marry ;  now,  a 
married  man  has  more  expenses  than  a  bachelor.  I  could,  if  I  chose,  marry 
such  a  woman  that  all  the  revenues  of  the  house  would  hardly  be  enough  for  us. 
If,  on  the  rontrar}',  I  marry  this  girl,  you  will  have  a  dutiful  daughter,  and  you 
can  live  with  us  as  in  the  past." 

"  Be  silent,  monster !     Leave  me  !  " 

"  Mamma,  do  not  get  angrj-,  I  beg  of  you ;  it  is  not  my  fault." 

"You  marry  a  plebeian,  a  servant,  and  it  is  not  your  fault!  " 

"  Now,  Mamma,  I  leave  you  without  further  solicitation,  for  I  cannot  suffer  her 
to  be  thus  characterized  in  my  presence." 

"  Go,  assassin  !  " 

Anna  Petrovna  fainted,  and  Michol  went  away,  quite  content  at  having  come 
off  so  well  in  this  first  skirmish,  which  in  affairs  of  this  sort  is  the  most 
important. 

When  her  son  had  gone,  Anna  Petrovna  hastened  to  come  out  of  her  fainting 
fit.  The  situition  was  serious ;  her  son  was  escaping  her.  In  reply  to  "  I  for- 
bid you,"  he  had  explained  that  the  house  belonged  to  him.  After  calming  her- 
self a  little,  she  called  her  servant  and  confided  her  sorrow  to  her ;  the  latter, 
who  shared  the  contempt  of  her  mistress  for  the  steward's  daughter,  advised  her 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Parents.  41 

to  bring  her  influence  to  bear  upon  the  parents.    And  that  is  why  Anna  Petrovna 
had  just  sent  for  her  steward. 

"  Hitherto  I  have  been  very  well  satisfied  with  you,  Pavel  Konstantinytch,  but 
intrigues,  in  which,  I  hope,  you  have  no  part,  may  set  us  seriDusly  at  variance," 

"  Your  excellency,  it  is  none  of  my  doing,  God  is  my  witness." 

"  I  already  knew  that  Michel  was  paying  court  to  your  daugliter.  I  did  not 
prevent  it,  for  a  young  man  needs  distraction.  I  am  indulgent  toward  the  follies 
of  youth.  But  I  will  not  allow  the  degradation  of  my  family.  How  did  your 
daughter  come  to  entertain  such  hopes?  " 

"  Your  excellency,  she  has  never  entertained  them.  She  is  a  respectful  girl ; 
we  have  brou^^ht  her  up  in  obedience.'" 

'■  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  " 

"  She  will  never  dare  to  thwart  your  will." 

Anna  Peti-ovna  could  not  believe  her  ears.  Was  it  possible  ?  She  could,  then, 
relieve  herself  so  easily  ! 

"  Listen  to  my  will.  I  cannot  consent  to  so  strange,  I  should  say  so  unlittiiig, 
a  marriage." 

"  We  feel  that,  your  excellency,  and  V6rotchka  feels  it  too.  These  are  her  own 
words  :  '  I  dare  not,  fur  fear  of  oflending  her  excellency.'  " 

"  How  did  all  this  happen?" 

"  It  happened  in  this  wise,  your  excellency :  ^likhail  Ivanytch  condescended  to 
express  his  intentions  to  my  wife,  and  my  wife  told  him  that  she  could  i\o\  give 
him  a  reply  before  tomorrow  morning.  Now,  my  wife  and  I  intended  to  speak 
to  you  fiist.  15ut  we  did  not  dare  to  disturb  your  excellency  at  so  late  an  hour. 
Aftr-r  the  departure  of  Mikluul  Ivanytcii,  we  said  as  much  to  Vei'otciika,  who 
answered  that  she  was  of  our  opinion  and  that  the  thing  was  not  to  be  thouglil 
of." 

"  Your  dauglilcr  is,  then,  a  pnnlciit  and  honest  girl  •'  " 
•    "  Why,  certaiidy,  your  excellency,  she  is  a  dutiful  daughter  !  " 

"  I  am  very  ylad  that  we  can  remain  friends.  I  wish  to  reward  you  instantly. 
The  large  room  on  the  second  lloor,  facing  on  tlie  street  and  ii>)W  oecupie<l  l)y 
the  tailor,  will  soon  l)e  vacant  •'  " 

"  III  three  days,  your  excellency." 

"Take  it  jourself,  find  you  may  spcini  n|i  to  ,i  hiiiidied  roubles  to  put  it  in 
good  ordf-r.  Further,  I  idd  two  hundred  ;iim1  forty  roubles  a  year  to  \nur 
salary." 

"  Deign  to  let  me  kiss  your  hand,  your  excellency." 

"  Pshaw,  pshaw  !     Tatiana!  "     The  servantcame  rinuiing  in. 

"  liring  me  my  blue  velvet  cloak.  1  make  your  wife  a  present  of  it.  It  cost 
one  hundrpd  and  fifty  roul)Ies  [it  really  cost  only  seventy-nve].  and  I  liave  worn 
it  only  twice  [she   had    worn  it  more  than    twenty  times].     This   is   lor  your 


42  What's  To  Be  Done? 

(laughter  [Anna  Petrovna  handed  the  steward  a  small  watch  such  as  ladies 
(.■airj]  ;  I  paid  three  hundred  roubles  for  it  [she  paid  one  hundred  and  twenty]. 
You  see,  1  know  how  to  reward,  and  I  shall  always  remember  you,  always !  Do 
not  forgot  that  1  am  indulgent  toward  the  foibles  of  the  young." 

When  the  steward  had  gone,  Anna  Petrovna  again  called  Tatiana. 

"  Ask  Mikhail  Ivanyteh  to  come  and  talk  with  me But  no,  I  will  go 

myself  instead."  She  feared  that  the  ambassadress  would  teli  her  son's  servant, 
anil  the  servant  her  son,  what  had  happened.  She  wished  to  have  the  pleasure 
of  crushing  her  son's  spirit  with  this  unexpected  news.  She  found  Mikhail 
Ivanyteh  lying  down  and  twirling  his  moustache,  not  without  some  inward  satis- 
faction. 

f  "  What  brings  her  here  ?  I  have  no  preventive  of  fainting  fits,"  thought  he,  on 
seeing  his  mother  enter.  But  he  saw  in  her  countenance  an  expression  of  dis- 
dainful triumph. 

She  took  a  seat  and  said : 

"  Sit  up,  Mikhail  Ivanyteh,  and  we  will  talk." 

She  looked  at  him  a  long  time,  with  a  smile  upon  her  lips.  At  last  she  said 
slowly : 

"  I  am  very  happy,  Mikhail  Ivanyteh  :  guess  at  what." 

"  I  do  not  know  what  to  think.  Mamma ;  your  look  is  so  strange." 

"  You  will  sec  that  it  is  not  strange  at  all ;  look  closely  and  you  will  divine, 
perhaps." 

A  prolonged  silence  followed  this  fresh  thrust  of  sarcasm.  The  son  lost  him- 
self in  fon jectures ;  the  mother  delighted  in  her  tiiumph. 

"  You  cannot  guess;  I  will  tell  you.  It  is  very  simple  and  very  natural ;  if 
you  had  h:id  a  particle  of  elevated  feeling,  you  would  have  guessed.  Your  mis- 
tress," —  in  the  previous  conversation  Anna  Petrovna  had  manoeuvi'ed ;  now  it 
was  no  longer  necessary,  the  enemy  being  disarmeil,  —  "  your  mistress,  —  do  not 
reply,  Mikhail  Ivanyteh,  you  have  loudly  asserted  on  all  sides  yourself  that  she^ 
is  your  mistress,  —  your  mistress,  this  creature  of  base  extraction,  base  educa- 
tion, base  conduct,  this  even  contemptible  creature"  .... 

"  Mamma,  my  ear  cannot  tolerate  such  expressions  applied  to  a  young  girl  who 
is  to  be  my  wife." 

"  I  would  not  have  used  them  if  I  had  had  any  idea  that  she  could  be  your 
wife.  I  did  so  with  the  view  of  explaining  to  you  that  that  will  not  occur  and 
of  telling  you  at  the  same  time  why  it  will  not  occur.  Let  me  finish,  then. 
Afterwards  you  can  reproach  me,  if  you  like,  for  the  expressions  which  I  ha\  e 
used,  suppo.sing  that  you  still  beli(?ve  them  out  of  place.  But  meantime  let  me 
finish.  I  wish  to  say  to  you  that  your  mistress,  this  creature  without  name  or 
education,  devoid  of  sentiment,  has  herself  comprehended  the  utter  impropriety 
of  your  designs.     Is  not  that  enough  to  cover  you  with  shame  ?  " 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Parents.  43 

"  What  ?    What  do  you  say  ?    Finish  !  " 

"  You  do  not  let  rae.  I  meant  to  say  that  even  this  creature  —  do  you  under- 
stand? even  this  creature!  —  comprehended  and  appreciated  ray  feelings,  and, 
alter  learning  from  her  mother  that  you  had  made  a  proposition  for  her  hand, 
she  sent  her  father  to  tell  me  that  she  would  never  rise  against  my  will  and 
would  not  dishonor  our  fomily  with  her  degraded  name." 

"  Mamma,  you  deceive  rae." 

"  Fortunately  for  you  and  for  me,  I  tell  only  the  exact  truth.  She  says 
that" 

But  MikhaTl  Ivanytch  was  no  longer  in  the  room ;  ho  was  putting  on  his  cloak 
to  go  out 

'•  Hold  him,  I'letrr,  hold  him!  "  cried  Anna  I'etrovna. 

Pojtre  opened  his  eyes  wide  at  hearing  so  extraordinary  an  order.  Meanwhile 
Mikliad  Ivanytch  rapidly  descended  the  staircase. 

IX. 

•  Well  ?"  said  Maria  Alexevna,  when  her  husband  reentered. 

"  All  goes  well,  all  goes  well,  litth;  mother  !  She  knew  already,  and  .s.iid  In  njt- : 
'  Ilctw  dare  you  1' '  and  I  told  her;  '  ^Ve  ^h)  not  dare,  your  excellency,  ami  \'i'- 
lotchka  has  ain-ady  refused  him.'   ' 

•'  What  ?     What  ^     You  were  stupid  enough  to  say  that,  ass  tiiat  you  arc  ?  " 

"  Maria  Alexevna  "  .  .  .  . 

"Ass!  It.-iscai  !  You  have  killcii  nic,  niiinlcred  me.  you  old  stupid  !  'I'luic's 
oM(!  for  you  !  [lln-  liusband  received  a  blow.]  And  thenr.s  another!  [the  liusbanti  M, 
icciived  a  blow  on  lln;  otiiii-  check].  Wait.  I  will  (each  you,  you  obi  imbcj- 
cile!"  And  she  seized  liiin  by  the  hair  aud  pulled  him  into  the  room.  The 
les.son  lasted  sufTutifnllv  long,  for  Ston;clinikofV,  n'.acliiiig  (he  ronm  al'trr  the  Ion;,' 
pauses  of  liis  tuoLlier  and  the  inrnrm.ition  wliidi  she  gave  biiii  bftwci-ii  tluui, 
found  Maria  .\l«'Xovna  still  actively  engagcil  in  lici-  work  ol  (diicalion. 

•'  Why  did  you  not  clcsc  tlie  door,  you  imijecilei'  .\  pretty  sl.Ue  \\v  \uv  fonnd 
in!  Arc  you  not  a.shamed,  you  old  he-goat  :•' "  Thai  wa>^  all  tlial  .Maria  .\li\- 
cvna  found  to  say, 

"Where  is  Vi'ira  Tavlovna :'  I  wish  to  see  li<i  dirrelly.  Is  il  line  llial  she 
n'fu.scs  me  ?  "  said  StorechnikolV 

The  eireumstaiiecs  W(Te  so  rmbiinas-ing  llial  .Maria  .\li\t\  iia  •■oubl  do  iiolli- 
ing  but  d(!sist.  i'rteisely  like  Napoleon  after  the  balllfof  \Val<  iloo,  when  be 
believed  himself  lost  through  the  incapacity  t)f  AfarHhal  (;roucliy,  though  really 
the  fault  was  his  own,  so  Maria  Alexevna  belirved  Ik  i-  liusband  the  author  of  the 
evil.  Napoleon,  too,  .struggled  wilh  tenacity,  did  niarvels,  and  ended  oidy  with 
these  words:  "  1  abdicate;  do  what  you  will." 


44  What's  To  Be  Done? 

"  Is  it  true  that  you  refuse  mc,  V6ra  Pavlovna  P  " 

"  I  leave  it  to  you,  could  I  do  otherwise  than  refuse  you  ?  " 

"  V6ra  Pavlovna,  I  have  outraged  you  in  a  cowardly  manner ;  I  am  guilty  ;  but 
your  refusal  kills  me."    And  again  he  began  his  supplications. 

V6rotchka  listened  for  some  minutes ;  then,  to  end  the  painful  interview,  she 
said : 

"  Mikhail  Ivanylch,  your  entreaties  are  useless.  You  will  never  get  my  con- 
sent." 

"  At  least  grant  me  one  favor.    You  still  feel  very  keenly  how  deeply  I  out- 
raged you.    Do  not  give  me  a  reply  to-day  ;  let  me  have  time  to  become  worthy 
of  your  pardon  !     1  seem  to  you  despicable,  but  wait  a  little:  I  wish  to  become 
better  and  more  worthy  ;  aid  me,  do  not  repel  me,  grant  me  time."   I  will  obey  '' 
you  in  all  things  !     Perhaps  at  last  you  will  find  me  worthy  of  pardon." 

"  I  j)ity  you;  I  see  the  sincerity  of  your  love  [it  is  not  love,  Verotchka ;  it  is  a 
mixture  of  something  low  w'ith  something  painful;  one  maybe  very  unhappy 
and  deeply  mortified  by  a  woman's  refusal  without  really  loving  her ;  love  is 
quite  another  thing,  —  but  Verotchka  is  still  ignorant  regarding  these  things, 
and  she  is  moved],  —  you  wish  me  to  postpone  my  answer ;  so  be  it,  then  !  But 
I  warn  you  that  the  postponement  will  end  in  nothing ;  I  shall  never  give  you 
any  other  reply  than  that  which  I  have  given  you  to-day." 

"  I  will  become  worthy  of  another  answer ;  you  save  me  !  " 

He  seized  her  hand  and  kissed  it  rapturously. 

Maria  Alexevna  entered  the  room,  and  in  her  enthusiasm  blessed  her  dear 
children  without  the  traditional  formalities,  —  that  is,  without  Pavel  Konstantin- 
ytch  ;  then  she  called  her  husband  to  bless  them  once  more  with  proper  solem- 
nity. But  Storechnikoff  dampened  her  enthusiasm  by  explaining  to  her  that  V6ra 
Pavlovna,  though  she  had  not  consented,  at  least  had  not  definitely  refused,  and 
that  she  liad  postponed  her  answer. 

This  was  not  altogether  glorious,  but  after  all,  compared  with  the  situation  of 
a  moment  before,  it  was  a  step  taken. 

Consequently  Storechnikoff  went  back  to  his  house  with  an  air  of  triumph,  and 
Anna  Petrovna  had  no  resource  left  but  fainting. 

Maria  Alexevna  did  not  know  exactly  what  to  think  of  Verolehka,  who  talked 
and  seemed  to  act  exactly  against  her  mother's  intentions,  and  who,  after  all, 
surmounted  difficulties  before  Avhich  Maria  Alexevna  herself  was  powerless. 
Judging  from  the  progress  of  affairs,  it  was  clear  that  Verotchka"s  wishes  were 
the  same  as  her  mother's;  only  her  plan  of  action  was  better  laid  and,  above  all. 
more  effective.  Yet,  if  this  were  the  case,  why  did  she  not  say  to  her  mother: 
"  Mamma,  we  have  the  same  end  in  view  ;  be  tranquil."  Was  she  so  out  of  sorts 
with  her  mother  that  she  wished  to  have  nothing  to  do  with  her  ?  This  post- 
ponement, it  was  clear  to  Maria  Alexevna,  simply  signified  that  her  daughter 


The  Life  of  Vera   Pavlovna  with  her  Parents.  45 

wished  to  excite  StoredmikofTs  love  and  make  it  strong  enough  to  break  down 
the  resistance  of  Anna  Petrovna. 

"  She  is  certainly  even  shrewder  than  I,"  concluded  Maria  Alexevna  after  much 
reflection.     But  all  that  she  saw  and  heard  tended  to  prove  the  contrary. 

"  UTiat,  then,  would  have  to  be  done,'' said  she  to  herself, "  if  Vera  really 
should  not  wish  to  be  Storechnikofl's  wile?  She  is  so  wild  a  beast  that  one  does 
not  know  how  to  subdue  her.  Yes,  it  is  altogether  probable  that  this  conceited 
creatun;  does  not  wish  Storcchnikofif  for  a  husband ;  in  fact,  it  is  indisputable." 

For  Maria  Alexevna  had  too  much  common  sense  to  be  long  deceived  by  arti- 
ficial suppositions  representing  Verotchka  as  an  intriguer. 

"  All  the  same,  one  knows  not  what  may  happen,  for  the  devil  only  knows 
what  she  has  in  her  head ;  but,  if  she  should  marry  Storechnikoff,  she  would  con- 
trol both  son  and  mother.  There  is  nothing  to  do,  then,  but  w;iit.  This  spirited 
girl  may  come  to  a  decision  after  a  while,  ....  and  we  may  aid  her  to  it,  but 
prudently,  be  it  understood." 

For  the  moment,  at  any  rate,  the  only  course  was  to  wait,  and  so  Maria  Alex- 
evna waited. 

It  was,  moreover,  very  pleasant,  this  thought,  which  her  common  sense  would 
not  let  her  accept,  that  Verotchka  knew  how  to  mancEuvre  in  order  to  bring  about 
her  raarria^xe ;  and  everything  except  the  young  girl's  words  and  actions  snp- 
portf;d  this  idea. 

The  suitor  was  as  gentle  as  a  lami).  His  mother  struggled  for  three  weeks; 
then  the  son  got  the  upper  band  from  the  fact  that  he  was  the  proprietur,  ;ind 
Anna  Petrovna  began  to  grow  doeije;  slu?  expressed  a  desire  to  make  Veioieli- 
ka's  acquaintance.  Tlie  latter  did  not  go  to  see  her.  Maria  Alexevna  thought 
at  first  that,  in  V6rotchka's  place,  she  would  have  acted  more  wisely  by  going; 
but  after  a  little  reflection  she  saw  that  it  was  better  not  to  go.  "  Oh  !  she  is  a 
shrewd  rogue  !  " 

A  fortnight  later  Anna  Petros  n.i  cinne  to  the  sttnvard's  lierself,  lu-r  pretext  l)e- 
ing  to  see  if  the  new  room  was  well  arranged.  Ib-r  innnner  was  eidd  and  Iior 
amiability  biting;  after  enduring  two  or  llirco  of  her  caustic  flontenccs,  V6roteh- 
ka  went  to  her  rooni.  While  her  daughter  remained,  Maria  Alexevna  did  not 
think  she  was  i)in-^uing  the  best  enurse;  slie  tIiou.rlit  that  sarcasm  should  have 
been  answered  with  sarcasm;  but  when  Verot<-hka  withdrew,  Maria  Alexevna 
instantly  concluded:  "  Yes,  it  was  belter  to  withdraw  ;  leave  her  to  her  .son.  let 
him  be  the  one  to  reprimand  Inr  :  that  is  the  best  way." 

Two  wer-ks  affr-rwards  Anna  I'ctrovni  came  again,  this  lime  willmut  putting 
forward  any  pretext;  she  simi)ly  said  that  .she  li.id  cotne  to  ni.iKe  a  call:  .and 
nothing  sarcastic  diil  she  .say  in  Verot<-bka'H  presence. 

Such  was  the  situation.  The  suitor  made  presents  to  Verotchka  through  Ma- 
ria Alexevna,  and  these  presents  very  certainly  remsiined  in  the  latter  s  hands, 


46  What  '.s  To  Be  Done  ? 

as  did  Anna  Petrovna's  watch,  always  excepting  the  gifts  of  little  value,  which 
Maria  Alexevna  faithfully  delivered  to  her  daughter  as  articles  which  had  been 
deposited  with  her  and  not  redeemed ;  for  it  was  necessary  that  the  suitor  should 
see  some  of  these  articles  on  his  sweetheart.  And,  indeed,  he  did  see  them,  and 
was  convinced  that  Vcrotchka  was  disposed  to  consent ;  otherwise  she  would  not 
have  accepted  his  gifts  ;  but  why,  then,  was  she  so  slow  about  it?  Perhaps  she 
was  waiting  until  Anna  Petrovna  should  be  thoroughly  softened ;  this  thought 
was  whispered  in  his  ear  by  Maria  Alexevna.  And  he  continued  to  break  in  his 
mother,  as  he  would  a  saddle-horse,  an  occupation  which  was  not  without  charm 
for  him.  Thus  Verotclika  was  left  at  rest,  and  everything  was  done  to  please 
her.  This  watch-dog  kindness  was  repugnant  to  her;  she  tried  to  be  with  her 
mother  as  little  as  possible.  The  mother,  on  the  other  hand,  no  longer  d;\red  to 
enter  her  daughter's  room,  and  when  Verotchka  stayed  there  a  large  portion  of 
the  day,  she  was  entirely  undisturbed.  Sometimes  she  allowed  Mikhail  Ivan- 
ytch  to  come  and  talk  with  her. 

Then  he  was  as  obedient  as  a  grandchild.  She  commanded  him  to  read  and  he 
read  with  much  zeal,  as  if  he  was  preparing  for  an  examination ;  he  did  not  reap 
much  profit  from  his  reading,  but  nevertheless  he  reaped  a  little;  she  tried  to 
aid  him  by  conversation ;  conversation  was  much  more  intelligible  to  him  than 
books,  and  thus  he  made  some  progress,  slow,  very  slow,  but  real.  He  Ijegan  by 
treating  his  mother  a  little  better  than  before  :  instead  of  breaking  her  in  like  a 
sid die-horse,  he  preferred  to  hold  her  by  the  bridle. 

Thus  things  went  on  for  two  or  three  months.  All  was  quiet,  but  only  because 
of  a  truce  agreed  upon,  with  the  tempest  liable  to  break  forth  again  any  day. 
V6rotchka  viewed  the  future  with  a  shrinking  heart:  some  day  or  other  would 
not  Mikhail  Ivanytch  or  Maria  Alexevna  press  her  to  a  decision  ?  For  their  im- 
l^atience  would  not  put  up  long  with  this  state  of  things. 

Here  I  might  have  invented  a  tragic  climax ;  in  reality  there  was  none.  I 
might  have  put  everything  into  confusion  to  allure  the  reader.  But,  a  friend  of 
truth  and  an  enemy  of  subterfuge,  I  warn  my  readers  in  advance  that  there  will 
be  no  tragic  climax  and  that  the  clouds  will  roll  away  without  lightning  or 
thunder  or  tempest. 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  47 


CHAPTER     SECOND. 
The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage. 

I. 

We  know  how  in  former  times  sueh  situations  were  brought  to  an  issue :  an 
amiable  }'oung  girl  was  iu  a  worthless  family  ;  and  they  imposed  upon  her  a 
lover,  disagreeable  and  brutal,  whom  she  did  not  love.  But  constant  association 
with  his  betrothed  improved  the  wooer  somewhat ;  he  became  an  ordinary  man, 
neither  agreeable  nor  disagreeable ;  his  obedience  and  gentleness  were  exem- 
plary. After  becoming  accustomed  to  having  him  near  her,  always  iu  a  humble 
attitude,  and  after  saying  to  herself  that  she  was  very  unhappy  in  her  family,  and 
tliat  this  husband  would  be  an  improvement,  she  decided  to  take  him. 

She  had  to  overcome  a  great  deal  of  repugnance  when  she  first  learned  wliat 
it  was  to  give  one's  self  without  love;  but,  alter  all,  the  hushand  was  not  a  li:i«l 
man,  and  in  the  long  run  one  gets  accustomed  to  everything ;  she  liecamc  un  or- 
dinarily good  woman,  —  that  is,  a  person  who,  intrinsically  good,  had  n-conciled 
herself  to  triviality  and  accommodated  herself  to  a  vegetative  life.  That  is  what 
became  of  young  girls  formerly. 

It  was  almost  tlie  same  with  young  men,  who  themselves  became  as  coMiloit- 
abie  inhabitants  of  this  world  as  stupidity,  selflshiiess,  and  triviality  could  desire. 

That  is  why  so  few  really  human  men  were  to  be  found ;  of  these  (lie  iiarvesl 
was  so  small  that  the  ears  were  not  within  speaking  distance  of  each  other.* 

Now,  onc!  cannot  live  alone  all  iiis  lift-  without  <-onsuming  iiiniseif  by  his  own 
force;  truly  human  men  wasted  away  and  were  sulimergeil  in  material  life. 

In  our  day  it  is  no  longer  the  same;  the  number  of  tliese  Iniman  Iteings  grows 
eontiiiiially,  and  from  year  tf)  y<'ar  (he  increawe  is  perccptihie.  As  a  result  thry 
liieome  acquainted  with  eacli  <  llwi-  and  their  nunilirr  inen'ascH  further  on  tliis 
aceount. 

Ill  time  they  will  be  the  rii.'ijori(y.  In  lime,  even,  (hey  will  lie  the  totality: 
thrn  all  will  Ite  well  in  (he  world. 

Vr'-rotchka  in  her  individii.al  life  knew  Imw  In  r.  ili/i'  lltin  iilr:il  :  :iii«l  that  is 
why  (with  her  permission)  I  trll  her  8t/>ry. 

She,  as  I  hajipen  to  know,  is  one  of  (he  first  women  whose  life  wmm  thus  nrdi-red  ; 
nr.w,  beginnings  are  intftresling  to  history.  Tli<-  (irst  swallow  is  lln'  di-aK'st.  to 
dwellers  in  the  North. 

*  All  iiM  Kiixaiaii  oaylni;. 


48  W/mi's  To  Be  Domf 

Let  us  return  to  V6ra  Pavlovoa.  The  time  came  for  preparing  V6rotchka''s 
little  brother  for  college.  Pavel  Konstantinytch  inquired  among  his  colleagues 
to  find  a  tutor  whose  prices  were  low;  they  recommended  a  medical  student 
named  Lopoukhoff. 

Lopoukhoif  came  five  or  six  times  to  give  lessons  to  his  new  pupil  before  he  met 
Verotchka.  He  stayed  with  Fedia  at  one  end  of  the  apartments,  while  she  re- 
mained in  her  room  at  the  other  end.  But  as  the  examinations  at  the  Medico- 
Surgical  Academy  were  approaching  and  he  had  to  study  in  the  morning,  he 
came  to  give  his  lessons  in  the  evening.  This  time,  on  his  arrival,  he  found  the 
whole  family  at  tea:  the  father  and  mother,  F6dia,  and  an  unknown  person,  —  a 
young  girl  of  large  and  beautiful  figure,  bronzed  complexion,  black  hair,  and 
black  eyes. 

Her  hair  was  beautiful  and  thick;  her  eyes  were  beautiful,  very  beautiful  in- 
deed, and  quite  of  a  southern  type,  as  if  she  came  from  Little  Russia.  One  would 
have  said  even  a  Caucasian  type  rather;  an  admirable  countenance,  which  had 
no  fault  beyond  indicating  an  extreme  coldness,  —  which  is  not  a  southern  trait. 

She  seemed  beaming  with  health;  the  redness  of  her  cheeks  was  wholesome; 
there  would  be  no  need  of  so  many  doctors,  were  there  many  such  constitutions 
as  hers. 

When  she  enters  society,  she  will  make  an  impression.  But  what  is  that  to 
me  ?     Such  were  Lopoukhoff 's  reflections  as  he  looked  at  her. 

She,  too,  threw  her  eyes  ui^ou  the  teacher  Avho  had  Just  entered.  The  student 
was  no  longer  a  youth ;  he  was  a  man  of  a  litlle  above  the  average  height,  with 
hair  of  a  deep  chestnut  color,  regular  and  even  handsome  features,  the  whole  re- 
lieved by  a  proud  and  fearless  bearing.  "  He  is  not  bad,  and  ought  to  be  good  ; 
but  he  must  be  too  serious."  She  did  not  add  in  her  thought :  "  But  what  is  that 
to  me  ?"  and  for  the  very  simple  reason  that  it  had  not  occurred  to  her  that  he 
could  interest  her.  Besides,  F6dia  had  said  so  much  to  her  of  his  teacher  that  she 
could  no  longer  hear  him  spoken  of  without  impatience. 

"  He  is  very  good,  my  dear  sister;  only  he  is  not  a  talker.  And  I  told  him,  ray 
dear  sister,  that  you  were  a  beauty  in  our  house,  and  he  answered  :  '  How  does 
that  concern  me?'  And  I,  my  dear  sister,  replied:  'Why,  everybody  loves 
beauties,'  and  he  said  in  return  :  '  All  imbeciles  love  them,'  and  I  said  :  '■  And  do 
you  not  love  them,  too?'  And  he  answered  me:  'Ihavenotthe  time.'  And  I 
said  to  him,  my  dear  sister:  '  So  you  do  not  wish  to  make  V6rotchka's  acquaint- 
ance?'   '  I  have  many  acquaintances  without  her,'  he  answered  me." 

Such  was  Fedia's  account.  And  it  was  not  the  only  one ;  he  told  others  of  the 
same  sort,  such  as  this  : 

"  I  told  him  to-day,  my  dear  sister,  that  everybody  looks  at  you  when  you  pass, 
and  he  replied  :  '  So  much  the  better.'  I  said  to  him:  '  And  do  you  not  wish  to 
see  her  ? '     He  answered  :  '  There  is  time  enough  for  that.' " 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Man'iage.  49 

Or  like  this  other : 

"  I  told  him,  my  dear  sister,  what  pretty  little  hands  j'ou  have,  and  he  answered 
me :  '  Ton  are  bound  to  babble,  so  be  it ;  but  have  you  no  other  subjects  more  in- 
teresting ? ' " 

Willy  nilly,  the  teacher  had  learned  from  F6dia  all  that  he  could  tell  him  on 
the  subject  of"  his  dear  sister ; "  he  always  stopped  the  little  fellow  whenever  he 
began  to  babble  about  f  imily  aflfairs ;  but  how  prevent  a  child  of  nine  years  from 
telling  you  everything,  especially  if  lie  loves  you  more  than  he  fears  you.  At  the 
fifth  word  you  may  succeed  in  interrupting  him,  but  it  is  already  too  late:  chil- 
dren begin  without  preface,  directly,  at  the  essential ;  and  among  the  bits  of  in- 
formation of  all  sorts  upon  family  affairs,  the  teticher  had  heard  such  things  as 
these : 

•'  My  sister  has  a  wealthy  suitor  !  But  Mamma  says  that  he  is  very  stupid." 
"Mamma  also  pays  court  to  the  suitor;  she  says  that  my  sister  has  trapped  liini 
very  adroitly."  "  Mamma  says:  '  I  am  shrewd,  but  Verotchka  is  even  .«?hrewder 
than  I ! '  Mamma  says  also  :  '  We  will  show  his  mother  the  door.'  "  And  so  on. 
It  was  natural  that,  hearing  sucli  things  about  eai-li  other,  tlic  young  jicdpli' 
should  not  feel  any  desire  to  become  moi*e  intimately  acquainteil. 

We  know,  moreover,  that  this  reserve  was  natural  on  V/srotchka's  side;  the 
degree  of  her  intellectual  development  did  not  |)erniit  lii'r  to  attempt  to  ronqjirr 
this  unsociable  aavage,  U)  subdue  this  bear.  Fiu-tlu'r,  for  tiie  time  being  she  had 
somolhing  else  to  think  of;  she  was  content  to  be  left  tranquil  ;  she  was  like  a 
bruised  and  weary  traveller,  or  \\\n'  an  iinalid  who  has  stretchod  himself  out  to 
n!st  an<l  do<!s  not  dare  to  make  a  movement  for  fear  of  reviving  his  pains. 
Finally,  it  was  not  in  accctrdance  with  inr  character  to  search  for  \ww  aeniiaint- 
ances,  e.specially  among  the;  young. 

It  was  easy  to  see  why  Vtjrotchka  should  think  thus.  Hut  what  was  he  really  H 
According  to  I'Vulia,  a  savage  with  head  full  of  books  and  analr)mical  prejjara- 
lions, —  all  the  things  which  make  up  the  j)rinci[)al  intellectual  enjoyment  oi'  :i 
good  student  of  medicine.     Or  had  Keilia  slandered  him  ? 


II. 

No,  F6dia  had  not  slandered  him;  F.,o|if)ukho(V  was  nctually  a  studi-nt  with 
head  full  of  bo'iks,  and  what  books?  Ihc  bibliographical  researches  of  Maria 
Alexevna  will  tell  us  that  in  clue  lime.  lyOpoukhofTH  head  was  also  full  of  an.a- 
tomical  j)reparations,  for  he  dreamed  of  a  prol'esHorshii*.  Itut.jiist  as  the  iiilor- 
mation  communicated  by  Fedia  to  LopoukhotV  concerning  Verotchka  has  givi-n 
an  imperfect  knowledge  of  the  young  girl,  there  is  reaHon  to  itejievc  (hat  tli.' 
information  imparted  by  the.  pupil  as  to  his  teacher  needs  to  !)(•  <Mtmpleled 

In  rcg.'inl  to  his  pecuniary  situatioti    l,op(tiikhofr  belonged  tf»  th.at  small  uii- 


50  W/iat's  To  Be  Done? 

nority  of  day  students  not  maintained  by  the  crown,  who  suflfer,  nevertheless, 
neither  from  hunger  nor  cold,  llow  and  whereby  do  the  great  majority  of  these 
students  live?  God  knows,  of  course;  to  men  it  is  a  mystery.  But  it  is  not 
agrecabio  to  think  so  much  about  people  who  die  of  hunger;  therefore  we  will 
only  indicate  the  period  during  which  Lopoukhoff  Ibun  I  himself  also  in  this 
embarrassing  situation,  and  which  lasted  thne  years. 

Before  he  entered  the  Acadeaoy  of  Medicine  he  was  well  supported  by  his 
father,  a  small  hourgiois  of  Riazan,  who  livel  well  enough  f  )r  his  station  :  that 
is,  his  famil}'  had  stchi*  on  Sundays  and  meat  and  tea  every  day. 

To  maintain  his  son  in  college,  starting  at  the  age  of  (ifteen,  was  difficult  for 
the  elder  Lopoukhoff;  his  son  had  to  aid  him  by  giving  lessons.  If  it  was  diffi- 
cult.in  a  provincial  college,  it  was  much  more  so  in  the  St.  Petersburg  Academy 
of  Medicine 

Lopoukhoff  received,  nevertheless,  during  the  first  tv?o  years,  thirty-five  roubles 
per  year,  and  he  earned  almost  as  much  more  as  a  copyist  in  one  of  the  quarters 
of  the  district  of  Wyborg  without  being  an  office-holder. 

If  he  suffered  still,  it  was  his  own  fault. 

He  had  been  offered  maintenance  by  the  crown ;  but  then  had  gotten  into  I 
know  not  what  quarrel,  which  cost  him  a  tolerably  stern  reprimand  and  a  com- 
plete abandonment.  In  his  third  year  his  affairs  began  to  take  a  better  turn : 
the  deputy  head  clerk  of  the  police  office  offered  him  a  chance  to  give  lessons, 
and  to  these  he  added  others,  which  for  two  years  had  given  him  at  least  the 
necessaries  of  life. 

lie  and  his  friend  Kirsanoff,  a  student  like  him,  a  laborer  like  him,  occupied 
two  adjacent  rooms. 

The  two  friends  had  early  become  accustomed  to  depending  only  on  themselves ; 
and  in  general  they  acted  so  much  in  concert  that  one  meeting  them  separately 
would  have  taken  them  for  men  of  the  same  character.  But  when  one  saw  them 
together,  it  then  became  plain  that,  although  both  were  very  serious  and  very 
sincere,  Lopoukhoff  was  a  little  more  reserved,  and  his  companion  a  little  more 
open.  For  the  present  only  Lopoukhoff  is  before  us ;  Kirsanoff  will  appear  much 
later. 

All  that  may  be  said  of  Lopoukhoff  can  bo  repeated  of  Kirsanoff. 

At  the  present  stage  of  our  story  LopoukholF  was  absorbed  by  this  thought: 
How  to  arrange  his  life  after  ending  his  studies?  It  was  time  to  think  about 
that:  there  were  but  a  few  months  left.    Their  projects  differed  little. 

Lopoukhoff  felt  sure  of  being  received  as  a  doctor  in  one  of  the  military  hospi- 
tals of  St.  Petersburg  (that  is  considered  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune)  and  of 
obtaining  a  chair  in  the  Academy  of  Medicine. 

*  A  Bonp  peculiar  to  UusBia. 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  51 

As  for  being  simply  a  practitioner,  he  did  not  dream  of  it. 

It  is  a  very  curious  trait,  this  resolution  of  the  medical  students  of  these  last 
ten  years  not  to  engage  in  practice.  Even  the  best  disdained  this  precious  re- 
source of  the  exercise  of  their  art,  which  alone  would  have  assured  their  exist- 
ence, or  accepted  it  only  provisionally,  being  always  I'eadj'  to  abandon  medicine, 
as  soon  as  possible,  for  some  auxiliary  science,  like  physiology,  chemistry,  or 
something  similar.  Moreover,  each  of  them  knew  that  by  practice  he  could  have 
made  a  reputation  at  the  age  of  thirty,  assured  himself  a  more  than  comfortable 
existenoe  at  the  age  of  thirty-five,  and  attained  wealth  at  forty-five. 

But  our  young  people  reason  otherwise.  To  them  the  medical  art  is  in 
its  infancy,  and  they  busy  themselves  less  with  the  art  of  attending  the  sick  than 
with  gathering  scientific  materials  for  future  physicians.  Tiiey  busy  themselves 
less  with  the  practice  of  their  art  than  with  the  progress  of  beloved  science. 

They  cry  out  against  medicine,  and  to  it  devote  all  their  powers;  for  it 
they  renounce  wealth  and  even  comfort,  and  stay  in  the  hospitals  to  make 
obsei-vations  interesting  to  science ;  they  cut  up  frogs ;  they  dissect  hundreds  of 
bodies  every  year,  and,  as  soon  as  possible,  fit  themselves  out  with  chemical 
laboratories. 

Of  their  own  poverty  they  think  little.  Only  when  their  families  are  in  strait- 
ened circumstances  do  they  practice,  and  then  just  enough  to  aftbrd  them  nec- 
essary aid  without  abandoning  science ;  that  is,  they  practice  on  a  very  small 
scale,  and  attend  only  such  people  as  are  really  sick  and  as  they  can  treat  ejfec- 
tively  in  the  presi.nt  ilcplorable  state  of  science,  —  not  very  profitable  patients  as 
a  general  thing.  It  was  precisely  to  this  class  of  students  that  Lopoukhotf  and 
Kirsanoff  belonged.  As  we  know,  they  were  to  finish  their  studies  in  the  current 
year,  and  were  preparing  to  be  examined  for  their  degrees  ;  they  were  at  work 
upon  their  thtse-s.  For  that  puri)()S(;  they  had  exterminated  an  enormous  quan- 
tity of  frogs. 

Uoth  had  chf)8en  the  nervous  system  as  a  specialty.  Properly  speaking,  they 
work(!d  together,  mutually  aiding  each  f)ther.  Kach  registered  in  the  materials 
of  his  thesi.s  the  facts  observed  by  Ijoth  and  relating  to  the  question  under  con- 
sideration. 

But  for  the  present  we  are  to  speak  of  Lopoukhoff  only. 

At  the  time  when  he  went  without  te;i  and  often  without  boots,  he  gave  himself 
up  to  .some  cxceS8(;H  in  the  n)atter  of  drinking 

Sueh  a  .situation  is  very  favorable;  to  these  exce.s.se9 :  to  say  nothing  of  the  fact 
that  one  is  then  more  disposed  to  them,  one  is  inllucnced  by  the  further  fact  that  it  is 
cheaper  to  drink  than  to  eat  or  dress,  and  LopoukhotT's  excesses  had  no  other 
causes.     Now  he  led  ;i  life  of  exemplary  sobriety  and  strictness. 

Likewise  he  had  had  many  gallant  adventures.  Once,  for  example,  he  became 
enamored  of  a  dancing  girl.      What  should  he  dn?     lit;  reflected,  n;flected  again. 


52  What's  To  Be  Done? 

and  for  a  long  time  reflected,  and  at  last  went  to  find  the  beauty  at  her  house. 
"  What  do  you  want? " he  was  asked.    "  I  am  sent  by  Count  X  with  a  letter." 

His  student's  costume  was  easily  mistaken  by  the  servant  for  that  of  an  officer's 
amanuensis  or  attendant. 

"  Give  me  the  letter.     Will  you  wait  for  a  reply?" 

"  Such  was  the  Count's  order." 

The  servant  came  back,  and  said  to  him  with  an  astonished  air : 

"  I  am  ordered  to  ask  you  to  come  in." 

"  Ah  !  is  it  you  ?  "  said  the  dancing  girl ;  "  you,  my  ardent  applauder !  I  often 
hear  your  voice,  even  from  my  dressing  room.  How  many  times  have  you  been 
taken  to  the  police  station  for  your  excess  of  zeal  in  my  honor?" 

"  Twice." 

"  That  is  not  often.     And  why  are  you  here  P  " 

"  To  see  you." 

"Exactly;  and  what  then?" 

"  I  don't  know." 

"  Well,  I  know  what  I  want ;  I  want  some  breakfast.  See,  the  table  is  laid.  Sit 
you  down,  too." 

Another  plate  was  brought.  She  laughed  at  him,  and  he  could  nothelpfollow- 
ing  her  example.  But  he  was  young,  good-looking,  and  had  an  air  of  intelli- 
gence ;  his  bearing  was  original ;  so  many  advantages  conquered  the  dancing 
girl,  who  for  him  was  very  willing  to  add  another  to  her  list  of  adventures. 

A  fortnight  later  she  said  to  him  : 

"  Now  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  was  already  desirous  of  doing  so,  but  I  did  not  dare." 

"  Well,  then,  we  part  friends?  " 

Once  more  they  embraced  each  other,  and  separated  in  content. 

But  that  was  three  years  ago,  and  it  was  already  two  years  since  Lopoukhoff 
had  entirely  given  up  adventures  of  that  sort 

Except  his  comrades,  and  two  or  three  professors  who  foresaw  in  him  a  true 
man  of  science,  he  saw  no  one  outside  the  families  where  he  gave  lessons.  And 
among  them  with  what  reserve!  He  avoided  familiarity  as  he  would  the  fire, 
and  was  very  dry  and  cold  with  all  the  members  of  these  families,  his  pupils  of 
course  excepted. 

HL 

Thus,  then,  Lopoukhoff  entered  the  room  where  he  found  at  the  tea-table  a 
company  of  which  Verotchka  was  one. 

"  Take  a  seat  at  the  table,  please,"  said  Maria  Alexevna ;  "  Matroena,  another 
cup." 

"  If  it  is  for  me,  I  do  not  care  for  anything,  thank  you." 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  53 

"  Matroena,  we  do  not  want  the  cup.  (What  a  well-brought-up  young  man !) 
Why  do  you  not  take  something?     It  would  not  hurt  you." 

He  looked  at  jNIaria  Alexevna ;  but  at  the  same  moment,  as  if  intentionally,  his 
eyes  fell  on  Verotchka,  and  indeed  perhaps  it  was  intentional.  Perhaps  even  he 
noticed  that  she  made  a  motion,  which  in  V6rotchka  meant :  Could  he  have  seen 
me  blush  ? 

"  Thank  you,  I  take  tea  only  at  home,"  he  answered. 

At  bottom  he  was  not  such  a  barbarian  ;  he  entered  and  bowed  with  ease. 

"  This  girl's  morality  may  be  doubtful,"  thought  Lopoukhoff,  "but  she  cer- 
tainly blushed  at  her  mother's  lack  of  good-breeding." 

Fedia  finished  his  tea  and  went  out  with  his  tutor  to  take  his  lesson. 

The  chief  result  of  this  first  interview  was  that  Maria  Alexevna  formed  a 
favorable  opinion  of  the  young  man,  seeing  that  her  sugar-bowl  probably  would 
not  sufter  much  by  the  change  of  lessons  from  morning  to  evening. 

Two  days  later  Lopoukhoff  again  found  the  family  at  tea  and  again  refused  a 
cup,  a  resolution  which  drove  the  last  trace  of  anxiety  from  Maria  Alexevna's 
mind.  But  this  time  lie  saw  at  the  table  a  new  personage,  an  officer,  in  whoso 
presence  Maria  Alexevna  was  very  humble. 

"  Ah !  this  is  the  suitor ! "  thought  he. 

The  suitor,  in  accordance  with  the  custom  of  his  station  and  house,  deemed  it 
necessary,  not  simply  to  look  at  the  student,  but  to  examine  him  from  head  to 
foot  with  that  slow  and  disdainful  look  which  is  permitted  in  people  of  high 
society. 

But  he  was  embarrassed  in  his  inspection  by  the  fixed  and  penetrating  gaze  of 
the  young  tutr)r.     Wholly  disconcerted,  he  hastened  to  say : 

"  The  meilical  profession  is  a  <liiricult  one,  is  it  not,  Monsieur  fiOpoukholT?  " 

"  Very  (lidieult,  sir."  And  liopouklioff  contiimod  to  look  the  officer  in  the 
eye. 

Storechnikoll",  for  some  inexi)lical)le  reason,  placed  his  hand  on  the  second  and 
third  l)Uttoiis  from  the  top  of  his  funic,  which  meant  that  he  was  so  confused  that 
he  knew  no  other  way  out  of  liis  embarrassment  than  to  finish  his  cup  of  tea  as 
quickly  as  i)ossil)l(!  iii  f)rder  t^)  ask  .Maria  Alexevna  for  another. 

'  You  w(!ar,  if  I  mistake  not,  the  luiiforin  of  the  S regiment?  " 

"  Yes,  I  serve  in  that  regiment." 

"  How  long  since?  " 

"  Nine  years." 

"  Did  you  enter  the  service  in  that  same  regiment?  " 

"  The  same." 

"  Have  you  a  company  ?  " 

"  Not  yet.  (Itut  he  is  putting  me  through  an  examination  as  if  I  were  under 
orders)." 


54  IF7/rt/'.s  To  Be  Done? 

"  Do  you  hope  to  get  a  company  soon  ?  " 
"  Not  so  ver}'  soon." 

Lopoukboflf  thought  that  enough  for  once,  and  left  the  suitor  alone,  after  having 
looked  him  again  in  ihe  eje. 
"  'Tis  curious,"  thought  Verotchka ;  "  'tis  curious ;  yes,  'tis  curious  !  " 
This  'lis  curious  meant :  "  He  behaves  as  Serge  would  behave,  who  once  came 
here  with  the  good  Julie.  Then  he  is  not  such  a  barbarian.  But  why  does  he 
talk  so  strangely  of  young  girls?  Why  does  he  dare  to  say  that  none  but  im- 
beciles love  them  ?  And  ....  why,  when  they  speak  to  him  of  me,  does  he  say  : 
'  That  does  not  interest  me.'  " 

"  V6rotchka,  will  you  go  to  the  piano  P     Mikhad  Ivanytch  and  I  will  take 
pleasure  in  listening  to  you,"  said  Maria  Alexevna,  after  V6rotchka  had  put  her 
second  cup  back  upon  the  table. 
"  Very  weU." 

"  I  beg  you  to  sing  us  something.  Vera  Pavlovna,"  added  Mikhad  Ivanytch, 
gently. 

"Very  well." 

"  This  very  well  means : '  I  will  do  it  in  order  to  be  in  peace,' "  thought  Lopouk- 
hoflf. 

He  had  been  there  five  minutes,  and,  without  looking  at  her,  he  knew  that  she 
had  not  cast  a  single  glance  at  her  suitor  except  when  obliged  to  answer  him. 
Moreover,  this  look  was  like  those  which  she  gave  her  father  and  mother,  —  cold 
and  not  at  all  loving.  Things  were  not  entirely  as  F6dia  had  described  them. 
"For  the  rest,"  said  Lopoukhoft"  to  himself,  "probably  the  young  girl  i:s 
really  ptoud  and  cold ;  she  wishes  to  enter  fashionable  society  to  rule  and 
shine  there ;  she  is  displeased  at  not  finding  for  that  purpose  a  suitor  more 
agreeable  to  her;  but,  while  despising  the  suitor,  she  accepts  his  hand,  because 
there  is  no  other  way  for  her  to  go  where  she  wants  to  go.  Nevertheless  she  is 
interesting." 
"  Fedia,  make  haste  to  finish  your  tea,"  said  the  mother. 

"  Do  not  hurry  him,  Maria  Alexevna;  I  would  like  to  listen  a  little  while,  if 
V6ra  Pavlovna  will  permit." 

V6rotchka  took  the  first  book  of  music  which  fell  under  her  hand,  without 
even  looking  to  see  what  it  was,  o^iened  it  at  hazard,  and  began  to  play  mechani- 
cally. Although  she  played  thus  mechanically  and  just  to  get  rid  as  soon  as 
possible  of  the  attention  of  which  she  was  the  object,  she  executed  the  piece  with 
singular  art  and  perfect  measure ;  before  finishing  she  even  put  a  little  animation 
into  her  playing.     As  she  rose,  the  officer  said  : 

"  But  you  promised  to  sing  us  something,  Vera  Pavlovna ;  if  I  dared,  I  would 
ask  you  to  sing  a  motive  from  'Rigoletto. '  "  That  winter  la  donna  k  mobile  was 
very  popular. 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage,  55 

"  Very  well,"  said  V6i-otchka,  and  she  sang  la  donna  k  mobile,  after  "which  she 
rose  and  went  to  her  room. 

"  No,  she  is  not  a  cold  and  insensible  young  girl.     She  is  interesting." 

"Perfect!  was  it  not?"  said  Mikhail  Ivanytch  to  the  student,  simply  and  with- 
out any  look  of  disdain  ;  ("  it  is  better  not  to  be  on  a  bad  footing  with  spirited 
fellows  who  question  you  so  coolly.  Talk  amicably  with  him.  Why  not  address 
him  without  pretension,  that  he  may  not  take  oflfence  ?  ") 

"  Perfect !  "  answered  Lopoukhoff. 

"  Are  you  versed  in  music? " 

"  Hm  !     Well  enough." 

"  Are  you  a  musician  yourself  ?  " 

"  In  a  small  way." 

A  happy  idea  entered  the  head  of  Maria  Alexevna,  who  was  listening  to  the 
conversation. 

"  On  what  instrument  do  you  play,  Dmitry  Sergu6itch  ?  "  she  asked. 

"  I  play  the  piano." 

"  Might  we  ask  you  to  favor  us  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

He  played  a  piece,  and  sufficiently  well.  After  the  lesson  Maria  Alexevna 
approached  him,  told  him  that  they  were  to  have  a  little  company  the  following 
evening  in  honor  of  her  daughter's  birthday,  and  asked  him  to  be  good  enough  to 
come. 

"  There  are  never  very  many  at  such  companies,"  thought  he ;  "  they  lack 
young  people,  and  that  is  why  I  am  invited  ;  all  the  same,  I  will  go,  if  only  to  see 
the  young  girl  a  little  more  closely.  There  is  something  in  her,  or  out  of  her, 
that  is  interesting." 

"  I  thank  you,"  he  answered,  "  i  will  be  there." 

I'.nt  the  student  was  raistal<en  as  to  the  motive  of  this  invitation  :  Maria  Alex- 
evna had  an  object  much  more  important  than  he  imagined. 

Header,  you  certainly  know  ill  advance  that  at  this  company  an  (ixplaiiatioii 
will  take  place  between  Lopoukhoff  and  Verotchka,  and  thry  will  form  an  alVcc- 
tioii  for  each  other. 

IV. 

IthadbcfM  .Mirii  Alcxevna's  desire  to  give  a  grand  party  on  the  evening  ol' 
Verotchka's  birthday,  but  Verotelika  begged  her  to  invito  nobody;  one  wIsIkmI  to 
make  a  public  show  of  the  suitor;  to  the  other  such  a  show  would  have  been 
distressing.  It  was  agreed  finally  to  give  a  small  party  and  invite  only  a  few 
intimnt<>  frieuil.s.  They  invited  the  eollengups  of  Pavfl  Konstantinyteh  (at  least 
those  of  them   whose  grade  and   position   were   the  highest),  two  friends  ot 


56  What's  To  Be  Done? 

^laria  Alexevna,  and  the  three  young  girls  with  whom  V6rotchka  was  most 
intimate. 

Running  his  eyes  over  the  assembled  guests,  Lopoukhoff  saw  that  young  people 
were  not  lacking.  By  the  side  of  each  lad}-  was  a  young  man,  an  aspirant  for  the 
title  of  suitor  or  perhaps  an  actual  suitor.  Lopoukhoff,  then,  had  not  been  in- 
vited in  order  to  get  one  dancer  more.  For  what  reason,  then  ?  After  a  little 
reflection,  he  remembered  that  the  invitation  had  been  preceded  by  a  test  of  his 
skill  witli  the  piano.  Perhaps  he  had  been  invited  to  save  the  expense  of  a 
pianist. 

"  I  will  upset  your  plan,  Maria  Alexevna,"  thought  he  ;  so  approaching  Pavel 
Konstantinytch,  he  said : 

"  Is  it  not  time,  Pavel  Konstantinytch,  to  make  up  a  game  of  cards;  see  how 
weary  the  old  people  are  getting  !  " 

"  Of  how  many  points  ?  " 

"  As  you  prefer." 

A  game  was  forthwith  made  up,  in  which  Lopoukhoff  joined. 

The  Academy  in  the  district  of  Wyborg  is  an  institution  in  which  card-playing 
is  a  classic.  In  any  of  the  rooms  occupied  by  the  crown  students  it  is  no  rare 
thing  to  see  thirty-six  hours' continuous  playing.  It  must  be  allowed  that,  al- 
though the  sums  which  chang'e  hands  over  the  cloth  are  much  smaller  than  those 
staked  in  English  club-rooms,  the  players  are  much  more  skilful.  At  the  time 
when  Lopoukhoff  was  short  of  money,  he  played  a  great  deal. 

"  Ladies,  how  shall  we  arrange  ourselves  ?  "  said  some  one.  "  Tour  a  tour  is 
good,  but  then  there  will  be  seven  of  us,  and  either  one  dancer  will  be  lacking,  or 
a  lady  for  the  quadrille." 

When  the  first  game  was  over,  one  young  lady,  bolder  than  the  others,  came  to 
the  student  and  said: 

"  Monsieur  Lopoukhoff,  are  you  going  to  dance  ?  " 

"  On  one  condition,"  said  he,  rising  to  salute  her, 

"  What  is  it  ?  " 

"  That  I  may  dance  the  first  quadrille  with  you." 

"  Alas  !  I  am  engaged  ;  I  am  yours  for  the  second." 

Lopoukhoff  bowed  again  profoundly.  Two  of  the  dancers  played  tour  h  tour. 
He  danced  the  third  quadrille  with  Verotchka. 

He  studied  the  young  girl,  and  became  thoroughly  convinced  that  he  had  done 
wrong  in  believing  her  a  heartless  girl,  marrying  for  selfish  purposes  a  man  whom 
she  despised. 

Yet  he  was  in  the  presence  of  a  very  ordinary  young  girl  who  danced  and 
laughed  with  ze^st.  Yes,  to  V6rotchka's  shame  it  must  be  said  that  as  yet  she 
was  only  a  young  person  fond  of  dancing.  She  had  insisted  that  no  party  should 
be  given,  but,  the  party  having  been  made,— a  small  party,  without  the  public 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  57 

show  which  would  have  been  repugnant  to  her, — she  had  forgotten  her  chagrin. 
Therefore,  though  Lopoukhoff  was  now  more  favorably  disposed  toward  her,  he 
did  not  exactly  understand  why,  and  sought  to  explain  to  himself  the  strange 
being  before  him. 

"  Monsieur  Lopoukhoff,  I  should  never  have  expected  to  see  you  dance." 

"  Why  ?    Is  it,  then,  so  difficult  to  dance  ?  " 

"  As  a  general  thing,  certainly  not;  for  you  evidently  it  is." 

"  Why  is  it  difficult  for  me  ?  "  / 

"  Because  I  know  your  secret,  yours  and  F6dia's;  you  disdain  Avomen." 

"  Fedia  has  not  a  very  clear  idea  of  my  secret :  I  do  not  disdain  women,  but  I 
avoid  them;  and  do  you  know  why?  I  have  a  sweetheart  extremely  jealous, 
who,  in  order  to  make  me  avoid  them,  has  told  me  their  secret." 

"  You  have  a  sweetheart  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  I  should  hardly  have  expected  that !  Still  a  student  and  already  engaged ! 
Is  she  pretty  ?    Do  you  love  her  ^  " 

"  Yes,  she  is  a  beauty,  and  I  love  her  much." 

"  Is  she  a  brunette  or  a  blonde  ?  " 

"  I  cannot  tell  you.    That  is  a  secret." 

"  If  it  is  a  secret,  keep  it.  But  what  is  this  secret  of  the  women,  which  she  has 
betrayed  to  you,  and  wliich  makes  you  shun  their  society?  " 

"  She  had  noticed  that  I  do  not  like  to  be  in  low  spirits ;  now,  since  she  told 
me  their  secret,  I  cannot  see  a  woman  without  being  cast  down  ;  that  is  why  I 
shun  women." 

"You  cannot  see  a  woman  without  Ijeing  cast  down  !  I  see  you  are  not  a  master 
ol'  the  art  of  gallantry." 

"  What  WDuld  you  have  me  say  ?  Is  not  a  feeling  of  pity  calculated  to  cast 
one  down  ?  " 

"  Arc  Wf,  then,  so  much  to  l»o  pitied  ?  " 

"Certainly.  You  are  a  woman  :  do  you  wisli  mo  to  tell  you  the  deepest  desire 
of  your  soul  ?  " 

"T<-llit,  tellit!" 

"  It  is  this:  '  How  I  wish  I  were  a  man  ! '  I  never  met  a  woman  who  had  not 
that  flfsire  plrintcil  deep  within  h^r.  IIow  could  it  I)o  otherwise?  There  are  the 
facts  of  lilV',  bruising  and  crushing  woin;in  everj'  hour  because  she  is  woman. 
Consequently,  she  only  has  to  come  to  a  struggle  with  life  to  have  occasion  to  cry 
f)Ut :  Poor  beings  Ihrit  we  arc,  what,  a  misforlune  that  we  arc  women !  or  else : 
With  man  it  i^  not  the  same  as  with  woman,  or,  very  simply  :  '  Ah,  why  am  I  not  a 


man 


1 1  " 


V6rotchka  smiled  :  "  It  is  true;  every  woman  may  bo  heard  saying  that." 

"  See,  then,  how  far  women  are  to  bo  pitied,  since,  if  the  profoundest  desire  of 


58  What's  To  Be  Done? 

each  of  thcra  were  to  be  realized,  there  would  not  remain  a  single  woman  in  the 
world." 
"  It  seems  to  be  so,"  said  V6rotchka. 

"  In  the  same  way,  there  would  not  remain  a  single  poor  person,  if  the  pro- 
foundest  desire  of  each  poor  person  were  to  be  realized.  Women,  therefore,  are 
to  be  pitied  as  much  as  the  poor,  since  they  have  similar  desires;  now,  who  can 
feel  pleasure  at  the  sight  of  the  poor  ?  It  is  quite  as  disagreeable  to  me  to  see 
women,  now  that  I  have  learned  their  secret  from  my  jealous  sweetheart,  who 
told  me  on  the  very  day  of  our  engagement.  Till  then  I  had  been  very  fond  of 
the  society  of  women ;  but  since  I  have  been  cured  of  it.  My  sweetheart  cured 
me." 

"  She  is  a  good  and  wise  girl,  your  sweetheart ;  yes,  the  rest  of  us  poor  women 
are  beings  worthy  of  pity.  But  who,  then,  is  your  sweetheart,  of  whom  you  speak 
so  enigmatically  ?  " 

"  That  is  a  secret  which  Fedia  will  not  reveal  to  you.  Do  you  know  that  I  share 
absolutely  the  desire  of  the  poor, — that  there  may  be  no  more  poverty,  and  that 
a  time  may  come,  be  it  nearer  or  farther,  when  it  will  be  abolished  and  when  we 
shall  know  how  to  organize  a  system  of  justice  which  will  not  admit  the  exist- 
ence of  poor  people  ?  " 

"  No  more  poor  people  !     And  I  too  have  that  desire.      How  can  it  be  realized  ?  • 
Tell  me.     My  thouj^ht  has  given  me  no  information  on  this  subject." 

"  For  my  part  I  do  not  know ;  only  my  sweetheart  can  tell  you  that.  I  can 
only  assure  you  that  she  is  powerful,  more  powerful  than  all  the  world  beside, 
and  that  she  desires  justice.  But  let  us  come  back  to  the  starting-point.  Though 
I  share  the  hopes  of  the  poor  concerning  the  abolition  of  poverty,  I  cannot  share 
the  desire  of  women,  which  is  not  capable  of  realization,  for  I  cannot  iulmit  that 
which  cannot  be  realized.  But  I  have  another  desire :  I  would  like  women  to  be 
bound  in  ties  of  friendship  with  my  sweetheart,  who  is  concerned  about  them 
also,  as  she  is  concerned  about  many  things,  I  might  say,  about  all  things.  If 
women  cultivated  her  acquaintance,  I  should  no  longer  have  to  pity  them,  and 
their  desire:  'Ah,  why  am  I  not  a  man!'  would  lose  its  justification.  For, 
knowing  her,  women  would  not  have  a  destiny  worse  than  that  of  men." 

"  Monsieur  Lopoukhoff !  another  quadrille  !  I  desire  it  absolutely  !  " 

"•  I  am  content."'  And  the  student  pressed  the  young  girl's  hand,  but  in  a  man- 
ner as  calm  and  sorious  as  if  Verotchka  had  been  his  comrade  or  he  her  friend. 
"  Which,  then  ?  "  he  added. 

"  The  last." 

"  Good." 

Maria  Alexevna  strolled  around  them  several  times  daring  this  quadrille. 

What  idea  would  she  have  formed  of  their  conversation,  if  she  had  heard  it  ?     We 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  59 

who  have  heard  it  from  end  to  end  will  declare  frankly  that  such  a  conver- 
sation is  a  very  strange  one  to  occur  during  a  quadrille. 

Finally  came  the  last  quadrille. 

"  So  far  we  have  talked  only  of  myself,"  began  Lopoukhoff,  "  but  that  is  not  at 
all  agreeable  on  my  part.  Now  I  wish  to  be  agreeable;  let  us  talk  about  you, 
Vera  Pavlovna.     Do  you  know  that  I  had  a  still  worse  opinion  of  you  than  you 

had  of  me?     But  now well,  we  will  postpone  that.    Only  there  is  one 

question  I  should  like  to  i)ut  to  you.    When  is  your  marriage  to  take  place  ?  " 

"Never!" 

'  I  have  been  certain  of  it  for  the  last  three  hours,  ever  since  I  left  the  game  to 
fiance  with  you.     But  why  is  he  treated  as  your  affianced  ?  " 

"  Why  is  he  treated  as  my  affianced  P  Why  ?  The  first  reason  I  cannot  tell 
you,  for  it  would  give  me  pain.  But  I  can  tell  you  the  second  :  I  pity  him.  He 
loves  me  so  dearly.  You  will  say  that  I  ought  to  tell  him  frankly  what  I  think 
of  our  projected  marriage ;  but  when  I  do  that,  he  answers :  '  Oh !  do  not  say 
so  !     That  kills  me ;  do  not  say  so  ! '  " 

"  The  first  reason,  which  you  cannot  tell  me,  T  know;  it  is  that  your  family  re- 
lations are  horrible." 

"  For  the  present  they  are  endurable ;  no  one  torments  me ;  they  wait,  and 
almost  always  leave  me  alone." 

"  But  that  cannot  last  long.     Soon  thoy  will  press  you.     And  then  ?  " 

"  Do  not  be  troubled.  1  have  thought  of  that  and  have  decided.  Then  I  will 
nut  stay  here.  I  will  be  an  actress.  It  is  a  very  desirable  career.  Independ- 
ence !     Independence ! " 

"  And  applause." 

"  Yes,  tliat  gives  pleasure  too.     But  the  principal  thing  is  independence.     One 
does  as  .she  likes,  one  lives  as  she  likes,  wilhout  asking  the  advice  ot  any  one, 
without  feeling  the  need  of  any  one.     That  is  how  I  should  like  to  live  !  " 
•   "  (Jood,  very  good  !    .N'ow  I  have  a  request  to  make  of  you, — that  you  will  allow 
me  to  gather  Int'ortn.ition  which  will  aid  you  t  >  an  entrance." 

"Thank  3-ou,"  said  Venitchka,  [jrcssing  his  hand.  "Do  so  as  ([uickly  as 
po.ssiblc.  I  so  much  wish  to  free  n)\  self  from  this  humiliating  and  frightful  situa- 
tion. I  said,  indee<l :  '  I  am  trancpiil,  mv  .situation  is  endurable ; '  but  no,  it  is  not 
so.  Do  I  not  see  what  tlit-y  ar*- doing  with  my  name  P  Do  I  not  Unow  whit 
those  who  are  here  think  of  me  ?  An  intriguer,  schen)i;r,  greedy  lor  wealth,  she 
wishf!S  to  get  into  high  society  and  shine  there;  her  husband  will  b(!  under  her 
feet,  she  will  turn  him  abont  at  pleasure  and  deceive  iron.  Yes,  I  know  all  that, 
and  I  wish  to  live  so  no  longer,  I  wish  it  no  longer!"  Suddenly  she  became 
thoughtful,  and  added:  "  Do  not  laugh  at  what  I  am  going  to  say:  I  pity  him 
much,  for  he  loves  me  so  dearly  !  " 

*♦  He  loves  you ?    Does  he  look  at  you,  as  I  do,  for  instance?    Tell  me." 


fiO  What's  To  Be  Done? 

"  You  look  at  me  in  a  frank  and  simple  way.  No,  your  look  does  not  offend 
me." 

"  See,  V6ra  Pavlovna,    it  is  because But  never  mind And  does  he 

look  at  you  in  that  way?  " 

Verotchka  blushed  and  said  nothing. 

"  That  means  that  he  does  not  love  you.    That  is  not  love.  Vera  Pavlovna." 

"  But ".  .  .  .  V6rotchka  did  not  dare  to  finish. 

"  You  intended  to  say :  '  But  what  is  it,  then,  if  it  is  not  love  ?  '  What  is  it  ? 
What  you  will.  But  that  it  is  not  love  you  will  say  yourself.  Whom  do  you  like 
best  ?    I  do  not  refer  now  to  love,  but  friendship." 

"  Really  ?  No  one.  Ah,  yes,  1  did  happen  to  meet  not  long  ago  a  very  strange 
woman.  She  talked  to  me  very  disparagingly  of  herself,  and  forbade  me  to  con- 
tinue in  her  society ;  we  saw  each  other  for  a  special  purpose,  and  she  told  me 
that,  when  I  should  have  no  hope  left  but  in  death,  I  might  apply  to  her,  but  not 
otherwise.     That  woman  I  love  much." 

"  Would  you  like  to  have  her  do  something  for  you  which  would  be  disagreeable 
or  injurious  to  her  ?  " 

V6rotchka  smiled.    "  Of  course  not." 

"  No.  Well,  suppose  it  were  necessary,  absolutely  necessary  to  you  that  she 
should  do  something  for  you,  and  she  should  say  to  you :  '  If  I  do  that,  I  shall  be 
very  miserable  myself.'     Would  you  renew  your  request  ?     Would  you  insist  ?  " 

"  I  would  die  first." 

"  And  you  say  that  he  loves  you.  Love  !  Such  love  is  only  a  sentiment,  not  a 
passion.  What  distinguishes  a  passion  from  a  simple  sentiment  ?  Intensity. 
Then,  if  a  simple  friend.ship  makes  you  prefer  to  die  rather  than  owe  your 
life  to  troubles  brought  upon  your  friend, —  if  a  simple  friendship  speaks 
thus,  what,  then,  would  passion  say,  which  is  a  thousand  times  stronger  ? 
It  would  say:  Rather  die  than  owe  happiness  to  the  sorrow  of  the  one  I  love! 
Rather  die  than  cause  her  the  slightest  trouble  or  embarrass  her  in  any  way  !  A 
passion  speaking  thus  would  be  true  love.  Otherwise,  not.  Now  I  must  leave 
you,  V6ra  Pavlovna ;  I  have  said  all  that  I  had  to  say." 

Verotchka  shook  his  hand.  "  Well,  au  revoir !  You  do  not  congratulate  me  ? 
Today  is  my  birthday." 

Lopoukhoff  gave  her  a  singular  look.  "  Perhaps,  perhaps!  "  he  said  ;  "  if  you 
are  not  mistaken,  so  much  the  better  for  me  !  " 


"  What !  so  quickly,  and  against  all  expectation  !"  thought  V6rotchka,  on  find- 
ing herself  alone  in  her  chamber  after  the  guests  had  gone.  "We  have  talked 
only  once,  half  an  hour  ago  we  did  not  know  each  ortier,  and  already  we  are  so 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  61 

intimate  !  How  strange !  "  No,  it  is  not  strange  at  all,  Verotchka.  Men  like 
Lopoukhoflp  have  magic  words  which  draw  to  them  every  injured  and  outraged 
being.  It  is  their  sweetheart  who  whispers  such  words  to  them.  And  what 
is  strange  indeed,  Verotchka,  is  that  you  should  be  so  calm.  Love  is  thought  to 
be  a  startling  feeling.  Yet  you  will  sleep  as  calmly  and  peacefully  as  a  little 
child,  and  no  painful  dreams  will  trouble  your  slumbers;  if  you  dream,  it  will 
be  only  of  childish  games  or  dances  amid  smilina;  faces. 

To  others  it  is  strange ;  to  me  it  is  not.  Trouble  in  love  is  not  love  itself;  if 
there  is  trouble,  that  means  that  something  is  wrong ;  for  love  itself  is  gay  and 
careless. 

"  Yes,  it  is  very  strange,"  still  thought  V6rotchka ;  "  about  the  poor,  about 
women,  about  love,  he  told  me  what  I  had  already  thought. 

"  \VTiere  did  I  find  it  ?    In  books  ? 

"  No ;  for  everything  in  them  is  expressed  with  so  much  doubt  and  reserve  that 
one  believes  she  is  reading  only  dreams. 

"  These  things  seem  to  me  simple,  ortlinary,  inevitable  iu  fact;  it  seems  to  me 
that  without  them  life  is  impossible.  Yet  the  best  books  present  them  as  incap- 
able of  realization. 

"  Take  Georges  Sand,  for  instance ;  what  goodness  !  what  morality!  but  only 
dreams. 

"  Our  novelists  are  sure  to  offer  nothing  of  the  kind.  Dickens,  too,  has  these 
aspirations;  but  he  does  not  seem  to  hope  for  their  realization;  being  a  good 
man,  he  desires  it,  but  as  one  who  knows  that  it  cannot  come  to  pass.  Why  do 
they  not  see  that  life  cannot  continue  without  this  new  justice,  which  .will  tolerate 
neither  poverty  nor  wretchednc-s,  and  that  it  is  towards  such  justice  that  we 
must  march?  They  deplore  the  present,  but  they  believe  in  its  eternity,  or  little 
short  of  it.  If  they  had  said  what  I  thought,  T  should  have  known  then  that  the 
good  and  wise  think  so  too,  whereas  I  tliought  myself  alone,  n  poor  dreamer  and 
inexperienced  young  girl,  in  thus  thinking  and  ho])iiig  for  a  l)etter  order  ! 

"  He  told  nie  that  his  sweetheart  inspires  all  who  know  her  with  these  ideas 
and  urges  them  to laljor  for  their  realization.  This  sweetheart  is  quite  right; 
but  who  is  she !'     I  mu.st  know  her;  yes,  I  must  know  her. 

"Certainly,  it  will  be  v«!rv  fine  when  then^  shall  be  no  more  poor  jieople,  no 
more  servitude,  and  when  everybody  .shall  be  gay,  gootl,  leanieil,  and  happy." 

It  was  amid  these  thoughts  that  V6ri)tchka  fell  into  a  profound  and  dreamless 
sleep.  No,  it  is  not  strange  that  you  bavo  conceived  and  cherished  these  sublime 
thoughts,  good  and  inexporieticetl  Verotchka,  altlmugh  ynu  have  never  even  he;inl 
pronounced  the  names  of  the  men  who  first  t.iught  ju.stice  and  proved  that  it  nuist 
be  realized  and  inevitably  will  be.  If  books  have  not  presented  these  ideas  with 
clearness,  it  is  because  they  are  written  by  men  who  caught  glimpses  of  these 
thoughts  when  they  were  but  marvellous  and  ravishing  Utopias ;  now  it  has  been 


62  Whars  To  Be  Done? 

demonstrated  that  they  can  be  realized,  and  other  books  are  written  by  other 
men,  who  show  that  these  thoughts  are  good,  with  nothing  of  the  marvellous 
about  them.  These  thoughts,  V6rotchka,  float  in  the  air,  like  the  perfume  in  the 
fields  when  the  flowers  are  in  bloom ;  they  penetrate  everywhere,  and  you  have 
even  heard  them  from  your  drunken  mother,  telling  you  that  one  can  live  in  this 
world  only  by  falsehood  and  robbery ;  she  meant  to  speak  against  your  ideas, 
and,  instead  of  that,  she  developed  them ;  you  have  also  heard  them  from  the 
shameless  and  depraved  Frenchwoman  who  drags  her  lover  after  her  as  if  he 
were  a  servant,  and  does  with  him  as  she  will.  Yet,  when  she  comes  back  to  her- 
self, she  admits  that  she  has  no  will  of  her  own,  that  she  has  to  indulge  and 
restrain  herself,  and  that  such  things  are  very  painful.  What  more  could  she 
desire,  living  with  her  Serge,  good,  tender,  and  gentle  ?  And  yet  she  says :  Even 
of  me,  unworthy  as  I  am,  such  relations  are  unworthy.  It  is  not  diflScult,  V6- 
rotchka,  to  share  your  ideas.  But  others  have  not  taken  them  to  heart  as  you 
have.  It  is  well,  but  not  at  all  strange.  What  can  there  be  strange,  indeed,  in 
your  wish  to  be  free  and  happy  ?  That  desire  is  not  an  extraordinary  discovery  ; 
it  is  not  an  act  of  heroism  ;  it  is  natural.  But  what  is  strange,  V6rotchka,  is 
that  thei-e  are  men  who  have  no  such  desire  though  they  have  all  others,  and  who 
would,  in  fact,  regard  as  strange  the  thoughts  under  the  influence  of  which  you 
fall  asleep,  my  young  friend,  on  the  first  evening  of  your  love,  and  that,  after 
questioning  yourself  as  to  him  whom  you  love  and  as  to  your  love  itself,  you 
think  that  all  men  should  be  happy  and  that  we  should  aid  them  to  become 
so  as  fast  as  possible.  It  is  very  natural,  nevertheless  ;  it  is  human  ;  the  simple 
words,  "  I  wish  joy  and  happiness,"  mean,  "  It  would  be  pleasant  to  me  if  all 
men  were  joyous  and  happy  ;  "  yes,  Verotchka,  it  is  human  ;  these  two  thoughts 
are  but  one.  You  are  good,  you  are  intelligent;  but  excuse  me  for  finding 
nothing  extraordinary  in  30U;  half  ot  the  young  girls  whom  I  have  known  and 
whom  I  know,  and  perhaps  even  more  than  half — I  have  not  counted  them,  and 
it  matters  little,  there  are  so  many  of  them — are  not  worse  than  you ;  some  there 
are — pardon  me  for  saying  so — who  are  even  bettor. 

Lopoukhoflf  believes  you  a  marvellous  young  girl.  What  is  there  astonishing  in 
that?  He  loves  you,— and  that  is  not  astonishing  cither.  It  is  not  astonishinu^ 
that  he  loves  you,  for  you  are  lovable,  and  if  he  loves  you,  he  must  necessarily 
believe  you  such. 

vr. 

Maria  Alexevna  had  loitered  about  Lopoukhoff  and  V6rotchka  during  their 
first  quadrille ;  during  the  second  she  could  not  do  as  much,  for  she  was  entirely 
absorbed  in  the  preparation  of  a  repas  a  la  fonrcheite,  a  sort  of  improvised  sup- 
per. When  she  had  finished,  she  looked  about  for  the  tutor,  but  he  had  gone. 
Two  days  later  he  returned  to  give  his  lesson.    The  samovar  was  brought,  as 


TJie  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  63 

always  during  the  lesson.  Maria  Alexevna  entered  the  room  where  the  tutor 
was  busy  with  Fedia  to  call  the  latter,  a  duty  which  had  hitherto  been  Matrce- 
na's ;  the  tutor,  who,  as  we  know,  did  not  take  tea,  wished  to  remain  to  coiTect 
Fedia's  copy-book  ;  but  Maria  Alexevna  insisted  that  he  should  come  with  them 
a  moment,  for  she  had  something  to  say  to  him.  He  consented,  and  Maria  Alex- 
evna plied  him  with  questions  concerning  F6dia's  talents  and  the  college  at 
which  it  would  be  best  to  place  him.  These  were  very  natural  questions,  but 
were  they  not  asked  a  little  early  P  While  putting  them,  she  begged  the  tutor  to 
take  some  tea,  and  this  time  with  so  much  cordiality  and  affability  that  Lopouk- 
hoff  consented  to  depart  from  his  rule  and  took  a  cup.  Verotchka  had  not 
arrived;  at  last  she  came;  she  and  Lopoukhoff  saluted  each  other  as  if  nothing 
had  occurred  between  them,  and  Maria  Alexevna  continued  to  talk  about  Fedia. 
Then  she  suddenly  turned  thi;  conversation  to  the  subject  of  the  tutor  himself, 
and  began  to  press  him  with  questions.  Who  was  he?  What  was  he  ?  What 
were  his  parents  ?  Were  they  wealthy  ?  How  did  he  live  ?  What  did  he  think 
of  doing?  The  tutor  answered  briefly  and  vaguely:  He  had  parents;  they 
lived  in  the  country;  they  were  not  rich;  he  lived  by  teaching;  he  should 
remain  in  St.  Petersburg  as  a  doctor.  Of  all  that  nothing  came.  Finding  him 
so  stubborn,  Maria  Alexevna  went  straight  to  business. 

"  You  say  that  you  will  remain  here  as  a  doctor  (and  doctors  can  live  here, 
thank  God  !  )  ;  do  you  not  contemplate  family  life  as  yet?  Or  have  you  already 
a  young  girl  in  view?" 

What  should  he  say  ?  Lopoukhoff  had  almost  forgotten  already  the  sweetheart 
of  his  fancy,  and  came  near  replying,  "  1  have  no  one  in  view,"  when  he  said  to 
himself:  "Ah!  but  she  was  listening,  then."  He  laughed  at  himself,  and  was 
somewhat  v(!xed  at  having  employed  so  useless  an  allegory.  And  they  say  that 
propagandism  is  useless!     V,o  to,  then! 

Sen  what  an  eff(!ct  propagandism  had  had  upon  this  pure  soul  disposed  so  little 
to  evil !     .She  was  listening !     Had  .she  heard  ?     Well,  it  was  of  little  consequence. 

"  Yes,  I  have  one,"  answered  Lojjoukhoff. 

"And  you  are  already  engaged?" 

"  Yes." 

"  Formally?     Or  is  it  simply  ngrred  iii)on  between  you?" 

"  Formally.'" 

Poor  Maria  Alexevna !  She  had  heard  the  words,  "  my  sweetheart,"  "  your 
sweetheart,"  "  I  love  hor  much,"  "  she  is  a  beauty."  She  had  heard  them,  and 
for  lliir  i)rcs('nt  was  tranquil,  believing  that  the  tutor  would  not  jtny  court  to  her 
daughter,  and  for  this  reason,  the  second  (juadrille  not  disturbing  her,  she  had 
gone  to  prepare  the  supper.  Nevertheless,  she  had  a  desire  to  know  a  little  more 
eireumstantially  this  tranquili/ing  .storj*. 

Ixipoukhoff  replied  ehsarly,  and,  as  usual,  briefly. 


64  What's  To  Be  Done? 

"  Is  your  sweetheart  beautiful  ?  " 

"  Of  extraordinary  beauty." 

"  Has  she  a  dowry  ?  " 

"  Not  at  present;  but  she  is  to  receive  au  inheritance." 

"  A  large  inheritance?  " 

"  Very  large." 

"  How  much  ?  " 

"  Very  much." 

"  A  hundred  thousand  ?  " 

"  Much  more." 

"  Well,  how  much,  then  ?  " 

"  There  is  no  occasion  to  say  ;  it  is  enough  that  it  is  large." 

"  In  money  ?  " 

"  In  money  also." 

"  In  lands  perhaps,  as  well  ?  "  . 

"  And  in  lands  as  well." 

"  Soon  ?  " 

"  Soon." 

"  And  when  will  the  nuptials  take  place  ?  " 

"  Soon." 

"  You  do  well,  Dmitry  Sergueitch,  to  marry  her  before  she  has  received  her 
inheritance ;  later  she  would  be  besieged  by  suitors," 

"  You  are  perfectly  right." 

"  But  how  does  it  happen  that  God  sends  her  such  good  fortune  without  any 
one  having  found  it  out  ?  " 

"  So  it  is :  scarcely  any  one  knows  that  she  Is  to  receive  an  inheritance." 

"  And  you  are  aware  of  it?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  But  how  ?  " 

"  Why,  certainly ;  I  have  examined  the  documents  myself." 

"  Yourself?  " 

"  Mysel£     It  was  there  that  I  began." 
"There?" 

"Of  course;  no  one  in  possession  of  his  senses  would  venture  far  without 
authentic  documents." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right,  Dmitry  Sergueitch.     But  what  good  fortune  !  you  owe  it 
probably  to  the  prayers  of  your  parents?" 
"  Probably." 

The  tutor  had  pleased  Maria  Alexevna  first  by  the  fact  that  he  did  not  take 
tea;  he  was  a  man  of  thoroughly  good  quality ;  he  said  little :  hence  he  was  not 
a  giddy  fellow  ;  what  he  said,  he  said  well,  especially  wlien  money  was  in  ques- 


The  First  Love  and  Legfd  Marriage.  65 

tion ;  but  after  she  found  out  that  it  was  absolutely  impossible  for  him  to  pay 
court  to  the  daughters  of  the  families  where  he  gave  lessons,  he  became  a  god- 
send incapable  of  over-estimation.  Young  people  like  him  rarely  have  such 
characteristics.  Hence  he  was  entirely  satisfactory  to  her.  What  a  positive 
man  !  Far  from  boasting  of  having  a  rich  sweetheart,  he  allowed,  on  the  con- 
trary', every  word  to  be  drawn  from  him  as  if  by  forceps.  He  had  had  to  look 
long  for  this  rich  sweetheart.  And  one  can  well  imagine  how  he  had  to  court 
her.  Yes,  one  may  safely  say  that  he  knows  how  to  manage  his  attairs.  And  he 
began  by  going  straight  to  the  documents.  And  how  he  talks!  "No  one;  in 
possession  of  his  senses  can  act  otherwise."     lie  is  a  perfect  man. 

Verotchka  at  first  had  difliculty  in  suppressing  a  smile,  but  little  by  little  it 
dawned  uj)on  her  — how  could  it  have  been  otherwise  —  it  dawned  upon  her  that 
Loi)oukhofT,  although  replying  to  Maria  Alexevna,  was  talking  to  her,  Vrrotchka, 
and  laugliiiig  at  her  motlier.  Was  this  an  illusion  on  Verotchka's  part,  or  Avas  it 
really  so  ?  He  knew,  and  she  found  out  later ;  to  us  it  is  of  little  con.sequence ; 
we  need  nothing  but  facts.  And  the  fact  was  that  Vc'uotchka,  listening  to  Lopouk- 
hoff,  began  by  smiling,  and  then  went  seriously  to  thinking  whether  he  was  talk- 
ing not  to  Maria  Alexevna,  but  to  her,  and  whether,  instead  of  joking,  he  was 
not  telling  the  truth.  Maria  Alexevna,  who  had  all  the  time  listened  seriously 
to  Lopoukhofl",  turned  to  Verotchka  and  said: 

'•  Verotchka,  are  you  going  (o  remain  forever  ab.S()rbed  and  silent?  Now  that 
you  know  Dmitry  Sergueiteh,  why  do  you  not  ask  him  to  play  an  accompaniment 
while  you  sing?"  These  words  meant :  We  esteem  you  liiglily,  Dmitry  Ser- 
guijilcii,  and  we  wish  you  to  be  the  intimate  friend  of  our  i'amily  ;  and  you,  Vci- 
rotehka,do  not  be  afraid  of  Dnntry  Sergueiteh  ;  I  will  tell  Mikhail  Ivanyteh  that 
he  alrearly  has  a  sweetheart,  and  Mikhail  Ivanyteh  will  not  be  jealous.  Thai  was 
the  idea  addrc-sed  to  Veroteiika  ami  Dmitry  Sergui'itch, —  for  already  in  l\I;iiia 
Alexevna\s  inner  thoughts  he  was  not  "  the  tutor,'''  but  Dmitry  Sergu6iteh,—  .iiid 
to  Maria  Alexevna  lier.self  these  words  liad  a  third  meaning,  the  most  natural 
and  r(!al  :  We  must  be;  agreeal)l(' ww(h  him  ;  this  aefpiainlance  may  l)e  useful 
to  us  in  the  future,  when  this  rogun  of  a  tutor  shall  be  lieli. 

This  was  the  general  meaning  of  Maria  Alexevna's  word.s  to  Muria  Alexevna.  Iml 
besides  the  general  meaning  (hey  ha<l  also  a  special  one:  Alter  having  llattered 
him,  I  will  tell  him  Ihat  it  is  a  bunlen  upon  u  <,  who  ;in'  n<if  rich,  Id  pay  a  rouble  a 
lesson.     Such  arc  the  dJO'erent  u)canings  that  the  words  of  Maria  Alexevna  had. 

Dmitry  Sergueiteh  answered  that  he  was  going  to  fmish  the  lesson  and  that 
afterward  he  would  willingly  phiy  on  the  piano. 


66  What's^  To  Be  Done? 


VII. 

Though  the  words  of  Maria  Alexevna  had  diflerent  meanings,  none  the  less  did 
they  have  results.  As  regards  their  special  meaning, —  that  is,  as  regards  the 
reduction  in  the  price  of  the  lessons, —  Maria  Alexevna  was  more  successful  than 
she  could  hope ;  when,  after  two  lessons  more,  she  broached  the  subject  of  their 
poverty,  Dmitry  Sergucitch  haggled;  he  did  not  wish  to  yield,  and  tried  to  get 
a  Irekhroublovy  (at  that  time  there  were  still  trekhroublovys,  coins  worth  seventj'- 
fivc  copecks,  if  you  remember)  ;  Maria  Alexevna  herself  did  not  count  on  a  larger 
reduction ;  but,  against  all  expectation,  she  succeeded  in  reducing  the  price  to 
sixtj^  copecks  a  lesson.  It  must  be  allowed  that  this  hope  of  reduction  did  not 
seem  consistent  with  the  opinion  she  had  formed  of  Dmitr}'  Sergu6itch  (not  of 
Lopoukhoff,  but  of  Dmitry  Sergueitch)  as  a  craft}'  and  avaricious  fellow.  A 
covetous  individual  does  not  yield  so  easil}'  on  a  question  of  money  simply 
because  the  people  with  whom  he  is  dealing  are  poor.  Dmitry  Sergueitch 
had  yielded ;  to  be  logical,  then,  she  must  disenchant  herself  and  see  in  him 
nothing  but  an  imprudent  and  consequently  harmful  man.  Certainly  she  would 
have  come  to  this  conclusion  in  dealing  with  any  one  else.  But  the  nature  of  man 
is  such  that  it  is  very  difficult  to  judge  his  conduct  by  any  general  rule :  he  is  so 
fond  of  making  exceptions  in  his  own  favor!  When  the  college  secretary, 
Ivanoff,  assures  the  college  councillor,  Ivan  Ivanytch,  that  he  is  devoted  to  him 
body  and  soul,  Ivan  Ivanytch  knows,  as  he  thinks,  that  absolute  devotion  can  be 
found  in  no  one,  and  he  knows  further  that  Ivanoff'  in  particular  has  five  times 
sold  his  own  father  and  thus  surpassed  Ivan  Ivanytch  himself,  who  so  far  has  suc- 
ceeded in  selling  his  father  but  three  times ;  yet,  in  spite  of  all,  Ivan  Ivanytch 
believes  that  Ivanoff  is  devoted  to  him,  or,  more  properly  speaking,  without  be- 
lieving him,  he  is  inclined  to  look  upon  him  with  good-will  ;  he  believes  him, 
while  not  believing  in  him.  What  would  you  ?  There  is  10  remedy  for  this 
deplorable  incapacity  of  accurately  judging  that  which  touches  us  personally. 
Maria  Alexevna  was  not  exempt  from  this  defect,  which  especially  distinguishes 
base,  crafty,  and  greedy  individuals.  Thislaw  admits  exceptions,  but  only  in  two 
extreme  cases,— cither  when  the  individual  is  a  consummate  scamp,  a  transcen- 
dental scamp,  so  to  speak,  the  eighth  wonder  of  the  world  of  rascality,  like  Ali 
Pasha  of  Janina,  Jezzar  Pasha  of  Syria,  Mahomet  Ali  of  Egypt,  who  imposed 
upon  European  diplomats  (Jezzar  on  the  great  Napoleon  himself)  as  if  they  had 
been  children,  or  when  knavishness  has  covered  the  man  with  a  breast-plate  so 
solid  and  compact  that  it  leaves  uncovered  no  human  weakness,  neither  ambition, 
nor  passion  for  power,  nor  self-love,  nor  anything  else.  But  these  heroes  of 
knavishness  are  very  rare,  and  in  European  countries  scarcely  to  be  found  at  all, 
the  fine  art  of  knavery  being  already  spoiled  there  by  many  human  weaknesses. 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  67 

Therefore,  when  any  one  shows  you  a  crafty  knave  and  says :  "  There  is  a  man 
who  cannot  be  imposed  upon,"  uet  him  ten  roubles  to  one,  without  hesitation, 
that,  although  you  are  not  crafty,  you  can  impose  on  him  if  you  desire  to  ;  with 
equal  promptness  bet  him  a  hundred  roubles  to  one  that  for  some  special  thing 
he  can  be  led  by  the  nose,  for  the  most  ordinary  trait,  a  general  trait,  in  the 
character  of  crafty  men,  is  that  of  letting  themselves  be  led  by  the  nose  in  some 
special  direction.  Did  not  Louis  Philippe  and  Metternich,  for  instance,  who  are 
said  to  have  been  the  shi'evvdest  politicians  of  their  time,  allow  themselves  never- 
theless to  be  led  to  their  ruin, like  sheep  to  the  pasture?  Napoleon  I  was  crafty, 
much  craftier  than  they,  and  is  said  to  have  had  genius.  Was  he  not  neatly 
stranded  on  the  island  of  Ellja  ?  That  was  not  enough  for  him  ;  he  wished  to  go 
further,  and  succeeded  .so  well  that  that  time  he  went  to  St.  Helena.  Read 
Charras's  history  of  the  campaign  of  181.5,  and  be  moved  by  the  zeal  with  which 
Napoleon  deceived  and  destroyed  himself!  Alas  !  Maria  Alexevna  too  was  not 
exempt  Irum  this  unfortunate  tondeiRy. 

There  are  few  people  whom  great  perfection  in  the  art  of  deceiving  othei'S 
prevents  fi-om  being  deceived  tliemselves.  There  are  others,  on  the  contrary, 
and  many  of  them,  whom  a  simple  honesty  of  heart  .serves  to  surely  protect. 
Ask  tlie  Vidocijs  and  Vanka  (.'ains  of  all  sorts,  and  they  will  tell  you  that  there  is 
nothing  more  difficult  tiian  to  deceive  an  honest  and  sincere  man,  provided  he  has 
intelligence  and  experience.  Honest  people  who  are  not  stupid  cannot  1)0 
seduced  individually.  Hut  (hey  have  an  equivalent  defect,— that  of  being  subject 
t(»  se.duc  tion  in  iikissc.  The  knave  cannot  c:iptin-e  them  individually,  but  collec- 
tively tiiey  arc  at  his  disjjosition.  Knaves,  on  the  contrary,  so  easy  to  deceive 
individually,  cannot  be  duped  as  a  bod}'.  That  is  the  whole  secret  of  universal 
history. 

I'.ut  this  is  not  iIk;  place  to  make  excursions  into  univcisal  history.  When  one 
undertakes  to  write  a  romance,  he  must  do  that  and  nolliing  else. 

The  first  result  of  Maria  Alexevna's  words  was  the  reduction  in  the  price  of 
the  les.sons.  The  second  result  was  tliat  by  this  reduction  Maria  Alexevna  was 
more  than  ever  confirmed  in  the  good  opinion  that  she  had  firmed  of  I.opctukhofl' 
as  a  valuable  uian ;  slie  even  tli'iughl  that  his  coiuersations  would  bo  useful  to 
Verotchka  in  urging  her  to  consent  to  marry  Mikhail  Ivanytch  ;  this  deduction 
was  too  diflicult  for  Maria  Alexevna  ever  to  have  arrived  at  it  herself,  but  a  speak- 
ing fiiet  occurred  to  convince  licr.     What  was  (Iiis  fact?     We  shuM  sen  presently. 

The  third  result  of  Maria  Alexevna's  words  was  that  V6rotehka  and  Dmitry 
Sergu^Mtch  began,  witii  her  permi-ssion  and  encouragement,  to  spend  much  time 
together.  After  fini-shing  his  lesson  at  about  «'ight  o'clock,  LopoukliofY  would 
stay  with  th(!  Rosalskys  two  or  three  hours  longer ;  he  often  played  cards  with 
the  mother  and  father,  talked  witii  the  suitor,  or  played  Vcrotchkti's  a(;compani- 
inents  on  the  pianr);  at  other  times  Verotchka  pl.aycdand  he  listened  ;  sometiraea 


(\8  What  '.s  To  Be  Done  9 

he  simply  talked  witli  the  young  girl,  and  Maria  Alox(!Viia  did  not  interfere  with 
them  or  look  at  them  askance,  though  keeping  a  strict  watch  over  them  never- 
theless. 

Certainly  she  watclied  them,  although  Dmitry  Sergud'itch  was  a  very  good 
young  man  ;  for  it  is  not  for  nothing  that  the  proverb  says:  The  occasion  makes 
the  thief.  And  Dmitry  Sergueitch  was  a  thief,  —  not  in  the  blameworthy,  but  tin; 
l^raiseworthy  sense ;  else  there  would  have  been  no  reason  for  esteeming  him 
and  cultivating  his  acquaintance.  Must  one  associate  with  imbeciles?  Yes, 
with  them  also,  when  there  is  profit  in  it.  Now,  Dmitry  Sergue-itch  having 
nothing  yet,  association  with  him  could  be  sought  only  for  his  qualities,  —  that  is, 
for  his  wit,  his  tact,  his  address,  and  his  calculating  prudence. 

If  every  man  can  plot  harm,  all  the  more  a  man  so  intelligent.  It  was  necessary, 
then,  to  keep  an  eye  on  Dmitry  Sergueitch,  and  that  is  what  Maria  Alexevna  did, 
after  keen  reflection.  All  her  observations  only  tended  to  confirm  the  idea  that 
Dmitry  Sergueitch  was  a  j^ositive  man  of  good  intentions.  Ilow,  for  instanct;, 
could  any  one  see  in  him  the  propensities  of  love? 

He  did  not  look  too  closely  at  Verotchka's  bodice.  There  she  is,  playing; 
Dmitri'  Sergueitch  listens,  and  IMaria  Alexevna  watches  to  see  if  he  does  not  east 
indiscreet  glances.  No,  he  has  not  the  least  intention  !  He  does  not  even  look  at 
Verotchka  at  all;  he  casts  his  eyes  about  at  random,  sometimes  upon  her,  but 
then  so  simpl}^  openly,  and  coldly,  as  if  he  had  no  heart,  that  one  sees  in  a  moment 
that  he  looks  at  her  only  out  of  politeness,  and  that  he  is  thinking  of  his  sweet- 
heart's dowry  ;  his  eyes  do  not  inflame  like  those  of  Mikhail  Ivanytch. 

How  else  can  one  detect  the  existence  of  love  between  young  jjeople  ?  When 
they  speak  of  love.  Now  they  are  never  heard  to  speak  of  love ;  moreover,  they 
talk  very  little  with  each  other;  he  talks  more  with  Maria  Alexevna.  Later  Lo- 
poukhotf  bi'ought  books  for  Verotchka. 

One  day,  while  Mikhail  Ivanytch  was  there,  V6rotchka  went  to  see  one  of  her 
friends. 

Maria  Alexevna  takes  the  books  and  shows  them  to  Mikhail  Ivanytch. 

"Look  here,  Mikhail  Ivanytch,  this  one,  which  is  in  French,  I  have  almost 
made  out  myself:  '  Gostinaia.'  *  That  means  a  manual  of  self-instruction  in  the 
usages  of  .society.    And  here  is  one  in  German ;  I  cannot  read  it." 

"No,  Maria  Alexevna,  it  is  not 'Gostinaia; '  it  is  destiny."  He  said  the  word 
in  Russian. 

"  What,  then,  is  this  destiny  ?    Is  it  a  novel,  a  ladies'  oracle,  or  a  dream-book  ?  " 

"  Let  us  see."     Mikhail  Ivanytch  turned  over  a  few  pages. 

"  It  deals  with  series ;  f  it  is  a  book  for  a  savant.''^ 

*  GoatinaJa  is  the  Raaslan  equivalent  of  the  French  word  salon,  meaning  drawing-room  primarily,  and 
derivatively  fashionable  society. 

t  Serien-paper-money  at  intereiit.    The  liook  was  Con8id6rant'H  "Social  Destiny." 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  69 

"  Series  ?    I  understaad.     It  treats  of  transfers  of  money." 

"That's  it." 

"  And  this  one  in  German  ?  " 

Mikhail  Ivanjtch  read  slowly:  "On  Relij^ion,  In' Ludwig,"  —  by  Luuirf  Four- 
teenth.* It  is  the  work  of  Louis  XIV ;  this  Louis  XIV  was  a  king  of  France, 
father  of  the  king  whom  the  present  Napoleon  succeeded." 

"  Then  it  is  a  pious  book." 

"Pious,  Maria  Aloxevna,  you  have  said  it." 

"  Very  well,  Mikhail  Ivanytch ;  althougli  I  know  that  Dmitry  Sergueitch  is  a 
good  young  man,  I  wish  to  see :  it  is  necessary  to  distrust  everybody  !  " 

"  Surely  it  is  not  love  that  is  in  his  head  :  but  in  any  case  I  thank  you  for  this 
watchfulness." 

"  It  could  not  be  otherwise,  Mikhail  Ivanytch  ;  to  watch  is  tiio  duty  of  a  mother 
who  wishes  to  preserve  her  daughter's  purit}'.  That  is  what  I  think.  But  of 
what  religion  was  the  king  of  France  ?  " 

"  He  was  a  Catholic,  naturally.'' 

"  But  his  Ijook  may  convert  to  the  religion  of  the  Papists  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  so.  If  a  Catholic  archbishop  had  written  it,  he  would  try  to 
convert,  it  is  unnecessary  to  .say,  to  the  religion  of  the  Papists.  But  a  king  cares 
nothing  about  that ;  a  king,  as  a  prince  and  wise  politician,  wisiies  piety  simply." 

That  was  enough  for  the  moment.  Maria  Alexovna  could  not  help  seeing  tiiat 
Mikhail  Ivanyteii,  wliile  having  a  narrow  mind,  had  reasoned  with  much  Justice; 
nevertheless,  she  wished  to  place  the  matter  in  tlie  clearest  light.  Two  or  three 
days  later  she  suddenly  said  to  Lopoukhoff',  who  was  playing  cards  with  lierand 
Mikhail  Ivanytch : 

"Say,  Dmitry  Sergueitch,  I  have  a  question  that  I  wisii  to  ask  you :  did  the 
father  of  the  la.st  king  of  Fnince,  whom  the  present  Napoleon  succeeded,  ordain 
l)ai)tism  in  tlie  religion  of  tiic  Papists?  " 

"  Why,  no,  lie  did  not  onlain  it,  Maria  .McM'vna."' 

"  And  is  the  religion  of  tlie  Papists  go(jd,  Dmitry  Sergueitch  ?" 

"  No,  Maria  Alexevna,  it  is  not  good.     And  I  play  the  seven  of  diamonds." 

"  It  was  out  of  curiosity,  Dmitry  Sergueitch,  th.it  I  askcid  you  that  ;  though  iKtt 
an  educated  woman,  I  am  interested  just  tlie  same  in  knowing  tilings.  And  how 
much  have  you  al)stracteil  from  tht;  stakes,  Dmitry  Seigiieitch  ?  " 

"  Oh,  that's  all  right,  Maria  .Mexevna;  we  are  taught  that  at  the  Academy.  II 
is  impossible  for  a  doctor  not  to  know  how  to  play." 

Tf)  Lopoukhoff  thr-se  questions  remained  an  enigma.  Why  did  Maria  Alexevna 
want  to  know  whether  I'liilii)|ie  Kgalite  ordained  baptism  in  the  religion  of  the 
Papists  ? 

•  Luilwig  Feucrbach,  whom  Iho  ofllccr  In  hl«  Rlmpllctty  had  Idontltled  with  Louis  XIV. 


70  Whars  To  Be  Done? 

May  not  Maria  Alexevna  be  excused  if  she  ceases  now  to  watch  the  student  ? 
He  did  not  cast  indiscreet  glances  ;  he  confined  himself  to  looking  at  Verotchka 
openly  and  coldly,  and  he  lent  her  pious  books:  what  more  could  one  ask?  Yet 
Maria  Alexevna  tried  still  another  test,  as  if  she  had  read  the  "  Logic"  which  I 
too  learned  by  heart,  and  which  says  that "  the  observation  of  phenomena  which 
appear  of  themselves  should  be  verified  b}\experiments  made  in  accordance  with 
a  deliberate  plan  in  order  to  penetrate  more  deeply  into  the  mysteries  of  their 
relations." 

She  arranged  this  test,  as  if  she  had  read  the  story  told  by  Saxon,  the  gramma- 
rian, of  the  way  in  which  they  put  Hamlet  to  the  test  in  a  forest  with  a  young 
girl. 

VHI. 

TEST  A  LA   HAMLET. 

One  day  Maria  Alexevna  said,  while  taking  tea,  that  she  had  a  severe  headache ; 
after  having  drank  the  tea  and  locked  up  the  sugar-bowl,  she  went  to  lie  down. 
Verotchka  and  Lopoukhoff  remained  alone  in  the  parlor,  which  adjoined  Maria 
Alexevna's  sleeping-chamber.    A  few  moments  later,  the  sick  woman  called  Fedia. 

"  Tell  your  sister  that  their  conversation  prevents  me  from  sleeping ;  let  them 
go  into  another  room  ;  but  say  it  politely,  in  order  that  Dmitry  Sergueitch  may 
not  take  offence  ;  he  takes  such  cai'e  of  you  !  "     Fedia  did  the  errand. 

'•  Let  us  go  into  my  room,  Dmitry  Sergueitch,"  said  Vera  Pavlovna,  "  it  is  some 
distance  from  the  chamber,  and  there  we  shall  not  prevent  Mamma  from  sleep- 
ing." 

That  was  precisely  what  Maria  Alexevna  expected.  A  quarter  of  an  hour 
later  she  approached  with  stealthy  step  the  door  of  Verotchka's  chamber.  The 
door  was  partly  open,  and  between  it  and  the  casing  was  a  crack  which  left 
nothing  to  be  desired.  There  Maria  Alexevna  applied  her  eyes  and  opened  her 
ears. 

And  this  is  what  she  saw : 

Verotchka's  room  had  two  windows;  between  the  windows  was  a  writing- 
table.  Near  one  window,  at  one  end  of  the  table,  sat  V6rotchka;  she  was 
knitting  a  worsted  waistcoat  for  her  father,  thus  strictly  carrying  out  Maria 
Alexevna's  recommendation.  Near  the  other  window,  at  the  other  end  of  the 
table,  sat  Lopoukhoff:  supporting  one  elbow  on  the  table,  he  held  a  cigar  in  his 
hand,  and  had  thru-t  the  other  hand  into  his  pocket;  between  him  and  Verotchka 
was  a  distance  of  two  arrhines*  if  not  more.  Verotchka  looked  principally  at 
her  knitting,  and  Lopoukhoff  looked  principally  at  his  cigar.  A  disposition  of 
affairs  calculated  to  tranquilize. 


*  Two  and  one-third  feet. 


The  First  Love  ami  Legal  Marriage.  71 

And  this  is  what  she  heard : 

..."  And  is  it  thus,  then,  that  life  must  be  regarded  ?  "  Such  were  the 
first  words  that  reached  the  ears  of  Maria  Alexevna. 

"  Yes,  Vera  Pavlovua,  precisely  thus." 

"  Practical  and  cold  men  are  therefore  right  in  saying  tliat  man  is  governed 
exclusively  by  self-interest  ?  " 

"They  are  right.  What  are  called  elevated  sentiments,  ideal  aspirations, — 
all  that,  in  the  general  course  of  affairs,  is  absolutely  null,  and  is  eclipsed  by 
individual  interest;  these  very  sentiments  are  nothing  but  self-interest  clearly 
understood."  ' 

"  But  you,  for  example,  —  are  you  too  thus  governed  ?  " 

"  How  else  should  I  be.  Vera  Pavlovna  ?  Just  consider  what  is  the  essential 
motive  of  my  whole  life.  The  essential  business  of  my  life  so  far  has  consisted 
in  study  ;  I  was  preparing  to  be  a  doctor.  Why  did  my  father  send  me  to  college? 
Over  and  over  again  he  said  to  me :  '  Learn,  Mitia  ;  when  you  have  learned,  you 
will  l>ecome  an  ofllce-holder ;  you  will  support  us,  myself  and  your  mother,  and 
you  will  be  corafurlaljje  yourself.'  That,  then,  was  why  I  studied  ;  if  they  had  not 
had  that  interest  in  view,  my  fatiier  would  not  have  sent  me  to  school :  the  family 
needed  a  laborer.  Now,  for  my  part,  although  science  interests  me  now,  I  should 
not  have  spent  so  much  time  upon  it  if  I  had  not  thought  that  this  expense  would  be 
largely  rewarded.  My  studies  at  college  were  drawing  to  an  end  ;  I  inlliieneed  my 
father  to  allow  me  to  enter  the  Academy  of  Medicine  instead  of  becoming  an 
office-holder.  How  did  that  happen?  We  saw,  my  father  and  I,  that  doctors 
live  much  better  than  government  functionaries  and  heads  of  bureaus,  above 
whom  I  could  not  exi)ect  to  rise.  That  is  the  reason  why  I  entered  the  \cadeniy, 
—  the  hope  of  a  l>igger  piece  of  bread.  If  I  had  not  had  that  interest  in  view,  I 
Hhould  not  have  entered." 

"  But  you  liked  to  learn  at  college,  and  the  medical  sciences  attracted  you?  " 

"Yes.  I'.ut  that  is  ornamental ;  it  helps  in  the  achirvcnient  of  success ;  but 
success  is  onlinarily  aeiiievud  wKlioul,  it;  never  willimit  iMdri'st  as  a  motive. 
Love  of  science  is  only  a  result;  the  cause  is  .self-interest." 

•  .Vdinit  that  you  are  right.  All  the  .actions  that  I  uiiilerslanil  can  Im^  (■.\[)l;iiiicd 
l»y  self-interest.     But  this  fhcory  seems  t(t  mc  very  (;.)li|." 

"Theory  in  itself  should  be  cold.     The  iniini  -ibmild  judge  things  coldly." 

"  But  it  is  |)itiles.s.'" 

"  For  senseless  and  mischievous  fancies." 

"  It  is  very  prosaic." 

"The  poetic  form  is  not  siuted  to  science," 

"  So  this  theory,  which  I  do  not  sec  my  way  to  accept,  er)ndemn8  men  to  a  cold, 
pitiless,  prosaic  life?  " 

"No,  Vera    Pavlovna:    this   theory  is  cold,    \mi   it   teaohoa   man  to   procure 


72  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

warmth.  Matches  are  cold,  the  side  of  the  box  against  which  we  scratch  them 
is  cold,  fagots  are  cold  ;  but  the  fire  which  prepares  warm  nourishment  for  man 
ami  keeps  him  warm  none  the  less  springs  from  them ;  tiiis  theory  is  pitiless, 
but  by  following  it  men  cease  to  be  wretched  objects  of  the  compassion  of  the 
idle.  The  lancet  must  not  yield ;  otherwise  it  would  be  necessary  to  pity  the 
patient,  who  would  be  none  the  better  for  our  compassion.  This  theory  is  prosaic, 
but  it  reveals  the  real  motives  of  life ;  now,  poetry  is  in  the  truth  of  life.  Why 
is  Shakspere  a  very  great  poet  ?  Because  he  has  sounded  remoter  depths  of  life 
than  other  poets." 

"  Well,  I  too  shall  be  pitiless,  Dmitry  Sergueitch,"  said  V6rotchka,  smiling  ; 
"  do  not  flatter  yourself  with  the  idea  that  you  have  had  in  me  an  obstinate  oppo- 
nent of  your  theory  of  self-interest,  and  that  now  you  have  gained  a  new  disciple. 
For  my  part,  I  thought  so  long  before  I  ever  heard  of  you  or  read  your  book. 
But  I  believed  that  these  thoughts  were  my  own,  and  that  the  wise  and  learned 
thought  differently  ;  that  is  why  my  mind  hesitated.  All  that  I  read  was  contrary 
to  what  went  on  within  me  and  made  my  thought  the  object  of  blame  and 
sarcasm.  Nature,  life,  intelligence  lead  one  way  ;  books  lead  another,  saying  : 
This  is  bad,  that  is  base.  Do  you  know,  the  objections  which  I  have  raised  seemed 
to  me  a  little  ridiculous." 

"  They  are  indeed  ridiculous,  Vera  Pavlovna." 

"  But,"  said  she,  laughing,  "  we  are  paying  each  other  very  pretty  compliments. 
On  one  side :  Be  not  so  proud,  if  you  please,  Dmitry  Sergueitch.  On  the  other : 
You  are  ridiculous  with  your  doubts.  Vera  Pavlovna  !  " 

"  Ah  !  Yes  !  "  said  he,  smiling  also,  "  we  have  no  interest  in  being  polite  to 
each  other,  and  so  we  are  not." 

"  Good,  Dmitry  Sergu6itch ;  men  are  egoists,  are  they  not  ?  There,  you  have 
talked  about  yourself;  now  I  wish  to  talk  a  little  about  myself." 

"  You  are  perfectly  right ;  every  one  thinks  of  himself  first." 

"  See  if  I  do  not  entrap  you  in  putting  some  questions  to  you  about  myself." 

"  So  be  it." 

"  I  have  a  rich  suitor.    I  do  not  like  him.     Should  I  accept  his  proposal  ?  " 

"  Calculate  that  which  is  the  most  useful  to  you." 

"  That  which  is  the  most  useful  to  me  ?     You  know  I  am  poor  enough.      On 
the  one  hand,  lack  of  sympathy  with  the  man;  on  the  other,  domination  over      . 
him,  an  enviable  position  in  society,  monej',  a  multitude  of  adorers."  / 

"  Weigh  all  considerations,  and  choose  the  cour.se  most  advantageous  for  you." 

"  And  if  I  should  choose  the  husband's  wealth  and  a  multitude  of  adorers  ?  " 

"  I  shall  say  that  you  have  chosen  that  which  seemed  to  you  most  in  harmony  / 
with  your  interests." 

"  And  what  will  it  be  necessary  to  say  of  me  ?  " 

"  If  you  have  acted  in  cold  blood,  after  reasonable  deliberation  upon  the  whole 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  73 

subject,  it  will  be  necessary  to  say  that  you  have  acted  in  a  reasonable  manner, 
and. that  you  probably  will  not  complain." 

•'  But  will  not  my  choice  deserve  blame  ?  '' 

'■  People  who  talk  nonsense  may  say  what  they  will;  but  people  who  have  a 
correct  idea  of  lite  will  say  that  3'ou  have  acted  as  you  had  to  act;  if  your  action 
is  such  and  such,  that  means  that  you  are  such  an  individual  that  you  could  not  act 
otherwise  under  the  circumstances;  they  will  say  that  your  action  was  dictated 
by  the  force  of  events,  and  that  you  had  no  other  choice." 

"  And  no  blame  will  be  cast  upon  m\'  actions  ?  " 

''  Who  has  a  right  to  blame  the  consequences  of  a  fact,  if  the  fact  exists  ? 
Your  person  under  given  circumstances  is  a  fact;  your  actions  are  (he  necessar\" 
consequences  of  this  fact,  consequences  arising  from  the  nature  of  things.  You 
are  not  responsible  for  them  ;  therefore,  to  blame  them  would  be  stupid." 

"  So  you  do  not  recoil  from  the  consequences  of  your  theory.  Then,  I  shall  not 
deserve  your  blame,  if  I  accept  ray  suitor's  proposal  ?  " 

"  I  should  be  stupid  to  blame  you." 

"  So  I  have  permission,  perhaps  even  sanction,  perhaps  even  direct  advice  to 
take  the  action  of  which  I  speak  ?  " 

"  The  advice  is  always  the  same:  calculate  that  which  i§  useful  to  you;  pro- 
vided you  follow  this  advice,  you  will  be  sanctioned." 

"  I  thank  you.  Now,  my  personal  matters  are  .settled.  Let  us  return  to  the 
general  question  with  which  we  started.  We  began  wilii  the  proposition  that 
man  acts  by  the  force  of  events,  that  his  actions  are  determined  by  the  influences 
under  Vhich  they  occur.  If  strongc'r  inlbiences  overcome  others  that  shows  that 
w(!  have  cliang(,'d  our  ri'a.soning;  wiien  the  action  is  one  of  real  imi)ortance,  the 
motives  are  called  interests  an<l  their  play  in  man  a  combination  or  calculation 
of  interests,  and  con.sequently  man  always  acts  by  reason  of  his  interest.  Do  I 
sum  up  your  ideas  coriectly  ?  " 

"  Correctly  enough  " 

"  See  what  a  gor)d  .scholar  I  am.  Now  this  special  question  concerning  actions 
of  real  importance  is  e.vhau.sted.  Uut  in  n^gard  to  the  general  question  some 
dilficulties  yet  remain.  Your  book  says  thit  man  acts  from  necessity.  \\\\t  there 
are  cases  where  it  depr-nds  upon  my  good  pleasure  whether  I  act  in  one  way  or 
another.  For  exani|)l<',  in  playing,  I  turn  the  h'aves  of  my  music  book;  some- 
times I  turn  them  with  the  left,  hand,  sometimes  with  the  right.  Suppose,  now, 
that  I  turn  with  the  right  hand;  migiit  I  not  have  turned  them  with  the  left.!* 
Docs  not  that  dopenrl  on  my  good  pli-asiire?" 

"  No,  Vera  Pavlovna;  if  you  turn  without  thinking  about  it,  you  turn  with  the 
hand  which  it  is  more  convenient  for  yon  to  use.  There  is  no  good  pleasure  in 
that.     Hut  if  you  say  :' T  am  going  to  turn  with  the  right    han<l,'  you   will    Inin 


74  W/iat's  To  Be  Bone? 

with  the  right  hand  under  the  influence  of  that  idea;  now  that  idea  sprang  not 
from  your  good  pleasure,  but  necessaril.y  from  another  thought."  , 

Here  Maria  Alexevna  stopped  listening. 

"  Now  they  are  going  into  learned  questions ;  those  are  not  what  I  am 
after,  and  furthermore  I  care  nothing  about  them.  What  a  wise,  positive,  I  might 
say  noble,  young  man!  What  prudent  rules  he  instils  in  Verotchka's  mind! 
That  is  what  a  learned  man  can  do :  when  I  say  these  things,  she  does  not  listen, 
she  is  oftended  ;  she  is  very  obstinate  with  me,  because  I  cannot  speak  in  a  learned 
way.  But  when  he  speaks  in  this  way,  she  listens,  sees  that  he  is  right,  and 
admits  it.  Yes,  it  is  not  for  nothing  that  they  say:  'Knowledge  is  light,  and 
ignorance  darkness.'*  (If  I  were  a  learned  woman,  should  we  be  where  we  are? 
1  should  have  lifted  my  husband  to  the  rank  of  general ;  I  should  have  obtained 
a  position  for  him  in  the  quartermaster's  or  some  similar  department;  I  should 
have  made  the  conti-acts  myself,  for  that  is  no  business  for  him  ;  he  is  too  stupid. 
Would  I  have  built  such  a  house  as  this  ?  I  would  have  bought  more  than  a  thou- 
sand lives.   ; 

"  As  it  is  I  cannot  do  it. 

'•  One  must  first  appear  in  the  society  of  generals  in  a  favorable  light,  —  and  I, 
how  could  I  r.ppear  in  a  favorable  light  ?     I  do  not  speak  French  ! 

■'  They  would  say  :  '  She  has  no  manners  ;  she  is  (it  only  to  bandy  insults  on 
the  Place  Sennaia '  And  they  would  be  right.  Ignorance  is  darkness.  Know- 
ledge is  light.    The  proverb  is  a  true  one." 

This  conversation,  to  which  Maria  Alexevna  had  listened,  produced  in  her, 
then,  the  definitive  conviction  that  the  interviews  between  the  two  young  jieople 
were  not  only  not  dangerous  to  Verotehka  (she  had  been  of  that  opinion  for  some 
time),  but  that  they  would  be  even  useful  to  her  in  inducing  her  to  abandon,  as 
her  mother  desired,  the  foolish  ideas  which  she  had  adopted  as  an  inexperienced 
girl,  and  in  thus  hastening  her  marriage  to  Mikhail  Ivanytch. 

IX. 

The  attitude  of  Maria  Alexevna  towards  Lopoukhoflf  is  not  without  a  certain 
comic  side,  and  Maria  Alexevna  is  represented  here  under  a  somewhat  ridiculous 
light.  But  really  it  is  against  my  will  that  things  present  themselves  in  this 
aspect.  If  I  had  seen  fit  to  act  in  accordance  with  the  rules  of  what  we  call  art, 
I  should  have  careiully  glided  over  these  incidents  which  give  the  romance  a  tinge 
of  the  vaudeville.  To  hide  them  would  have  been  easy.  The  general  progress  of 
the  story  might  well  be  explained  without  them.  What  would  there  have  been 
astonishing  if  the  teacher  had  had  opportunities  (without  entering  into  relations 
with  Maria  Alexevna)  to  talk,  were  it  only  rarely  and  a  little  at  a  time,  with  the 

*  A  Uuasian  i)roverb. 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  75 

young  girl,  in  the  family  where  he  gave  lessons?  Is  it  necessary  to  talli  a  great 
deal  to  make  love  spring  up  and  grow  ?  Maria  Alexevna's  aid  has  been  wholly 
unnecessary  to  the  results  that  have  followed  the  meeting  of  the  two  young  jjeople. 
But  I  tell  this  story,  not  to  win  a  reputation  as  a  man  of  talent,  but  just  as  it 
hajipened.  As  a  novelist,  I  am  sorry  to  have  written  a  few  pages  that  touch  the 
level  of  the  comic. 

My  determination  to  tell  things,  not  in  the  easiest  way,  but  as  they  actually 
occuiTcd,  causes  me  still  another  embarrassment :  I  am  not  at  all  contented  to 
have  Maria  Alexevna  represented  in  a  ridiculous  light  by  her  i-etlectit)ns  upon 
the  sweetheart  which  her  fancy  had  pictured  as  Lopoukhoff 's ;  by  her  fantastic 
way  of  guessing  the  contents  of  the  books  given  by  Lopoukhoff  to  V6rotchka ; 
by  her  questions  about  FhilipiJC  Egalito  and  his  pretended  Papist  absolutism  and 
about  the  works  of  Louis  XIV".  Every  one  is  liable  to  mistake  ;  the  errors  may  l)c 
absurd,  when  the  individual  tries  to  judge  in  matters  of  which  he  is  ignorant; 
Init  it  would  be  unjust  to  infer  from  the  blunders  of  Maria  Alexevna  that  these 
were  the  sole  cause  of  her  favorabh;  attitude  towards  Lopoukhoff.  No,  her  queer 
ideas  about  the  rich  sweetheart  and  the  piety  of  Philippe  Egalite  would  not  have 
ol)SCured  her  good  sense  for  a  moment,  if  she  had  only  noticed  anything  suspicious 
in  Lopoukhoff 's  acts  and  words.  But  he  so  conducted  himself  that  really  there 
was  nothing  to  be  said.  Though  naturally  bold,  he  did  not  cast  indiscreet  glances 
at  a  very  pretty  young  girl ;  he  did  not  follow  her  assiduously  ;  he  sat  down 
without  ceremony  to  play  cards  with  Maria  Alexevna  without  betraying  any  sign 
that  it  would  give  him  greater  pleasure  to  be  with  V6ra;  when  left  with  V<3ra, 
he  held  such  conversations  with  her  that  Maria  Alexevna  regarded  them  as  the 
(■x|)ression  of  her  own  thought.  Like  her,  h(!.^aid  that  self-interest  is  the  motive 
of  human  actions;  that  tliero  is  no  .sense  in  getting  angry  with  a  rascal  and  re- 
minding liim  of  the  principles  of  honor,  inasmuch  as  the  rascal  acts  in  accordance 
with  the  laws  of  his  own  nature  under  the  j)ressure  of  circumstances;  that,  given 
his  individuality,  he  could  not  lielp  being  a  rascal,  and  that  to  pretend  otherwise 
would  bean  absurdity.  Yes,  Maria  Alexevna  had  reason  to  think  that  she  had 
tbiuid  in  Lopoukhoff  a  kindred  spirit. 

P>ut  here  is  Lopoukhoff  seriously  compromised  in  the  eyes  of  an  cnliglitcned 
jiubli<-  from  the  veiy  fact  that  Maria  .\lexevna  .sympa!lii/cs  with  his  way  of  look- 
ing at  things.  Not  wishing  to  deceive  any  one,  I  do  not,  liide,  as  I  might  have 
done,  this  eircuinstance  so  injurious  to  Lopoukhoff 's  reputation;  I  shall  even  go 
farlher  and  explain  that  he  really  deserved  the  friendship  of  Maria  yMt'xevna. 

Krom  LopoukhofT's  conversation  with  Verotehka,  it  is  plain  lh.it  his  way  'if 
looking  at  things  might  ai)pcar  b(;tfcr  fo  persrnis  of  Maria  Alexevna's  stam|Uhan 
to  those  liohling  lint;  iileas;  I>opoukhoff  saw  things  in  the  aspt'ct  which  they  pre- 
sent to  the  mass  of  mankind,  minus  those  holditig  lofty  ideas. 

If  Maria  Alexevna  could  rejoice  at  the  thoughts  that  he  had   voiced  regarding 


76  What's  To  Be  Done? 

Verotchka's  projected  marriage,  he,  on  his  side,  could  have  written  beneath  the 
drunken  usurer's  confession  :  This  is  true.  The  resemblance  in  their  actions  is 
so  <::;rcat  that  enlightened  novelists  holding  noble  ideas,  journalists,  and  other 
public  teachers  have  long  since  proclaimed  that  individuals  like  Lopoukhotf  are 
in  no  wise  distinguishable  from  individuals  like  Maria  Alexevna.  If  writers  so 
enlightened  have  thus  viewed  men  like  Lopoukhoff,  is  it  for  us  to  blame  Maria 
Alexevna  for  coming  to  the  same  conclusions  about  this  Lopoukhoff  that  our  best 
writers,  thinkers,  and  teachers  have  arrived  at? 

Certainly,  if  Maria  Alexevna  had  known  only  half  as  much  as  our  writers 
know,  she  would  have  had  good  sense  enough  to  understand  that  Lopoukhoflt'  was 
no  companion  for  her.  But,  besides  her  lack  of  knowledge,  she  had  still  another 
excuse:  Lopoukhoti,  in  his  conversations,  never  pursued  his  retlections  to  their 
conclusions,  not  being  of  those  amateurs  who  try  very  hard  to  inspii-e  in  Maria 
Alexevnas  the  high  thoughts  in  which  they  take  delight  themselves.  He  had  good 
sense  enough  not  to  undertake  to  straighten  a  tree  fifty  years  old.  He  and  she 
understood  facts  in  the  same  Avay  and  reasoned  accordingly.  Being  educated,  he 
was  able  to  draw  from  facts  certain  inferences  never  dreamed  of  by  people  like 
Maria  Alexevna,  who  know  only  their  habitual  cares  and  the  routine  aphorisms  of 
every-day  wisdom,  proverbs,  maxims,  and  other  old  apothegms  ejusdem  farinm. 
If,  for  instance,  in  talking  with  Verotchka,  he  had  undertaken  to  explain  what  he 
meant  by  "  self-interest,''  Maria  Alexevna  probal)ly  could  have  seen  that  his  idea 
of  self-interest  was  not  exactly  the  same  as  her  own;  but  Loi)oukhofF  did  not 
explain  himself  on  this  point  to  the  usiu'cr,  nor  even  to  Verotchka,  the  latter 
knowing  his  meaning  from  the  books  which  had  occa.sioned  their  conversation. 
On  the  other  hand,  in  writing  "  This  is  true  "  under  the  confession  made  by  Maria 
Alexevna  when  drunk,  Lopoukhoff  would  have  added  :  "  But,  whereas,  by  your 
own  admission,  the  new  order  of  things  will  be  better  than  the  old,  we  should 
not  oppose  those  who  joyfully  and  devotedly  labor  to  establish  it.  As  for  the 
stupidity  of  the  people,  though  it  is  indeed  an  obstacle,  you  will  admit  that 
men  would  soon  become  wise  if  they  saw  that  it  was  for  their  advantage  to  be- 
come so,  a  fact  which  they  have  not  yet  been  able  to  perceive ;  you  will  admit  also 
that  it  has  not  licen  possible  for  tiieni  to  learn  to  reason.  Give  them  this  possi- 
bility, and  3"ou  will  see  that  they  will  hasten  to  profit  by  it." 

But  the  conversation  with  Maria  Alexevna  never  went  to  that  point,  not  from 
reserve,  although  he  was  resei^ved,  but  simply  from  good  sense  and  the  same  feel- 
ing of  propriety  which  prevented  him  from  talking  to  her  in  Latin  or  entertaining 
her  with  accounts  of  the  progress  recently  made  in  medicine,  which  would  have 
interested  him  only.  He  had  good  sense  and  delicacy  enough  not  to  torment  people 
with  discour-se  beyond  their  grasp. 

I  say  all  this  only  to  justify  Maria  Alexevna's  oversight  in  not  understanding 
in  time  what  sort  of  a  man  Lopoukhoff  was,  and  not  at  all  to  justify  Lopoukhoft 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  77 

himself.  To  justify  Lopoukhoff  would  not  be  a  good  thing.  Why  ?  That  you  shall 
see  later,  reader.  Those  who,  without  justifying  him,  would  like,  from  motives  of 
humanity,  to  excuse  him,  could  not  do  so.  For  instance,  they  might  say  in  his 
excuse  that  he  was  a  doctor  and  an  investigator  of  the  natui-al  sciences,  circum- 
stances which  dispose  one  to  accept  the  materialistic  way  of  looking  at  things 
But  with  me  such  an  excuse  is  not  a  valid  one.  Many  other  sciences  lead  to 
materialism,  as,  for  instance,  the  mathematical,  historical,  social,  and,  in  short, 
all  the  sciences  Is  that  to  .say  that  all  the  geometers,  astronomers,  historian.^;, 
economists,  jurists,  publicists,  and  other  savants  are  materialists?  Very  far 
from  that.  Lopoukhott'  could  not  then  be  justified.  The  compassionate  people 
who  do  not  justify  him  might  say  further  in  his  excuse  that  he  is  not  entirely 
without  prai.seworthy  qualities :  voluntarily  and  firmly  he  decided  to  renounce 
the  advant:iges  and  prelerences  which  he  might  have  demanded  of  life  in  order 
to  work  for  the  benefit  of  others,  finding  in  the  pleasure  resulting  from  this  work 
his  own  enlightened  self-interest;  the  good  and  pretty  young  girl  with  whom  he 
iias  fallen  in  love  he  regards  with  so  pure  an  eye  that  there  are  not  many  brothers 
who  so  regard  their  sister.  But  to  this  latter  excuse  it  would  be  necessary  to 
rejtly  that,  generally  speaking,  there  is  no  man  entirely  without  good  qualities, 
and  that  the  materialists,  whatever  they  may  be,  are  always  materialists,  and  are 
shown  by  that  very  fact  to  be  low  and  immoral  men  who  must  never  be  excused, 
since  to  excuse  them  would  be  to  compromise  with  materialism.  So,  not  justi- 
fying Lopoukhoff,  Wf  cannot  excu.se  him.  And  (here  is  no  longer  any  room  to 
justify  hin),  sinci-  the  defenders  of  /me  irfea.s  and  noOlc  aspirations,  who  have 
stigmatized  th(!  materialists,  have  made  such  a  fine  showing  of  wi.sdom  and  char- 
acter in  the.^e  latter  days  in  the  eyes  of  good  men,  materialists  or  not.  (hat  to 
defend  any  one  from  tlnir  lilaim-  is  usele.s.s  and  to  lend  ;itlenlion  to  (heir  words  ;it 
least  supertluous. 

X. 

The  (juestion  as  to  what  i.s  tiie  ti  ue  way  ol  looking  at  things  certainly  was  not 
the  principal  olyeet  of  V<';rot('hka\s  interviews  witli  Lopoukhofl".  As  a  general 
thing  they  talked  very  little  witii  each  other,  ;ind  tlieir  long  conversations,  which 
oceurrcid  but  rarely,  turned  on  general  <|uestions  alone.  They  knew  further  that 
they  were  watched  by  (wo  very  «'xperienceil  eyes.  ('on.'<e(iuently  tiny  .seldom  ex- 
changed words  on  the  subject  which  rao.st  interested  (hem,  and,  when  they  did, 
it  wa.**  usually  while  turning  th(!  leaves  of  niu.'^ic  books. 

It  should  b(^  .s:iid  also  that  the  subject  wliieli  so  preoccupied  them  and  about 
which  they  hil  so  little  chance  to  talk  was  not,  as  may  Ix-  supposed,  the  expres- 
sion of  their  inmost  feeling.  Of  this  fee-ling  they  had  said  not  a  wonl  since  the* 
vagtie  phra.ses  of  their  first  interview,  and  they  had  no  time  to  discu8S  it  (Inrir)g 
such  moments  as  they  were  able  tf)  seize  in  which  to  talk  freely  and  which   wen; 


78  What 's  To  Be  Done  f 


e 


ntively  devoted  to  V6rotchka's  situation.  How  could  she  escape  from  it?  How 
could  shf  get  a  foothold  on  the  stage?  They  knew  that  the  theatre  presents 
many  dangers  lor  a  young  girl,  but  that  these  dangers  might  be  avoided  by 
Verotchka's  tirmness. 

Nevertheless  one  day  Lopoukhoft'  said  to  V6rotchka : 

"  I  advise  you  to  abandon  the  idea  of  becoming  an  actress." 

"  Why  ?  " 

•'  Because  it  would  be  better  for  you  to  marry  your  suitor."  There  the  conver- 
sation stopped.  These  words  were  said  at  the  moment  when  V6rotchka  and  he 
were  taking  their  music  books,  he  to  play,  she  to  sing.  V6rotchka  became  very 
sad  and  more  than  once  lost  the  time,  although  singing  a  very  well  known  piece. 
While  looking  for  another  piece,  Verotchka  said  :  "I  was  so  happy  !  ll  is  very 
hard  for  me  to  learn  that  it  is  impossible.  I  will  take  another  course ;  I  will  be 
a  governess." 

Two  days  later  she  said  to  him  : 

"  I  have  found  no  one  who  can  secure  me  a  place  as  governess.  Will  you  do  it 
yourself,  Dmitr}  Sergu6itcli  ?    I  have  only  you  to  ask." 

"  It  is  very  unfortunate  that  1  have  so  few  acquaintances  to  aid  me.  The  fami- 
lies where  I  have  given  and  still  give  lessons  are  all  relatively  poor,  and  the 
people  of  their  acquaintance  are  almost  as  badly  off.    No  matter,  I  will  try." 

"  My  friend,  1  take  all  your  time,  but  what  am  I  to  do  ?  " 

"  V6ra  Pavlovna,  my  time  is  not  to  be  spoken  of  when  I  am  your  friend." 

Verotchka  smiled  and  blushed  ;  she  had  not  noticed  that  her  lips  had  substituted 
the  name  "  My  friend,"  for  that  of  Dmitry  Sergueitch. 

Lopoukhoff  smiled  too. 

'■'■  You  did  not  intend  to  say  that,  V6ra  Pavlovna.  Withdraw  the  name  if  you 
regret  having  given  it." 

'•  It  is  too  late,— and  then  .  .  .  .  I  do  not  regret  it,"  replied  V6rotchka,  blushing 
more  deeply  yet. 

"  You  shall  see,  if  opportunity  offers,  that  I  am  a  faithful  friend." 

They  shook  bands. 

Such  were  their  first  two  interviews  after  the  famous  soiree. 

Two  days  afterwards  appeared  in  the  "Journal  of  Police"  an  announcement 
that  a  noble  young  girl,  speaking  French  and  German,  etc.,  desired  a  place  as 
governess,  and  that  inquiries  concerning  her  could  be  made  of  such  a  functionary 
at  Kolomna,  Kue  N.  N.,  bouse  N.  N. 

Lopoukhofl"  did  indeed  have  to  spend  much  time  in  Verotchka's  matters.  He 
went  every  morning,  generally  on  foot,  from  Wyborg  to  Kolomna  to  see  the 
functionary  of  his  acquaintance  who  had  consented  to  do  him  a  service  in  this 
connection  It  was  a  long  distance,  but  Lopoukhoff  had  no  friends  in  his  position 
nearer  to  Wyborg :  for  it  was  necessary  that  this  friend  should  satisfy  many  con- 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  79 

ditioas ;  among  other  things  essential  were  a  decent  house,  a  well-regulated 
household,  and  an  air  of  respectability.  A  poor  house  would  have  presented  the 
governess  in  too  disadvantageous  a  light ;  unless  the  person  recommending  had 
an  air  of  respectabilit}'  and  lived,  at  least  apparently,  in  comfort,  no  good  opinion 
would  have  been  formed  of  the  young  girl  recommended.  His  own  address? 
What  would  have  been  thought  of  a  j'oung  girl  who  had  no  one  to  answer  for 
her  but  a  student!  Therefore  LopoukholV  h>d  much  to  do.  After  getting  from 
the  functionary  the  addresses  of  those  who  liad  come  to  find  a  governess,  he 
started  out  to  visit  them  :  the  functionary  told  them  that  he  was  a  distant  rela- 
tive of  the  young  person  and  only  an  intermediary,  but  that  she  had  a  nephew 
who  would  not  fail  to  go  in  a  carriage  the  next  day  to  consult  with  them  more 
fully.  The  nephew,  instead  of  going  in  a  carriage,  went  ou  foot,  examined  tiie 
people  closely,  and,  as  goes  without  saying,  almost  always  found  something 
which  did  not  suit  him.  In  this  family  they  were  too  haughty;  in  another  the 
mother  was  good,  the  father  stupid  ;  in  a  third  it  was  Just  the  reverse;  in  still 
another  it  would  have  been  possible  to  live,  but  the  conditions  were  above  Ve- 
rotchka's  means;  or  else  English  was  required,  and  she  did  not  speak  it;  or  else 
tliey  wanted  not  exactly  a  governess,  but  a  nursery-maid;  or  again  the  people 
suited,  but  they  were  pOor  themselves,  and  had  no  other  room  for  the  governess 
than  the  children's  chamber,  where  slept  two  large  girls,  two  little  boys,  a 
nursery-maid,  and  a  nurse. 

The  advertisement  w^as  kept  in  the  "Journal  of  Police,"  and  applicants  coa- 
tinued  to  call  on  the  functionary.  LopoukhofT  did  not  lose  \\0])c.  He  spent  a 
fortnight  in  his  search.  Coining  home  on  the  fifth  day  weary  after  his  long 
tramp,  J^opoukhitrt'  threw  liimscllOn  the  sofa,  and  KiisanotV  said  to  him  : 

"Dmitry,  you  no  longc^r  work  witli  me  as  you  did.  You  disappear  every 
morning  and  one  evening  out  (jf  two.  You  must  have  found  many  pupils,  liut 
is  this  the  time  to  accept  so  many?  For  my  part,  I  desire  to  give  up  even  those 
tliat  I  liave.  I  possess  seventy  rouldes,  wiiicii  will  last  during  the  remaining 
three  months  of  the  term.  And  you  have  saved  more  than  I,  —  one  hundred  rou- 
lijps,  it  seems  to  me." 

"  Kvcn  more,  —  one  hiinchcMl  and  fifty  r(iul)les;  but  it  is  not  my  i)Upils  th:it 
kfcps  \nv,,  for  I  have  givi-n  thfiii  ;dl  m|)  save  one :  \  have  business  on  hand.  After 
I  have  finished  it,  you  will  have  no  n)orc  reason  lo  complain  (hat  I  lag  behind 
you  in  my  work." 

"  Wiiat,  then,  is  the  businos?" 

•'This:  in  the  family  wiim!  I  .>tiil  give,  lessons, an  excessively  bad  family,  there 
is  a  very  nsmarkable  young  girl.  She  wishes  to  ijceome  a  governess  and  leave 
her  parents,  and  [  am  searching  for  a  place  lor  h<r." 

"  She  is  an  excellent  y»)Utig  girl  ?  " 

"  ( )h  !  yes !  " 


80  What's  To  Be  Done  9 

"  'Tis  well,  then.     Search." 

And  the  conversation  ended  there. 

Well,  Me.ssrs.  Kirsanoff  and  Lopoukhoff,  learned  men  that  you  are,  you  have 
not  thought  to  remark  that  which  is  most  remarkable.  Admit  that  the  qualities 
which  you  seem  to  prize  most  are  good;  but  are  they  all?  What!  KirsanofV 
has  not  even  thought  to  inquire  whether  the  young  girl  is  pretty  !  And  Lopouk- 
hoff has  not  thought  to  say  a  word  about  it !  Why  did  not  Kirsanoff  think  to  say 
to  his  friend :  "  Have  you,  then,  fallen  in  love  that  you  take  such  an  interest  in 
her?"  And  it  did  not  occur  to  Lopoukhoff  to  say  :  "  She  interests  me  much  ;  " 
or,  if  he  did  not  wish  to  say  that,  he  at  least  failed  to  ward  off  such  a  conjecture 
by  saying:  "Do  not  think,  Alexander,  that  I  have  fallen  in  love."  They  both 
thought  that,  when  the  deliverance  of  a  person  from  a  dangerous  situation  was  in 
question,  it  was  of  very  little  importance  whether  the  person's  face  was  beautiful, 
even  though  it  were  a  young  girl's  face,  and  still  less  whether  one  was  in  love  or 
not.  The  idea  that  this  was  their  opinion  did  not  even  occur  to  them  ;  they  were 
not  aware  of  it,  and  that  is  precisely  the  best  feature  of  it.  For  the  rest,  docs  this 
not  prove  to  the  class  of  penetrating  readers  —  to  wliich  belong  the  majority  of 
JESthetic  litterateurs,  who  are  endo.wed  with  exceptional  penetration — does  this 
not  prove,  I  say,  that  Kirsanoff'  and  Lopoukhoff  were  dry  people,  absolutely  with- 
out the  "  aesthetic  vein  P  "  That  was  the  expression  in  vogue  but  a  very  short 
lime  since  among  the  aesthetic  and  transcendental  litterateurs.  Perhaps  they  still 
use  it.  No  longer  associating  with  them,  I  cannot  say.  Is  it  natural  that  young 
people  as  devoid  as  they  of  taste  and  heart  should  otherwise  interest  themselves 
in  a  young  girl?  Certainly  they  are  without  the  {Esthetic  sentiment.  According 
to  those  who  have  studied  the  nature  of  man  in  circles  endowed  with  the  mslhetic 
sentiment  even  to  a  greater  degree  than  our  nGrmalien  (esthetic  litterateurs,  young 
people  in  such  a  case  should  speak  of  woman  from  a  purely  plastic  standpoint. 
So  it  has  been,  and  so,  gentlemen,  it  still  is.  But  not  among  youth  worthy  of  the 
name.    That  were  a  strange  youth,  gentlemen  ! 

XI. 

"  Well,  my  friend,  have  you  found  nothing  yet  ?  " 

"  Not  yet,  Vera  Pavlovna;  but  do  not  lose  courage,  keep  up  your  hope.  We 
shall  finally  find  a  suitable  place." 

'■  Oh,  if  you  knew,  my  friend,  how  hard  it  is  for  me  to  stay  here !  As  long  as  I 
saw  no  possible  way  of  deliverance  from  this  perpetual  hunailiation,  1  forced  my- 
self into  a  sort  of  excessive  insensibility.  Now  I  stifle  in  this  heavy  and  putrid 
atmosphere." 

"Patience,  V6ra  Pavlovna,  we  shall  find  something." 

Such  conversations  as  this  occurred  at  intervals  for  a  week. 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  81 

Tuesday. 

"  Patience,  Vera  Pavlovna,  we  shall  find  something." 

"  My  friend,  what  an  embarrassment  for  you !  How  much  time  lost !  How 
shall  I  repay  you?  " 

"  You  will  repay  me,  my  friend,  if  you  do  not  take  offence" 

Lopoukhoff  stopped  and  became  confused.*  Verotchka  glanced  at  him ;  he 
had  really  said  what  he  intended  to  say,  and  was  awaiting  a  reply. 

"  But  why  should  1  take  offence?     What  have  you  done?  " 

Lopoukhoff  iK'carae  >till  more  confused  and  appeared  distressed. 

"  What  is  the  matter,  rny  friend  ?  " 

"  Ah !  you  did  not  notice  it  ?  "  lie  said  this  in  a  very  sad  tone,  and  then  burst 
out  lauj^hing.    "  Ah  !  how  stupid  1  must  be  !     Pardon  me,  my  friend !  " 

"  But  what  is  the  trouble?  " 

"  Nothing.     You  have  already  repaid  me. 

"  Oh,  that !     What  a  queer  man  you  are !     Well,  so  be  it,  call  me  so." 

The  following  Thursday  witnessed  the  test  a  la  Eamlel  according  to  Saxon,  the 
Grammarian,  after  which  Maria  Alexevna  relaxed  her  supervision  a  little. 

Satnnlay,  alter  tea,  Maria  Alexevna  went  to  count  the  linen  which  the  laundress 
had  just  inoiight. 

"  It  looks,  my  triend,  as  if  the  affair  was  about  to  be  arranged." 

"Yes?  Oh!  so  much  the  better  !  .\nd  let  it  be  quickly.  1  believe  that  1  should 
die  if  this  should  last  longer.     But  when  and  how?  " 

"  All  will  be  dcciilf'd  to-morrow.     1  am  almost  certain  of  it." 

"  Tell  me  about  it,  then." 

"Be  calm,  my  friend,  you  may  b(!  noticed.  There  you  are,  leaping  with  joy, 
and  your  mother  liable  to  comt;  in  at  any  nmnienf  ! " 

"  l>ut  you  came  in  yourself  so  radiant  with  joy  tiiat  Mamma  looked  at  you  fur 
a  long  time." 

"Therefore  I  told  her  why  I  was  gay  ;  for  I  thought  it  woiilil  be  better  to  tell 
her,  and  so  I  did  say  to  her:  '  I  have  found  an  excellent  idaee.'" 

"  Insuff(!rai)le  that  you  are  !  you  give  me  all  sorts  of  m(I\  ire.  .nid  not  a  word 
have  you  told  me  yet.     Speak,  then  !  " 

"This  morning  Kir.sanoff— that,  you  know,  my  I'riend,  is  my  comrade's 
name—" 

"  I  know,  I  know  ;  speak,  speak  <pii(;kly." 

"  You  prevent  me  yourself,  my  friend." 

"Indeed  !  Still  reprimands  instead  of  reasonable  speech.     I  do  not  know  what 

•PcrhnpB  Ihf  Knifllsli  render  will  be-  nt  n  lo»«  to  iindrrKtnn'l  Lop'mktiofT'ii  ronfimlnn  ntiltmn  Informed 
that  the  words  rendered  licro  and  on  a  prevloun  piiKc  nii  "  my  friend  "  hnve  In  iho  orl|{lniil  n  Bignlticance 
more  tender  which  no  Kn^Hiib  word  exactly  convey*. 


82  What's  To  Be  Done? 

I  shall  do  with  you ;  I  would  put  you  on  your  knees,  if  it  were  not  impossible 
here ;  I  order  vou  to  kneel  when  you  get  home,  and  Kirsanoff  shall  write  me 
whether  you  have  done  proper  penance." 

"  So  be  it,  and  I  will  keep  silence  until  I  have  done  my  penance  and  been 
pardoned." 

"  I  pardon,  but  speak  quickly,  insulierable ! " 

"  I  thank  you.  You  pardon  me,  Vera  Pavlovna,  when  you  are  the  guilty  one 
3"oursel£     You  are  constantly  interrupting." 

"  V6ra  Pavlovna  ?  What  do  you  mean  by  that  ?  Why  do  you  no  longer  say 
my  friend  ^  " 

"  It  is  a  punishment,  my  friend,  that  I  desired  to  inflict  upon  you ;  I  am  an 
irritable  and  severe  man." 

"  A  punishment  ?  You  dare  to  inflict  punishments  on  me  !  I  will  not  listen 
to  you  " 

"You  will  not?" 

"  No,  I  will  not.  What  more  is  there  to  hear  ?  You  have  told  me  almost  all,  — 
that  the  aflair  is  nearlj'  finished,  and  that  tomorrow  it  will  be  decided ;  j'ou  know 
no  more  than  that  yourself  today.    What  could  I  hear  ?     Au  revoir,  my  friend  !  " 

"  But  listen  a  little,  my  friend ;  my  friend,  I  beg  of  you." 

"  I  do  not  listen,  and  am  going  away."  She  came  back  nevertheless.  "  Speak 
quickly,  and  I  will  interrupt  you  no  more.  Ah,  if  you  know  what  joy  you  have 
caused  me  !     Give  me  your  hand.    See  how  heartily  I  shake  it." 

"  And  tears  in  your  eyes why  ?  " 

"  Thank  you,  thank  you  !  " 

"  This  morning  Kirsanoff'  gave  me  the  address  of  the  lady  who  expects  me  to 
call  tomorrow.  I  am  not  personally  acquainted  with  her ;  but  I  have  often  heard 
her  spoken  of  by  the  functionary,  our  mutual  friend,  and  again  be  has  been  the 
intermediary.  The  lady's  husband  I  know  personally,  having  met  him  several 
times  at  the  house  of  the  functionary  in  question.  Judging  from  appearances,  I 
am  satisfied  that  the  family  is  a  good  one.  The  lady  said,  when  giving  her  ad- 
dress, that  she  was  satisfied  that  we  could  agree  upon  terms.  Therefore  we  may 
consider  the  business  almost  finished." 

"Oh!  what  happiness  !  "  repeated  Verotchka.  "  But  I  wish  to  know  immedi- 
ately, as  quickly  as  possible.     You  will  come  here  straightway  ?  " 

"  No,  my  friend,  that  would  awaken  suspicion.  I  must  come  here  only  at 
lesson-time.  This  is  what  we  will  do.  1  will  send  a  letter  by  city  po.st  to  Maria 
Alcxevna  announcing  that  I  cannot  come  on  Tuesday  to  give  the  usual  lesson, 
and  will  come  on  Wednesday  instead.  If  I  say  Wednesday  morning,  that  will 
mean  that  the  aff"air  has  terminated  successfully  ;  if  Wednesday  evening,  that  it 
has  fallen  through.  But  it  is  almost  certain  to  be  Wednesday  morning.  Maria 
Alexevna  will  tell  Fedia,  as  well  as  yourself  and  Pavel  Koustantinytch." 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  83 

"  When  will  the  letter  get  here  ?  " 

"  Tomorrow  evening." 

"  So  late  !  No,  patience  will  fail  me.  And  what  am  I  going  to  learn  from  the 
letter  ?  A  simple  '  yes,'  and  then  to  wait  till  Wednesday  !  It  is  actual  torture  ! 
My  friend,  I  am  going  to  this  lady's  house.  1  wish  to  know  the  whole  at  once. 
But  how  shall  we  fix  that  ?  Oh,  I  know  ;  I  will  wait  for  you  in  the  street,  until 
you  come  away  from  her  house." 

"  But,  my  friend,  that  would  be  still  more  imprudent  than  for  me  to  come  back 
here     It  is  better,  then,  that  I  should  come." 

"  No,  perhaps  we  could  not  talk  together  here.  And  in  any  case  Mamma  would 
be  suspicious.  It  is  better  to  follow  my  suggestion.  I  have  a  veil  so  thick  that 
no  one  will  recognize  me." 

"  Perhaps  indeed,  it  is  possible.     Let  me  think  a  little." 

"  There  is  no  time  to  lose  in  long  reflections.  Mamma  may  enter  at  any 
moment.     Where  does  this  lady  live  ?  " 

"  Rue  Galernaia,  near  the  bridge." 

"  When  will  you  be  there?" 

"  At  noon  ;  that  is  the  hour  she  fixed." 

"  From  noon  onwaid  1  will  be  seated  on  the  Boulevard  Konno-nvardeisky,  on 
the  last  i)fiicli  on  the  side  near  the  bridge.  I  told  you  that  I  would  wear  a  very 
thick  veil.  But  here  is  a  signal  for  you :  I  will  have  a  music  roll  in  my  hand. 
If  I  am  not  there,  it  will  be  because  I  have  been  detained.  No  matter,  sit  down 
on  the  bench  and  wail.  I  niav  Ijc  late,  but  I  will  not  fail  to  come.  How  "-ood  I 
feel  !  How  gralcliil  I  am  lo  you  !  How  happy  I  shall  be!  What  is  your  sweet- 
heart doing,  Dmitry  Scrguritch  ?  You  have  fallen  from  the  title  of  friend  to  that 
of  Dmitry  Sergueitch.     How  contented  I  am  !     How  happy  I  am  ! " 

Vi'-rotchka  ran  to  her  ])iano,  and  began  to  play.  "  What  a  degradation  of  art, 
my  friend  I  What  has  become  of  ynur  tasteP  You  al)MM(lon  o|i(>ras  lor 
galops." 

"  AbaiidoiM'd,  utterly  abandoned!" 

A  few  minutes  later  Maria  Al(!xcvna  entered.  Dmitry  Sergui'itcli  piiyeil  a 
game  of  cards  with  her ;  he  ItcLTan  i>y  wirun'iig ;  then  lu!  allowiMl  her  to  recover 
her  losses,  and  linally  ho  lo.st  thirty-five  copecks;  it  was  llie  lirsl,  lime  he  had  bt 
her  win,  ami  when  he  went  away,  he  hjft  her  well  contented,  ii-it  wiih  I  he  inoiiey, 
but  with  th(!  triumph.  There  arcs  joys  purely  ideal,  oven  in  hearts  completely  sind< 
in  m:iteri:ili-itn,  and  thi.s  it  is  that  proves  the  materialistic  explanation  of  life  un- 
salLsfactory. 


84  What's  To  Be  Done? 

XII. 
verotchka's  first  dream. 

V6rotchka  dreamed  that  she  was  shut  up  in  a  dark  and  damp  cellar.  Suddenly 
the  door  opened,  and  she  found  herself  at  liberty  in  the  country  ;  she  began  to 
run  about  joyfully,  saying  to  herself:  '■  How  did  I  keep  from  dying  in  the  cellar?" 
And  again  she  ran  about  and  gamboled.  But  suddenly  she  felt  a  stroke  of 
paralysis.  "  IIow  is  it  that  paralysis  has  fallen  upon  me  ?  "  thought  she ;  "  only 
old  people  are  subject  to  that,  old  people  and  not  young  girls." 

"  Young  girls  also  are  subject  to  it,"  cried  a  voice.  "  As  for  you,  you  will  be 
well,  if  I  but  touch  you  with  my  hand.    You  see,  there  you  are,  cured;  arise." 

"  Who  speaks  thus  to  me  ?     And  how  well  I  feel !     The  illness  has  quite  gone." 

Verotchka  arose ;  again  she  began  to  run  about  and  play,  saying  to  herself: 
"  IIow  was  I  able  to  endure  the  paralytic  shock  ?  Undoubtedly  because  I  was 
born  a  paralytic,  and  did  not  know  how  to  walk  and  run ;  if  I  had  known  how,  I 
never  could  have  endured  to  be  without  the  power." 

But  she  sees  a  young  girl  coming.  How  strange  she  is !  her  expression  and 
manner  are  constantly  changing;  by  turns  she  is  English  and  French,  then  she 
becomes  German,  Polish,  and  finally  Russian,  then  English  again,  German  again, 
Russian  again, — and  yet  why  do  her  features  always  remain  the  same  ?  An 
English  girl  does  not  resemble  a  French  girl,  nor  a  German  a  Russian.  She  is 
by  turns  imperious,  docile,  joyful,  sad,  gentle,  angry,  and  her  expression  always 
indicate:9  the  feeling  of  the  moment.  But  she  is  always  good,  even  when  she  is 
angiy.  That  is  not  all ;  she  suddenly  begins  to  improve ;  her  face  takes  on  new 
charms  with  every  moment,  and,  approaching  V6rotchka,  she  says  to  her  :  "  Who 
are  you?  " 

''  Formerly  he  called  me  V6ra  Pavlovna ;  now  he  calls  me  '  my  friend.'  " 

"  Ah  !  it  is  you,  the  V6rotchka  who  has  formed  an  affection  for  me." 

"  Yes,  I  love  you  much.     But  who  are  you  ?  " 

"  I  am  the  sweetheart  of  your  sweetheart." 

"  Of  which  sweetheart  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  know.  I  am  not  acquainted  with  my  sweethearts.  They  know  me, 
but  I  cannot  know  them,  for  I  have  many.  Choose  one  of  them ;  never  take  one 
elsewhere." 

"  I  have  chosen  "  .  .  .  . 

"  I  have  no  need  of  his  name ;  I  do  not  know  them.  But  I  say  to  you  again, 
choose  only  among  them.  I  wish  my  sisters  and  my  sweethearts  to  choose 
each  other  exclusively.  Were  you  not  shut  up  in  a  cell;ir  ?  Were  you  not  para- 
lyzed ?  " 

"  Yes." 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  85 

"  Are  you  not  free  now  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"  It  is  I  who  delivered  you,  who  cured  you.  Remember  that  there  are  many 
who  are  not  yet  delivered,  who  are  not  yet  cured.  Go,  deliver  them  and  cure 
them  !     Will  you  do  it  ?  '' 

"  I  will  do  it.     But  what  is  your  name  ?     I  wish  to  know  it." 

"  I  have  many  names.  I  tell  to  each  the  name  by  which  he  is  to  know  me. 
As  for  you,  call  me  Love  of  Mankind.  That  is  my  real  name  ;  but  there  are  not 
many  people  who  know  it ;  you,  at  least,  shall  call  me  so." 

Then  V6rotehka  found  herself  in  the  city  ;  she  saw  a  cellar  where  young  girls 
were  shut  up.  She  touched  the  lock,  the  lock  fell ;  she  said  to  the  young  girls  : 
"  Go  out!"  and  they  went  out.  She  saw  then  a  chamber  where  lay  young  girls 
who  had  been  paralyzed ;  she  said  to  tiiem  :  "Arise!"  They  arose,  and  all  ran 
into  the  country,  lighted-hearted  and  laughing:  V6rotchka  followed  them,  and  in 
her  happiness  cried  out : 

"  How  pleasant  it  is  to  be  with  them!  How  sad  it  was  to  l)c  alone!  How 
pleasant  it  is  to  be  with  the  free  young  girls  who  run  in  the  fields,  agile  and 
joyous !  " 

XUI. 

Lopoukhoff,  overburdened  with  cares,  had  no  longer  any  time  to  see  his  friends 
at  the  Academy.  Kirsanofl",  who  had  not  ceased  to  associate  with  them,  was 
obliged  to  answer  a  hundred  questions  about  Lopoukhoff:  he  revealeil  the  nature  of 
the  affair  that  occupied  his  friend,  and  thus  it  was  that  one  of  their  mutual  friends 
gave  the  address  of  the  lady  on  whom  IvopdiikliolV  is  about  to  cill  at  this  stage 
of  our  story.  "  How  fortunate  it  will  ite,  if  this  succeeds!"  tliouglit  lie,  as  he 
walked  along;  "  in  two  years,  two  and  a  half  :it  most,  I  shall  be  a  professor. 
Then  we  can  live  together.  In  the  meantime  she  will  live  quietly  with  Madame 
B.,  provided  Madame  I?,  proves  really  to  bo  a  good  person  whom  one  cannot 
mistrust." 

I-opoukhoff  found  in  Madame  !'>.  an  intelligent  and  good  woman,  without 
pretentions,  although  the  position  (»r  her  husband  would  have  warranted  her 
in  having  many.  The  conditions  were  good,  Verotc^lika  would  lie  well  situated 
there;  all  was  going  on  famously,  then,  and  Lopoukhofl'^s  hopes  had  not  been 
groundless. 

Madame  B.,  on  her  side,  being  satisfied  with  f^opoukhoff's  replies  regarding 
Vi^rotohka's  character,  the  jifrair  was  arrangcMl,  and  nftcsr  a  half  hour's  talk, 
Madame  W.  said  :  "  If  my  conditions  suit  your  young  aunt,  1  b('g  her  to  take  up 
her  quarters  here,  ami  I  should  be  plea.sod  to  see  her  as  soon  as  possible." 

'•  She  will  he  satisfied  ;  she  has  authorized  me  to  act  for  her.  But  now  that  we 
have  come  to  an  agreement,  I  must  tell  you  (what  it  was  needless  to  tell  you 


8(>  What'fi  To  Be  Bone? 

before)  that  this  young  girl  is  not  ray  relative.  Slie  is  the  daughter  of  the  func- 
tionary in  whose  family  I  give  lessons.  She  had  no  one  but  me  whom  she  could 
trust  in  this  affair.     But  1  am  almost  a  stranger  to  her." 

"  I  knew  it,  Monsieur  Lopoukhoff.  Yon,  Professor  N.  (the  nauje  of  the  friend 
who  had  given  the  address),  and  your  comrade  esteem  yourselves  so  highly  that 
one  of  you  can  form  a  friendship  for  a  young  girl  without  compromising  her  in 
the  eyes  of  the  two  others.  Now  N.  and  I  think  the  same,  and,  knowing  that  I 
waslookins:  for  a  groveruess,  he  felt  justified  in  tolling  me  that  this  young  "jirl  is 
not  related  to  you.  Do  not  blame  him  for  being  indiscreet ;  he  knows  me  very  well. 
I  believe  myself  also  wortliy  of  esteem,  Monsieur  Lopoukhoff,  and  be  sure  that  I 
well  know  who  is  worthy  of  being  esteemed.  I  trust  N.  as  I  trust  myself,  and 
N.  trusts  you  as  he  trusts  himself.  Let  us  say  no  more  on  that  point,  then.  But 
N.  did  not  know  her  name,  and  it  will  be  necessary  for  me  to  know  it,  since  she 
is  to  come  into  our  famil}." 

"  Her  name  is  V6ra  Pavlovna  Rosalsky." 

"  Now,  I  have  an  explanation  to  make  to  yon.  It  may  seem  strange  to  you 
that,  careful  as  1  am  of  my  childi-en,  I  have  decided  upon  a  governess  for  them 
whom  I  have  not  seen.  But  I  made  the  bargain  with  j^ou  because  1  know  well, 
very  well  indeed,  the  men  who  compose  your  circle,  and  I  am  convinced  that,  it 
one  of  you  feels  so  keen  an  interest  in  a  young  person,  this  young  person  must 
be  a  veritable  treasure  to  a  mother  wlio  desires  to  see  her  daughter  become 
worthy  of  the  esteem  of  all.  Consequently  to  make  inquiries  about  her  seemed 
to  me  a  superfluous  indelicacy.  In  saying  this  I  compliment,  not  you,  but 
myself." 

"  I  am  very  glad  for  Mademoiselle  Rosalsky.  Life  in  her  family  was  so  pain- 
ful to  her  that  she  would  have  been  contented  in  any  family  at  all  endurable. 
But  1  never  should  have  hoped  to  find  her  a  home  like  yours." 

"  Yes,  N.  told  me  that  her  family  life  was  very  bad." 

"  V(!ry  bad  indeed  !  "  And  Lopoukhoff  told  Madame  B.  such  facts  as  she  would 
need  to  know  in  order  to  avoid,  in  her  conversations  with  Verotchka,  touching  on 
subjects  which  would  give  her  pain  by  reminding  her  of  her  former  troubles. 

Madame  B.  listened  with  much  interest,  and  finally,  grasping  his  hand,  she 
said  to  him  : 

"  Enough,  Monsieur  Lopoukhoff ;  I  shall  have  a  nervous  attack;  and  at  my 
age  of  forty  years  it  would  be  ridiculous  to  show  that  I  cannot  yet  listen  in 
cold  blood  to  a  story  of  family  tyranny,  from  which  I  suffered  so  much  when 
young." 

"  Permit  me  to  say  another  word  ;  it  is  of  so  liltle  importance  that  perhaps  it 
is  not  necessary  to  speak  of  it.  Nevertheless  it  is  better  that  you  should  be  in- 
formed. She  is  fleeing  from  a  suitor  whom  her  mother  wishes  to  force  upon 
her." 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  87 

Madame  B.  became  iboughtful,  and  Lopoukhoff,  looking  at  her,  in  his  turn  be- 
came thoughttul  too. 

"  This  circumstance,  if  I  mistake  not,  seems  of  more  importance  to  you  than  to 
me?" 

Madame  B.  seemed  utterly  disconcerted. 

"  Pardon  me,"  he  continued,  seeing  that  she  did  not  know  what  to  say, — 
"  pardon  me,  but  I  perceive  that  you  regard  this  as  an  obstacle." 

"  Yes,  it  is  a  vei'y  serious  matter,  Monsieur  Lopoukliolf.  To  leave  the  house  of 
her  parents  against  their  will  would  alone  be  certain  to  cause  a  grave  quarrel. 
But,  as  1  have  already  told  you,  tliat  might  be  overlooked.  If  she  only  ran  away 
from  their  coarseness  and  tyranny,  that  could  be  settled  with  them  in  one  way 
or  another ;  in  the  last  extremity  a  little  money  would  set  ever\  thing  riglit.  But 
when  such  a  mother  forces  a  marriage,  it  is  evident  that  the  suitor  is  rich,  very 
rich  in  fact." 

"  Evidently,"  said  Lopoukhoff  in  a  very  sad  tone. 

"  Evidently  !  Monsieur  l^opoukhoff,  be  is  rii-h,  evidently ;  that  is  what  has 
disconcerted  me.  Under  such  circumstances  the  mother  could  not  ho  salislied  in 
any  way  whatever.  Now,  you  know  the  rights  of  parents.  They  would  halt  at 
nothing;  they  would  begin  an  action  which  they  would  push  to  the  end." 

Lopoukhoff  rose. 

"  There  is  nothing  further  to  say  except  to  ask  you  to  forget  all  that  I  have 
said  to  you." 

"  No,  no,  stay.  I  wish  first  to  justify  myself  in  your  eyes.  I  must  seem  to  you 
very  bad.  That  which  siiould  attract  my  sympathy  and  protection  i.s  just  wiiat 
holds  me  back.  Believe  me,  I  am  much  to  be  pitied.  Oh,  I  am  much  to  l)e 
pitied  !  " 

She  wa8  not  .shamming.  She  was  really  much  to  be  pitied.  She  felt  keenly  ; 
for  some  time  her  speech  wa.s  incoherent,  so  troubled  and  confu.sed  was  shc^ 
(Iradually,  ncveitheless,  order  was  restored  in  her  tiioughts,  l)ut  even  then  she 
had  nothing  new  to  say,  and  it  was  r.,o[)()uklioll''s  turn  to  l)c  disconcerted.  Con- 
sequently, after  allowing  Matlamc  I».  to  fiinsh,  though  not  listening  very  clo.sely 
to  her  explanations,  he  said  : 

"  Wl;at  you  have  just  said  in  your  jusliliciitiou  was  nr-cdless.  I  reniaineci  in 
onh-r  that  I  uiight  not  seem  inipulite  and  that  you  might  not  think  that  1  blame 
you  or  am  offended.  Oh  !  if  I  did  not  know  that  you  are  right !  ilow  I  wish 
you  were  not  right!  Then  I  couhl  tell  her  that  we  failed  to  come  to  an  agree- 
ment, that  viu  did  not  suit  inc.  That  wouhl  l)e  nothing,  .-ind  we  should  still  re- 
tain tlie  hope  of  llnding  another  place  and  reaching  the  deliverance  .so  long 
awaited.     But  now  what  shall  I  say  to  her?" 

.Madame  !'>.  wept. 

"  VViiat  shall  I  say  to  her?  "  repeated  Lopoukhoff,  as  he  went  down  the  stairs. 


88  WJiat's  To  Be  Done? 

"  What  will  she  do  ?    What  will  she  do  ?  '  thought  he,  as  he  turned  from  the 
Rue  Galernaia  into  the  street  leading  to  the  Boulevard  Konno-Gvardeisky. 


It  goes  without  saying  that  Madame  B.  wiis  not  as  entirely  right  as  the  man 
•who  refuses  the  moon  to  a  child.  In  view  of  her  position  in  society  and  her  hus- 
band's powerful  connections,  it  was  very  likely,  and  even  certain,  that  if  she  had 
really  wished  Verotchka  to  live  with  her,  Maria  Alexevna  would  have  been  un- 
able to  prevent  it  or  even  to  cause  any  serious  trouble  either  to  herself  or  to 
her  husband,  who  would  have  been  ofllcially  responsible  in  the  matter  and  for 
whom  Madame  B  was  afraid.  Madame  B.  would  simply  have  been  put  to  a 
little  inconvenience,  perhaps  even  to  a  disagreeable  interview  or  two ;  it  would 
have  been  necessary  to  demand  such  i^rotections  as  people  generally  prefer  to 
utilize  in  their  own  behalf.  What  prudent  man  would  have  taken  any  other 
course  than  Madame  B.'s.  And  who  is  obliged  to  do  more  ?  We  have  no  right 
to  blame  her.  Nor,  on  the  other  hand,  was  Lopoukholf  wrong  in  despairing  of 
V6rotchka's  deliverance. 

XIV. 

For  a  long  time,  a  very  long  time,  had  Verotchka  been  sitting  on  the  bench  at 
the  place  agreed  upon,  and  many  times  had  her  heart  begun  to  beat  faster  as  she 
saw  in  the  distance  a  military  cap. 

"  At  last !  There  he  is  !  It  is  he  !  My  friend  !  "  She  rose  suddenly  and  ran 
to  meet  him.  Perhaps  he  would  have  regained  his  courage  by  the  time  he 
reached  the  bench,  but,  being  taken  unawares,  he  could  show  only  a  gloomy 
countenance. 

"  Unsuccessful  ?  " 

"  Yes,  my  friend." 

"  And  it  was  so  sure  ?  How  did  it  happen  ?  For  what  reasons  ?  Speak,  my 
friend.-' 

"  Let  us  go  to  your  house ;  I  will  escort  you,  and  we  will  talk  as  we  walk ; 
presently  I  will  tell  you  the  whole  story,  but  first  let  me  collect  my  thoughts ;  it 
is  necessary  to  devise  some  new  plan  and  not  lose  courage." 

Having  said  this,  he  seemed  calmer. 

"  Tell  me  directly.  I  cannot  bear  to  wait.  Do  I  understand  that  it  is  neces- 
sary to  devise  some  new  plan  and  that  your  first  plan  is  not  at  all  feasible  ?  Is 
it,  then,  impossible  for  me  to  be  a  governess  ?    Oh  !  unfortunate  that  I  am  !  " 

'•  You  arc  not  to  be  deceived  ?  Yes,  then,  it  is  impossible.  That  is  what  I  in- 
tended to  tell  you,  but  patience,  ixitience,  my  friend  !  Be  firm.  Whoever  is  firm 
alwav  s  succeeds  at  last." 

"  Yes,  my  friend,  I  am  firm  ;  but  it  is  hard  !  " 


The  Firtit  Love  and  Leyal  Marriage.  89 

They  walked  for  some  time  without  saying  a  word. 

Lupoukhoff  saw  that  she  had  a  bundle  under  her  cloak. 

"  I  beg  you,"  said  he,  "  my  friend,  allow  me  to  carry  that." 

"  No,  no,  it  does  not  trouble  me ;  it  is  not  at  all  heavy." 

Again  silence  was  resumed,  and  thus  they  walked  for  a  long  time. 

"  If  you  knew,  my  friend,  that  I  have  not  slept  for  joy  since  two  o'clock  this 
morning.  And  when  I  slept,  I  had  a  marvellous  dream.  I  dreamed  that  I  had 
been  delivered  from  a  damp  cellar,  that  I  was  paralyzed,  that  I  was  cured ;  thou, 
that  I  ran  gaily  in  the  country  with  a  multitude  of  young  girls,  who  like  me  had 
come  from  dark  cellars  and  been  cured  of  paralysis,  and  we  were  so  happy 
at  being  able  to  run  freely  in  the  fields  !  Alas  !  my  dream  is  not  realized.  And 
I,  who  thought  to  go  back  to  the  house  no  more  !  " 

"  My  friend,  let  me  carry  your  bundle;  you  cannot  keep  its  contents  secret 
from  me." 

And  once  more  they  walked  in  silence. 

"All    was  so  arranged,"   said  LopoukhofF,  at  last;   "you  cannot  leave  your 

parents   against  their   will.     It  is  impossilde,  impossible But  give  mo 

your  arm." 

"  No,  do  not  be  troubled ;  this  veil  stifles  me,  that  is  all." 

She  raised  her  veil. 

"  Ah  !  I  am  better  now." 

"  How  pale  she  is  I  My  friend,  do  not  look  at  things  in  the  worst  light ;  that  is 
not  what  I  meant  to  say  to  you  ;  we  shall  find  some  means  of  accomplish- 
ing all." 

"What!  acconiplisbing  all !  You  say  that,  my  friend,  to  console  me.  There 
is  nothing  in  it." 

He  did  not  answer. 

"  How  pale  she  is  !     How  i)ale  she  is  !     There  is  a  way,  my  IVieiiil." 

"\Vhat  way?" 

"  I  will  tell  you,  when  yon  are  a  little  calmer.  You  will  have  to  think  it  over 
coolly." 

"  Tell  nw  directly.     I  shall  not  In;  calm  until  I  know." 

"  No,  you  arc  getting  I'xcitf'd  again  ;   now  vou  arc  in  no   condition    to   come;  to 

a  serious   decision.      Some   time   hcnct; Soon Hire   are  the 

steps.  Au  revoir,  ray  friend.  Ah  soon  as  I  find  you  in  a  condition  to  give  nio  a 
cool  answer,  I  will  tell  you  the  rest." 

"  When,  then  :'  " 

"  Day  after  to-inorrow,  at  Die  Ins.son." 

"  That  ig  too  long." 

"  I  will  corac!  to-morrow  fX|)re8Hly." 

"  No,  sooner." 


iK)  W/iat\s   To  Be  Done? 

"  This  evening." 

"  No,  I  will  not  let  you.  Come  in  with  me.  You  say  I  am  not  calm  cnougli, 
that  I  cannot  form  a  well  considered  judgment.  So  be  it;  but  dine  with  us,  and 
you  shall  see  that  I  am  calm.    After  dinner  mamma  is  going  out,  and  we  can  talk." 

"  But  how  can  I  go  in  ?  If  \ve  enter  together,  your  mother's  suspicions  will 
be  aroused  again.'' 

"Suspicions!  What  matters  it?  No,  my  friend,  that  is  still  another  reason 
why  you  should  go  in.     My  veil  is  raised,  and  perhaps  I  have  been  seen." 


"  You  are  right."" 


XV. 


Maria  Alexevna  was  much  astonished  at  seeing  her  daughter  and  Lopoukhoff 
come  in  together.     She  fixed  her  piercing  eye?  upon  them. 

"  I  have  come,  Maria  Alexevna,  to  tell  you  that  I  shall  be  busy  day  after  to- 
morrow, and  will  give  my  lesson  to-morrow.  Allow  me  to  take  a  seat.  I  am 
very  tired  and  weary.     T  should  like  to  rest  a  little." 

"  Indeed  !  What  is  the  trouble,  Dmitry  Sergueitch  ?  You  are  very  sad.  Have 
they  come  from  a  lovers'  meeting,"  she  continued  to  herself,  '■  or  did  they  simply 
meet  by  chance  ?  If  they  had  come  from  a  lovers'  meeting,  they  would  be  gay. 
Nevertheless,  if  the  difference  in  their  characters  had  led  them  into  any  disagree- 
ment, they  would  have  reason  to  be  sad ;  but  in  that  case  they  would  have 
quarreled,  and  he  would  not  have  accompanied  her  home.     On  the  other  hand, 

she  went  straight  to  her  room  without  so  much  as  looking  at  him, and 

yet  they  did  not  seem  to  be  at  variance.     Yes,  they  must  have  met  by  chance. 
Nevertheless,  he  must  be  watched." 

"  Do  not  trouble  yourself  on  my  account,  Maria  Alexevna,"  said  Lopoukhoff. 
"  Don't  you  think  that  Vera  Pavlovna  looks  a  little  pale  ?  " 

"  V6rotchka  ?    She  sometimes  does." 

"  Perhaps  it  was  only  my  imagination.  My  head  whirls,  I  must  confess,  under 
so  much  anxiety.' 

"  But  what  is  the  trouV)le,  then,  Dmitry  Sergu6itch  ?  Have  you  quarreled 
with  your  sweetheart  ?  " 

"  No,  Maria  Alexevna,  I  am  well  satisfied  with  my  sweetheart.  It  is  with  her 
parents  that  I  wish  to  quarrel." 

"  Is  it  possible ?  Dmitry  Sergueitch,  how  can  you  quarrel  with  her  parents? 
I  had  a  better  opinion  of  you." 

"  One  can  do  nothing  with  such  a  family.  They  demand  unheard-of  impossi- 
bilities." 

"  That  is  another  thing,  Dmitry  Sergueitch.  One  cannot  be  generous  with 
everybody;  it  is  necessary  to  keep  within  bounds.  If  that  is  the  case,  and  if  it  is 
a  question  of  money,  I  cannot  blame  you." 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  91 

"  Pardon  my  importunity,  Maria  Alexevna,  but  I  am  turued  so  completely  up- 
side down  that  I  need  rest  in  pleasant  and  agreeable  society.  Such  society  1  find 
only  here.  Permit  me  to  invite  myself  to  dinner  with  you,  and  permit  me  also 
to  send  your  Matroena  on  a  few  errands.  I  believe  Dencher's  cellar  is  in  this 
nei^hboi'hood,  and  that  he  keeps  some  very  fair  wines." 

A  scowl  came  over  Maria  Alexevna's  countenance  at  the  first  word  about  din- 
ner, but  her  face  relaxed  when  she  heard  Matroena's  name  and  assumed  an 
inquirino:  expression  which  seemed  to  ask:  "Are  you  going  to  pay  for  your 
share  of  the  dinner  ?  At  Dencher's !  It  must  be  something  nice,  then  !  " 
Lopoukhoff,  without  even  raising  his  eyes,  drew  from  his  pocket  a  cigar  case, 
and,  taking  from  it  a  piece  of  paper  which  it  happened  to  contain,  began  to  write 
upon  it  with  a  pencil. 

"  May  I  ask  you  what  wine  you  prefer,  Maria  Alexevna?" 

"  To  tell  the  truth,  Dmitry  Sergu6itch,  I  do  not  know  much  al)OUt  wine,  and 
seldom  drink  it :  it  is  not  becoming  in  women."  (One  readily  sees  from  a  glance 
at  your  face  that  you  do  not  generally  take  it.  ) 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Maria  Alexevna,  but  a  little  mainschino  does  no  one 
anv  harm  :  it  is  a  vouug  ladies'  wine.    Permit  me  to  order  some." 

"  What  sort  of  wine  i*?  that  Dmitry  Sergueitch  ?  " 

"  Oh  !  it  is  not  exactly  wine,  it  is  more  of  a  syrup."  Drawing  a  bill  from  his 
pocket,  he  continued:  "  I  think  that  will  be  enough,"  ami  after  having  looked  at 
the  order,  he  added  :  '•  IJut,  to  make  sure,  here  are  live  roubles  more." 

It  was  three  weeks'  income  and  a  month's  support.  No  matter,  there  was 
nothing  el.se  to  be  done;  Maria  Alexevna  must  be  generously  dealt  with. 

Maria  Alexcvn.a's  eyes  ;:lisfened  with  excitement,  and  the  gentlest  of  smiles 
unconsciously  lighted  up  her  face. 

"  Is  there  al.so  a  confectioner's  near  here?  I  do  not  know  whether  they  keep 
walnut  cake  ready  made, — in  my  opinion,  th:it  is  the  best  kind  of  cake,  Maria 
Alexevna.— bnt.  if  tlu-y  do  not  keep  it,  we  will  take  what  tiiey  have.  It  will  iiol 
do  to  be  too  particular." 

He  went  into  tin;  kitchen,  and  .sent  Matrojna  to  make  the  purchases. 

"  We  are  going  to  feast  to-day,  Maria  Alexevna.  I  desire  to  drown  in  wine 
my  quarrel  with  her  jj.arenl.M.  Why  should  we  nnt  feast?  My  sweetheart  and  F 
are  getting  on  swimnii;igly  together.  Siim(;time  we  shall  no  longer  live  in  this 
way;  we  shall  live  gaily;  am  I  not  right,  .Maria  Alexevna?  " 

"  Yon  are  quite  right,  little  father,  Dmitry  Sergueiteh.  That  is  why  you  scatter 
mnney, — .something  I  never  expected  of  you,  as  I  thdught  you  a  selfish  man. 
Perhaps  you  have  received  some  cariie-t  money  (nim  your  sweetheart?" 

"  No,  I  have  received  noearn«'st  money,  Maria  Alexevna,  but  if  one  has  some 
money  perchance,  why  should  In-  not  amuse  himself?  Karnest  money  !  There 
is  no  need  of  any  earnest  money.     The  affair  must  be  as  clear  as  dav  ;  otherwise 


92  What's  To  Be  Done? 

suspicions  would  be  excited.  And,  moreover,  such  things  are  degrading,  Maria 
Alexevna." 

"  Such  things  are  degrading,  Dmitry  Sergu6itch;  you  are  right;  such  things 
are  degrading.     In  my  opinion  one  ought  always  to  be  above  such  things." 

"  You  are  quite  right,  Maria  Alexevna." 

They  passed  the  three-quarters  of  an  hour  which  they  had  to  wait  for  dinner 
in  agreeable  conversation  on  lofty  matters  only.  Among  other  things  Dmitry 
Sergueitch.in  an  outburst  of  frankness,  said  that  the  preparations  for  his  marriage 
had  been  progressing  finely  of  late.  And  when  will  Vera  Pavlovna's  marriage 
take  place  ? 

On  that  point  Maria  Alexevna  can  say  nothing,  for  she  is  far  from  desiring  to 
coerce  her  daughter. 

"  That  is  right;  but,  if  my  observations  are  correct  slie  will  soon  make  up  her 
mind  to  marry  ;  she  has  said  nothing  to  me  about  it,  but  I  have  eyes  in  my  head. 
We  are  a  pair  of  old  foxes,  Maria  Alexevna,  not  easily  to  be  entrapped.  Al- 
though I  am  still  young,  I  am  an  old  fox  just  the  same ;  am  I  not  an  old  fox, 
Maria  Alexevna  ?  " 

"  Truly  you  are,  my  little  father ;  you  are  a  cunning  rogue." 

This  agreeable  and  effusive  interview  with  Maria  Alexevna  tlioroughly  revived 
Lopoukhoff.  What  had  become  of  his  sorrow  ?  Maria  Alexevna  had  never  seen 
him  in  such  a  mood.  Making  a  pretence  of  going  to  her  room  to  get  a  pocket- 
handkerchief,  she  saw  line  wines  and  liquors  that  had  cost  twelve  roubles  and 
fifty  copecks.  "  We  shall  not  drink  more  than  a  third  of  that  at  dinner,"  thought 
she.  "  And  a  rouble  and  a  half  for  that  cake  ?  Truly,  it  is  throwing  money  out 
of  the  window  to  buy  such  a  cake  as  that !  But  it  will  keep ;  we  can  use  it 
instead  of  confectionery  to  regale  the  gossips  with." 

XVI. 

All  this  time  V6rotchka  remained  in  her  chamber. 

"  Did  T  do  right  in  making  him  come  in  ?    Mamma  looked  at  him  so  steadily  ! 

"  In  what  a  difficult  position  I  have  put  him  !     How  can  he  stay  to  dinner? 

"  O  my  God,  what  is  to  become  of  me? 

"  There  is  a  waj-,  he  told  me ;  alas !  no,  dear  friend,  there  is  none. 

"Yes!  there  is  one:  the  window. 

"If  life  should  become  too  burdensome,  I  will  throw  myself  out. 

"  That  is  a  singular  thing  for  me  to  say:  if  life  should  become  too  burden- 
some, —  and  is  my  life  now  such  a  joy  ? 

"  To  throw  one's  self  out  of  the  window !  One  falls  so  quickly  !  Yes,  the  fall 
is  as  rapid  as  flight ;  and  to  fall  on  the  sidewalk,  how  hard  and  painful  it  must  be ! 

"  Perhaps  there  is  only  the  shock,  a  second  after  which  all  is  over,  and  before 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  93 

the  fatal  moment  you  are  going  through  the  air  which  opens  softlj'  beneath  you 
like  the  finest  down.     Yes,  it  is  a  good  way. 

"  But  then  ?  Everybody  will  rush  to  look  at  the  broken  head,  the  crushed 
face,  bleeding  and  soiled.  If,  before  leaping,  you  could  only  sprinkle  the  spot 
whei'c  you  are  to  fall  with  the  whitest  and  purest  sand,  all  would  be  well. 

"  The  face  would  not  be  crushed  or  soiled,  nor  would  it  wear  a  frightful 
aspect. 

"  Oh,  I  know ;  in  Paris  unfortunate  young  girls  suffocate  themselves  with  char- 
coal gas.  That  is  good,  very  good.  To  throw  yourself  out  of  the  window, — 
no,  that  is  not  fittin":.     But  suffocation,  —  that's  the  thin^,  that's  the  thins:. 

"  How  they  do  talk  !  What  are  they  saying  ?  What  a  pity  that  I  cannot  tell 
what  they  say ! 

"  1  will  leave  a  note  telling  all. 

"  How  sweet  the  memory  of  my  birthday  when  I  danced  with  liim  !  I  did  not 
know  what  true  life  was. 

"  After  all,  the  youug  girls  of  Paris  are  intelligent.  Wh>^  should  I  not  be  as 
intelligent  as  they  are.'*  It  will  be  comical:  they  will  enter  tlie  chai^ber,  tiiey 
will  be  unable  to  see  anything,  the  room  will  be  full  of  charcoal  gas,  the  air  will 
be  heavy  ;  they  will  be  frightened  :  '  What  has  happened  ?  Where  is  Verotchka  ?  ' 
Mamma  will  scold  Papa:  'What  are  you  waiting  for,  imbecile?  Break  the 
windows!'  They  will  break  the  windows,  and  they  will  see;  I  shall  l)e  seated 
ne;ir  my  dressing-table,  ray  face  buried  in  ray  hands.  '  Verotchka!  Verotchka!' 
I  shall  not  reply. 

"'Verotchka,  why  do  you  not  answer?  Oh,  flod,  she  is  suffocated.'  And 
they  will  begin  to  cry,  to  weep.  <^)h.  yes,  that  will  be  very  comical,  to  see  f  Irem 
weep,  and  Mamma  will  tell  everyliody  how  miicli  she  loved  me. 

"  But  he,  he  will  pity  me.     Well,  I  will  leave  him  a  note. 

"  I  will  see,  yes,  I  will  see,  and  I  shall  die  after  the  fashion  of  the  poor  girls 
of  Paris.     Yes,  I  will  certainly  do  it,  and  I  am  not  afiaid. 

"  And  what  is  thcrre  t(,i  be  so  afraid  of  i*  I  will  only  wait  until  he  tells  rae  the 
way  of  which  iie  speaks.  Ways!  There  are  none.  lie  said  that  simply  to 
calm  rae. 

"  What  is  tlu!  u.s(!  of  calming  pi^opln  when  (ln-re  is  nothing  t<»  lie  done:'  It  is 
a  great  mistake ;  in  spite  of  all  his  wi.sdoni,  in;  has  acted  as  any  other  would. 
Why  ?     He  was  not  oi)liged  to. 

"  What  is  he  saying?     He  siieaks  in  a  gay  lone,  and  as  if  \w.  was  joyful. 

"  (^'an  he,  indeed,  have  foimd  a  way  of  salvatioQp 

"  It  docs  not  scctn  possible. 

"  But  if  ho  had  nothing  in  view,  would  ho  bo  so  gay  ? 

"  What  can  he  have  thought  of? "' 


94  What 's  'To  Be  Done  9 


XYII. 

"  V6rotchka,  come  to  dinner ! "  cried  Maria  Alexevna. 

Pavel  Konstantiiijtch  had  Just  come  in,  and  the  cike  had  been  on  the  table  for 
some  time,  —  not  the  confectioner's  but  one  of  Matnena's,  a  cake  stufted  with 
meat,  left  over  from  the  day  before. 

"  Maria  Alexevna,  you  have  never  tried  taking  a  drop  of  brandy  before  din- 
ner ?  It  is  very  good,  especially  this  brandy  made  from  bitter  orange.  As  a 
doctor,  I  advise  you  to  take  some.    Taste  of  it,  I  beg  of  you." 

"  No,  no,  thank  you." 

"  But  if,  as  a  doctor,  I  prescribe  it  for  you  ?  " 

•'  The  doctor  must  be  obeyed,  but  only  a  small  half-glass." 

"  A  half-glass !     It  would  not  be  worth  while." 

"  And  yourself,  Dmitry  Sergu6itch  ?  " 

'  I?    Old  as  I  am  ?     I  have  made  oath"  .... 

"  But  it  is  very  good !     And  how  warming  it  is  ! " 

"  What  did  I  tell  you?    Yes,  indeed,  it  is  warming." 

("  But  he  is  very  gay.  Can  there  really  be  a  way  ?  How  well  he  acts  toward 
her,  while  he  has  not  a  glance  for  me !  But  it  is  all  strategy  just  the 
same.") 

They  seated  themselves  at  the  table. 

"  Here,  Pavel  Konstantinytch  and  I  are  going  to  drink  this  ale,  are  we  not  ? 
Ale  is  something  like  beer.     Taste,  Maria  Alexevna." 

"  If  you  say  that  it  is  beer,  why  not  taste  of  it  ?  " 

("  What  a  lot  of  bottles !  Oh,  I  see  now !  How  fertile  friendship  is  in 
methods! ") 

(•'  He  does  not  drink,  the  cunning  rogue.  He  only  carries  the  glass  to  his  lips. 
This  ale,  however,  is  very  good ;  it  has  a  taste  of  krass,  only  it  is  too  strong. 
After  I  have  united  Michka  and  Verka,  I  will  abandon  brandy,  and  drink  only 
this  ale.  He  will  not  get  drunk ;  he  does  not  even  taste  of  it.  So  much  the 
better  for  me !  There  will  be  the  more  left ;  for,  had  he  wanted  to,  he  could 
have  emptied  all  the  bottles.") 

"  But  yourself  why  do  you  not  drink,  Dmitry  Sergueitch?  " 

"  Oh,  I  have  drank  a  great  deal  in  my  time,  Maria  Alexevna.  And  what  1 
have  drank  will  last  me  a  good  while.  When  labor  and  mnncy  failed  me,  I 
drank;  now  that  I  have  labor  and  money,  I  need  wine  no  longer,  and  am  gay 
without  it." 

The  confectioner's  cake  was  brought  in. 

"  Dear  Matroena  Stt-panovna,  what  is  there  to  go  with  this?  " 

"  Directly,  Dmitry  Sergu6itch,  directly,"  and  Matroena  returned  with  a  bottle 
of  champagne. 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  95 

"  V6ra  Pavlovna,  you  have  not  drank,  nor  have  I.  Now  then  let  us  drink  too. 
To  the  health  of  your  sweetheart  and  mine !  " 

"  What  is  that  ?     What  can  he  mean  ?  "  thought  V6rotchka. 

"  May  they  both  be  happy,  your  sweetheart  and  V6rotchka'3 ! "  said  Maria 
Alexevna :  "  and,  as  we  are  growing  old,  may  we  witness  Verotchka's  marriage 
as  soon  as  possible  !  " 

"  You  shall  witness  it  soon,  Maria  Alexevna.     Shall  she  not,  Vera  Pavlovna?  " 

"  What  does  he  really  mean  ?  "  thought  Verotchka. 

"  Come,  then  !     Is  it  yes,  Vera  Pavlovna  ?    Say  yes,  then." 

"  Yes,"  said  Verotchka. 

"Bravo  !  Vera  Pavlovna,  your  mother  was  doubtful ;  you  have  said  yes,  and 
all  is  settled.  Another  toast.  To  the  earliest  possible  consummation  of  Vera 
Pavlovna's  marriage!  Drink,  Vera  Pavlovna!  lie  not  afraid.  Let  us  touch 
glasses.     To  your  speedy  marriage !  " 

They  touched  glasses. 

'•  Please  God !  Please  God  !  I  thank  you,  V6rotchka.  You  console  me,  my 
daughter,  in  my  old  age!"  said  Maria  Alexevna,  wipin^r  away  the  tears.  The 
English  ale  and  the  niardxchinr)  had  quickened  her  emotions. 

"  PlBiise  God !     Please  (iod  !  "  repeated  Pavel  Konstantinytch. 

"  How  pleased  we  are  with  you,  Dmitry  Scrgu6itch ! "  continued  Maria 
Alexevna,  getting  up  from  the  table;  "yes,  we  are  well  pleased  with  you!  You 
have  come  to  our  house  and  y(ni  have  regaled  us;  in  fact,  we  might  say  that  you 
have  given  us  a  feast! "  So  spoke  Maria  Ale.vevna,  and  her  moist  and  hazy  eyes 
<lid  not  testify  in  favor  of  her  sobriety. 

Things  alwavs  seem  more  nticessary  than  they  really  are.  L(>[)()uklii)ll  did 
not  expect  to  succeed  so  well ;  his  object  was  simply  to  cajole  Maria  Alexevna 
that  he  might  not  lo.se  iier  good  will. 

Maria  Alexevna  could  not  resist  tlio  l)randy  and  other  li(iuor.s  with  which  she 
was  familiar,  and  lh«!  ale,  th»?  iiiarnsrhiTi'),  and  i\w  (-lianipagne  Iiaving  deceived 
her  inexperience,  she  gradually  gnnv  Weaker  and  weaker.  For  so  sumptuous  a 
repa.st  she;  had  ordered  .Matro^na  to  bring  the  sniruu^ar  when  dinner  was  over, 
lint  it  wa.s  brought  only  for  her  and  Lopoukhnfl'. 

VZ-roti-hka,  pretending  that  .she  wanted  no  te.i,  had  retired  to  her  ror)m.  Pavel 
KonHtantinyt<'h,  liki-  an  ill-bred  pers.)n,  had  gone  to  lie  down  as  soon  as  he  had 
linished  eating.  Dmitry  Sergueit<;h  drank  slowly;  he  was  at  his  second  glass 
when  Maria  Alexevna,  coniplet«'ly  u.sc(|  u|».  ple.ided  nti  indisposition  which  she 
h.id  telt  since  morning,  and  witlnlrew  to  go  to  sleep.  I>opoukhofl'  told  her  not 
to  trrinble  herself  about  him,  and  lu!  remained  alon<!  and  weut  to  sleep  in  his 
arm-chair  after  drinking  his  third  glass. 

"  lie,  loo,  like  my  treasure,  li:is  entered  into  the  fjord's  vineyard,"  ob.^erved 
Matra'na.    Neverthehtss  her  treasure  .snored  loudly,  and  this  snoring  undoubtedly 


96  WuU's  To  Be  Done? 

awakened  Lopoukhoflf,  for  he  arose  as  soon  as  Matroena,  after  clearing  the  table, 
had  betaken  herself  to  the  kitchen. 

XVIII. 

"  Pardon  me,  V6ra  Pavlovna,"  said  Lopoukhoflf,  on  e^iterinp:  the  young  girl's 
room,  —  and  his  voice,  which  at  dinner  had  been  so  loud,  was  soft  and  timid,  and 
he  no  longer  said  "  My  friend,"  but  "  Vera  Pavlovna,"  —  "  pardon  my  boldness. 
You  remember  our  toasts ;  now,  as  husband  and  wife  cannot  be  separated,  you 
will  be  free." 

"  My  dear  friend,  it  was  for  joy  that  I  wept  when  you  entered." 

He  took  her  hand  and  covered  it  with  kisses. 

"  You,  then,  are  my  deliverer  from  the  cellar  of  ray  dream  ?  Your  goodness 
equals  your  intelligence.     When  did  this  thought  occur  to  you  ?  " 

"When  we  danced  together." 

"  And  it  was  at  the  same  moment  that  I  too  felt  your  goodness.  You  make 
me  free.  Now  I  am  ready  to  suffer;  hope  has  come  back  to  me.  I  shall  no 
longer  stifle  in  the  heavy  atmosphere  that  has  oppressed  me  ;  for  I  know  that  1 
am  to  leave  it.     But  what  shall  we  do?  " 

"It  is  already  the  end  of  April.  At  the  beginning  of  July  I  shall  have  fin- 
ished my  studies ;  I  must  finish  them  in  order  that  we  may  live.  Then  you  shall 
leave  your  cellar.  Be  patient  for  only  three  months  more,  and  oar  life  shall 
change.  I  will  obtain  employment  in  my  art,  though  it  will  not  pay  me  much; 
but  there  will  be  time  left  to  attend  to  patients,  and,  taking  all  things  together, 
we  shall  be  able  to  live." 

"  Yes,  dear  friend,  we  shall  need  so  little ;  only  I  do  not  wish  to  live  by  your 
labor.  I  have  lessons,  which  I  shall  lose,  for  Mamma  will  go  about  telling 
everybody  that  I  am  a  wretch.  But  I  shall  find  others,  and  I  too  will  live  by 
my  labor;  is  not  that  just?     I  should  not  live  at  your  expense." 

"  Who  told  you  that,  dear  V6rotchka  ?  " 

"Oh!  he  asks  who  told  me!  Have  not  you  yourself  always  entertained  me 
with  such  ideas,  you  and  your  hooks?  For  your  books  are  full  of  such  thoughts. 
A  whole  half  of  your  books  contains  nothing  but  that." 

"In  my  books?  At  any  rate  I  never  said  such  a  thing  to  you.  When,  then, 
did  I  say  so  ?  " 

"  When  ?     Have  you  not  always  told  me  that  everything  rests  on  money  ?  " 

"  Well  ?  " 

"  And  do  you  really  think  me,  then,  so  stupid  that  I  cannot  understand  books 
and  draw  conclusions  from  premises  ?  " 

"  But  again  I  ask  you  what  conclusion.  Really,  my  dear  V»)rotchka,  I  do  not 
understand  you." 

"  Oh  !  the  strategist !     He  too  wants  to  be  a  despot  and  make  me  dependent 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  97 

upou  him !  No,  that  shall  not  be,  Dmitry  Sergueitch ;  do  you  understand  me 
now  ?  " 

"  Speak,  and  I  will  ivy  to  understand." 

"  Everything  rests  on  money,  you  say,  Dmitry  Sergu6itch ;  consequently,  who- 
ever has  money  has  power  and  freedom,  say  your  books ;  then,  as  long  as  woman 
lives  at  man's  expense,  she  will  be  dependent  on  him,  will  she  not  ?  You  thought 
that  I  could  not  understand  that,  and  would  be  your  slave?  No,  Dmitry 
Sergueitch,  I  will  not  suffer  your  despotism  ;  I  know  that  you  intend  to  be  a  good 
and  benevolent  despot^  but  I  do  not  intend  that  you  shall  be  a  despot  at  all.  And 
now  tbis  is  what  we  will  do.  You  shall  cut  off  arms  and  legs  and  administer 
drugs  ;  I,  on  the  (jthor  hand,  will  give  lessons  on  the  piano.  What  farther  plans 
shall  we  form  about  our  lile  ?  " 

"  Perfect,  Verotchka !  Let  every  woman  maintain  with  all  her  strength  her 
independence  of  every  man,  however  great  her  love  for  and  confidence  in  him. 
Will  you  succeed  ?  I  know  not,  but  it  matters  little  :  whoever  arrives  at  such  a 
decision  is  already  almost  secure  against  servitude;  for,  at  the  worst,  he  can 
always  dispense  with  another.  But  how  ridiculous  we  are,  V6rotchka  !  You 
say  :  '  I  will  not  live  at  your  expense,'  and  I  praise  you  for  it.  How  can  we  talk- 
in  this  way  ?  " 

"  Ridiculous  or  not,  that  matters  little,  dear  friend.  We  are  going  to  live  in 
our  own  way  and  as  we  deem  most  fitting.  What  further  plans  shall  we  form 
about  our  life?  " 

"I  gave  you  my  ideas.  Vera  Pavlovna,  about  one  side  of  our  life;  you  have 
seen  fit  to  completely  overturn  them  and  sul)stilute  your  own  ;  you  have  called 
me  tyrant,  dispot;  be  good  <  ikju^zU  therefore  to  make,  your  own  plans.  It  seems 
hardly  worth  while  for  me  to  provide  you  with  a  pestle  with  wiiieh  to  thus  grind 
to  powder  those  that  I  propose.  What  plans,  then,  would  i)e  your  choice,  my 
frifiid?     I  am  sun;  that  I  shall  have  only  congratulations  to  oiler." 

"What!  Now  you  pay  me  <M)inprmu'nts  !  You  wish  to  be  agreeable?  You 
rtatteryourself  that  you  are  going  to  rule,  while  app'arin<;;^to  sul)mit?  I  know 
that  trick,  and  I  l)eg  you  to  speak  more  plainly  here  .fter.  You  give  me  too 
much  praise.      I  am  confused.     Do  nothing  of  the  Uiml;   f  shall  grow  too  proud  " 

"  Very  well,  V'er.'i  I'avloviia.  1  will  ijc  rude,  if  you  prefer.  Your  nature  jms  so 
little  of  the  feminine  element  that  ymi  are  undoul)tedly  about  lo  put  forth  utterly 
niasculitK!  ideas." 

"  Will  you  tell  nit!,  dear  liieml,  wh.it  the  reniiniii*;  naturi!  is  :'  i'.eeause  \vniii:in'H 
voice  is  generally  clearer  tli:in  man's  is  it  necessary  to  discuss  the  respective 
merits  of  the  contralto  and  the  barytone?  Wo  are  always  told  to  ren)ain 
women.    Ls  not  that  stupidity  P  " 

"  Wor.se  than  that,  Verolchka." 

"Then  I  am  "-oinf  to  throw  off  this  femininity  and  put  fortli  iiM.rlv  maacurun! 


v^ 


98  Wiat's  To  Be  Done? 

ideas  as  to  the  way  in  which  we  shall  live.  We  will  be  friends.  Only  I  wish  to 
be  your  first  friend.  Oh !  I  have  not  yet  told  you  how  I  detest  your  dear 
Ivirsanoff." 

"  Beware  of  detesting  him  ;  he  is  an  excellent  man." 

"  I  detest  him,  and  I  shall  forbid  you  to  see  him." 

"  A  fine  beginning  !  She  is  so  afraid  of  despotism  that  she  desires  to  make  a 
doll  of  her  husband.  How  am  I  to  see  no  more  of  Kirsanoflf  when  we  live 
together  ?  " 

"  Are  you  always  in  each  other's  arms  ?  " 

"  We  are  together  at  breakfast  and  dinner,  but  our  arms  are  otherwise 
occupied." 

"  Then  you  are  not  together  all  day  ?  " 

'•  Very  near  together.     He  in  his  room,  I  in  mine." 

•'  Well,  if  that  is  the  case,  why  not  entirely  cease  to  see  each  other?  " 

"  But  we  are  good  friends ;  sometimes  we  feel  a  desire  to  talk,  and  we  talk  as 
long  as  we  can  with  each  other." 

"  They  are  always  together !  They  embrace  and  quarrel,  embrace  and  quarrel 
again.     I  detest  him  !  " 

"  But  who  tells  you  that  we  quarrel  ?  That  has  never  happened  once.  We 
live  well-nigh  separately ;  we  are  friends,  it  is  true ;  but  how  can  that  concern 
you  ?" 

"  How  nicely  I  have  trapped  him  !  You  did  not  intend  to  tell  me  how  we  shall 
live,  and  yet  you  have  told  me  all !  Listen,  then ;  we  will  act  upon  your  own 
words.  First,  we  will  have  two  rooms,  one  for  you  and  one  for  me,  and  a  little 
parlor  where  we  will  take  breakfast,  dine,  and  receive  our  visitors,  —  those  avIio 
come  to  see  us  both,  not  you  or  me  alone.  Second,  I  shall  not  dare  to  enter  your 
room  lest  I  might  disturb  you.  Kirsanoflf  does  not  dare  to,  and  that  is  why  you 
do  not  quarrel.  No  more  shall  you  dare  to  enter  mine.  So  much  for  the  second 
place.  In  the  third  —  ah!  my  dear  friend,  I  forgot  to  ask  you  whether  Kirsanoff 
meddles  with  your  aflfairs  and  you  with  his.  Have  you  a  right  to  call  one  another 
to  account  for  anything?" 

"  I  see  now  why  you  ask  this  question.     I  will  not  answer." 

"  But  really  I  detest  him !  You  do  not  answer  me ;  it  is  needless.  I  know 
how  it  is:  you  have  no  right  to  question  each  other  about  your  personal  aflfairs. 
Consequently  1  shall  have  no  right  to  demand  anything  whatever  of  you.  If  3'ou, 
dear  friend,  deem  it  useful  to  speak  to  me  of  your  afiUirs,  you  will  do  so  of  your 
own  accord,  vice  verna.    There  are  three  points  settled.     Are  there  any  others?" 

"  The  second  rule  requires  some  explanation,  Verotchka.  We  see  each  other 
in  the  little  parlor.  We  have  breakfasted ;  I  stay  in  my  room,  and  do  not  dare 
to  show  myself  in  yours ;  then  I  shall  not  see  you  until  dinner-time?  " 

"  No." 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  99 

"  Precisely.  But  suppose  a  friend  comes  to  see  me,  and  tells  me  that  another 
friend  is  coming  at  two  o'clock.  I  must  go  out  at  one  o'clock  to  attend  to  my 
affairs ;  shall  I  be  allowed  to  ask  you  to  give  this  friend  who  is  to  come  at  two 
o'clock  the  answer  that  he  seeks,  —  can  I  ask  you  to  do  that,  provided  you  intend 
to  remain  at  home  ?  " 

"  You  can  always  ask  that.  Whether  I  will  consent  or  not  is  another  question. 
If  I  do  not  consent,  you  will  not  ask  the  reason.  But  to  ask  whether  I  will  con- 
sent to  do  you  a  service,  that  you  can  always  do." 

"  Very  well.  But  when  we  are  at  breakfast,  I  may  not  know  that  I  need  a 
service;  now,  I  cannot  enter  your  room.    How  shall  I  make  my  want  known?  "' 

'■(Jh,  God!  how  simple  he  is !  A  veritable  infant!  You  go  into  the  neutral 
room  and  say:  'Vera  Pavlovna!'  I  answer  from  my  room:  'What  do  you 
wi.sh,  Dmitry  Sergueitch?'  You  say:  '  I  must  go  out;  iMonsieur  A.  (giving  the 
nann!  of  your  friend)  is  coming.  I  have  some  information  foi'  him.  Can  I  ask 
you.  Vera  Pavlovna,  to  deliver  it  to  him  ?  '  If  I  say  '  no,'  our  conversation  is  at 
an  end.  If  I  say  '  yes,'  I  go  into  the  neutral  room,  and  you  tell  me  what  reply  I 
am  to  make  to  your  friend.  Now  do  you  know,  my  little  child,  how  we  must 
conduct  ourselves?" 

•■  But,  seriously,  my  dear  Verotchka,  that  is  the  best  way  of  living  together. 
Only  where  have  you  found  such  ideas?  I  know  them,  for  my  part,  and  I  know 
wlif-re  I  liave  road  them,  l)Ut  the  Ijooks  in  wliii-li  I  have  read  them  you  have  not 
soen.  In  those  that  1  gave  you  there;  wer(!  no  such  particulars.  From  whom  can 
you  have  heard  them,  f(jr  I  Ijclievt;  I  am  the  first  new  man  *  that  you  have 
met  ?  " 

"  i'>ut  is  it,  then,  .so  hard  to  think  in  lliis  \v;iy  ?  I  have  seen  the  inner  lift*  of 
families;  1  do  not  refer  to  my  own,  ihut  being  too  i.solated  a  ca^e ;  but  I  have 
friends,  and  I  have  been  in  their  families;  you  cannot  iiaagino  how  many  quar- 
rels there  are  between  husi^ands  and  wives." 

"  Oh  !  I  very  ea.sily  imai,Mnc  it." 

"  Do  you  know  the  conclusion  that  1  have  come  to?  That  pe(jplc  should  not 
live  a.s  they  do  now,  —  always  tf)gother,  always  together.  They  should  see  each 
other  only  wh('jj  they  need  or  desiro  to.  How  many  limes  I  have  asked  myself 
this  question  :  Why  are  we  so  careful  with  strangers?  Why  do  w<'  try  In  appear 
better  in  their  presence  than  in  our  families?  And  really  we  are  ix-tter  in  the 
presence  of  strangers.  Why  is  this?  Why  are  wo  worse  with  our  own, 
although  we  love  them  better?  Do  you  know  the  request  I  have  to  make  of 
you  ?  Treat  me  always  as  you  hav(^  done  heretofore.  .\llli(»ugh  you  have  never 
given  me  a  rude  reply  or  passed  any  cfsiisure  upon  me,  that  has  not  preventcul 
you  from  loving  me.     People  say  :  How  can  one  bo  rude  to  a  woman  or  young 

•  By  "  new  miin  "  the  author  meniix  n  mini  of  a<tvi»ncp<l  tlioui()it. 


100  WJiat's  To  Be  Do7ie? 

girl  whom  he  does  not  know,  or  how  pass  censure  upon  her  ?  Well,  here  1  am 
your  sweetheart  and  about  to  become  your  wife;  treat  me  always  as  it  is_cu>- 
tomary  to  treat  strangers ;  that  seems  to  me  the  best  way  of  preserving  harmony 
and  love  between  us.    Am  I  not  right  ?  " 

"  Truly,  I  don't  know  what  to  think  of  you,  V6rotchka;  you  are  always  aston- 
ishing me." 

"  Too  much  praise,  my  friend ;  it  is  not  so  difficult  to  understand  things.  I  am 
not  alone  in  entertaining  such  thoughts :  many  young  girls  and  women,  quite  as 
simple  as  myself,  think  as  I  do.  Only  they  do  not  dare  to  say  so  to  their  suitors 
or  their  husbands;  they  know  very  well  what  would  be  thought  of  them :  im- 
moral woman  !  1  have  formed  an  affection  for  you  precisely  because  you  do  not 
think  as  others  do  in  this  matter.  I  fell  in  love  with  you  when,  speaking  to  me 
for  the  first  time  on  my  birthday,  you  expressedpity  for  woman's  lot  and 
l)ictured  for  her  a  better  future." 

"And  I,  —  when  did  I  fall  in  love  with  you?  On  the  same  day,  as  I  have 
already  told  you,  but  exactly  at  what  moment  ?  " 

"  But  you  have  almost  told  me  yourself,  so  that  one  cannot  help  guessing,  and, 
if  I  guess,  you  will  begin  praising  me  again." 

"  Guess,  nevertheless." 

"  At  what  moment  ?  When  I  asked  you  if  it  were  true  that  we  could  so  act  as 
to  make  all  men  happy." 

"  For  that  I  must  kiss  your  hand  again,  Verotchka." 

"  But,  dear  friend,  this  kissing  of  women's  hands  is  not  exactly  what  I  like." 

"  And  why  ?  " 

"Oh!  you  know  yourself;  why  ask  me?  Do  not,  then,  ask  me  these  ques- 
tions, dear  friend." 

"  Yes,  you  are  right;  one  should  not  ask  such  questions.  It  is  a  bad  habit; 
hereafter  I  will  question  you  only  when  I  really  do  not  know  what  you  mean. 
Do  you  mean  that  we  should  kiss  no  person's  hand  V  " 

Verotchka  began  to  laugh.  "  There,  now,  I  pardon  you,  since  I  too  have 
succeeded  in  catching  you  napping.  You  meant  to  put  me  through  an  examina- 
tion, and  you  do  not  even  know  the  reason  of  my  repugnance.  It  i.s  true  that  we 
should  not  kiss  any  person's  hand,  but  I  was  not  speaking  from  so  general  a 
standpoint;  1  meant  simply  that  men  should  not  kiss  women's  hands,  since  that 
ouglit  to  be  offensive  to  women,  for  it  means  that  men  do  not  consider  them  as 
.human  being.s  like  themselves,  but  believe  that  they  can  in  no  waj'  lower  their 
dignity  before  a  woman,  so  inferior  to  them  is  she,  and  that  no  marks  of  affected 
respect  for  her  can  lessen  their  superiority.  But  such  not  being  your  view,  my 
dear  friend,  why  should  you  kiss  my  hand  ?  Moreover,  people  would  say,  to  see 
us,  that  we  were  betrothed." 

"  It  does  look  a  little  that  way,  indeed,  V6rotchka;  but  what  are  we  then  ?  " 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  101 

"  I  do  not  know  exactly,  or  rather  it  is  as  if  we  had  already  been  married  a 

long  time." 
"  And  tliat  is  the  truth.    We  were  friends ;  nothins:  is  changed." 
"  Nothing  changed  but  this,  my  dear  friend, —  that  now  I  know  I  am  to  leave 

my  cellar  for  liberty." 

XIX. 

Such  was  their  first  talk, —  a  strange  one,  it  will  be  admitted,  for  lovers  mak- 
ing a  declaration.  When  they  had  again  clasped  hands,  Lopoukhoff  started  for 
his  home,  and  Verotchka  had  to  lock  the  outside  door  herself,  for  Matroeua, 
thinking  that  her  treasure  was  still  snoring,  had  not  yet  begun  to  think  of  re- 
turning from  the  cabaret.  And  indeed  "  her  treasure "  did  sleep  a  number  of 
hours. 

Reaching  homo  at  six  o'clock,  Lopoukhoff  tried  to  go  to  work,  but  did  not  suc- 
ceed. His  mind  was  occupied,  and  with  the  same  thought  that  had  absorbed 
him  when  going  from  the  Scmenovskj'  Bridge  to  the  district  of  Wyborg.  Were 
they  dreams  of  love  ?  Yes,  in  one  sense.  But  the  life  of  a  man  who  has  no  sui'c 
means  of  existence  has  its  prosaic  interests ;  it  was  ot  his  interests  that  Lopouk- 
hoff was  thinking.  What  could  you  expect?  Can  a  materialist  think  of  any- 
thing but  his  interests  ?  Our  hero,  then,  thought  of  interests  solely  ;  instead  of 
cherishing  lofty  and  poetic  dreams,  he  was  absorbed  by  such  dreams  of  love  as 
arc  ill  harmony  with  the  gross  nature  of  materialism. 

'•  Sacrifice  !  Tliat  is  the  word  that  1  shiill  never  get  out  of  her  head,  and  there 
is  the  difficulty  ;  for,  when  one  imagines  himself  under  serious  obligations  to  any 
one,  relations  are  strained. 

'  She  will  know  all ;  my  comrades  will  tell  hor  that  for  her  sake  1  renounced 
a  brilliant  career,  and  if  they  do  not  tell  her,  she  will  easily  see  it  herself.  '  See, 
tli(;n,  what  you  have  reu(juuced  iy)V  ray  sake,'  she  will  say  to  mo.  I'ecuniary  sac- 
rifices it  is  pretty  sure  that  neither  she  nor  my  comrades  can  impute  to  me.  It 
i.s  fortiniate  that  at  least  she  will  not  say :  '  For  my  sake  he  remained  in  poverty, 
while  witlinut  me  he  would  havi;  been  rich.'  But  she  will  know  that  1  aspired 
to  sciciitilic  celebrity,  and  that  that  aspiration  1  have  given  up.  Thence  will 
com(!  her  sorrow  :  '  Ah  !  what  a  sacrifino  ho  has  made  for  me  ! '  That  is  some- 
thing I  have  never  dreamful  »)f'.  liilhertf)  I  have  not  been  foolish  enough  to 
make  sacrifices,  and  I  hopo  that  I  never  shall  l)e.  My  interest,  clearly  under- 
stood, is  the  motive  of  my  acts.  I  am  not  a  man  to  make  sacrifices.  For  that 
matter,  no  one  makes  them  ;  one  may  really  believe  that  ho  does,  and  that  is  al- 
ways the  most  agreealde  way  of  viewing  one's  conduct.  But  how  explain  that 
to  her?  In  theory  it  is  comprehensible;  l)ut  when  we  see  a  fact  before  us,  we 
are  moved.  '  You  are  my  benefactor,'  wo  say.  The  germ  of  this  coming  revolt 
has  already  made  its  appearance :  '  You  deliver  me  from  my  cellar.'    '  How  good 


102  What's  To  Be  Done? 

YOU  are  to  rue ! '  she  said  to  me.  Hut  are  you  under  any  obligations  to  me  for 
tLat?  If  in  so  doing  I  labored  for  my  own  happiness,  1  delivered  myself.  And 
do  you  believe  that  I  would  do  it  if  I  did  not  prefer  to  ?  Yes,  I  have  delivered 
myself;  I  wish  to  live,  I  wish  to  love,  do  you  understand  ?  It  is  in  my  own  in- 
terest that  I  always  act. 

"  AVhat  shall  1  do  to  extinguish  in  her  this  detrimental  feeling  of  gratitude 
which  will  be  a  burden  upon  her?  In  whatever  way  I  can  I  will  do  it;  she  is 
intelligent,  she  will  understand  that  these  are  sentimental  illusions. 

'•  Things  have  not  gone  as  I  expected.  If  she  had  been  able  to  get  a  place  for 
two  years,  1  could  during  that  time  have  become  a  professor  and  earned  some 
money.  This  postponement  is  no  longer  possible.  Well,  what  great  disadvan- 
tage shall  1  experience  ?  Have  I  ever  thought  much  of  my  pecuniary  position  ? 
To  a  man  that  is  of  little  consequence.  The  need  of  money  is  felt  principally 
by  woman.  Boots,  an  overcoat  not  out  at  the  elbows,  stcki  on  the  table,  my 
room  warmed, —  what  else  do  I  need  ?  Now  all  that  I  shall  have.  But  for  a 
young  and  pretty  woman  that  is  not  enough.  She  needs  pleasure  and  social 
position.  For  that  she  will  have  no  money.  To  be  sure,  she  will  not  dwell  upon 
this  want ;  she  is  intelligent  and  honest ;  she  will  say  :  '  These  are  trifles,  which 
1  despise,'  and  indeed  she  will  despise  them.  But  because  you  do  not  feel  what 
you  lack,  do  you  really  lack  nothing?  The  illusion  does  not  last.  Nature 
stifled  by  the  will,  by  circumstances,  by  pride,  is  silent  at  first,  but  a  silent  life  is 
torture.  No,  such  is  not  the  way  for  a  young  woman,  a  beauty,  to  live  ;  it  is  not 
right  that  she  should  not  be  dressed  as  well  as  others  and  should  not  shine  lor 
want  of  means.  I  pity  you,  my  poor  V6rotchka;  it  would  have  been  better 
could  I  have  arranged  my  affairs  first. 

"For  my  part,  I  gain  by  this  haste:  would  she  accept  me  two  years  hence? 
Now  she  accepts  me." 

"  Dmitry,  come  to  tea,"  said  Kirsanoff. 

Lopoukhoff  started  for  Kirsauoff's  room,  and  on  his  way  his  thoughts  contin- 
ued thus :  "  But  as  it  is  just  that  the  ego  should  always  be  the  first  consideration, 
it  is  with  myself  that  I  have  finished.  And  with  what  did  I  begin  ?  Sacrifice. 
What  irony  !  Do  I  indeed  renounce  celebrity,  a  chair  in  the  academy  ?  What 
change  will  there  be  in  my  life?  I  shall  work  in  the  same  way,  I  shall  obtain 
the  chair  in  the  same  way,  and,  finally,  I  shall  serve  medical  science  in  the  same 
way.  From  the  objective  standpoint  it  is  curious  to  watch  how  selfishness  mocks 
at  our  thoughts  in  practice." 

I  forewarn  my  reader  of  everything ;  consequently  I  will  tell  him  that  he 
must  not  suppose  that  Lopoukhoff 's  monologue  contains  any  allusion  to  the 
nature  of  his  future  relations  with  Vera  Pavlovna;  the  life  of  Vera  Pavlovna 
will  not  be  tormented  hy  the  impossibility  of  shining  in  society  and   dressing 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  103 

richly,  and  her  relations  with  Lopoukhoff  will  not  be  spoiled  by  the  "  detrimental 
feeling  "  of  gratitude. 

I  do  not  belong  to  that  school  of  novelists  which  beneath  every  word  hides 
some  motive  or  other ;  I  report  what  people  think  and  do,  and  that  is  all ;  if  any 
action  whatever,  or  any  conversation,  or  any  monologue  passing  through  the 
brain  is  indispensable  in  showing  the  character  of  a  person  or  a  situation,  I  re- 
late it,  although  it  may  have  no  influence  at  all  on  the  further  course  of  my 
story. 

"  Henceforth,  Alexander,  you  will  have  no  reason  to  complain  that  I  neglect 
my  work  ;  I  am  going  to  recover  the  lost  time." 

."  Then  you  have  finished  your  aflfair  with  this  young  girl  ?  " 

"  Yes,  I  have  finished." 

"  Is  she  jjoinff  to  be  a  jjoverness  at  Madame  B.'s  ?  " 

"  No.  she  will  not  be  a  governess.  The  afl'air  is  arranged  otherwise.  Mean- 
time she  will  lead  an  endurable  life  in  her  family." 

"  Very  good.  The  life  of  a  governess  is  really  a  very  hard  one.  You  know  I 
have  got  through  with  the  optic  nerve;  I  am  going  to  begin  another  subject. 
And  where  did  you  leave  oft"?  " 

"I have  still  to  finish  my  work  upon  "  .  .  .  .  and  anatomical  and  physiological 
terras  followed  each  other  in  profusion. 

XX. 

"  It  is  now  the  twenty-eighth  of  April.  lie  said  that  his  affairs  will  be 
arranged  by  the  beginning  of  July.  Say  the  tenth  :  that  is  surely  the  beginning. 
To  be  surer  still,  say  the  fifteenth:  no,  the  tenth  is  better.  How  many  days, 
thi'ti,  are  then;  left ?  'Today  <loes  not  count;  there  are  but  five  hours  left.  Two 
days  in  April;  tiiirty-one  iti  May,  added  to  two,  make  thirty-three;  June  has 
thirty,  which,  added  to  thirty-three,  make  sixty-three ;  ten  days  in  July,— a  total 
of  seveiity-threo  days.  That  is  not  so  long  a  time,  seventy-three  days!  And 
then  F  shall  Ijo  free!  I  shall  go  out  of  this  stifling  cellar.  OIj  !  how  hapjjv  I 
ami  Oh!  my  d(;ar  lover,  how  well  lie  has  solved  the  problem!  How  happy  1 
am  !  " 


That  was  Sunday  evening.     .Monday  came  the  lesson,  changed  from  Tuesday. 

"  My  friend,  my  darling,  how  happy  I  am  to  see  you  again  even  for  so  short  a 
timr' !  Do  you  know  how  much  tinu'  \  have  }'et  to  live  in  my  cellar  P  Will  your 
aflairs  be  arranged  by  the  tenLli  of  .Inly  P  " 

"  Certainly," 

"  Then  there  are  but  seventy-two  days  and  this  evening  left.  I  have  already 
scratched  off"  one  day,  for  I  have  prepared  a  table,  as  the  young  boarding-.scholars 


104  What's  To  Be  Done? 

and  pupils  do,  and  I  scratch  off  the  dajs.  How  it  deliglits  me  to  scratch  them 
off!" 

"  My  darliug  V6rotchka,  you  have  not  long  to  suffer.  Two  months  and  a  hall 
will  pass  quickly  by,  and  then  you  will  be  free." 

"  Oh,  what  happiness  !  But,  my  darling,  do  not  speak  to  me  any  more,  and  do 
not  look  at  me ;  we  must  not  play  and  sing  together  so  frequentl)'  hereafter,  nor 
must  I  leave  my  room  every  evening.  But  I  cannot  help  it!  I  will  come  out 
every  day,  just  for  a  moment,  and  look  at  you  with  a  cold  eye.  And  now  I  am 
going  straight  back  to  my  room.  Till  I  see  you  again,  ray  dear  friend.  When  will 
it  be  ?  " 

"  On  Thursday." 

"  Three  days !  How  long  that  is!  And  then  there  will  be  but  sixtj'-eight  days 
left.-' 

"  Less  than  that :  you  shall  leave  here  about  the  seventh  of  July." 

"  The  seventh.  Then  there  are  but  sixty-eight  days  left  now  ?  How  you  fill 
me  with  joy  !    Au  revoir,  my  well-beloved  !  " 


Thursday. 

"  Dear  friend,  only  sixty-six  days  now." 

"  Yes,  Verotchka,  time  goes  quickly." 

"Quickly?  Oh,  my  dear  friend,  the  days  have  grown  so  long!  It  seem  5  to 
me  that  formerly  an  entire  month  would  have  gone  by  in  these  three  days.  Au 
reyozr,  my  darling,  we  must  not  talk  too  long  with  each  other;  we  must  be 
strategic,  must  we  not  ?    Au  revoir !    Ah!  sixty -six  days  more ! " 

('•  Hum,  hum  !  I  do  not  do  so  much  counting ;  when  one  is  at  work,  the  lime 
passes  quickly.     But  then,  I  am  not  in  '  the  cellar.'     Hum,  hum  !  ") 


Saturday. 

"Ah!  my  darling,  still  sixty-four  days!  How  wearisome  it  is  here!  These 
two  days  have  lasted  longer  than  the  three  that  preceded  them.  Ah !  what 
anguish!  What  infamies  surround  me  !  If  you  knew,  my  friend!  Au  revoir, 
my  darling,  n)y  angel, — till  Tuesday.  The  following  three  days  will  be  longer 
than  the  five  just  past.     Ati  revoir !  Au  revoir !  " 

("  Hum,  hum  !  yes  !  hum  !  Red  eyes.  She  does  not  like  to  weep.  It  is  not 
well.     Hum!") 

Tuesday. 

"  Ah.  my  love,  I  have  already  stopped  counting  the  days.     They  do  not  pass, 
they  do  not  pass  at  all." 
"  Verotchka,  my  good  friend  ;  I  have  a  request  to  make  of  you     We  must  talk 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  105 

freely  together.  Your  servitude  is  becoming  too  burdensome  to  you.  We  must 
talk  together." 

"  Yes,  we  must,  my  well-beloved." 

"  Well,  what  hour  to-morrow  will  suit  3-0U  best?  You  have  but  to  name  it. 
On  the  same  bench  in  the  Boulevard  Konno-Gvardeisky.     Will  you  be  there  ?  " 

"  I  will  be  there,  I  will  be  there  surely.  At  eleven  o'clock.  Does  that  suit 
you  ?  " 

"  Very  well,  thank  you,  my  good  friend."' 

"  Au  revoir !  Oh,  how  glad  I  am  that  you  have  decided  upon  that !  Why  did 
1  not  think  of  it  myself,  foolish  girl  that  I  am!  Au  revoir!  We  are  going  to 
talk  with  each  other;  tiiat  will  refresh  me  a  little.  Aa  revoir,  dear  friend.  At 
eleven  o'clock  precisely." 


Friday. 

"  V6rotcbka,  where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  1,  Mamma  ?  "     Verotchka  I>lu3hed.    "  To  the  Perspective  Nevsky." 

"  Well,  I  am  going  with  you ;  I  have  got  to  go  to  the  Gastino'i  Dvor.  But  how 
is  this  ?  You  say  that  you  are  going  to  the  Nevsky,  and  have  put  on  such  a 
dress  !     Put  on  a  liner  one ;  there  are  many  fashionable  p'-?ople  on  the  Nevsky." 

"  This  dress  suits  me.  Wait  a  moment,  ^lamnja,  I  must  get  something  from 
my  room." 

They  go  out.  They  have  reached  the  Gastinoi  Dvor.  They  lollow  the  row  of 
stores  along  the  Sa<lov;iTa  near  the  corner  of  the  Nevsky.  Now  they  are  at 
Itousaiiolf  \s  pi^rfumery , 

"  Mamma,  1  have  a  word  to  say  to  you." 

"  What,  Viirotchka  ?  " 

"Till  I  see  you  again,  I  know  not  wln^n;  il' you  are  not  olVended,  till  to- 
morrow."' 

"  What,  V6rotehka?     I  do  not  luiderstand  " 

"  Au  revoir.  Mamma,  I  am  going  now  to  ray  husband's.  Day  befon;  yesterday 
took  place  my  marriage  to  Dmitry  Sergu^itch.  Rue  Karavannaia,  coachman  !  " 
miid  she,  jumping  into  a  cab. 

"  A  TehcrvtM-iatehok,*  n)y  good  young  lady." 

"  Yes,  provided  you  go  quickly." 

"  He  will  call  on  you  this  evening,  .Mamma.     Do  not  lic"  angry.  Mamma." 

Maria  Ahjxtnti.i  had  scarcely  had  time  to  hear  tho.'?o  words. 

"  Coachman,  ymi  are  not  to  go  to  the  Rue  Karavannaia  ;  1  told  you  that  in  order 
that  you  might  lost;  no  time  in  d»;libi'ration,  as  I  de.sircd  to  get  away  from  that 
woman.    Turn  to  the  left,  along  the  Nevsky.     W(!  will  go  much  farther  than  the 


•  A  Tchorvcrt  1»  a  coin  worth  twonty.five  copecks. '  A  Tohervcrlntchok  Is  It*  diminutive. 


106  What 's  To  Be  Done  ? 

Karavanaaia,  to  the  island  of  Vassilievsky,*  fifth  line,  f  beyond  the  Perspective 
Moyenne.     (io  quickly,  and  I  will  pay  you  more." 

"  Ah,  my  good  young  lady,  how  you  have  tried  to  deceive  me.  For  that  I  must 
have  a  Poltinnitchek."  J 

"  You  shall  have  it,  if  j'ou  go  fast  enough." 

XXI. 

The  marriage  had  been  effected  without  very  many  difficulties,  and  yet  not 
without  some.  During  the  first  days  that  followed  the  betrothal,  Verotchka  re- 
joiced at  her  approaching  deliverance ;  the  third  day  "  the  cellar,"  as  she  called 
it,  seemed  to  her  twice  as  intolerable  as  before ;  the  fourth  day  she  cried  a  little ; 
the  fii'th  she  cried  a  little  more  than  the  fourth ;  the  sixth  she  was  already  past 
crying,  but  she  could  not  sleep,  so  deep  and  unintcrmittent  was  her  anguish. 

Then  it  was  that  Lopoukhoff,  seeing  her  red  eyes,  gave  utterance  to  the  mono- 
logue, "  Hum,  hum  !  "  After  seeing  her  again,  he  gave  utterance  to  the  other 
monologue,  "  Hum,  hum  !  Yes  !  hum  !  "  From  the  first  monologue  he  had  in- 
ferred something,  though  exactly  what  he  did  not  know  himself;  but  in  the 
second  monologue  he  explained  to  himself  his  inference  from  the  first.  "  We 
ought  not  to  leave  in  slavery  one  to  whom  we  have  shown  liberty." 

After  that  he  reflected  for  two  hours, — an  hour  and  a  half  while  going  from 
the  Semeuovsky  Bridge  to  the  district  of  Wyborg  and  half  an  hour  lying  on  his 
bed.  The  first  quarter  of  an  hour  he  reflected  without  knitting  his  brows ;  but 
the  remaining  seven  quarters  he  rellected  with  brows  knit.  Then,  the  two  hours 
having  expired,  he  struck  bis  forehead,  saying:  •'  I  am  worse  than  Gogol's  post- 
master, §  calf  that  1  am  !  (Looking  at  his  watch).  Ten  o'clock.  There  is  yet 
time."    And  he  went  out. 

The  first  quarter  of  an  hour  he  said  to  himself:  "  All  that  is  of  little  conse- 
quence; what  great  need  is  there  that  I  should  finish  my  studies?  I  shall  not  be 
ruined  for  having  no  diploma.  By  lessons  an<l  translations  I  siiall  earn  as  much 
as,  and  probably  even  more  than,  I  should  have  earned  as  a  doctor." 

He  had  no  reason,  therefore,  to  knit  his  brows;  the  problem  had  shown  itself 
so  easy  to  solve,  at  least  partially,  that  since  the  last  lesson  he  had  felt  a  presen- 
timent of  a  solution  of  this  sort.  lie  understood  this  now.  And  if  any  one  could 
have  reminded  him  of  the  reflections  beginning  with  the  word  "sacrifice"  and 
ending  with  the  thoughts  about  the  poor,  he  would  have  had  to  admit  that  at  that 
time  he  foresaw  such  an  arrangement,  because  otherwise  the  thought,  "I  re- 

*  The  island  of  VaeBilievsky  is  a  part  of  the  city  of  St.  Petereburg. 

t  In  this  island  each  side  of  almost  every  street  is  called   a  line,  so  that,  if  one  Hide  of  the  street, 
for  Instance,  is  called  the  fifth  line,  the  other  is  called  the  fourth  line. 

X  A  Poltlnnik  is  a  coin  worth  tifty  copecks.     A  Poltinnitchek  is  its  diminutive. 
§  See  Gogol's  "  Dead  Bouls." 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  107 

nounce  a  career  of  learning,"  would  have  had  no  basis.  It  seemed  to  him  then 
that  he  did  not  renounce,  and  yet  instinct  said  to  him  :  "  This  is  not  a  simple 
postponement ;  it  is  a  renunciation/'  But,  if  Lopoukhoff  would  thus  have  been 
convicted,  as  a  practical  thinker,  of  violating  logic,  he  would  have  triumphed  as 
a  theorist  and  would  have  said  :  "  Here  is  a  new  instance  of  the  sway  of  selfish- 
ness over  our  thoughts ;  I  ought  to  have  seen  clearly,  but  I  saw  dimly  because  I 
did  not  wish  to  see  things  as  they  were.  I  have  left  the  young  girl  to  suffer  a 
week  longer,  when  I  should  have  foreseen  and  arranged  everything  on  the 
spot." 

But  none  of  these  thoughts  came  into  his  head,  because,  knitting  his  brows,  he 
said  to  himself  lor  seven  quarters  of  an  hour :  "  Who  will  marry  us  ?  "  And  the 
only  reply  that  presented  itself  to  his  mind  was  this:  "No  one  will  marry  us." 
But  suddenly,  instead  of  no  one,  his  mind  answered  "  Mertzaloff."  Tlien  it  was 
that  be  struck  his  forehead  and  justly  i-eproached  him^olf  for  not  having  thought 
of  Mertzaloff  at  first ;  it  is  true  that  his  fault  was  palliated  by  the  circumstance 
that  he  was  not  accustomed  to  consider  Mertzaloff  as  one  who  marries. 

In  the  Academy  of  Medicine  there  are  all  sorts  of  people, —  among  others, 
seminarists.  Tliest;  have  acquaintances  in  the  Spiritual  Academy,  and  through 
these  Lopoukhoff"  bad  some  there  also. 

A  student  in  the  Spiritual  Academy,  with  whom  he  had  no  intimate  acquaintance 
but  was  on  friendly  terms,  had  finished  his  studies  the  previous  year,  and  was  a 
priest  in  a  certain  edifice  with  endless  corridors  situated  on  the  island  of  Vassil- 
icvsky.  To  his  house  LopouUhofi'  repaired,  and,  in  vi<!W  of  the  extraordinary  cir- 
cumstances and  the  advanced  hour,  he  even  took  a  cab. 

Mertzaloff,  whom  he  Ibund  at  home  alone,  was  reading  some  new  work,  I  know 
not  what, —  perhaps  that  of  Louis  XIV,  perhaps  one  by  some  other  member  of 
the  same  dynasty. 

"That  is  the  business  that  brings  me  here,  Alexey  Petrovitch!  I  know  very 
well  that  it  involves  a  great  risk  on  your  pari.  It  will  amount  to  nothing  if  the 
l)arent3  are  reconciled  ;  but,  if  they  bring  a  suit,  you  perhaps  will  be  ruined,  nay, 
you  siln-ly  will  be,  hnt  "' 

Lopoukhoff  coiilil  think  of  nothing  with  which  to  follow  this  "  but.'  How,  in- 
deed, present  reasons  to  an  individual  to  influence  him  to  put  his  head  upon  the 
block  for  our  sake? 

Mertzaloff  rcflcclcd  for  a  long  tinn- ;  lie  loo  was  trying  to  find  a  "hnt"  that 
would  antlioriz(!  him  to  run  such  a  risk,  lint  he  loo  could  find  none. 

"  What's  to  be  done  ?  I  should  very  much  like.  .  .  .  What  you  ask  me  to  do 
now  I  did  a  year  ago;  but  now  I  am  not  free  to  do  all  that  I  would  like  to  do.  It 
is  a  case  of  conscience:  it  would  be  in  accordance;  with  my  inclinations  to  aid  you. 
Rut  when  one  has  a  wife,  one  fears  to  take  a  step  without  looking  to  sec  whither 
it  will  lead  him,"' 


108  What's  To  Be  Done? 

"  Good  evening,  Alocha.*  My  relatives  send  their  regards  to  you.  Good  even- 
ing, LopoukhofF;  we  have  not  seen  each  other  for  a  long  j.ime.  What  were  you 
saying  about  wives?  You  men  are  always  grumbling  about  your  wives,"  said  a 
pretty  and  vivaeious  blonde  of  seventeen  years,  just  returning  from  a  call  upon 
her  parents. 

Mertzaloff  stated  the  situation  to  her.     The  young  woman's  eyes  sparkled. 

"  But,  Alocha,  they  will  not  eat  you !  " 

"There  is  danger,  Natacha."  f 

"  Yes,  very  great  danger,"  added  Lopoukhoflf. 

"  But  what's  to  be  done  ?     Risk  it,  Alocha,  I  beg  of  you." 

"  If  you  will  not  blame  me,  Natacha,  lor  forgetting  you  in  braving  such  a  dan- 
ger, our  conversation  is  over.    When  do  you  wish  to  marry,  Dmitry  Serguuitch  ?  " 

Then  there  was  no  further  obstacle.  Monday  morning  Lopoukhoif  had  said  to 
Kirsanoff: 

"  Alexander,  I  am  going  to  make  you  a  present  of  my  half  of  our  labor.  Take 
my  papers  and  preparations,  I  abandon  them  all.  I  am  to  leave  the  Academy  ; 
here  is  the  petition.  I  am  going  to  marry."  And  Lopoukhoff  told  the  story 
briefly. 

"  If  you  were  not  intelligent,  or  even  if  I  were  a  booby,  I  should  tell  you, 
Dmitry,  that  none  but  fools  act  in  this  wax.  But  I  do  nothing  of  the  sort.  You 
have  probably  thought  more  carefully  than  I  upon  all  that  could  be  said.  And 
even  though  you  had  not  thought  upon  it,  what  difference  would  it  make? 
Whether  \o\i  are  acting  foolishly  or  wisely  I  do  not  know ;  but  I  shall  not  be 
thoughtless  enough  to  try  to  change  your  resolution,  for  I  know  that  that  would 
be  vain.     Can  I  be  useful  to  you  in  any  way  ?  " 

"  I  must-find  some  rooms  in  some  quarter  at  a  low  price ;  I  need  three.  I  must 
make  my  application  to  the  Academy  to  obtain  my  papers  as  soon  as  possible, 
tomorrow  in  fact.     To  you,  then,  I  must  look  to  find  me  rooms." 

Tuesday  Lopoukhoflf  received  his  papers,  went  to  Mertzaloff",  and  told  him  that 
the  marriage  would  take  place  the  next  day. 

"  What  hour  will  suit  you  best,  Alexey  Petrovitch  ?  " 

'•It  is  all  one  to  me;  tomorrow  I  shall  be  at  home  all  day." 

"  I  expect,  moreover,  to  have  time  to  send  Kirsanoflf  to  warn  you." 

Wednesday  at  eleven  o\lock  Lopoukhoflf  waited  for  Vorotchk a  on  the  boulevard 
for  some  time,  and  was  beginning  to  grow  anxious,  when  he  saw  her  running  in 
all  haste. 

"Dear  Verotchka,  has  anything  happened  to  you?" 

"  No,  my  dear  friend,  I  am  late  only  because  I  slept  too  long." 

♦  Alocha  is  the  diminutive  of  Alexey. 
t  Nat":ba  ia  the  diminutive  of  Natalia. 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  109 

"  What  time  did  3011  go  to  sleep  theu ? " 

"  I  do  not  like  to  tell  you.  At  seven  o'clociv  ;  no,  at  six ;  up  to  that  time  I  was 
continually  agitated  by  unpleasant  dreams." 

"  I  have  a  request  to  make  of  you,  dear  Vferotchka ;  we  must  come  to  an  under- 
standing as  quickly  as  jiossible  in  order  that  both  of  us  may  be  tranquil." 

"  That  is  true,  dear  friend." 

"  So,  in  four  days,  or  in  three  "  .  . 

"  Ah,  how  good  that  will  be ! " 

"  In  three  days  I  probably  shall  have  found  some  rooms ;  I  shall  have  pur- 
chased everything  needful  for  our  household  ;  can  we  then  begin  to  live  together  ?  " 

"  Certainly." 

'•  But  first  we  must  marry." 

"  Ah,  I  forgot;  yes,  we  must  first  mai-ry." 

"  But  we  can  marr}"  at  once." 

"  Well,  let  us  do  so.  But  how  have  you  managed  to  arrange  everything  so 
soon?     How  well  you  know  how  to  do  things!  " 

"  I  will  tell  you  on  the  way ;  come,  let  us  go." 

On  leaving  the  cub,  they  went  through'long  corridors  leading  to  the  church  ; 
there  they  I'ound  the  doorkeeper,  whom  they  sent  to  Mertzaloll"'s,  who  lived  in 
this  same  building  with  the  interminable  corridors. 

"  Now,  V6rotchka,  I  have  another  request  to  make  of  you.  You  know  that  in 
church  they  bid  tlie  TKiwiy-niarried  to  kiss  each  other." 

"  I  know  it,  but  how  embarrassing  it  must  be !  " 

"That  we  may  be  less  confu.sed  when  the  time  comes,  let  us  kiss  each  other 
now." 

"  Very  well,  let  us  kiss  each  other,  l)ut  can  it  not  be  dispensed  with  there  ?  " 

"  At  the  church  it  is  impossiljle  to  avoid  it;  tiiereforo  we  had  better  prepare 
for  it." 

They  kissed  each  other. 

"  Dear  friend,  how  fortunate  we  are  in  having  had  time  to  prepare;  there  is 
the  dor)rke('|tcr  coniing  back  already." 

It  was  not  ihf  iloorkeeper  eoining  back, — lie  had  gone  to  look  for  the  sexton  ; 
it  was  Kirsanoff  whf)  entered;  he  had  been  waiting  lor  tin  111  at  MertzalofV's. 

"  Verotolika,  I  introduce  to  you  that  Alexand<;r  Matveilch  KirsanotV,  wlioni 
you  detest  and  wi.sli  to  foibid  nn-  to  see." 

'•  Vera  i'avlovua,  wliy  \v<iuld  you  .separate  two  such  tender  hearts?  " 

"  Becau.se  they  are  fender,"  said  V/irotchka,  extending  her  hand  to  Kirsanofl". 
She  became  thouglitrul,  though  continuing  to  smile.  "Shall  I  love  liiiii  as  well 
as  you  do?     For  you  Iov<!  him  much,  do  ynu  not?  "  she  added. 

"  1  ?   I  love  no  one  but  niyxlf,  \'''  1:1  r.ivlovna." 

"And  him  also?  " 


no  Wiat's  To  Be  Bone? 

"  We  have  lived  without  quarreling,  that  is  enough." 

"  And  he  loves  you  no  more  than  that  ?  " 

"  At  least  I  have  not  remarked  it.  For  that  matter,  let  us  ask  him :  do  you 
love  me,  Dmitry  ?  " 

"  I  have  no  particular  hatred  for  you." 

"  Well,  if  that  is  the  case,  Alexander  Matv6itch,  I  will  not  forbid  him  to  see 
you,  and  1  will  love  you  myself." 

"  That  is  much  the  better  way.  Vera  Pavlovna." 

Alexey  Petrovitch  came. 

"  Hei'c  I  am ;  let  us  go  to  the  church."  Alexey  P6trovitch  was  gay  and  even 
in  a  joking  mood;  but  when  he  bei^an  the  service,  his  voice  became  a  little  trem- 
ulous. '•  And  if  they  should  bring  suit.P  Go  to  your  father,  Natacha,  your  hus- 
band can  no  longer  support  you ;  now,  it  is  not  a  happy  existence  to  live  at  your 
father's  expense  while  your  husband  is  still  living."  But  after  having  .said  a  few 
words,  he  completely  regained  his  self-possession. 

During  the  ceremony  Natalia  Andrevna,  or  Natacha,  as  Alexey  Petrovitch 
called  her,  came.  When  all  was  over,  she  invited  the  newly-married  couple  to 
go  home  with  her;  she  had  prepared  a  little  breakfast;  they  went,  they  laughed, 
they  danced  a  couple  of  quadrilles,  they  even  waltzed.  Alexey  Petrovitch,  who 
did  not  know  how  to  dance,  played  the  violin.  Two  short  hours  passed  quickly 
by.    It  was  a  joyous  wedding. 

"  1  believe  that  they  are  already  waiting  dinner  for  me  at  home,"  said  Ve- 
rotchka:  "  it  is  time  to  go.  Now,  my  darling,  I  will  be  patient  three,  four  days 
in  my  '  cellar'  without  fretting  too  much.  I  could  even  live  there  longer  Why 
should  I  be  sorrowful  .P  What  have  I  to  fear  now  ?  No,  do  not  escort  me  ;  I  will 
go  alone ;  we  might  be  seen." 

"  Oh,  the  devil !  they  will  not  eat  me;  do  not  be  so  anxious  on  my  account," 
said  Alexey  Petrovitch,  in  escorting  Lopoukhoff  and  Kirsanoff,  who  had  remained 
a  moment  longer  to  give  V6rotchka  time  to  go ;  "I  am  now  very  glad  that 
Natacha  encouraged  me." 

On  the  morrow,  after  four  days'  search,  they  found  satisfactorj'  rooms  at  the 
end  of  the  fifth  lino  on  the  island  of  Vassilievsky. 

His  savings  amounting  in  all  to  one  hundred  and  sixty  roubles,  Lopoukhoflf 
and  his  comrade  had  decided  that  it  would  be  Impossible  for  them  to  furnish 
rooms  themselves;  so  they  rented  three  furnished  rooms  with  board  o{  a  petit 
bourgeois  *  couple. 

The  petit  bourgeois  was  an  old  man,  passing  his  days  peacefully  beside  a 
basket  filled  with  buttons,  ribbons,  pins,  etc.,  and  placed  against  the  wall  of  the 

*  A  French  translation  of  the  RnRslan  word  met8chanine,  elgnifylng  a  separate  social  class  above  the 
peasants  aad  below  the  merchnnta. 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  Ill 

little  garden  situated  on  the  Perspective  Moyenne  between  the  first  and  second 
lines,  or  in  conversation  with  his  wife,  who  passed  her  days  in  repairing  all  sorts 
of  old  clothes  brought  to  her  by  the  armful  from  the  second-hand  stores.  The 
service  was  performed  by  the  proprietors  themselves. 

The  Lopoukhoffs  paid  thirty  roubles  a  month.        , 

At  that  time — that  is,  ten  years  ago*  —  life  in  St.  Petersburg  was  still 
comparatively  inexpensive.  Under  these  circumstances  the  Lopoukhoffs  with 
their  resources  could  live  for  three  or  even  four  months ;  ten  roubles  a  month 
would  pay  for  their  food.  Lopoukhoff  counted,  in  the  course  of  these  four 
months,  on  obtaining  pupils,  literary  work,  or  occupation  in  some  commercial 
house. 

On  Thursday,  the  day  when  the  rooms  were  found  (and  excellent  rooms  they 
were,  that  had  not  been  easily  found),  Lopoukhoff,  coming  to  give  his  lesson, 
said  to  Verotchka : 

"  Come  tomorrow ;  here  is  the  address.  I  will  say  no  more  now,  lest  they 
may  observe  something." 

"  Dear  friend,  you  have  saved  me ! " 

But  how  to  get  away  from  her  parents?  Should  she  tell  thorn  all?  So 
ViTotchka  thou<iht  for  a  moment;  but  her  mother  might  shower  blows  upon  her 
with  her  fists  and  lock  her  up.  Verotchka  decided  to  leave  a  letter  in  her  room. 
Hut  when  Maria  Alexevna  manifested  an  intention  of  following  her  daughter  to 
llu;  I'f.TSpective  Nevsky,  the  latter  went  back  to  her  room  and  took  the  letter 
again ;  for  it  seemed  to  her  that  it  would  be  better  and  more  honest  to  tell  her 
to  her  face  what  had  been  done.  Would  her  mother  como  to  blows  with  her  in 
th(;  street?  It  would  be  necessary  only  to  keep  a  certain  distance  from  her, 
tln-n  speak  to  her,  jump  into  a  cal),  and  start  off  before  she  could  seize  her  by  the 

sle(!Ve. 

And  thus  it  was  that  the  separation  was  effected  near  llousanoff's  perfumery. 


XXII. 

I'.ut  we  have  witnessed  only  half  of  this  scene. 

Kor  a  minute  Maria  Alexevna,  who  was  suspecting  notliing  of  the  sort,  stood 
as  if  thunderstruck,  trying  to  understand  and  yet  not  at  all  com[)roheiiding  what 
her  daughter  said.  What  did  all  fhat  mean!'  i'.ut  her  liesitaiion  histed  only  a 
minute,  and  even  le>s.  She  8iid<l(!iily  began  to  huil  insults,  but  her  daughter 
had  already  entered  the  Nevsky ;  Maria  Alexevna  hurried  a  few  steps  in  that 
direction  ;  it  was  necessary  to  take  a  cab. 

"  Coachman ! " 


•  Now  thirty  yenrs  ago. 


112  WJtat's  To  Be  Done? 

"  WTiere  do  you  wish  me  to  take  you,  Madame?  " 

Which  way  should  she  go?  She  thought  she  heard  her  daughter  say  Rue 
Karavannaia ;  but  she  had  tui-ned  to  the  left  along  the  Nevsky.  What  course 
should  she  take  ? 

"  Overtake  that  wretch !  "  , 

'•Overtake,  Madame?  But  tell  me  where  I  am  to  go?  What  course  shall  I 
take?    The  price,  in  short." 

Maria  Alexevna,  utterly  beside  herself,  insulted  the  coachman. 

"  I  see  that  you  are  drunk.  Mistress,"  said  he,  and  he  drove  off, 

Maria  Alexevna  followed  him  with  her  insults,  called  other  coachmen,  and  ran 
now  one  wa}-,  now  another,  brandishing  her  arms ;  at  last  she  started  under  the 
colonnade,  stamjjing  with  rage.  A  half-dozen  young  people,  venders  of  all  sorts 
of  eatables  and  knick-knacks,  gathered  around  her,  near  the  columns  of  the 
Gastinoi  Dvor.  They  admii-ed  her  much ;  they  exchanged  remarks  more  or  less 
spicy,  and  bestowed  upon  her  praises,  not  without  wit,  and  advice  that  testified  to 
their  good  intentions.  "  Ah !  what  an  excellent  lady !  So  early,  and  drunk 
already  !     Excellent  lady  ! " 

"  Mistress,  do  jou  hear?  Mistress,  buy  a  half-dozen  lemons  of  me;  they  are 
good  things  t)  eat  after  drinking,  and  I  will  sell  them  to  you  cheap." 

"Do  not  listen  to  him,  Mistress;  lemons  will  not  help  you  any;  you 
would  do  better  to  take  a  drink  of  something  strong." 

"  Mistress,  Mistress,  what  a  powerful  tongue  you  have !  Are  you  willing  to 
match  it  against  mine  on  a  wager  ?  " 

Maria  Alexevna,  now  no  longer  knowing  what  she  was  about,  slapped  the  face 
of  one  of  her  tormentors,  a  boy  of  about  seventeen,  who  put  his  tongue  out,  not 
without  some  grace  ;  the  little  merchant's  cap  rolled  off  into  the  dirt,  and  Maria 
Alexevna,  thus  enabled  to  get  her  hand  into  his  hair,  did  not  fail  to  grasp  it  by 
handfuls.  The  other  scamps,  seeing  which,  were  seized  with  an  indescribable 
enthusiasm : 

"  That's  it !     Hit  him  !    Now  then !     Bravo,  the  mistress !  " 

"  Lick  him,  lick  him,  Mistress  !  " 

Others  said  :    "  Fedka,*  defend  yourself,  hit  her  back  !  " 

But  the  majority  were  on  Maria  Alexevna's  side. 

"  What  can  Fedka  do  against  this  jolly  old  girl  ?  Lick  him,  lick  him,  Mis- 
tress ;  the  scamp  is  getting  no  more  than  he  deserves." 

In  addition  to  the  speakers  many  spectators  had  already  gathered :  coachmen, 
warehouse-men,  and  passers-by  were  approaching  in  crowds;  Maria  Alexevna 
seemed  to  come  to  her  senses,  and,  after  having  by  a  la.st  mechanical  movement 
pushed  away  the  head  of  the  unfortunate  Fedka,  she  cros.sed  the  street.    Enthu- 

*  Fedka,  a  diminutive  of  Foedor  in  popular  usage. 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  113 

siastic  tributes  of  praise  followed  her.  She  became  conscious  that  she  was  going 
home  when  she  had  passed  the  carriage-way  of  the  Corps  des  Pages ;  she  took  a 
cab,  and  reached  the  house  in  safety.  On  arriving  she  administered  a  few  blows 
to  Fedia,  who  opened  the  door ;  ruslied  to  the  brandy  closet ;  administered  a  few 
blows  to  Matroena,  who  had  been  attracted  by  the  noise ;  made  for  the  closet 
again;  ran  into  V^rotchka's  room,  and  came  back  to  the  closet  a  third  time; 
ran  again  into  Verotchka's  room,  and  stayed  there  a  long  time;  and  then  began 
to  walk  up  and  down  the  rooms  scolding  and  reviling:  but  whom  .should  she 
hit?  Fedia  had  fled  to  the  kitchen  stairs;  Matroena,  peeping  tluough  a  crack 
into  Vi'-rotchka's  room  and  seeing  Maria  Alexevna  start  in  In  r  direction,  iiad 
precipitately  fled  toward  the  kitchen,  but,  not  being  able  to  reach  it,  had  rushed 
into  M;iria  Alexevna's  bed-rootii  and  hidden  under  the  bed,  where  she  remained 
in  .safety  awaiting  a  more  pe;iceal>le  summons. 

How  long  did  Maria  Alexevna  scold  and  vociferate,  walking  up  and  down  the 
empty  rof»ms  ?  It  is  impo.ssible  to  say  <!xactly,  but  for  a  long  time  apparently, 
since  I'avel  Konstantinyfch  on  his  arrival  was  received  also  with  blows  and  in-, 
suits.  Nevertheless,  :is  every lliing  must  end,  Maria  Alexevna  cried  at  last: 
"  MatroMia,  get  the  dinner  ready!"  And  Matroena,  seeing  liial  the  slorm  was 
over,  cam(*  out  Ironi  under  the  bed  and  set  the  table. 

During  dinner  .Maria  Alexevna  left  olf  scolding  and  contented  hersell'  with 
n)Uttering,  but  without  oflcnsive  intentions  and  simply  foi-  her  own  satislaction  ; 
tiien,  instead  of  going  to  lie  down,  she  took  a  seat  and  n-mained  alone,  now 
saying  nothing,  now  muttering;  then  she  stojjped  unit  Iciiiii:-,  and  at  last  cried  out: 

"  .Matro-na,  w.ike  your  master,  and  tell  him  lo  eonu!  l(t  nic.'" 

.Matnena,  who,  exp(;cting  orders,  ii;ul  not  dared  to  go  away,  eillicr  to  tin! 
rtibartl  or  anywiiere  el.st?  «iutside  rtf  tin?  hou.se,  has(ene(|  to  ol)ey, 

I'avel  Konstantinytch  made  his  appearance. 

"(Jo  to  the  proprietor  and  tell  her  that  yoiu*  ilaughler,  thanks  to  you,  has 
ni:irried  this  lihickgn.inl.  Say:  'I  was  oppo.sed  to  my  wile.'  S:iy  :  'I  <lid  it  to 
j(lea.Me  you,  for  I  saw  your  <-onHent  was  hxiking.''  S.iy  :  '  Tlu!  fault  was  my  wife's 
alone:  I  carrnd  onl  \oiii-  will.'  Say:  'It  was  I  who  arr:inge(l  this  marri.age.' 
Do  you  under>laiid  me-'" 

"I  understand,  .Maria  Alexevna ;  you  ri'ason  very  wi-sely." 

'•  Well,  start  then  !  Ifsheisat  dinner,  let  that  m:ike  no  diflerenee;  have  her 
r:il|pd  from  tlu'  table.     Make  haste,  while  whe  is  still  in  ignorance." 

Tlu!  plausiiiilify  of  the  words  nf  I'avel  Konsfantioytch  was  so  evident  that  the 
proprietor  would  have  believed  the  worthy  steward,  even  if  he  had  not  been  en- 
dowed with  the  faculty  of  presenting  his  ideas  with  humility,  veneration,  and  in 
a  persuasive  and  respectful  manner;  but  this  pow<!r  of  p(;rsuasion  was  so  great 
lint  the  proprietor  woidd  have  p.ardoned  I'avel  Konstantinytch,  even  if  she  had 
not  had  palpable  proofs  f)f  his  misunderstanding  with  his  wife. 


114  What's  To  Be  Done? 

Was  it  not  evident  that  he  had  put  his  daughter  in  relations  witli  LopoukholF 
in  ortler  to  avoid  a  marriage  embarrassing  to  Mikhail  Ivanytch? 

'•  What  wore  the  terms  ol  the  marriage?  " 

I'avel  Konstantinytch  had  spared  nothing  in  order  to  give  his  daughter  her 
marriage  portion ;  he  had  given  five  thousand  roubles  to  Lopoukhoft",  had  paid 
the  expenses  of  the  wedding,  and  established  the  eouple  in  housekeeping.  It 
was  he  who  had  carried  the  notes  I'rom  one  to  the  other.  At  the  house  of  his 
colleague,  Filatieff,  chief  of  the  bureau  and  a  married  man,  added  Pavel  Kon- 
stantinytch,—  yes,  it  was  at  his  house,  your  excellency,  for  although  I  am 
an  huml)le  man,  your  excellency,  the  virgin  honor  of  my  daughter  is  dear  to  me, 
—  it  was  at  his  house,  I  say,  that  the  meetings  took  place,  in  my  presence;  we 
were  not  rich  enough  to  emjiloy  a  teacher  for  an  urchin  like  Fedia;  no,  that  was 
only  a  pretext,  your  excellency,  etc. 

Then  Pavci  Konstantinytch  painted  in  the  l)lackest  colors  the  character  of  his 
wife.  IIow  could  one  helj)  believing  and  jjardoning  Pavel  Konstiinfinyteh  ?  Tt 
was,  moreover,  a  gre.it  and  unexpected  joy.  Joy  softens  the  heart.  The  pn)- 
prietor  began  her  notice  of  discharge  by  a  long  condemnation  of  Maria  Alex- 
evna's  abominable  plaus  and  guilty  conduct,  and  at  first  called  on  l*avel 
Konstantinytch  to  turn  his  wife  out  of  doors.  He  begged  her  not  to  be  so 
severe. 

She  spoke  thus  only  for  the  sake  of  saying  something.  Finally  they  agreed  on 
the  following  terms : 

Pavel  Konstantinytch  held  his  stewardship;  the  apartments  fronting  on  the 
street  were  taken  away  from  him  ;  the  steward  was  to  live  in  the  rooms  farthest 
in  the  rear;  his  wife  was  not  to  show  her.self  about  ihe  front  of  the  establishment 
where  the  proprietor's  eye  might  fall  upon  her,  and  .^lie  was  to  go  into  the  street 
only  through  the  carriage-way,  which  was  far  from  the  proprietor's  windows. 

(3f  the  twenty  roubles  a  month  formerly  added  to  his  pay  fifteen  were  taken 
l)ack  and  five  left  as  a  reward  for  the  zeal  .shown  by  Pavel  Konstantinytch  in 
carrying  out  the  proprietor's  will  and  to  make  good  the  expenses  occasioned  by 
his  daughter's  marriage. 

XXIII. 

Maria  Alexevna  had  thought  of  several  plans  as  to  the  way  in  which  to  deal 
with  Lopoukhoft'  when  he  should  come  in  the  evening.  That  nearest  her  heart 
consisted  in  hiding  two  man-servants  in  the  kitchen  who,  at  a  given  signal, 
should  throw  themselves  upon  and  beat  him  unmercilully.  The  most  pathetic 
consisted  in  hurling  from  her  own  lips  and  those  of  Pavel  Konstantinytch  the 
paternal  and  maternal  curse  on  their  rebellious  daughter  and  the  ruffian,  her 
husband,  insisting  at  the  same  time  on  the  import  of  this  curse,  the  earth  itself 
rejecting,  as  is  well  known,  the  ashes  of  those  whom  their  pai-ents  have  cur.sed. 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  115 

But  these  were  dreams,  like  those  of  the  proprietor  ia  wishing  to  separate  Pavel 
Konstantinytch  from  his  wife ;  such  projects,  like  poetry  in  general,  are  destined 
less  to  be  realized  than  to  relieve  the  heart  by  serving  as  a  basis  for  solitary  re- 
flections leading  to  no  results  and  for  explanations  in  future  interviews :  that  is 
how  I  might  have  developed  affairs,  that  is  how  I  desired  to  develop  them,  but 
through  goodness  of  heart  I  allowed  myself  to  relent.  The  idea  of  beating 
Lopoukhoff  and  cursing  her  daughter  was  the  ideal  side  of  Maria  Alexevna's 
thoughts  and  feelings.  The  real  side  of  her  mind  and  soul  had  a  tendenc}'  much 
less  elevated  and  much  more  practical,  —  an  inevitabU;  difference,  given  the 
weakness  of  every  human  being.  When  Maria  Alexevna  came  to  her  senses- 
near  the  carriage-way  of  the  Corps  des  Pages,  and  comprehended  that  her 
daughter  had  actually  disappeared,  married,  and  esca])eil,  this  fact  presented 
itself  to  her  mind  in  the  firm  of  the  following  mental  exclamation:  "She  has 
robbed  rae ! ''  All  the  way  home  she  did  not  cease  to  repeat  to  herself,  and 
sometimes  aloud  :  "  She  has  robbed  me ! "  (consequently,  after  delaying  a  few 
minutes  through  human  weakness  to  tell  her  chagrin  to  Feclia  and  IMatrtena, — 
every  individual  allows  himself  to  be  dragged  i)y  the  expression  of  his  feelings 
into  forgetting  in  his  fever  the  real  interests  of  the  moment,  —  Maria  Alexevna 
ran  into  V^rotchka's  room.  She  rushed  to  the  dressing-table  and  the  wardrobe, 
which  .she  reviewed  with  a  hasty  glance.  "  No,"  said  she,  "  everything  seems  to 
be  here."  'J'lien  she  proceeded  to  verify  this  first  tran(|uillizing  impression  by  a 
detailed  examination.  Everything,  indeed,  was  really  there,  except  a  pair  of 
very  simjde  gold  ear-rings,  the  old  muslin  (h'c.ss,  and  the  old  sack  that  Verotchka 
iiad  on  when  she  went  out.  |{eg;inling  this  real  sidi- of  the  afl'iiir.  Maria  Ah^xevna 
expected  that  Verotchka  had  given  I^opoukliolV  a  list  of  th«^  things  belonging  to 
her  which  Ik;  would  claim  ;  she  was  fully  determined  to  give  up  no  article  ot 
gold  or  anything  in  that  line,  hut  only  the  four  plainest  dresses  and  the  most 
worn  linen:  to  give  nothing  was  impossible;  nnhlfsse.  obli<i\  —  an  adage  of 
wliicli  .M.irii  Alexevna  was  a  rigid  observer. 

Another  (piestion  of  re;tl  lift?  was  tin;  relations   with   the  ]»roprietor;   we   havti 
already  Hoen  that  Maria  Alexevna  h:id  Huccocded  in  settling  it  satisfictorily . 

'I'here  rcMi.iiiicd  tin;  third  (|imsllnii  :  what  was  to  be  done  with  the  guilty,  that 
i>j,  with  her  d;ni;rht<'r  :ind  the  son-in-Liw  that  h;id  been  thrust  upon  her  l*  Cin'.se 
Ihcni?  Nothing  easier,  only  such  a  curse  must  serve  as  a  dessert  to  something 
more  substantial.  Now,  this  substantial  .something  could  take  but  one  ])ractical 
shape,  that  of  presenting  a  petition,  bringing  a  suit,  and  nrr.aigiiiitg  before  a 
court  of  iissizes.  At  first ,  in  her  fever,  Maria  Alexevna  viewed  this  solution  of 
the  (|uestion  from  her  ideal  side,  and  from  this  point  of  view  it  ser-mcd  Ttsry 
.reductive  to  her.  I'.ut,  in  proportion  as  her  mind  became  calmer,  the  affair  grad- 
ually assiuT)ed  another  aspect.  No  one  knew  better  than  Maria  Alexevna  that 
all  lawsuits  require  money,  much    mone}*,  especially  lawsuits  like  this  which 


IK)  What's  To  Be  Done  9 

pleased  her  l)y  its  ideal  beauty,  aud  tliat,  after  dragtjing  for  a  long  time  and 
devourin g  much  money,  they  end  absolutely  in  nothing. 

What,  tlien,  was  to  be  done?  She  linally  concluded  that  there  were  but  two 
tilings  to  do,— give  herself  the  satisfaction  of  abusing  Lopoukhoff  as  much  as 
possil)le,  and  save  Verotchka's  things  from  his  claims,  to  which  end  llic  j)rescnta- 
tioa  of  a  petition  would  serve  as  a  means.  But  at  any  rate  she  must  roundly 
abuse  him.  and  thus  derive  all  the  satisfaction  she  could. 

Even  this  last  part  of  the  plan  was  not  to  be  realized. 

Lopoukhoti' arrived,  and  began  in  this  tone  :  "  We  beg  you,  my  wife  and  I,  to 
l)e  kind  enough,  Mai'ia  Alexevna  and  Pavel  Konstantinytch,  to  excuse  us  for 
having  without  your  consent "  .  .  .  . 

At  this  point  Maria  Alexevna  cried  out: 

"  I  will  curse  her,  the  good  — .  .  .  !  "     She  could  not  finish  the  epithet  ijond-jhr- 
nolhiug.     At  the  first  syllable  Lopoukhotf  raised  his  voice: 

"  I  have  not  come  to  listen  to  your  insults,  but  to  talk  business.  And  since 
you  are  angry  and  cannot  talk  calmly,  I  will  explain  myself  in  a  ])rivatc  inter- 
view with  Pavel  Konstantinytch  ;  and  you,  Miria  Alexevna,  will  send  Kedia  oi' 
Matrcena  to  call  us  when  you  have  become  calmer." 

As  he  .spoke,  he  led  Pavel  Konstantinytch  from  the  parlor  into  the  small  rnoni 
adjoining,  and  his  voice  was  so  strong  and  positive  that  there  was  no  way  to 
overmaster  it.     So  she  had  to  reserve  her  remarks. 

Having  reached  the  parlor  door  with  Pavel  Konstantinytch,  Lopoukhoff  stopped, 
turned  back,  and  said  :  "  I  would  like  nothing  better  than  to  make  my  explana- 
tion to  you  also,  Maria  Alexevna,  if  you  desire,  but  on  one  condition,  —  that  I  may 
ilo  so  undisturbed."  ' 

Again  she  began  her  abuse,  but  he  interrupted  her:  "  Well,  since  you  cannot 
converse  calmly,  we  leave  you." 

"  And  you,  imbecile,  why  do  you  go  with  him  ?  " 

"  Wh}',  he  drags  me  after  him." 

"If  Pavel  Konstantinytch  were  not  ilisposed  to  give  me  a  quiet  hearing,  1 
would  go  away,  and  that  would  be  perhaps  the  better  course:  what  matters  it  to 
me,  indeed  !  I>ut  why,  Pavel  Konstantinytch,  do  you  consent  tf)  be  called  such 
names?  Maria  Alexevna  knows  nothing  of  affairs  ;  she  thinks  jierhaps  that  they 
can  do  God  knows  what  with  us;  l)ut  you,  an  officeholder,  must  know  how  things 
go  on.  Tell  her,  therefore,  that  things  having  reached  this  point,  she  can  do 
nothing  vnth.  Verotchka  and  still  less  with  me." 

"  He  knows,  the  rascal,  that  nothing  can  be  done  with  him,"  thouglit  Maria 
Alexevna,  and  then  she  said  to  Lopoukhoff  that,  thouj^h  at  first  her  moth(!r\s  feelings 
had  carried  her  away,  .she  was  now  in  a  condition  to  talk  calmly. 

Lopoukhoff  and  Pavel  Konstantinytch  retraced  their  steps.  They  sat  down, 
and  Loponkhofl"  begged  her  to  listen  patiently  until  he  had   finished  all   that  he 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  1 1 7 

had  to  say,  arter  which  she  might  have  the  floor.  Then  he  began,  taking  care  t(j 
raise  his  voice  every  time  that  Maria  Alexevna  tried  to  interrupt  him,  whicli  en- 
abled him  to  carry  his  story  to  its  conclusion.  He  explained  that  it  was  im- 
possible to  unmarry  them,  that  there  was  no  chance  therefore  for  StorechnikolV, 
and  that  it  would  be  useless  trouble,  as  they  knew  themselves,  to  begin  u  suit. 
That  for  the  rest  they  could  do  as  they  pleased,  and  tiiat,  if  they  had  an  abund- 
ance ot  money,  he  would  even  advise  them  to  try  the  cuurts;  but  that,  all  tilings 
considered,  there  was  no  occasion  for  them  to  plunge  into  the  depths  of  despair, 
since  Verotchka  had  always  rejected  Storechnikoff's  proposals  and  the  match 
therefore  had  always  been  chimerical,  as  Maria  Alexevna  had  seen  for  hersell ; 
that  a  vouns:  g;irl  nevertheless  must  marry  some  time,  which  means  as  a  general 
thing  a  series  of  expenses  for  the  pai'ents, —  that  is,  the  dowry  first,  the  wedding 
next,  but  especially  the  dowry 

^\'h(•nc('  l.opoukhofr  concluded  that  Maria  Alexevna  and  Pavel  Konstantinytch 
ought  to  thank  their  daughter  for  having  got  married  without  occasiom'iig  them 
any  cxfjense. 

Thus  he  spoke  for  a  full  half-hour. 

When  he  had  finished,  Maria  Alexevna  saw  that  to  such  a  rascal  there  was 
nothing  io  say.  and  she  placed  herself  first  on  the  ground  of  sentiment,  (wplain- 
ing  that  what  had  wounded  her  was  precisely  the  fact  that  Verotchka  hail  mar- 
ried without  asking  the  consent  of  her  parents,  thus  lacerating  the  nialcinal 
heart :  the  conversation,  transferred  thus  to  the  suVijeet  of  maternal  feelings  and 
wounds,  natin-ally  had  for  cither  party  no  more  than  a  purely  dialectical  inter- 
est: they  could  not  help  going  into  it.  the  proprieties  rcMjuired  it;  so  they  satis- 
fied the  proprieties.  They  spoke,  Maria  Alexevna  of  how,  as  an  affectionate 
mother,  she  had  been  W(junded,  Lopoukhoff  o!'  how,  as  an  all'ectionate  mother, 
she  need  not  have  Ix-'-n  woniKJed:  when,  iinally,  tliey  had  filled  the  measure  of 
the  proprieties  ity  digri'ssions  of  a  proper  length  upon  sentimi-ntal  grounils,  they 
ajiprfiached  another  sui)jeet  eipially  demmded  by  thti  proprieties,  —  that,  on  the 
one  side,  she  had  always  desired  her  daughter's  happiness,  while  he  answered, 
on  the  other,  that  that  was  clearly  indispntaide ;  when  tlu!  conversation  on  this 
point  had  lik(rwis(!  atlaineil  the  proper  length,  they  i-nlered  aw  the  snbjectt  of 
liuewcills,  "iving  that  also  the  aiiioimt  of  attention  recpiireil  by  th(!  demands 
at'orfts.iid,  and  reached  the  following  result  :  Lopoukhoff,  comprehending  the 
eoidusion  into  which  the  maternal  heart  had  l)een  thrown,  did  not  lieg  Maria 
.Vhrxevna  Cor  the  present  to  give  her  daughter  permission  to  .sise  her,  because 
that  perhaps  woidd  aihi  to  the;  strain  on  tlu!  maternal  heart,  but  Maria  Alexevna 
would  not  be  .slow  in  liuding  out  tliat  Verotchka  was  happy,  wiiieh  of  course 
was  always  Maria  Aiex(!vna\s  first  de.sire,  and  then,  the  niaternai  lu^art  having 
recovered  its  eipiaMiniity,  shi'  wouhl  l)e  in  a  position  to  see  her  daiigiiter  without 
having  to  sufler  therei»y.      This  agreed  upon,  they  separated  amicaldy. 


118  What's  To  Be  Done'? 

"  Oil,  the  rascal !  "  said  Maria  Alexevna,  after  having  shown  her  son-in-law  to 
the  door. 

That  same  night  she  had  the  following  dream  : 

She  was  seated  near  a  window,  and  she  saw  a  carriage,  a  splendid  carriage, 
passing  in  the  street ;  this  carriage  stopped,  and  out  of  it  got  a  beautiful  lady 
followed  by  a  gentleman,  and  they  entered  her  room,  and  the  lady  said  to  her: 
"  See,  Mamma,  how  richly  ray  husband  dresses  me !  "  This  lady  was  Vorotchka. 
Maria  Alexevna  looked  at  her:  the  material  of  V6rotchka's  dress  was  really  of 
the  most  expensive  sort.  Verotchka  said  :  "  The  material  alone  cost  five  hun- 
dred roubles,  and  that  is  a  mere  bagatelle,  Mamma,  for  us;  of  such  dx-esses  I 
have  a  dozen;  and  here  is  something  that  cost  still  more,  see  my  fingers!" 
And  Maria  Alexevna  looked  at  V6rotchka's  fingers,  and  saw  rings  set  with  huge 
diamonds!  "  This  ring,  M;imma,  cost  two  thousand  roubles,  and  that  one  four 
thousand  more  ;  and  just  glance  at  ray  breast,  Mamma ;  the  price  of  this  brooch 
was  still  greater ;  it  cost  ten  thousand  roubles !  "  And  the  gentleman  added,  the 
gentleman  being  Dmitry  Sergueitch :  "  All  these  things  ai*e  just  nothing  at  all 
for  us,  my  dear  Mamma,  Maria  Alexevna!  The  really  precious  stuff  is  in  my 
pocket;  here,  dear  Mamma,  see  this  pocket-book,  how  it  is  swollen  !  It  is  full  of 
hundred-rouble  notes.  Well,  this  pocket-book  is  yours.  Mamma,  for  it  is  a  small 
matter  to  us !  Here  is  another  more  swollen  still,  dear  Mamma,  which  I  will 
not  give  you;  it  does  not  contain  small  currency,  but  large  bank-bills  and  bills 
of  excliange,  and  each  of  these  bank-bills,  each  of  these  bills  of  exchange,  is 
worth  more  than  the  whole  pocket-book  which  I  have  given  you,  dear  Mamma." 

"  You  knew  well,  my  dear  son,  Dmitry  Sergueitch,  how  to  make  ray  daughter 
and  our  whole  family-  hajipy  ;  but  where  do  you  get  so  much  wealth  ?  " 

"  I  have  bought  the  liquor-selling  monopoly.  Mamma  !  " 

And,  on  waking,  Maria  Alexevna  said  to  herself:  "Truly,  he  must  go  into  the 
bu.sines3  of  liquor-selling." 

XXIV. 

EULOGY  OF  MARIA  ALEXEVNA. 

You  now  cease  to  be  an  important  personage  in  Vcrotchka's  life,  Maria  Alex- 
evna, and  in  taking  leave  of  you  the  author  of  this  story  begs  you  not  to  com- 
plain if  he  makes  you  quit  the  scene  with  a  denoument  not  wholly  to  your  advan- 
tage. Do  not  think  yourself  diminished  in  our  eyes.  You  are  a  dupe,  but  that 
can  in  no  degree  change  for  the  worse  our  opinion  of  your  judgment,  Maria 
Alexevna:  your  error  does  not  testify  against  you.  You  have  fallen  in  with 
individuals  such  as  previously  you  had  not  been  in  the  habit  of  meeting,  and  it 
is  not  your  fault  if  you  have  made  a  mistake  in  judging  things  according  to  your 
experience.  Your  whole  past  life  had  led  you  to  the  conclusion  that  men  are 
divided  into  two  classes,  —  fools  and  knaves ;  whoever  is  not  a  tool  is  a  knave, 


The  First  Love  and  Legal  Marriage.  119 

an  absolute  knave,  you  have  supposed ;  not  to  be  a  knave  is  uece-:sarily  to  be  a 
fool.  This  way  of  lool<ing  at  things  was  very  just,  Maria  Alcxevna,  was  per- 
fectly just  until  these  latter  days.  You  have  met  very  well-spoken  peojjle,  and 
you  have  observed  that  all  of  them,  without  exception,  were  either  rascals, 
deceiving  men  with  fine  words,  or  big,  stupid  children,  unacquainted  with  life 
and  not  knowing  how  to  manage  their  affairs.  Consequently,  Maria  Alexcvna, 
you  have  placed  no  faith  in  fine  words ;  3'ou  have  regarded  them  either  as  non- 
sense or  as  falsehoods,  and  you  were  right,  Maria  Alexevna.  Your  way  of  look- 
ing at  men  had  already  been  completely  formed  when  you  for  the  first  time  met 
a  woman  who  was  neither  a  fool  nor  a  rascal ;  therefoi'e  it  is  not  at  all  astonish- 
ing that  you  were  disconcerted  by  her,  not  knowing  what  course  to  take,  what 
to  think  of  her,  or  how  to  treat  her.  Your  way  of  looking  at  things  had  already 
been  completely  formed  when  j'ou  for  the  first  time  met  a  man  of  heart  who  was 
not  an  artless  child,  but  who  knew  life  quite  as  well  as  you,  judged  it  quite  as 
justly,  and  knew  how  to  conduct  his  atlairs  quite  as  well;  therefore,  again,  it  is 
not  at  :ill  astonishing  that  you  were  deceived  and  took  liim  for  a  sharper  of  your 
own  sort.  These  errors,  Maria  Alexevna,  in  no  wise  diminish  my  esteem  for  j'ou 
as  a  prudent  and  reasonable  woman.  You  have  lifted  your  husband  from  his  '^ 
obscurity,  you  have  provide*!  for  your  old  age,  —  good  things  not  easily  accom- 
plisln-d.  Your  niclliods  were  b;;d,  but  \ our  surroundings  offered  you  no  others. 
Your  methods  belong  to  your  surroundings,  but  not  to  \  our  person  ;  therefore 
the  dishonor  is  not  yours,  l)ut  the  honor  is  to  your  judgment  and  strength  of 
character. 

Are  you  (;ontent,  Maria  Alexevna,  to  see  your  good  qualities  tiius  recognized  ? 
Certainly,  you  ought  to  be,  since  you  never  pretended  to  be  agreeable  or  good. 
In  a  moment  of  invDlunt  iry  sincerity  you  even  confessed  your  wickedness  and 
r'uhmess,  and  you  never  eonsidcM-ed  wickedness  and  rudeness  as  <|ualitios  that 
dishonored  you,  understanding  that  you  eouhl  not  iiav(!  l)ei;n  otiierwise,  given  the 
conditions  of  yoiu-  life.  Tiierefore  you  should  be  but  littb^  disturbed  because 
these  tributes  to  your  intelligence  and  strength  of  cliara<t('r  are  not  followed  by 
triljutes  to  virtues  which  you  admit  that  you  dn  not  possess,  and  wliich  you 
woidd  consifh'r  ralin-r  as  follies  than  as  good  qualities.  You  would  have  asked 
no  other  tril»ut(!  than  thai  which  I  have  accorded  you.  l?ut  I  ciin  say  in  your 
honor  one  word  mon; :  of  ail  the  pcu'.sons  whom  1  <io  not  like  ;ind  wilh  whom  1 
shoidd  wish  to  have  no  d<'alings,  you  are  of  thosi!  whom  1  should  like  the  best. 
To  be  sure,  you  an;  pitiless  when  your  intiirest  is  at  stake,  liut  if  you  have  no 
interest  in  doing  *!vil  tf>  any  one,  you  will  nctt  do  it,  having  nothing  in  vi(!W  but 
the  satisfaction  of  your  [»etty  and  stupid  passions.  You  reason  lli;it  it  is  not 
worth  while  to  lose  one's  time,  labor,  and  money  for  nothing.  It  is  needless  to 
say  that  yrni  wouhl  havi;  taken  pbiasure  in  roasting  your  daughter  and  her  hus- 
band over  a  slow  lire,  hut  you  sucetjeded  in  repressing  the  spirit  ol  revenge  that 


120  What's  To  Be  Done? 

had  taken  possession  of  you  and  in  reflecting  coldly  upon  the  matter,  and  you 
recognized  that  roasting  was  out  of  the  question;  now  it  is  a  great  quality, 
Maria  Alexevna,  to  be  able  to  recognize  the  impossible.  After  recognizing  this 
impossibility,  you  did  not  allow  yourself  to  begin  an  action  which  would  not 
have  ruined  the  individuals  who  have  offended  you;  you  perceived  that  all  the 
little  annoyances  which  you  might  have  caused  them  by  such  an  action  would 
have  cost  you  many  greater  embarrassments  and  sacrifices,  and  so  you  did  not 
bring  an  action.  If  one  cannot  conquer  his  enemy,  if  for  the  insignificant  loss 
that  one  can  inflict  on  him  one  must  suffer  a  greater  loss,  there  is  no  reason  for 
liegiiining  the  struggle.  Understanding  that,  you  had  good  sense  and  valor 
enough  to  submit  to  the  impossible  without  uselessly  injuring  yourself  and 
others,  —  another  great  quality.  Yes,  Maria  Alexevna,  one  may  still  have  deal- 
ings with  }ou,  for  your  rule  is  not  evil  for  evil  even  to  your  own  injury,  and  that 
is  an  extremely  rare  quality,  a  very  great  quality  !  Millions  of  men  are  more 
dangerous  than  you,  both  to  themselves  and  to  other.-',  although  they  may  not 
have  your  surl}'  countenance.  You  are  among  the  best  of  those  who  are  not 
good,  because  you  are  not  unreasonable,  because  you  are  not  stupid.  I  should 
have  liked  very  well  to  reduce  you  to  dust,  but  I  esteem  you;  you  interfere  with 
nothing.  Now  you  are  engaged  in  bad  business  in  accordance  with  the  exigen- 
cies of  your  surroundings  ;  but  if  other  surroundings  were  given  you,  you  would 
willingly  cease  to  be  dangerous,  you  would  even  become  useful,  because,  when 
your  interest  is  not  at  stake,  you  do  not  do  evil,  and  arc  capable  of  doing  an}- 
thing  that  seems  advantageous  to  you,  even  of  acting  decently  and  nobly.  Yes, 
you  are  capable,  Maria  Alexevna,  and  it  is  not  your  fault  if  this  capacity  of  yours 
is  in  a  state  of  inertia,  and  if  in  its  stead  capacities  of  an  opposite  nature  are  at 
work;  you  none  the  less  possess  it,  which  cannot  be  said  of  everybody.  Base 
people  arc  capable  of  nothing  good,  Init  you,  you  are  only  bad,  not  base.  Con- 
sequently you  are  above  many  men  in  point  of  morality  ! 

"  Are  you  cont(;nt,  Maria  Alexevna  ?  " 
*    "  Have  1  any  reason  to  be  content,  my  good  sir,  when  my  affairs  are  in  such  a 
bad  way  ?  " 

"  It  is  for  the  best,  Maria  Alexevna." 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband^  and  the  Second  Love.        121 


CHAPTER    THIRD. 

The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love. 

I. 

Three  inontlis  luul  passed  since  the  marriaj^e.  LopoiikhofTs  aflfairs  were  ijoiiiji' 
on  well.  He  had  found  some  pupils,  work  at  a  l)ook-pul)lishers,  and,  more  than 
ull,  the  task  of  translating  a  geographical  treatise.  Vera  Pavlovna,  too,  had 
found  two  pupils;  who,  though  t^ey  did  not  pay  her  very  largely,  were  better 
than  none.  Together  the}'  were  now  earning  eighty  roul)les  a  month.  With  this 
sum  they  could  live  only  in  a  very  moderate  way,  but  they  Jiad  at  least  the 
necessaries.  Their  means  continuing  to  increase,  they  counted  on  being  able  in 
four  montiis  more  to  furnish  their  rooms  (and  later  that  is  what  they  did). 

'fiicir  lite  was  not  arranged  quite  as  Vera  Pavlovna  had  planned  it  on  the  day 
1)1"  tlifir  betrothal,  half  in  sport,  half  in  earnest,  but  nevertheless  it  ditl  not  lack 
much  (it  it. 

I'heir  aged  landlady  and  her  husband  had  a  great  deal  to  say  about  the  strange 
way  in  wiiich  the  newly-married  couple  live<l,  — as  if  they  were  not  hiisliand  and 
wife  at  all,  as  if  they  were  one  knows  not  what. 

"  Therelbre,  according  to  what  I  se(!  and  what  you  say,  riJtro\  na,  they  live  — 
how  shall  I  say  —  as  if  they  were  brother  and  sister." 

.Vonsense  !  Wiiat  a  comparison!  Hetween  brother  and  sister  there  is  no 
( II  einoriy  ;  is  then;  non<;  lictsvcen  them  i'  lit;  ris(!s,  puts  on  his  coal,  sits  down, 
and  waits  until  I  bring  tin- .<.a7«oyar.  .\ft(;r  having  made  the  tea,  he  calls  her; 
.she  too  comes  in  all  dressed.  Is  that  th(!  way  brother  and  sister  do?  This  would 
be  a  better  comparisf)n  :  it  sometimes  happens  that  among  peoj)lc  in  nimleiMie 
(•ireumstanees  two  lamilies  live  for  economy's  sake  in  one  and  I  lie  sunie  suite. 
They  resemble  two  such  families." 

"  How  is  it,  Petrovna,  that  the  linsbaml  cannot  enter  his  wife's  room  1'  She  is 
not  dressed.     Do  you  .see  P     How  <loes  that  seem  to  you?  " 

"  And  what  is  better  y«!t,  when  they  separate'  at  night,  she  says:  '  Good  night, 
my  darling;  sleep  well  !  '  Then  they  go,  Ik;  to  his  room,  she  to  lu'.rs,  ami  there 
lliey  read  old  Ixioks,  and  sometimes  he  writes.  Do  you  know  what  hai)it»!ne(l  one 
ni^ht?  She  had  gone  to  bed  and  was  reading  an  old  book;  I  suddenly  heard 
through  the  partition  —  I  was  not  asleep  —  I  heard  her  rise.  VVhatilo  you  think 
she  did  ?  I  heard  her  place  herself  i)efor(!  her  mirror  to  arrange-  her  hair,  do  you 
understand?     Just  as  if  she  were  going  to  make  a  visit.    Then  I  heard  her  start. 


122  What's  To  Be  Done? 

I  went  out  into  the  coiTidoi-,  got  up  on  a  chair,  and  looked  through  the  transom 
into  her  husband's  rt)om.     On  reaching  the  door  she  said  : 

"  '  Can  I  come  in,  my  darling  ?  ' 

"  And  he  answered  :  '  Presently,  Verotchka ;  wait  a  moment.'  He  was  in  bed 
also ;  he  made  haste  to  dress.  I  thought  he  was  going  to  put  on  his  cravat  next, 
but  he  did  not.     After  he  had  arranged  everything,  he  said : 

"  '  Now  you  can  come  in,  Verotchka.' 

" '  I  do  not  understand  this  book,'  she  said  to  him ;  '  explain  this  to  mc.' 

"  He  gave  her  the  explanation. 

"  '  Pardon  me,  ray  darling,  for  having  disturbed  you ' 

"  •  Wherefore,  Verotchka  ?     I  was  not  busy  ;  you  did  not  disturb  me.' 

"  And  out  she  went." 

"  She  simply  went  out  ?  "  • 

"  She  simply  went  out." 

"  And  he  did  nothing  P  " 

"  And  he  did  nothing.  But  that  is  not  the  most  astonishing  part  of  it;  the 
most  astonishing  thing  is  that  she  should  have  dressed  to  go  to  his  room  and  that 
he  should  have  dressed  to  receive  her.     What  does  that  mean  ?  " 

"I  think,  Petrovna,  that  this  must  be  a  sect;  there  are  all  sorts  of  sects,  you 
know,  in  that  line." 

"  So  there  are.     Very  likely  you  are  right." 

Another  conversation. 

"  Danilytch,  I  have  asked  thera  about  their  ways. 

" '  Do  not  be  offended,'  I  said, '  at  what  I  am  going  to  ask  you,  but  of  what 
faith  are  you  ?  ' 

" '  Of  the  Russian  faith.     What  a  question ! ' 

" '  And  you  belong  to  no  sect  ? ' 

" '  To  none ;  but  what  put  that  id(;a  into  your  head  ?  ' 

" '  This,  Mistress  (I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  to  call  you  Madame  or 
Mademoiselle),  —  do  you  live  with  Monsieur  your  husband  ?  ' 

"  She  smiled  :  '  Certainly,'  said  she." 

"She  smiled?" 

"  She  smiled,  and  answered  :  '  Certainly.' 

"  '  Why,  then,  this  habit  of  never  seeing  him  half  dressed,  as  if  you  were  not 
united  ? ' 

"  '  In  order,'  she  answered, '  not  to  exhibit  ourselves  in  unbecoming  garb.  As 
for  sect,  there  is  none.' 

" '  What,  then,  does  this  signify  ?  ' 

" '  We  act  in  this  way  in  order  that  there  may  be  moi-e  love  and  fewer  quarrels.'  " 

"  But  that  seems  to  be  correct,  Petrovna ;  they  are  very  reserved  toward  each 
other." 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband ^  and  the  Second  Love.       12 


o 


"She  further  said  to  me:  'I  do  not  wish  others  to  see  me  too  carelessly 
dressed ;  now,  I  love  my  husband  more  than  I  love  others ;  therefore  it  is  not 
fitting  that  I  should  ajipear  I)efore  him  without  first  washing  myself  " 

"  And  that,  too,  has  an  air  of  truth,  Prtrovna  ;  why  do  we  covet  our  neighbors' 
wives?  Because  we  always  see  them  dressed  up.  while  we  see  our  own  in  care- 
less array.    So  it  is  said  in  the  proverbs  of  Solomon.    He  was  a  very  wise  king." 

II. 

All  went  well,  then,  at  the  LopoukhoftV.  Vera  Pavlovna  was  always  gay. 
But  one  day  —  about  five  months  after  their  marriage  —  Dmitry  Serguoiteh,  on 
returning  from  one  of  his  pupils,  found  his  wile  in  a  somewhat  inexplicable 
humor;  her  eyes  shone  with  pride  as  well  as  joy.  Then  Dmitry  Sergu^itch 
remembered  that  for  some  days  past  she  had  shown  signs  of  an  agreeable  rest- 
lessness, a  smiling  thoughtfulness,  a  gentle  pride. 

"  Something  pleasant  seems  to  have  come  to  you,  my  friend  ;  why  do  you  not 
let  me  share  it?  " 

"  Indeed,  I  believe  I  have  reason  to  be  joyful,  dear  friend,  but  wait  a  little 
while:  I  will  tell  you  about  it  as  soon  as  I  feel  sure  of  it.  It  will  be  a  great  joy 
for  us  l)oth,  and  will  also  please  Kirsanoft"  and  the  Mertzalotts." 

"  Hut  what  is  it,  then  ?  " 

"  Have  you  forgotten  our  agreement,  my  darling?  Do  not  question.  As  soon 
a.s  it  is  a  sure  thing,  I  will  tell  you." 

A  week  [lassed. 

"  My  darling,  I  am  ;:uiiig  t(j  tell  you  my  joy.  I  ne('<l  only  your  advice:  you 
are  an  expert  in  these  things.  For  a  long  time  I  have  wanted  to  do  something 
useful,  and  I  have  conceived  the  plan  of  establishing  a  dressmaker's  sho[) ;  is 
that  a  good  idi-a?  " 

'•  it  is  agn-etl  that  1  ;tni  not  to  kiss  your  iiand,  but  that  rcfcrrcil  only  (o  gcnciai 
>ituation.s;  under  sucii  circum.stances  as  the  present  no  agreement  holds.  Your 
haufl,  V6ra  Pavlovna." 

"  Later,  my  darling,  when  I  liave  succeeded." 

"  Whi-n  you  h:ive  sucrccedrd,  not  tu  nn-.  alone  will  you  give  your  hand  to  kiss; 
KiiHiinon",  Ale.xey  Pi'-trovitch,  and  everybody  will  demand  tlie  privilege.  Now  I 
am  alone,  and  your  intention  of  itself  is  worth  the  kiss." 

"  If  you  do  m«!  violence,  I  will  cry  out." 

"Well,  cry  out." 
Vou  make  me  ashamed  <>!  myself,  and  I  will  have  nothing  more  to  say  to 
you." 

"  Is  it,  then,  very  im])ortant  ?  " 

"  Indeed  it  is,  and  that  is  why  wi-  talk  all  the  time  and  do  nothing." 


124  Whal's  To  Be  Done? 

"  And  you,  who  commenced  later  than  any  of  us,  are  the  first  to  bcgiu  action." 
Vcrotchka  had  hidden  her  face  in  her  husband's  breast. 
"  Too  much  praise,  my  dear  friend." 

"  No,  you  have  a  wise  mind." 
Iler  husband  kissed  lier. 

"  Oh,  stop  !     No  one  can  say  a  word  to  you." 

•'  Very  well ;  say  on,  n)y  good  Verotchka." 
"  Do  not  call  me  that." 

"  Then  I  will  say  my  wicked  Veiotchka." 

"  Listen,  Mr.  Impertinence!  The  most  ini[)urtant  tliinj^  now,  in  my  opinion,  is 
first  to  make  a  prudent  choice  of  honest  workinj^-girls,  industi-ious  servants  of 
proven  steadiness  of  character,  dreading  quarrels  and  capable  of  choosing 
others." 

'•  Exactly  so." 

"  1  have  found  three  young  girls  satisfying  these  conditions ;  but  how  I  have 
had  to  search  for  the  last  three  months,  how  I  have  been  through  the  stores, 
making  acquaintances,  until  at  last  I  have  found  what  I  wanted  and  am  sure  of 
my  choice ! " 

"  They  must  also  understand  business  management;  the  house  must  be  self- 
sustain  inj;'  and  the  business  must  be  successful  in  a  commercial  sense." 

"  Not  otherwise,  it  is  needless  to  say."' 

"  What  else  is  there  upon  which  advice  is  needed  ?  " 

"The  details." 

"  What  are  the  details?  You  probably  have  thought  of  everything  already, - 
and  will  govern  yourself  by  circumstances.  The  important  thing  now  is  the 
principle,  character,  and  skill.  Details  settle  themselves,  in  accordance  with  the 
conditions  of  each  special  case." 

"  I  know  it;  nevertheless.  I  shall  feel  more  confident  having  your  approval.'' 

They  talked  for  a  long  time.  Loupoukhoff  found  nothing  to  correct  in  liis 
wife's  plan,  but  to  herself  the  plan  developed  itself  more  clearly  as  she  told  it. 

The  next  day  LopoukhoH"  carried  to  the  "Journal  of  Police"  an  advertise- 
ment announcing:  Vera  Fdvlovna  Lopoukhoff  does  sticiny  and  laundrij-work  at 
a  moderate  price. 

The  same  morning  Vera  Pavlovua  called  upon  Juli(;.  '•  She  does  not  know  my 
present  name;  .say  Mademoiselle  Rosalsky,"  said  siie  U)  the  servant. 

•*  You  come  to  see  me  without  a  veil,  your  face  exposed  ;  you  give  your  name 
to  the  domestic ;  why,  this  is  madness !     You  will  ruin  yoursell,  dear  child !  " 

"  Oh,  now  I  am  married,  and  1  can  go  everywhere  and  do  as  I  like." 

"  And  if  your  husband  .should  find  it  out?  " 

"In  an  hour  he  will  be  here." 

Julie  plied  her  with  questions  about  iier  marriage.     Slic  was  enchanted,  she 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband^  and  the  Second  Love.        125 

kissed  her,  weeping  all  the  while.  When  her  enthusiasm  had  at  last  quieted 
down,  Vera  Pavlovna  spoke  of  the  object  of  her  visit. 

"  You  know  that  we  rememi)er  old  friends  only  when  we  need  them.  I  have 
a  great  favor  to  ask  of  you.  I  am  about  to  establish  a  dressmaker's  shop,  (iive 
me  your  orders  and  recommend  me  to  your  friends.  I  sew  well,  and  my 
assistants  are  tHpially  good  seamstresses;  you  know  one  of  them."' 

Indeed,  Julie  did  know  one  of  them  as  an  excellent  needle-woman. 

"  Here  are  some  samples  of  my  work.  I  made  this  dress  myself.  Sec;  how 
well  it  fits!" 

Julie  examined  very  carefully  the  cut  of  the  dress  and  its  seams,  and  the 
examination  satisfied  her. 

"  You  ought  to  be  very  successful ;  you  have  talent  and  taste.  But  to  that  fiid 
you  need  a  Tine  store  on  the  Nevsky." 

"  In  time  I  shall  have  one,  be  sure  ;  meantime  I  take  orders  at  my  house." 

These  thin:{s  arranged,  they  returned  to  lh(^  subject  of  Verotchka's  marriaL!:<". 

"  St(jn'chnikolf  led  a  vtn'y  dissipated  life  lor  a  fortnight,  lint  afterward  beeanie 
re(ronciled  to  Adelc.  I  am  very  glad  for  Adide:  he  is  a  good  fellow;  only  it  is 
a  pity  that  AdeUi  has  no  character." 

Starti'd  in  this  direction.  Jnli(!  launched  into  gossip  about  Adele's  adventures 
and  those  of  olheis. 

Now  that  Madeniois(!lle  Rosalsky  was  no  longer  ji  young  girl,  .Julie  did  not 
deem  it  ncce.ssary  to  restrain  her.self.  \\.  fii'st  she  talked  reasonablv  ;  llieii,  as 
her  excit<!ment  increased,  she  ))ainted  orgies  glowingly  and  in  cohns  more  and 
mon;  licentious.  Vera  I'avlovna  became  conlii.sed,  but  Jidic  did  not  notice  it; 
then,  reoovcM-ing  from  In  r  lirst  impression.  Vera  I'avlovna  listeni'tl  with  that 
pilifnl  interest  with  which  one  examines  a  dear  f.ice  disligurcd  by  tlisease. 
Lopoukhort'came,  and  Julie  for  a  moment  tr.aiisformed  herself  into  a  woman  of 
xocietv,  serious  .and  fnll  of  tact.  l>ut  sin^  could  not,  play  (hat  rule  hmg.  After 
con^^ratnlafing  LopnukholV  on  having  so  ijeautiful  a  wife,  sin;  again  l)ecame 
excitttd. 

"  We  must  celebrate  your  marriage." 

She  onlered  an  impromptu  breakfast,  to  be  wa^bi'd  down  with  c!iamp;igm'. 
Verotclik.i  had  to  ilrink  half  a  glass  in  honor  of  her  marriage,  half  a  gla-;-^  in 
honor  of  her  work.thop,  and  half  a  glass  to  ilir  licailh  of  Julie  her.self  l!<r 
head  bi-gan  to  (urn,  ami  she  and  Juli(!  became  Imilily  noisy;  .hilie  pinched 
Verotchka,  and  began  tf)  run;  Veroti-hka  slai-li'd  alter  her:  lliey  ran  llirongli  the 
apartments,  leajjing  nwv  chairs;  L(»poukliotl'  sat  in  hi-<  arm-chair,  laughing; 
Julie  presumed  to  boast  of  her  .ttrength,  which  brought  .ill  this  tuinidt  to  an 
en<l : 

"  I  will  lift  yon  with  one  hand." 

"Von  will  not  lift  me." 


126  What's  To  Be  Done? 

Beginning  to  struggle,  l)oth  of  them  fell  on  the  sofa,  and,  not  wishing  to  rise, 
began  to  shout  and  laugh  ;  linallj  they  went  to  sleep. 

It  was  a  long  time  since  Lopoukhoff  had  found  himself  in  a  situation  where 
he  did  not  know  what  to  do.  Should  he  waken  them  ?  He  feared  lest  he  might 
bring  the  joyous  interview  to  a  disagreeable  ending.  He  ro.se  carefull},  and 
took  a  lew  steps  about  the  room  in  search  of  some  book.  He  fell  upon  the 
"  Chronicles  of  the  (Eil  de  Boeuf,"  a  book  beside  which  that  of  Faublas  is 
insipid.  Lopoukhoff"  extended  himself  comfortably  upon  the  sofa  at  the  other 
end  of  tlie  room,  began  to  read,  and  in  less  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  was  asleep 
himself. 

Two  hours  later  Pauline  came  to  waken  Julie ;  it  was  dinner-time.  They  sat 
down  to  the  table  alone,  without  Serge,  who  had  been  invited  to  some  public 
dinner ;  Julie  and  Verotchka  again  began  to  shout  and  laugh.  Then  they  be- 
came calm  and  resumed  a  serious  attitude.  Suddenly  Julie  asked  Vd-rotchka 
(the  idea  had  not  occurred  to  i)er  before)  why  she  established  a  workshop.  It 
she  desired  to  get  money,  it  would  be  much  better  to  become  an  actress  or  even 
a  singer;  her  voice  was  a  very  fine  one.  Upon  that  they  seated  themselves 
anew.  Verotchka  told  her  jjlans,  and  Julie's  enthusiasm  revived;  congratula- 
tions followed  fast  upon  each  otlier,  uiiiiglcd  with  eulogistic  exclamations.  She, 
Julie  Letellier,  was  a  lost  woman,  but  she  could  appreciate  virtue;  finally  she 
began  to  weep  and  embi'ace  Verotchka,  whom  once  more  she  overwhelmed  witli 
praises  and  good  wishes. 

Four  days  later  Julie  cari'ied  Vera  Pavlovna  a  large  number  of  orders  of  her 
own  and  the  addresses  of  some  of  her  friends  from  whom  she  might  also  receive 
orders.  She  took  Serge  with  her,  saying  to  him :  "  We  cannot  do  otherwise ; 
Lopoukhoff"  came  to  see  me,  3'ou  must  return  his  visit." 

Julie  acted  like  a  jwsitive  woman,  and  her  enthusiasm  did  not  cease,  so  that 
she  stayed  at  the  Lopoukhoff's'  a  long  time. 

There  were  no  walls  there,  but  thin  partitions;  everything  could  be  heard,  and 
she  was  on  the  lookout.  She  was  not  enraptured,  but  she  was  moved.  After 
having  examined  all  the  details  of  the  Lopoukhoff"?'  somewhat  meagre  life,  she 
saw  that  that  was  precisely  the  way  to  live,  that  there  is  no  true  life  otherwise, 
that  real  happiness  is  possible  only  where  there  is  no  luxury  ;  she  even  announced 
to  Serge  that  they  would  go  to  Switzerland  and  live  in  a  little  cottage  amid  the 
fields  and  mountains  on  the  shore  of  a  lake,  there  to  love  each  other,  fish,  and 
cultivate  their  littlt;  garden.  Serge  replied  that  he  was  of  her  mind,  but  that  he 
would  like  to  wait  to  see  what  she  would  think  of  the  matter  a  few  hours  later. 

The  noise  of  Julie's  elegant  carriage  and  fine  horses  made  a  great  impression 
upon  the  dwellers  in  the  fifth  line  between  the  Moyenne  and  the  Petite  Persi^ec- 
tive,  where  nothing  like  it  had  been  seen  since  the  days  of  Peter  the  Great,  if  not 
since  a  period  still  more  remote.     Many  watched  the  surprising  phenomenon, 


Life  of  Vera  loith  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        127 

and  saw  it  stop  near  the  ean-iage  gate  (which  was  closed)  of  a  one-story  wooden 
house  with  seven  windows ;  they  saw  get  out  a  ijheuomenon  more  wonderful 
still,  a  young  woman  splendid  and  brilliant,  an  officer  whose  bearing  was  of  the 
most  dignified.  The}'  were  greatl\'  disappointed  when  the  carriage  gate  opened 
and  the  vehicle  entered  the  court ;  public  curiosity  was  thus  deprived  of  a  sight 
of  the  stately  officer  and  the  still  more  stately  lady  on  their  departure. 

When  Danilytch  came  home  after  his  day's  work,  he  had  the  following  inter- 
view with  his  wife : 

"  Danilytch,  it  appears  that  our  tenants  belong  to  high  society.  A  general 
and  his  wife  have  been  to  see  them.  The  general's  wife  was  dressed  so  richly 
that  her  toilet  is  indescribable.     The  general  wore  two  stars!" 

How  could  Petrovna  have  seen  stars  on  Serge,  who  as  yet  had  none,  and  who, 
if  he  had  any,  would  not  have  worn  them  on  his  excursions  with  Julie  ?  That  is 
very  astoni.shing.  Hut  she  did  really  see  them,  she  was  not  mistaken,  she  was 
not  lying.  It  is  not  only  .she  that  says  it;  I,  too,  answer  for  its  truth ;  she  saw 
them.  We  know  that  there  were  none  there;  but  Serge's  a.spect  was  such  that, 
from  IV-trovna's  standpoint,  it  was  impossible  not  to  see  two  stars  on  him.  i'e- 
troviia  saw  them.     I  affirm  it  .seriously. 

"  And  what  a  livery  their  footman  luul,  Danilj^tch  !  Of  Engli.sh  cloth  at  live 
roubles  an  archinc.  And  this  footman,  though  grave,  was  nevertheless  polite; 
he  answere<l  when  cjuestioned  ;  lie  even  allowed  you  to  feel  of  t lie  clotli  of  his 
"-leevc.  Wliat  goorl  cloth  I  It  is  plain  that  tlicy  liavc  ])l('nty  of  money  to  tiirow 
out  of  the  window.  They  stayed  about  two  hours,  and  our  tenants  talked  with 
them  very  simply,  just  as  I  do  witli  you  for  instance,  and  did  not  salute  them, 
and  laughed  willi  thcni  :  mir  ti-iiant  .iml  tlie  general  simply  .sat  h.ick  in  their 
arm-chairs  and  sniokt-d.  Once,  our  tenant's  cig.irettc  having  gone  out,  In'  took 
the  giuieral's  to  relight  it.  And  with  what  n^spijct  the  general  kissed  the  hantl 
of  our  tenant's  beautiful  wife  I  It  is  pa.st  description.  What  <lo  you  think  of  all 
this,  Danilytch?" 

'•  Kvervthing  comes  from  (iod,  that  is  what  I  think  ;  acquaintances  ol  all  sorts 
and  relatives,  all  come  from  tJod." 

"  It  is  true,  Danilytch.  Hverything  cinnes  t'ltun  (iod,  llicn-  is  nothing  else  to 
Say.  Kor  my  part  this  is  what  I  think,—  that  our  tenant,  or  his  wife,  is  the 
brother,  or  sister,  of  the  general,  or  of  the  general's  wif<;.  -And,  to  tell  tlw  truth, 
I  am  nearly  convinced  th.at  she  is  the  general's  sister."' 

"Are  you  very  sure,  IVtrovini?  I  ilo  not  l)eli(!ve  it.  If  sucli  were  llit  case, 
they  would  have  money." 

"  That  can  be  explainetl,  Danilytch.  Either  the  mother  or  the  father  may  have 
had  her  outside  of  marriage.  Tln'  face  isf|uit<'  different ;  there  is  no  resendilance 
there." 

"  That  may  be  it,  I'etrovna,  —  outside  of  marriage.     .Such  things  liapj)en." 


128  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

Thanks  to  this  adventure,  Petrovna  aoquiretl  for  fonr  whole  days  a  great  im- 
portance at  thi^  j^roeerv  which  shv,  was  accustomed  to  tVecjuent.  For  tlu-ee  whole 
(lays  this  gi'ocery  drew  a  portion  of  tiie  trade  of  the  neighboring  grocery.  Pe- 
ti'ovna,  devoting  herself  to  the  interest  of  public  instruction,  even  neglected 
h«'r  mending  a  little  during  this  time  in  order  to  satisfy  those  wiio  liad  a  lliirs) 
for  iinowledge. 

All  this  had  results.  A  week  later  Pavel  Konstantinytch  appeared  at  his  son- 
in-law's.  Maria  Alexevna  obtained  information  ai)out  th(^  life  of  her  daughter 
and  her  rascal  of  a  son-in-law,  not  in  a  constant  and  careful  way,  Ijut  from  time 
to  time  and  out  of  pure  curiosity.  One  of  her  friends,  a  gossip  of  tlie  lowest, 
rank,  who  lived  in  the  island  of  Vassilievsky,  was  charged  with  inquiring  about 
Vera  Pavlovna,  whenever  she  happened  to  pass  that  way.  The  gossip  brought 
her  information  sometimes  once  a  month,  sometimes  oftener^  according  to  cir- 
cumstances. The  Lopoukhoffs  live  on  good  terms.  Tliey  do  nothing  extraordi- 
nary, the  only  thing  remarkaljle  l)eing  that  they  are  visited  by  a  great  many 
young  people,  all  of  tluMU  men  and  modestly  dressed.  It  cannot  be  said  tiiat 
they  live  richly  ;  nevertheless  they  have  money.  Very  far  from  selling  anytliing, 
they  buy.  She  lias  made  two  silk  dress(!S  for  herself.  They  have  bought  a  sofa, 
a  table,  and  a  half-dozen  second-hand  arm-chairs  for  forty  roubles,  which  were 
worth  perhaps  a  hundred.  They  have  given  their  projirietors  notice  to  look  for 
new  tenants  in  a  month,  for  then  they  intend  to  move  into  their  furnished  apart- 
ments, —  "  thougli  remaining  grateful  to  you  for  your  civility,"  they  added.  The 
proprietors  of  course  said  that  on  their  side  the  feiiling  was  the  same. 

Maria  Alexevna  was  happy  to  hear  this  news.  She  was  a  very  brutal  and 
very  bad  woman ;  she  tortured  her  daughter,  she  would  have  killed  her  if  she 
had  found  it  to  her  advantage,  she  cursed  her  as  she  thought  of  the  ruin  of  her 
plan  for  adding  to  her  riches;  all  that  was  true,  l)ut  did  it  follow  tlnit  she  had  no 
love  for  her  daughter  ?  Not  at  all.  The  affair  over  and  her  daughter  ii'revocal>ly 
escaped  from  her  hands,  what  had  she  to  do?  Whatever  falls  into  the  trench  is 
for  the  soldier.  Verotchka  was  none  the  less  her  daughter;  and  now,  in  case  of 
need,  Vera  Pavlovna  might  readily  be  useful  to  Maria  Alexevna.  The  mother 
therefore  sincerely  wished  her  daughter  well.  There  was  nothing  peculiar  about 
this  affection ;  Maria  Alexevna  did  not  watch  her  carefully ;  what  she  did  was 
.simply  for  form's  sake,  to  satisfy  the  what-will-people-say  consideration,  and  to 
show  that  V6ra  was  really  her  daughter.  Why  not  become  reconciled  ?  Espe- 
cially since  the  brigand  son-in-law,  according  to  all  accounts,  is  a  positive  man, 
with  whom  one  may  in  time  do  something.  So  Maria  Alexevna  gradually  came 
to  the  conclusion  that  it  would  be  better  to  renew  her  relations  with  her  daugh- 
ter. It  would  have  taken  six  months  longer  and  perhaps  even  a  whole  year  to 
reach  this  result;  for  there  was  notliing  pressing,  and  time  enough  ahead.  But 
tlie  news  about  the  general  and  his  wife  suddenly  advanced  matters  at  least  one- 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        129 

half.  The  brigand  had  indeed  shown  himself  shrewd  enough.  He,  a  poor  devil 
of  a  student  who  had  left  college  without  a  degree,  with  two  sous  in  his  pocket, 
had  formed  a  friendship  with  a  young  general ;  he  had  also  made  his  wife  a 
friend  of  the  general's  wife ;  such  a  man  will  go  far.  Or  else  Vera  has  formed  a 
friendship  with  the  general's  wife,  and  has  made  her  husband  a  frienil  of  the  gen- 
eral.    What  is  the  difference?    That  would  simply  show  that  Vera  may  go  far. 

So,  as  soon  as  the  visit  was  known,  the  father  was  sent  to  tell  his  daughter 
that  her  mother  had  pardoned  her,  and  that  she  was  invited  to  the  house. 

Vt!'ra  Tavlovna  and  her  husljand  went  back  wilh  Pavel  Koustantinytch  and  re- 
mained a  portion  of  the  evening.  The  interview  was  cold  and  formal.  Fedia 
was  the  principal  subject  of  conversation,  because  the  least  thorny  subject.  He 
was  at  .school,  Maria  Alexevna  having  been  persuaded  to  place  hira  at  boarding- 
school  ;  Dmitry  Sergueitch  promised  to  go  to  see  him,  and  holidays  he  Avas  to 
spend  at  Vera  Pavlovna's.  Thus  they  managed  to  kill  time  until  the  tea-hour; 
then  they  hastened  to  separate,  the  Lopoukhoffs  pretending  that  they  were  ex- 
pecting visitors  that  evening. 

For  six  months  Vtn"a  Pavlovna  had  been  oreathing  a  vivifying  air.  Her  lungs 
had  already  become  completely  unaccustomed  to  the  atmosi)here  of  strategy,  in 
which  every  word  was  uttered  with  a  pecuniary  end  in  view;  her  ear  was  no 
longer  used  to  the  di.scussion  of  swindling  schemes  and  vile  conspiracies.  As  a 
result  this  return  to  the  cellar  made  a  horrible  imi)r('ssi()n  on  her.  This  corrup- 
tion, this  triviality,  this  cynicism  struck  her  like  a  new  thing. 

"How  did  I  help  succumbing  in  sucli  snrrouiidings?  How  was  1  aide  to 
breathe  in  that  cellar?  And  not  only  did  I  live  there,  but  I  kept  my  health  ! 
Inconipn.'hcnsiblt;  thing!  How  coidd  I  have  l)een  l)rougiit  up  there,  and  still  ac- 
quire a  love  of  the  good  ?  It  is  incredible!  "  thought  Vera  I'avhivna,  on  return- 
ing to  her  apartments,  with  that  sense  of  eomlort  which  one  feels  on  breathing 
freely  after  having  been  stifled. 

Shortly  after  their  arrival  their  aecustonied  visitois  eanie,  —  nanieiy,  .\lexey 
P/^trovitch  with  Natalia  Andrevna,  and  Kirsanolf ;  tiuiy  passed  the  evening  as 
usual.  What  a  new  pleasure  V/fra  Pavlovna  felt  after  this  interview  in  living 
amid  pure  ideas  and  in  the  society  of  pure  people !  '{"lie  conversation  was,  as 
usual,  now  gay  ami  mingled  with  souv(!nirs.  now  serious  and  upon  all  imagin- 
able subjects,  including  the  hi>tfnical  events  of  that  day,  such  as  the  civil  war  in 
the  Caucasus  (the  prologue  of  the  great  war  now  going  on  between  the  South 
and  the  North  in  the  United  States,  which  in  its  turn  is  the  j)roIogue  of  events 
still  greater  and  of  which  the  .scene  will  tiot  be  Americii  only).  Now  ev<!ry])ody 
talks  j)olitic3,  but  at  tliat  time  thr)s(!  interesttMJ  in  them  were  few  in  number;  of 
this  small  number  were  Loponkholf.  KirsanofT.  and  their  friends.  They  even  en- 
tered into  the  discussions  then  jjrevailing  of  IJebig's  theory  of  agricidtnral  chem- 
istn',  as  well  as  the  laws  of  historical  progress,  a  subject  never  forgotten  in  such 


130  What's  To  Be  Done? 

circles.  They  concerned  themselves  also  with  the  importance  of  distinguishing 
real  desires  which  seek  and  find  satisfaction  from  whimsical  desires  which  it  is 
impossible  and  unnecessary  to  satisfy.  For  oxarai)le,  when  one  has  a  hot  fever, 
he  is  always  thirsty,  but  the  only  trul}'  desirable  satisfaction  is  not  in  drink  but 
in  cure.  The  unhealthy  condition  of  th(;  sj'stem  ijrovokes  artificial  desires  while 
changing  normal  desires.  Besides  this  fundamental  distinction  then  put  forward 
by  anthropological  philosophy,  they  went  into  other  analogous  subjects,  or,  if 
difl'erent,  subjects  leading  back  to  the  same  point.  The  ladies  also  from  time  to 
time  took  part  in  these  scientific  discussions  conducted  in  a  simple  fashion ;  they 
sometimes  asked  questions ;  but  as  a  general  thing  they  did  not  listen,  and  had 
even  been  known  to  sprinkle  Lopoukhoff  and  Alexey  Petrovitch  with  clean  water 
when  they  seemed  too  much  impressed  with  the  great  importance  of  mineral 
manure.  But  Alexey  Petrovitch  and  Lopoukhoif  discussed  tiieir  favorite  subjects 
with  an  invincible  tenacity  ;  Kirsanoflf  did  not  aid  them  much  ;  he  generally  took 
the  ladies'  side,  and  all  three  played  and  sang  and  laughed  until  a  late  hour, 
when,  fatigued,  they  would  at  last  succeed  in  separating  the  indefatigable  zealots 
of  serious  conversation. 

m. 

VERA   PAVLOVNA'S   SECOND  DREAM. 

V6ra  Pavlovna,  sleeping,  saw  a  field  in  a  dream;  her  husband  —  that  is,  her 
darling  —  said:  "You  wish  to  know,  Alexey  Petrovitch,  why  one  sort  of  soil 
produces  the  good,  the  pure,  the  delicate  wheat,  and  why  another  sort  does  not 
produce  it  ?  You  shall  account  for  this  ditference  yourself.  See  the  root  of  this 
fine  ear;  around  the  root  there  is  soil,  but  fresh  soil,  pure  soil,  you  might  say; 
smell  of  it ;  the  odor  is  damp  and  disagreeable,  but  there  is  no  mouldy  or  sour 
smell.  You  know  that  in  the  language  of  our  philosophy  that  is  real  soil.  It  is 
dirty,  to  be  sure;  but  look  at  it  clo.^ely,  and  you  will  see  ihat  all  the  elements  of 
which  it  is  composed  are  healthy.  This  is  the  soil  that  they  constitute  in  this 
combination ;  but  let  the  disposition  of  the  atoms  be  a  little  changed,  and  some- 
thing difl'erent  will  result;  and  this  something  will  be  equally  healthy,  since  the 
fundamental  elements  are  hcilthy.  What  is  the  I'c.isou  of  that?  Look  closely 
at  this  portion  of  the  field;  you  .see  that  there  is  an  outh-t  for  the  water,  so  that 
there  can  be  no  putridity.'' 

"  Yes,  motion  is  reality,"  said  Alexey  Petrovitch,  "  because  motion  is  life. 
Now,  the  principal  element  of  life  is  laljor,  and  consequently  the  principal  cle- 
ment of  reality  is  labor,  and  the  characteristic  by  which  it  can  be  most  surely 
recognized  is  activity." 

"Thus,  Alexey  Petrovitch,  if  the  sun  should  wai-ra  this  soil  and  the  heat  should 
displace  the  elements  and  form  them  into  more  complex  chemical  combinations. 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        131 

—  that  is,  combiiiatious  of  a  higher  degree,  —  then  the  ear  which  would  grow  out 
ofthis  tiuil  would  be  u  healthy  ear  ?  " 

"  Yes,  because  this  is  real  soil,"  said  Alexey  P6trovitch. 

"  Now,  let  us  pass  to  this  part  of  the  lield.  Here  take  likewise  a  plant,  and 
examine  in  the  same  way  its  root.  This  t)o  is  diity.  Look  well  at  this  soil.  It 
is  not  difficult  to  see  that  this  is  putrescent  soil." 

"  That  is,  abnormal  soil,"  said  Alexey  Petrovitch. 

'•  I  mean,  the  elements  of  this  soil  being  unheal thj',  it  is  natural  tiiat,  whatever 
their  combination  and  whatever  the  resulting  product,  this  product  must  be  in  a 
state  of  corruption." 

"Evidently,  since  the  elements  themselves  are  unhealthy,"  said  Alexey  Petro- 
vitch. 

"  It  is  not  difficult  for  us  to  discover  the  cause  of  this  corruption." 

*'  That  is,  this  aiinorraal  putridity,"  said  Alexey  Petrovitch. 

"That's  it;  examine  tins  part  of  the  lield  again.  You  see  that  the  water, 
having  no  outlet,  stagnates  and  rots." 

"  Yes,  absence  of  motion  is  absence  of  labor,"  said  Alexey  Petrovitch,  "  for 
labor  appears  in  anthropological  analysis  as  the  fundimeiital  form  of  motion, 
the  form  which  is  the  basis  of  all  the  other  forms,  —  dlst  raction,  rest,  games, 
amusements ;  without  labor  preceding  them  these  forms  would  not  be  real. 
Now,  without  motion  there  i.s  no  lift'.  —  that  is,  no  reality  ;  conseciuentiy  this  soil 
is  aiinonnal,  —  that  is,  rotten.  Not  until  modern  times  was  it  known  how  to 
make  such  parts  of  the  earth  healthy  ;  now  the  way  has  i)cen  found  in  ilrainage: 
the  HUpernuous  water  flows  away,  and  there  remains  only  Just  wiiat  is  lU'ces.sary  ; 
tliis  moves,  and  thus  makes  the  iields  lujalthy.  But,  as  long  as  this  mean.s  is  not 
eniploycfl,  the  soil  remains  .ilniormal,  —  that  is,  rotten  ;  uinler  these  conditions 
it  cannot  proiluce  good  vegi'tali(jn,  while  it  is  very  natural  tiiat  null  soil  should 
prrjduce  gooil  jilants,  since  it  is  healthy.  VVhicih  was  to  be  demonstrated ; 
n-e-a-a-dum,  as  th<!y  say  in  Latin." 

How  do  they  say  in  Ivatiti :  "  Which  was  to  be  demonstrated."  V<  la  I'avlovna 
could  not  cl<;arly  underslatid  thi.'-. 

"  You  .s(!em  to  like  kitchen  Latin  and  the  syllogism,  Alexey  Petrovitch,"  said 
her  "  <larling,"  —  that  is,  her  husband. 

Vera  Pavlovna  apprr)a(;Iied  them  and  saiil : 

"Enough  of  your  analysi-s,  i<l<'ntilies,  and  :inlhropologisms.  Vary  >our  c<tn- 
versation  a  little,  geiitliincn,  I  l»rg  of  you,  in  order  that  I  may  join  in  it;  or, 
rather,  let  us  play." 

•'  Let  us  play,"  .said  Alexey  Petrovitch :  "  lot  us  confess." 

"Let  us  confess,  that  will  lie  amusing,"  said  Vi'rn.  I'.ivlovna:  "  but,  as  you 
started  the  idea,  it  is  for  you  to  set  the  example." 


132  What's  To  Be  Do7ie9 

"  With  pleasure,  my  sistiir,"  said  Alexey  Petrovitch :  "  but  how  old  are  you  ? 
Eighteen,  are  you  not  ?  " 

"  Nearly  nineteen." 

"  But  not  quite;  we  will  say  eighteen,  theu,  and  confess,  all  of  us,  up  to  that 
age,  for  we  must  have  equality  of  couditions.  1  will  confess  for  mysulf  and  for 
my  wife.  My  father  was  the  sexton  in  the  chief  town  of  a  government  where 
he  followed  the  trade  of  bookbinder,  and  my  mother  rented  rooms  to  theological 
students.  From  mornins;  till  niglit  they  did  nothing  but  talk  and  worry  about 
our  daily  bread.  My  father  was  inclined  to  drink,  but  only  when  poverty  bore 
too  heavily  and  painfully  upon  him  or  when  the  income  was  more  than  suffi- 
cient :  in  the  latter  case  he  would  bring  my  mother  all  the  money  and  say  to  her : 
'  Now,  my  little  mother,  we  have,  thank  God,  all  we  shall  need  for  two  months ; 
and  I  have  kept  a  Poltiunitchek  with  which  to  drink  a  little  drop  in  honor  ol 
this  joyful  occasion.'  To  him  it  was  a  real  happiness.  My  mother  got  angry 
very  often,  and  sometimes  beat  me,  but  this  was  at  times  when,  as  she  said,  she 
had  lamed  her  back  by  lifting  too  many  iron  pots,  or  by  doing  the  washing  for 
us  five  and  the  five  students,  or  by  scrubbing  the  iloor  soiled  by  our  twenty  feet 
without  galoches,  or  by  taking  care  of  the  cow;  in  short,  it  was  because  of 
excessive  nervous  fatigue  occasioned  by  wearing  and  ceaseless  labor.  And  when, 
with  all  that, '  the  two  ends  did  not  meet,' as  she  expressed  it,  —  that  is,  when 
there  was  no  money  with  which  to  buy  boots  for  her  sons  and  shoes  for  her 
daughters,  —  then  it  was  that  she  beat  us.  She  caressed  us  also  when,  though 
children,  we  offered  to  aid  her  in  her  laboi%  or  when  we  did  something  intelligent, 
or  when  she  got  a  rare  moment  of  rest  and  her  back  became  limber,  as  she  said. 
To  us  those  were  real  joys."  .  .  . 

"  To  the  devil  with  your  real  sorrows  and  joys  !  "  said  V6ra  Pavlovna. 

"  Well,  then,  in  that  case,  condescend  to  listen  to  my  confession  for  Natacha." 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  listen  ;  she  has  similar  real  joys  and  sorrows,  I  am  sure." 

"  You  are  perfectly-  right." 

"  But  you  will  be  pleased,  perhaps,  to  hear  ray  confession,"  said  Serge,  myste- 
riously making  his  appearance. 

"  Let  us  see,"  said  Vera  Pavlovna. 

"  My  parents,  although  they  were  rich,  did  nothing  but  worry  and  talk  about 
money  ;  rich  people  are  no  more  exempt  from  such  anxieties  "  .  .  . 

"  You  do  not  know  how  to  confess,  .Serge,"  said  Alexey  Petrovitch,  in  an 
amiable  tone :  "  tell  us  why  they  worried  about  money,  what  the  expenses  were 
that  tormented  them,  what  were  the  needs  that  it  embarrassed  them  to  satisfy." 

"  I  well  understand  why  you  ask  me  that,"  said  Serge,  "  but  let  us  lay  that 
subject  aside  and  view  their  thoughts  from  another  standpoint.  They,  too,  were 
anxious  about  their  children." 

"  Were  their  children  sure  of  their  daily  Iircad  ?"  asked  Alexey  Petrovitch. 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        133 

"  Certainly,  but  it  was  necessarj-  to  look  out  that  "... 

"  Do  not  confess,  Serge  !  "  said  Alexey  P6trovitch  :  "  we  know  your  history  ; 
care  of  the  superfluous,  preoccupation  with  the  useless, —  that  is  the  soil  out  of 
which  you  have  grown  ;  it  is  an  abnormal  soil.  Just  look  at  yourself;  you  are 
by  birth  a  tairly  intelligent  and  very  polite  man  ;  perhaps  you  are  no  woi'se  or 
more  stupid  than  we  are  ;  but  what  are  you  good  for,  for  what  are  jou  useful  ? " 

"  I  am  good  to  escort  Julie  wherever  she  wishes  to  go,  I  am  useful  to  Julie  in 
helping  her  to  lead  a  dissipated  life,"  answered  Serge. 

"  Thereby  we  see,"  said  Alexey  P6trovitch,  "  that  the  abnormal  unhealthy 
soil"  .  .  . 

"Ah.  how  you  weary  me  with  your  realism  and  your  abnormalism !  They 
know  that  it  is  incomprehensible,  and  yet  they  never  stop  talking  about  it!" 
said  Vera  Pavlovna. 

'•  Then  you  do  not  wish  to  talk  a  little  with  me?"  said  Maria  Alexevna.  also 
appearing  mysteriously  :  "  you,  gcntlemi-n,  withdraw,  for  mother  wishes  to  speak 
with  daughter." 

Everybody  disappeared,  and  Verotchka  found  herself  face  to  face  with  Maria 
Alexevna.     Maria  Alexevna's  countenance  assumed  a  scornful  expression. 

"  Vt'-ra  Pavlovna,  you  are  an  educated  person ;  you  are  so  pure,  so  noble,"  said 
Maria  Alexevna  in  a  tone  of  irony  ;  "  you  arc  so  good  ;  am  I,  a  gross  and  wicked 
drunkard,  the  person  to  be  talking  to  youP  You,  V6ra  Pavlovna,  have  a  bud 
mother;  but  tell  me,  if  you  please,  Madame,  about  what  this  mother  has  been 
troubled?  About  ilaily  bread;  that  is  what,  in  your  learned  lan'_niage,  is  called 
the  re:il,  the  veritaljle  human  anxifty,  is  it  not?  You  have  heard  bad  words; 
you  have  seen  wicked  and  corrupt  conduct;  hut  tell  me,  if  you  please,  what  the 
object  was.  Was  it  a  futile,  a  senseless  object?  No,  Madame.  No,  whatever 
the  life  of  your  family,  it  was  not  a  futile,  wliimsie.ii  life.  Sec,  Vera  Pavlovna,  I 
liave  acquired  your  learned  style,  lint  you  are  asliamed  and  distressed  at  having 
HO  bad  a  woman  for  a  mother  ?  You  would  like  it  if  I  were  good  and  hone.st? 
Well,  I  am  a  sorcerer,  V6ra  Pavlovna,  1  know  how  to  u.so  magic;  therefore  I  (in 
realize  your  <le.sire.  ('ondcscend  to  look;  your  desire  is  fuKilled;  your  wicked 
mother  has  disappeared;  then;  i.s  a  good  mother  with  her  dauirhter;  look  !" 

.\  ro(jm.  Near  the  door  snores  a  dirty  drunken  man.  What  is  this,  —  ho  is 
unrecognizaiilc,  his  face  being  covered  half  by  his  hand  and  half  by  bruLses.  A 
bed.  On  the  bed  lies  a  woman,  —  yes,  it  is  .she,  it  is  Maria  Alexevna,  but  the 
good  Maria  Alexevna!  Further,  she  is  pale,  decrepit  at  the  age  of  forty-live, 
worn  out!  Near  the  bed  is  a  young  girl  of  alxmt  eighteen;  yes,  it  is  you,  Ve- 
rotchka, yourself,  but  in  what  rags  !  What  docs  this  mean  ?  You  are  so  yellow 
and  your  features  so  gross,  and  the  room  itself  is  so  poor!  Of  furniture  there 
is  almost  none. 

•  Verotchka,  my  friend,  my  angel,"  says  Maria  Alexevna:  "  lie  down  a  little 


i;U  What's  To  Be  Done? 

while;  rest  yi)urself.  uiy  treasure;  why  do  you  look  at  me?  It  is  wholly  uunec- 
essary.     This  is  the  third  night  that  you  have  not  slept," 

"  That  is  nothing,  Mamma  ;  I  am  not  tired,"  says  V6rotchka. 

"And  1  feel  very  sick,  Verotehka ;  what  will  become  of  you  when  left  without 
me?  Your  Other's  earnings  are  small,  and  he  is  a  poor  support  for  you.  You 
are  pretty ;  there  are  many  wicked  people  in  the  world.  There  will  be  nobody 
to  put  you  on  your  guard.     How  I  fear  for  you !  " 

Verotehka  weeps. 

"  My  dear  child,  do  not  take  offence ;  I  do  not  mean  to  reproach  you,  but  sim- 
ply to  put  you  on  your  guard :  why  did  you  go  out  Friday,  the  day  before  I  fell 
so  seriously  ill  ?  " 

Verotehka  weeps. 

"  He  will  deceive  you,  Verotehka  ;  abandon  his  company." 

"No,  Mamma." 

Two  months  later.  How  two  months  have  slipped  away  in  a  single  moment ! 
On  a  chair  is  seated  an  officer.  On  the  table  in  front  of  the  officer  a  bottle,  and 
it  is  she,  Verotehka,  upon  the  officer's  knees ! 

Two  months  more  slip  by  in  a  moment. 

On  a  sofa  is  seated  a  lady.     Before  the  lady  stands  Verotehka. 

"  And  do  you  know  how  to  iron,  Verotehka?  " 

"  Yes,  I  know  how." 

"  What  are  you,  my  dear,  a  serf  or  free  ?  " 

"  My  father  is  an  office-holder." 

"  Then  you  are  of  gentle  birth,  my  dear  ?  I  cannot  take  you.  What  kind  of 
a  servant  would  you  make  ?     Go,  my  dear,  I  cannot  take  you." 

Verotehka  is  in  the  street. 

"  Mamzelle,  mamzelle! "  says  some  drunken  youth,  "  where  are  you  going? 
I  will  escort  you." 

Verotehka  runs  to  throw  her.«elf  into  the  Neva. 

•'  Well,  my  dear  child,  how  do  yon  like  having  such  a  mother?  "  said  the  old, 
the  veal  Maria  Alexevna:  "  am  I  not  clever  in  the  use  of  magic?  Why  are  you 
silent  ?  Have  you  no  tongue  ?  But  I  will  make  you  speak  just  the  same.  Have 
you  been  in  the  stores  much?  " 

"  Yes,"  said  Verotehka,  all  of  a  tremble. 

"  Have  you  seen,  have  you  heard  ?  " 

"  Yes." 

"Is  their  life  honorable?  Are  they  educated  ?  Do  they  read  old  books,  do 
they  dream  of  your  new  order  of  things,  of  the  way  in  which  men  may  be  made 
happy  ?     Do  they  dream  of  it  ?     Speak  out !  " 

Verotehka,  trembling,  said  not  a  word. 


Life  of 'Vera  loith  her  Hushandy  and  the  Second  Love.        135 

"  You  have  lost  your  power  of  speech,  it  seems  to  me.  Is  their  life  honorable, 
I  ask  von  ?  " 

Verotchka  maintained  her  silence  and  felt  a  shudder. 

"  You  have  then  really  lost  your  power  of  speech  ?  Is  their  life  honorable? 
Are  th«'y  virtuous  young  girls,  I  ask  you  again  ?  Would  you  like  to  be  as  they 
are.^  l''ou  are  silent!  Do  not  turn  away  your  face!  Listen,  then,  Verka,  to 
what  I  am  going  to  say  to  you.  You  are  learned ;  thanks  to  the  money  that  I 
have  stolen,  you  are  educated.  You  dream  of  the  good,  but,  if  I  had  not  been 
wicked,  you  would  never  have  known  what  the  good  is.  Do  you  understand? 
It  all  c(jmes  I'lom  me;  you  are  my  daughter,  mine.     I  am  your  mother." 

Verotchka  weeps  and  shudders. 

"  What  do  you  wish  of  me,  Mamma  ?     I  canuot  love  you." 

"  Do  1  ask  you  to  love  me  ?  " 

'•  I  should  like  at  least  to  esteem  you,  but  I  cannot  do  that  either." 

"  Do  1  need  your  esteem  ?  " 

"  What  do  you  want,  then  ?  Why  have  you  come  to  talk  to  me  in  so  dreadful 
a  way  '-^  What  do  you  wish  of  me  ?  " 

••  i'.i-  ^rratoful,  without  loving  or  esteeming  me,  ingrate  that  you  arc.  I  am 
wicked;  is  there  any  chance  for  love?  I  am  dishonest;  is  there  any  ciiance  lor 
esteem  ?  But  you  should  understand,  Verka,  that,  if  I  were  not  what  I  am,  you 
too  would  not  be  what  you  are.  You  are  honest  because  I  have  been  dishonest; 
you  an-  good  for  the  reason  that  I  have  been  wicked.  Understand  it,  VcTotchka, 
and  be  ;.'ratcl'ul." 

"  Withdraw,  Maria  Alexevna;  it  is  now  ray  turn  to  speak  to  my  sister." 

.Maria  .Mexevna  disappeared. 

The  «w('(!tlieart  of  so  many  lovers,  the  sister  of  so  many  sisters  took  Verotchka 
by  the  hand. 

"  I  have  always  waiitfil  to  ha  good  with  you,  Vi'-rotchka,  for  you  are  good 
yourself  Now,  I  am  whatever  the  person  is  to  whom  1  :iiii  talking.  At  pres- 
ent you  are  sad  ;  so  am  1.     Look  !  Though  sad,  miii  I  still  good?  " 

"  .Mways  the  Itcst  in  tin;  worlil." 

•Kiss  me,  Vi'-rotclika;  w<!  an;  both  in  distress.  Your  mother  told  you  tiu! 
exact  trutli.     I  <lo  not  like  your  mother,  but  I  need  her." 

"  Can  you  not  do  without  her?  " 

'  Laler  I  HJiall  be  al)le  to,  when  it  sli;ill  l)i'.  useless  for  men  to  bi-  wickt-d. 
lint  at  pri-scnt  I  cannot.  Tlie  good,  you  see,  cannot  g«'t  a  foolhold  of  (hi-niselveS, 
forlhe  wicked  are  strong  and  cunning,  lint  the  wicked  arc  not  all  of  the  same  sort. 
To  some  of  tin-ra  it  is  necessary  that  the  world  should  grow  worse  and  worse,  to 
others  k  is  essential  th.it  it  sliciuld  improve,  eHseiitial  in  (heir  own  interest.  It 
was  a  ;;o()d  thing  for  your  niotlKM-  tiial  you  should  bi*  etjucated  ;  and  wliy  ?  In 
order  that  you   might  give  lessons    and    thus   earn  money;  in  order  that  you 


136  What 's  To  Be  Done  9 

luight  catch  a  rich  husband.  Her  intentions  were  bad,  but  did  you  profit  by  them 
any  the  less  ?  With  the  other  class  of  wicked  people  this  is  not  the  case.  For 
instance,  if  you  had  had  Anna  P6trovna  for  a  mother,  could  you  have  had  an 
education?  Would  you  have  known  the  good?  Would  you  have  loved  it? 
No.  Either  you  would  not  have  been  allowed  to  learn,  or  you  would  have 
been  made  a  puppet  of.  The  daughter  of  such  a  mother  must  be  a  puppet,  tor 
the  mother  herself  is  nothing  else,  and  liv'^es  only  to  play  to  puppets  with  puppets. 
Now,  your  mother  is  bad,  but  she  has  been  of  the  more  value  to  you,  for  it  was 
essential  to  her  that  you  should  not  be  a  i^uppet.  You  see,  then,  that  the  wicked 
are  not  all  of  the  same  sort.  Some  prevent  the  existence  of  men  worthy  of  the 
name,  and  would  have  them  only  i^uppets.  But  wicked  people  of  the  other  sort 
come  unconsciously  to  my  aid  bj^  giving  men  the  possibility  of  development  and 
gathering  the  means  that  permit  this  development.  That  is  exactly  what  I 
need.  Yes,  Verotchka,  I  cannot  do  without  this  kind  of  wicked  people  to  oppose 
the  other  wicked  people.  My  wicked  people  are  wicked,  but  good  grows  under 
their  wicked  hand.  Therefore  be  grateful  to  your  mother.  Do  not  love  her,  since 
she  is  wicked,  but  do  not  forget  that  you  owe  everything  to  her,  that  without  her 
you  would  not  exist." 

"  Will  this  always  be  the  case  ?     It  will  not,  will  it  ?  " 

"  Later,  when  the  good  shall  be  strong,  it  will  be  otherwise.  The  time  is  ap- 
proaching when  the  wicked  will  see  that  it  is  against  their  interest  to  be  wicl'ed, 
and  most  of  them  will  become  good:  they  were  wicked  simply  because  it  was 
disadvantageous  to  them  to  be  good,  but  they  know,  however,  that  good  is  better 
than  evil,  and  they  will  prefer  the  good  as  soon  as  they  can  love  it  without  injury 
to  their  own  intci'ests." 

"And  the  wicked  who  were  puppets,  what  will  become  of  them?  I  pity  them 
too." 

"  They  will  play  to  puppets  without  injuring  any  one  whomsoever.  Their 
children  will  not  resemi)le  them,  for  of  all  members  of  the  human  family  I  shall 
make  good,  strong,  intelligent  human  beings." 

"  Oh,  how  good  that  will  be  !  " 

"  But  those  who  prepare  the  war  for  this  future  are  among  the  good  from  now 
on.  When  you  aid  the  cook  in  getting  your  dinner,  do  you  not  feel  good,  though 
the  air  of  the  kitchen  was  stifling?  Every  one  feels  good  at  the  table,  Imt  who- 
ever has  aided  in  getting  the  dinner  feels  better  than  the  others:  the  dishes  seem 
much  better  to  her.    You  like  sweets,  if  I  mistake  not  ?  " 

"Yes,"  said  Verotchka,  smiling  to  see  herself  thus  convicted  of  a  fondness  for 
pastry  and  of  having  aided  in  making  it  in  the  kitchen. 

"  What  reason  have  you  to  mourn?     Pshaw  !  all  that  is  passed." 

"  How  gfiod  you  are  !  " 

"  And  joyous,  Verotchka,  joyous  always,  even  when  sad.     Am  I  not  ?  " 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband^  and  Uie  Second  Love.        137 

'•  Yes,  when  I  am  sad,  you  come  appearing  sad  also,  but  every  time  you  drive 
away  my  sorrow ;  it  is  very  pleasant  to  be  with  you." 
"  You  have  not  forgotten  my  song :  Done  vivons  ?  " 
"  Oh,  no." 
'•  Let  us  sing  it." 
■•  Let  us  sing." 

"  Verotchka  I  Why,  I  seem  to  have  awakened  you  !  But,  at  any  rate,  tea  is 
all  ready.  You  really  frightened  me :  I  heard  you  groan;  I  come  in,  and  find 
you  singing." 

"No,  my  darling,  you  did  not  awaken  me;  I  should  have  awakened  without 
you '  What  a  dream  I  have  just  had  !  I  will  toll  jou  about  it  while  we  are  tak- 
ing tea.  Leave  me;  I  am  going  to  dress.  But  how  did  you  dare  to  enter  my 
room  without  jiermission,  Dmitry  Sergu6itch  ?  You  forget  3"ourself.  You  were 
Irightoned  about  me,  my  darling  P  Come  here  and  let  me  kiss  you.  And  now 
leave  me  quickly,  for  1  must  dress." 

"  You  are  so  late  .that  1  had  better  act  as  your  dressing-maid  to-day  ;  shall  1?  " 

"  Very  good,  my  darling,  but  how  abashed  1  am ! " 

TV. 

Vera  Pavlovna's  shop  was  quickly  established.  At  first  the  organization  was 
s(i  simple  that  nothing  nood  bo  saiil  about  it.  Vera  I'avlovna  hud  told  her  fu'st 
tlirce  seamstresses  that  she  wnuld  give  them  a  little  iiighcr  wages  than  tiio  cur- 
rent rate  paid  to  seamstresses.  The  three  working  girls,  appreciating  the  char- 
acter of  V6ra  Pavlovna,  had  willingly  consented  to  work  for  her.  They  were  not 
at  all  disturbed  at  a  poor  woman's  desiring  to  establish  a  dressmaker's  shop. 

These  three  young  girls  found  four  more,  (ihoosing  tlu'iii  with  all  (he  cirt-uni- 
Hpection  that  Vera  I'avlovna  had  recommended  to  them:  these  conditions  of 
choice  had  nothing  in  (Inni  tn  excite  suspicion,  nothing  of  an  extraordinary 
ehar:ict«'r:  what  is  then;  r-xtrauniinary  in  the  fact  that  a  young  woman  slmuld 
desire  her  shop-girls  to  l)e  of  good  ami  open  character':'  She  w.mts  no  (juarrels, 
that  is  all ;  it  i.s  only  prudence  on  her  part. 

V6ra  I'avlovna  also  formed  a  sonjewh.it  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  girls 
newly  selected  before  telling  them  that  she  accepted  them;  this  was  very  natu- 
ral ;  she  still  acted  like  a  prmlent  woman. 

They  worked  a  month  for  the  wages  agreed  upon.  V/jra  Pavlovna  was  always 
at  the  .sht)|),.so  that  the  seamstrcs.ses  had  plenty  of  time  to  know  her  more  closely 
and  see  that  she  was  economical,  circimispect,  reasonable,  anil  at  the  same  lime 
good;  therefore  she  obtained  iheir  conlideiicc  very  ipiickly.     Than  this  there  was 


138  mutt's   To  Be  Done? 

but  one  thiiijz;  I'lirther  to  say, —  that  she  was  a  good  employer,  who  knew  how  to 
manaf^e  her  aflairs. 

When  the  month  was  over,  V6ra  Pavlovna  came  to  the  shop  with  an  account 
book,  and  asked  her  seamstresses  to  suspend  their  work  and  listen.  Then  she 
said  to  them  in  simple  language  things  such  as  the  seamstresses  had  never  heard 
before : 

"  Now  we  know  each  other.  For  my  part,  I  can  say  of  you  that  you  are  good 
workers  and  good  characters.  And  I  do  not  believe  that  you  Will  speak  very  ill 
of  me.  I  am  going  to  talk  to  you  without  reserve,  and  if  what  I  say  seems 
strange,  you  will  reflect  before  deciding  upon  it ;  you  will  not  regard  my  words 
as  futile,  for  you  know  me  for  a  serious  woman. 

"  This  is  what  I  have  to  say  : 

"  People  of  heart  say  that  dressmakers'  shops  can  be  estatjlished  in  which  the 
seamstresses  shall  work  \vith  greater  profit  than  in  the  shops  generally  known. 
It  has  been  my  wish  to  make  the  attempt.  Judging  from  the  first  month,  we 
must  conclude  that  these  people  are  right.  Your  wages  you  have  had.  1  am 
now  going  to  tell  you  how  much  profit  remains  to  me  after  deducting  your  wages 
and  the  running  expenses." 

Vera  Pavlovna  read  them  the  account  of  the  expenses  and  receipts  for  the 
month  just  over.  Under  the  head  of  expenses  were  placed,  besides  the  wages 
paid,  all  the  other  costs,  —  the  rent  of  the  room,  lights,  and  even  Vera  Pavlovna's 
carriage-hire  in  conducting  the  business  of  the  shop. 

■' I  have  so  much  left,"  she  continued;  "  whaf s  to  be  done  with  this  money? 
I  have  established  a  workshop  in  order  that  the  profits  resulting  from  the  work 
may  go  to  the  workers ;  that  is  why  I  come,  for  this  first  time,  to  distribute  it 
among  you  equally.  Then  we  shall  see  if  that  is  the  best  way,  or  if  it  would  be 
better  to  employ  this  money  otherwise." 

Having  said  this,  she  made  the  distribution.  For  some  minutes  the  seam- 
stresses could  not  recover  from  their  astonishment ;  then  they  began  to  thank 
her.  V6ra  Pavlovna  let  them  go  on,  fearing  that  she  would  ofl'end  them  if  she 
refused  to  listen,  which  would  have  seemed  in  their  eyes  indiS^erence  and  disdain. 

"  Now,"  she  continued,  '  I  have  to  tell  you  the  most  difficult  tiling  that  I  shall 
ever  have  to  say  to  you,  and  I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall  succeed  in  making  it 
clear.  Nevertheless  I  must  try.  Why  have  I  not  kept  this  money  ?  And  of 
what  u.se  is  it  to  establish  a  workshop  if  not  to  make  a  profit  from  it?  I  and 
my  husband  have,  as  you  know,  the  necessaries:  althouiih  we  are  not  rich,  we 
have  everything  that  we  need  and  enough  of  it.  Now,  if  I  needed  anything,  I 
should  only  have  to  say  so  to  m}'  husband  ;  or,  rather,  even  that  would  be  need- 
less, for  if  I  wanted  anything,  he  would  perceive  it  himself  and  give  it  to  me.  His 
business  is  not  of  the  most  Incrative  sort,  but  it  is  what  he  best  likes.  But  as  we 
love  each  other  much,  it  is  infinitely  agreeable  to  him  to  do  that  which  pleases 


Life  of  Vera  ivith  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        139 

me;  on  my  side,  I  love  to  do  that  which  pleases  him.  Thoivfore,  if  I  needed 
money,  he  would  engage  in  more  lucrative  business  than  that  which  now 
occupies  him.  And  he  would  find  it  quickly,  for  he  is  intelligent  and  skilful, — 
but  you  are  somewhat  acquainted  with  him.  Now,  if  he  does  not  do  it, 
that  means  that  the  money  which  we  have  is  enough  for  me.  I  have  no 
passion  for  money ;  every  one  has  his  passion,  which  is  not  always  the  passion 
for  money.  Some  have  a  passion  for  dancing,  others  for  di'css,  others  for  cards, 
and  all  are  ready  to  ruin  themselves  to  satisfy  their  ruling  passion ;  many 
actually  do  it,  and  nobody  is  astonished  at  it.  Now,  1  have  a  passion  for  the 
things  in  which  I  am  engaged  with  you,  and,  far  from  ruining  myself  for  my 
passion,  I  spend  scarcely  any  money  upon  it,  and  1  am  happy  to  indulge  myself 
in  it  without  making  any  profit  thereby.  Well,  there  is  nothing  strange  in  that, 
it  seems  to  me:  who  thinks  of  making  a  profit  out  of  his  passion?  Every  one 
even  sacx-ifices  money  for  it.  I  do  not  even  do  that;  I  spend  nothing  on  it. 
Therefore  I  have  an  advantage  over  others  in  that  my  passion,  though  agrceal)le 
to  me,  costs  me  nothing,  while  others  pay  for  their  pleasure.  Why  have  I  this 
pa.ssion?  This  is  why :  Good  and  intelligent  people  have  written  many  books 
concerning  tlie  wa\'  in  which  we  should  live  in  order  that  all  may  bo  happy;  and 
the  principal  means  that  they  recommend  is  the  organization  of  workshops  on  a 
new  basis. 

•  1,  wishing  to  see  if  we  can  establish  a  workshop  of  this  sort,  act  just  as  any 
one  does  wii  >  desires  ti)  build  a  beautiful  house  or  lay  out  a  fine  garden  or  orange- 
grove  in  order  to  contemplate  them;  I  wish  to  establish  a  gooil  dressmaker's 
shop  in  order  that  I  may  have  the  pleasure  of  contemplating  it.  C'ertainly  it 
would  be  something  gaineil  already,  if  I  confined  myself  to  distributing  the 
profits  among  you  monthly,  as  1  do  now.  lUit  good  people  say  that  we  can 
mana'_'e  in  a  much  belter  and  more  prolitable  vvuy.  I  will  tell  you  little  i»y  little 
all  that  we  can  d(j  besides,  if  we  taki;  the  advice  of  intelligent  people.  More- 
over, }  ou  your.selvcs,  by  watching  things  closely,  will  make  your  own  observa- 
tions, and  when  it  shall  sei-m  to  you  possible  fr)r  us  to  do  somtjihing  good,  we 
will  try  to  do  it,  but  gradually  and  in  proper  .season.  J  must  only  add  that 
without  your  consent  I  shall  estai)lish  nothing  new.  Nothing  will  be  changed 
until  you  ilesiro  it.  Intelligent  peopN-  say  that  nothing  succeeds  unless  it  is  done 
voluntarily.     F  am  of  their  c)|)inion,  atui  shall  do  nothing  without  your  consent. 

"  lleie  is  my  last  order:  You  .see  that  it  is  necessary  to  keep  books,  and  look 
out  that  there  may  Ik!  no  useless  expenditiu'es.  During  this  first  month  1  have 
done  this  alone,  Imt  I  do  not  care  to  do  8o  any  more.  Choost;  two  ol  your  number 
to  join  me  in  this  work;  without  their  aclvict!  I  shall  do  nf)thing  TIk!  money  is 
yours  and  not  mine  ;  therefore!  it  is  for  you  to  w;iteh  its  eniploynii'Mt.  We  are 
hardly  well  jnougli  acqu.iinted  with  each  other  yet  to  know  wIikIi  of  you  is  best 
titted  for  such  work  ;  we  must  make  a  trial  and  choose  oidy  for  a  limited  time; 


140  What's  To  Be  Done? 

in  a  week  you  will  know  whether  to  appoint  other  delegates  or  let  the  old  ones 
continue.'" 

These  extraordinary  words  gave  rise  to  long  discussions.  But  V6ra  Pavlovna 
had  gained  the  confidence  of  the  working  girls.  She  had  talked  to  them  in  a  very 
simple  way,  without  going  too  far  or  unfolding  attractive  prospects  before  them 
which,  after  a  temporary  enthusiasm,  give  birth  to  distrust ;  consequently  the 
young  girls  wei'e  far  from  taking  her  for  a  crank,  and  that  was  the  principal 
point.     The  business  went  on  very  satisfactorily. 

Here,  for  the  rest,  in  an  abridged  form,  is  the  history  of  the  shop  during  the  three 
years  that  this  shop  constituted  the  principal  feature  in  the  history  of  V6ra  Pav- 
lovna herself 

The  founders  were  directl}^  interested  in  the  success  of  the  business,  and  nat- 
urally it  went  on  very  well.  The  shop  never  lost  customers.  It  had  to  undergo 
the  jealousies  of  a  few  other  shops  and  stores,  but  this  proved  no  serious  obstacle. 
All  that  Vera  Pavlovna  had  to  do  was  to  obtain  the  right  to  put  a  sign  over  the 
shop-door.  They  soon  had  more  orders  than  the  working  girls  originally  em- 
ployed could  execute,  and  the  force  went  on  steadily  growing.  When  the  busi- 
ness had  been  in  operation  eighteen  months,  it  kept  twenty  young  girls  at  work ; 
afterwards,  more  still.  One  of  the  first  measures  of  the  collective  administration 
was  a  decision  that  Vera  Pavlovna  no  more  than  the  others  should  work  without 
reward.  When  this  was  announced  to  her,  she  told  the  working  girls  that  they 
were  perfectly  right.  They  wished  to  give  her  a  third  of  the  profits.  She  laitl 
this  aside  for  a  certain  time  until  she  was  able  to  convince  the  young  girls  that 
this  was  contrary  to  the  fundamental  idea  of  their  institution.  For  a  long  time 
they  did  not  understand  ;  at  last  they  were  convinced  that  it  was  not  from  pride 
that  Vera  Pavlovna  did  not  wish  to  accept  a  larger  share  of  the  profits  than  the 
others  had,  but  because  it  was  contrar}-  to  the  spirit  of  the  association.  The 
business  was  already  so  large  that  Vera  Pavlovna  could  not  do  all  the  cutting ; 
they  gave  her  another  cutter  to  aid  her.  Both  received  the  same  wages,  and 
V6ra  Pavlovna  succeeded  at  last  in  inducing  the  society  to  receive  into  its  treas- 
ury the  sum  of  the  profits  that  it  had  obliged  her  to  accept,  first  deducting  that 
to  which  she  was  entitled  as  a  cutter.     They  used  this  money  to  open  a  bank. 

For  a  year  V6ra  Pavlovna  spent  a  great  portion  of  the  day  at  the  shop,  where 
she  worked  as  many  hours  as  any  of  the  seamstresses,  perhaps  more  than  any  of 
them.  When  it  became  needless  for  her  to  work  all  day  at  the  shop,  she  caused 
her  wages  to  be  decreased  in  proportion  to  the  decrease  of  her  hours  of  labor. 

How  should  the  profits  be  divided?  V6ra  Pavlovna  de.sired  to  arrive  at  an 
equal  division.  Not  until  the  middle  of  the  third  year  did  she  succeed  in  this. 
Prior  to  that,  they  passed  through  several  stages,  beginning  by  dividing  in  pro- 
portion to  the  wages.  First  they  saw  that,  if  a  working. girl  was  keptfrom  work 
for  several  days  by  sickness  or  some  other  cause  deserving  of  consideration,  it 


Life  of  Vera,  vntk  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        141 

was  not  ri^ht  to  diminish  her  share  of  the  profits,  which  she  acquired  not  exactly 
by  her  own  day's  works,  but  rather  by  the  progress  of  the  work  as  a  whole  and 
the  genex-al  condition  of  the  shop.     Later  they  decided  tliat  the  cutters,  and  such 
of  the  other  workers  as  received  separate  pay  for  delivering  the  work  at  houses 
or  fulfilling  other  functions,  were  sufficiently   compensated  by  their  individual 
wages,  and  that  it  was  not  just  that  they  should  receive  more  of  the  profits  than 
the  others.     The  simple  seamstresses  wei'c  so  delicate  about  the  matter  that  they 
did  not  ask  for  this  change,  even  when  they  saw  the  injustice  of  the  old  method 
of  distribution  established  by  themselves.     For  the  rest,  it  must  be  added   that 
there  was  nothing  heroic  in  this  temporally  delicacy,  inasuiuch  as  th^aftairsof  all 
were  improving  con-tantly.     The  most  difficult  thing  of  all   was  to  make  the 
simple  working  girls  understand  that  one  ought  to  receive  just  as  much  of  the 
profits  as  another,  although  some  earned  more  than  others,  and  that  those  who 
labored  most  skilfully  were  already  sufficiently  rewarded  by  their  larger  wages. 
This  was  th(!  last,  cliange  to  be  made  in  the  division  of  the  profits,  and  it  was   not 
reached,  as  has  already  been  said,  nntil  towards  the  middle  of  the  third  year, 
when  the  associates  had  come  tf)  understand  that  the  piofits  were  not  a  reward 
for  the  talent  of  one  or  another,  but  rather  a  I'csult  of  the  general  character  of 
thi;  workshop,  a  result  of  its  organization  and  its  object.     Now,  this  object  was 
the  greatest  possible  equality  in  the  distribution  of  the  fruits  of  collective  labor 
among  all  the  working  girls,  regardless  of  the  personal  peculiarities  of  each. 
Upon  this  character  of  the  workshop  depended  the  participation  of  the  laborers  in 
the  profits.     But  a^  the  cliaiacter  of  the  workshop,  its  spirit,  and   its  order  were 
l)ro<luccd  by  the  mutual  uiidei-standing  of  all,  the  tacit  consent  of  the  most  timid 
or  the  least  capable  was  not  useless  in  maintaining  and  d.vilopiiig  this  under- 
standing.* 

I  pass  by  many  details,  because  it  is  not  the  workshop  that  I  am  describing;  I 
spi'ak  of  it  only  so  far  as  is  necessary  to  exhibjt  the  activity  <>f  Vera  I'avlovna. 
If  I  mention  some  of  its  peculiarities,  it  is  solely  with  a  view  of  showing  how 
Vera  I'avlovna  acted  in  this  afl'air,  and  how  sho  guided  it  gradually,  with  an  in- 
defiitiiralile  j)atienei!  and  a  remarkable  steadfastness  of  pur|»os('.  She  never  eoin- 
inanded,  confining  herself  to  advisin;:,  explaining,  proposing  her  cooperation,  and 
aiding  in  the  execution  of  whatever  the  collectivity  had  resolved  upon. 

The  j)rofits  were  divided  everv  inotilh.  At  first  each  working  girl  took  her 
entire  share  and  spent  it  separately  :  eaeh  h;id  urgent  needs,  an<l  they  were  not 
accustomed  to  acting  in  concert.     When,  through  constuiil   p  iili(i|i  iiion  in   tiie 

*  It  1«  linnlly  th"  proper  thing  for  n  Ininnlnlnr  »o  Int"rri)|>MJn>  i)r(igri'«(i  (if  11  iiMiiiti'c  |..r  ).iii|">-ih  >•( 
ROntrover-y,  l>iit,  I  rrwnint  rcfniiii  from  •iiififr-llng  lo  Vi'rn  niul  lii-r  iiHuoritlrn  tliiil,  iiflcr  llwy  liiil  rr. 
rclvpfl  ifjulln>ili'  wniti'x  for  llnir  work,  nil  prolliH  rctiinlivliiif  Ix'lntiynil  In  ii|iiily  tn  Hi"  CDiiHUini'iK  of  llu-lr 
prorlnrtH,  nnd  xlionl'l  luivi'  hern  nntoi'i'il  III  tli>'nr)  liy  II  i;<'"''r'>l  r''<lu'tliin  In  tin-  cciilii  <>(  pi  Inn  'I'hru' 
'■•innumerH  hcing  jnborirx  ihimeflvin  In  tiUxr  Mi'l'lniitid  ndoptlng  oinillrir  mctlio'lK  of  procedure,  the  Pr'"- 
ripio  of  nntvcr"»l  pnrtlripHtlon  In  tlic  ndvnntiiKPii  of  aHaoctntcd  over  lnolated  labor  would  thus  navo 
been  rcall/i'd  in  the  wIdcKt  sefisc.  —  Translator. 


142  Wfial's  To  Be  Done  9 

business,  they  had  acquired  the  habit  of  combining  their  efforts  in  the  sliop.  Vera 
Pavlovna  lixed  their  attention  upon  the  circumstance  that  in  their  trade  the 
amount  of  patronage  is  very  uneven,  depending  upon  the  months  of  the  year, 
and  that'it  would  not  be  a  bad  plan  to  lay  aside  during  the  most  profitable 
mouths  a  portion  of  the  income  in  order  to  make  up  for  the  decrease  of  profits 
in  the  other  months. 

The  accounts  were  kept  very  exactly,  and  the  young  girls  knew  well  that,  if 
any  one  of  them  should  leave  the  shop,  she  would  receive  without  any  delay  the 
share  belonging  to  her.  Consequently  they  consented  to  this  proposition.  A 
small  reserve  capital  was  formed ;  it  went  on  growing  steadily;  they  began  to 
seek  various  uses  for  it.  Everybody  understood,  in  the  first  place,  that  loans 
would  be  made  to  those  of  the  participants  who  should  chance  to  have  a  great 
need  of  money,  and  no  one  desired  to  lead  at  interest:  poor  people  believe  that 
pecuniary  aid  should  be  extended  without  interest.  The  establishment  of  this 
bank  was  followed  by  the  foundation  of  a  purchasing  agency  :  the  young  girls 
found  that  it  would  be  advantageous  to  buy  their  tea,  coffee,  sugar,  shoes,  and  in 
short  many  other  things,  through  the  agency  of  the  association,  whiih  bought 
merchandise  in  large  quantities  and  consequently  at  lower  rates.  Some  time 
later  they  went  further  still :  they  saw  that  it  would  be  advantageous  to  organize 
in  the  same  way  for  the  purchase  of  bread  and  other  provisions  which  Ihey 
bought  every  day  at  the  bake-shops  and  groceries ;  but  they  perceived  at  the 
same  time  that  to  do  that  it  would  be  necessary  for  the  associates  to  live  not  far 
apart.  They  began  to  draw  together,  several  living  in  one  house,  or  taking 
rooms  near  the  shop.  After  which  the  association  established  an  agency  for  its 
dealings  with  the  bakers  and  grocers.  About  eighteen  months  later  almost  all 
the  working  girls  were  living  in  one  large  house,  had  a  common  table,  and 
bought  their  provisions  as  they  do  in  large  establishments. 

Half  of  these  young  girls  were  without  family.  Some  had  aged  relatives, 
mothers  or  aunts ;  two  of  them  supported  their  old  father;  several  had  little 
brothers  and  sisters.  Because  of  these  family  relations  three  of  them  were  un- 
able to  live  in  the  house  with  the  others:  one  had  a  mother  diflficult  to  get  alonir 
with;  another  had  a  mother  in  government  employ  who  objected  to  living  with 
girls  from  the  country  ;  the  third  had  a  drunken  father.  These  profited  only  by 
the  purchasing  agency ;  it  was  the  same  with  the  married  seamstresses.  But 
with  these  exceptions  all  those  who  had  relatives  to  support  lived  in  the  common 
house.  They  lived  two  and  three  in  a  room  ;  their  relatives  arranged  themselves 
each  in  his  or  her  own  fashion  ;  two  old  women  had  each  a  separate  chamber, 
but  the  others  roomed  together.  The  little  I  toys  had  a  room  of  their  own;  for 
the  little  girls  there  were  two. 

It  was  agreed  that  the  boys  could  not  remain  there  after  the  age  of  eight ;  those 
who  were  older  were  sent  to  learn  a  trade  as  apprentices. 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        143 

The  accounts  were  kept  in  the  most  exact  manner  in  order  that  no  one  in  the 
association  might  injure  anj-  other  or  profit  by  another's  injury. 

It  would  be  too  long  and  tedious  to  enter  into  fuller  details,  but  there  is  one 
point  more  that  must  be  explained. 

V6ra  Pavlovna,  from  the  very  first,  took  books  to  the  shop.  After  having  giv- 
en her  directions,  she  began  to  read  aloud,  continuing  half  an  hour  if  not  inter- 
rupted sooner  by  the  necessity  of  distributing  more  work.  Then  the  young  girls 
rested  from  the  attention  which  they  had  given  to  the  reading;  afterwards  they 
resumed  it,  and  then  rested  again.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  the  young  girls 
from  the  first  acquire  d  a  passion  for  reading ;  some  had  already  acquired  it  before 
they  came  to  the  shop.  Three  weeks  later,  reading  during  work  had  become  a 
regular  thing.  When  three  or  four  mouths  had  passed,  some  of  the  more  skil- 
ful seamstresses  offered  to  do  the  reading;  it  was  agreed  that  tliey  .should  re- 
place V6ra  Pavlovna,  that  each  should  read  half  an  hour,  and  that  this  half-hour 
should  be  counted  as  a  part  of  their  labor. 

As  long  as  Vera  Pavlovna  was  obliged  to  do  the  reading,  she  sometimes  re- 
placed it  by  stories ;  when  relieved  of  the  reading,  she  multiplied  the  stories, 
which  soon  became  a  sort  of  course  of  lessons.  Then  —  and  this  was  a  jrreat 
step  —  Vira  Pavlovna  succeeded  in  establishing  a  regular  system  of  instruction  : 
the  young  girls  became  so  desirous  of  learning  and  their  labor  went  on  so 
successfully  that  they  decided  to  interrupt  their  labor  to  listen  to  the  lessons  in 
the  middle  of  the  day's  work  and  before  dinner. 

"  Alexey  P6trovitch,"'  said  Vera  Pavlovna,  when  calling  on  (he  MertzalolTs  one 
day,  "  I  have  a  request  to  make  of  you :  Natacha  is  already  with  me  in  the  idea. 
My  shop  is  becoming  a  college  of  all  sorts  of  learning.  Be  one  of  our  pro- 
fessors." 

"  What  then  shall  I  teaeli  them  i'  Latin  or  (ireck  perhaps,  or  even  logic  and 
rhetoric?'"  saiii  Alexey  IV-lrovilcii,  laughing:  "my  .specialty  is  not  very  interest- 
ing in  your  opinion  and  in  the  (Opinion  of  some  one  vvhoni  I  well  know." 

"  No,  you  are  needed  precisely  as  a  specialist;  yon  will  servo  us  as  a  nicual 
buckler  and  a  i)roof  of  the  good  tendency  of  our  teaching.'' 

"You  are  right.  I  see  clearly  fiiat  withnut  me  this  wonbl  be  immoral.  Wh.iL 
shall  I  teach  ?  "^ 

"Russian  history,  for  instance,  or  an  outline  of  universal  history." 

"  Kxactly.  That  is  what  I  will  teach,  anci  il  shall  be  supposed  that  I  am  a 
specialist.     Deligliiriil  I     Two  fiiiielions,  —  a  professor  and  a  biK^kler." 

Natalia  Andrevna,  i^oponkliotl',  three  students,  anil  Vera  i'avlovna  herself  were 
the  other  professors,  as  they  jokingly  called  themselves.* 

Thoy   mingled    instruction    with   amu.semcnts.      They   had   evening   parties, 

*  The  imp  of  profo«ior,  In'RamlA,  In  givfn  only  lo  Unlvcrnlty  profeMort. 


144  What's  To  Be  Done? 

suburban  walks,  at  first  seldom,  and  then,  when  money  was  plentier,  more  fre- 
quently ;  thev  also  went  to  the  theatre.  The  third  winter  they  subscribed  regu- 
larly to  gallery  seats  at  the  Italian  opera. 


What  joy !  What  happiness  for  Vera  Pavlovna !  But  how  much  labor  also, 
and  anxiety,  and  even  sorrow !  The  most  painful  impression  of  this  sort,  not 
only  to  V6ra  Pavlovna,  but  to  all  her  little  circle,  was  caused  by  the  misfor- 
tune of  one  of  the  best  of  the  working  girls,  Alexandrine  Pribytkoff.  She  was 
pretty,  and  was  engaged  to  an  officeholder.  One  evening,  when  walking  in  the 
street  a  little  later  than  usual,  a  man  ran  after  her  and  took  her  by  the  hand. 
Wishing  to  release  herself,  she  pulled  her  arm  away  quickly,  thus  causing  the 
man's  watch  to  fall.  "  Thief,  thief!  "  he  cried.  The  police  came  and  the  young 
girl  was  arrested.  The  lover,  on  hearing  this  news,  began  a  search  for  the  in- 
dividual, found  him,  and  challenged  him  to  a  duel;  he  refused;  then  the  lover 
struck  his  adversary  ;  the  latter  took  a  stick  to  strike  back,  but,  before  he  could 
do  so,  received  a  blow  in  the  breast  and  fell  stone  dead.  Then  the  lover  was 
imprisoned  in  his  turn,  and  endless  court  proceedings  began.  And  then  ?  Then 
nothing,  except  that  after  that  it  was  jjitiful  to  look  at  Alexandrine  Pribytkoff. 

Connected  with  the  shop  were  many  other  histories,  less  dramatic  but  equally 
sorrowful.  These  adventures,  inevitable  amid  the  prevailing  ideas  and  surround- 
ings, certainly  caused  V6ra  Pavlovna  much  sorrow  and  still  more  embarrass- 
ment. 

But  much  greater  —  oh,  much  greater !  —  were  the  joys.  All  was  joy  except 
the  sorrows,  for  the  general  progress  of  the  association  was  gay  and  prosperous. 
Therefore,  though  distressing  accidents  sometimes  happened,  much  more  fre- 
quent on  the  other  hand  were  the  happy  occurrences.  Vera  Pavlovna  succeeded 
in  finding  good  situations  for  the  little  brothers  or  sisters  of  such  or  such  a 
working  girl.  In  the  course  of  the  third  year  two  of  the  working  girls  passed  an 
examination  for  a  governess's  situation, —  to  them  a  great  piece  of  good  fortune  ! 
Cases  of  this  sort  abounded;  but  most  joyous  of  all  were  the  marriages.  There 
were  many  of  them  and  all  were  happy. 

V6ra  Pavlovna  was  twice  invited  to  stand  godmother  and  twice  refused. 
This  role  was  almost  always  taken  by  Madame  Mertzaloff,  or  by  her  mother,  who 
was  also  a  very  good  lady.  The  first  time  that  she  refused  it  was  thought  that 
she  was  displeased  at  something,  and  refused  for  that  reason ;  but  no:  Vera 
Pavlovna  was  very  happy  to  be  invited,  and  it  was  simply  out  of  modesty  that  she 
did  not  accept,  not  wishing  to  appear  officially  as  the  patron  of  the  bride.  She 
always  avoided  the  appearance  of  influence;  she  tried  to  put  others  forward  and 
succeeded  in  it,  so  that  a  number  of  ladies,  on  coming  to  the  shop  to  give  orders, 
did  not  distinguish  her  from  the  two  other  cutters.     Her  greatest  pleasure  was 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        145 

to  (lenT'iistrute  that  the  association  l)acl  been  establishtil  and  was  maintained  by 
the  working  girls  themselves.  She  wished  to  persuade  herself  of  the  possibility 
of  her  desire  that  the  shop  might  be  able  to  go  on  without  her  and  others  of  the 
same  sort  spring  up  (juite  unexpectedly.  "  And  why  not?  IIow  good  that 
would  l)e!  What  better  thing  could  happen?"  —  than  that  they  should  spring 
up  witliout  the  guidance  of  some  one  not  a  dressmaker,  guided  solely  by  the  in- 
telligence and  tact  of  the  working  girls  themselves. 
Such  was  V«"ra  Pavlovna's  fondest,  dearest  dream. 


Tims  had  rolled  away  nearly  three  years  since  the  establishment  of  the  work- 
shop, and  more  than  three  years  since  Vera  Pavlovna's  marriage.  l\v  what 
smoothness  and  activity  had  these  years  been  marked!  With  what  tr:in(|uillity, 
joys,  and  contentment  of  all  sorts  had  they  not  been  filled  ! 

V<''ra  Pavlovna,  waking  in  llic  morning,  dozes  a  long  time  in  bed  :  she  loves  to 
do7,<' ;  whilf  ai)|)('aring  to  sleep,  she  thinks  of  what  there  i-;  to  do  ;  alter  wliicli 
her  thought  wanders,  ami  she  says  to  herself:  "  How  w.irm  this  Ix^d  is!  How 
nice  it  is  thus  to  doze  in  the  morning!"  an<l  so  slie  dozes  tmtil  from  the  neutral 
room  (now  we  u)ust  .say  from  one  ot  the  neutral  rooms,  for  (lierc  an-  two  in  this 
fourth  ye.ir  of  their  marriage)  —  until  from  om;  of  the  neutral  rooms  her  hus- 
bind—  that  is,  "  her  darling"  —  calls  out  :  "  V«'-rotclika,  are  you  awake?" 

"  Yes,  my  darling." 

'I'his"yes"  means  that  the  husband  may  l)egin  to  make  tlir  tea  :  tor  lir  makes 
the  tea  in  the  morning,  whih;  Vera  I'avlovna  —  no,  in  her  room  she  is  not  V^''r.•l 
I'avlovna,  i)Ut  Vi'-rotchka  — is  dressing.  Slii'  is  very  long  in  ch-essing!  Not  at 
all!  She  dri'sscs  (juickly,  imt  she  likes  lo  Id  the  water  strt-am  over  her  a  long 
time;  then  she  is  :i  httig  time  in  (•oud)ing  In-r  hair,  o|-.  ratlifr,  not  cxacllx  lliat  ; 
hHc  combs  Jier  li.air  cpiickly,  only  sIk?  likes  lo  pl.ay  with  her  tresses,  ol  which  she 
is  very  fond  ;  somflimes  t(»o,  it  must  l»e  .added,  shi'  pays  particular  atdntion  to 
one  feature  rjf  licr  toilet, —  her  boots:  Vt'-i-otchka  dresses  with  mucli  simplicity, 
but  she  has  be;iutiful  Imots;  to  have  Iteantifiil  boots  is  her  passion. 

Now  she  goes  out  to  ili  ink  Ini-  tea;  she  ki.sses  her  husband. 

"  Did  you  sleep  well,  my  darling?" 

While  •Irinking  tin?  lea,  she  t:dks  :ii)oul  various  subjecis,  trivial  or  serious. 
Kurlhernion!  V^'-ra  Tavlovn.-i  —  no,  Verolehk.-i  ((hiring  the  morning  meal  she  is 
still  Verotc}ik:i)  —  does  not  take  .as  mueli  tea  as  cream  :  f,he  tea  is  only  a  pn'text 
for  taking  tin;  (M'eam,  and  slie  puts  in  much  mon- cre;im  than  tea;  cream  .also  is 
her  passion.  It  is  very  dillicult  to  gi  t  gooil  cream  in  St.  I'eterslnirg,  Iml  shi' 
'  knows  where  to  find  real  cream,  excellent  cream.  She  drejinis  o(  owning  a  cow; 
if  :ill'airH  go  on   lor  :ino|lier  year  as  they  Inive  already  gone  on,  perhaps  she  nniy 


14(;  What's  To  Be  Done? 

have  our.  But  it  is  nine  o'clock.  Iler  darling  goes  oflf  to  give  his  lessons  or 
attend  to  his  other  business:  he  is  also  employed  in  a  manufacturer's  counting- 
room.  V6i-a  Pavlovna  now  becomes  Vera  Pavlovna  until  the  next  morning. 
She  attends  to  her  household  duties;  she  has  but  one  servant,  a  very  young  girl, 
who  has  to  be  shown  everything;  and  as  soon  as  she  has  become  familiar  with 
aflfairs,  a  new  one  has  to  be  shown,  for  servants  do  not  stay  long  with  V6ra 
Pavlovna.  They  are  always  marrying.  After  six  months  or  a  little  more  V6ra 
Pavlovna  makes  a  pelerine  or  some  ruffles  as  a  preparation  for  standing  god- 
mother. On  this  occasion  she  cannot  refuse.  "  But  then.  Vera  Pavlovna,  you 
have  arranged  everything;  no  one  but  you  can  be  godmother,"  they  would  say, 
with  reason. 

Yes,  she  has  many  household  cares.  Then  she  has  to  go  to  give  her  lessons, 
numerous  enough  to  occupy  her  ten  hours  a  week :  to  have  more  would  be 
fatiguing  to  her,  and  furthermore  she  has  no  time.  Before  the  lessons  she  has 
to  go  to  the  shop  and  spend  some  time  there ;  on  returning  from  the  lessons  she 
has  to  call  in  again  and  take  a  glance  at  affairs.  Then  it  is  time  to  dine  with 
her  "  darling."  Often  there  are  one  or  two  persons  to  dine  with  them.  Not  more 
than  two;  they  cannot  have  more;  and  even  two  cause  considerable  trouble. 
If  Vera  Pavlovna  comes  home  tired,  then  the  dinner  is  simpler ;  she  goes  to  her 
room  to  rest,  and  the  dinner  begun  under  her  direction  is  finished  without  her. 
But  if  on  coming  home  she  is  not  tired,  she  runs  to  the  kitchen  and  goes  actively 
to  work;  in  that  case  the  dinner  is  ornamented  with  some  bit  of  pastry,  gen- 
erally something  to  be  eaten  with  cream,  —  that  is,  something  that  may  serve  as 
a  pretext  for  eating  cream.  During  the  meal  she  talks  and  asks  questions, 
but  generally  talks  ;  and  why  should  she  not  talk  ?  How  many  new  things  slie 
has  to  communicate  concerning  the  shoj)  alone !  After  the  meal  she  remains  a 
quarter  of  an  hour  longer  with  her  "  darling ;  "  then  they  say  "  au  revoir,^''  and 
retire  to  their  respective  rooms.  Now  Vera  Pavlovna  again  lies  down  upon  her 
bed,  wht;re  she  reads  and  dozes ;  very  often  she  sleeps ;  perhaps  that  is  the  case 
half  of  the  time.  It  is  her  weakness,  a  vulgar  weakness  perhaps;  but  Vera 
Pavlovna  sleeps  after  dinner.  And  she  even  loves  to  sleep ;  she  is  neither 
ashamed  nor  repentant  of  this  vulgar  weakness.  She  rises  after  having  slept  or 
simply  dozed  for  an  hour  and  a  half  or  two  hours;  she  dresses  and  goes  once 
more  to  the  shoj),  where  she  stays  until  tea-time.  Then,  if  they  have  no  guests 
to  take  tea  with  them,  she  talks  again  with  her  "  darling,"  and  they  spend  about 
half  an  hour  in  the  neutral  room.  After  which,  "  Till  tomorrow,  my  darling;  " 
they  kiss  each  other  and  separate  until  the  following  morning. 

Then  for  some  time,  occasionally  until  two  o'clock  in  the  morning,  she  works, 
reads,  finds  recreation  at  the  piano  (which  is  in  her  room).  This  grand  piann 
has  Ju.st  been  bought ;  previously  she  had  hired  one.  It  was  a  great  pleasure  to 
her  when  this  piano  was  bought;  in  the  first  place  it  was  a  saving.     The  piano, 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband^  and  the  Second  Love.        147 

which  was  a  small  second-hand  one,  cost  one  hundred  roubles ;  it  only  had  to  be 
repaired  at  a  cost  of  seventy  roubles,  and  then  she  had  a  piano  of  excellent  tone. 
Sometimes  her  darling  comes  in  to  hear  her  sing,  but  only  rarely :  he  has  so 
much  to  do!  So  the  evening  passes:  working,  reading,  playinir,  singing;  but 
especially  reading  and  singing.  This  when  nobody  is  there.  But  very  often 
they  receive  visitors,  generally  young  people  not  as  old  as  V^'ra  Pavlovna  her- 
self, among  the  number  the  workshop  professors.  All  hold  LopoukhofF  in  high 
esteem,  consider  him  one  of  the  best  minds  of  St.  Petersburg,  and  perhaps  they 
are  not  wrong.  This  is  the  motive  of  their  intimacy  with  the  Lopoukhoffs :  they 
And  I^raitry  Sergueitch's  conversations  useful  to  them.  For  Vera  Pavlovna  they 
have  a  Ijoundless  veneration;  she  even  permits  them  to  kiss  her  hand  without 
feelinjr  herself  humiliated,  and  conducts  herself  toward  them  as  if  she  were 
fifteen  years  their  elder ;  that  is,  she  so  conducts  herself  when  nut  indulging  in 
gayeties ;  but,  to  tell  the  truth,  the  most  of  the  time  she  does  indulge  in  gayeties : 
she  runs,  she  plays  with  them  and  they  are  enchanted,  and  all  dance,  and  waltz, 
and  run,  and  chatter  and  laugh,  and  make  music,  and,  above  all,  sing.  So  much 
gayety  does  not  at  all  prevent  these  young  people  from  profoundly  venerating 
Vera  Pavlovna,  and  from  esteeming  her  as  one  rarely  esteems  an  elder  sister  and 
as  one  does  not  always  esteem  a  good  mother.  Moreover,  the  song  is  not  always 
a  gay  one;  in  fact,  V('*ra  Pavlovna  ofteuest  sings  serious  things;  sumctimes  she 
stops  singing  and  plays  serious  airs  on  her  piano ;  her  hearers  listen  in  silence. 
They  receive  also  older  visitors,  their  equals, —  fur  (lu!  most  part  LopoukhoflTs 
old  C(jmrades,  acquaintaniis  of  his  old  comrades,  and  two  or  three  young  pro- 
fessors, almost  all  liachulors:   the  only  married  people  are  the  MertzalolVs. 

The  Lopoukhoffs  visit  more  rarely,  scarcely  ever  going  to  .see  any  one  but  tlic 
Mertzaloffs  and  Madame  MertzalolVs  parents:  these  good  and  simple  old  people 
have  a  larire  number  of  sons  fdliiig  positions  of  consideral)le  importance  in  :ill 
thf  different  ministries;  at  the  houses  of  these,  who  live  in  a  cerl,ain  degrei-  o{ 
luxury,  W.-ra  I'avlovna  meets  a  society  of  all  (-(dorsand  shades.  This  free,  active 
life,  not  without  a  tfjuch  of  syi)arilism,  —  dozing  in  In-r  soil,  warm  b.<l,  tMking 
rream,  eating  pastry  with  cream,  —  this  life  is  viM-y  pb-asant  to  Vi'-ra  l'.tvlo\  n:i. 

Does  the  world  afford  a  better  life;'     'I'o  her  as  yet  it  seems  nf)t. 

Yes,  atid  for  tin-  beginning  of  youth  perhaps  she  is  right. 

But  the  years  roll  on,  and  with  IIk;  lapse  of  time  life  grows  better,  provided  it 
comes  to  be  what  it  already  i«  for  some  and  what  it  one  day  will  i)e  for  all. 

VF. 

One  day  —  the  end  of  tlie  summer  was  alre:idy  near  at  hand  —  the  young  girls 
were  getting  ready  to  take  their  customary   Sunday    walk    in   the  subiirli.s.     On 


148  Wiat's  To  Be  Do7ie9 

aliiKvst  every  holiday  during  the  summer  they  went  in  boats  to  the  islands.* 
Ordinarily  Vei-a  Pavlovna  alone  went  with  thetn,  but  on  this  occasion  Dmitry 
Sergueitoh  was  going  too,  which  was  very  extraordinary  ;  it  was  the  second  time 
that  year  that  he  had  done  so.  This  news  caused  much  joy  in  the  shop :  V6ra 
Pavlovna,  thought  the  girls,  will  be  gayer  than  usual,  and  the  walk  will  be  a 
very  lively  one.  Consequently  some  of  the  girls,  who  had  intended  to  pass  this 
Sunday  otherwise,  changed  their  plans  and  joined  the  promenaders.  They  had  to 
engage  five  yawls  instead  of  four,  and  found  that  even  five  would  not  be  enough ; 
they  had  to  take  a  sixth.  There  were  more  than  fifty  persons,  over  twenty 
of  whom  were  seamstresses.  Only  six  were  absent.  There  were  three  women 
a<lvanced  in  years ;  a  dozen  children ;  mothers,  sisters,  and  brothers  of  the  seam- 
.stresses ;  three  young  men  who  had  sweethearts  among  them,  one  being  a  clock- 
maker's  foreman,  another  a  small  merchant,  and  both  scarcely  yielding  in  point  of 
manners  to  the  third,  who  was  a  schoolteacher  in  the  district ;  and  finally  five  other 
young  men  of  various  pursuits,  of  whom  two  were  officers,  and  eight  students 
from  the  University  and  Medical  Academ}-. 

They  took  four  great  samovars  filled  with  bits  of  all  sorts  of  provisions,  bread, 
cold  veal,  etc.  For  the  young  people  were  very  active,  and  in  the  open  air  could 
be  relied  on  to  have  good  appetites :  they  did  not  forget  half  a  dozen  bottles  of 
wine:  for  fifty  people,  fifteen  of  whom  were  children,  this  was  certainly  none  too 
much. 

The  trip  was  a  very  joyous  one ;  nothing  was  wanting.  They  danced  quadrilles 
with  sixteen  and  even  twenty  couples.  In  the  races  twenty-two  couples  took 
])art ;  they  hung  three  swings  between  the  trees ;  in  the  intervals  they  drank  tea 
or  ate.  For  half  an  hour  a  part  of  the  joyous  company  listened  to  a  discussion 
between  Dmitry  Sergueitch  and  two  students,  the  most  intimate  of  his  younger 
friends  ;  they  mutually  charged  each  other  with  erroneous  reasoning,  moderantism, 
and  bouryeoisisme.  These  were  general  charges,  but  in  each  individual  some 
special  fault  was  pointed  out.  In  one  of  the  students  it  was  romanticism,  in 
Dmitry  Sergueitch  schematism,  and  in  the  other  student  rigorism  ;  it  is  needless 
to  say  that  it  was  very  difficult  for  a  simple  listener  to  give  attention  to  such  a 
discussion  for  more  than  five  minutes. 

One  of  the  disputants  was  not  able  to  keep  it  up  over  an  hour  and  a  half,  after 
which  he  fled  to  join  the  dancers,  but  his  flight*  was  not  altogether  inglorious, 
lie  had  become  indignant  against  some  moderate  or  other.  Undonbtedly  this 
moderate  was  myself,  though  I  was  not  present,  and  knowing  that  the  object 
of  his  wrath  was  already  well  along  in  years,  he  cried  out :  "  What  are 
you  talking  about?     Let  me  quote  you  some  words  that  I  heard  uttered  lately  by 

*  That  J8,  the  Islands  situated  in  the  suburbs  of  St.  Petersburg  and  formed  by  the  various  arms  of  the 
Neva. 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  llasband,  and  the  Second  Love.        149 

a  very  estimable  and  very  intelligent  lady  : '  Man  is  incapable  of  useful  thought 
after  the  age  of  twenty-five  years.'  " 

"  But  I  know  the  lady  to  whom  you  refer,"  said  the  oflicer,  approaching,  un- 
fortunately for  the  romanticist ;  "  she  is  Madame  N.,  and  she  said  that  in  my 
presence;  she  is  indeed  an  excellent  lady,  only  she  was  convicted  on  the  spot 
of  having  boasted  half  an  hour  before  of  being  twenty-six  years  old,  and  you  re- 
member, do  you  not,  how  she  joined  all  the  others  in  laughing  at  herself" 

And  now  all  four  laughed,  and  the  romanticist,  whih;  laughing,  took  advan- 
tage of  the  opportunity  to  run  away.  But  the  officer  took  his  place  in  the  dis- 
cussion, which  grew  still  more  animated  and  lasted  until  tea  was  ready.  The 
officer  answered  the  rigorist  and  the  schematist  more  rudely  than  the  roman- 
ticist had  done,  but  showed  himself  a  thorouo:h-":oing:  follower  of  Au<ruste 
C'omte. 

After  tea  the  officer  declared  that,  inasmuch  as  he  was  still  at  that  age  when 
one  can  think  correctly,  he  was  ready  to  join  the  other  individuals  of  the  same 
age;  Dmitry  Sergueitch  and  even  the  rigorist  followed  his  example  in  spite  of 
them.selves ;  it  is  true  that  tliey  diil  not  dance,  but  they  jt/med  in  llu-  races.  Wlien 
the  contests  in  running  and  leaping  the  brook  began,  the  three  thinkers  showed 
themselves  among  the  most  enthusiastic.  The  officer  proved  himself  the  supe- 
rior when  it  came  to  leaping  the  brook.  Dmitry  Scrgu/iteh,  who  was  endowed 
with  great  strength,  became  greatly  excited  on  being  thrown  by  the  officer;  he 
counted  on  being  the  first  in  this  sort  of  exercise  after  the  rigorist,  whr)  very 
easily  lifted  into  the  air  and  threw  to  the  ground  Dmitry  and  tiie  officer  together. 
That  did  not  clash  with  tin'  ambition  of  the  officer  or  of  Dmitry  Sergueiteli,  ibr 
the  rigorist  was  a  recognized  athlete;  but  Dmitry  Sergueitch  did  not  like  to 
pocket  the  disgrace  of  being  concpiered  l)y  the  oflicer,  and  .so  he  returned  to  the 
struggle  five  times,  and  live  times  the  officer,  thougli  not  withoutdinieulty,  threw 
him.  The  sixth  time  he  acknowledged  him-i-lf  eon<|Uered.  Both  could  do  no 
more.  The  three  thinkers,  stretching  themselves  upon  th<'  gras>,  resumed  their 
di.scussion  ;  this  time  Dmitry  Sergueitch  took  the  ("omtean  view  and  the  oflicer 
was  the  schematist,  but  the  rigorist  remained  a  rig(»rist.  At  eleven  oVdock  they 
started  honifrward.  The  <»Id  women  and  ehildren  slept  in  Ww  boats;  fortunately 
they  had  t.iketi  many  warm  wra|)S  along ;  the  others  on  th(«  eontr.ary  talked  in- 
cessantly, an<l  the  games  anti  laughter  in  the  six  yawls  did  not  stop  until  their 
arrival. 

VII. 

Two  days  afterward,  at  the  Ijreak fast  table.  Vera  Tavlovna  told  her  husband 
that  he  had  a  bad  color,  lie  answered  that  that  night  Ins  had  not  fliept  very  well, 
and  hail  been  feeling  Ijadly  since  the  previouH  evening;  but  that  it  w:is  nothing; 
he  had  taken  a  little  eold  on  the  excursion,  especially  while  lying  on  the  ground 


150  What's  To  Be  Done? 

after  the  racing  and  wrestling;  he  acknowledged  that  he  had  been  a  little  im- 
prudent, bnt  eonvinced  Vera  Pavlovna  that  it  was  nothing  at  all. 

Then  he  went  about  his  usual  business,  and  at  tea-time  said  that  his  indisposi- 
tion had  left  liini.  l>ut  the  next  morning  he  was  obliged  to  eonl'ess  that  he  must 
remain  a  while  in  the  house.  Vera  Pavlovna,  very  anxious,  became  seriously 
frightened,  and  urged  Dmitry  Sergueitch  to  send  for  a  doctor 

'•  But  I  am  a  doctor  myself,  and  can  care  for  myself  if  need  be ;  at  present  it  is 
Dot  necessaiy." 

But  Vera  Pavlovna  insisted,  and  he  wrote  a  note  to  Kirsanoft",  in  which  he  told 
him  that  his  sickness  was  insignificant  aud  that  he  called  him  only  to  please  his 
wife. 

Consequently  Ivirsanoff  made  no  ha.ste  about  coming.  He  remained  at  the 
hospital  until  dinner-time,  and,  when  he  reached  the  Lopoukhoffs,  it  was  already 
after  five  o'clock. 

"I  did  well,  Alexander,  in  calling  you,"  said  Lopoukhoff:  "  although  there  is 
no  danger,  and  probably  will  be  none,  I  have  an  inflammation  of  the  lungs.  I 
should  certainly  have  cured  myself  witliout  30U,  but  care  for  me  just  the  same. 
It  is  necessary  to  ease  my  conscience  :  T  am  not  a  bachelor  like  you." 

Thej'  sounded  each  other's  chests  for  a  long  time,  and  both  came  to  the  con- 
clusion that  Lopoukhoffs  lungs  were  really  inflamed.  There  was  no  danger,  and 
probably  would  be  none,  but  this  disease  is  always  grave.  The  patient  must 
keep  his  bed  a  dozen  days. 

KirsanoflF  had  to  talk  a  long  time  to  Vera  Pavlovna  to  case  her  mind.  She 
finally  was  persuaded  that  they  were  not  deceiving  her;  that  the  disea.se,  in  all 
probability,  was  not  only  not  dangerous,  but  even  quite  light;  only  it  was  "in 
all  probability,"  and  how  many  things  happen  against  all  probability !  Kirsanoff 
came  twice  a  day  to  see  his  patient:  they  both  saw  that  the  disease  was  not 
dangerous.     On  the  morning  of  the  fourth  day  Kirsanoft'  said  to  Vera  Pavlovna : 

"  Dmitrj-  is  getting  on  well :  for  the  next  three  or  four  days  he  will  be  a  little 
worse,  after  which  his  recovery  will  begin.  But  I  wish  to  speak  seriously  to  you 
of  yourself;  why  do  you  not  sleep  nights?  You  are  doing  wrong.  lie  has  no 
need  of  a  nurse,  or  of  me.  In  acting  in  this  way  you  are  injuring  yourself,  and 
quite  uselessly.     At  this  very  moment  your  nerves  are  agitated."' 

To  all  these  arguments  V6ra  Pavlovna  answered  : 

"  Never !  "  "  Impossible ! "  Or  else,  "  I  should  like  to,  but  I  cannot,"  —  that  is, 
sleep  nights  and  leave  LopoukhoflF  without  a  nurse. 

At  last  she  said :  "  But  all  that  you  are  saying  to  me  now  he  has  already  told 
me  many  times  over,  as  you  well  know.  Certainly  I  would  have  yielded  to  him 
rather  than  to  you  ;  therefore  I  cannot." 

Against  such  an  argument  there  was  nothing  to  be  said.  Kirsanoflf  shook  his 
head  and  went  awav. 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  iSecond  Love.        151 

Coming  back  to  his  patient  after  nine  in  the  eveniog,  he  remained  by  his  side 
in  company  with  Vera  Pavlovna  about  half  an  hour;  then  he  said: 

'•  Now,  Vera  Pavlovna,  go  and  rest.  We  both  beg  you  to.  I  will  spend  the 
night  here." 

Vera  Pavlovna  was  much  confused  :  she  was  half  convinced  that  her  presence 
all  night  by  the  bedside  was  not  absolutely  necessary.  But  then  why  does  Kir- 
sannff,  a  busy  man,  remain?  Who  knows?  No,  her  "  darling"  cannot  be  left 
alone;  no  one  knows  what  might  happen.  He  will  want  to  drink,  perhaps  he 
will  want  some  tea;  but  he  is  so  considerate  that  he  will  refrain  from  asking  for 
it;  therefore  it  is  necessary  to  remain  by  his  side.  IJut  that  KirsanolY  shouUl 
speml  the  night  there  is  out  of  the  que.stion  ;  she  will  not  allow  i(.  Thi'rei'ore 
she  refused  to  go  away,  pretending  that  she  was  not  very  tired  and  that  she  had 
rested  a  great  deal  during  the  day. 

"  I  beg  you  to  go ;  I  ask  your  pardon,  but  I  absolutely  pray  you  to." 

And  KirsanofT  took  her  by  the  hand,  and  led  her  almost  by  foreo  to  her  room. 

"  You  really  confu.sc  me,  AlexauiUu-,"  said  the  sick  man;  "  what  a  ridiculous 
role  you  pla}-  in  remaining  all  night  with  a  patient  who  doe.s  not  need  you  !  and 
yet  I  am  much  ol)liged  to  you,  for  I  have  never  been  able  to  induce  her  to  get  a 
nurse,  since  she  fears  to  leave  me  alone;  she  cannf>t  trust  me  to  any  one  else  '" 

"  It  I  did  not  see  that  she  could  not  rest  easy  in  trusting  you  to  any  other,  you 
may  be  sure  tiiat  I  wf)uld  not  di.sturb  my  comfort,  lint  now  I  hope  that  she  is 
going  to  sleep,  f  >r  i  atii  :i  dn'  tor  and  your  Irieiid  Iiesides." 

In  fact,  Vera  Pavlovna  iiad  no  sooner  reached  her  bed  than  she  threw  lier.self 
upon  it  and  went  to  slecj).  Three  sleepless  nigiits  alone  would  \w.  nothing,  and 
the  hurry  and  worry  alone  wouhi  b«;  nothing.  Hut  the  hurry  and  worry  and 
the  three  sleepless  nights  together,  without  any  rest  in  the  daytime,  were  really 
dangerous;  forty-eight  hoiu's  more  of  it,  and  .she  would  have  been  more  .seriously 
.•tiek  tlian  her  husb.-ind. 

Kirsanofl' spent  three  nights  with  liis  patient  ;  it  tired  liim  .scarcely  any,  loi'  he 
-lept  very  tranquilly,  only  taking  the  precanlion  to  jock  the  door  thiit  N'era  I'av- 
lovna  might  not  ol)serve  his  negligence.  She  strongly  suspccteil  lli.ii  he  slept, 
but  was  nia<le  n«it  at  all  nne;isy  llierebv.  He  is  a  doctor;  what,  then,  is  there  to 
fear?  lie  knf)ws  when  to  sleep  and  when  to  go  without  it.  She  was  asliMund 
at  not  having  iteen  able  to  calm  lu'rHeH' .sooner  in  order  to  no  I'mllier  di-tiirli 
Kirsanofl".  I'.ut  in  vain  di<l  she  asHure  iiini  that  she  would  shiep  even  if  he  were 
not  there  ;  he  did  not  believe  luir,  and  answerc«l  : 

"  It  is  VOtir  fault    Ver;i   Pixloviei    'hhI   vmi  iiiil-"!  l.■d^l•  the  eoiisei|lieiiees.      1   ll.'ive 

no  confidence  in  yon." 

Four  <l:iys  afterward  .she  saw  clearly  that  the  sick  in.iii  was  almost  cured  ;  the, 
most  decisive  proofs  eftTU|Mered  ln-r  doubts.  That  evening  they  played  cards, 
three-handed.     LopnukhofT  was  no  longer  completely  on  his  back.  I)iit  in  a  h.alf- 


152  What's  To  Be  Done? 

sitting  posture,  and  liad  roijained  the  voice  of  a  mau  iu  liealth.  It  was  safe  for 
Kirsanofl"  to  suspend  his  attentions,  and  he  told  them  so. 

'•  Alexander  Matveitch,  why  have  jou  so  completely  forgotten  me?  With 
Dmitry  you  are  on  a  good  footing;  he  sees  you  often  enough;  but,  as  for  you, 
you  have  not  been  to  see  us,  it  seems  to  me,  for  more  than  six  months;  and  it 
has  hecn  so  for  years.  Do  you  remember  that  at  the  beginning  we  were  intimate 
Iriends?  " 

"  Men  change.  Vera  Pavlovna.  And  I  do  an  enormous  amount  of  work  ;  I  can 
boast  of  it.  I  visit  nobod}',  for  lack  of  time  and  will.  I  tire  myself  so  from  nine 
till  tive  in  the  hospital  th:it,  when  I  go  home,  I  can  put  on  nothing  but  my  dress- 
ing-gown. Friendship  is  good,  but  —  do  not  be  offended  at  what  I  am  going  to 
say  —  to  lie  in  one's  dressing-gown,  with  a  cigar  between  one's  lips,  is  better 
still." 

In  fact,  KirsanofT,  for  more  than  two  years,  had  not  been  a  visitor  at  the 
Lo2)oukhotts\  The  reader  has  not  noticed  his  name  among  their  ordinary  vis- 
itors, or  even  among  their  rare  visitors ;  for  a  long  time  he  had  been  the  rarest 
of  all. 

viir. 

The  reader  vvith  the  penetrating  eye  (I  make  this  explanation  only  to  the  mas- 
culine reader:  the  feminine  reader  is  intelligent  enough  to  annoy  an  author  with 
her  ijenetration ;  therefore,  let  me  say  once  for  all,  I  do  not  exj^lain  myself  to 
her;  among  masculine  readers  also  there  are  some  intelligent  people;  no  more 
do  I  explain  myself  to  these;  but  most  masculine  readers,  among  them  nearly 
all  men  of  letters  and  men  who  wield  a  j)en,  have  the  penetrating  eye;  with 
them  it  is  always  well  to  have  an  understanding), —  well,  the  reader  with 
the  penetrating  eye  says :  "  I  see  where  this  is  going  to  end  ;  in  Vera  Pavlovna's 
life  a  new  romance  is  Ijeginning,  in  which  Kirsanoffis  to  play  the  principal  rule. 
I  see  even  farther.  Kirsanoif  has  long  been  in  love  with  Vera  I'avlovna,  and 
that  is  why  he  has  ceased  to  visit  the  Lopoukhofts."  How  facile  your  conception, 
O  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye!  As  soon  as  something  is  told  you,  you  note 
it  on  the  instant  and  glory  in  your  jjenetration.  Accept  my  admiration,  reader 
with  the  penetrating  eye  ! 

Thus  in  the  history  of  Vera  Pavlovna  appears  a  new  personage,  and  I  should 
have  to  introduce  him,  had  this  not  already  been  done.  Whenever  I  spoke  of 
Lopouklioff,  I  set  my  wits  to  work  to  distinguish  him  from  his  intimate  friend, 
and  yet  I  could  say  almost  nothing  of  him  that  1  should  not  have  to  repeat  in 
speaking  of  KirsanofT.  Yes,  all  that  the  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye  will  be 
able  to  divine  of  Kirsanoff' s  character  will  be  a  repetition  of  what  has  been  said 
about  LopoukhoIT.  Lopoukhoff  was  the  son  of  a  petit  bourgeois,  tolerably  well- 
to-do  for  his  station,  —  that  is,  generally  having  meat  in  his  stchi ;  Kirsanoff  was 


Life  of  Vera  witJi  her  Husband,  ami  the  Second  Lore.        153 

the  sou  of  a  law  copyist,  —that  is,  of  a  man  who  often  had  no  meat  in  his  slcki. 
Lopoukhort',  from  liis  earliest  yptirs,  had  earned  his  own  living;  Kirsanoff,  at  the 
age  of  twelve,  began  to  aid  his  fatiier  in  copying  As  soon  a-^  he  reached  the 
fourth  form  at  school  he  began  to  give  lessons.  Both  paved  their  own  way, 
without  aids  or  acquaintances. 

What  kind  nf  a  man  was  Lopoukhotf?  At  school  French  had  not  i)een  taught 
hiiu.  As  for  (Jermau,  he  had  l)een  taught  just  enough  to  enable  him  to  decline 
dtr.  die.  das  almost  fault lessl}^  After  entering  the  Academy  he  soon  saw  tiiat 
with  Russian  alone  one  cannot  make  much  progress  in  science;  he  took  a 
French-Russian  dictionary  and  a  few  French  books  ready  to  his  hand,  —  Telcmaq/ie, 
Mada;ne  de  Genlis's  novels,  a  few  nnrat)er.s  of  our  wise  Revue  Eirangh-c,  not  very 
attractive  works,  —  he  took  these,  and,  though  a  great  lover  of  reading,  said  to 
himself:  "  I  will  not  open  a  single  Russian  book  until  I  am  al)le  to  read  French 
easily  :  "  and  he  succeeded.  With  German  he  managed  another  way  ;  he  hired  a 
bed  in  a  room  occupied  l)y  many  German  Wf)rkingmen.  The  lodging  was  Iright- 
ful,  the  Gernjaus  tiresome,  the  Academy  a  long  way  oil",  but  nevertheless  he  slept 
there  long  enough  to  learn  German. 

With  Kir.sanofi"  it  had  been  otherwise.  lie  liml  learned  (ierman  with  l)Ook.s 
and  a  dictionary,  as  Lopoukhort"  had  learned  French,  and  his  French  he  acquired 
in  si  ill  another  way, —  l)y  means  o\  a  single  book  and  no  dictionary.  The  (ios{)el 
is  a  well-known  liook  :  he  procured  a  copy  of  a  Geneva  translation  of  the  New 
Testami'iit;  he  read  it  eight  times;  the  ninth  time  he  understood  it  all, —  he 
knew  French. 

What  kinil  of  a  man  was  Lopoukhort'?  This  will  show.  One  day  in  his  much- 
worn  uniform  he  was  going  airing  th'-  Perspective  Kanieiuio-Ostrovsky  to  give  a 
lesHon  for  fifty  copecks  two  miles  away  from  tlie  Lyceinn.  He  saw  appro:jching 
him  .somt!  one  with  an  imposing  air,  evidently  out  for  e.\erei.xe,  who  marched 
.-Iraight  upon  him  without  turning  aside;  now,  at  that  time  Lopoukhort'  hid 
made  this  rule:  "  I  turn  aside  first  for  iioltody  exee|)t  women."  Their  shonhleis 
touched.  The  individual,  li.ilf  tuining  back,  s:iid :  'Hog!  IteasI  tlnit  you 
are!''  and  was  aliout  to  continue  in  this  tone,  when  Lopoukhort",  <|uickly  turning 
around,  seizerj  the  individual  .aroinid  tin'  w.iisi  .and  threw  him  into  the  giiKer 
with  great  dexterity  ;  then,  standing  ovi-r  his  adversary,  he  .s.iid  to  liini  :  "Do 
not  .Htir;  el"*e  I  will  drag  you  into  a  nnuhlier  phure  yet"  Two  peasants  pas-ing 
Haw  and  applauded  ;  ;in  olVieehohler  pa.ssing  hhw,  did  not  appl.iud,  ami  ('oiilined 
himself  to  .1  h.ilf  -mile.  ( '.•irri:itr''S  passeil,  but  their  oeenpints  eoiHd  not  see 
wli(t  was  in  the  ;,'ntter  Alter  remaining  somi-  time  in  this  allitiid<\  {..ojtoiikliort 
again  took  hi.s  man,  not  aroinid  the  wai.st,  but  by  the  hand,  aided  him  to  rise,  led 
hitn  into  the  road,  and  said  to  him:  "  Ah,  sir,  what  .i  misstep  \ou  made!  I 
hope  you  have  not  hurt  yourself?     Allow  me  to  wipe  yf»n  ort'. '     .\   peasruit  pass- 


154  What'.s  To  Be  Dona? 

ing  helped  to  wipe  him,  as  did  tWo  petits  bourgeois  also  passing:  after  the  man 
was  clean,  each  went  iiis  way. 

To  Kirsanoff  a  similar  but  somewhat  different  thing  once  happened.  A  certain 
lady  had  formed  an  idea  of  cataloguing  the  library  which  her  husband,  an  ad- 
mirer of  Voltaire,  had  left  her  at  his  death  twenty  years  l)efore.  Exactly  why  a 
catalogue  became  necessary  after  twenty  years  is  not  known.  It  was  Kirsanoff 
who  chanced  to  jnit  himself  at  the  disposition  of  the  lady  for  her  i)urpose,  and 
they  agreed  on  eighty  roubles  as  the  price;  Kirsanoff  worked  for  six  weeks. 
Suddenly  the  lady  changed  her  fancy  and  decided  that  the  catalogue  was  useless  ; 
so  she  went  into  the  library,  and  said  : 

"  You  have  done  enough  ;  1  have  changcjd  my  mind  :  here  is  the  pay  for  your 
work,"  and  she  handi-d  him  ten  roubles. 

"  I  have  already  done,  your  (he  gave  the  lady  her  title),  more  than  half 

of  the  work :  of  the  seventeen  cases  I  have  copied  ten." 

"Do  you  consider  yourself  badly  paid ?  Nicolas,  come  here  and  talk  to  this 
gentleman."     Nicolas  hurried  to  the  scene. 

"  How  dare  you  be  rude  to  my  mother  ?  " 

"  But,  my  l)eardless  boy  (an  expression  without  foundation  on  Kirsanoft''s 
part,  Nicolas  being  about  five  years  his  elder),  you  would  do  Avell  to  understand 
the  matter  before  expressing  yourself." 

"  IIo !  there !  my  servants !  "  shouted  Nicolas. 

"Ah!  your  servants !  I  will  teach  you."  The  lady  gave  a  .shrill  scream  and 
fainted,  and  Nicolas  saw  clearly  that  it  was  impossible  for  him  to  make  any 
movement  with  his  arms  fastened  against  his  sides  by  Kirsanoff's  right  hand  as 
if  by  a  band  of  iron.  Kirsanoff,  after  pulling  his  hair  with  his  left  hand,  placed 
it  at  his  throat  and  said  : 

"  Do  you  see  how  easy  it  is  for  me  to  strangle  you  ?  " 

He  gave  his  throat  a  grip,  and  Nicolas  saw  that  it  was  indeed  very  easy  to 
strangle  him.  The  grasp  was  loosened.  Nicolas  found  that  he  could  breathe, 
but  was  still  at  the  mercy  of  his  conqueror.  To  the  Goliaths  who  made  their 
appearance  Kirsanoff  said : 

"  Stop  there,  or  I  will  strangle  him.     Keep  your  distance,  or  I  will  strangle  him." 

Nicolas,  at  once  comprehending  the  situation,  made  signals  which  meant: 

"  His  reasoning  is  good." 

"Now,  will  you  escort  me,  my  dear,  to  the  stairs?'  said  Kirsanoff,  again 
addressing  Nicolas  though  continuing  to  hold  his  arm  around  him.  He  went  out 
into  the  hall  and  descended  the  stairs,  the  Goliaths  looking  at  him  in  astonisli- 
ment ;  on  the  last  step,  letting  go  his  hold  of  Nicolas's  throat,  he  hurled  him  from 
him,  and  started  for  a  hat  store  to  buy  a  cap  in  place  of  that  which  he  had  left 
upon  the  battle-ground. 

Well,  then,  are  not  these  two  men  alike   in   character?     All   the  prominent 


Life  of  Vera  loilh  Iter  Ilaxband,  and  the  Second  Love.        155 

traits  liy  which  they  are  marked  are  traits,  not  of  individuals,  hut  of  a  tyjie,  so 
(iifleri'iit  from  those  yon  are  accustomed  to  see,  reader  with  the  pciietratinj;  eye, 
that  these  general  peculiarities  liide  from  you  their  personal  differences.  These 
people  are  like  a  few  Europeans  scattered  among  the  Chinese,  whom  the  Chinese 
cannot  distinguish  from  each  other,  seeing  hut  one  and  the  same  nature,  "  bar- 
barians with  red  hair  and  without  manners."'  In  their  eyes  the  French  have  "  red 
hair"  as  well  as  the  English.  Now,  the  Chinese  are  right:  compared  to  them  all 
Kuropeans  are  as  a  single  individual;  not  individuals,  but  representatives  of  a 
type  and  nothing  more.  None  of  them  eat  cockroaches  or  wood-lice;  none  of 
them  cut  men  up  into  little  pieces ;  all  alike  drink  brandy  and  wine  made  of 
grapes  instead  of  rice;  and  even  the  common  drink,  tea,  is  prepared  by  the 
Kuroj)eaiis  with  sugar,  auil  not  without  as  the  Chinese  prejiare  it.  It  is  the  same 
with  people  of  the  type  to  which  LopoukhoflFand  Kirsanoff  belonged:  they  seem 
identical  to  men  who  do  not  belong  to  this  type.  Each  is  bold  and  resolute, 
knowing  what  to  do  under  till  circumstances,  and  doing  it  with  a  strong  arm 
when  necessary.  That  is  one  sid(!  of  tiieir  character.  On  the  other  side  each  is 
of  irrei)roachable  honesty,  of  honesty  .such  that  one  cannot  even  ask  concerning 
either  :  '  Can  this  man  be  relied  on  fully  and  absolutely?  "  It  is  as  clear  as  the 
air  that  they  breathe;  as  long  as  those  breasts  lieave,  they  will  be  warm  :ind  un- 
shakeable;  lay  \our  head  upon  them  Ifoldly,  it  will  rest  there  srifcly.  These  gen- 
eral traits  are  .so  prominent  that  they  eclipse  all  individual  peculiarities. 

It  is  not  long  since  this  lyp(!  was  established  in  Russi.i.  Formerly  fmtn  lime 
to  time  a  fr-w  iiidiviflii.ils  shadowed  it  forth;  but  they  were  exct'plions,  and  as 
su<"h  felt  Ihr-ir  isolation  .ind  weakness;  heni-e  their  inertia,  Iheir  rniim\  their  ex- 
ultation, Ihi'ir  romanticism,  their  whimsi(!ality ;  they  could  not  po.s.sess  the 
principal  traits  of  this  tyi>e,  —  tact,  coolness,  :»ctivity,  all  well  balanced,  tlie 
reali/atioti  of  eoniinon  s(uise  in  action.  They  W(!ie  really  people  of  the  .same 
nature,  but  this  nature  had  not  yet  developed  itself  into  the  condition  of  ;i  type. 
This  type,  I  repeat,  has  been  established  l)nt  ;i  little  while;  1  can  remember 
when  it  did  not  exist,  althouirh  I  ani  iioi  \ii  nl  mature  age  I  li.ive  not  suc- 
ceeded in  becoming  oru'  of  them,  for  I  was  n«)t  iirought  up  in  their  time;  conse- 
'piently  I  carj  without  scruple  expn-ss  my  esteem  for  these  new  ?nen.  for  inifortu- 
nately  |  do  not  <;Iorify  myself  in  s:iying  of  them:  "  I'liese  are  exet-IIent  men." 
Recently  this  type  has  been  multiplying  rapi«lly.  It  is  ii')ni  of  nn  epoch;  it  is  :i 
»ign  of  the  times,  and  —  must  I  say  it?  — it  will  disa|)p(>ar  with  the  fast-flying 
epoch  which  produced  it.     It,s  life,  new  as  it  is,  is  fated  to  last  but  a  short  time. 

We  did  not  see  the.se  men  six  years  ago;  three  years  ago  we  despiscti  them  : 
and  now  —  but  it  matters  little  what  we  think  of  them  now ;  in  a  few  years,  in  a 
very  few  years,  we  shall  apjMal  to  them  :  we  «hall  say  to  them  :  ''  Save  us !  "  and 
whati'ver  they  sav  then  will  be  done  by  ;ill.  \  few  ye.-irs  nioie,  perlcips  even  ;i  few 
month '^.nnd  we  «b;ill  curse  them  ;  they  will  bi  driven  from  I  lie  scene  amid  his.sesand 


156  WJiiU's  To  Be  Done? 

insults.  What  matters  it?  Yon  may  drive  them  away,  you  may  curse  them, but 
they  will  be  useful  to  you,  and  that  will  satisfy  them.  They  will  (juit  the  scene,  proud 
and  modest,  austere  and  gooil,  as  they  ever  were.  Not  one  will  remain  upon  the 
scene?  Not  one!  How  shall  we  live  without  them  ?  None  too  well.  Hut  after 
them  things  will  go  on  better  than  before.  Many  years  will  pass,  and  then  men 
will  say :  "  Since  their  day  tilings  have  been  l)etter,  but  still  they  are  bad."  And 
wiien  they  shall  speak  thus,  that  will  mean  that  it  is  time  for  this  type  to  be  born 
again :  it  will  reappear  in  a  greater  number  of  individuals  under  better  torm.s, 
because  goodness  will  then  l)e  plentier,  and  all  that  is  now  good  will  then  be 
better.  And  so  history  will  begin  again  in  a  new  phase.  And  that  will  last 
until  men  say :  "  Now  we  are  good,"  and  then  there  will  be  no  longer  any 
special  type,  for  all  men  will  be  of  this  type,  and  it  will  be  difficult  for  any  one  to 
understand  that  there  ever  was  a  time  when  it  was  regarded  as  special  and  not 
as  the  common  nature  of  all  mankind. 

IX. 

But  just  as  Europeans  seem  to  the  Chinese  to  have  the  same  faces  and  the  same; 
customs  when  contrasted  with  those  of  the  Chinese,  while  in  reality  there  is  a 
much  greater  difterence  between  Europeans  than  between  Chinese,  so  it  is 
with  these  modern  men  who  seem  to  constitute  but  a  single  type.  Individual 
diversity  develops  itself  in  more  numerous  diiferences,  and  they  are  more  sharply 
distinguished  from  each  other  than  are  individuals  of  any  other  type.  They 
include  all  sorts  of  people,  —  sybarites  and  stoics,  the  stern  and  the  tender,  in 
short,  all  varieties.  But  as  the  most  savage  European  is  very  gentle,  the  most 
cowardly  very  courageous,  the  most  epicurean  very  moral  compared  with  the 
Chinese,  so  it  is  with  the  new  men ;  the  most  austere  believe  that  man  needs 
more  comfort  than  others  dream  of  for  him  ;  the  most  sensual  are  more  rigid  in 
their  morality  than  the  moralists  found  in  the  common  run  of  men.  But  they 
have  conceptions  of  their  own  in  all  these  things ;  they  view  in  a  way  wholly 
j)eculiar  to  themselves  both  morality  and  comfort,  sensuality  and  virtue. 

But  they  all  vievv  these  things  in  the  same  way  and  as  if  they  were  one  and 
the  same  thing,  so  that  to  them  comfort,  sensuality,  virtue,  morality  seem  identi- 
cal. But  all  this  is  true  only  from  the  Chinese  standpoint;  they  themselves,  on 
the  contrary,  find  very  great  differences  in  their  views  corresponding  to  the 
diversity  of  their  natures.     How  grasp  all  these  differences  ? 

When  Europeans  talk  over  their  affairs  with  each  other,  but  only  with  each 
other  and  not  with  the  Chinese,  the  diversity  of  their  natures  is  visible.  So  is  it 
with  our  new  men  ;  we  see  in  them  a  great  diversity  when  the  relations  between 
themselves  and  not  with  others  are  before  us.  We  have  seen  two  individuals  of 
this  type.  Vera  Pavlovna  and  Lopoukholf,  and  we  have  seen  what  their  relations 
were.     A  third  individual  now  appears  upon  the  scene.     Let  us  see  what  differ- 


Life  of  Vera  loith  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        157 

ences  will  grow  out  of  the  possibility  now  open  to  one  of  the  three  of  making  a 
comparison  between  the  two  others.  Vera  Pavlovna  now  has  before  her 
Lopoukhoff  and  Kirsanoff.  Formerly  she  had  no  choice  to  make;  now  she  may 
make  one. 

X. 

Nevertheless  two  or  three  words  must  be  said  of  Kirsanofif's  outer  man. 

He  too,  like  Lopoukhoff,  had  regular  and  beautiful  features.  Some  thought 
the  latter  more  beautiful,  others  the  former.  Lopoukhotf,  who  was  darker,  had 
hair  of  a  deep  chestnut  color,  sparkling  brown  eyes  that  seemed  almost  black,  an 
aipiiline  nose,  thick  lips,  and  a  somewhat  oval  face. 

Kirs.inoff  had  moderately  thick  light  hair,  blue  eyes,  a  Grecian  nose,  a  small 
mouth,  and  an  oblong  face  of  rare  whiteness. 

Kirsanofl's  position  was  a  fairly  good  one.  He  already  had  a  chair.  The 
electors  were  against  him  l)y  an  enormous  majority,  and  he  not  only  wouM  not 
have  ol)tained  a  chair,  but  would  not  even  liave  been  made  a  doctor  at  the  linal 
examination  at  the  Academy,  had  it  not  been  impossible  to  avoid  it.  Two  or 
three  young  ppO|)le  and  one  of  his  old  professors,  a  man  already  advanced  in  age, 
all  his  friends,  had  long  since  reported  to  the  others  tiiat  there  existi'd  in  the 
world  a  man  named  V'irchow  and  that  this  Virchow  lived  in  Berlin,  and  a  man 
named  Claude  Bernard  and  that  this  Claude  Bernai'd  lived  in  Paris,  and  1  know 
not  how  man}-  more  names  of  men  of  this  sort,  which  my  memory  does  not  re- 
tain and  who  also  liv<'d  in  different  cities;  thi^y  had  also  said  thai,  these 
Virchows,  Claude  iiern.irds,  and  others  were  scientific  luminaries. 

.\1I  that  was  improl)al)le  in  the  last  degree,  for  wo  well  know  the  luminaries 
of  science,  —  Bfcrhoave,  llufeland  ;  Harvey  was  also  a  great  savant,  btung  the 
discoverer  of  the  eireulation  of  the  iiiood  ;  likewise  Jeiiner,  who  taught  us  vacci- 
nation; these  we  know,  l)Ut,  .IS  for  these  Virchows,  and  these  (Jlaiide  llernards, 
we  do  not  know  them.  What  sort  (»f  linninaries  art;  they,  then?  Tlie  <h'vil 
knows.  This  same  Claude  Bernard  showed  appreciation  of  Kirsanolf's  work 
br-fore  he  had  finished  his  last  year  as  a  student;  of  course,  then,  it  was  ini|)ossi- 
•>le  to  :ivf»id  electing  liim.  So  they  gave  Kirsanoff  a  physician's  diploma  and 
altout  eitxhteen  moutlis  afterward  a  chair.  The  students  said  tliat  he  was  a 
valuable  a<lilition  to  the  nuin'ier  of  i.'oo(I  jtrofessors.  Of  jiraetiee  he  li.id  nom' 
and  said  tli.at  lie  had  ai)andoned  tln^  pra(;tice  of  meilicine.  Itut  h(>  spent  many 
hours  .it  the  hospital  ;  he  often  dined  ihr-ro  and  sometimes  slept  there.  What 
did  he  <lo  there?  He  sai«l  that  he  worked  there  for  science  and  nf)t  for  the  sick  : 
"  I  do  not  treat  patients,  I  only  observe  .and  experiment."  The  students  su.- 
t.iined  this  opinion  and  a<Med  Miat  none  l)Ut  imbeciles  treat  the  siek  now,  for  no 
one  yet  knows  how  to  treat  them.  The  hospital  attendants  thought  otherwise : 
"See,  Kirs.anotf  lakes  this  patient  into  his  ward;  the  case  must  be  a  s(!rious  one," 


158  What's  To  Be  Donef 

?:ii(i  they  to  each  other ;  and  then  they  said  to  the  patient :  "  Be  tranqnil ;  no 
disease  can  stand  against  this  doctor;  he  is  a  master,  and  a  father  besides." 

XI. 

For  the  first  few  months  after  Vera  Pavlovna's  marriage  Kirsanoft"  visited  the 
Lopoukhotls  very  often,  almost  every  other  day,  I  might  say  almost  every  day 
and  be  nearer  the  truth.  lie  became  soon,  if  not  from  the  very  first,  as  intimate 
a  friend  of  Vera  Pavlovna  as  of  Lopoukhoff  himself.  That  lasted  about  six 
months.  One  day,  when  they  were  talking  freely,  as  was  their  custom,  Kirsanoft", 
who  had  had  the  most  to  sa}',  suddenly  became  silent. 

"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Alexander?" 

"  Why  do  you  stop,  Alexander  Matv6itch  ?  " 

"  Oh,  it  is  nothing ;  I  am  seized  with  a  fit  of  melancholy." 

"  That  is  something  that  rarely  happens  to  you,  Alexander  Matveitch,"  said 
Vera  Pavlovna. 

"  It  never  happens  to  me  without  cause,"  said  Kirsanoff,  in  a  tone  whi(!]i 
seemed  strained. 

A  little  later,  rather  sooner  than  usual,  he  rose  and  went  away,  taking  his  leave, 
as  he  always  did,  unceremoniously. 

Two  days  afterward  Lopoukhoff  told  V6ra  Pavlovna  that  he  had  been  to  see 
Kirsanoff,  and  he  had  been  received  by  him  in  a  rather  singular  fashion,  as  if 
Kirsanoff  were  trying  to  be  agreeable  to  hiin,  which  was  quitt;  unnecessary, 
considering  their  relations.  Lopoukhoff",  after  watching  him  a  while,  had  said  to 
him  frankly  :  "  It  seems  to  me  that  you  are  out  of  sorts  towards  us,  Alexander; 
with  whom  are  you  offended  P     Perhaps  with  me  ?  " 

"  No." 

"  With  V6rotchka?" 

"  No." 

"  But  what  is  the  matter,  then  ?  " 

"  Nothing ;  you  take  notions,  I  don't  know  why." 

"You  do  not  feel  right  toward  me  today  ;  something  is  the  matter  wit!)  you." 

Kirsanoff" was  profuse  with  his  assurances:  nothing  was  the  matter;  in  what 
way  had  he  shown  himself  put  out?  Then,  as  if  ashamed,  he  again  threw  off 
ceremony  and  became  very  cordial.  Lopoukhoff,  seizing  the  opportunity,  said 
to  him : 

"  Now,  Alexander,  tell  me,  why  are  you  out  of  sorts?" 

"I  never  dreamed  of  such  a  thing,"  —  and  again  he  became  mawkish  and 
affected. 

What  an  enigma!  Lopoukhoff  recalled  nothing  that  could  have  offended  him  ; 
indeed,  such  a  thing  was  not  possible,  considering  their  reciprocal  esteem  and 
profound  friendship.     V6ra  Pavlovna,  too,  asked  herself  if  she  had  not  offended 


Life  of  Vera  toith  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.       159 

him,  but  was  as  unable  to  find  anything,  knowing  perfectly  well  that  she,  no 
more  than  her  husband,  could  have  offended  hira. 

Two  days  uaore  passed.  Not  to  come  to  the  Lopoukhoffs'  for  four  days 
together  was  an  extraordinary  thing  for  Kirsanoff.  Vera  Pavlovna  even  won- 
dered if  he  were  not  unwell.  LopoukhofF  went  to  see  if  he  were  not  really 
sick.  Sick  ?  No,  not  at  all :  but  still  he  was  out  of  sorts.  To  Lopoukhoflf's 
urgent  incpiiries  and  after  several  times  saying  "  No  "  and  several  times  •■  It  is 
your  imagination,"  he  began  to  talk  all  sorts  of  nonsense  about  his  teelings 
toward  LopoukhoflF  and  Vera  Pavlovna:  he  loved  them  and  esteemed  them 
highly.  From  all  that  it  was  to  be  inferred  that  they  had  wronged  him,  and  the 
worst  of  it  was  that  in  his  remarks  there  was  no  allusion  to  anything  of  the  kind. 
It  was  evident  that  they  had  offended  him.  It  seemed  so  strange  to  Lopoukhoff 
to  see  this  in  a  man  like  Kirsanoff  that  he  said  :  "  Listen,  we  are  friends ;  all  this 
ought  really  to  make  you  blush."  Kirsanoff  answered  with  an  affected  sorrow 
that  perhaps  he  was  too  sensitive,  but  that  on  several  occasions  he  had  felt  hurt. 

"But  at  what?" 

lie  began  to  enumerate  a  great  number  of  things  that  had  happened  lately,  all 
of  them  things  of  this  sort: 

•'  You  said  that  the  lighter  the  color  of  a  man's  hair,  the  weaker  he  is.  Vera 
I'avlovna  said  that  tea  had  risen  in  price.  One  was  an  ill-natured  jest  on  the 
color  of  my  hair.     The  other  was  an  allu.sion  to  the  fact  that  I  was  your  guest." 

Lnpoukhiiff  stood  stupefied:  "  Pride  governs  all  his  thoughts,  or,  rather,  lu^ 
has  become  simply  a  fool,  a  fool  in  four  letters." 

LopftukholV  went  houn- a  little  saddened;  it  was  painful  li»  him  to  see  such 
failings  in  a  man  whom  he  so  much  loved.  To  V^ra  Pavlovna's  cpiestions  on  tlu- 
siibji'ct  he  replied  sadly  that  it  was  better  not  to  talk  about  it,  that  Kirsanoff 
said  disagrei'able  things,  and  tli:it  probably  h(!  was  sick. 

Tliree  or  four  days  later  KirsiinolV  came  back  to  him.self,  recognized  the  imlie- 
cility  of  his  words,  and  called  on  tlie  Lopoukhoffs,  behaving  himself  as  he  had 
iteen  wont  to  do.  Then  hf;  began  to  tdl  how  stupid  Ik;  had  been.  From  Vera 
I'avlovna's  words  he  saw  that  his  convcrsjif ion  had  not  been  reported;  he 
sine«'rely  th:inked  Lopoukhoff  for  his  discretion.  :ind  to  |)unish  him.self  fold  all  to 
Vera  Pavlovna;  he  feelingly  excu.sed  himself,  saying  that  he  was  sick  and  had 
lieen  in  thewronir-  Vera  I'avlovna  bade  him  altamloii  the  sul)jeet,  dccliiriiig  that 
these  were  stupidities  ;  h(!  caught  at  the  wonl  '  stu|)idities,"  and  began  to  talk 
all  .sorts  of  tw;iddle  no  less  sensfiless  than  the  things  he  had  said  to  l>oponkliolV: 
he  .said  with  much  reserve  \m([  finesse  that  certainly  these  things  were  "  stupidi- 
ties," for  he  fully  realizefl  his  inferiority  tf)  the  Lopoukhoffs,  but  that  lie  deserved 
nothing  else,  et(!.,  the  whohj  iieing  said  with  veiled  albnions  and  a(>companied  by 
the  most  amial)le  assurances  of  esUietu  and  devotion. 

Vera  I'avlovn:i,  at  hearing  him  gf)  on   in   this  way,  stood   a.s  Mtupelied  as  her 


IfiO  What's  To  Be  Done  9 

liusbaml  had  heforo  her.  After  Kirsanoff's  departure  they  remembered  tliat 
some  days  before  their  friend  had  shown  signs  of  very  singuhir  stupidity.  At 
t lie  time  they  had  neither  remarked  upon  nor  understood  it;  now  his  remarks 
lu(;inu'  clear  to  tliom  ;  they  were  of  iho  same  sort,  only  h'ss  pronounced. 

Kirsanotl  again  began  to  visit  the  Lopoukhotts  frequently  ;  but  the  continua- 
tion of  the  former  simple  relations  was  no  longer  possible.  From  under  the 
mask  of  a  good  and  intelligent  man  had  proti'uded  for  several  days  asses'  ears  of 
such  length  that  the  Lopoiikhoffs  would  have  lost  a  large  share  of  their  esteem 
for  tlieir  former  friend  even  if  the  ears  had  not  reappeared  ;  but  they  continued 
to  show  themselves  from  time  to  time,  and,  although  they  did  not  seem  so  long 
as  before  and  were  each  time  withdrawn  precipitately,  there  was  always  some- 
thing pitiable,  vile,  and  stupid  about  them. 

Soon  the  Lopoukhotfs  grew  cold  toward  him.  Findin;^  in  this  an  (ixcu.se,  he 
stopi^ed  his  visits.  But  he  saw  Lopoukhott'  at  the  house  of  one  of  their  friends. 
Some  time  after,  his  conduct  improving,  LopoukhofT's  aversion  to  him  began  to 
weaken,  and  he  began  to  visit  him  again.  Within  a  year  Kirsanoft"  resumed  his 
visits  at  the  Lopoukhofis' ;  he  again  became  the  excellent  Kirsanofl  of  former 
days,  unaffected  and  loyal.  But  he  came  rarely:  it  was  plain  that  lu;  was  not  at 
his  ease,  remembering  the  foolish  part  that  he  had  played.  Lopoukhoff"  and  Vera 
Pavlovna  had  almost  forgotten  it.  But  relations  once  broken  off  are  never  quite 
reestablished.  Judging  from  appearances,  he  and  Lopoukhoff  had  become 
friends  again,  antl  LopouklioiV  really  esteemed  him  now  almost  as  much  as  before 
and  visited  him  often  ;  Vera  Pavlovna,  too,  had  restored  to  him  a  portion  of  her 
good  graces,  but  she  saw  him  only  rarely. 

XII. 

LopoukhoflF's  sickness,  or,  better,  V6ra  Pavlovna's  extreme  attachment  to  her 
husband,  having  forced  Kirsanoff  to  maintain  intimate  dail}' relations  with  the 
Lopoukhoffs  for  more  than  a  week,  he  clearly  saw  that  he  was  entering  upon  a 
perilous  path  in  deciding  to  pass  his  nights  near  Lopoukhoff  in  order  to  prevent 
Vera  Pavlovna  from  ijeing  her  husband's  sick-nurse.  lie  was  vei-y  happy  and 
proud  at  having  succeeded  so  well  in  doing  all  that  he  had  deemed  necessary  to 
arrest  the  development  of  his  passion  when  he  had  perceived  its  symptoms  three 
years  before.  Two  or  three  weeks  afterward  he  had  bei'n  unabh;  to  avoid 
returning  to  the  Lopoukhoffs'.  But  even  at  those  times  he  had  felt  more  pleasure 
over  his  firmness  in  the  .struggle  than  suffering  at  his  privation,  and  a  month 
later  he  did  not  suffer  at  all ;  the  only  feeling  left  being  that  of  satisfaction  with 
his  upright  conduct.     So  tranquil  and  pure  was  his  soul. 

But  now  the  danger  was  greater  than  then :  in  these  three  years  V6ra  Pavlovna 
had  certainly  greatly  developed  morally;  then  she  was  half  a  child,  now  it  was 
quite  a  different  thing:  the  feeling  that  she  inspired  could  no  longer  be  the  light 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.       l6l 

attachment  that  one  feels  for  a  little  girl  whom  one  loves  and  at  the  same  time 
admires  in  her  innocence.  And  not  only  had  she  developed  morally ;  with  us 
here  in  the  North,  when  a  woman  is  really  beautiful,  she  grows  more  and  more 
so  every  year.  Yes,  at  that  age  three  years  of  life  do  a  great  deal  to  dvelope 
the  good  and  the  beautiful  in  the  soul,  in  the  eyes,  in  the  features,  and  in  the  en- 
tire person,  if  the  person  be  moral  and  good. 

The  danger  was  great,  but  for  him  only  ;  as  for  Vera  Pavlovna,  what  risk  had 
she  to  run  ?  She  loved  her  husband,  and  Kirsanoff'  was  not  thc^ughtless  and 
foolish  enough  to  lielieve  himself  a  dangerous  rival  of  Lojjoukhotf.  It  was  from 
no  false  modesty  that  he  thought  so :  all  who  knew  them  looked  on  them  as 
equals.  Now,  Lopoukhoff  had  on  his  side  this  enormous  advantage,  that  he  had 
already  deserved  love,  that  he  had  already  completely  won  Vera  Pavlovna's 
heart.  The  choice  was  made;  she  was  very  contented  and  happy;  could  she 
dream  of  anything  better?  Was  she  not  happy?  It  was  even  ridiculous  to 
think  of  such  a  thing.  To  her  and  to  LopoukhoflF  such  an  apprehension  would 
have  been  but  an  absurd  vanity  on  Kirsanoff's  part. 

Well,  for  such  a  little  thing,  to  save  himself  a  niontli  or  two  of  weariness, 
ought  Kirsanoff  to  let  this  woman  fatigue  herself  and  run  the  risk  of  contracting 
a  serious  disease  by  watching  nights  at  a  sick  man's  bedside?  To  avoid  dis- 
turbing the  tranquillity  of  his  own  life  for  a  little  while,  ought  he  to  allow  another 
individual  no  less  worthy  to  incur  a  serious  danger?  'I'hat  would  not  have  been 
hont'St.  Now,  a  dishonest  action  would  iiave  been  nuicli  more  disagreeabh;  to 
him  than  the  slightly  painful  struggle  with  himself  througli  which  he  had  to 
pas.s,  and  of  the  result  of  wliich  he  felt  as  sure  as  of  his  lirraness.  ' 

These  were  Kirsanoff's  llioughts,  on  (hicidiiig  to  take  Vc'sra  Pavlovna's  place 
at  her  husband's  bedside. 

The  necessity  f(jr  walcliing  pa.ssed.  To  save  appearances  and  not  make  the 
change  in  their  relations  so  abrupt  as  to  call  attention  to  it,  it  was  necessary  for 
Kirsanoff  to  visit  his  friiMids  at  Jirst  two  or  three  times  a  week,  then  Irom  month 
to  month,  and  then  fivery  six  months,  lie  could  re.idily  explain  his  absence  by 
his  occiipatioMS. 

XIII. 

What  Kir.san(jff  foresaw  was  njalized;  his  atlachnu-nt  was  renewed,  and  be- 
came more  intense  than  beft)re  ;  but  to  struggle  against  it  gave  him  no  dilliculty, 
no  serious  torment.  Visiting  the  Lo|)()ukliulVsfor  the  second  time  during  the  week 
following  the  ctrssation  of  his  Ire.ilnient  of  Dmitry  Serguritch,  he  stays  till  nine 
o'clock  in  the  evening.  'I'his  was  enough,  appearances  were  .saved  ;  he  need  not 
come  again  for  a  fortnight,  and  it  would  ije  over.  Hut  this  time  Ik;  must  stay  an 
hour  longer.  The  week  was  not  yet  over,  Mud  his  p.ission  was  already  half 
stifled;  in   n   month   it    would   entirely  disappear.     TluM-efore  he  was  well  eon- 


162  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

tented.  He  took  an  active  part  in  the  conversation  and  with  so  much  ease  that 
he  rejoiced  at  his  success,  and  this  contentment  added  still  fui'ther  to  his  self- 
possession. 

But  Lopoukhoff  was  arranging  to  go  out  for  the  first  time  since  his  sickness. 
At  this  Vera  Pavlovna  was  much  pleased,  her  joy  perhaps  being  greater  than  that 
of  the  convalescent  himself. 

The  conversation  turning  upon  the  sickness,  they  made  fun  of  V6ra,  and  iron- 
ically extolled  her  conjugal  self-denial.  Barely  had  she  escaped  falling  sick 
herself  in  her  exaggerated  alarm  at  that  which  did  not  call  for  it. 

"  Lau2:h,  laugh,''  said  she,  "  but  I  am  sure  that  in  my  place  you  would  not  have 
done  differently." 

"  What  an  influence  the  cares  of  others  have  upon  a  man !  "  said  Lopoukhoff; 
"he  is  so  affected  by  them  that  he  finally  comes  to  believe  that  all  the  precau- 
tions of  which  he  is  the  object  are  useful.  For  instance,  I  might  as  well  have 
been  out  for  the  last  three  days,  and  yet  I  stay  in  the  house.  This  very  morning 
I  desired  to  go  out,  but  still  I  said :  '  To  be  on  the  safe  side  I  will  wait  till  to- 
morrow.' " 

"  Yes,  you  might  have  gone  out  long  ago,"  added  Kirsanoff. 

" That  is  what  I  call  heroism,  for  really  it  is  a  great  bore  to  me,  and  I  should 
much  like  to  rim  away  at  once." 

"  My  dear  friend,  it  is  to  pacify  me  that  you  are  playing  the  hero.  Get  ready 
on  the  instant  if  you  are  so  desirous  of  ending  your  quai-antine  forthwith.  I 
must  now  go  to  the  shop  for  half  an  hour.  Let  us  all  three  go  there ;  it  will  be 
a  very  nice  thing  on  your  part  to  make  our  shop  the  object  of  your  first  visit. 
The  working-girls  will  notice  it  and  be  much  pleased  at  the  attention." 

"  Good  !  Let  us  go  together,"  said  Lopoukhoff,  visibly  delighted  at  the  pros- 
pect of  breathing  the  fresh  air  that  very  afternoon. 

"  Here  is  a  friend  full  of  tact,"  said  V6ra  Pavlovna :  "  it  did  not  even  occur  to 
her  that  you  might  not  have  any  desire  to  come  with  us,  Alexander  Matveitch." 

"  On  the  contrary,  I  am  much  interested ;  I  have  long  wanted  to  see  the  shop. 
Your  idea  is  a  very  happy  one." 

In  truth,  V6ra  Pavlovna's  idea  was  a  happy  one.  The  young  girls  were  much 
pleased  at  receiving  Lopoukhoff^s  first  visit.  Kirsanoff  was  much  interested  in 
the  shop ;  given  his  way  of  thinking,  he  could  not  have  helped  it.  If  a  special 
reason  had  not  withheld  him,  he  would  have  been  from  the  first  one  of  the  most 
zealous  professors.  In  short,  an  hour  passed  before  they  knew  it.  Vera  Pav- 
lovna went  with  Kirsanoff  through  the  different  rooms,  showing  him  everything. 
They  were  going  from  the  dining-room  to  the  work-rooms,  when  V6ra  Pavlovna 
was  approached  by  a  young  frirl  who  originally  was  not  there.  The  working 
girl  and  Kirsanoff  gave  one  glance  at  each  other : 

"  Nastennka ! " 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        163 

"Sacha!"  * 

And  they  kissed  each  other. 

"  Sachennka,t  my  friend,  how  happy  I  am  at  having  met  you ! " 

The  young  girl,  laughing  and  crying,  covered  him  with  kisses.  When  she  had 
recovered  from  her  joy,  she  said  : 

"  V6ra  Pavlovna,  I  cannot  talk  business  today.  I  cannot  leave  him.  Come, 
Sachennka,  to  my  room." 

Kirsanoff  was  no  less  happy  than  she.  But  V6ra  Pavlovna  noticed  also  much 
sorrow  in  his  first  look  after  that  of  recognition.  And  it  was  not  at  all  astonish- 
ing :  the  young  girl  was  in  the  last  stage  of  consumption. 

Nastennka  Krukoff  had  entered  the  shop  a  year  before,  being  even  then  very 
sick.  If  she  had  remained  in  the  store  where  up  to  that  time  she  had  worked, 
over-work  would  have  killed  her  long  before.  But  in  the  shop  a  way  was  found 
of  prolongin<j  her  life  a  little.  The  working  girls  excused  her  from  sewing  alto- 
gether, finding  her  a  task  less  tiresome  and  less  injurious  to  the  hoaltli ;  .she  per- 
formed different  functions  in  the  shop,  took  part  in  the  general  administration, 
and  received  the  orders  for  work,  so  that  no  one  could  say  that  she  was  less  use- 
ful in  the  shop  than  the  others. 

The  Lopoukhofl's  went  away  without  awaiting  the  end  of  Nastennka's  inter- 
view with  Kirsanoff. 

XIV. 

NASTENNKA.   KUUKOFF's   STORY. 

The  next  morning  Nastennka  Knikoff  came  to  set;  V6ra  Pavlovna. 

"  1  wi.sh  to  talk  witli  you  abocit  what  you  saw  yesterday,  V/Ta  Pavlovna," 
said  she,  —  and  for  some  minutes  she  did  not  know  how  to  continue,  —  "  I  should 
not  like  you  to  think  unfavorably  of  him,  V6ra  Pavlovna." 

•'Think  unfavorably  (jf  him  !  as  you  yourself  think  inifavorably  of  nu-,  Xas- 
tassia  Borissovna." 

"Another  would  not  have  thought  as  I  do;  but  you  know  I  am  not  like 
others." 

"  Na.stassia  Borissovna,  you  have  no  right  to  treat  yourself  (luis.  Wc;  have 
known  you  for  a  year,  and  several  raemljors  of  our  little  society  have  kuowu  you 
from  a  still  earlier  date." 

"  Ah !     I  see  that  you  know  nothing  of  me." 

"  On  the  eontrar},  I  know  much  about  yoii.  Latterly  you  were  the  waiting- 
maid  of  the  actress  N. ;  when  she  married,  you  left  her  to  avoid  hcu"  husijand's 


*  I^Mtennka  anr)  Bacha  are  the  (limlniitivcH  of  NastaHglB  and  Alezaiider. 
t  A  more  afTf ctlunato  diminutive  lli.'ui  Sodiii. 


164  WTiat's  To  Be  Done? 

father;  you  were  employed  ia  the  store  of   ,  whence  you  came  to  us;  I 

know  all  that  and  many  details  besides." 

"  Of  course  I  was  sure  that  Maximoff  and  Cheine,  who  knew  what  I  used  to 
1)0,  would  not  run  to  you  with  the  story.  But  I  thought  that  you  or  the  others 
might  have  heard  of  it  in  some  otheji-  way.  Ah !  how  hapj^y  I  am  that  they  do 
not  know.  But  to  you  I  will  tell  all  in  order  that  you  may  know  how  good  he 
is.     I  was  a  very  wicked  girl,  Vera  Pavlovna." 

"  You,  Nastassia  Borissovna  ?  " 

"  Yes,  Vera  Pavlovna,  I.  And  I  was  very  insolent ;  1  had  no  shame,  and  was 
always  drunk;  that  was  the  origin  of  my  sickness:  I  drank  too  much  for  my 
weak  chest." 

Vera  Pavlovna  had  seen  three  or  four  similar  cases.  Young  girls  whose  con- 
duct had  been  irreproachable  ever  since  she  knew  them  had  told  her  that  for- 
merly they  led  a  bad  life.  The  first  time  she  was  astonished  at  such  a  confes- 
sion ;  but  after  reflecting  upon  it  a  little,  she  said  to  herself:  "  And  iTiy  own  life? 
The  mud  in  which  I  grew  up  was  also  very  bad  ;  nevertheless  it  did  not  soil  me, 
and  thousands  of  women,  brought  up  in  fiimilies  like  mine,  remain  pure  just  the 
same.  AVh}'  is  it,  then,  at  all  extraordinary  that  from  this  humiliation  should 
come  out  unstained  those  whom  a  favorable  opportunity  has  aided  to  escape  ?  " 
The  second  time  she  was  not  astonished  to  learn  that  the  young  penitent  had 
preserved  truly  human  qualities, — disinterestedness, "fidelity  in  friendship,  deep 
feelings,  and  even  some  degree  of  innocence. 

"  Nastassia  BorLssovna,  I  have  before  had  interviews  similar  to  that  which  you 
desire  to  begin.  Such  interviews  are  painful  both  to  the  speaker  and  the  listener  ; 
my  esteem  for  you  will  not  dimmish,  but  will  rather  increase,  since  I  know  now 
that  you  have  suffered  much  ;  but  I  understand  it  all  without  hearing  it.  Let  us 
talk  no  more  about  it:  to  me  exiWanations  are  superfluous.  I,  too,  have  passed 
many  years  amid  great  sorrows ;  I  try  not  to  think  of  them,  and  I  do  not  like  to 
speak  of  them,  for  it  is  very  painful  to  me." 

"No,  Vera  Pavlovna,  I  have  another  motive:  T  wish  to  tell  you  how  good  he 
is;  I  should  like  some  one  to  knovv  how  much  I  owe  to  him,  and  whom  .shall  I 
tell  if  not  you?  It  will  be  a  relief  to  me.  As  to  the  life  that  I  led,  of  course 
there  is  no  occasion  to  speak  of  it ;  it  is  always  the  same  with  poor  women  of 
that  sort.  I  only  wish  to  tell  you  how  I  made  his  acquaintance.  It  is  so  agree- 
able to  me  to  talk  about  him.  I  am  going  to  live  with  him  ;  so  you  ought  to 
know  why  I  leave  the  shop." 

"  If  it  will  please  you  to  tell  this  story,  Nastassia  Borissovna,  I  am  very  happy 
to  listen  to  you.     Only  let  me  get  my  work." 

"  My  work !  Alas,  I  cannot  .say  that.  How  good  were  these  young  girls  to 
find  me  an  occupation  suited  to  my  health !  I  wish  to  thank  them  one  and  all. 
Tell  them.  Vera  Pavlovna,  that  I  begged  you  to  thank  them  forme.     I  was  walk- 


Life  of  Vera  loitli  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        165 

ing  aloDg  the  Perspective  Nevsky  :  I  had  just  gone  out,  and  it  was  still  early ;  I 
saw  a  student  coming,  and  directed  my  steps  toward  him.  He  did  not  say  a 
word,  but  simply  crossed  to  the  otlier  side  of  the  street.  I  followed  him,  and 
grasped  him  by  the  arrn.  '  No,'  I  said  to  him, '  I  will  not  leave  you,  you  are  so 
fine  looking.' 

" '  But  I  beg  you  to  leave  me,'  said  he. 

" '  Oh,  no ;  come  witli  me.' 

"  '  1  have  no  reason  to.' 

" '  Well,  I  wilLgo  with  you.     Where  are  you  going  ?     For  nothing  in  the  world    '^ 
will  I  leave  you.'     I  was  impudent,  as  impudent  as  any  and  more  so." 

"  Perhaj)S  that  was  because  you  were  really  timid  and  were  making  an  effort 
to  be  bold." 

"Ye.?,  that  may  lie.  At  least  I  have  noticed  it  in  others, —  not  at  that  time, 
mind  you  ;  it  was  afterwards  that  I  understood  the  reason.  So,  when  I  told  him 
that  I  ab.solutoly  must  go  witii  him,  he  smilcid  and  said: 

"  '  ('on)e,  if  you  must;  only  it  will  be  in  vain.' 

"  He  wanted  to  rebuke  me,  as  he  afterwards  told  me;  he  was  impatient  at  my 
persistence     So  I  went,  talking  all  sorts  of  nonsense  to  him:  but  he  said  not  a 
word.     We   arrive  I.     For   a   student   he   lived   very    comfortably;    his   h^ssons 
brought  him  al)out  twenty  roubles  a  niniith,  and  h(!  lived  alone.     I   stretched    ^^"^ 
myself  upon  the  divaii  and  said  : 

"'15ome  wine!' 

"'No,'  said  he,'!  shall  not  give  you  :iny  wine;  only  tea,  provided  you 
want  it.' 

"  '  With  pimcli,'  .said  I. 

"  '  No,  without  punch.' 

"  I  l)egan  to  act  riotously ;  he  remained  calm,  and  looked  at  me  without  paying 
th(!  .slighte.st  atteiilinn  to  my  conduct  :  that  oU'emli'd  me  much.  In  these  days 
»ve  meet  suili  young  iteoplc,  Vria  I'avlovna,  —  yuiig  people  W.wv  grown  inmh 
better  .since  then,  —  but  then  ii  was  very  exceptional,  'riieredire  I  felt  oflendeil 
and  began  to  insult  liiiii. 

'"  Ityou  {lu)  arc  mi.mIc  nl  wood,'  —  and  I  .kIiIcmI  ;iii  insult,  — '  then  I  am  going 
away.' 

"' But  why  go  now?' saiil  he;  'have  .some  tea  first;  the  landlord  will  i)ring 
the  .samovar  j)resently.     <)iil>  no  insults.' 

"  And  he  invariably  addresaud  me  as  'you  '  (yons).  * 


*  Thero  In  no  wny  of  cxprfwilii^  In  EiikIIhIi  tbt-  (limlnrllon  mndc  by  the  ConllncntBl  peoples  bi-twccii 
the  Bfcond  ppfHon  nlngiilnr  iiii'l  Hcconil  piTfion  i)liirol  of  the  pcmotiiil  protioiin.  Thi-  KiriKiilar  In  UBcd  l)y 
Ihom  in  conviTHntion  hetwi-un  pi-^plc  wbo  art;  on  very  rnmlll.ir  liTm«.  Hi^noc  In  tll«  iit)ovo  inlL-rvli'W 
NiiHtnHsin,  wl«liln«  to  agntinii'  n  totic  of  fnmllliirlly,  tricil  Ui  une  llu-  nlnxtilnr,  while  Klrsanoft'  maintained 
hi8  reserve  by  lii^iglinK  on  Ibc  plural.  —  TninKtutor. 


1G6  What's  To  Be  Bojie? 

"  '  Tell  me  rather  who  you  are  and  how  you  have  reached  this  condition.' 

"I  began  to  tell  him  a  story  of  my  own  invention:  we  invent  all  sorts  of 
stories,  and  that  is  why  nobody  believes  us ;  sometimes,  nevertheless,  these 
stories  are  not  invented :  there  are  noble  and  educated  i^ersons  among  us.  He 
listened  a  little  while  and  then  said : 

" '  No,  it  is  not  a  clever  story  ;  I  should  much  like  to  believe  it,  but  I  cannot.' 

"  We  were  already  taking  tea.     Then  he  said  : 

"  'Do  you  know,  I  see  by  your  complexion  that  it  injures  you  to  drink  ;  your 
chest  is  in  bad  condition  in  consequence  of  an  excessive  use  of  wine.  Permit  me 
to  examine  you.' 

"  Well,  Vera  Pavlovna,  you  will  not  believe  me,  but  I  suddenly  felt  a  sense  of 
shame;  and  yet  in  what  did  my  life  consist?  and  .but  a  moment  before  I  had 
been  behaving  ver}-  boldly  !     He  noticed  it. 

"  '  Why,  no,'  said  he, '  I  only  want  to  sound  your  chest.' 

"  He  began  to  listen  at  my  chest. 

" '  Yes,'  he  said, '  you  must  not  drink  at  all ;  your  chest  is  not  in  good  condi- 
tion.' 

"  '  That  is  impossible,'  said  I. 

"  And  indeed  it  was  impossible,  Vera  Pavlovna. 

"  '  Then  abandon  this  life.' 

" '  And  why  ?  it  is  so  joyous ! ' 

"  '  Not  so  very,'  said  he ;  '  now  leave  me ;  I  am  going  to  attend  to  my  affairs.' 

"  And  I  went  away,  jn-ovoked  at  having  lost  my  evening,  to  say  nothing  of  the 
fact  that  his  indltlercnce  had  offended  me.  We  girls  have  our  pride  in  these 
matters.     A  month  later  I  happened  to  be  passing  that  way. 

"'Shall  I  call,'  thought  I, '  upon  my  wooden  gentleman,  and  amuse  myself  a 
little  with  him?' 

"  It  was  not  yet  dinner-time;  the  night  before  I  had  slept  well,  and  I  had  not 
been  drinking,     lie  was  readincj  a  book. 

" '  How  do  3"ou  do,  my  wooden  sir  ?  ' 

" '  How  do  you  do ?     Is  there  anything  new  with  you  ? ' 

"  Again  I  began  my  improprieties. 

"  '  I  will  show  you  the  door,'  said  he, '  if  you  do  not  stop ;  I  have  already  told 
you  that  this  does  not  please  me.  Now  you  are  not  drunk  and  can  understand 
me.  Think  rather  of  this:  your  face  is  still  more  sickly  than  before;  you  must 
abandon  wine.     Arrange  your  clothing,  and  let  us  talk  seriously  ' 

"  In  fact,  I  had  already  begun  to  feel  pains  in  my  chest.  Again  he  sounded  it, 
told  me  that  the  disease  was  growing  worse,  and  said  a  great  deal ;  my  chest 
pained  me  so  badly  that,  seized  with  a  sudden  access  of  feeling,  I  began  to  weep ; 
I  did  not  want  to  die,  and  he  filled  me  with  fears  of  consumption. 

"  '  But,' I  said  to  him, '  how  shall  I  abandon  this  life?  My  mistress  will  not 
let  me  go  away,  for  I  owe  her  seventeen  roubles.' 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband ^  and  tlie  Second  Love.        167 

"  They  always  keep  us  in  debt  so  that  we  may  be  patient. 

"  '  Seventeen  roubles?  I  cannot  give  them  to  you  now, for  I  haven't  them ;  bat 
come  day  after  to-morrow.' 

"  That  seemed  to  me  very  strange,  for  it  was  not  with  this  in  view  that  I  had 
spoken  as  I  did ;  besides,  how  could  I  have  expected  such  an  offer  ?  I  could  not 
believe  my  ears,  and  I  began  to  cry  still  harder,  believing  that  he  was  making 
sport  of  me. 

" '  It  is  not  good  in  you  to  make  sport  of  a  poor  girl,  when  you  see  that  I  am 
crying.' 

"  For  some  minutes  longer  I  refused  to  believe  it.  Finally  he  assured  me  that 
he  was  not  joking.  Would  you  believe  it  ?  lie  got  the  money  and  gave  it  to  me 
two  days  afterwards.     I  could  scarcely  believe  it  then. 

"  '  But  how  is  this  ? '  said  I ;  '  but  why  do  you  do  this,  since  you  have  wanted 
nothing  in  return.' 

"  I  freed  myself  from  my  mistress  and  hired  a  little  room.  But  there  was 
nothing  that  I  could  do :  in  freeing  us  they  give  us  a  special  kind  of  certificate; 
where  could  I  turn  with  such  a  document?  And  I  had  no  money.  Conse- 
quently I  lived  as  before,  though  not  exactly  as  before.  I  received  only  my  best 
acquaintances,  those  not  offensive  to  me;  wine  I  left  alone.  What  was  the  dif- 
ference, then,  you  ask  ?  My  life  was  already  much  loss  distressing  than  it  had 
been.  But  it  was  still  distressing;  and  let  me  tell  you  something:  you  will 
think  that  it  was  distressing  because  I  had  many  friends,  five  perhaps ;  no,  for  1 
felt  an  affection  for  all  of  them  ;  hence  it  was  not  that.  Pardon  me  if  I  speak 
thus  to  you,  liut  it  is  because  1  am  sincere  with  you:  today  I  am  still  of  the  srime 
mind.  You  know  me;  am  I  not  modest?  Who  has  heard  anything  l)ut  good  of 
me  ?  How  much  time  I  spend  in  playing  with  the  children  in  the  shop,  and  they 
all  love  me,  and  tiie  old  latlies  will  not  say  that  I  teach  them  anything  but  the 
best.  It  is  only  with  you,  Vora  Pavlovna,  that  I  am  sincere;  today  1  am  still  of 
the  same  mind  :  if  you  frel  affection,  there  is  no  harm,  proviiicd  i\w\\\  is  no  deceit; 
if  there  is  deceit,  that  is  another  thing.  And  in  that  way  I  lived.  Three  months 
went  by,  and  in  that  time,  so  tranquil  w.is  my  life,  I  ol)tained  considerable  rest, 
and  although  I  had  to  tliiis  gc-t  tlw  money  fliat  I  iier>il('d.  I  no  longer  considered 
that  I  was  leading  a  wicked  life. 

"  Sachennka  often  visited  \w  in  those  days.  I  too  went  sometimes  to  see  him. 
And  now  I  have  got  back  to  my  subject,  from  which  I  should  not  have  wandered. 
But  his  purpose  in  visiting  me  was  not  the  same  as  that  ol  the  others;  lie 
watched  over  me  to  sec  that  my  old  weakness  did  not  regain  posses.sion  of  me 
and  that  I  drank  no  wine.  During  the  first  few  days,  in  fact,  he  sustained  me;  so 
great  was  my  <lpsire  to  take  it  that  nothing  but  my  great  deference  for  hiui 
withheld  me:  if  he  should  come  in  and  see  me,  thought  [.  Otherwise  I  .should 
not  have  kept  my  word,  for  my  I'rieiMls  —  generous  young  lellows  —  said  :  '  I  will 


168  W/iat\s  To  Be  Done? 

send  out  lor  some  wine.'  But  wishing  lo  heed  Sachennka's  advice,  I  answei-ed 
them  :  '  No,  that  cannot  be.' 

"  lu  throe  weeks'  lime  my  will  was  already  much  stronger:  the  desire  for 
drink  had  gone,  and  1  had  already  thrown  off  the  manners  peculiar  to  victims  of 
intoxication.  During  that  time  I  saved  in  order  to  repay  him,  and  in  two 
mouths  I  did  repay  him  the  whole.  He  was  so  glad  to  see  me  repay  him  !  The 
next  day  he  brought  me  muslin  lor  a  dress  and  other  articles  bought  with  the 
same  money.  After  that  he  still  kept  up  his  visits,  always  as  a  doctor  caring  for 
a  patient.  One  day  when  at  my  room,  about  a  mouth  after  I  had  paid  my  debt, 
he  said  to  me :  '  Nastennka,  you  please  me.' 

"  Drunkenness  spoils  the  face ;  in  consequence  of  ray  sobriety  my  complexion 
had  grown  softer  and  my  eyes  clearer;  further,  having  thrown  off  my  old  man- 
ners, I  had  acquired  modesty  of  speech;  I  was  no  longer  shameless  since  I  had 
stopped  drinking ;  it  is  true  that  in  my  words  I  sometimes  fox'got  myself,  but  a 
seemly  behavior  had  become  habitual  with  me. 

"  On  hearing  these  words  I  was  so  happy  that  1  wanted  to  throw  myself  on 
his  neck,  but  I  did  not  dare  to  and  so  stopped.     He  said  to  me : 

'• '  You  see,  Nastennka,  that  I  am  not  without  feeling.' 

"  He  told  me  also  that  I  had  grown  pretty  and  modest,  and  he  covered  me 
with  caresses.  He  took  my  hand,  placed  it  in  his  own,  and  caressed  it  with  his 
other  hand  while  looking  at  it.  My  hands  in  those  days  were  white  and  plump. 
These  caresses  made  me  blush.  After  such  a  life,  too !  I  felt  a  sort  of  maiden 
b:ishfulness;  it  is  strange,  but  it  is  true.  In  spite  of  my  shame,  —  yes,  my 
shame,  although  the  word  seems  ridiculous  when  uttered  by  me,  —  1  said  to 
him : 

" '  What  gave  you  the  idea  to  caress  me,  Alexander  Matveitch  ? ' 

"  He  answered : 

"'  Because,  Nastennka,  you  are  now  a  virtuous  girl.' 

"  The.se  words  made  me  so  happy  that  I  burst  into  tear.s. 

'"  What  is  the  matter  with  you,  Nastennka?'  said  he,  embracing  me.  This 
kiss  turned  my  head,  and  I  lost  consciousness.  Would  you  believe.  Vera  Pav- 
lovna,  that  such  a  thing  could  have  happened  to  me  after  such  a  life? 

"The  next  morning  I  wept,  saying  to  myself:  What  shall  I  do  now,  poor 
girl  ?  How  .shall  I  live  ?  There  is  nothing  left  for  me  but  to  throw  myself  into 
the  Neva.  I  felt  that  I  could  no  longer  remain  in  the  pursuit  by  which  1  lived  ; 
I  would  rather  be  dead ;  I  had  loved  him  a  long  time,  but  as  he  had  shown  no 
.seniimeut  toward  me  and  as  I  had  no  hope  of  pleasing  him,  this  love  had  become 
torpid  in  me,  and  I  did  not  even  realize  it.  Now  all  was  clear.  When  one  feels 
such  a  love,  how  can  one  even  look  at  another  man  ?  Therefore  it  was  that  I 
was  weeping  and  .saying  to  niy.self :  What  shall  I  do  now,  without  any  means  of 
existence?     I  had  already  eonceivfd  this  idea:     T  will  go  to  him,  see  him  once 


Life  of  Vera  loith  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        169 

more,  and  then  drown  myself.  I  wept  thus  all  the  morning.  Suddenly  he 
entered,  kissed  me,  and  said  : 

"  '  Nastennka,  will  you  live  with  me  ? ' 

"  1  told  him  what  I  thoufflit.     And  we  be^an  to  live  together. 

"  Those  were  happy  days.  Vera  Pavlovna,  and  I  believe  that  few  persons  have 
ever  enjoyed  such  happiness.  But  I  can  say  no  more  to  you  today,  Vera 
Pavlovna.    I  only  wanted  to  tell  you  how  good  Sachennka  is." 

XV. 

Subsequently  Nastennka  Krukoff  finished  telling  her  story  to  Vera  Pavlovna. 
She  lived  with  Kirsanofi"  more  than  two  years.  The  symptoms  of  incipient 
disease  seemed  to  have  disappeared.  But  toward  the  end  of  the  second  year, 
with  the  opening  of  spring,  consumption  showed  itself  in  a  considerably  advanced 
stage.  To  live  with  Kirsanoll"  would  have  been  to  condemn  herself  to  speedy 
death ;  by  renouncing  this  tie  she  could  count  on  again  staving  off  her  disease 
for  a  long  time.  They  resolved  to  separate.  To  give  herself  to  constant  labor 
wou'd  have  been  equally  lUtal ;  therefore  slie  had  to  fmd  employnient  as  a  house- 
keeper, maid-servant,  nurse,  or  something  of  the  sort,  and  that  too  in  a  house 
where  the  work  was  not  too  heavy  and  where  —  a  no  less  important  considera- 
tion—  there  would  be  nothing  tlisagreeable,  conditions  i-are  enough.  Neverthe- 
Ifss  such  a  place  was  found.  Kirsanoff  hud  acquaintances  among  the  rising 
artists;  thanks  to  them,  Nastennka  Krukoli"  became  the  maid  of  a  Russian 
actress,  an  excellent  woman.  They  were  a  long  time  in  effecting  the  separation. 
"Tomorrow  I  will  go,"  said  Nastennka,  and  tomorrow  came  with  other  to- 
morrows to  liiid  her  still  there.  They  wept  and  could  not  tear  themselves  from 
each  other's  arras.  Finally  the  actress,  who  knew  all,  came  herself  to  find 
Nastennka,  and,  cutting  everything  short,  took  her  away  iu  order  that  the  hour 
of  separation  might  not  be  further  protracted  to  the  injury  of  her  future 
servant. 

As  long  as  the  actress  remained  upon  the  stage  Nastennka  was  very  well 
Hituated;  the  actress  was  full  of  delicacy,  :ind  the  young  Krukoff"  set  a  high 
value  upf)n  her  |»lace ;  to  find  anoth<'r  like  it  woidd  have  Ik-cu  dillicult ;  so  she 
(hivoted  herself  to  her  nii.stress,  who,  seeing  this,  siiowed  her  the  more  kindness. 
The  .servant  therefore  lived  very  trancjiuilly,  and  tlicrc  was  little  or  no  develo[)- 
ment  of  her  disease.  But  the  actress  married,  abandoned  the  stage,  and  went  to 
live  in  her  busljand's  lamily.  There,  as  V6ra  Pavlovna  already  knew,  the 
actress's  father-in-law  made  advances  tf)  her  servant.  The  latter  was  in  no 
danger  of  seduction,  but  a  family  quarrel  broke  out.  The  whilom  actress  began 
to  blame  the  old  man,  and  ho  began  to  get  angry.  Nastennka,  not  wishing  to 
be  the  cause  of  a  family  quarrel  and  living  besides  a  less  peaceful  life  than 
before,  threw  up  her  situation. 


170  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

That  occurred  about  two  years  after  her  separation  from  KirsanoflF.  During 
all  that  time  they  had  not  seen  each  other.  At  first  he  visited  her  again ;  but 
the  joy  of  the  interview  had  such  an  injurious  effect  upon  her  that  he  obtained 
her  permission,  in  consideration  of  her  own  interest,  to  stay  away  thereafter. 

She  tried  to  live  as  a  servant  in  two  or  three  other  families,  but  everywhere 
she  found  so  many  incompatibilities  that  it  was  preferable  to  become  a  seam- 
stress ;  it  was  as  well  to  condemn  herself  to  the  rapid  development  of  the  disease 
which  was  bound  to  develop  in  any  case  as  a  result  of  her  too  stirring  life ;  it 
was  better  to  submit  herself  to  the  same  destiny  as  a  result  of  lal)()r  alone, 
unaccompanied  by  any  disagreeable  features.  A  year  of  sewing  tiaished  the 
young  Krukoff.  When  she  entered  V6ra  Pavlovna's  shop,  Lopoukhofi,  who  was 
the  doctor,  did  his  best  to  slacken  the  progress  of  the  consumption.  He  did 
much,  —  that  is,  much  considering  the  difficulty  of  the  case,  his  success  being 
I'eally  insignificant, —  but  the  end  approached. 

Up  to  the  last  moment  the  young  girl  remained  under  the  influence  of  the 
delusion  common  to  all  consumptives,  believing  that  her  disease  had  not  yet 
made  very  much  progress ;  therefore  she  forced  herself  to  avoid  Kirsanoff  that 
she  might  not  aggravate  her  situation.  Nevertheless  for  two  months  she  had 
been  pressing  Lopoukhoff"  with  questions ;  how  much  time  had  she  yet  to  live  ? 

Why  she  desired  to  know  this  she  did  not  say,  and  Lopoukhoff  did  not  believe 
he  had  a  right  to  tell  her  that  the  crisis  was  approaching,  seeing  in  her  questions 
nothing  more  than  the  ordinary  attachment  to  life.  He  often  tried  to  calm  her, 
but  in  vain.  She  merely  restrained  her  desire  to  realize  that  which  could  make 
her  end  a  happy  one;  she  saw  herself  that  she  had  not  long  to  live,  and  her  feel- 
ings were  in  harmony  with  this  thought;  but,  the  doctor  assuring  her  that  she 
ought  still  to  take  care  of  herself,  and  she  knowing  that  she  ought  to  place  more 
confidence  in  him  than  in  herself,  she  obeyed  him  and  did  not  seek  to  see  Kir- 
sanoff again. 

This  doubt  could  not  have  lasted  long ;  in  proportion  as  the  end  grew  nearer, 
the  more  questions  the  young  consumptive  would  have  asked,  and  either  she 
would  have  confessed  the  motive  that  led  her  to  seek  the  truth,  or  else  either 
Lopoukhoff  or  \'6ra  Pavlovna  would  have  divined  it,  and  the  termination  pre- 
cipitated by  Kirsanoff's  visit  to  the  shop  would*  have  been  reached  two  or  three 
weeks  later. 

"  How  happy  I  am  I  how  happy  I  am !  I  was  getting  ready  to  go  to  see  you, 
Sachennka !  "  said  the  young  Krukoff  enthusiastically,  when  she  had  ushered  him 
into  her  room. 

'•  I  am  no  less  happy,  Nast(;nnka;  this  time  we  shall  not  separate;  come  home 
with  me,"  said  Kirsanoff",  influenced  by  a  feeling  of  compassionate  love. 

After  the.se  words  he  said  to  himself:  "How  could  I  have  said  that?  Tt  is 
probable  that  she  does  not  yet  suspect  the  proximity  of  the  crisis." 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.       171 

As  for  the  young  girl,  either  she  did  not  at  first  understand  the  real  meaning 
ot  Kirsanoff 's  words,  or  she  understood  them,  but,  her  thoughts  being  elsewhere, 
paid  no  attention  to  their  significance,  her  joy  at  finding  her  lover  again  drowning 
her  sorrow  at  her  approaching  end.  However  that  may  be,  she  rejoiced  and 
said  :  "  How  good  you  are !  You  still  love  me  as  in  the  old  days."' 

But  when  he  went  away  she  wept  a  little ;  then  only  did  she  comprehend  or 
realize  that  she  comprehended :  "  It  would  be  useless  to  take  care  of  yourself 
now  ;  you  are  incurable  ;  at  least,  then,  let  your  end  be  happy." 

And  indeed  she  was  happy ;  he  did  not  leave  her  a  moment  except  in  the 
hours  th;it  he  was  obliged  to  spend  at  the  hospital  and  the  Academy.  Thus  she 
lived  about  a  month  longer,  and  all  this  time  they  were  together;  and  how 
many  accounts  there  were  to  give,  accounts  of  all  that  each  had  felt  after  the 
separation,  and  still  more  memories  of  their  former  life  together,  and  how  many 
amusements  they  enjoyed  in  common !  He  hired  a  barouche,  and  every  evening 
they  went  into  the  suburbs  of  St.  Petersburg  and  contemplated  them.  Nature  is 
so  dear  to  man  that  even  this  pitiful,  contemptible,  artificial  nature  in  the  sub- 
urljs  of  St.  Petersburg,  which  cost  tens  of  millions  of  roubles,  is  admired.  They 
read,  jjlayed  cards  and  loto,  and  she  even  began  to  learn  to  play  chess,  as  if  there 
were  no  lack  of  time. 

V6ra  Pavlovna  went  many  times  to  spend  the  evening  with  them,  oven  late  at 
night  after  their  return  from  their  drive,  and  still  oftener  she  went  in  the  morning 
to  amust;  Nastennka  when  she  was  left  alone.  During  their  long  fSlc-a-ieks  the 
latter  could  only  say  over  and  over  again  :  "  How  good  Sachennka  is,  how  tender 
he  is,  and  how  lie  loves  me!  " 

XVI. 

Four  months  have  passed.  The  care  that  he  had  had  to  bestow  upon  Nastennka 
and  the  memnry  of  the  poor  girl  had  absorbed  Kirsanoff.  It  seemed  to  him  now 
that  liis  love  for  V6ra  Pavlovna  wa.**  tlioroughly  conciucred  ;  he  did  ii«it  avoid  her 
when  during  her  visits  to  tin-  young  KnikoU"  she  met  him  and  talked  with  him, 
nor  afterwards  when  she  tried  to  ilistract  him.  Indeed,  as  long  as  he  felt  any 
fear  of  his  feelings  toward  Vrra  Pavlovii.i,  ht-  clii-eked  them,  but  now  he  felt  no 
more  than  a  friendly  gratitude  toward  iier  proportional  to  the  service  she  had 
done  him. 

l$ut—  the  reader  know.')  already  in  advance  the  meaning  of  this  "  but,"  as  he 
always  will  know  in  advance  what  is  going  to  happen  in  the  course;  of  the  story  — 
but  it  is  needless  to  say  that  the  feeling  of  Kir.sanofl'  toward  the  young  Knikofl",  .it 
tho  time  of  thoir  soeond  coming  together,  was  nf)t  analogous  to  that  of  lier  toward 
him.  He  no  longer  loved  her;  he  was  only  well  dispo.scd  toward  her,  as  one  is 
toward  a  woman  whom  he  has  loved.  His  old  love  for  her  had  Ix'en  no  more  than  a 
youth's  desire  to  love  some  one,  no  matter  whom.     1 1   is  needless  to  say  that 


172  What's  To  Be  Done? 

Nastennka  was  never  fitted  for  him,  for  they  were  not  equals  in  intellectual 
development.  When  he  grew  to  be  more  than  a  youth,  he  could  do  no  more  than 
pity  her  ;  he  could  be  kind  to  her  for  memory's  and  compassion's  sake,  and  that 
was  all.  His  sorrow  at  having  lost  her  disappeared  very  quickly,  after  all.  But 
after  this  sorrow  had  really  disappeared,  he  believed  that  he;  still  felt  it.  When 
he  finally  realized  that  he  felt  it  no  longer,  and  that  it  was  only  a  memory,  he 
saw  that  his  relations  with  Vera  Pavlovna  had  assumed  a  fatal  character. 

Vera  Pavlovna  tried  to  divert  him  from  his  thoughts,  and  he  allowed  her  to  do 
so,  believing  himself  incapable  of  succumbing,  or,  rather,  not  even  believing  that  he 
felt  a  lover's  passion  for  her.  During  the  two  or  three  months  that  followed  he 
passed  almost  every  evening  at  the  Lopoukhofts',  or  else  accompanied  Vera  Pav- 
lovna in  her  walks ;  olteu  Lopoukhoff  was  with  them,  but  oftener  they  went  alone. 
That  was  all,  but  that  was  too  much,  not  only  for  him,  but  for  her  also. 

How  now  did  Vera  Pavlovna  pass  her  days  ?  Until  evening  just  as  before.  But 
at  six  o'clock  P  Formerly  at  that  hour  she  went  alone  to  the  shop,  or  else  remained 
alone  in  her  room  and  worked  ;  now,  if  she  needed  to  be  at  the  shoj)  in  the  evening, 
Kirsanoff  was  told  the  night  before,  and  he  appeared  to  escort  her.  During 
the  walk,  not  a  long  one  by  the  way,  they  usually  talked  about  the  shop,  for 
Kirsanoff  was  her  most  active  co-worker.  While  she  was  busy  in  distributing 
the  work,  he  also  had  much  to  do.  Is  it  not  something  to  answer  the  questions 
and  fulfil  the  commissions  of  thirty  young  girls?  No  one  better  than  he  knew 
how  to  get  through  it.  Besides,  he  remained  to  talk  with  the  children,  some 
of  the  young  girls  also  participating  in  the  conversations,  which  were  very 
instructive  and  very  diversified.  They  talked,  for  example,  of  the  beauty  of  the 
Arabian  tales,  "The  Thousand  and  One  Nights,"  —  he  related  several  of  them, — 
and  of  white  elephants,  which  are  esteemed  so  much  in  India,  just  as  there 
are  many  men  among  us  who  love  white  cats;  half  of  his  hearers  regarded  this 
preference  as  stupid :  white  elephants,  white  cats,  and  white  horses  are  only 
albinos,  a  sickly  species  which  it  was  easy  to  see  that  they  regarded  as  weaker 
than  those  of  darker  color.  The  other  half  of  his  hearers  defended  white  cats. 
"Do  you  know  nothing  of  the  life  of  Mrs.  Beecher  Stowe,  of  whose  novel  y6u 
have  told  us?"  asked  one  of  the  larger  questioners.  Kirsanoff  knows  nothing 
now,  but  he  will  find  out  about  her,  for  that  interests  him  also ;  at  jiresent 
he  can  tell  them  something  about  Howard,  a  person  of  the  same  stamp  as  Mrs. 
Beecher  Stowe.  The  time  was  taken  up  now  by  Kirsanoft's  stories,  now  by  dis- 
cussions, and  however  the  make-up  of  his  audience  might  vary  so  far  as  the 
young  girls  were  concerned,  so  far  as  the  children  were  concerned  it  was  always 
the  same.  But  Vera  Pavlovna  has  finished  her  business,  and  she  returns  to  the 
house  with  him  to  take  tea. 

In  these  days  Vera  Pavlovna  and  Dmitry  Sergueitch  are  together  much  more 
than  formerly.     All  three  while  away  an  hour  or  two  every  evening  with  music: 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.       173 

Dmitry  Sergueitch  plays,  V6ra  Pavlovna  sings,  Kirsanoff  listens ;  sometimes 
Kirsanoflf  plays,  and  then  Dmitry  ScvgiKiitch  and  his  wife  sing.  Sometimes  Vera 
Pavlovna  hurries  back  from  the  shop  in  order  to  have  time  to  dress  for  the  opera, 
which  they  now  attend,  half  the  time  all  three  together  and  the  rest  of  the  time 
only  Kirsanoif  and  V6ra  Pavlovna.  Moreover,  the  Lopoukhotfs  now  have  more 
visitors  than  they  did.  Formerly,  leaving  out  the  very  young  people  (are  these 
visitors?  they  are  only  7iei(veiix),  the  Mertzalofts  were  almost  the  only  ones  that 
came,  while  now  the  Lopoukhoffs  have  ties  of  friendship  with  two  or  three  good 
families  of  their  own  stamp.  The  Mertzaloffs  and  two  other  families  decided  to 
take  turns  in  giving,  weekly,  little  evening  parties  to  the  members  of  their  circle, 
at  which  they  danced.  They  numbered  as  many  as  eight  couples.  Lopoukhoff 
without  Kirsanoflf  scai'cely  ever  went  to  the  opera  or  to  visit  the  families  of  their 
acquaintance,  but  Kirsanoflf  often  took  V6ra  Pavlovna  alone.  Lopoukhoflf  said 
that  he  preferred  to  wrap  himself  in  his  great  coat  and  stretch  out  upon  his 
divan.  So  the  three  spent  only  half  of  the  evenings  together,  and  even  when  the 
Lopoukhnflfs  had  no  caller  except  Kirsanoff,  the  divan  often  attracted  LopoukhotT 
from  the  parlor,  where  the  piano  was  now  kept.  But  this  retreat  did  not  save 
Dmitry  Si-rgueitch  ;  a  quarter  of  an  hour  later,  or  at  mo.st  a  half  an  hour,  Kirsa- 
nofl"  and  Vera  Pavlovna  left  the  piano  and  came  to  the  divan;  and  before  long 
Vera  Pavlovna  would  even  half  lie  down  upon  the  ilivan  without  crowding 
Lopoukhoflf  too  much,  the  divan  l)eing  large,  and  then  for  greater  comfort  the 
young  woman  would  evcm  throw  her  arm  about  her  husband. 

Three  months  passed  away. 

Idyls  are  not  in  fashion  now,  and  I  even  do  not  like  them,  —  that  is,  personally, 
as  I  do  not  like  walking  or  asparagus;  there  are  many  things  that  I  do  not  like; 
a  man  cannot  like  all  di.slies  or  all  sorts  of  amusements ;  but  yet  T  know  that  these 
things  an*  very  fine  tilings  judging  not  by  my  personal  taste,  but  by  the  taste  of 
another;  that  they  are  tr)  tin;  taste  or  would  b(!  tn  the  taste  of  a  inuili  greater 
number  of  men  than  those  who,  like  myself,  prefer  chess  to  promenades  and  sour 
c.'ibl)age  with  henip.seeil  oil*  to  a'^paragus ;  I  even  know  that  the  majority,  who 
do  not  share  my  taste  for  chess  an<l  sour  cabbage  with  ht-mpseed  oil,  have  no 
worse  tastes  than  mine;  so  I  say:  Let  there  be  as  much  proniena<ling  as  pos- 
sible in  the  world,  and  let  sour  cabbage  with  hempseed  oil  disappear  almost 
entirely,  remaining  only  as  an  antiijue  rarity  for  the  few  originals  like  myself! 

I  know  likewise  that  (o  the  iinincnse  majority  of  men,  who  are  no  worst;  than 
L  happiness  must  have  an  idyllic  charactnr,  ami  con.sequently  I  say:  Li't  the 
idyl  prrdominate  over  all  other  modes  of  life.  For  the  few  orininals,  who  are 
not  amateurs,  there  shall  be  otiier  methods  of  enjoyment.  But  thii  majority  ot 
men  have  no  desire  for  idyllic  life,  which  does  not  mean  that  they  shun  it:  they 


An  ordinary  dl*h  umoiig  KuMian  peaaauU. 


174  W/mrs  To  Be  Done? 

shun  it  as  the  fox  In  the  fablo  shuns  the  grapes.  It  seems  to  them  that  the  idyl 
is  inaccessible,  so  they  have  invented  the  excuse  that  it  should  not  be  in  fashion. 
But  it  is  utterly  absurd  that  the  idyl  should  be  inaccessible :  the  idyl  is  not  only  a 
good  thing  for  almost  all  men,  but  also  a  possible,  very  possible  thing,  as  I  could 
easily  show.  Not  possible,  however,  for  one  or  for  ten  individuals  exclusively,  but 
for  everybody  through  the  practice  of  solidarity. 

Italian  opera  also  was  an  impossible  thing  for  five  or  six  persons,  but  for  the 
whole  of  St.  Petersburg  nothing  is  easier,  as  everybody  sees  and  clearly  under- 
stands. The  "  Complete  Works  of  X.  V.  Gogol,"  published  in  Moscow  in  18G1,* 
were  no  less  impossible  for  eight  or  ten  persons,  but  for  the  entire  public  nothing 
is  easier  and  cheaper,  as  every  one  knows.  But  until  Italian  opera  existed  for 
the  whole  city,  the  most  passionate  lovers  of  music  had  to  put  up  with  the  most 
ordinar3- concerts;  and  until  the  second  part  of  the  "  Dead  Souls"  was  printed 
tor  the  entire  public,  the  few  Gogol  enthusiasts  were  obliged  to  expend  much 
effort  in  taking  a  manuscript  copy.  Manuscript  is  incomparably  inferior  to  a 
printed  book,  an  ordinary  concert  is  a  very  poor  thing  in  comparison  with  Italian 
opera,  but  the  manuscript  and  the  ordinary  concert  have  nevertheless  their 
value. 

XVII. 

If  any  one  had  come  to  ask  Kirsanoff's  advice  about  such  a  situation  as  that  in 
which  he  found  himself  when  he  came  to  himself,  and  he  had  been  an  utter 
stranger  to  all  the  persons  involved,  he  would  have  answered : 

"  It  is  too  late  to  remedy  the  evil  by  flight ;  I  do  not  know  how  events  will 
shape  themselves,  but  to  you  the  same  danger  presents  itself  whether  you  go  or 
stay.  As  for  those  about  whose  tranquillity  you  are  disturbed,  perhaps  the 
greater  danger  to  them  would  result  from  your  departure." 

It  is  needless  to  say  that  Kirsanoff  would  have  thus  advised  a  man  like  himself 
or  like  Lopoukhotf,  a  man  of  firm  character  and  invincible  integrity.  With  any 
other  men  it  is  useless  to  discuss  such  matters,  because  other  men  in  such  cases 
always  act  basely  and  dishonestly:  they  would  have  dishonored  tlie  woman  and 
themselves,  and  then  would  have  gone  to  all  their  acquaintances  to  whine  or  to 
boast,  seeking  always  their  own  enjoyment,  either  by  posing  as  virtuous  or  by 
indulging  in  the  jjleasures  of  love.  Of  such  people  neither  Lopoukhoff"  nor  Kir- 
.sanoff  cared  to  ask  how  really  noble  natures  ought  to  act.  But  in  saying  to  a 
man  of  the  same  stamp  as  himself  that  to  fly  was  perhaps  even  worse  than  to 
remain  Kirsanoff  would  have  been  right.  There  would  have  been  implied  in 
this  advice:  "I  know  how  you  would  conduct  yourself  if  you  remained.  The 
thing  to  be  done  is  not  to  betray  your  feeling,  since  it  is  only  on  that  condition 

*  The  first  complete  edition  of  Oogol's  works. 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.       175 

that  you  can  remain  without  becoming  a  dishonest  man.  The  point  is  to  disturb 
as  little  as  possible  the  tranquillity  of  the  woman  whose  life  is  calm.  That  she 
should  not  be  troubled  at  all  has  already  become  impossible.  The  feeling  in 
opposition  to  her  present  relations  probably  —  but  why  probably  ?  it  would  be 
more  accurate  to  say  undoubtedly  —  has  already  arisen  in  her,  only  she  has  not 
yet  perceived  it.  Whether  or  not  it  will  manifest  itself  .'ioon  without  any  provo- 
cation on  your  part  no  one  can  tell,  whereas  your  departure  would  be  a  provo- 
cation. Consequently  your  departure  would  only  accelerate  the  thing  you  wish 
to  avoid." 

Only  KirsanoflF  viewed  the  question  not  as  if  it  concerned  a  stran<::er,  but  as 
personal  to  himself.  He  imagined  that  to  go  was  more  difficult  than  to  stay ; 
sentiment  urged  him  to  the  latter  course ;  therefore  in  staying  would  he  not  be 
yielding  to  sentiment,  surrendering  himself  to  the  seduction  of  his  inspirations  ? 
What  security  could  he  have  that  neither  by  word  or  look  would  he  manifest  his 
feelings  and  arouse  in  her  a  consciousness  of  her  situation  ?  Therefore  the  safer 
way  would  be  to  go.  In  one's  own  affairs  it  is  extremely  difficult  to  realize  how 
far  the  mind  is  seduced  by  the  sophistries  of  passion,  honesty  telling  you  to  act 
contrary  to  your  inclination  and  thereby  stand  a  greater  chance  of  acting  in  a 
manly  fashion.  That  is  the  translation  of  the  language  of  theory  into  every-day 
language;  now,  the  theory  to  which  Kirsanoff  held  considers  the  great  words 
"  honesty," "  nobility,"  etc.,  as  equivocal  and  obscure,  and  Kirsanoff,  using  his 
own  terminologv,  would  have  expressed  himself  thus:  "  Every  man  is  an  egoist, 
and  I  am  no  exception  to  the  rule ;  the  question  now  is  to  find  out  which  would 
be  better  for  me,  to  go  or  to  stay.  By  going  I  stifle  in  myself  a  special  senti- 
ment; by  staying  I  run  the  risk  of  revolting  the  sentiment  of  my  own  dignity  by 
a  stupid  word  or  look  inspired  l)y  tiiis  special  sentiment.  .\  special  sentiment 
can  be  stilleil,  and  in  the  course  of  time;  ray  tranquillity  will  be  reestablished,  and  I 
.shall  once  mf>re  bo  contenti'il  with  my  life,  iiut  if  1  once  act  agaiu.st  my  human 
iinture,  I  shall  lo.se  forever  the  possibility  of  tranquillity,  the  po.ssibility  of  being 
contented  with  myself,  and  poi.son  my  whole  life.  This,  in  a  word,  is  the  situa- 
tion in  wliicli  I  find  my.self :  I  like  wine,  and  I  see  before  me  a  cup  of  very 
good  wine,  but.  I  have  a  suspicion  lliat  this  wine  is  poisoned.  Whether  or  not 
there  is  any  groun<l  for  my  suspicion  it  ifJ  impossible  for  me  to  know.  Shall  1 
drink  this  cup,  or  overturn  it  that  it  may  not  tempt  me?  1  should  not  charac- 
terize my  decision  as  noble  or  honest  even  ;  those  are  too  highsounding  words; 
it  is  at  most  a  matter  of  rea.sou,  of  enlightened  self-interest;  I  overturn  the  eup. 
Thereby  I  deprive  myself  of  a  certain  pleasure,  I  cause  myself  a  certain  pain  ; 
but  on  the  other  hand  I  assure  myself  health,  —  that  is,  the  possibility  of  drink- 
ing for  many  years  and  in  sufficient  quantities  wine  which,!  feel  sure,  is  not 
poisoned.     I  do  not  act  stupidly  :  that  is  my  only  merit." 


176  What's  To  Be  Done? 


XVIIT. 


But  how  to  retire  ?  To  play  the  old  comedy  over  again,  to  feign  offence,  to 
show  a  base  side  to  his  character  in  order  to  explain  his  course,  —  that  would 
not  do ;  one  cannot  mislead  twice  in  the  same  way ;  a  second  affair  of  the  same 
sort  would  only  have  explained  the  real  meaning  of  the  first,  and  set  Kirsanoff 
up  as  a  hero  not  only  of  the  new  occasion,  but  of  the  old  as  well.  In  general 
any  abrupt  suspension  of  relations  should  be  avoided ;  not  that  such  a  separation 
would  not  have  been  easier,  but  it  would  have  excited  attention,  —  that  is,  would 
have  been  a  low  and  base  thing  (according  to  the  egoistic  theory  of  Kirsanoff). 
Therefore  there  was  but  one  way  left,  the  most  difficult  and  painful,  —  to  beat  a 
retreat  in  a  slow,  imperceptible  way,  so  that  his  departure  should  not  be  noticed. 
It  was  a  delicate  and  sufficiently  trying  task  ;  to  go  away  without  attracting  the 
attention  of  one  whose  eyes  are  ever  upon  you  is  difficult.  But,  whethoi-  he 
would  or  no,  this  was  what  he  had  to  do.  However,  according  to  Kirsanoff's 
theory,  this  course  was  not  only  not  painful,  but  really  agreeable;  the  more 
difficult  an  affair  is,  the  more  one  rejoices  (through  pride)  in  his  power  and 
skill,  if  he  executes  it  well. 

And  indeed  be  did  execute  it  well :  neither  by  a  word,  nor  by  ill-timed  silence, 
nor  by  a  look  did  he  betray  himself;  he  still  maintained  his  ease  of  manner,  and 
jested  as  before  with  V6ra  Pavlovna ;  it  was  evident  that  as  before  he  found  pleas- 
ure in  her  society ;  but  obstacles  were  always  arising  to  pi'event  him  from  coming 
to  see  the  Lopoukhoffs  as  often  as  he  used  to,  and  from  staying  all  the  evening, 
so  that  Lopoukhoff  had  occasion  oftener  than  before  to  seize  him  by  the  hand  or 
else  by  the  lappel  of  his  coat  and  say  to  him  : 

"  No,  dear  friend,  I  will  not  let  you  leave  this  discussion  in  that  way."  And  so 
it  was  that  while  at  the  Lopoukhoffs'  he  always  sat  nearer  his  comrade's  divan. 
All  this  was  arranged  so  methodically  that  the  change  was  not  even  perceptible. 

Kirsanoff  had  obstacles,  but  he  did  not  put  them  forward  ;  on  the  contrary,  he 
expressed  regrets  (rarely,  for  to  express  them  too  often  would  not  have  been 
proper)  that  these  obstacles  should  present  themselves.  And  these  oljstaeles 
were  so  natural,  so  inevitable,  that  very  often  the  Lopoukhoffs  themselves  drove 
him  away  by  reminding  him  that  he  had  forgotten  his  promise  to  be  at  home  that 
evening,  that  such  or  such  a  one  was  waiting  for  him  there,  or  that  he  forgot  that 
if  he  did  not  go  that  day  to  see  such  a  person  that  person  would  be  offended,  or 
that  he  forgot  that  he  had  at  least  four  hours'  work  to  do  before  the  next  morning ; 
had  he  no  desire  to  sleep  at  night  ?  It  was  already  ten  o'clock ;  a  truce  to  Ijab- 
bling!  it  was  time  to  go  to  work.  Thus  they  refreshed  Kirsanoff's  memory,  but 
he  did  not  always  listen.  He  did  not  go  to  see  this  or  that  acquaintance ;  he 
might  take  offence  if  he  liked.  The  work  could  wait;  there  was  time  enough, 
and  he  desired  to  stay  the  evening  through.    But  the  obstacles  continually  multi- 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.       Ill 

t 

J)lied,  and  scientific  pursuits  pressed  ever  faster  upon  him  and  took  away  his  even- 
ings one  after  another.  "  May  the  devil  take  the  scientific  pursuits  !  "  sometimes 
he  would  cry.  He  met  a  steadily  increasing  number  of  individuals  who  threw 
tlieir  acquaintance  at  liis  head.  The  ease  with  which  these  individuals  made  his 
acquaintance  was  really  astonishing,  he  would  sometimes  remark  incidentally. 
It  seemed  so  to  him,  but  the  Lopoukhoffs  saw  clearly  tliat  he  was  making  a  repu- 
tation and  that  for  that  reason  an  ever  growing  number  of  men  needed  him.  He 
must  not  neglec  t  them,  and  it  was  wrong  to  let  himself  go  on  like  that.  What 
was  to  be  done  ?  He  had  grown  very  lazy  during  the  last  few  months,  and  coulil 
not  set  himself  to  work.  "  But  you  must,  my  dear  Alexander ; "'  "  It  is  time,  Alex- 
ander Matvcitch,"  they  often  said  to  him.  It  was  a  difficult  manoeuvre.  Through 
long  weeks  he  had  to  drag  this  deception  and  execute  it  with  tlie  slowness  and 
precision  of  a  clock-hand,  which  you  cannot  see  move  howevei*  attentively  you 
look  at  it,  but  which  nevertheless  does  its  work,  stealthily,  and  moves  farther  and 
farther  from  its  piimitive  position.  What  pleasure,  therefore,  Kirsanoft"  the  theo- 
rist Ibund  in  the  contemplation  of  his  practical  skill !  The  egoists  and  material- 
ists do  nothing  except  for  their  own  pleasure.  KirsanofF  too  could  say,  with  his 
liand  upon  his  conscience,  that  he  was  acting  lor  his  own  pleasure,  and  rejoiced 
at  his  skill  and  decision. 

A  month  passed  in  this  way,  and  if  any  one  had  examined  things,  he  would 
have  found  thatinthe  course  of  this  month  Kirsanofi's  intimacy  vvitii  the  Lopouk- 
hofls  iiad  grown  no  less,  but  that  thi'  lime  he  spent  with  them  had  beconn!  four 
linii's  less,  and  the  part  of  the  tinii!  spent  witii  Vera  Pavlovna  had  diminished 
on<vhalf.  A  month  more  and,  wliiht  tjn!  friendship  will  remain  the  .same,  the  in- 
lervi«nvs  will  Ik;  few  and  far  betwium  an<l  the  movement  will  l>e  finished. 

Does  the  clear-sigiited  Lopoukiioff  notice  nothing? 

No,  nothing  at  all. 

And  Vera  I'avlovna?  Does  she  iioticcMiothing  either  i'  Not  wlicn  lierself.  lint 
here  slie  has  a  dream. 

XIX. 

VklCA    I'AVI.OVNA'S    rillKK    nUKAM. 

This  was  V/ti  Pavlovna's  dream  . 

After  having  taken  lea  and  talked  with  her  "  darling,"  .sh(!  went  to  lior  room 
and  lay  down  all  ilressed  for  .i  moment,  not  to  sh^ep,  —  it  was  too  early,  being 
only  half-past  eight, —  but  only  to  read.  Tli(!r<!  she  is,  on  her  bed,  reading.  Ibit 
the  book  falls  from  her  hands.  She  niflecLs  and  says  to  herscslf :  Why  <loes  ennui 
Homelimes  eonn;  over  m»^  of  late,  or  rather,  not  annni,  but  .something  like  itP  It 
Biniply  occurred  to  me  that  I  wanted  to  go  to  tlu;  opera  (his  (ivening.  I'lit  (his 
Kirsanoft'  is  so  ina(tentive !     He  went  too  late  to  «ret  the  tickets.     He   otiirlil    to 


178  What's  To  Be  Done? 

kiiuw,  however,  that,  when  Bosio  sings,  tickets  are  not  to  l»e  had  at  eleven  oV'h)ck 
lor  two  nmbles  each.  Can  Kirsanotl"  be  bhuued  ?  If  he  had  had  to  work  until 
five  o'clock,  I  am  sure  he  would  not  have  admitted  it.  But  it  is  his  fault  just  the 
same.  No,  in  future  I  will  rather  ask  my  "  darling"  to  get  the  tickets,  and  I  will 
go  with  him  to  the  opera:  rny  "  darling"  will  not  leave  me  without  tickets,  and, 
as  for  accompanying  me,  he  will  be  always  very  happy  to ;  he  is  so  agreeable, 
my  "  darling."  Now,  thanks  to  this  Kirsanoflf,  I  have  missed  "  La  Traviata ;"  it's 
horrid!  I  would  have  gone  to  the  opera  every  evening,  if  there  had  been  an 
opera  ever\-  evening,  however  bad  the  piece,  provided  Bosio  filled  the  principal 
role.  If  I  had  a  voice  like  Bosio's,  I  would  sing  all  day.  If  I  could  make  her  ac- 
quaintance? How  can  I  do  it?  That  artillery  officer  knows  Tamberlik  well, 
cannot  he  be  secured  as  a  mediator?  It  is  not  possible.  But  what  a  queer  idea ! 
Of  what  use  to  make  Bosio's  acquaintance?  Would  she  sing  for  me?  Must  she 
not  look  out  for  her  voice? 

But  when  did  Bosio  get  time  to  learn  Russian?  And  to  pronounce  it  so  well? 
Where  did  she  unearth  those  verses  that  are  so  licentious  ?  She  probably  studied 
Russian  with  the  same  grammar  that  I  used  :  those  verses  are  quoted  in  it  as  an 
example  of  punctuation,  which  is  very  stupid.  If  only  those  verses  were  not  .so 
licentious;  ijut  there  is  no  time  to  think  of  the  words,  for  one  has  to  listen  to  her 

voice. 

Consacre  a  I'amour 
Ton  heu  reuse  jeunesse, 
Et  cherche  nuit  et  jour 
L'heure  (lej'ivresse.* 

How  queer  these  words  are !  But  what  a  voice  and  what  sentiment!  Yes,  her 
voice  is  much  improved;  it  is  admirai)le  now.  How  did  Bosio  succeed  in  reach- 
ing such  a  point?  I  did  not  know  how  to  make  her  ucquaintaniie,  and  here  she 
is,  come  to  make  me  a  visit.     How  did  she  learn  of  my  desire  ? 

"  You  have  been  summoning  me  a  long  time,"  said  Bosio,  in  Russian. 

"  T  ?  How  could  I  have  done  .so,  when  T  am  unknown  to  you  ?  No  matter,  I 
am  glad,  very  glad,  to  see  you." 

Vera  Pavlovna  opens  her  curtains  to  extend  her  hand  to  Bosio,  but  the  singer 
Ijcgins  to  laugh ;  it  is  not  Bosio,  but  rather  De-Merick  playing  the  Bohemian  in 
"  Rigoletto."  But  if  the  gay  laugh  is  De-Merick's,  the  voice  is  really  Bosio's ;  she 
•Iraws  back  abruptly  and  hides  ijehind  the  curtain.     What  a  pity! 

"  Do  you  know  why  I  have  come?"  said  the  apparition,  laughing  as  though 
she  were  De-Merick  instead  of  Bosio. 

"  But  who  are  you  ?    You  are  not  De-Merick  ?  " 

"  No." 

•  Renflercd  in  Engli«h  proae:  OonsecraU;  U>  love  your  happy  youUi,  ami  seek  night  and  day  the  hour 
of  intoxication. 


Life  of  Vera  nyitli  her  llat<band,  and  the  ^Second  Love.        179 

"  Then  you  are  Bosio  ?  " 

Fresh  laus^hter.  "  You  recognize  quickly,  but  we  must  now  attcud  to  the  busi- 
ness on  which  I  have  come.     I  wisli  to  read  your  tiiary  with  you." 

"  I  have  no  diary  ;  I  never  kepi  any." 

"  But  look  !  what  is  that  on  the  little  table  ?  " 

V6ra  Pavlovna  looks:  on  the  little  table  near  the  Ijed  lies  a  writinjr-book 
inscribed:  Diary  of  V.  L.  Where  did  this  writing-book  come  from?  Vera 
Pavlovna  takes  it,  oiJens  it,  —  it  is  written  in  her  hand  :  but  when  ? 

"  Read  the  last  page,"  says  Bosio. 

V^ra  Pavlovna  reads  :  "  Again  it  happens  that  I  remain  alone  entire  evenings. 
But  that  is  nothing :  1  am  used  to  it." 

"  Is  that  all  ?  "  .says  Bosio. 

"  All." 

"  No,  you  do  not  I'ead  all.     You  cannot  deceiv(!  me.     And  what  is  this  here  ?" 

V6ra  Pavlovna  sees  a  hand  stretch  Ibrth.  How  beautiful  this  hand  is  !  No,  this 
marvellous  hand  is  not  Bosio\s.  And  how  did  it  pierce  the  curtains  without 
opening  them?  Tiie  hand  touches  the  page ;  at  its  contact  new  lines  stand  out 
which  were  not  there  before. 

•'  Read." 

V6ra  Pavlovna  feels  a  pn^ssure  on  her  heart ;  she  has  not  yet  looked  at  tiiese 
lines;  she  does  not  kn<»w  wlial  th(!y  (iontain,  and  nevertheless  her  heart  is 
oppressed.     She  does  not  wish  to  read. 

"  Read,"  repeats  the  app.irition. 

Vera  Pavlovna  n-ads:  '^  No,  now  I  grow  wear}' in  my  solitude.  Formerly! 
did  not  grow  weary.  Why  did  I  not  grow  weary  before,  and  why  do  I  grow 
weary  now  ?  " 

"Turn  one  page  l);ick.'" 

Vera  l';ivlovna  turns  the  leal':  ".Sutnmerof  this  year"  (who  is  it  that  writes 
iicr  diary  in  this  way ?  .says  V/jra  Pavlovna;  it  should  have  said  1855,  June  or 
July,  with  th<!  dati').  "  SiitntncM-  of  this  year.  We  are  going,  as  usu.il,  out  of 
the  city  to  the  islands.  This  time  my  d.irlintr  accomp.inii's  us;  how  eoiUenteil  I 
:im!"  (Ah!  it  i.s  August.  What  day  of  the  month,  —  tln^  (iflcenth  or  the 
twelfth  ?  Yes,  yes,  about  the  fifteenth  ;  it  was  alter  this  excursion  that  my  poor 
darling  fell  sick,  thinks  V6ra  Pavlovna.) 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  AH  " 

"  No,  you  do  not  rr;id  all.  And  what  is  this  hen!?"  (And  the  marvellous 
hand  again  .stretches  forth,  and  nmre  now  lines  appear.) 

V6ra  Pavlovna  reads  without  wishing  to:  "  Why  iloes  not  my  darling  accom- 
pany us  oftener?" 

"Turn  another  leaf." 


180  What's  To  Be  Done? 

"  Mv  darlinj;  i-;  so  busy,  and  it  is  ahvaj's  Cor  iiu;,  always  for  mc  that  he  works, 
my  darling."     (Tiiat  is  really  the  answer,  thinks  Vera  I'avlovua  with  Joy.) 

"Turn  one  page  more." 

"  How  honest  and  noble  these  students  are,  and  how  they  esteem  my  darling! 
And  I  am  gay  in  their  company ;  with  them  1  leol  as  if  I  were  with  brothers, 
quite  at  my  ease." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  All." 

"  No,  read  farther"  (and  for  the  third  time  the  hand  stretches  forth  causing 
new  lines  to  appear). 

Vera  Pavlovna  reads  unconsciously:  "August  16"  (that  is,  the  day  after  the 
excursion  to  the  islands ;  it  did  occur  then  on  the  fifteenth,  thinks  .she).  "  On  the 
excursion  my  darling  talked  the  whole  time  with  that  Rakhmetoff,  the  rigorist, 
as  they  jokingly  call  him,  and  with  his  other  comrades.  lie  stayed  with  me 
scarcely  a  quarter  of  an  hour."  (That  is  not  true;  it  was  over  half  an  hour; 
over  half  an  hour,  I  am  .sure,  thinks  she,  without  counting  the  time  when  we  sat 
side  by  side  in  the  boat.)  "August  17.  Yesterday  we  had  the  students  here  all 
the  evening;  "  (yes,  it  was  the  night  before  my  darling  fell  sick).  "  My  darling 
talked  with  them  all  the  evening.  Why  does  he  devote  so  much  time  to  them 
and  so  little  to  me  ?  He  does  not  work  all  the  time.  For  that  matter  he  says 
himself  that  without  rest  labor  is  impossible,  that  he  rests  a  great  deal,  and  that 
he  reflects  upon  some  special  idea  in  order  to  rest  himself;  but  why  does  lie 
meditate  alone,  without  me?" 

'•Turn  another  leaf" 

"  In  July  of  this  year  we  have  had  the  students  twice,  as  usual ;  I  have  played 
with  them  a  great  deal,  I  was  so  gay.  Tomorrow  or  day  after  tomorrow  they 
will  come  again,  and  again  I  shall  be  gay." 

"Is  that  all?" 

"  All." 

"  No,  read  farther"  (the  hand  reappears,  and  new  lines  respond  to  its  contact). 
Again  V6ra  Pavlovna  reads  unconsciously  : 

"  From  the  Ijeginning  of  the  year  to  the  end  of  .spring.  Yes,  formerly  I  was 
gay  with  these  students,  but  I  was  gay  and  that  was  all.  Now  I  often  .say  to 
myself:  These  are  children's  games;  they  will  probably  seem  amusing  to  me  for 
a  long  time  to  come,  and  even  when  I  .shall  Ik;  old.  When  I  shall  be  no  longer 
of  an  age  to  tak(^  part  in  them,  I  shall  contemplate  thi;  games  of  youth  and  thus 
recall  ray  childhood.  But  even  now  I  look  upon  these  students  as  younger 
brothers,  and  I  should  not  like  to  transform  my.self  forever  into  playful  V6rotchka, 
since  I  desire  to  rest  myself  with  serious  thoughts  and  labor.  I  am  already  V6ra 
Pavlovna;  to  amuse  myself  as  Verotchka  is  pleasant  from  time  to  time,  l)ut  not 


Life  of  Vera  tuith  her  Husband,  and  (lie  Second  Love.        181 

;il\v;iys.  Vera  Pavlovna  would  like  distractions  which  would  permit  her  to 
remain  Vera  Pavlovna.     Distractions  with  her  equals  in  development." 

"  Turn  a  few  pages  farther  back." 

"  I  went  to  Julie's  to  get  her  orders.  She  did  not  let  us  go  away  without 
Itreakfast;  she  ordered  champagne,  and  made  me  take  two  glasses.  We  began 
to  sing,  run,  shout,  and  wrestle.  I  was  so  gay!  My  darling  looked  at  us  and 
laughed." 

'•  Is  that  quite  all  .3"  .says  the  apparition,  again  stretching  forth  the  hand,  which 
always  produces  the  same  result,  —  the  appearance  of  new  lines. 

Vera  Pavlovna  reads: 

'•  M}' darling  only  looked  and  laughed.  Why  did  he  not  play  with  us?  It 
would  have  been  even  merrier.  Would  he  have  acted  clumsily  ?  Not  at  all. 
Iiut  it  is  his  character.  He  confines  himself  to  the  avoidance  of  interference,  he 
approves,  rejoices,  and  that  is  all." 

"  Turn  a  i)age  forward." 

"  This  evening  we  went,  my  darling  and  I,  for  the  first  time  since  our  marriage, 
to  .sec  my  parents.  It  was  so  painful  to  me  to  see  again  this  interior  which 
opprcssc'd  anil  stilled  me  l)efore  my  marriage.  Oh,  my  darling !  From  what  a 
hideous  lifi-  Ik;  has  delivered  me!  At  night  I  ha<I  a  horrilde  dream:  I  saw 
Mamma,  wild  reproached  ww  with  being  ungrateful;  it  seemed  to  me  tliat  that 
was  the  truth,  and  this  conviction  made  me  groan.  My  darling,  hearing  my 
groans,  ran  to  my  side  ;  when  In;  <!ntered  my  room,  I  was  singing  (though  still 
jislcep)  ;  the  i)resence  of  the;  fair  one,  wlmni  I  love  so  nnieli,  h;id  soothed  ww. 
My  darling  wished  to  drtrss  me  I  was  much  abashed.  But  he  is  si>  reserved  ; 
he  only  ki.ssed  my  shoulder." 

"T.sthat  really  all  that  is  written  there?  You  cannot  deceive  me.  Ki-ad." 
Again  under  the  I'atal  h.iml  otlur  charaelcrs  ari.sc,  and  Vera  Pavlovna  reads  them, 
slill  uncon.scionsly : 

"And  as  if  that  Wf-re  ofTiinsive!" 

"  'I'lnti  a  few  j)ageH  l)ack." 

"Today  I  wailed  for  my  friend  I),  on  the  boult-vanl  near  tin;  Pont  Ntuif:  then- 
lives  the  lady  by  whom  I  wished  to  be  employed  as  a  governess.  Hut  she  would 
not  give  her  consent.  D.  and  I  returned  to  tiii-  house  very  much  worried,  doing 
to  my  room  bcifore  dinner,  I  li:i<l  amph-  tinu!  to  consider  that  it  would  Ik;  better 
to  die  ihati  to  live  as  I  had  lived.  Suddenly  at  dinner  1).  said  to  me:  'Vera 
I'avlovna,  let  us  drink  to  the  health  of  my  sweetheart  and  yours.'  I  eoidd 
scarcely  keep  tinrn  wrejiing  tears  of  joy  before  everybody  for  this  unexpected 
deliverance.  After  dinner  I  talked  a  long  timt^  with  D.  as  to  the  way  we  should 
live.     How  T  lov<>  him  :  he  enaiih's  me  to  leave  my  cellar." 

"Read,  read  the  whol«v" 

"  There  is  nf)  more  there." 


182  What's  To  Be  JJone? 

"  Look."     (The  liaiul  strekhcs  lortli.) 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  read,"  says  Vera  Paviovna,  seized  witii  fright;  she  has  not 
yet  seen  clearly  what  these  new  lines  say,  but  she  is  already  afraid. 

"  I  command  you  :  read !  " 

V6ra  Paviovna  reads  : 

"  Do  I  really  love  him  because  he  delivered  me  from  my  cellar?  No,  I  love 
not  him,  but  my  deliverance." 

"  Turn  farther  back  ;  read  the  first  page." 

"  Today,  the  anniversary  of  my  birth,  I  for  llie  first  time  talked  with  D.,  and 
formed  an  affection  for  him.  I  jiave  never  lieard  any  one  sjwak  such  noble  and 
strengthening  words.  How  he  sympathizes  with  everything  that  is  worthy,  how 
he  longs  to  aid  all  that  calls  for  aid  !  How  sure  he  is  that  the  happiness  of  man- 
kind is  possiijle  and  must  come  some  day;  tliat  wickedness  and  pain  are  not 
perpetual,  and  that  a  new  and  peaceful  life  is  approaching  with  ever  hastening 
steps!  How  my  heart  beat  with  joy  when  I  heard  these  things  from  a  learned 
and  serious  man  !  They  confirmed  my  own  thoughts.  How  good  he  was  when 
he  spoke  of  us,  poor  women  !  Any  woman  would  love  such  a  man.  How  wise, 
noble,  and  good  he  is!  " 

"  Exactly  ;  turn  again  to  the  last  page. 

"  But  I  have  already  read  that  page." 

"  No,  that  was  not  quite  the  last.     Turn  one  leaf  more." 

"Read,  read!  Do  3-011  not  see ?  So  much  is  written  there."  And  the  contact 
of  the  hand  calls  forth  lines  which  were  not  there  at  first. 

Vera  Paviovna  trembles : 

"  I  do  not  wish  to  read  ;  I  cannot." 

"I  commanrl  you.     You  must." 

"I  am  neither  willing  nor  able." 

"  Well,  I  will  read  what  you  have  written  there.  So  listen  :  '  He  has  a  noble 
soul,  he  is  my  liberator.  But  a  noble  character  inspires  esteem,  confidence,  a 
disposition  to  act  in  concert,  friendship ;  the  liberator  is  rewarded  by  gratitude, 
devotion,  and  that  is  all.  His  nature,  perhaps,  is  more  ardent  than  mine.  His 
caresses  are  passionate.  But  he  has  another  need  ;  he  needs  a  soft  and  slow  ca- 
ress; he  needs  to  slumber  peacefully  in  tender  sentiment.  Does  he  know  all 
that  ?  Are  our  natures- our  needs,  analogous  ?  He  is  readv  to  die  for  me,  and  1 
for  him.  But  is  that  enousrh?  Does  he  live  in  the  thounrht  of  me?  \)u  I  live;  in 
the  thought  of  him  ?  Do  I  love  him  as  much  as  I  need  to  love  ?  In  the  first 
place,  I  do  not  feel  this  need  of  a  soft  and  tender  sentiment ;  no,  my  feeling  to- 
wards him  is  not '  "     .     .     . 

"I  will  hear  no  more,"  and  Vera  Paviovna  indignantly  threw  away  th(!  diary. 
"  Wicked  woman,  why  are  you  here  ?     I  did  not  call  you ;  go  away  ! " 
The  apparition  laughs,  but  with  a  gentle  and  good  laugh. 


Life  of  Vera  with  Jier  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        183 

"  No,  you  do  not  love  him  ;  these  words  are  written  with  3-our  own  hand." 

"  Be  accursed ! "  Vera  Tavlovna  awoke  with  this  exclamation,  and  had  no 
sooner  regained  possession  of  herself  than  she  rose  and  ran. 

"  My  darling,  embrace  ine,  protect  me !  I  have  had  a  frightful  dream  !  "  She 
presses  herself  agaiust  her  husband.  '-My  darling,  caress  me,  be  affectionate 
with  me,  protect  me  !  " 

'•What  is  the  matter,  Verotchka?  You  are  trembling  all  over,"  .said  Lopou- 
khoflf.  as  he  embraced  her.  '•  Your  cheeks  are  moist  with  tears,  and  your  brow 
is  covered  with  a  cold  sweat.  You  have  walked  in  l)are  feet  over  the  floor;  let 
me  kiss  your  feet  to  warm  them." 

'•Yes,  caress  me,  save  me!  I  have  had  a  horrible  dream;  I  dreamed  that  I 
did  not  love  you." 

"  But,  dear  frienrl,  whom  do  you  love,  then,  if  not  me?  That  is  a  very  strange 
dream ! " 

"  Yes,  I  love  you;  l)ut  caress  me,  embrace  me!  I  love  you,  and  you  I  wish  to 
love." 

.She  emljraced  him  with  intensity,  she  pressed  her  whole  form  against  liim, 
and,  soothed  by  his  caresses,  she  gently  fell  asleep  in  his  eml)race. 

XX. 

That  morning  Dmitry  SerguiMtch  ilid  not  liave  to  call  his  wife  to  l:ike  tea; 
sin-  was  lli<'ri\  pn^ssing  herself  against  him;  she  .still  slept;  Ik;  looked  at  her  and 
thought:  "What  is  the  matter  witli  h(;r?  Wli.it  li.is  i'riglitcn<'(l  her':*  Wlnit 
dots  this  dn;ani  m(;an  ?  " 

"  Stay  here,  Verotchka,  I  :iiu  going  to  bring  the  tea  ;  do  not  rise;  my  darling, 
F  :iin  going  to  bring  the  water  for  your  toilet  that  yon  iii:iy  in't  liave  to  disturb 
your.sell'in  order  to  wa.sh." 

"  Yes,  I  will  not  rise,  I  will  reniiiin  in  l)ed  a  wliile  longer,  1  am  so  comfortable. 
here:  how  good  you  are,  my  darling,  and  how  I  love  ytm !  There!  I  have 
wiished  ;  now  bring  the  tea;   no,  enil)r.iee  nie  first." 

And  Vera  I'avlovna  held  Inr  iiiisb.ind  a  long  lime  in  her  arms.  "  Ah.  my 
darling,  how  strange  I  am  I  Howl  ran  to  your  side!  W^lial.  will  .Maeha  think 
now?  We  will  hide  lliis  from  her.  Ib-ing  m<«  my  elollies.  C.iress  me,  my  dar- 
ling, caress  me ;  I  wish  to  love  yon,  I  neid  lo  love  I  i  wish  to  |ii\  e  yon  as  I  h.ive 
n«»t  yet  loved  you  !  " 


V/tra  P.avlovna'.s  room  rem.ains  (^niply.  Veni  I'avlovna  conceals  nothing  morn 
from  M.ieha,  .'ind  is  completely  e>it:ililislied  in  her  hnsbmid's  nioni.  "  \\n\\  lender 
he  is!  How  alleeijonatt;  he  is,  my  darling!  And  I  imagim-ij  tiial  I  did  not  |o\(i 
you !     How  strange  I  am  ! " 


184  What's  To  Be  Done  9 

•'•  Now  that  you  are  calm,  tell  me  your  dream  of  day  before  yesterday." 

'Oh,  that  uoDseusel  1  only  saw,  as  1  have  already  told  you,  that  you  were 
not  very  demonstrative.  Now  I  am  well  contented.  Why  have  we  not  lived  in 
this  way  always?  I  should  not  have  had  the  dream,  whieh  I  do  not  like  to  re- 
call." 

'•  But  had  it  not  been  for  this  dream,  we  should  not  be  living  as  we  are  now 
living."' 

"True;  I  am  very  grateful  to  her,  this  bad  woman:  she  is  not  bad,  she  is 
good." 

"Who  is 'she'?  Besides  the  beauty  of  former  days,  have  you  still  a  new 
friend."' 

'•  Yes,  still  a  new  one.  I  saw  a  woman  come  to  me  with  an  enchanting  voice, 
more  so  than  Bosio's,  and  what  hands!  Oh,  what  admiral)ie  beauty!  I  only 
saw  her  hand;  she  hid  herself  behind  the  curtains;  I  dreamed  that  my  bed  (I 
have  abandoned  it  because  I  had  this  dream  there)  had  curtains  and  that  the 
woman  hid  herself  behind  them ;  but  what  an  admirable  hand,  my  darling  !  and 
she  sang  of  love  and  told  me  what  love  is;  now  I  understand  it.  How  stujjid  I 
was ;  I  did  not  understand  ;  I  was  only  a  little  girl,  a  stupid  little  girl ! " 

"Everything  in  its  time,  my  angel.  As  we  lived  before,  it  was  love;  as  we 
live  now,  it  is  love:  some  need  one,  others  the  other;  at  first  the  former  was 
sufficient  for  you ;  now  you  need  the  latter.  You  have  become  a  woman,  my 
dear  friend,  and  that  which  you  did  not  need  at  first  has  now  i)ecome  necessary 
to  vou." 


Two  weeks  pass.  V6ra  Pavlovna  takes  her  ease.  Now  she  stays  in  her  room 
only  when  her  husband  is  not  at  home  or  when  he  is  at  work ;  but  no,  even  when 
he  is  at  work,  she  stays  in  his  study,  except  when  Dmitry  Sergu6itch's  task  de- 
mands all  his  attention.  But  such  tasks  are  rare,  and  very  often  scientific  tasks  are 
purely  mechanical ;  so  three-quarters  of  the  time  Lopoukhoff  s.aw  his  wife  by  his 
side.  They  lacrked  but  one  thing;  it  was  necessar}'  to  buy  another  divan,  a  litlic 
smaller  than  her  husband's.  This  was  done,  and  Vera  Pavlovna  took  iier  ease 
after  dinner  on  her  little  divan,  contemplating  her  husband  sitting  bijfore  her. 

"  My  dear  friend,  why  do  you  kiss  my  hands  ?     I  do  not  like  that." 

"  Truly  ?  I  had  quite  forgotten  that  I  offend  you ;  and  besides,  what  does  it 
matter,  for  I  shall  do  it  just  the  same." 

'■  You  deliver  me  for  the  second  time,  my  darling :  you  iiave  saved  me  from 
wicked  people,  you  have  saved  me  from  myself!  (Jaress  me,  ray  dear  friend 
caress  me ! " 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.        185 

A  month  passes.  V6ra  Pavlovna  still  willingly  takes  her  ease.  He  sits  down 
beside  her  on  the  divan  ;  she  throws  herself  into  his  arras,  but  becomes  pensive; 
he  embraces  her;  she  is  still  pensive,  and  her  tears  are  ready  to  flow. 

"  V6rotchka,  dear  V6rotchka,  why  are  you  so  pensive  ?  " 

V6ra  Pavlovna  weeps  and  does  not  say  a  word.  No,  she  weeps  no  more,  she 
wipes  away  her  tears. 

'•  No,  do  not  embrace  me,  my  dear  friend  !     That  is  enough.     I  thank  you." 

And  she  gives  him  a  glance  so  soft  and  so  sincere. 

"  I  thank  you ;  you  are  so  good  to  me." 

"  '  Ciood,'  V6rotc]ika  ?     Wluit  do  you  mean  ?  " 

"  (rood,  yes,  my  dear  friend,  you  are  good ! " 


Two  days  passed.  After  dinner  V6ra  Pavlovna,  pensive,  lay  stretched  upon  her 
bed  Ilcr  husband  was  near  her,  iield  h(!r  in  his  arms,  and  seemed  e(iually 
pensive. 

"  No,  that  is  not  it;  that  is  lacking." 

"  How  good  ht!  is,  and  how  ungrateful  I  am !"  tliought  Vera  Pavlovna. 

Such  w<!n;  their  thoughts. 

She  .said  in  a  simple  lone  and  witiiout  sadness: 

"  (»o  to  your  room,  my  dear  friend  ;  to  work  or  to  rest." 

"  Why  do  you  <lrive  me  away,  V6rot(;hka  P     Am  I  not  all  right  here  ?" 

II(!  was  able  to  say  these  words,  as  he;  wIsIkmI,  in  a  simple  and  gay  tone. 

"  No,  gr)  away,  my  dear  frimid.     You  do  so  much  for  nie.     (Jo  and  rest." 

He  embraced  her,  and  siio  forgot  her  thoughts  and  brciathetl  again  quite  Irecdy 
and  a.s  if  nothing  saddened  her. 

"  [  I  hank  you,  my  <lear  friend,"  she  said. 


And  Kirsanoff  is  thoroughly  happy.  The  strugghr  had  been  a  little  diflicult  to 
sustain  ;  the  gn-atcr  Ihi-reforc  the  int<'ri)al  lontciitminil  l)roui,dit  hiu)  by  the 
triumph,  a  contrntmcnt  whii-h  will  last  and  warm  liis  breast  lor  a  long  time, 
throughout  his  life.  He  is  honest.  He  has  Ijrought  them  nearer  to  each  other. 
Yes,  in  fact,  he  has  brought  th(!m  together.  Kirsanotf  on  his  divan  smoked  and 
thought:  "He  honest, —  that  is,  calculating;  make  no  mistake  in  the  c;ilcula- 
tion  ;  remember  that  the  whole  is  gniater  than  any  of  its  parts, — that  is,  tliatyour 
human  nature  is  stronger  and  of  more  importance  to  you  than  any  of  your  aspi- 
rations taken  .separately ;  place  its  interests,  therefore,  before  the  interests  of  any 
of  your  special  aspirations,  if  th<'y  h:ip|)cn  to  be  in  contrailiction  ;  to  i)ut  the 
whole  in  a  simple  definition  :  i'>c  lionrst  and  all  will  go  wcill.  A  single  ruh;  of 
great  simplicity,  ))Ut  (containing  all  the  pn-acriptions  of  science,  tiie  whole  code  of 


18G  What's  To  Be  Done? 

liuppy  life.  Yes,  hiippv  tlinse  who  liave  the  power  to  understand  this  simple 
rule.  For  my  part,  I  am  happy  enough  in  tliis  respect.  I  undoubtedly  owe 
much  moi-e  to  intellectual  development  than  to  nature.  But  in  time  this  will  be- 
come a  general  rule,  inspired  by  education  and  surroundings.  Yes,  everybody 
will  then  live  comfortably,  as  I  do  now,  for  instance.  Yes,  I  am  content.  Never- 
theless, I  must  go  to  see  them  ;  I  have  not  l)een  there  for  three  weeks.  It  is  time 
to  go  even  though  it  were  not  agreeable.  But  would  it  not  be  better  to  postpone 
it  a  month?  That  is  it.  The  retreat  is  executed;  they  will  not  notice  now 
whether  it  has  been  three  weeks  or  three  months  since  I  went  to  see  them.  It  is 
very  agreeable  to  think  at  a  distance  of  men  towards  whom  one  has  acted  honestly. 
I  rest  on  my  laurels." 


Three  days  later  LopoukhofiF  went  into  his  wife's  room  after  dinner,  took  his 
Verotchka  in  his  arms,  and,  carrying  her  to  his  room,  placed  her  upon  the  little 
divan. 

"  Rest  here,  my  friend,"  and  he  began  to  contemplate  her.  She  went  off  into  a 
doze,  smiling;  he  sat  down  and  began  to  read.  She  half  opened  her  eyes  and 
thought: 

"  How  modestly  his  room  is  furnished !  He  has  only  the  necessaries.  No,  he 
too  has  his  whims.  There  is  an  enormous  box  of  cigars,  which  I  gave  him  last 
year;  it  is  not  yet  exhausted.  The  cigar  is  his  only  whim,  his  only  article  of 
luxury.  No,  there  is  another  article  of  luxury, —  the  pliotograph  of  that  old  man. 
What  a  noble  face  that  old  man  has,  what  a  mixture  of  goodness  and  perspicacity 
in  those  eyes,  in  the  whole  expression  of  the  face!  How  much  trouble  Dmitry 
had  in  getting  that  photograph  !  Portraits  of  Owen  are  exceedingly  rare.  He 
wrote  three  letters;  two  of  liiose  who  took  these  letters  did  not  find  the  old  man ; 
the  third  found  him  and  had  to  torment  the  old  man  a  great  deal  in  order  to  get  a 
good  photograpli.  And  how  happy  Dmitry  was  when  he  received  it  with  a  letter 
from  'the  sainted  old  man,' as  he  calls  him,  in  which  Owen  praises  me  on  the 
strength  of  wliat  Dmitry  has  written  him.  And  there  is  anotlier  article  of 
luxury,  —  my  portrait.  For  six  months  he  economized  in  order  to  be  al)le  to 
employ  a  good  painter.  How  they  tormented  me  with  that  young  painter!  Two 
portraits,  and  that  is  all.  To  buy  engravings  and  photograj>lis  like  mine  would 
not  be  so  dear.  He  has  no  flowers  either,  and  I  have  .so  many  in  my  room.  Why 
does  he  not  want  flowers,  since  I  want  them?  Is  it  because  I  am  a  woman  ? 
What  nonsense  !  Or  is  it  because  he  is  a  serious  and  learned  man  ?  But  there  is 
Kirsanofi";  he  has  engravings  and  flowers,  although  he  too  is  a  serious  and 
learned  man. 

"And  why  does  it  weary  him  to  devote  much  time  to  me? 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Ilashand^  and  the  /Second  Love.        187 

"I  know  well  that  it  costs  him  great  effort.  Is  it  because  he  is  a  serious  and 
learned  man  ? 

"  But  there  is  Kirsanoff  .  .  .  No,  no,  he  is  good,  very  good,  he  has  tlone  every- 
thing, he  is  ready  to  do  everything  for  me.  Who  can  love  me  as  much  as  he 
does?    And  I  too  love  him,  and  am  ready  to  do  everything  for  him  "... 

"  YoD  are  no  longer  asleep,  then,  dear  Verotchka  ?  " 

"  My  darling,  why  do  you  not  have  llowers  in  your  room?  " 

"  Very  well,  my  friend,  I  will  have  some  tomorrow ;  they  are  indeed  very  plea- 
sant." 

"  What  else  do  you  want  ?  Ah  !  !)uy  yourself  some  photographs,  or  rather  I 
will  buy  l)oth  flowers  and  photographs." 

"Then  they  will  be  doubly  agreeable  to  me.  But,  Verotchka,  you  were  pen- 
sive, you  were  thinking  of  your  dream.  Permit  me  to  beg  you  to  relate  to  me  in 
greater  detail  this  dream  which  so  frightened  you." 

"  I  think  no  more  about  it:  it  is  too  painful  to  me  to  recall  it." 

"  But  perhajjs,  Verotchka,  it  would  be  useful  for  me  to  know  it." 

"  Very  well,  my  dear  friend." 

And  V6rotchka  told  her  dream. 

"Pardon  me,  my  friend,  if  I  ask  you  one  more  question  :  is  thai  all  you  saw  P  ' 

"  If  it  were  not  all,  should  i  not  have  told  you  .so,  and  l)esides  did  I  not  tell  you 
so  that  very  night.''  " 

This  was  said  so  sincerely  and  simply  that  Loj)oukhoff  felt  an  inefl"al)ly  sweet 
•imotion,  one  of  those  intoxicating  moments  of  liappimvss  never  to  be  forgotten. 

What  a  pity  that  so  lew  husijanils  can  know  tjiis  feeling!  All  the  joys  of  happy 
love  are  a.s  nothing  comp.'ired  with  it;  it  fdls  the  heart  of  man  forever  with  the 
purest  contentment  and  tint  lioliest  pride. 

In  V6ra  Pavlovna's  words,  spoken  with  a  certain  .sadness,  were  conveyeil  a 
reproach,  Ijut  liie  meaning  of  the  rtiproach  was:  My  friend,  do  you  not  know  liiat 
you  have  deservi'd  all  my  conlich'nce?  In  the  present  state  of  their  mutual  re- 
lationH  a  wife  must  conceal  liom  licr  husband  tlu!  secret  moveuK'nls  ol  licr  heart, 
but  from  you,  my  «I<'ar  friend,  I  have  nolliing  to  conceal  ;  my  heart  is  as  op»Mi 
before  you  as  Ijclore  myself 

That  is  a  very  gn^at  reward  for  a  husband,  a  reward  purchased  only  by  a  higii 
moral  dignity ;  ancl  whoever  earns  it  has  (he  right  to  considin-  liimself  an  irre- 
proachai)Ie  man,  to  be  sure  that  his  conliilenee  is  pure  and  always  will  l)e,  that 
valor  and  tranriuillily  will  never  desert  him  whatever  the  situation  in  which  h<! 
may  find  himself,  and  that  destiny  has  almost  no  hold  on  the  pciaco  of  his  soul. 
We  are  well  enough  acrpiainted  with  Lf)poukhoff  to  know  that  he  is  not  senti- 
mental, but  lie  was  .so  touched  l)y  these  words  of  his  wife  that  his  face  grew  pur- 
ple with  emotion. 


188  What\^   To  Be  Done? 

"Vdrotchka,  my  friend,  you  have  reproached  nic," — his  voice  trcmhled  for  the 
second  and  last  time  in  his  life;  the  first  time  it  Ircmbled  with  doubt,  now  it  trem- 
bled with  joy,  —  "you  have  reproached  me,  but  tliis  reproach  is  dearer  to  me  than 
any  words  of  love.  I  have  offended  you  by  a  question,  but  I  am  happy  to  have  drawn 
such  a  reproach  upon  myself.  See !  there  are  tears  in  my  eyes,  the  first  tears  that  I 
have  shed  since  my  childhood! " 

Throughout  the  evening  his  eyes  were  fixed  upon  her.  She  did  not  once  say  to 
herself  dm-ing  that  evening  that  he  was  trying  to  be  affectionate,  and  that  evening 
was  one  of  the  happiest  that  she  ever  passed.  In  a  few  years  she  will  have  days, 
weeks,  years  like  it;  this  will  be  the  case  when  her  children  have  grown  up  and  she 
sees  them  happy  men  worthy  of  happiness.  This  joy  is  above  all  other  personal  joys ; 
that  which  in  every  other  personal  joy  is  a  I'are  and  fleeting  intensity  is  here  the  ordi- 
nary level  of  every  day  without  distinction.  But  this  is  still  in  the  future  for  V^ra 
Pavlovna. 

XXI. 

When  she  had  gone  to  sleep  upon  his  knees  and  he  had  placed  her  on  her  little 
divan,  Lopoukhoff  concentrated  his  thoughts  upon  this  dream.  It  was  not  for  hun 
to  consider  whether  she  loved  him  or  not ;  that  was  her  affair,  and  in  this  she  was 
no  more  mistress  than  he  was  master.  This  was  a  point  that  must  clear  itself  up, 
to  be  thought  of  only  leisurely ;  now  time  was  pressing,  and  his  business  was  to  an- 
alyze the  causes  of  this  presentiment. 

At  first  it  was  a  long  time  before  he  could  discover  anything.  He  had  seen  clear- 
ly for  some  days  that  he  could  not  keep  her  love.  Painful  loss,  but  what  was  to  be 
done?  If  he  could  change  his  character,  acquire  this  inclination  for  gentle  affection 
which  the  nature  of  his  wife  demanded,  that  would  be  another  matter,  certainly. 
But  he  saw  that  this  would  be  a  vain  attempt.  If  this  inclination  is  not  given  by 
nature  or  developed  by  life  independently  of  the  intentions  of  the  man  himself,  it 
cannot  be  created  by  the  effort  of  his  will ;  now,  without  the  inclination  nothing  is 
as  it  should  be.  Hence  for  him  the  question  was  solved.  So  this  w^as  the  problem 
of  his  first  reflections.  Now,  after  having  meditated  on  his  own  situation  (as  an 
egoist  thinking  first  of  himself  and  of  others  only  secondarily),  he  could  approach 
the  affair  of  another,  —  that  is,  of  his  wife.  "What  can  be  done  for  her?  She  does 
not  yet  understand  what  is  going  on  within  her,  she  is  not  yet  as  well  versed  as  he  in 
affairs  of  the  heart,  and  very  naturally,  being  four  years  younger,  which  at  that  early 
age  is  a  gi'eat  deal.  Could  he  not,  as  the  more  experienced,  trace  this  dream  back 
to  its  cau.se  V 

Immediately  came  into  Loponkhoff's  mind  this  supposition:  the  cause  of  her 
thoughts  must  be  sought  in  the  circumstance  which  gave  rise  to  her  dream.  Some 
connection  must  be  found  between  the  cause  of  her  dream  and  its  substance.  She 
said  that  she  was  vexed  because  she  did  not  go  to  the  opera.     Let  us  see. 


Life  of  Vera  with  Jier  Ilvshand,  and  the  Second  Love.     189 

I>opoukhofE  begau  to  examine  his  way  of  living  and  thf^t  of  his  wife,  and  the  light 
(hiwned  <>ii  liis  mind.  Most  of  the  time  when  Ihey  had  nothing  to  do  she  had  re- 
mained in  solitude,  as  he  did.  Then  had  come  a  change :  she  had  had  distractions. 
Now  the  more  sober  life  had  returned.  She  had  not  been  able  to  accept  it  with  in- 
difference, for  it  was  no  more  in  her  nature  to  do  so  than  in  that  of  the  enormous 
majority  of  mankind.  So  far  there  is  nothing  extraordinary.  Now,  it  is  no  farther 
to  suppose  the  solution  of  the  enigma  to  lie  in  her  association  with  Kirsanoft',  an 
a.ssociation  followed  V)y  the  latter's  separation.  But  why  did  Kirsanoff  go  away? 
The  cause  seems  only  too  natural,  —  lack  of  time,  pressure  of  duties.  But  one  can- 
not deceive,  thougli  he  use  all  possible  stratagems,  an  honest,  intelligent  man,  ex- 
perienced in  life,  and  above  all  utilizing  the  tlioory  to  which  Lopoukhoff  held.  He 
may  deceive  himself  through  lack  of  attention;  he  may  neglect  to  notice  what  is 
going  on:  thus  it  was  that  Lopoukhoff  came  to  mistake  the  motives  of  Kirsanoff's 
original  separation,  because  then,  to  tell  the  truth,  he  had  no  interest  and  conse- 
quently no  desire  to  look  closely  into  the  causes  of  this  separation;  the  only  thing 
important  for  him  to  know  was  this:  Who  was  to  blame  for  the  rupture  of  friend- 
ship ?  Was  it  not  himself?  Evidently  not.  Then  there  was  no  occasion  to  think; 
about  it  further.  He  was  neither  Kirsanoff's  favorite  nor  a  pedagogue  charged  with 
guiding  men  in  tlie  straight  road.  Kirsanolf  understood  things  as  well  as  he  did. 
How  did  his  (-(^iMhict  concern  him?  In  his  relations  with  Kirsanoff  was  there  any- 
thing so  important?  As  long  as  you  are  on  good  terms  with  me  and  wish  me  to 
love  you,  T  am  well  content;  if  ndt,  more's  the  pity,  but  l'i>r  (iuit  matter  go  where 
you  please,  it's  all  one  to  me.  If  makes  no  great  dilTerence  wiuither  ihorc  is  one 
imbecile  more  or  less  in  the  wurld.  I  took  an  imbecile  for  an  honest  man;  I  am 
very  .sorry  for  it,  and  that  is  all.  If  our  interests  are  not  bound  nj)  with  the  acts  of 
an  individual,  his  acts  hfnilili'  us  little  provided  we  arc  S(5ri(ius  nnsii. 

Two  cases  aloiii-  excepted,  wliicli,  liow(!V((r,  seem  excejitions  only  to  men  accus- 
tomed to  consider  the  word  "iiderest"  in  the  not  too  strict  sense  of  ordinary  calcu- 
lation. The  first  case  is  wlmn  actions  interest  us  on  their  tiieoretieal  side,  as 
iwychical  phenomena  explaining  tlie  natini-  of  man,  —  that  is.  when  we  feel  ;in 
intellectual  interest;  the  other  case  is  when  the,  destiny  of  the  person  is  so  depend- 
ent upon  ourselves  that  we  should  be  guilty  in  our  own  eyes  if  we  shotdd  be  careless 
of  his  conduct,  —  that  is,  when  wr-  fed  ;i  conscientious  interest.  But  in  tiie  silly 
departure  which  Kirsanoff  h.id  fdimerly  tak<'n  there  was  nothing  not.  known  to  Lo- 
poukhoff as  a  vr-rj'  ordinary  charact^sristic  of  actual  morals,  for  it  is  not  rare  to  see 
a  man  of  hfmest  ideas  gfjvernr-d  by  current  trivialities.  But  that.  Loimnkhoff  could 
play  an  important  i),art  in  Kirsanoff's  destiny  was  something  that  l.,opoukiiotT  could 
never  have  imagined:  of  what  use,  therefore,  to  trouble  himself  about  Kirsanoff? 
So  go,  my  dear  friend,  where  it  seems  good  to  you;  why  should  1  trouble  myself 
about  you?  But  now  lln-  situation  was  no  longer  the  snine:  K  irs.inoff's  acts  ap- 
peared in  connection  witli  tlir'  interests  of  the  wonijin  whom  Lopoukhoff  loved.     He 


11>0  What's   To  Be  Done? 

roiiiti  iiolhfl[>  ,i;iviii!4-  (liciii  closi!  Uiuiii^'Iit.  Now,  to  ^ivt;  ;i  Uiiiig  (-Iosb  tlioiiglil^  and 
to  iiiKltTstanil  its  causes  arc  almost  one  and  the  same  thing  lo  a  man  of  LopoukhotFs 
habits  of  thought.  Lopoukhoff  believed  that  his  theory  furnished  the  surest  means 
of  analyzing  luiman  emotions,  and  T  confess  that  I  am  of  his  opinion.  During  a 
long  scries  of  years  this  theory  that  I  profess  has  not  once  led  me  into  error,  and 
has  always  put  me  in  a  position  to  easily  discover  the  truth,  whatever  the  depths  in 
wliich  it  lie  hidden. 

It  is  none  the  less  true  that  this  theory  is  not  accessible  to  all ;  it  requires  experi- 
ence and  habits  of  thought  to  be  able  to  imderstand  it. 

After  a  half-hour's  meditation  all  was  clear  to  Lopoukhoff  in  Kirsanoff's  relat  ifins 
with  Vera  Pavlovna.  It  was  clear,  indeed,  but  nevertheless  Lopoukhoff  did  not 
cease  to  ponder  over  it,  and  this  reverie  ended  in  a  decisive  and  complete  discovery, 
which  so  impressed  him  that  he  could  not  sleep.  But  why  wear  out  one's  nerves 
through  insomnia?  Tt  is  three  o'clock.  If  one  cannot  sleep,  he  must  take  morphine. 
He  took  two  pills;  "I  will  take  just  one  look  at  Verotchka."  But  instead  of  going 
and  looking,  he  drew  his  armchair  up  to  the  divan  upon  which  his  wife  lay  asleep, 
and  sat  down  there ;  then  he  took  her  hand  and  kissed  it. 

"Yoii  still  work,  my  darling,  and  always  for  me;  how  good  you  are,  and  how  I 
love  you ! "  she  murmured  in  her  sleep.  Against  morphine  in  sufficient  quantities  no 
laceration  of  the  heart  can  endure;  on  this  occasion  two  pills  were  enough.  There- 
fore sleep  took  possession  of  him.  This  laceration  of  the  heart  was  approximately 
equal  in  intensity  (according  to  Lopoukhoff's  materialism)  to  four  cups  of  strong- 
coffee,  to  counteract  whicii  one  pill  would  not  have  been  enough  while  three  pills 
would  have  been  too  many.     lie  went  to  sleep,  laughing  at  the  comparison. 

XXIL 

A  XnEORETICAL  CONVERSATION. 

Scarcely  had  Kirsanoff  stretched  himself  out  the  next  day  like  a  v(!ritable  sybarite, 
a  cigar  between  his  lips,  to  read  and  to  rest  after  his  dinner  which  had  been  delayed 
Ijy  his  duties  at  the  hospital,  when  Lopoukhoff  entered. 

"I  am  as  much  in  the  way  here  as  a  dog  in  a  iiinejun  alley,"  said  Lopoukhoff  in 
a  jocose  though  not  at  all  trifling  tone;  "I  disturb  you,  Alexander.  It  is  absolutely 
necessary  that  T  should  talk  seriously  with  you.  It  is  pressing;  this  morning  I  over- 
slept and  should  not  have  found  you." 

Lopoukhoff  did  not  seem  to  be  trifling. 

"What  does  this  mean?     Can  he  have  noticed  anything?"  thought  Kirsanoff. 

"Therefore  let  us  talk  a  little,"  continued  Lopoukhoff,  sitting  down;  "look  me 
in  the  face." 

"Yes,  he  speaks  of  that;  there  Is  no  doubt  about  it,"  said  Kirsanoff  to  himself. 


L\fe  of  Vera  with  her  Husband.,  and  the  Second  Love.     191 

Theu  aloud  and  in  a  still  more  serious  tone :  "Listen,  Dmitry;  we  are  friends.  But 
there  are  things  that  even  friends  must  not  permit  themselves.  I  beg  you  to  drop  this 
conversation.  I  am  not  disposed  to  talk  today.  And  on  this  subject  T  am  never 
disposed  to  talk." 

Kirsanolf' s  eyes  had  a  steady  look  of  animosity,  as  if  there  were  a  man  before 
him  whom  he  suspected  of  an  intention  to  commit  some  piece  of  rascality. 

"To  be  silent, — that  cannot  be,  Alexander,"  continued  Lopoukhoft',  in  a  calm 
though  somewhat  hollow  voice ;  "  I  have  seen  through  your  manoeuvres." 

"Be  silent!  I  forbid  you  to  speak  unless  you  wish  me  for  an  eternal  enemy,  un- 
less you  wish  to  forfeit  my  esteem." 

"Formerly  j^ou  did  not  fear  to  lose  my  esteem,  —  do  you  recollect?  Now,  there- 
fore, all  is  clear.     Then  I  did  not  pay  sufficient  attention." 

"  Dmitry,  T  beg  you  to  go  away,  or  I  shall  have  to  go  myself." 

"You  cannot.     Is  it  with  your  interests  that  T  am  concerned?" 

Kirsanolf  did  not  say  a  word. 

"  My  position  is  advantageous.  Yours  in  conversation  with  me  is  not.  I  seem  to 
be  performing  an  act  of  heroism,  liut  such  notions  are  silly.  I  cannot  act  other- 
wise; common  scnst;  Forces  mo  1o  it.  I  beg  you,  Alexander,  to  put  an  end  to  your 
manoMivres.     Jliey  ac(;omplisli  nothing." 

"What?  Was  it  too  late  already?  rinddii  me,"  said  Kirsanoff  quickly,  unable 
to  tell  whether  it  wa«  joy  or  chagrin  that  moved  him  wlieii  lie  lieaid  tlie  words: 
"They  accomplish  nothing." 

••No,  you  do  not  riglil  ly  understand  me.  It  was  not  too  late.  Molhing  has  \\-d\>- 
pened  80  far.  Wliat  will  iia|>pen  we  shall  see.  For  the  rest,  Alexander,  I  do  not 
under.stan<l  of  what  you  speak;  M<ir  do  you  imderstaiid  of  wlml  I  s|ie;ik;  we  do  nof^ 
understand  ea<li  other.  Aim  F  rigid  V  And  we  do  not  need  to  understand  each  other. 
Enigmas  that  you  do  not  iniderstaml  are.  disagreeable  to  you.  But  (here  is  no  enig- 
ma here.  I  have  said  luithing.  I  have  jiothing  to  say  to  you.  CJivi^  me  a  cigar; 
I  liave  carolcHsIy forgotten  mine.  I  will  liglil  it.  and  we  will  discuss  scientific  ques- 
tions; it  was  not  for  that  that  I  came,  buttospiMui  the  tim(^  in  chat  ting  about  science. 
What  «lr)  yon  tliiid<  r)f  these  strange  r-xperiments  in  tln'  iirtitieial  ]>rodiiction  ot"  allm- 
mi'U?" 

LopoukhofT  rjrew  aufither  chair  up  to  his  own  to  |inl  his  feet  on  it,  seated  liimself 
comfortably,  lighted  Ids  cigar,  and  coutiinusd  his  remarks: 

"In  my  opiidon  it  is  u  groat  discovery,  if  it  be  not  eont  radieted.  Iluve  yon  rejiro- 
duced  the  exjiiTimeuts?" 

"No,  but  I  mu.st  do  bo." 

"  How  forturijite  you  are  in  having  a  good  laboratory  at  your  disposition  !  Repro- 
duce them,  reproduce  them.  \  In-g  of  you,  but  with  great,  care.  It  is  a  complete,  revo- 
lution in  the  entire  alimentary  economy,  in  the  whole  life  of  humanity,  —  the 
manufacture  of  the  principal  nutritive  Kulisfance  directly  from  inorganic  matt<M". 


192  What's  To  Be  Donef 

That  is  an  extremely  important  discovery,  equal  to  Newton's.    Do  you  not  think  so  ?' 

"Certainly.  Only  I  very  much  doubt  the  accui-acy  of  the  experiments.  Sooner 
or  later  we  shall  reach  that  point,  indisputably ;  science  clearly  tends  in  that  direc- 
tion.    But  now  it  is  scarcely  probable  that  we  have  already  got  there." 

"That  is  your  opinion?  Well,  it  is  mine,  too.  So  our  conversation  is  over.  An 
revoir,  Alexander ;  but,  in  taking  leave  of  you,  I  beg  you  to  come  to  see  us  often,  as 
in  the  past.     Au  revoir." 

Kirsanoft's  eyes,  fixed  on  LopoukliofE,  shone  with  indignation. 

"  So,  you  wish,  Dmitry,  to  leave  with  me  the  opinion  that  you  have  of  low 
thoughts?" 

"  Not  at  all.     But  you  ought  to  see  us.     What  is  there  extraordinary  iu  that? 
Are  we  not  friends?    My  invitation  is  a  very  natural  one." 
.     "  I  cannot.     You  began  upon  a  senseless  and  therefore  dangerous  matter." 

"  I  do  not  understand  of  what  aff au-  you  speak,  and  I  must  say  that  this  conver- 
sation pleases  me  no  more  than  it  pleased  you  two  minutes  ago." 

"  I  demand  an  explanation  of  you,  Dmitry." 

"  There  is  nothing  to  explain  or  to  understand.  You  are  getting  angry  for  no- 
thing, and  that  is  all." 

"  No,  I  cannot  let  you  go  away  like  that."  Kirsanoff  seized  Lopoukhoff  by  the 
hand  as  he  was  on  the  point  of  starting.  "  Be  seated.  You  began  to  speak  without 
any  necessity  of  doing  so.  You  demand  of  me  —  I  know  not  what.  You  must  listen 
to  me." 

Lopoukhoff  sat  down. 

"What  right  have  you,"  began  KirsanofE  in  a  voice  still  more  indignant  than  be- 
fore,— "what  right  have  you  to  demand  of  me  that  which  is  painful  to  me?  Am  I 
imder  obligation  to  you  in  anything?  And  what's  the  use?  It  is  an  absurdity. 
Throw  aside  this  nonsense  of  romanticism.  What  we  both  recognize  as  normal  life 
will  prevail  when  society's  ideas  and  customs  shall  be  changed.  Society  must  ac- 
qtdre  new  ideas,  it  is  true.  And  it  is  acquiring  them  with  the  development  of  life. 
That  he  who  has  acquired  them  should  aid  others  is  also  true.  But  imtil  this  rad- 
ical change  has  taken  place,  you  have  no  right  to  engage  the  destiny  of  another.  It 
is  a  terrible  thing.     Do  you  understand?    Or  have  you  gone  mad ? " 

"  No,  I  understand  nothing.  I  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking  about.  It 
pleases  you  to  attriViute  an  uidieard-of  significance  to  the  invitation  of  your  friend 
who  asks  you  not  to  forget  him,  it  being  agreeable  to  him  to  see  you  at  his  house. 
I  do  not  understand  what  reason  you  have  to  get  angi-y." 

"  No,  Dmitry,  you  cannot  throw  me  off  this  conversation  by  trifling.  You  are 
mad;  a  base  idea  has  taken  possession  of  you.  We  utterly  reject  prejudices,  for 
instance.  We  do  not  admit  that  there  is  anything  dishonoring  in  a  hlow perse  (that 
idea  is  a  silly,  harmful  prejudice,  and  nothing  more).  But  have  you  a  right  at  the 
present  moment  to  strike  any  one  a  blow?    That  would  be  rascality  on  your  part; 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband^  and  the  Second  Love.     198 

you  would  take  away  from  such  a  man  the  tranquillity  of  his  life.  How  stupid  you 
are  not  to  understand  that,  if  I  love  this  man  and  you  demand  that  I  shall  strike 
him,  I  hold  you  for  a  base  man  and  will  kill  either  you  or  myself,  but  will  not  strike 
the  blow  ?  Besides  men,  there  are  women  in  the  world,  who  are  also  human  beings ; 
besides  blows,  there  are  other  insults, —  stupidities  according  to  our  theories,  and  in 
reality,  but  which  take  away  from  men  the  tranquillity  of  life.  Do  you  understand 
that  to  submit  any  human  being  whomsoever — let  alone  a  woman — to  one  of  these 
stupidities  now  regarded  as  insults  is  a  despicable  thing?  Yes,  you  have  offensive 
thoughts." 

"  You  tell  the  truth,  my  friend,  touching  things  proper  and  things  offensive ;  only 
I  do  not  know  why  you  speak  of  them,  or  why  you  take  me  to  task  in  the  matter. 
I  have  not  said  a  single  word  to  you ;  I  have  no  designs  upon  the  tranquillity  of  any 
one  whomsoever.  You  construct  chimeras,  that  is  aU.  I  beg  you  not  to  forget  me, 
it  being  agreeable  to  me  to  spend  my  time  with  you, — nothing  more.  Will  you 
comply  with  your  friend's  request?" 

"  It  is  offensive,  and  I  do  not  commit  offences." 

"  Not  to  commit  them  is  laudable.  But  some  whim  or  other  has  irritated  you, 
and  you  launch  out  into  full  theory.  So  be  it;  I  too  would  like  to  theorize,  and 
quite  aimlessly ;  I  am  going  to  ask  you  a  question,  simply  to  throw  light  on  an  ab- 
stract truth,  without  reference  to  any  one  whomsoever.  If  any  one,  without  doing 
anything  disagreeable  to  himself,  can  give  pleasure  to  another,  in  my  opinion  he 
should  do  HO,  because  in  so  doing  he  himself  will  find  pleasure.     Is  not  that  true?" 

"That's  all  liuinbug,  Dmitry;  you  have  no  right  to  say  that." 

"But  I  say  nothing,  Alexander;  I  am  only  dealing  with  theoretical  questions. 
And  here  is  another.  If  any  desire  whatever  is  awakened  in  any  one,  Jo  our  efforts 
to  stifle  this  desire  lead  to  any  good?  Are  you  not  of  a  contrary  opinion,  and  do 
you  not  thiidv  tliat  sui)j)n'ssit)n  sinqily  ovcroxcites  tlii.s  desire,  a  Inntl'ul  thing,  or 
gives  it  a  false  direction,  a  hurtful  and  dangerous  thing,  or  stifles  life  in  stilling  this 
special  desire,  which  is  a  calamity?" 

"That  is  not  the  point,  Dmitry.  I  will  state  lliis  theoretical  question  in  another 
form :  has  any  one  a  right  to  submit,  a  liuman  iM'ing  to  a  risk,  if  this  human  br-ing 
is  in  a  toh'rably  comfortabli!  condition  witiiout  any  need  of  running  a  risi<?  Therc^ 
will  come  a  time,  we  botli  know,  when  all  desires  will  receive  conipkito  satisfaction, 
but  wc  also  know  that  that  time  li.'us  not  yet  arrived.  Now,  the  reasonable  man  is 
content  if  liis  life  is  comfortable,  even  though  such  a  life  should  not  permit  the  de- 
velopment of  all  his  faculties,  the  satisfacl  ion  of  (ill  his  desires.  I  will  suj>pose,  as  an 
abstract  hypothesis,  that  this  reasonable  human  being  exists  and  is  a  woman;  that 
the  situation  in  which  she  finds  it  convenient  to  live  is  the  marriage  state ;  that  she  is 
content  in  this  situation:  and  T  ask,  given  tliese  conditions,  who  has  the  right  to 
submit  this  person  to  the  danger  of  losing  the  life  which  satisfies  her  simply  to  see 
if  she  miglit  not  attain  a  better,  more  complete  life  with  which  she  can  easily  dis- 


194  What's  To  Be  Done? 

peuse.  The  golden  age  ^vill  come,  Dmitry,  as  we  well  know,  but  it  is  yet  to  come. 
The  iron  age  is  almost  gone,  but  the  golden  age  is  not  yet  here.  I  pursue  my  ab- 
stract hj-pothesis:  if  an  intense  desire  on  the  part  of  the  person  in  question  —  sup- 
pose it,  for  instance,  to  be  the  desire  of  love — were  receiving  little  or  no  satisfaction, 
I  should  have  nothing  to  say  against  any  danger  incurred  by  herself,  but  I  still 
protest  against  the  risk  that  another  might  lead  her  to  run.  Now,  if  the  person 
finds  in  her  life  a  partial  satisfaction  of  her  new  desire,  she  ought  not  to  risk  losing 
everj-thing ;  and  if  she  does  not  wish  to  run  this  risk,  I  say  that  he  would  be  acting 
in  a  censurable  and  senseless  manner  who  should  try  to  make  her  run  it.  What 
objection  have  you  to  offer  to  this  hypothetical  deduction?  None.  Admit,  then, 
that  you  are  not  right." 

"  In  your  place,  Alexander,  I  should  have  spoken  as  you  do ;  I  do  not  say  that  you 
are  interested  in  the  matter;  I  know  that  it  scarcely  touches  us;  we  speak  only  as 
savants,  on  an  interesting  subject,  in  accordance  with  general  scientific  ideas  which 
seem  to  us  to  be  just.  According  to  these  ideas,  each  one  judges  evei-ything  from 
his  own  standpoint,  determined  by  his  personal  relations  to  the  thing  in  question;  it 
is  only  in  this  sense  that  I  say  that  in  your  place  I  should  speak  absolutely  as  you 
do.  You  in  my  place  would  speak  absolutely  as  I  do.  From  the  general  scientific 
standpoint,  this  is  an  indisputable  truth.  A  in  B's  place  is  B ;  if,  in  B's  place,  A 
were  not  B,  that  would  mean  that  he  was  not  exactly  in  B's  place.  Am  I  right?  If 
so,  you  have  nothing  to  say  against  that,  just  as  I  have  nothing  to  say  in  answer  to 
your  words.  But,  following  your  example,  I  will  construct  an  abstract  hypothesis, 
likewise  having  no  reference  to  any  one  whomsoever.  Suppose  that,  given  three 
persons,  one  of  them  has  a  secret  which  he  desires  to  hide  from  the  second  and  espe- 
cially from  the  third,  and  that  the  second  discovers  the  secret  of  the  first  and  says  to 
him:  Do  what  I  ask  of  you,  or  I  will  reveal  your  secret  to  the  third.  What  do  you 
think  of  such  a  case?" 

Kirsanoff  turned  a  little  pale,  and,  twisting  his  moustache  obstinately,  said : 

"  Dmitry,  you  are  not  acting  rightly  toward  me." 

"Do  I  need  to  act  rightly  toward  you?  Is  it  you  that  T  am  interested  in?  And, 
moreover,  I  do  not  know  what  you  are  talking  about.  We  have  spoken  of  science; 
we  have  mutually  proposed  to  each  other  various  learned  and  abstract  problems ;  I 
have  succeeded  in  proposing  one  to  you  which  embarrasses  you,  and  my  ambition  as 
a  savant  is  satisfied.  So  I  break  off  this  theoretical  conversation.  I  have  much  to 
do, — no  less  than  you;  so,  au  revoir.  But,  by  the  way,  —  I  forgot,  —  you  will  yield 
to  my  desire,  then,  and  no  longer  disdain  your  good  friends  who  would  be  so  happy 
to  see  you  as  often  as  before." 

Lopoukhoff  rose. 

Kirsanoff  looked  steadily  at  his  fingers,  as  if  each  of  them  were  an  abstract 
hypothesis. 

"You  are  not  acting  rightly  toward  me,  Dmiti-y.     I  cannot  satisfy  your  request. 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.     195 

But,  in  my  turn,  I  impose  one  condition  upon  you.  I  will  visit  you,  but  unless  I  go 
away  from  your  house  alone,  you  must  accompany  me  everj^vhere  without  waiting 
for  me  to  say  a  word.  Do  you  imderstand?  Without  you  I  will  not  take  a  step 
either  to  the  opera  or  anywhere  else." 

"This  condition  is  offensive  to  me.     Must  I  look  upon  you  as  a  robber?" 

"  That  is  not  what  I  meant ;  I  could  not  so  far  outrage  you  as  to  believe  that  you 
could  regard  me  as  a  robber.  I  would  put  my  head  in  your  hands  without  hesita- 
tion. I  hope  that  I  may  expect  equal  confidence  from  you.  But  it  is  for  me  to  know 
what  is  in  my  thought.     As  for  you,  do  as  I  tell  you, —  that  is  all." 

"I  know  all  that  you  have  done  in  this  direction,  and  you  wisli  to  do  still  more; 
in  that  case  you  are  right  to  lay  this  necessity  upon  me.  But,  however  grateful  I 
may  be  to  you,  my  friend,  I  know  that  such  a  course  will  result  in  nothing.  I  too 
tried  to  force  mj'self.  I  have  a  will  as  well  as  j'ou;  my  manneuvrcs  were  no  worse 
than  yours.  But  that  which  is  done  from  calculation,  from  a  sentiment  of  duty,  by 
an  effort  of  the  will  instead  of  by  natural  inclination,  is  destitute  of  life.  One  can 
only  kill  by  such  means.     Life  cannot  result  from  suffocation." 

Lopoukhoff  was  so  moved  by  Kirsanoff's  words,  "It  is  for  me  to  know  what  is  in 
my  thought,"  that  he  said  to  liiin:  "I  thank  you,  my  friend.  We  have  never  em- 
braced each  other;  shall  we  do  so  now?" 


If  Lopoukhoff  had  been  able  to  exaniiuf  liis  course  in  tliis  conversation  as  a  theo- 
rist, he  would  have  remarked  with  pleasure :  "  How  true  the  theory  is,  to  be  sure ! 
Egoism  always  governs  a  man.  That  is  precisely  tlie  main  point,  wliich  T  liave 
hiddf-n.  'Siipposf  that  tliis  person  is  contented  witli  lier  situation,'  —  it  was  there 
that  I  should  have  said :  '  Alexander,  your  supjiosit  ion  is  not  correct ; '  and  yet  T  said 
nothing,  for  it  would  not  have  been  to  my  advantage  to  say  it.  It  is  agreeable  to  a 
man  to  oV)ser\'e  as  a  theorist  what  tricks  hia  egoism  plays  liim  in  practice.  One  re- 
nounces tliat  which  is  lost,  and  egoism  so  shapes  things  that  one  sets  himself  up  as 
a  man  fierfomiing  an  heroic  act." 

If  KirsanofT  had  fxamined  iiis  course  in  this  conversation  as  a  theorist,  he  would 
have  remarked  with  plejisurc  :  "How  true  the  theory  isl  I  desire  In  jncserve  my 
tranfiuillity,  to  rest  on  my  laurels,  and  I  jireaeh  that  one  has  no  right  to  coinpromiso 
a  woman's  tranquillity;  now  that,  you  will  unrlerstnnd,  means:  I  will  act  lieroieally, 
I  will  restrain  Tnysr-lf,  for  the  tranquillity  of  a  certiiin  person  and  my  own.  Bow, 
then,  before  my  greatness  of  soul.  It  is  agreeable  to  a  man  to  observe  as  a  theorist 
what  tricks  his  egoism  plays  him  in  practice.  I  abandoned  this  alTair  that  T  might 
not  be  a  coward,  and  I  gave  myself  up  to  the  joy  of  triumph  as  if  I  had  performed 
an  heroic  and  generous  art.  I  refuse  to  yield  to  the  first,  word  of  invitation  that  I 
may  not  be  again  embarrassed  in  my  conduct  and  that  I  may  not  be  deprived  of  the 
sweet  joy  which  my  noble  way  of  acting  causes  me,  and  egoism  so  arranges  things 
that  I  have  the  air  of  a  man  who  persists  in  a  course  of  noble  heroism." 


196  What's  To  Be  Done? 

But  noithor  LopoulchofT  nor  Kirsanoff  had  time  to  take  a  theoretical  standpoint 
for  the  purpose  of  making  tliese  agreeable  observations :  for  botli  of  them  practice 
was  very  difficult. 

XXIIT. 

The  temporary  al)sence  of  Kirsanoff  esplamed  itself  very  naturally.  For  five 
months  he  had  sadly  neglected  his  duties  and  consequently  had  had  to  apply  him- 
self to  his  work  assiduously  for  nearly  six  weeks ;  now  he  had  caught  up  and  could 
therefore  dispose  more  freely  of  his  time.  This  was  so  clear  that  any  explanation 
was  almost  useless.  It  was,  in  fact,  so  plausible  that  no  doubt  on  the  subject  sug- 
gested itself  to  Vera  Pavlo\nia. 

Kirsanoff  sustained  his  role  in  the  same  artistic,  irreproachable  manner  as  before. 
He  feared  that  his  tact  might  fail  him  on  his  first  visit  to  the  Lopoukhoffs  after  the 
scientific  conversation  with  his  friend;  he  feared  lest  he  should  blush  with  emotion 
on  takmg  his  first  look  at  Vera  Pavlo\aia,  or  should  make  it  too  plain  that  he  avoided 
looking  at  her,  or  should  make  some  similar  mistake ;  but  no,  he  was  contented  with 
himself  and  had  a  right  to  be ;  the  first  meeting  passed  off  very  well.  The  agree- 
able and  friendly  smile  of  a  man  happy  to  see  his  old  friends  again,  from  whom  he 
had  had  to  tear  himself  away  for  a  time ;  the  calm  look,  the  vivacious  and  careless 
language  of  a  man  who  has  at  the  bottom  of  his  soul  no  other  thoughts  than  those 
which  he  expresses  so  lightly, — the  shrewdest  gossip  might  have  looked  at  him  with 
the  greatest  desire  to  discover  something  suspicious  and  seen  only  a  man  happy  at 
being  able  to  pass  an  evening  in  the  society  of  his  friends. 

The  first  test  met  so  successfully,  was  it  difficult  to  maintain  his  self-possession 
during  the  rest  of  the  evening?  And  everything  going  so  well  on  the  first  evening, 
was  it  difficult  to  produce  the  same  result  on  the  subsequent  evenings?  Not  a  word 
which  was  not  free  and  easy,  not  a  look  wliicli  was  not  simple  and  good,  sincere  and 
friendly, — that  was  all. 

But  though  Kirsanoff  conducted  himself  as  well  as  before,  the  eyes  that  looked  at 
him  were  ready,  on  the  contrary,  to  notice  many  things  that  other  eyes,  no  matter 
whose,  would  have  been  imable  to  see.  Lopoukhoff  himself,  in  whom  Maria  Alex- 
evna  had  discerned  a  man  born  for  the  management  of  the  liquor  jjusiness,  was  as'- 
tonLshed  at  the  ease  of  Kirsanoff,  who  did  not  betray  himself  for  a  second,  and  as  a 
theorist  he  took  great  pleasure  in  his  observations,  in  which  he  was  unconsciously 
interested  on  account  of  their  psychological  and  scientific  bearings. 

But  cot  for  nothing  had  the  apparition  sung  and  compelled  the  reading  of  the 
diary.  Certain  eyes  were  very  clear-sighted  when  the  apparition  of  the  dream  spoke 
in  the  ear  of  a  certain  person.  These  eyes  themselves  could  see  nothing,  but  the 
apparition  said:  "Watch  closely,  although  you  cannot  see  what  I  see;"  and  the 
aforesaid  eyes  examined,  and,  although  they  saw  nothing,  it  was  enough  for  them 
to  examine  in  order  to  notice.     For  instance,  Vera  Pavlovna  goes  with  her  husband 


Life  of  Vera  loith  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.     197 

and  Kii-sanoff  to  an  evening  party  at  the  INIertzaloffs'.  Why  does  not  Kirsanoff 
waltz  at  this  little  party  of  intimate  friends,  Avliere  Lopoukhoff  himself  waltzes,  it 
being  the  general  rule :  a  scptviagenarian  happening  to  find  himself  there  would  have 
committed  the  same  follies  as  the  rest;  no  one  looks  at  you,  each  has  one  and  the 
same  thought  of  the  steadily  increasmg  noise  and  movement, — that  is,  the  more  joy 
for  each,  the  more  for  all ;  why,  then,  does  Kirsanoff  not  waltz  ?  Finally  he  throws 
hunself  into  it,  but  why  does  he  hesitate  a  few  minutes  before  beginning  ?  Is  it 
worth  while  to  expend  so  much  reflection  on  the  question  whether  or  no  he  shall 
begin  an  affair  so  serious?  Not  to  waltz  was  to  half  betray  his  secret.  To  waltz, 
but  not  with  Vera  Pavlovna,  was  to  betray  it  quite.  But  he  was  a  very  skiKul  artist 
in  his  rule;  he  would  have  preferred  not  to  waltz  with  Vera  Pavlovna,  but  he  saw 
at  once  that  that  would  be  noticed.  Hence  his  hesitation.  All  this,  in  spite  of  the 
whisperings  of  the  apparition,  would  not  have  been  noticed  if  this  same  apparition 
had  not  begun  to  ask  a  multitude  of  other  questions  quite  as  insignificant.  Whj^ 
for  instance,  when,  on  returning  from  the  Mertzaloffs',  they  had  agreed  to  go  to  the 
opera  the  following  evening  to  see  "II  Puritani,"  and  when  Vera  Pavlovna  had  said 
to  her  husband:  "You  do  not  like  this  opera;  it  will  tire  you;  I  will  go  with  Alex- 
ander Matveitcli ;  every  opera  pleases  hun ;  were  you  or  I  to  write  an  opera,  he  would 
listen  to  it  just  the  same,"  why  did  not  Kirsanoff  sustain  the  opinion  of  Vera  Pav- 
lovna? AVhy  did  he  not  say:  "That's  so,  Dmitry;  I  will  get  no  ticket  for  you"? 
Why  was  this?  That  l»er  darling  should  go  in  spite  of  all  was  not  strange,  for  he 
accompanied  his  wife  everywhere.  Suice  the  time  when  she  had  said  to  him :  "  Devote 
more  time  to  mo,"  he  had  never  forgotten  it,  and  Ihat  could  mean  but  one  thing, — 
tliat  he  was  good  and  shoiiltl  be  loved.  But  Kirsanoff  knew  nothing  of  this;  why, 
then,  did  he  not  sustain  the  opinion  of  Vdra  Pavlovna?  To  be  sure,  these  were  in- 
significant tilings  scarcely  noticed  by  Vdra  Pavlovna  and  which  she  seldom  remem- 
bered beyond  the  moment,  but  tlwise  imperceptible  grains  of  sand  fell  and  fell 
continually. 

Here,  for  instance,  is  a  conversation  which  is  not  a  grain  of  sand,  but  a  little 
peV>I)le. 

The  following  evening,  wliile  going  to  tlni  njiera  in  a  single,  cab  (for  economy's 
sake),  they  talked  of  IIk;  JSbrrtzalolTs,  praised  their  harmonious  life,  and  remarked 
upon  its  rarity:  so  said  they  all,  Kirsanoff  for  his  part  adding:  "Yes,  and  a  very 
good  thing  too  about  iVIertzalolT  is  that  liis  wife  can  freely  opiii  In  r  heart  to  him." 
That  was  all  that  Kirsanoff  sai<l.  Kacii  of  the  tliree  might  have  said  tlu!  same  thing, 
but  Kirsanoff  happened  to  be  the  one  to  say  it.  But  why  did  he  say  it?  What  did 
it  mean?  Looked  at  from  a  certain  point  of  view,  it  might  be  a  eulogy  of  Lopouk- 
hoff, a  glorification  of  Vdra  Pavlovna's  happiness  with  him ;  it  might  also  have  been 
said  with  no  thought  of  anyone  but  the  Mertzaloffs;  l)ut  supposing  him  to  have 
been  thinking  of  the  Mf-rtzaloffs  and  the  Lo])oukhoffs,  it  was  evident  that  it  was 
said  expressly  for  Vera  Pavlovna.     With  what  object? 


198  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

So  it  always  is :  whoever  sets  himself  to  look  in  a  certain  direction  always  finds 
what  lie  is  looking  for.  Where  another  would  see  nothing,  he  very  clearly  distin- 
guishes a  trace.  Where  another  does  not  see  a  shadow,  he  sees  the  shadow  and 
even  the  object  which  throws  it,  whose  features  become  more  distinct  with  each  new 
look,  with  each  new  thought. 

Now,  in  this  case  there  was,  besides,  a  very  palpable  fact,  in  which  lay  hidden 
the  entu-e  solution  of  the  enigma:  it  was  evident  that  KirsanoJf  esteemed  the  Lo- 
poukhoffs;  why,  then,  had  he  avoided  them  for  more  than  two  years? 

It  was  evident  that  he  was  an  honest  and  intelligent  man ;  how  could  he  have 
shown  himself  so  stupid  and  commonplace?  As  long  as  Vera  Pavlo\nia  had  no  need 
to  think  this  over,  she  had  not  done  so,  any  more  than  Lopoidihoff  had  a^.  that  time, 
but  now  her  thoughts  took  this  du-ection  im consciously. 

XXIV. 

Slowly  and  imperceptibly  to  herself  this  discoveiy  ripened  within  her.  Produced 
by  Kirsanoff's  words  or  acts,  even  insignificant  impressions  which  no  one  else  would 
have  felt  accumulated  within  her,  without  any  ability  on  her  part,  on  such  trifles 
did  they  rest,  to  analyze  them.  She  supposed,  suspected,  and  gradually  became  in- 
terested in  the  question  why  he  had  avoided  her  for  nearly  three  years. 

She  became  more  and  more  firndy  established  in  this  idea :  such  a  man  would 
not  have  taken  himself  away  out  of  paltry  ambition,  for  he  has  no  ambition.  All 
these  things  chased  each  other  in  confusion  through  her  head,  and  to  add  to  the 
confusion  there  came  into  her  consciousness  from  the  silent  depths  of  life  this 
thought:  "What  am  I  to  him?    What  is  he  to  me?" 

One  day  after  dinner  Vera  Pavlovna  was  sitting  in  her  chamber  sewing  and 
thinking,  very  tranquilly,  not  at  first  of  this,  but  of  all  sorts  of  things,  in  the  house, 
at  the  shop,  about  her  lessons,  when  very  (]uietly,  very  quietly  these  thoughts  directed 
themselves  towards  the  subject  which  for  some  unknown  reason  occupied  them  more 
and  more.  Memories,  questions  arose  slowly ;  not  very  niunerous  at  first,  they  then 
increased,  multiplied,  and  swarmed  })y  thousands  through  her  head;  they  grew 
thicker  and  thicker,  and  gradually  merged  themselves  in  a  single  question  taking 
more  and  more  definite  shape.  "  What  is  the  matter  with  me?  Of  what  am  I  tliink- 
ing?  What  is  it  that  I  feel?"  And  Vera  Pavlovna's  fingers  forgot  to  stitch,  and 
her  sewing  fell  from  her  hands,  and  she  gi-ew  a  little  pale,  then  blushed,  turned  pale 
again,  and  then  her  cheeks  inflamed  and  passed  in  a  twinkling  of  an  eye  from  a 
fiery  redness  to  a  snowy  whiteness.  With  almost  haggard  eyes  she  ran  into  her 
husband's  room,  threw  herself  upon  his  knees,  embraced  him  con\Tilsively,  and  laid 
her  head  upon  his  shoulder  that  he  might  sustain  it  and  hide  her  face. 

"My  dear  friend,  I  love  you,"  said  she  in  a  stifled  voice,  bursting  into  tears. 

"Well,  my  dear  friend?    Is  there  any  reason  in  that  for  so  much  grief?" 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.     199 

"I  do  not  want  to  offend  you;  it  is  you  I  ^Yish  to  love." 

"You  will  try,  you  will  see.  If  you  can.  In  the  meantime,  be  calm;  time  will 
tell  what  you  can  and  what  you  cannot  do.  You  have  a  great  affection  for  me ; 
then  how  could  you  offend  me  ?  " 

He  caressed  her  hair,  kissed  her  head,  pressed  her  hand.  She  sobbed  a  long  time, 
but  gradually  grew  calm.  As  for  him,  he  had  been  prepared  for  a  long  time  to  hear 
this  confession,  and  consequently  he  received  it  imperturbably ;  moreover,  she  did 
not  see  his  face. 

"I  will  see  him  no  more;  I  will  tell  him  that  he  must  stop  visiting  us,"  said  Vera 
Pavlovna. 

"Think  it  over  yourself,  my  dear  friend;  you  shall  do  what  seems  best  to  you. 
And  when  you  are  cahn,  we  will  talk  it  over  together." 

"Whatever  happens,  we  cannot  fail  to  be  friends.  Give  me  your  hand;  clasp 
mine ;  see  how  warmly  you  press  it." 

Each  of  those  words  was  said  after  a  long  interval,  —  intervals  which  he  spent  in 
lavishing  upon  her  the  caresses  of  a  brother  for  a  grieved  sister. 

"Remember,  my  friend,  what  you  said  to  me  on  the  day  of  our  betrothal:  'You 
give  me  liberty.'  " 

Silence  and  new  caresses. 

"How  did  we  define  love  the  first  time  that  we  spoke  of  it?  To  rejoice  in  what- 
ever is  good  for  the  loved  one ;  to  take  pleasure  in  doing  everythmg  necessary  to 
make  the  loved  one  haiipier,  —  was  that  not  what  we  said?" 

Silence  and  new  caresses. 

"Wliatcver  is  best  for  you  rejoices  me.  Seek  this  best.  Why  be  sorrowful?  If 
no  misfortune  lias  come  to  you,  wliat  misfortune  can  have  come  to  me?" 

The.sc  words,  often  repeated  after  ind-rruptions  and  each  time  with  sliglit  varia- 
tions, took  up  consid(!rablu  time,  wliich  was  alike  painful  to  Lopoukhoif  and  to 
Vera  ravhn'na.  JJut  on  becoming  calmer  Vera  I'avlovna  liegaii  at  last  (o  breathe 
more  easily.  She  embraced  her  hnsbaiul  willi  warmlh,  and  uilli  warnidi  kept  on 
rejx;atiiig  to  iiim:  "It  is  you  I  wish  to  love,  you  alone;  I  wish  to  love  only  you." 

He  did  not  tell  her  tliat  she  was  no  longer  mistress  of  hcirsi'lf  in  that  matter:  it 
was  necessary  to  let  tlie  time  slip  by  in  order  that  her  strength  might  bo  reestab- 
lished by  the  ([uicting  influence  of  some  thought  or  other,  no  matter  what.  But 
LopoukliolT  seized  a  favorable  moment  to  write  and  place  in  Macha'a  hands  a  note 
for  Kirsanoff,  wliich  n-ad  as  follows.  "  Alexander,  do  not  come  in  now,  and  do 
not  visit  us  for  some  time;  there  is  nothing  the  matter  and  there  will  be  nothing 
in  particular  the  matter ;  only  rest  is  necessary."  Ilest  necessary,  and  nothing  in 
particular  the  matter,  —  a  fine  conjunction  of  word.sI  Kirsanoff  came,  read  the 
note,  and  told  Madia  that  hr;  had  come  on  pur]>ose  to  get  the  note,  but  had  not 
time  to  come  in  now,  as  he  had  some  distance  yet  to  go,  and  would  stop  to  reply 
on  his  way  back. 


200  What's  To  Be  Done? 

The  evening  passed  quietly,  at  least  quietly  to  all  appearance.  Half  the  time 
Vera  Pavlovna  roniainod  alone  in  her  cliamher  after  having  sent  her  hushand 
away,  and  half  the  time  he  was  seated  near  her,  (luieting  her  continually  by  a  few 
kind  words,  and  not  so  much  by  words  either,  but  by  his  gentle  and  soothing 
voice;  not  gay,  of  course,  but  not  sad  on  the  other  hand,  —  simply  a  little  melan- 
choly like  his  face.  Vera  Pavlovna,  hearing  this  voice  and  looking  at  this  face, 
began  gradually  tx)  think  that  the  matter  was  of  no  significance,  and  that  she  had 
mistaken  for  a  strong  passion  a  dream  which  would  not  be  slow  in  vanishing. 

Her  feeling  told  her  that  this  was  not  the  case. 

Yes,  it  is  the  case,  thought  she  with  greater  firmness,  and  the  thought  prevailed. 
How  could  it  have  been  otherwise  within  the  hearing  of  this  gentle  voice  which 
said  that  the  matter  was  of  no  significance? 

Vera  Pavlovna  went  to  sleep  to  the  soft  whisperings  of  this  voice,  did  not  see  the 
apparition,  slept  quietly,  and  woke  late  and  thoroughly  rested. 

• 

XXV. 

"  The  best  relief  from  sad  thoughts  is  to  be  found  in  labor,"  thought  Vera  Pav- 
lovna (and  she  was  quite  right);  "I  will  stay  in  the  shop  from  morning  till  night 
until  I  am  cured.     That  will  cure  me." 

And  so  she  did.  The  first  day  she  really  found  considerable  to  divert  her 
thoughts;  the  second  resulted  in  fatigue  without  much  diversion;  on  the  third  she 
found  no  diversion  at  all.     Thus  passed  a  week. 

The  struggle  was  a  painful  one.  Vera  Pavlovna  grew  pale.  But  outwardly  she 
was  quite  calm ;  she  even  tried  to  seem  gay,  and  in  this  she  almost  always  suc- 
ceeded; but,  though  no  one  noticed  anything  and  though  the  paleness  was  attri- 
buted to  a  slight  indisposition,  Lopoukhoff  was  not  at  all  deceived ;  he  did  not 
even  need  to  look  at  her;  he  knew  the  whole  without. 

"VcTotchka,"  said  he  a  week  afterwards,  "in  our  life  we  are  realizing  the  old 
and  popular  belief  that  the  shoemaker  always  goes  barefooted  and  that  the  tailor's 
clothes  never  fit  him.  We  are  teaching  others  to  live  according  to  our  economic 
principles,  and  we  scarcely  dream  of  governing  our  own  life  in  accordance  with 
these  same  principles.  One  large  household  is  much  more  advantageous  than 
several  small  ones.  I  should  like  very  much  to  apply  this  rule  to  our  home.  If 
we  associate  some  one  with  us,  we  can  save  a  great  deal;  I  could  al^andon  these 
cursed  lessons,  which  are  repugnant  to  me;  my  salary  at  the  commercial  house 
would  be  enough,  and,  having  less  work  to  do,  I  could  resume  my  studies  and 
make  a  career  for  myself.  It  is  only  necessary  to  select  persons  with  whom  we 
can  agree.     What  do  you  think  about  it?" 

All  this  time  Vdra  Pavlovna  had  been  looking  at  her  hasband  with  as  much 
distrust  and  indignation  as  Kirsanoff  had  shown  on  the  day  of  the  theoretical 
conversation.    When  he  had  finished,  she  was  red  with  anger. 


L\fe,  of  Vera  with  her  Ilushand,  and  the  Second  Love.     201 

"I  beg  you,"  said  she,  "to  suspend  this  conversation.     It  is  out  of  place." 

"Why  is  it  out  of  place,  Verotchka?  I  speak  only  of  pecuniary  interests  ;  poor 
people  like  ourselves  cannot  neglect  them.  My  work  is  hard  and  some  of  it 
disagreeable." 

"I  am  not  to  be  talked  to  thus."  Vera  Pavlovna  rose.  "I  will  permit  no  one 
to  approach  me  with  equivocations.     Explaui  what  you  mean,  if  you  dare." 

"I  mean,  Verotchka,  that,  having  taken  our  interests  into  consideration,  we 
could  profit "... 

"  Again !  Be  silent !  Who  gave  you  the  right  to  set  yourself  up  as  my  guardian? 
I  shall  begin  to  hate  you ! "     She  ran  hurriedly  to  her  room  and  shut  herself  up. 

It  was  their  first  and  last  quarrel. 

Vera  Pavlovna  remained  shut  up  in  her  room  until  late  in  the  evening.  Then 
she  went  to  her  husband's  room : 

"]My  dear  friend,  I  spoke  too  severely  to  you.  But  do  not  be  offended.  You 
see,  I  am  struggling.  Instead  of  sustaining  me  you  ]Mit  within  my  reach  that 
which  I  am  pushing  away  with  the  hope, — yes,  with  the  hope  of  triumph." 

"Forgive  mo,  my  friend,  for  having  approached  the  question  so  rudely.  Are 
we,  then,  reconciled?     Let  us  talk  a  little." 

"Oh,  yes,  we  are  reconciled,  my  friend,  (^)nly  do  not  work  against  me.  I  have 
already  enough  to  do  to  struggle  against  myself." 

"And  it  is  in  vain,  Verotchka.  You  have  taken  iimo  to  examine  your  feeling, 
and  you  see  that  it  is  more  serious  than  you  were  willing  to  believe  at  first.  What 
is  the  use  of  tormenting  yourself?" 

"  No,  my  friend,  it  is  you  wliom  I  wish  to  love,  and  I  do  not  wish,  I  do  not  wish 
in  any  way  to  offtmd  you." 

"My  fri(Mid,  yf)U  wish  me  well.  Do  you  think,  tlicn,  MiaL  I  find  it  agreeable  or 
UBcful  that  you  sliouM  continue  to  torment  yourself?" 

"jNIy  dear  friend,  but  you  love  me  so  much!" 

"Much,  Verolfjika,  Imt  what  is  love?  Docs  it  not  consist  in  tliis,  —  to  rejoice  in 
the  joy  and  suffer  in  the  su(T. •riu'^'^  of  the  person  loved?  In  tormenting  yourself  you 
will  torment  me  also." 

"That  is  true,  my  dear  friend,  but  yon  will  suffer  also  if  I  yield  Id  (his  sentiment, 

which All!  I  do  not  understand  why  tliis  feeling  \v:is  born  in  nit;!     A 

curse  upon  it." 

"  How  and  why  it  was  born,  it  makes  no  difference;  nothing  ran  be  changed  now. 
There  is  nothing  left  but  to  choose  one  of  these  two  tilings, — either  that  you  suffer 
and  myself  with  you,  or  that  you  coaso  to  suffer  and  myself  likewise." 

"But,  my  dear  friend,  I  shall  not  suffer;  this  will  pass  away.  You  will  see  that 
it  will  pass  away." 

"  I  thank  you  for  your  efforts.  I  appreciate  them  because  they  show  that  you 
have  the  will  to  do  what  you  deem  necessary.     But  know  this,  Verotchka:  Ihe^* 


202  What's  To  Be  Done? 

seem  necessary  only  to  you,  not  to  me.  As  a  looker-on  I  see  your  situation  more 
clearly  than  you  do.  I  know  that  this  will  be  useless.  You  may  struggle  while 
you  have  strength ;  but  do  not  think  of  me,  do  not  fear  to  offend  me.  You  know 
my  way  of  looking  at  these  things ;  you  know  that  my  opinion  is  fixed  and 
really  judicious;  you  know  all  that.  Do  you  expect  to  deceive  me?  Will  you 
cease  to  esteem  me?  I  might  ask  further:  will  your  good  feelings  towards  me,  in 
clianging  their  character,  grow  weaker?  Will  they  not,  on  the  contrary,  be 
strengthened  by  this  fact,  —  that  you  have  not  found  an  enemy  in  me?  Do  not 
pity  me:  my  fate  will  be  iu  no  way  deserving  of  pity  because,  thanks  to  me,  you 
have  not  been  deprived  of  happiness.  But  enough.  It  is  painful  to  talk  too  long 
about  these  things,  and  still  more  so  for  you  to  listen  to  them.  Adieu,  Vcrotchka.  .^ 
Go  to  yom-  room,  reflect,  or,  rather,  sleep.  Do  not  think  of  me,  but  think  of  your- 
self.  Only  by  thinking  of  yom-self  can  you  prevent  me  from  feeling  useless 
sorrows." 

XXVL 

Two  weeks  later,  while  Lopoukhoff  was  busy  with  his  factory  accounts.  Vera 
Pavlovua  spent  the  morning  in  a  state  of  extreme  agitation.  She  threw  herself 
uix»n  her  bed,  hid  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  a  quarter  of  an  hour  afterwards  rose 
abruptly,  walked  up  and  down  her  room,  fell  into  an  armchair,  began  again  to  walk 
with  an  unsteady  and-jerky  movement,  threw  herself  again  upon  her  bed,  and  then 
resumed  her  walk.  Several  times  she  approached  her  writh)g  table,  remained  there 
a  few  moments,  and  went  away  rapidly.  At  last  she  sat  down,  wrote  a  few  words, 
and  sealed  them;  but  lialf  an  hour  afterwards  she  took  the  letter,  tore  it  up,  and 
burned  the  pieces.  And  her  agitation  began  again.  She  wrote  another  letter, 
which  she  tore  up  and  burned  in  turn.  Finally,  after  renewed  agitation,  she  wrote 
for  the  third  time,  and  iireci[>itately,  as  soon  as  she  had  sealed  it  and  without  taking 
time  to  address  it,  ran  into  her  husband's  room,  threw  the  letter  on  the  table,  fled 
into  her  room,  and  fell  into  an  armchair,  where  she  remained  without  stining  and 
hiding  her  face  in  her  hands  for  half  an  hour,  or  perhaps  an  hour.  A  ring !  It  is 
he!  She  runs  into  his  room  to  get  the  letter,  tear  it  uj),  and  burn  it, — but  where 
is  it?  It  is  not  there.  She  looks  for  it  hastily.  But  where  is  it,  then?  Already 
Wacba  is  opening  the  door.  Lopoukhoff,  on  entering,  sees  Vera  Bavlovna  gliding, 
with  pale  face  and  disordered  hair,  from  lier  husband's  room  to  her  own.  lie 
does  not  follow  her,  but  enters  his  room  directly.  Coolly  and  slowly  he  examines 
his  table  and  the  thmgs  around  it.  To  tell  the  tnith,  he  has  been  expecting  for 
some  days  an  explanation  by  conversation  or  by  letter.  At  last  here  is  a  letter,  un- 
addressed,  but  bearing  Ydra  Pavlo\Tia'8  seal.  It  is  evident  that  she  was  looking 
for  it  to  destroy  it;  she  could  not  have  come  in  that  condition  to  bring  it;  she  was 
looking  for  it  to  destroy  it;  his  papers  are  all  in  disorder;  but  could  the  poor  wo- 


Life,  of  Vera  icith  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.     203 

man  have  found  it  in  her  present  state  of  agitation  and  mental  distm-bance?  She 
has  thi-own  it  as  one  would  throw  a  piece  of  coal  which  bui-ned  his  fingers,  and  the 
letter  has  fallen  on  the  casement  behind  the  table.  It  is  almost  useless  to  read  it : 
the  contents  are  kno^\'n.     Let  us  read  it  nevertheless. 

"My  dear  friend,  I  was  never  so  strongly  attached  to  you  as  at  this  moment.  If 
I  could  only  die  for  you!  Oh!  how  happy  I  should  be  to  die  if  it  would  make  you 
happy !  But  I  cannot  live  without  him.  I  offend  you,  I  kill  you,  my  dear  friend, 
and  I  do  not  wish  to.     I  act  in  spite  of  myself.     Forgive  me !     Forgive  me ! " 

For  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour  Lopoukhoff  remained  before  his  table,  his 
eyes  lowered  and  fixed.  Although  the  blow  was  expected,  it  was  none  the  less  ter- 
rible; although  everything  necessary  to  be  done  after  such  a  confession  had  been 
reflected  upon  and  decided  in  advance,  he  was  at  first  very  much  agitated  internally. 
At  last  he  collected  himself,  and  went  to  the  kitchen  to  speak  to  INIacha: 

"Macha,  wait  a  little,  please,  before  setting  the  table.  I  feel  a  little  indisposed, 
and  I  am  gomg  to  take  some  medicine  before  dinner.  As  for  you,  do  not  wait  for 
us;  eat,  and  take  your  time.     When  I  am  ready  to  sit  down  to  dinner,  I  will  tell 

you." 

From  the  kitchen  he  went  to  his  wife's  room.  She  was  lying  down  with  her  face 
hid  in  the  pillows;  on  his  entrance  she  trembled. 

"  You  liave  found  it,  you  have  read  it!  IIow  mad  I  am!  What  T  liavo  written  is 
not  true;  this  letter  is  the  result  of  a  moment  of  fever  and  delirium." 

"Certainly,  my  friend.  There  is  no  need  of  paying  any  attention  to  this  letter, 
since  you  liave  written  it  in  so  agitated  a  mood.  Things  of  tliis  importance  cannot 
Tk;  dcciiiccl  ill  .such  a  fasliion.  We  have  still  nuich  time  to  think  the  matter  over, 
and  to  talk  al)out  it  calmly  several  times,  considering  its  importance  to  us.  ^lean- 
while  I  wish  to  talk  to  you  of  my  business.  I  have  succeeded  in  making  several 
changes  which  are  very  satisfactory  to  me.     Are  you  listening  to  me?" 

It  is  iicfdlcss  to  say  that  she  did  not  know  herself  whether  she  was  listenuig  or 
not.  Sh»!  could  only  have  said  that,  listfning  or  not,  she  heard  somftliing,  but  that, 
her  thouglits  ln-ing  clsewliere,  she  did  not  really  understand  what  sln'  heard.  Lo 
pouklif»ff,  liowever,  ])ecame  more  and  more  explicit,  and  slie  ])egan  In  ]ierceive  that 
something  else  was  in  (jufistion,  something  having  no  relation  to  the  listter.  Gra- 
dually she  began  to  listen,  feeling  herself  coinpellr-d  to  do  so.  It  was  her  desire, 
moreover,  to  think  of  soinetiiing  other  than  the  letter,  and,  all  hough  she  had  nnt  at 
first  comprehended,  she  nevertheless  had  l)een  gradually  soothed  by  hrr  husband's 
dispassionate  and  almost  jovial  tone.  At  last  she  really  comprehended  what  he 
was  saying. 

"lUit  listen,  then;  these  arc  very  important  matters  to  me,"  con(iiiui(l  the  hus- 
band; yes,  much-desired  changes,  which  he  described  in  all  their  details.  It  is  true 
that  she  knew  three-fourths  of  these  things;  she  even  knew  them  all ;  but  what  differ- 
ence did  it  make?  it  was  so  good  to  listen.     Lopoukhoff  complained  again  of  the 


204  WInit's  To  Be  Done? 

lessons  •which  for  a  long  time  had  been  disagreeable  to  him ;  he  told  why,  and  named 
the  families  to  which  he  felt  the  greatest  aversion.  He  added  that  liis  work  of 
keeping  the  factory  books  was  not  unpleasant.  It  was  important  and  permitted 
him  to  exert  an  influence  over  the  workmen  in  the  factory,  with  whom  he  might 
succeed  iu  doing  something :  he  had  given  elementary  instruction  to  a  few  ardent 
friends,  and  shown  them  the  necessity  of  teaching  reading  and  writing;  he  had 
succeeded  in  obtaining  for  these  teachers  payment  from  the  owners  of  the  factory, 
having  been  able  to  show  the  latter  that  educated  workmen  injured  the  machinery 
less,  worked  better,  and  got  drunk  less  frequently:  he  told  how  he  had  snatched 
workmen  from  lives  of  drunkenness,  with  which  object  he  often  frequented  their 
taverns,  —  and  I  know  not  what  besides.  But  the  most  important  thing  was  that 
his  employers  esteemed  liim  as  an  active  and  skilful  man,  who  had  gradually  taken 
the  affairs  of  the  house  into  his  own  hands,  so  that  the  conclusion  of  the  story,  and 
the  part  that  Lopoukhoff  had  most  at  heart,  was  this :  he  had  been  given  the  posi- 
tion of  assistant  superintendent  of  the  factory;  the  superintendent,  a  member  of 
the  firm,  was  to  have  only  the  title  and  the  usual  salary,  and  he  was  to  be  the  real 
superintendent ;  it  was  only  on  this  condition  that  the  member  of  the  firm  had 
accepted  the  position  of  supermtendent. 

"I  cannot  accept  it,"  the  latter  had  said;  "it  would  not  become  me." 

"But  you  need  only  accept  the  title  so  that  it  may  be  attributed  to  a  man  of 
standing ;  you  need  not  take  a  hand  in  anything ;  I  will  do  all." 

"  In  that  case  I  can  accept." 

But  it  was  not  the  power  conferred  that  concerned  Lopoukhoff;  the  essential 
thing  with  him  was  that  he  would  receive  a  salary  of  thirty-five  hundred  roubles, 
ahnost  a  thousand  roubles  more  than  before,  thus  enabling  him  to  abandon  all  his 
other  employments,  much  to  his  delight.  This  story  lasted  more  than  half  an  liour, 
and  towards  the  end  Vera  Pavlovna  was  already  able  to  say  that  she  really  felt  very 
well  and,  after  arranging  her  hair,  would  go  to  dinner. 

After  dinner  Macha  was  given  eighty  kopecks  to  get  a  cab  with  which  to  carry 
in  all  directions  a  note  from  Lopoukhoff,  saying:  "I  am  at  leisure,  gentlemen,  and 
shall  be  very  glad  to  see  you."  Shortly  after  appeared  the  horrible  llakhmetoff, 
followed  soon  by  a  number  of  young  people,  and  a  learned  discussion  began  between 
these  confident  and  obstinate  debaters.  They  accused  each  otlier  of  all  imaginable 
violations  of  logic ;  a  few  traitors  to  this  elevated  discussion  aided  Vera  Pavlovna 
to  pass  a  tolerable  evening.  Already  she  had  divined  the  object  of  Macha's  errands ; 
"how  good  he  is  I"  thought  she.  This  time  Vera  Pavlovna  was  glad  to  see  her 
young  friends,  and,  though  entering  into  no  frolics  with  them,  she  looked  at  them 
with  joy,  and  was  ready  to  cover  Rakhmetoff  himself  with  kisses. 

They  did  not  separate  tiU  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.  Vera  Pavlovna,  tired, 
was  no  sooner  in  bed  than  her  husband  entered. 

"In  speaking  to  you  of  the  factory,  I  forgot,  my  dear  Vdrotchka,  to  say  one  thing, 


Life,  of  Vera  with  her  Ilushand,  and  the  Secojid  Love.     205 

which,  however,  is  not  of  great  importance.  Passing  over  the  details, — for  we  are 
both  in  need  of  sleep, — I  will  tell  you  in  two  words.  In  accepting  the  j)lace  of  as- 
sistant superintendent,  I  have  reserved  the  privilege  of  taking  a  month,  or  even  two 
if  I  like,  before  entering  upon  my  duties.  I  wish  to  make  good  use  of  this  time. 
It  is  five  years  since  I  went  to  see  my  parents  at  Riazan ;  hence  I  will  go  to  embrace 
them.  Till  tomorrow,  Verotchka.  Do  not  disturb  yourself.  Tomorrow  you  will 
have  time.     Sleep  well." 

XXYIL 

When  the  morrow  came  and  Vera  Pavlovna  left  her  room,  her  husband  and 
Macha  were  filling  two  valises  with  his  things.  INIacha  was  very  busy.  Lopoukhoff 
had  given  her  so  many  things  to  pack  that  she  could  not  manage  them. 

"Help  us,  Verotchka." 

All  three  drank  their  tea  together  while  the  packing  was  going  on.  Scarcely 
had  Vdra  Pavlo^^la  begun  to  come  to  herself  when  her  husband  said : 

"  Half  past  ten !     It  is  time  to  go  to  the  station." 

"  I  am  going  with  you,  my  dear  friend." 

"Dear  Verotchka,  I  shall  have  two  valises;  there  will  be  no  room  for  you.  Sit 
with  Macha  in  another  cab." 

"  That  is  not  what  I  said.     To  Riazan." 

"Well,  in  that  case  ISIacha  shall  take  the  valises,  and  wc  will  go  together." 

In  tlie  street  the  conversation  could  not  bo  very  intimate,  the  noise  of  the  pave- 
ments was  so  deafening! 

Many  things  Lopoukhoff  did  not  hear;  to  many  others  he  replied  in  such  a  way 
as  not  to  be  heard  himself,  or  else  did  not  reply  at  all. 

"I  am  going  with  you  to  Riazan,"  repeated  Vera  Pavlovna. 

"And  your  tilings?  Ifow  can  you  go  without  your  tilings?  Get  ready,  if  you 
wish  to:  you  shall  do  as  you  think  best.  I  will  ask  only  this  of  you:  wait  for  my 
letter.    It  sliall  reach  you  tomorrow;  I  will  send  it  by  some  one  coming  this  way." 

How  she  kissed  him  at  the  station  I  Wliat  names  she  called  him  when  he  was 
boanling  the  train!  Rut  ho  did  not  Ktoji  talking  of  the  factory  alTairs,  of  what  a 
good  state  they  were  in,  and  how  glad  his  parents  would  be  to  see  liim.  Nothing 
in  the  worhl  is  so  precious  as  health;  she  must  take  care  of  licrself.  At  the  very 
moment  of  jiarting  he  said  to  her  through  the  railing: 

"You  VTote  me  yesterday  that  you  were  never  so  attaclicd  to  me  as  now;  it  is 
true,  dear  Vdrotchka.  I  am  no  less  attached  to  you.  Good  feelings  toward  those 
whom  we  love  implies  a  great  desire  for  their  happiness,  as  both  of  us  know. 
Now,  there  is  no  happiness  without  liberty.  You  would  not  wish  to  stand  in  my 
way;  no  more  do  I  wish  to  stand  in  yours.  If  you  should  stand  in  your  own  way 
for  my  sake,  you  would  offend  mc.     Therefore  do  nothing  of  the  kind.     And  act 


206  What's   To  Be  Done? 

for  your  greatest  good.  Then  we  will  see.  You  will  inforin  me  by  letter  when  I 
am  to  return.  ylw7-ero/r,  my  friend!  The  bell  is  ringing  the  second  time;  it  is 
time  to  go.     Au  revoir!" 

XXVITI. 

This  happened  towards  the  end  of  April.  In  the  middle  of  June  Lopouklioff 
retm-ned  to  live  at  St.  Petersburg  for  three  weeks;  then  he  went  to  Moscow,  —  on 
factory  business,  as  he  said.  He  started  on  the  ninth  of  July,  and  on  the  morning 
of  the  eleventh  occurred  the  adventure  at  the  hotel  situated  near  the  ^loscow  rail- 
way station,  and  two  hours  later  the  scene  which  was  enacted  in  a  country-house 
on  the  island  of  Kamennoy.  Now  the  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye  can  no 
longer  miss  his  stroke  and  will  guess  who  it  was  that  blew  his  brains  oiit.  "I  saw 
long  ago  that  it  was  Lopoukhoff,"  says  the  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye,  en- 
chanted by  his  talent  for  divination.  What  has  become  of  Lopouklioff,  and  how 
does  it  happen  that  his  cap  is  pierced  by  a  ball?  "I  do  not  know,  but  it  was  surely 
he  who  played  this  rascally  bad  trick,"  repeats  the  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye. 
So  be  it,  obstinate  reader;  judge  in  your  own  way;  it  is  impossible  to  make  you 
understand  anything. 

XXIX. 

AN  UXCOMMOX  MAN. 

About  three  hours  after  Kirsanoff 's  departure  Vera  Pavlovna  came  back  to  her- 
self, and  one  of  her  first  thoughts  was  this :  the  shop  cannot  be  abandoned.  Much 
as  Vera  Pavlovna  might  like  to  demonstrate  that  the  shop  would  go  on  of  itself, 
she  really  knew  very  well  that  this  was  only  a  seductive  idea,  and  that,  to  tell  the 
truth,  the  shop  required  some  such  management  as  her  own  to  keep  it  from  falling 
to  pieces.  For  the  rest,  the  business  was  now  well  under  way,  and  the  management 
caused  her  but  little  trouble.  Madame  Mertzaloff  had  two  children ;  but  she  could 
give  half  an  hour  to  it  two  or  three  times  a  day.  She  certainly  would  not  refuse, 
especially  as  she  had  already  accepted  opportunities  to  do  many  things  in  the  shop. 
Vera  Pavlovna  began  to  unpack  her  things  for  a  sale,  and  at  the  same  time  sent 
Macha  first  to  Madame  MertzalofE  to  ask  her  to  come,  and  then  to  a  Imckster  named 
Rachel,  one  of  the  shrewdest  of  Jewesses,  but  an  old  and  good  acquaintance  of  Vera 
Pavlovna,  toward  whom  Rachel  practised  the  same  absolute  honesty  that  charac- 
terizes almost  all  the  small  Jewish  merchants  in  their  dealings  with  honest  people. 
Rachel  and  Macha  were  to  enter  the  apartments  in  the  city,  get  all  the  clothes  that 
had  been  left  at  the  fur-dealer's,  where  Vera  Pavlovna's  cloaks  had  been  deposited 
for  the  summer,  and  then,  with  all  this  baggage,  come  to  the  country-house,  in 
order  that  Rachel,  after  estimating  the  value  of  the  goods,  might  buy  them  all  at 
once. 


Life  of  Vera  idth  her  Ilushand,  and  the  Second  Love.     207 

As  Macha  stepped  through  the  carriage  entrance,  she  met  Raldimetoff,  who  had 
been  rambling  about  in  the  vicinity  for  half  an  hour. 

"You  are  going  away,  Macha?     For  a  long  time?" 

"I  do  not  expect  to  get  back  before  night.     I  have  so  much  to  do." 

"Is  Vera  Pavlovna  alone?" 

"Yes." 

"Then  I  will  go  in  and  see  her.  Perhaps  I  will  stay  in  your  place,  in  case  I  can 
be  useful." 

"Oh,  yes,  do  so;  I  am  afraid  on  her  account.  I  have  forgotten  to  notify  any  of 
the  neighboi's;  there  are,  however,  a  cook  and  a  child's  nurse,  two  of  my  friends, 
to  seiwe  her  at  dinner,  for  she  has  not  yet  dined." 

"That  is  nothing;  no  more  have  I;  I  have  not  dined;  we  can  serve  oui'selves 
alone.     But  you,  —  have  you  dined?" 

"  Yes,  Vera  Pavlovna  would  not  let  me  go  away  without." 

"Well  again!     I  should  have  supposed  that  it  would  have  been  forgotten." 

Except  Macha  and  those  who  equalled  or  surpassed  her  in  simplicity  of  soul  and 
garb,  everybody  was  a  little  afraid  of  Rakhmetoff.  Lopoukhoff,  Kirsanoff,  and  all 
those  who  wore  afraid  of  nothing  sometimes  felt  in  his  presence  a  sort  of  fear. 
Vera  Pavlovna  did  not  regard  him  as  a  friend:  she  found  hhn  too  much  of  a  bore, 
and  he  never  frequented  her  society.  I>iit  he  was  Madia's  favorite,  although  less 
amiable  and  talkative  with  her  than  were  Lopoukhoff's  other  visitors. 

"I  have  como  without  an  invitation.  Vera  Pavlovna,"  lie  began:  "but  I  have 
seen  Alexander  Matvuitch,  and  I  know  all.  ILmicc  I  thought  that  I  might  be  useful 
to  you  in  some  way;  so  I  will  stay  with  you  all  the  evening." 

Offers  of  service  were  not  to  be  disdained  at  such  a  monuuit. 

Any  one  else  in  PakliirK-tnff'H  place  would  have  be(!n  invited,  and  would  have 
proposed  liimself,  to  uiqiack  tlie  tilings;  Ijut  ho  did  not  do  it  and  was  not  asked  to; 
Vera  Pavlovna  pressed  his  liaiid  and  said  to  him  with  sincere  feeling  that  she  was 
verj'  grateful  to  him  for  liis  attentions  to  her. 

"  I  will  stay  in  the  study,"  Xa:  answered :  "  if  you  need  anything,  you  will  call  me; 
and,  if  aiiy  one  comes,  T  will  open  the  door;  do  not  disturb  yourself." 

Having  said  this,  he  went  very  quietly  into  the  study,  took  from  liis  pocket  a 
large  piece  of  liam  and  a  slice  of  black  bread,  weighing  in  all  about  four  pounds, 
sat  down  in  an  armchair,  ate  the  whole,  and  in  trying  to  masticate  it  well  drank 
half  a  dfranter  of  water;  then  he  went  ii]>  to  tlic  l>ookshelves  and  l)egan  to  look  for 
something  to  read. 

"Familiar Imitation Imitation Imitation "     This 

word  Imitation  referred  to  the  works  of  Macaulay,  Guizot,  Thiers,   llanke,  and 
Gervinus. 

"Ah!  here  is  something  which  falls  opportunely  to  my  hand,"  said  he,  reading 
on  the  backs  of  several  large  volumes  "Newton's  Complete  Works";  he  turned 
over  the  leaves,  found  what  he  was  looking  for,  and  with  a  gentle  smile  exclaimed : 


208  What's  To  Be  Do?ie? 

"  Here  it  is  1  Here  it  is  I  '  Observations  on  tlie  Prophecies  of  Daniel  and  the 
Apocah"j>se  of  St.  John.' 

"  Yes,  I  know  little  of  such  things  as  these.  Newton  wrote  these  commentaries 
in  his  extreme  old  age  when  he  was  half  mad.  Thoy  constitute  a  classic  source  for 
one  studying  the  question  of  the  mingling  of  intellect  with  insanity.  This  is  a 
universally  historical  question;  this  mixture  is  found  in  ail  events  without  excep- 
tion; in  almost  all  books,  in  almost  all  heads.  But  here  must  necessarily  be  a 
tji^ical  form  of  it.  In  the  first  place,  it  concerns  the  greatest  genius  known.  Then, 
the  insanity  mingled  with  this  intellect  is  a  recognized,  indisputable  insanity. 
Therefore  this  is  a  capital  book  of  its  kind.  The  most  delicate  indications  of  the 
general  phenomenon  must  appear  here  in  a  more  striking  manner  than  in  the  case 
of  any  other  individual,  no  matter  who  he  may  be,  and  no  one  can  doubt  that  these 
are  really  the  indications  observable  in  phenomena  concerning  the  mingling  of  in- 
sanity with  intellect.     In  short,  a  book  worth  studying ! " 

So  he  began  to  read  the  book  and  with  pleasm'e, — this  book  which  no  one  had 
read  for  a  century,  except,  perhaps,  those  who  corrected  the  proofs.  To  any  other 
than  Rakhmetoff  to  read  this  book  would  have  been  like  eating  sand  or  sawdust. 
But  he  had  a  keen  taste  for  it. 

Of  people  like  Rakhmetoff  there  are  but  few :  I  have  met  but  eight  (of  whom  two 
were  women) ;  they  resembled  each  other  in  nothing,  save  one  point.  There  were 
among  them  the  amiable  and  the  stern,  the  melancholy  and  the  joyous,  the  fiery 
and  the  phlegmatic,  the  impressionable  (one  with  a  stern  countenance,  satirical 
even  to  insolence,  and  another  with  an  apathetic  face,  have  sobbed  several  times  in 
my  presence  like  hysterical  women,  and  that  not  because  of  their  own  affairs,  but  in 
connection  with  a  conversation  on  general  topics;  I  am  sure  that  they  wept  often 
when  alone)  and  the  imperturbably  cahu.  They  resemble  each  other  in  only  one 
point,  I  have  said;  but  that  is  enough  to  make  a  special  type  of  them  and  distinguish 
them  from  all  other  men.  I  laughed  at  those  whom  I  knew,  when  I  was  with  them ; 
they  got  angiy  or  not,  but  they  could  not  help  doing  as  much  themselves.  And 
indeed  there  were  many  ridiculous  things  about  them,  and  it  was  in  that  respect 
that  they  resembled  each  other.     I  like  to  laugh  at  such  people. 

The  one  whom  I  met  in  the  circle  of  Lopoukhoff  and  Kirsanoff,  and  whom  I  am 
about  to  describe,  serves  to  prove  that  the  opinions  of  Lopoukhoff  and  Alcxoy  T6- 
trovitch  on  the  qualities  of  the  soil,  in  Vera  Pavlo\Tia's  second  dream,  allow  one 
exception, — namely,  that,  whatever  the  quality  of  the  soil,  one  may  always  find 
little  patches  of  ground  capable  of  producing  healthy  ears. 

The  genealogy  of  the  principal  personages  of  my  story — Vdra  Pavlovna,  Kirsa- 
noff, and  Lopoukhoff — has  not  been  traced  beyond  their  grandfathers  and  grand- 
mothers. "What  would  be  the  use  of  saying  anything  about  the  great-grandfather 
when  the  great-grandfather  is  already  wrapped  in  the  shades  of  oblivion  ?  It  is 
only  kno'wn  that  he  was  the  husband  of  the  great-gi'andmother  and  that  his  nam,e 
was  Kuril,  the  grandfather's  name  having  been  Gueracime  Kirilytch. 


Life  of  Vtra  with  her  ITushand,  and  the  Second  Love.     209 

Rakhmetoff  belonged  to  a  family  known  since  the  thirteenth  centmy,  —  that  is, 
to  one  of  the  oldest  families  not  only  in  Russia,  but  in  all  Europe.  Among  the 
chiefs  of  the  Tartar  regiments  massacred  at  Tver  with  their  army,  for  having  tried 
to  convert  the  people  to  jNIohanmiedanism,  according  to  the  reports  (an  intention 
which  they  certamly  did  not  have),  but  in  reality  simply  for  having  exercised  ty- 
ranny,—  among  these  chiefs  was  one  named  Rakhmdt,  who  had  had  a  child  bj*  a 
Russian  whom  he  had  abducted,  a  niece  of  the  principal  court  official  at  Tver,  —  that 
is,  the  high  court  marshal  and  field  marshal.  The  child  was  spared  on  account  of 
the  mother  and  rebaptized  as  Latyfe-]\Iikhail.  It  is  from  Latyfe-Mikha'il  Rakhmd- 
tovitch  that  the  Raklimetoffs  descend.  At  Tver  they  were  boyars,  at  Moscow  they 
were  only  gi-and  officers  of  the  crown,  and  at  St.  Petersburg  in  the  last  century  they 
were  generals-in-chief,  —  not  all  of  tliem,  of  course;  the  family  having  become  vei-y 
numerous,  certahdy  all  its  members  could  not  be  generals-in-chief.  The  father  of 
the  great-grandfather  of  our  Rakhmctoif  was  a,  friend  of  Ivan  Ivanytch  ChouvalolT, 
who  got  liim  out  of  the  disgrace  into  which  he  had  fallen  in  consequence  of  his 
friendship  for  Munich.  His  great-grandfather  was  the  colleague  of  Roumiantsoff, 
had  attained  the  rank  of  general-in-chief,  and  was  killed  at  the  battle  of  Xovi. 
His  grandfather  accompanied  Alexander  to  Tilsitt,  and  would  have  gone  farther 
than  any  of  tl»e  otlicrs,  but  his  friendship  with  Speransky  put  an  early  end  to  his 
career.  At  last  his  father  served  the  government  without  success  or  disgrace.  At 
the  age  of  forty  he  resigned,  and  went  to  live  as  a  retired  lieutenant-general  on  one 
of  his  estates  scattered  along  the  banks  of  the  Medveditza  and  near  its  source. 
The  estates,  however,  were  not  very  large,  containing  in  all  a1)out  twenty-five  liuudnsl 
souls.  But  lie  had  many  children,  —  eight,  we  believe.  Of  these  ciglit  cliildrrii 
Rakhiiidloff  was  llie  next  to  the  last,  there  being  one  sister  younger  than  liiiiisell'; 
consequently  his  inheritance  was  rallier  small:  ho  received  about  four  hundred 
souls  and  seven  thousand  acres  of  land.  What  he  did  with  these  souls  and  fifty- 
live  hundred  acres  of  the  land  no  one  knew;  so  also  no  one  knew  that  Ik;  kept  fif- 
teen Iniudrfd  acres,  liiat  he  was  a  scltjniur,  and  that  he  derived  an  inconie  of  tlirce 
thousand  roubles  from  tlie  leases  of  that  part  of  the  land  wliicli  Ik-  kept;  no  one 
knew  tliat  whil<!  he  lived  among  us.  We  did  not  learn  it  till  later,  but  wo  sup- 
posed of  course  that  lie  belonged  to  tin*  family  of  Hakhmdloffs  containing  so  many 
rich  neif/ncurM,  whoso  aggregate  wealth  was  eslimali'd  at  Hevenly-five  llioiisand 
souls.  These  sciyncurs  live  near  the  sources  of  the  Medvdditza,  the  Khoner  do  la 
Soura,  and  the  Tziia;  they  have  always  been  marslials  of  the  nobility  of  their  dis- 
trict. The  marshal  of  the  nobility  for  the  govcniiiifiit  in  one  or  another  of  the 
three  governments  through  which  flow  llie  tributary  sources  of  the  aforesaid  riv- 
ers is  always  a  member  of  this  family.  We  knew  also  that  our  friend  Rakhindtoff 
spent  four  hundred  a  year;  for  a  student  that  was  much  in  those  days,  but  for  a 
Seigneur  Rakhmdtoff  it  was  very  little.  But  it  was  difficult  to  get  informal  ion, 
and  we  simply  said  to  ourselves  that  our  Rakhmdtoff  belonged  to  some  branch  of 


210  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

the  family  that  had  fallen  into  poverty, — that  perhaps  he  was  a  son  of  the  coun- 
sellor of  some  financial  board  who  had  left  his  children  a  small  capital.  But  of 
course  all  these  things  interested  us  but  little. 

Now  he  was  twenty-two  years  old ;  he  had  been  a  student  since  the  age  of  six- 
teen, but  he  had  spent  almost  three  years  away  from  the  University.  At  the  end 
of  his  second  year  he  went  to  his  estate,  arranged  his  affairs,  and,  after  having 
overcome  the  resistance  of  his  tutor,  won  the  curses  of  his  brothers,  and  behaved 
himself  in  such  a  way  that  the  Imsbands  of  his  sisters  had  forbidden  them  to  pro- 
nounce his  name,  he  began  to  travel  through  Russia  by  land  and  water  in  ordi- 
nary and  extraordinary  ways, — on  foot,  for  instance,  and  in  decked  boats,  and  in 
boats  of  not  much  speed.  He  met  with  many  adventures ;  he  took  two  individuals 
to  the  University  of  Kazan  and  five  to  that  of  Moscow, — they  were  his  bursars, — 
but  to  St.  Petersburg,  where  he  intended  to  come  himself,  he  brought  none ;  this 
accounts  for  the  fact  that  no  one  knew  that  his  income  was  not  four  hundred  rou- 
bles but  three  thousand.  That  was  not  ascertained  till  later.  Then  we  only  saw 
that  he  had  disappeared  for  a  long  time,  that  two  years  before  he  had  entered  the 
philological  faculty,  that  still  earlier  he  had  been  in  that  of  the  natural  sciences, 
and  that  was  all. 

But  though  none  of  his  St.  Petersburg  acquaintances  knew  anything  of  his  rela- 
tives or  his  fortune,  all,  on  the  other  hand,  knew  him  by  two  sui'names ;  one  of 
these,  "  the  rigorist,"  the  reader  knows  already ;  this  name  he  accepted  with  his 
light  smile  of  half-content.  But  when  they  called  him  Nikitouchka,*  or  Lomoff, 
or  by  his  full  surname,  Nikitouchka  Lomoff,  a  broad  smile  lit  up  his  face,  which 
was  justifiable,  since  it  was  not  by  birth  but  by  the  firmness  of  his  will  that  he 
had  acquired  the  right  to  bear  this  illustrious  name  among  millions  of  men.  But 
this  name  is  glorious  only  in  a  strip  of  land  one  hundred  versts  f  wide  crossing 
eight  governments;  to  readers  living  in  other  parts  of  Russia  this  name  requires 
explanation.  Nikitouchka  Lomoff,  a  boat-hauler  who  went  up  the  Volga  fifteen  or 
twenty  years  ago,  was  a  giant  of  Herculean  strength;  two  archines  and  fifteen 
verchoks  X  in  height,  his  chest  and  shoulders  were  so  large  that  he  weighed  fifteen 
poudes,  §  although  he  was  not  fleshy,  but  simply  solid.  As  for  his  strength  it  is 
enough  to  say  that  he  received  on  account  of  it  four  times  the  usual  wages.  When 
the  vessel  reached  a  town  and  our  man  went  to  the  market,  or,  as  they  say  on  the 
Volga,  to  the  bazaar,  the  young  viUagers  in  the  neighboring  alleys  were  heard  to 
shout:  " There's  Nikitouchka  Lomoff !  There's  Nikitouchka  Lomoff  1 "  and  eveiy- 
body  ran  into  the  street  leading  from  the  wharf  to  the  bazaar,  and  the  people  fol- 
lowed in  crowds  their  hero-athlete. 

•A  diminntive  of  Xikita. 

t  A  verst  is  equivalent  to  a  little  more  than  half  a  mile. 

t  Nearly  seven  feet. 

§  More  than  five  hundred  and  forty  pounds. 


L^fe  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.     211 

"Wlien  Eakhmotoff,  at  the  age  of  sixteen,  came  to  St.  Petersburg,  he  was  an  ordi- 
nary youth  of  somewliat  above  the  average  height  and  strength,  but  very  far  fi'om 
being  remarkable  for  his  muscular  force  :  of  ten  of  his  equals  in  age  taken  at  ran- 
dom two  surely  cotild  have  thrown  him.  But  in  the  middle  of  his  seventeenth 
year  he  formed  the  idea  of  acquiring  physical  strength  and  acted  accordingly.  At 
first  he  practised  gymnastics;  it  was  a  good  plan,  but  gymnastics  only  perfects  the 
original  material ;  it  was  necessary,  therefore,  to  equip  himself  with  the  material, 
and  during  twice  as  long  a  period  as  he  had  spent  in  gymnastics  he  became  for 
several  hours  every  day  a  laborer  in  search  of  work  requiring  strength ;  he  carried 
water,  delivered  fire-wood,  chopped  it  up,  cut  stone,  dug  in  the  earth,  sawed  wood, 
and  forged  iron ;  he  tried  many  dili'ei-ent  kinds  of  work,  changing  very  often,  for 
with  each  new  task,  with  each  change,  new  muscles  were  developed.  He  adopted 
the  diet  of  pugilists :  he  ate  food  known  exclusively  as  strengthening,  especially 
almost  raw  beef-steak,  and  from  that  time  on  he  always  lived  so.  A  year  later  he 
took  his  journey,  and  found  in  it  still  more  favorable  opportunities  for  developing 
his  physical  strength :  he  had  been  an  agricultural  laborer,  a  carpenter,  a  boat- 
man, and  a  worker  at  all  sorts  of  healthy  trades ;  once  he  even  went  along  the 
Volga  from  Doubovka  to  Rybinsk  as  a  boat-hauler.  To  say  that  he  wanted  to  be 
a  boat-hauler  would  have  scemod  in  the  last  degree  absurd  both  to  the  master  of 
the  ]»oat  and  to  the  boat-haulers,  and  they  would  not  have  accepted  him ;  but  he  took 
the  bank  simply  as  a  traveller.  After  liaving  put  himself  on  friendly  terms  with 
the  boat-haulers,  he  began  to  aid  them  in  pulling  the  rope,  and  a  week  later  be- 
came a  veritable  boat-hauler;  they  soon  saw  how  he  pulled,  and  they  measured 
strength  with  him;  he  vanquished  four  of  the  strongest  boat-haulers;  he  was  then 
twenty  years  old,  and  his  fellow-workmen  christened  him  Nikitouchka  Lomoff,  in 
meniorj-  of  the  hero  who  was  then  already  dead.  The  following  summer  he  tra- 
velled by  steamboat;  one  of  the  men  with  whom  he  iiad  worked  at  boat-hauling 
happened  to  Ik;  in  the  crowd  on  deck,  and  it  was  in  this  way  that  some  students, 
his  fellow-travellers,  learned  that  he  had  been  called  Nikitouchka  Lomoff.  In  fact, 
by  devoting  his  time  to  it,  he  had  acquired  and  learned  how  to  use  extraordinary 
strength.  "I  must  do  it,"  he  had  said;  "it  will  make  ni(^  loved  and  esteemed  by 
the  common  people.  And  it  is  u.'<eful ;  sonif  day  it  may  prove  good  for  some- 
thing." And  thus  it  was  that  lie  acquired  this  extraordinary  strength.  At  tlie 
age  of  sixteen  he  came  to  St.  Petersburg  as  an  ordinary  scliool-graduate,  who  had 
worthily  compli'tod  liis  early  studies.  He  passed  his  first  months  of  study  after 
the  manner  of  beginners.  Soon  lie  saw  that  among  his  comrades  there  were  some 
especially  intelligent  who  did  not  think  as  the  others  did,  and  having  learned  the 
names  of  five  or  six  of  them  (they  were  few  in  number),  he  interested  himself  in 
them  and  eultivated  the  acquaintance  of  one  of  them,  who  was  no  other  than 
Kirsanoff,  and  his  transformation  into  the  rigorist,  into  Nikitouchka  Lomoff,  into 
an  uncommon  man,  began.     lie  listened  to  Kirsanoff  with  passionate  eagerness. 


212  WJiat's  To  Be  Done? 

The  first  evening  tliat  they  spent  together  ho  wept;  he  interrupted  Kirsanoff  with 
exclamations  of  hatred  against  that  which  mast  die  and  enthusiastic  panegyrics  of 
that  wliicli  must  endure. 

"With  what  books  should'I  begin?"  said  he. 

Kirsanoff  informed  him  on  this  point.  The  next  morning  at  eight  o'clock  he 
walked  up  and  down  the  Nevsky  between  the  Place  de  IWrniraute  and  the  Pont  de 
Police,  awaitmg  the  opening  of  a  French  and  German  book-store  where  he  could  buy 
what  he  wanted.  He  read  three  days  and  nights  continuously,  from  Thursday  at 
eleven  in  the  morning  till  Sunday  at  nine  in  the  evening, — eighty-two  hours  in  a^L 
To  keep  him  awake  the  first  two  nights  his  will  alone  sufficed ;  to  keep  awake  the 
third  night  he  drank  eight  cups  of  very  strong  coffee;  the  fourth  night  his  streng  h 
failed  him,  the  coffee  had  no  effect,  he  fell  on  the  floor,  and  slept  there  about  fifteen 
hours.  A  week  later  he  came  to  Kirsanoff  to  ask  him  for  the  titles  of  some  new 
books  and  explanations  concerning  the  books  ho  had  just  read;  he  became  united 
with  him  ui  bonds  of  friendship,  and  through  him  with  Lopoukhoff. 

Six  months  later,  although  but  seventeen  years  old,  while  they  were  already 
twenty-one,  he  was  treated  by  them  as  an  equal,  and  became  thenceforth  an  un- 
common man. 

What  circumstances  had  helped  him  to  become  an  uncommon  man? 

His  father  was  very  intelligent,  very  well-informed,  and  ultra-conservative,  —  in 
this  like  ]Maria  Alexevna,  only  more  respectable.  So  far  as  his  father  went,  then, 
the  son's  life  was  certainly  a  painful  one.  If  this  were  all,  however,  it  would  ba 
nothing.  But  his  mother,  a  rather  delicate  woman,  suffered  from  the  trying  cha- 
racter of  her  husband;  besides,  he  was  a  witness  of  the  life  of  the  peasantry.  And 
even  this  would  be  nothing.  But,  when  about  fifteen  years  old,  he  became  amorous 
of  one  of  his  father's  mistresses.  Connected  with  this  there  was  a  story,  relating 
principally,  be  it  understood,  to  the  mistress.  He  greatly  pitied  the  woman,  who, 
thanks  to  him,  had  suffered  so  much.  Ideas  soon  began  to  travel  vaguely  through 
his  head,  and  to  him  Kirsanoff  was  v/hat  Lopoukhoff  had  been  to  Vera  Pavlovna. 
His  past  life  may  have  counted  for  something,  it  is  true,  in  the  formation  of  his 
character;  but  he  could  not  have  become  what  he  was  going  fo  be  if  he  had  not 
been  specially  endowed  by  nature.  Some  time  before  he  left  the  University  to  go 
first  to  his  estate  and  then  on  his  journey  through  Russia  he  had  already  adopted 
special  rules  for  the  government  of  his  physical,  moral,  and  intellectual  life;  and 
on  his  return  these  rules  had  been  transformed  into  a  complete  system,  to  which 
he  always  lield  unchangeaVjly.  He  had  said  to  himself:  "I  will  not  drink  a  single 
drop  of  wine.  I  will  not  touch  a  woman."  Why  this  resolution  ?  So  extreme  a 
course  was  not  at  all  necessary.  "It  must  be,"  said  he;  "we  demand  that  men 
may  have  a  complete  enjoyment  of  their  lives,  and  we  must  show  by  our  example 
that  we  demand  it,  not  to  satisfy  our  personal  passions,  but  for  mankind  in  general ; 
that  what  we  say  we  say  from  principle  and  not  from  passion,  from  conviction  and 
not  from  personal  desire." 


L\fe  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.     213 

For  the  same  reason  he  forced  himself  to  lead  a  veiy  austere  life.  To  become 
and  to  remain  Nikitouchka  Lomoff  he  had  been  obliged  to  eat  meat,  much  meat, 
and  he  ate  it  in  large  quantities.  But  he  looked  long  at  a  kopeck  spent  for  any 
other  food  than  meat;  consequently  he  ordered  his  landlady  to  get  the  best  of  meat, 
the  best  pieces  for  him,  -while  all  the  other  food  that  he  ate  at  home  was  of  the 
cheapest.  He  gave  up  white  bread,  and  ate  only  black  bread  at  his  table.  For 
whole  weeks  he  did  not  taste  sugar,  for  months  together  he  did  not  touch  fruit  or 
veal  or  poultry,  nor  did  he  buy  anytliing  of  the  kind:  "I  have  no  right  to  spend 
money  on  a  whim  which  I  need  not  gratify."  Yet  he  had  been  brought  up  on  a 
luxmious  diet  and  had  a  keen  taste,  as  could  be  seen  from  his  remarks  about  food 
when  dining  out:  he  ate  with  relish  many  dishes  which  he  denied  himself  at  his 
own  table,  while  there  were  others  which  he  ate  nowhere,  and  this  for  a  well-founded 
reason:  "Whatever  the  people  eat,  though  only  at  intervals,  I  may  eat  also,  when 
occasion  offers.  I  must  not  eat  that  which  is  entirely  out  of  the  reach  of  the  com- 
mon people.  This  is  necessaiy  in  order  that  I  may  feel,  though  but  in  a  very  slight 
degree,  how  much  harder  is  the  life  of  the  common  people  than  my  own."  So, 
when  fruits  were  served,  he  always  ate  apples,  but  never  apricots :  at  St.  Petersburg 
lie  ate  oranges,  but  refused  them  in  the  provinces.  Because  at  St.  Petersburg  the 
common  people  eat  them,  which  is  not  the  case  in  the  provinces.  He  ate  sweets 
because  a  good  cake  is  no  worse  than  pie,  and  pie  made  of  puff-jiaste  is  known  to 
the  common  i)eople ;  but  lie  did  not  eat  sardines.  He  was  always  poorly  clad,  though 
fond  of  elegance,  and  in  all  other  things  lived  a  Spartan's  life;  for  instance,  he 
allowed  himself  no  mattress  and  slept  on  felt  without  so  niucii  as  doul)ling  it  up. 

P»ut  he  had  one  thing  to  troul)le  his  conscience;  he  did  not  leave  off  smoking. 
"  Williout  my  cigar  I  cannot  think  ;  if  tliat  is  a  fact,  it  is  not  my  fault;  but  pcrliaps 
it  is  due  to  tlie  weakness  of  my  will."  He  could  not  smoke  bad  cigars,  having  been 
brought  up  amid  aristocratic  surroundings,  and  he  spent  money  for  cigars  at  the 
rate  of  tlirce  hundifd  and  sevfiily-five  roubles  a  tliousand.  "Abominable  weak- 
ness," a.s  li<:  express<Ml  it.  But  it  was  only  this  weakness  that  made  it  possible;  for 
him  to  repel  \v\»  assailants.  An  adversary,  cornered,  would  say  to  him :  "Perfection 
is  impossible;  even  you  smoke."  Then  Kakhinetoff  redduMcil  his  attacks.  Iml. 
aimed  most  of  liis  re]iroaclie.s  at  himself,  his  opjionent  receiving  less  yet  widmiit 
being  (juite  forgotten.  He  succeeded  in  doing  a  great  deal,  since  in  the  employ- 
ment of  liis  time  he  imposed  equally  strict  rules  upon  himself.  Ho  did  not  lose  a 
quarter  of  an  hour,  and  lia<l  no  need  of  rest. 

"My  occupations  arc  varied;  change  of  occupation  is  a  rest." 

The  circle  of  friends  which  had  its  centre  in  KirsanolT  and  Lopoukhoff  he  visited 
only  just  often  enough  to  enable  him  to  keep  on  an  intimate  footing  with  its 
members. 

So  much  was  necessarj';  daily  experience  proves  the  usefulness  of  intimate  rela- 
tions with  some  circle  or  other  of  men ;  one  must  always  have  under  his  hand  open 


214  What's  To  Be  Done? 

sources  for  all  sorts  of  information.  Aside  from  the  meetings  of  this  circle,  he 
never  visited  any  one  except  on  business,  and  nowhere  did  he  stay  five  minutes 
longer  than  his  business  required;  likewise,  at  home,  he  neither  received  any  one 
nor  allowed  any  one  to  stay  except  on  th(ise  conditions.  He  said  plainly  to  his 
visitor:  "Our  conversation  is  finished.  Now  let  me  occupy  myself  with  something 
else,  for  my  time  is  precious." 

During  the  first  months  of  his  new  birth  he  spent  almost  all  his  time  in  reading; 
but  that  lasted  only  a  little  more  than  half  a  year ;  when  he  saw  that  he  had  ac- 
quired a  systematic  method  of  thinking  in  the  line  of  the  principles  which  he  had 
found  to  be  true,  he  instantly  said  to  himself :  "Henceforth  reading  is  a  secondary 
thing ;  so  far  as  that  is  concerned  I  am  ready  for  life,"  and  he  began  the  habit  of 
devoting  to  books  only  such  time  as  he  had  left  after  attending  to  his  other  busi- 
ness,— that  is,  very  little  time.  In  spite  of  that  the  range  of  his  knowledge  ex- 
tended with  an  astonishing  rapidity ;  at  the  age  of  twenty-two  he  was  already  a 
learned  man.     In  this  matter,  too,  he  imposed  rules  upon  himself. 

"Xo  luxury,  no  caprices;  nothing  but  the  necessary.  Now,  what  is  necessary? 
Upon  each  subject  there  are  only  a  very  few  first-class  works ;  in  all  the  others 
there  are  nothing  but  repetitions,  rarefactions,  modifications  of  that  which  is  more 
fully  and  more  clearly  expressed  in  these  few.  There  is  no  need  of  reading  any 
but  these ;  all  other  reading  is  but  a  useless  expenditure  of  time.  Take,  for  exam- 
ple, Russian  helles  letlres.  I  say  to  myself :  '  First  I  will  read  all  of  Gogol's 
works.'  In  the  thousands  of  other  novels  I  have  only  to  read  five  lines  on  five  dif- 
ferent pages  to  see  that  I  shall  find  nothing  in  them  but  Gogol  spoiled.  Then 
what  Is  the  use  of  reading  them?" 

It  was  the  same  in  economic  science;  there  the  line  of  demarkation  was  even 
more  sharjjly  drawn. 

"  If  I  have  read  Adam  Smith,  Malthus,  Ricardo,  and  Mill,  I  know  the  alpha  and 
omega  of  this  school :  I  do  not  need  to  read  a  single  one  of  the  hundreds  of  econo- 
mists, however  great  their  celebrity :  from  five  lines  taken  from  five  pages  I  see 
that  I  shall  not  find  in  them  a  single  new  thought  that  belongs  to  them.  All  that 
they  say  is  borrowed  and  distorted.  I  read  only  that  which  is  original,  and  I  read 
it  only  so  far  as  is  necessary  in  order  to  know  this  originality." 

Consequently  there  was  no  way  of  inducing  him  to  read  INIacaulay ;  after  spend- 
ing a  quarter  of  an  hour  in  reading  several  pages,  he  said  to  himself :  "I  know  the 
quality  of  these  rags."  He  read,  and  with  pleasure,  Thackeray's  "Vanity  Fair," 
and  began  to  read  "Pendennis,"  but  closed  the  book  at  tlie  twentieth  page. 

"It  is  all  in  'Vanity  Fair;'  he  has  nothing  more  to  say;  hence  to  read  him  fur- 
ther is  useless.  Each  of  the  books  that  I  have  read  is  of  such  a  character  as  to 
relieve  me  of  the  necessity  of  reading  hundreds  of  others,"  said  he. 

Gymnastics,  labor  for  the  development  of  his  strength,  and  reading  were  Rakh- 
metoff's  personal  occupations,  but  after  his  return  to  St.  Petersburg  they  took  but 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.     215 

a  quarter  of  his  time  ;  the  I'est  of  the  time  he  occupied  in  the  affairs  of  some  one 
else  or  in  matters  not  relating  especially  to  his  own  person,  always  holding  to  the 
rule  by  which  he  governed  his  reading, — not  to  spend  time  on  secondary  matters 
and  with  second-rate  men,  but  to  attend  only  to  important  matters  and  important 
men.  For  instance,  outside  of  his  circle,  he  made  the  acquaintance  of  no  men  save 
those  that  had  an  influence  over  others.  A  man  who  was  not  an  authority  for 
several  others  could  by  no  means  enter  into  conversation  with  him.  lie  said, 
"  Excuse  me,  I  have  no  time,"  and  went  his  way.  Likewise,  if  he  wished  to  make 
the  acquaintance  of  any  one,  there  was  no  way  of  getting  rid  of  him.  He  came 
directly  to  you  and  said  what  he  had  to  say  with  this  introduction :  "  I  wish  to 
make  your  acquaintance ;  it  is  necessary.  If  you  have  no  time  now,  fix  some  other 
time."  To  your  minor  affairs  he  lent  no  attention  even  though  you  were  his  most 
intimate  friend  and  had  begged  him  to  take  an  interest  in  your  concerns:  "I  have 
no  time,"  he  would  say,  turning  away.  But  he  concerned  hiniself  about  i:nport- 
ant  matters  when  in  his  opinion  it  was  necessaiy,  even  though  no  one  asked  hun 
to  do  so :  "  It  is  my  duty,"  he  would  say.  In  all  that  he  said  and  did  he  gave  no 
heed  to  ceremony. 

This,  for  instance,  is  the  way  in  which  I  made  his  acquaintance.  I  was  aheady 
past  my  youlli  and  living  very  comfortably;  so  from  time  to  time  five  or  six  young 
people  of  ray  locality  were  wont  to  meet  at  my  house.  This  made  me  a  precious 
man  for  liini :  these  young  people  were  well-disposed  toward  me,  and  they  found  in 
me  a  similar  dispositi(jn  towanl  thcni. 

It  was  on  such  an  occasion  tiiat  he  heard  my  name  spoken.  AVhcn  I  saw  him 
for  the  first  time  at  Kirsanoft's,  I  had  never  heard  of  him:  it  was  shortly  after  his 
return  from  his  travels.  lie  came  in  after  I  did;  I  was  the  only  nicinbci-  of  the 
company  whom  he  did  not  know.  Scarcely  liad  ho  (Miten^d  when  he.  took  Kirsa- 
noff  aside  and,  pointing  to  me  with  liis  eyes,  said  a  few  words  to  liini.  Kirsanoff, 
too,  said  a  few  words  in  reply,  and  left  iiim.  A  moment  later  Eakhmetoff  sat 
down  directly  opposite  me  at  a  distance  no  greater  llian  the  width  of  a  little  table 
near  tlie  divan,  jx-rhaps  an  ardiin*!  and  a  half;  he  l)ogan  to  look  me  in  tlie  face 
with  all  ids  iiii;;i»t.  1  was  irritated:  he  look<'d  at  mi;  without  the  sliglitcst  cere- 
mony, as  if  I  were  a  jxirtrait,  and  I  frowned.  That  ilid  not  tlisturb  him  the  least 
in  the  world.  AftiT  having  lookcil  at  me  two  or  time  minutes,  he  said  to  nic: 
"M.  N.,  I  wi.-h  to  make  your  acquaintance.  I  know  you,  but  you  do  not  know  me. 
Go  to  Kirsaii-  11  and  those  present  in  whom  you  have  tin;  most  confidencf,  and  ask 
them  about  me."     This  said,  he  rose  and  went  into  another  room. 

"Who  is  this  original?" 

"It  is  I'akhmdtoff.  He  wishes  you  to  inform  yourself  concerning  him, — 
whetlier  he  deserves  confidence  unconditionally  and  wliether  he  deserves  consider- 
ation. He  is  worth  more  than  all  of  us  put  together,"  said  Kirsanoff,  and  the 
others  bore  him  out. 


21G  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

Five  minutes  later  he  came  back  into  the  room  where  we  all  were.  He  did  not 
try  to  talk  with  me,  and  talked  but  very  little  W'ith  the  others;  the  conversation 
was  not  a  learned  one  nor  one  of  much  importance.  "  Ah,  ten  o'clock  already ! " 
said  he  a  little  while  later;  "at  ten  o'clock  I  have  business  elsewhere.  M.  N.  [he 
addressed  liimself  to  me],  I  must  say  a  few  words  to  you.  "When  I  took  Kirsanoff 
aside  to  ask  hun  who  you  were,  I  pointed  you  out  with  my  eyes;  even  if  I  had  not 
done  so,  you  would  have  noticed  that  I  was  inquiring  about  you.  Why  should 
we  not  make  the  gestures  that  are  natural  in  asking  a  question  of  this  sort?  When 
will  you  be  at  home  to  receive  me?" 

At  that  time  I  did  not  like  to  make  new  acquaintances,  and,  besides,  this  impor- 
tunity did  not  please  me  at  all. 

"I  only  sleep  in  the  house;  I  am  not  at  home  through  the  day." 

"But  you  do  sleep  at  home?    What  time  do  you  enter  to  go  to  bed?" 

"Very  late." 

"For  instance?" 

"  Toward  two  or  three  o'clock." 

"Very  well,  fix  the  hour." 

"If  you  absolutely  wish  it,  day  after  tomorrow,  at  half  past  three  in  the 
morning." 

"  Surely  I  ought  to  look  upon  your  words  as  rude  and  insulting ;  however,  it  is 
possible  that  you  have  good  reasons.  In  any  case,  I  wUI  be  at  your  house  day 
after  tomorrow  at  half  past  three  in  the  morning." 

"If  }'ou  are  so  bent  upon  it,  come  a  little  later  instead;  I  shall  be  at  home  all 
the  morning  until  noon." 

"Good!     I  will  call  at  ten  o'clock.    Will  you  be  alone?" 

"Yes." 

"Good!" 

He  came,  and  with  the  same  directness  went  straight  to  the  matter  concerning 
which  he  had  felt  the  necessity  of  making  my  acquaintance.  We  talked  about 
half  an  hour.  The  subject  of  our  conversation  is  of  little  consequence;  it  is 
enough  to  remember  that  he  said,  "It  is  necessary,"  and  I  answered,  "No;"  that 
he  added,  "You  ought  to,"  and  I  replied,  "Not  at  all."  At  the  end  of  the  half- 
hour  he  said :  "  It  is  clear  that  it  would  be  useless  to  continue.  Are  you  convinced 
that  I  am  a  man  worthy  of  absolute  confidence?" 

"  Yes ;  all  have  told  me  so,  and  now  I  see  it  for  myself." 

"And  in  spite  of  all  you  persist  in  your  opinion?" 

"  I  persist." 

"Do  you  know  what  follows  from  that?  That  you  are  either  a  liar  or  a  man  of 
little  value!" 

What  do  you  say  to  that?  AVhat  should  one  do  to  another  who  uses  such  lan- 
guage toward  him?    Provoke  him  to  a  duel?    But  he  spoke  so  calmly,  without  any 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Ilushand,  and  the  Second  Love.     217 

trace  of  personality,  like  a  historian  who  judges  things  coldly,  not  with  an  intent 
to  offend  any  one,  but  to  sers'e  the  truth,  that  it  would  have  been  ridiculous  to  take 
offence,  and  I  could  only  laugh. 

'•  But  these  amount  to  the  same  thing,"  said  I. 

"  In  the  present  case  they  do  not  amount  to  the  same  thuig." 

"  Then  perhaps  I  am  both  at  once." 

"In  the  present  case  to  be  both  at  once  is  impossible.  But  one  or  the  other, — 
certainly.  Either  you  do  not  think  and  act  as  you  speak,  and  in  that  case  you  are 
a  liar;  or  you  do  thmk  and  act  as  you  speak,  and  in  that  case  you  are  a  man  of 
little  value.     One  of  the  two,  —  certainly.     The  first,  I  suppose." 

"Think  as  you  please,"  said  I,  continuing  to  laugh. 

"  Good  day.  In  any  case  remember  that  I  keep  my  confidence  in  you,  and  am 
ready  to  resume  our  conversation  whenever  you  see  fit." 

However  queer  this  was,  Raklnnetoff  was  perfectly  right,  both  in  having  begun 
as  he  did,  since  he  had  inquux'd  about  me  before  approaching  the  matter,  and  in 
having  ended  the  conversation  in  this  way.  In  fact,  I  did  not  say  what  I  thought, 
and  he  had  the  right  to  call  me  a  liar;  and  "in  the  present  case,"  as  he  expressed 
it,  I  could  not  take  offence  at  or  even  exception  to  his  words,  the  case  being  such 
that  lie  could  really  keep  his  confidence  in  and  even  his  esteem  for  me.  Yes,  how- 
ever odd  his  manner,  every  man  he  dealt  with  was  convinced  that  Ralchmeloff 
acted  in  precisely  the  most  reasonaljle  and  most  simple  way,  and  liis  terrible 
i:isults,  his  terrible  rcproaclies  were  so  given  that  no  sensible  man  could  bo 
offended  at  them;  and,  with  all  his  phenomenal  rudeness,  lie  was  at  bottom  very 
gentle.  Conscquenljy  his  prefaces  were  in  this  tone.  He  began  every  difficult 
explanation  in  this  way  : 

"You  know  that  I  arn  going  to  .ipeak  without  any  personal  feeling.  If  you  find 
the  words  I  am  about  to  say  to  you  disagreeable,  I  will  ask  you  to  forgive  them. 
I  Himjily  think  that  one  sliould  not  take  offence  at  what  is  saitl  conscientiously  and 
with  no  intention  of  offending.  For  the  rest,  whenever  it  may  seem  to  you  useless 
to  listen  to  my  words,  I  will  stop;  it  is  my  rule  to  propose  my  opinion  wherever  I 
ought  to,  and  imvcr  to  impose  it." 

And,  in  fact,  he  did  not  impose  it:  h<;  could  not  be  prevented  from  giving  his 
opinion  when  he  deemed  it  useful;  but  ho  did  it  in  two  or  three  words,  and  added: 
"Now  you  know  what  the  end  of  our  conv(!rsat ion  would  be;  <lo  yon  think  it 
would  be  useful  to  discuss  further?"  If  you  said  "No,"  he  bowed  and  went  his 
way. 

That  is  how  he  talked  and  acted.  He  always  had  a  great  deal  of  Imsiness  not 
relating  to  liimsclf  jiersonally;  personal  matters  he  liad  none;  that  every V)ody  knew; 
but  what  the  matters  were  to  which  he  gave  his  attention  the  members  of  liis  circle 
did  not  know.  They  simply  saw  that  he  had  a  multitude  of  concerns.  He  was 
rarely  at  liomc,  and  was  always  on  the  go,  cither  on  foot  or  in  a  cab,  but  generally 


218  What's  To  Be  Done? 

on  foot.  At  the  same  time  he  received  many  people,  and  for  this  purpose  had  made 
it  a  rule  to  be  always  at  liome  from  two  o'clock  till  tliree.  During  this  time  he 
talked  business  and  dined.  But  very  often,  for  several  days  together,  he  did  not 
go  home,  and  then  one  of  his  friends,  devoted  to  him  body  and  soul  and  silent  as  a 
tomb,  received  his  visitors  for  him.  About  two  years  after  his  entrance  into  Kirsa- 
nofE's  study,  where  we  now  see  him  reading  Newton's  commentaries  on  the  Apoca- 
lypse, he  left  St.  Petersburg,  after  telling  Kirsanoff  and  two  or  three  of  his  most 
intimate  friends  that  he  had  nothing  more  to  do  iu  the  city,  that  he  had  done  all 
that  he  could,  that  nothing  more  could  be  done  for  two  or  three  years,  and  that 
consequently  he  was  free  for  that  length  of  time  and  wished  to  use  it  for  the  benefit 
of  his  futm'e  activity.  AVe  have  learned  since  that  he  went  to  his  old  estate,  sold 
the  land  remaining  to  him,  received  about  thirty-five  thousand  roubles,  went  to 
Riazan  and  ^Moscow,  and  distributed  about  five  thousand  roubles  among  his  seven 
bursars  that  they  might  finish  their  studies.  And  here  ended  las  authentic  history. 
"\Miat  became  of  him  after  his  departure  from  Moscow  is  not  known.  Several 
months  went  by,  and  no  news  came  from  him.  Those  who  knew  most  about  him 
no  longer  kept  silence  regarding  several  matters  which,  at  his  request,  they  had 
concealed  during  his  stay  among  us.  Then  it  was  that  the  meml)ers  of  our  circle 
learned  that  he  had  bursars,  and  the  various  other  details  about  him  which  I  have 
just  given.  "We  heard  also  a  multitude  of  stories  which,  instead  of  making  him 
better  known  to  us,  only  rendered  his  character  more  problematical, — stories  as- 
tonishing from  their  singularity,  stories  some  of  which  flatly  contradicted  the  opinion 
we  had  formed  of  him,  as  a  man  w-holly  without  feeling,  having,  if  I  may  so  express 
myself,  no  heart  beating  with  personal  emotions.  To  relate  all  these  stories  would 
be  out  of  place.  I  will  give  but  two  here,  —  one  of  each  class,  —  one  queer  and  the 
other  upsetting  the  theory  of  his  pretended  hardness  of  heart.  I  choose  them  from 
those  told  me  by  Kirsanoff. 

A  year  before  he  disappeared  for  the  second  and  probably  the  last  time  from  St. 
Petersburg  Rakhm^toff  said  to  Kirsanoff:  "Give  me  a  large  quantity  of  salve  good 
for  healing  wounds  inflicted  by  sharp  tools."  Kirsanoff  filled  an  enormous  jar  for 
him,  thinking  that  Kakhindtoff  intended  to  take  it  to  a  carpenters'  shop  or  that  of 
some  other  workmen  liable  to  cuts.  The  next  morning  Rakhmetoff's  landlady  ran 
to  Kirsanoff  in  great  fright : 

"  Father  *  doctor,  I  do  not  know  what  has  got  into  my  tenant :  he  is  late,  he  has 
not  left  his  room,  the  door  is  locked;  I  looked  through  the  crack  of  the  door  and 
saw  him  covered  with  Ijlood ;  when  I  began  to  cry  out,  he  said  to  me  through  the 
door:  'It  is  nothing,  Agrafcna  Antonovna.' j;IIow  can  it  be  nothing!  Save  him, 
father  doctor!  Oh,  how  I  fear  lest  he  may  die!  He  is  so  utterly  without  pity  for 
himself." 

•  A  formula  of  respect  in  Russia  among  the  people. 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  JIushand,  and  the  Second  Love.     219 

Kirsanoff  ran  in  all  haste;  Rakhmetoff  opened  his  door,  abroad  and  dismal  smile 
on  his  lips.  Kirsanoff  saw  a  sight  at  which  Agrafena  Antonovna  might  well  have 
been  startled ;  others  would  have  been.  The  back  and  sides  of  Rakhnietoff's  shirt 
(he  was  in  his  shirt)  were  covered  with  blood ;  there  was  blood  under  the  bed ;  the 
felt  on  which  he  slept  was  covered  with  blood ;  in  the  felt  were  hundreds  of  little 
nails,  sticking  up  about  an  inch ;  Rakhmetoff  had  lain  all  night  on  this  bed  of  his 
invention. 

"  Pray,  what  does  this  mean,  Rakhmetoff?  "  cried  Kirsanoff,  thoroughly  frightened. 

"  A  trial.  It  was  necessary  to  make  it.  Improbable,  certainly,  but  at  all  events 
it  was  necessary  to  make  it.     I  know  now  what  I  can  do." 

Besides  what  Kirsanoff  saw,  the  landlady  evidently  could  have  told  many  curious 
things  about  Rakhmetoff,  but  in  her  innocence  and  simplicity  the  old  woman  doted 
on  him,  and  it  is  needless  to  say  that  nothing  could  be  learned  from  her.  On  this 
occasion  she  ran  to  Kirsanoff  only  liecause  Rakhmetoff  himself  allowed  her  to  do  so 
for  her  own  peace  of  mind,  so  bitterly  did  she  weep,  thinking  that  he  intended  to 
commit  suicide. 

Two  months  after  this  affair,  at  the  end  of  the  month  of  May,  Rakhmetoff  disap- 
peared for  a  week  or  more,  but  no  one  remarked  ui^on  it,  as  it  very  oftcMi  happened 
that  he  disappeared  for  several  days.  Later  Kirsanoff'  told  us  the  following  story 
of  the  way  in  which  Rakhmetoff'  spent  his  time  while  absent.  It  was  the  erotic 
epi.sode  of  his  life.  His  love  grew  out  of  an  event  worthy  of  Nikitouchka  Lomoff. 
Rakhmetoff  was  going  from  Premier  Pargolovo*  to  the  city,  in  a  thoughtful  mood 
and  with  eyes  lowered,  as  usual;  when  passing  by  the  Institut  Forestier,  he  was 
startled  from  liis  dreams  by  tiie  harrowing  cry  of  a  woman.  Raising  his  eves,  lie 
saw  that  a  liorse,  attached  to  a  jaunting-car  in  which  a  lady  sat,  had  taken  the  bits 
in  his  teeth  and  was  running  as  fast  as  he  could;  the  lady  had  droi>i)ed  the  reins, 
which  were  dragging  along  the  ground;  the  horse  was  not  more  than  two  steps  from 
RakliuK-toff;  he  thn-w  himsolf  into  the  mitldlc  of  tlm  road,  but  the  liorsti  passed 
rapidly  by  him  before  lie  could  seize  thi-  I'liiUe;  he  could  only  grasp  tln!  rear  axle 
of  the  jaunting-car,  wliich  he  stopped,  though  Ik;  fell  himself.  Tlu^  passers-by  ran  to 
the  spf)t,  holpod  th<'  lady  out  of  the  jaunting-car,  and  jiieked  uj*  HakhnielolT.  His 
chest  was  slightly  bruised,  but  liis  most  sf-rious  injury  was  the  loss  of  a  good-sized 
piece  of  flesh  which  the  whe<l  lijul  torn  from  his  leg.  When  the  lady  had  recovered 
herself,  she  orderefl  him  to  V>o  taken  to  her  coimtry-house,  about  half  a  verst  distant. 
Ilf  ef)iiH<'iiled,  for  h^  fi'lt  vory  w<rak,  but  In-  insistccl  that  Kirsanoff  be  sen!  for,  as 
he  would  have  no  otlwr  rloctor.  Kirsanoff  dfcidi-d  that  the  bruises  on  his  chest 
•were  not  of  serious  consequence,  V)ut  lie  foutid  Rakhmetoff  himself  very  weak  from 
tlie  loss  of  blood  which  he  had  suffered.  He  remained  in  bed  ten  days.  Naturally, 
the  lady  whom  he  had  saved  cared  for  Iiini  Iwrsi-lf.     Tu  view  of  his  weakness  he 

*A  Tillage  In  the  luburbs  of  St.  Petci-sburg. 


220  What's  To  Be  Done? 

could  only  talk  wilh  her,  —  the  time  would  have  been  lost  at  any  rate, — so  he  spoke 
and  for  once  without  reserve.  The  lady  was  a  young  widow  nineteen  years  old, 
moderately  rich,  independent,  intelligent,  and  fine-looking,  llakhmetotf's  ardent 
words  (not  of  love,  be  it  understood)  charmed  her. 

"I  see  him  in  my  dreams  surrounded  with  a  halo,"  said  she  to  Kirsanoff.  He 
also  conceived  a  passion  for  her.  From  his  exterior  she  thought  him  poor ;  conse- 
quently she  was  the  first  to  propose  marriage  when  on  the  eleventh  day  he  rose  and 
said  thatTie  could  go  home. 

"  With  you  I  have  been  more  outspoken  than  with  others ;  you  can  see  that  men 
like  me  have  not  the  right  to  bind  their  destiny  to  that  of  any  one  whomsoever." 

"Yes,  you  are  right,"  said  she,  "you  cannot  marry.  But  imtil  you  have  to  leave 
me,  love  me." 

"Xo,  I  cannot  accept  that  offer  either;  I  am  no  longer  free,  and  must  not  love." 

What  has  become  of  this  lady  since?  This  adventure  must  have  changed  her 
life,  and  undoubtedly  she  became  herself  a  person  like  llakhiuetoff.  I  should  like 
to  know  it.  But  Kirsanoff  did  not  wish  to  tell  me  her  name,  and  he  knew  no  more 
than  I  what  she  had  become.  Rakhmetoff  had  asked  him  not  to  inquire  about  her. 
"If  I  supposed  that  j^ou  knew  anything  about  her,"  said  he,  "I  could  not  help  ask- 
ing you  for  the  facts,  and  that  must  not  be."  "\Mien  the  story  was  known,  every- 
body remembered  that  at  that  time  and  for  some  two  months  afterwards  Rakhmetoff 
was  more  sober  than  usual.  With  no  matter  what  fury  any  one  might  throw  in 
his  face  his  abominable  weakness,  cigars,  he  did  not  pour  out  wrath  upon  himself, 
and  no  broad  and  gentle  smile  illuminated  his  countenance  when  any  one  flattered 
him  with  the  name  of  Xikitouchka  Lomoff.  I  have  other  memories.  Three  or  four 
times  that  .simmier  he  happened  to  make  answer  to  my  ridicule  (for  I  laughed  at 
him  when  we  were  together,  and  that  is  why  he  took  me  into  his  affection) : 

"Yes,  pity  me;  you  are  right,  pity  me.  I,  too,  like  the  others,  am  not  an  abstract 
idea,  but  a  man  who  wishes  to  live.     However,  it  will  pass  away." 

And  in  fact  it  did  pass  away.  Once  only,  several  months  later,  I  so  excited  him 
by  my  railleiy  that  he  happened  to  say  the  same  words  over  again. 

The  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye  sees,  perhaps,  that  I  know  more  about 
Rakhmdtoff  than  I  say.  It  may  be  so.  I  dare  not  contradict  him,  for  his  eye  is 
penetrating.  If  I  only  knew !  I  know  many  things  that  you,  reader  with  the  pene- 
trating eye,  can  never  learn.  But  what  I  really  do  not  know  is  this, — where 
Rakhmdtoff  is  now,  what  has  become  of  him,  and  whether  I  shall  ever  see  him 
again.  About  these  matters  I  know  no  more  than  his  other  friends.  Three  or  four 
months  after  his  disappearance  from  ^Moscow  we  supposed,  though  we  had  heard 
nothing  from  him,  that  he  was  travelling  in  Europe.  This  conjecture  seems  to 
have  been  correct.  At  least  it  is  confirmed  by  this  evidence.  A  year  after 
Rakhmt'toff's  disappearance  one  of  Ku'sanoff's  acquaintances  met  in  a  railway  car- 
mge  between  Vieima  and  Munich  a  young  Russian,  who  said  that  he  had  trav- 


XZ/b  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.     221 

elled  through  all  the  Slavonic  countries,  meeting  all  classes  of  society  aud  staying 
in  each  country  only  as  long  as  it  was  necessary  in  order  to  form  a  true  conception 
of  its  ideas,  its  customs,  its  manner  of  life,  its  local  institutions,  its  material  condi- 
tion, and  the  various  branches  of  its  population ;  that  with  this  view  he  lived  in 
cities  and  villages,  going  on  foot  from  one  village  to  another ;  that  he  had  studied 
in  the  same  way  the  Roumanians  aud  the  Hungarians;  that  he  had  travelled,  now 
on  foot  and  now  by  rail,  through  Northern  Germany ;  that  then  he  had  visited  in 
detail  Southern  Germany  and  the  German  provinces  of  Austria ;  that  now  he  was 
going  to  Bavaria,  and  thence  to  Switzerland  by  way  of  Wiirtemberg  and  Baden; 
that  afterwards  he  would  go  through  France  and  England  in  the  same  way,  which 
he  counted  on  doing  in  a  year ;  if  there  were  enough  of  the  year  left,  he  wotild  see 
also  Spain  and  Italy;  if  not,  he  would  not  go  there.  Why?  Because  in  a  year  it 
was  absolutely  necessary  that  he  should  be  in  the  United  States,  a  country  which 
he  must  study  more  than  any  other.  There  he  would  remain  a  long  time,  perhaps 
more  than  a  year,  and  perhaps  for  ever  should  he  find  occupation  there ;  but  it  was 
more  likely  that  in  three  years  he  would  return  to  Russia,  gis  it  seemed  to  him  that 
at  that  time  it  would  be  necessary  to  be  tlicre.  All  this  is  much  like  Rakhmctoff, 
including  the  "  it  is  necessarj's"  impressed  upon  the  meiuor}''  of  the  narrator.  The 
age,  tlie  voice,  the  features  of  the  traveller  were  also  confirmatory  indices ;  but  the 
narrator  had  not  paid  much  attention  to  his  fellow-traveller,  who,  moreover,  had 
left  liiin  two  hours  later,  descending  from  the  train  at  a  little  village.  Conse- 
quently tlie  narrator  gave  only  a  vague  description  of  his  external  appearance,  so 
that  the  authenticity  is  not  complete.  It  is  also  said  that  a  young  Russian,  an 
ex-seigneur,  once  presented  himself  to  one  of  the  greatest  European  thinkers  of  our 
century,  flu;  father  of  tlio  now  German  i)hilosophy,  and  said  to  him:  "I  have  thirty 
tliousaud  thali;rs;  I  need  but  five  thousand;  the  remainder  I  beg  you  to  accept." 
The  pliiloHopher  was  living  in  great  poverty. 

"Wliatfor?" 

"For  the  juildication  of  your  works." 

The  pliilosophcr  did  not  accept;  but  the  Russian  nevertheless  deposited  the 
money  in  liis  name  at  a  banker's,  an<l  wrote  him  a  ncile  which  road  as  follows: 
"Do  with  this  money  as  you  will;  throw  it  in  the  water  if  you  like ;  but  you  can- 
not send  it  back  to  me,  for  you  will  not  find  nie."  The  money  is  said  to  be  still  at 
the  banker's.  If  lliis  report  Ix-  true,  it  was  Rakliinc'toff  and  none  other  tliat  calleil 
on  the  philosopher.  Such,  then,  is  tiio  gentleman  whom  we  now  see  seated  in 
KirsanofF's  study.  lie  i.s  truly  an  uncounnon  man,  an  individual  of  a  very  rare 
sort.  And  I  liave  not  spoken  to  you  of  him  at  this  length,  reader  witli  the  pene- 
trating eye,  to  teach  you  the  ]iroi>er  method  of  beliavior  (unknown  to  you)  toward 
people  of  his  sort.  You  cannot  sec  a  single  man  of  his  type;  your  eyes  are  not 
made  to  see  such  phenomena;  to  you  these  men  are  invisible;  none  but  honest 
and  fearless  eyes  can  see  tbcm.     But  it  wa.s  good  that  you  should  know,  were  it 


222  What's  To  Be  Done? 

ouly  by  hearsay,  that  such  men  exist;  as  for  feminhio  readers  and  simple-minded 
masculine  readers,  they  know  the  value  of  this  description. 

Yes,  people  like  RakhmetofE  are  very  droll,  very  amusing.  I  tell  them  that  they 
are  very  droll;  I  tell  them  so  because  I  pity  them;  I  say  to  the  noble  hearts  who 
are  charmed  by  them  :  "  Do  not  imitate  them.  The  way  in  which  they  lead  you  is 
poor  in  personal  joys."  But,  instead  of  listening  to  me,  they  say:  "The  way  is 
not  poor  at  all ;  on  the  contrary,  it  is  very  rich ;  though  it  should  be  poor  in  some 
particular  spot,  it  can  never  long  continue  so,  and  we  shall  have  strength  enough 
to  scale  the  diificult  points  in  order  to  enter  into  the  immense  prairies  fertile  in  all 
sorts  of  joys."  You  see,  then,  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye,  that  it  is  not  for 
you,  but  for  another  portion  of  the  public,  that  I  have  said  that  men  like  Rakhme- 
toff  are  droll.  I  will  tell  you,  however,  that  they  are  not  wicked;  otherwise,  per- 
haps you  would  not  understand ;  no,  they  are  not  wicked.  They  are  few  in 
number,  but  through  them  the  life  of  all  mankind  expands ;  without  them  it  would 
have  been  stifled.  They  are  few  in  number,  but  they  put  others  in  a  position  to 
breathe,  who  without  them  would  have  been  suffocated.  Great  is  the  mass  of  good 
and  honest  men,  but  Rakhmetoffs  are  rare ;  they  are  like  the  theine  in  the  tea,  the 
bouquet  in  fine  wine,  —  strength  and  aroma.  They  are  the  best  among  the  best, 
they  are  the  movers  of  the  movers,  they  are  the  salt  of  the  salt  of  the  earth. 

XXX. 

"Ah,  then!"  thinks  the  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye,  "so  Rakhmetoff  is  to 
be  the  principal  personage  and  master  of  all,  Vdra  Pavlovna  is  to  fall  in  love  with 
him,  and  we  are  to  see  the  story  of  Lopoukhoff  begun  over  again  with  Kirsanoff  as 
the  hero." 

Nothing  of  the  sort,  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye.  Rakhmetoff  will  pass  the 
evening  in  conversation  with  Vdra  Pavlovna,  and  I  will  not  keep  from  you  a  sin- 
gle word  of  what  they  say.  You  shall  soon  see  that,  if  I  had  not  chosen  to  commu- 
ni«ate  this  conversation  to  you,  I  could  very  easily  have  kept  from  doing  so,  and 
the  course  of  events  in  my  story  would  not  have  been  changed  in  the  least.  I  , 
also  tell  you  in  advance  that,  when  Rakhmdtoff,  after  talking  with  Vdra  Pavlovna, 
shall  go  away,  he  will  go  away  for  ever  from  my  story,  that  he  will  be  neither  a 
principal  nor  a  secondary  character,  and  that  he  will  not  figure  further  in  my  ro- 
mance. Why  have  I  introduced  him  into  the  romance  and  described  him  in  such 
detail?  There  is  an  enigma  for  you,  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye.  Can  you 
guess  it?  It  will  be  solved  for  you  in  the  following  pages.  But  guess  now  what 
will  be  said  farther  on.  It  should  not  be  difTicult,  if  you  had  the  slightest  idea  of 
art,  about  which  you  are  so  fond  of  chattering;  but  it  is  Greek  to  you.  Stop,  I 
will  whisper  in  your  ear  half  of  the  solution  of  the  enigma.  I  have  shown  Rakh- 
mdtoff in  order  to  satisfy  the  most  essential  condition  of  art,  and  simply  for  that. 


Life  of  Vera  with  Iter  Husband^  and  the  Second  Love.     223 

"Well,  now,  find  out  if  you  can  what  this  artistic  condition  is.  Look,  guess  1  The 
feminine  reader  and  the  simple-minded  masculine  reader,  who  do  not  chatter  about 
art,  know,  but  to  you  it  is  an  enigma.  Take  your  time.  I  draw  a  long,  broad 
stroke  between  the  lines:  (see  how  careful  I  am  with  you).  Pause  over  this  stroke, 
and  reflect  upon  it ;  still,  perhaps  you  will  not  guess. 


Madame  ^lertzaloff  came.  After  having  regretted  and  consoled,  she  said  that 
she  would  take  charge  of  the  shop  with  pleasure,  but  that  she  feared  she  might 
not  succeed,  and  again  she  began  to  regret  and  console  while  helping  to  sort  out 
the  effects.  After  having  asked  the  neighbors'  servants  to  go  to  the  bake-shop, 
Rakhmetoff  prepared  the  samovar,  brought  it  in,  and  they  began  to  take  tea; 
Ilakhmt'toif  spent  half  an  hour  with  the  ladies,  drank  five  cups  of  tea,  half  emptied 
at  the  same  time  an  enormous  pot  of  cream,  and  ate  a  frightful  quantity  of  rolls, 
and  two  plain  loaves  which  served  as  a  foundation. 

"  I  am  entitled  to  this  extra  indulgence,  for  I  am  sacrificing  an  entire  half  of  my 
day." 

AVhile  enjoying  his  meal  and  listening  to  the  ladies  as  they  exhausted  them- 
selves in  grief,  he  expressed  three  times  his  opinion:  "It  is  senseless,"  —  not  that 
the  ladies  should  exhaust  themselves  in  grief,  but  that  any  one  should  kill  himself 
for  any  reason  whatever  except  to  get  rid  of  an  intolerably  painful  and  incurable 
disease  or  to  avoid  a  painful  and  inevitable  death,  —  such,  for  instance,  as  torture 
on  the  wheel;  each  time  he  (expressed  this  opinion  couciselj',  as  was  liis  liabit.  He 
poured  out  the  sixth  cup  of  tea,  at  the  same  time  emptying  the  pot  of  cream  com- 
pletely, and  took  all  the  rolls  that  were  left,  and,  the  ladies  having  long  ago  fin- 
ished their  meal,  he  made  a  bow  and  wont  off  with  these  things  to  finish  his  ]ihysical 
delectation  in  the  study,  where  h(>  passed  some  time  as  a  sybarite,  extended  on  the 
divan,  which  was  used  by  everybody,  but  which  to  him  was  Capuan  luxury. 

"I  am  entitled  to  this  feast,  for  I  am  sacrificing  twelve  or  fourteen  hours  of  my 
time,"  said  he.  Aftf-r  having  finished  his  physical  delectation,  he  began  once 
more  his  mental  delectation,  —  the  reading  of  the  commentaries  on  the  Apocalypse. 
About  ten  o'clock  the  police  official  came  to  communicate  the  particulars  of  the 
affair  to  the  wife  of  the  suicide ;  Kakhmdtoff  told  him  that  the  wife  knew  all  about 
it  already,  and  that  there  was  nothing  to  be  said  to  her;  the  official  was  A'ery  glad 
to  be  relieved  from  participation  in  a  harrowing  scene.  Then  came  iNIacha  and 
Rachel  and  l)egan  to  sort  out  the  clothing  and  goods;  Rachel  advised  the  sale  of 
everj'thing  except  the  nice  cloak,  for,  if  that  were  sold,  it  would  be  necessary  in 
three  months  to  have  a  new  one  made.  To  this  Vdra  Pavlovna  consented,  and  the 
price  was  fixed  at  four  hundred  and  fifty  roubles,  —  all  that  the  things  were  worth, 
according  to  Madame  Mertzaloff.  So  at  ten  o'clock  the  commercial  transaction 
was  concluded.     Rachel  paid  two  hundred  roubles;  she  had  no  more  about  her, 


2-24  What's  To  Be  Done? 

but  vrould  send  the  balance  in  two  or  three  days  by  Madame  Mertzaloff;  she  took 
the  things  and  went  away.  ISfadame  Mertzaloff  remained  an  hour  longer,  but  it 
was  time  to  nurse  lior  child,  and  she  went  away,  saying  that  she  would  come  the 
next  day  to  accompany  Vera  Pavlovna  to  the  station. 

When  Madame  Mertzaloff  had  gone,  Rakhmetoff  closed  Newton's  commenta- 
ries on  the  Apocal}*pse,  put  them  carefully  back  in  their  place,  and  sent  Macha  to 
ask  Vera  Pavlovna  if  he  could  go  into  her  room.  lie  obtained  permission.  He 
entered,  as  usual,  slowly  and  coolly. 

"  Vera  Pavlovna,  I  am  now  able  to  console  you  to  a  certain  extent.  It  is  permis- 
sible to  do  so  now;  it  was  not  necessary  to  do  so  sooner.  First  warning  you  that 
the  general  result  of  my  visit  will  be  of  a  consoling  nature, — you  know,  I  never 
say  vain  words,  and  you  must  calm  yourself  in  advance,  —  I  am  going  to  explain 
the  affau"  to  you  at  length.  I  told  you  that  I  had  seen  Alexander  ISIatvditch  and 
that  I  knew  all.  That  was  strictly  true.  But  I  did  not  tell  you  that  I  knew  all 
from  him,  and  I  could  not  have  told  you  so,  since  in  reality  I  knew  all,  not  from 
him,  but  from  Dmitry  Sergueitch,  who  came  to  see  me  about  two  o'clock;  I  was 
notified  in  advance  of  his  coming,  and  consequently  was  at  home;  so  he  came  to 
see  me  about  two  o'clock,  after  writing  the  note  which  has  caused  you  so  much 
grief.     And  he  it  was  who  asked  me  "  .  .  .  . 

"You  knew  what  he  intended  to  do  and  did  not  stop  him?" 

"I  asked  you  to  be  calm,  as  the  result  of  my  visit  was  to  be  consoling.  No,  I  did 
not  stop  him,  for  his  mind  was  thoroughly  made  up,  as  you  shall  see  for  j^ourself. 
As  I  began  to  say,  he  it  was  who  asked  me  to  spend  this  evening  with  you,  and, 
knowing  that  you  would  be  in  sorrow,  he  entrusted  me  with  a  commission  for  you. 
He  chose  me  as  his  agent  because  he  knew  me  to  be  a  man  who  carries  out  with 
perfect  exactness  the  instructions  that  are  given  him,  and  cannot  be  turned  aside 
by  any  sentiment  or  any  prayer.  He  foresaw  that  you  would  beg  me  to  violate  his 
will,  and  he  hoped  that  I  would  carry  it  out  without  being  moved  by  your  prayers. 
So  I  shall,  and  I  beg  you  to  ask  no  concession  of  me.  This  commission  is  as  follows. 
In  going  away  to  '  quit  the  scene '  " 

"^ly  God,  what  has  he  done !     Why  did  you  not  restrain  him?" 

"Examine  this  expression,  'quit  the  scene,'  and  do  not  blame  me  prematurely. 
He  used  this  expression  in  the  note  that  you  received,  did  he  not?  Well,  we  will 
adopt  the  same  expression,  for  it  is  very  happily  chosen  and  expresses  the  idea 
exactly." 

Vera  Pavlovna  became  more  and  more  perplexed;  she  said  to  herself:  "What 
does  it  mean?    "What  must  I  think?" 

Rakhmetoff,  with  all  the  apparent  absurdity  of  his  circumstantial  method  of  ex- 
planation, managed  the  affair  in  a  masterly  way.  He  was  a  great  psychologist,  and 
knew  how  to  proceed  gradually. 

"  So,  in  going  away,  with  a  view  to  quitting  the  scene,  to  use  his  accurate  expres- 
sion, he  left  with  me  a  note  for  you" 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.     225 

Vera  Pavlovna  rose  abruptly. 

"  AVhere  is  it?  Give  it  to  me !  And  you  could  stay  here  all  day  without  deliver- 
ing it  to  me?" 

"  I  could  because  it  was  necessary.  You  will  soon  understand  my  reasons.  They 
are  well-founded.  But  first  I  must  explain  to  you  the  expression  that  I  employed 
just  now:  'the  result  will  be  consoling.'  By  the  consoling  nature  of  the  result  I 
did  not  mean  the  receipt  of  this  note,  and  that  for  two  reasons,  the  first  of  which  is 
this:  in  the  fact  of  the  receipt  of  this  note  there  would  not  have  been  sufficient  re- 
lief, you  see,  to  deserve  the  name  of  consolation;  to  give  consolation  something 
more  is  necessary.    So  the  consolation  must  be  found  in  the  contents  of  the  note." 

Vera  Pavlovna  rose  again. 

"Calm  yourself;  I  do  not  say  that  you  are  mistaken.  Having  ]3repossessed  you 
concerning  the  contents  of  the  note,  let  me  tell  you  the  second  reason  why  I  could 
not  mean  by  the  'consoling  nature  of  the  result'  the  fact  of  the  receipt  of  the  note, 
but  its  contents  rather.  These  contents,  on  the  character  of  which  we  have  settled, 
are  so  important  that  I  cannot  give  them  to  you,  but  can  only  sliow  them  to  you." 

"  Wlmt  I     You  will  not  give  them  to  me?  " 

"No.  That  is  precisely  why  he  chose  me,  for  anybody  else  in  my  place  would 
have  given  them  to  you.  The  note  cannot  remain  in  your  hands  because,  consider- 
ing tlie  extreme  importance  of  its  contents,  on  the  character  of  wliich  we  have  set- 
tled, it  must  not  remain  in  the  liands  of  any  one.  Now,  if  I  should  give  it  to  you, 
you  would  wish  to  keep  it.  So,  not  to  be  obliged  to  take  it  away  from  you  again 
by  force,  I  shall  not  give  it  to  you,  but  shall  only  show  it  to  you.  But  I  shall  not 
show  it  to  you  until  you  liave  sat  down,  placed  your  hands  upon  your  knees,  and 
given  me  your  wonl  not  to  raise  llu^m." 

If  any  stranger  liad  l)een  there,  iiowcver  susceptible  his  heart,  he  could  not  have 
helped  laughing  at  the  solemnity  of  this  procedure  and  especially  at  the  quasi- 
religious  ccremonios  of  tliis  clim.ix.  It  is  comical,  T  confess,  1)ut  it  would  b(>  very 
good  fur  our  nerves  if,  in  communicating  ni;\vs  calculatetl  to  jiruduci'  a  strong  im- 
pression, wo  knew  how  to  observe  toward  eivch  other  oven  a  tenth  part  of  llakhme- 
toff's  processes. 

But  Vera  Pavlovna,  not  l)eing  a  slninger,  rould  feel  <}\\]y  the  opjtressive  side  of 
this  delay;  she  even  assumr-d  an  expression  no  less  lauglial)le  when,  being  seated 
and  having  precipitately  and  submissively  placed  her  hands  upon  her  knees,  she 
cried,  in  the  plea,sant.e8t  voice,  —  tliat  is,  a  voice  of  painful  impatience :  "I  swear  it  I " 

Rakhmr'toff  placed  on  the  tabic  a  sheet  of  letter-paper,  on  which  were  written  ten 
or  twelve  lines. 

Scarcely  had  Vera  Pavlovna  cast  a  glance  at  it  when,  forgetting  her  oath,  she  rose 
impetuously  to  seize  the  note,  which  was  already  far  off  in  Rakhmetoff's  lifted  hand. 

"I  foresaw  that,  and  for  that  reason,  as  you  would  have  noticed  liad  you  been  in 
a  condition  to  notice  anything,  my  hand  did  not  leave  the  note.     Therefore  I  will 


226  What's  To  Be  Done? 

continue  to  hold  this  sheet  by  tlie  corner  as  long  as  it  remains  on  the  table.     This 
will  nuiko  all  your  attempts  useless." 

Vera  Pavlovna  sat  down  again  and  replaced  her  hands.  Rakhmdtoff  again  placed 
the  note  under  her  eyes.  She  read  it  over  twenty  times  with  emotion,  llakhmdtoff 
stood  with  much  patience  beside  her  chair,  holding  the  corner  of  the  sheet  with  his 
hand.  A  quarter  of  an  hour  passed  thus.  Finally  Vera  Pavlovna  raised  her  hand 
slowly,  evidently  without  bad  intentions,  and  hid  her  eyes. 

"How  good  he  is!  how  good  he  is ! "  said  she. 

"I  am  not  quite  of  your  opinion,  and  you  shall  know  why.  This  will  be  no  part 
of  his  commission,  but  only  the  expression  of  my  opinion,  which  I  gave  to  him  too 
at  our  last  interview.  My  comiuission  consisted  only  in  this,  —  to  show  you  this 
note  and  then  burn  it.     Have  you  looked  at  it  enough?" 

'•Again,  again!" 

She  folded  her  hands  anew,  he  replaced  the  note,  and  with  the  same  patience 
stood  in  the  position  already  described  a  good  quarter  of  an  hour  longer.  Again 
she  hid  her  face  in  her  hands  and  repeated :     "  Oh  1  how  good  he  is,  how  good  he  is ! " 

"You  have  studied  this  note  as  closely  as  you  could.  If  you  were  in  a  calmer 
frame  of  mind,  not  only  would  you  know  it  by  heart,  but  the  very  form  of  each 
letter  would  be  stamped  for  ever  in  your  memory,  so  long  and  attentively  have  you 
looked  at  it.  But  in  your  present  state  of  agitation  the  laws  of  memory  do  not 
exist,  and  memory  may  prove  false  to  you.  In  view  of  this  possibility  I  have  made 
a  copy  of  the  note ;  this  copy  you  can  always  see  at  my  house  whenever  you  like 
Sometime  I  may  even  find  it  possible  to  give  it  to  you.  Now  I  think  it  is  time  to 
burn  the  original,  and  then  my  commission  will  be  completed." 

"  Show  it  to  me  once  more." 

He  again  placed  the  note  on  the  table.  This  time  Vera  Pavlovna  repeatedly 
raised  her  eyes  from  the  paper:  it  was  plain  that  she  had  learned  tlie  note  by  heart 
and  was  verifying  her  remembrance  of  it.  A  few  minutes  afterwards  she  gave  a 
deep  sigh,  and  stopped  lifting  her  eyes  from  the  note. 

"Now,  that  is  enough,  it  seems  to  me.  It  is  time.  It  is  midnight  already,  and  I 
have  yet  to  give  you  my  thoughts  about  this  matter,  for  I  deem  it  useful  that  you 
should  know  my  ojjinion.     Do  you  consent?" 

"Yes." 

On  the  instant  the  note  was  ablaze  in  the  flame  of  the  candle. 

"Ah!"  cried  Vera  Pavlovna,  "that  is  not  what  I  said.     Why" 

"Yes,  you  only  said  that  you  consented  to  listen  to  me.  But  sooner  or  later  I 
should  have  had  to  burn  it." 

Saying  these  words,  Piakhmotoif  sat  down. 

"Besides,  the  copy  of  the  note  remains.  Now,  Vera  Pavlovna,  I  am  going  to 
give  you  my  opinion  of  the  affair.  I  will  begin  with  you.  You  are  going  away. 
Why?" 


Life,  of  Vera  with  her  Hushand^  and  the  Second  Love.     227 

"It  would  be  very  painful  for  me  to  stay  here.  The  sight  of  places  which  would 
recall  the  past  would  make  me  very  unhappy." 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  very  disagreeable  feeling.  But  do  you  believe  that  life  would  be 
much  less  painful  to  you  anywhere  else?  Very  little  less,  in  any  case.  And  yet 
wliat  do  you  do?  To  secure  yourself  a  slight  relief,  you  hazard  the  destiny  of 
fifty  individuals  dependent  upon  you.     Is  it  well  to  do  that?" 

What  has  become  of  the  tiresome  solemnity  of  RakhmetofE's  tone  ?  He  speaks 
in  a  spirited,  natural,  simple,  brief,  and  animated  way. 

"That  is  true,  but  I  have  asked  ^ladaine  MertzalofE  "  .  .  .  . 

"You  do  not  know  whether  she  will  be  in  a  position  to  replace  you  in  the  shop; 
her  capacity  i-j  not  yet  proven.  Now,  this  is  a  matter  which  calls  for  a  person  of 
more  than  ordinary  capacity.  The  chances  are  ten  against  one  that  no  one  would 
be  found  to  replace  you  and  that  your  departure  would  ruin  the  shop.  Is  that 
well?  You  expose  fifty  persons  to  ahuost  certain,  almost  inevitable  ruin.  And 
for  what  reason?  To  secure  a  little  comfort  for  yourself.  Is  that  well?  What 
an  eager  tenderness  for  one's  own  trivial  relief,  and  wliat  an  insensibility  to  the 
fate  of  others  1     How  does  this  view  of  your  course  please  you  ?  " 

"Why  did  you  not  restrain  me?" 

"You  would  not  have  listened  to  me.  Ami,  besides,  I  knew  that  you  would 
come  l)ack  soon ;  consequently  the  matter  was  not  important.  You  see  that  you 
arc  in  the  wrong." 

"C,'oiiii)lctely,"  said  Vera  Pavlovna,  partly  in  jest  ;iiid  parlly  in  earnest,  —  almost 
wholly  in  earnest,  in  fact. 

"No,  that  i«  but  one  side  of  your  crime.  'C'oiujiletely '  involves  much  more. 
But  for  your  nqHMitance  you  shall  receive  a  reward :  I  am  going  to  aid  you  to  re- 
pair anotlier  crime,  which  it  is  not  yet  too  late  to  correct.  Are  you  calm  now, 
Vera  TavLnnu?" 

"Yes,  almost  calm." 

"(ifiod  I     Do  you  need  ^laclia  for  anything?" 

"Certainly  not." 

"And  yet  you  are  aln;ady  calm;  you  ought,  then,  to  have  remembered  that  it 
was  time  to  tell  her  to  go  to  Ixfd,  —  it  is  already  ]»ast  midnight,  —  ('specially  as  sIk^ 
has  to  rise  early.  Who  sliould  have  thouglit  of  tliis,  you  or  I?  I  will  tell  her  lluit 
she  may  sle<!p.  And  at  the  same  time  for  this  fresii  repentance  —  for  you  do  re- 
jient  —  here  is  a  new  reward;  I  will  see  what  there  is  for  su])])er.  You  hnvc  not 
eaten  today,  and  you  must  liave  an  appetite." 

"It  is  true,  and  a  keen  one;  I  felt  it  as  soon  as  you  reminded  me  of  it,"  said 
Vera  Pavlovna,  laugliing  tliis  time. 

llakhmetoff  lirouglit  the  remains  of  the  dinner.  Macha  had  shown  him  the 
cheese  and  a  pot  of  nmshrooms,  which  made  them  a  good  supper  enough ;  lio 
brought  two  knives  and  forks,  and,  in  short,  did  everything  himself. 


228  W/iat's  To  Be  Done? 

"See,  Rakhmc'toff,  how  eagerly  I  eat;  that  means  that  I  was  hungry;  and  yet  T 
did  not  feel  it;  it  was  not  Macha  alone  that  I  forgot;  I  am  not,  you  see,  so  mali- 
cious a  criminal." 

"Nor  am  I  so  very  attentive  to  others ;  I  reminded  you  of  your  appetite  because 
I  too  wanted  to  eat,  for  I  did  not  dine  very  well,  though  I  ate  more  than  another 
would  have  needed  for  a  dinner  and  a  half ;  but,  as  you  well  know,  I  eat  as  much 
as  any  two  peasants." 

"  Ah,  Rakhmetoff ,  you  are  my  good  angel,  and  not  for  my  appetite  alone.  But 
why  did  you  stay  here  all  day  without  showing  me  the  note  ?  Why  did  you  keep 
me  so  long  in  torture?" 

"The  reason  is  a  very  serious  one.  It  was  necessaiy  that  others  should  witness 
your  sorrow,  so  that  the  news  of  your  extreme  grief  might  spread  and  thus  confirm 
the  authenticity  of  the  event  which  caused  it.  You  would  not  have  wanted  to 
feign  sorrow,  and,  in  fact,  it  is  impossible  to  completely  replace  nature  by  any- 
thing whatever;  nature  in  all  cases  acts  in  a  much  more  convincing  way.  Now 
there  are  three  sources  from  which  the  event  may  be  authenticated, — Macha, 
Madame  Mertzaloff,  and  Rachel.  Madame  Mertzaloff  is  an  especially  important 
source,  as  she  knows  all  your  acquaintances.  I  was  very  glad  that  you  conceived 
the  idea  of  sending  for  her." 

"  But  how  shrewd  you  are,  Rakhmdtoff ! " 

"Yes,  it  was  not  a  bad  idea  to  wait  until  night,  but  the  credit  of  it  belongs  to 
Dmitry  Sergueitch  himself." 

"  IIow  good  he  is  1 "  and  Vera  Pavlovna  heaved  a  profound  sigh,  not  of  sorrow, 
but  of  gratitude. 

"Well,  Ydra  Pavlovna,  we  will  analyze  him  further.  Indeed,  of  late,  his 
thoughts  have  been  very  wise  and  his  conduct  perfect.  Yet  we  shall  convict  him 
of  some  pretty  serious  sins." 

"  Rakhmotoff,  do  not  speak  of  him  in  that  way,  or  I  shall  get  angry." 

"You  rebel!  That  calls  for  another  punishment.  The  list  of  your  crimes  is 
only  just  begun." 

"  Execute,  execute,  Rakhmdtoff." 

"  For  this  submission  a  reward.  Sul amission  is  always  rewarded.  If  you  have 
any  wine,  it  would  not  be  a  bad  idea  for  you  to  drink  some.  Where  is  it  ?  In  the 
sideboard  or  in  the  closet?" 

"  In  the  sideboard." 

In  the  sideboard  he  found  a  bottle  of  sherry. 

Rakhmetoff  obliged  Vera  Pavlovna  to  drink  two  small  glasses  of  it,  and  lit  a 
cigar  himself. 

"It  is  a  pity  that  I  cannot  drink  three  or  four  small  glasses  with  you.  I  desire jt 
so  much." 

"Is  it  possible,  Rakhmdtoff?" 


Life  of  Vera  with  Tier  Husband^  and  the  Second  Love.     229 

"It  is  tempting,  Vera  Pavlovna,  it  is  very  tempting,"  said  he,  laughing;  "man 
is  weak." 

"  You,  too,  weak !  "\^^ly,  Rakhmetoff,  you  astonish  me  I  You  are  not  at  all 
what  I  have  been  in  the  habit  of  thinking  you.  Why  are  you  always  so  sober? 
Tonight  you  are  a  gay  and  charming  man." 

"Vera  Pavlovna,  I  am  now  fulfilling  a  gay  duty;  why  should  I  not  be  gay?  But 
this  is  an  exceptional  case,  a  rarity.  Generally  the  things  that  I  see  are  not  gay 
at  all;  how  could  I  help  bemg  sober?  But,  Vera  Pavlovna,  since  you  have 
chanced  on  this  occasion  to  see  me  as  I  should  very  much  like  to  be  always,  and 
since  we  have  come  to  talk  so  freely  to  each  other,  know  this, — but  let  it  be  a 
secret,  —  that  it  is  not  to  my  liking  to  be  sober.  It  is  easier  for  me  to  do  my  duty 
when  it  is  not  noticed  that  I  too  sliould  like  to  enjoy  life.  In  that  case  no  one 
tries  to  entertain  me,  and  I  am  not  forced  to  W'aste  my  time  in  refusing  invitations. 
But  that  it  may  be  easier  for  you  to  think  of  me  only  as  a  sober  man,  I  continue 
my  inquest  concerning  your  crimes." 

"But  what  more  do  you  want,  then?  You  have  already  convicted  me  of  two, — 
insensibility  toward  IMacha  and  insensibility  regarding  the  shop.    I  am  repentant." 

"The  insensiltility  toward  ]Macha  is  only  an  offence,  not  a  crime  :  IMacha  would 
not  die  from  rubbing  her  hr-avy  eyes  an  hour  longer;  on  the  contrary,  she  would 
have  done  it  with  a  pleasant  feeling,  knowing  that  she  was  doing  her  duty.  But 
as  reganis  the  sliop  I  want  to  devour  you." 

"Have  you  not  devoun-tl  me  enough  already?" 

"Not  entirely  yet,  and  I  want  to  devour  you  entirely.  IIuw  rould  you  abandon 
thin  hIio[)  to  its  ruin?" 

"But  I  have  repentc<l,  and,  besides,  I  did  Jiot  abandon  it:  Madame  Mertzaloff 
had  ronsented  to  take  my  place." 

"We  have  alrcaily  spoken  of  that;  your  int('nti(jn  of  furnishing  her  as  a  substi- 
tute Is  not  a  Hudicicnt  excuse.  But  by  this  excuse  you  have  succeeded  only  in 
convicting  your.stdf  of  a  new  crime." 

Ilakhnirtoff  grailually  resutned  Iiis  serious,  though  not  solemn,  tone. 

"Von  say  that  she  is  gf)ing  to  t;ike  your  jilare.     Is  that,  decided  upon?" 

"Yes,"  s.ii.l  V.'i:i  F':nl..\na,  seriously,  foreseeing  that  something  bad  was  to 
foll*»w. 

"  I>ook  at  it.  The  aflair  is  decided,  l>ut  by  whom?  By  you  and  by  her,  without 
taking  any  further  counsel.  Whether  these  fifty  i)ersons  would  consent  to  such  a 
change,  whether  they  wished  it,  aiul  wh('ther  they  might  not  have  found  some  bet- 
ter way,  —  what  is  that  to  you?  That  is  despotism,  Vera  Pavlovna.  So  you  are 
already  guilty  of  two  great  crimes,  —  lack  of  pity  and  despotism.  But  tiio  third  is 
a  heinous  crime.  The  institution  which  more  or  less  closely  corresponded  to 
healthy  ideas  of  social  organization,  whicli  to  a  greater  or  leas  extent  demon- 
strated their  practicability  (a  precious  thing,  proofs  of  this  kind  being  very  rare), 


V 


230  What's  To  Be  Done? 

— this  institution,  I  say,  you  submitted  to  the  risk  of  destruction  and  of  transior- 
niation  from  a  proof  of  the  practicability  into  evidence  of  the  impracticability  and 
absurdity  of  your  convictions,  into  a  means  of  refuting  your  ideas,  so  beneficial  to 
hunumity:  you  furnished  an  argument  against  your  holy  iirinciples  to  the  cham- 
pions of  darkness  and  of  evil.  Now,  I  say  no  more  of  the  fact  that  you  destroyed 
the  prosperity  of  fifty  individuals, — that  is  a  matter  of  fifty  individuals, — but 
you  harmed  humanity,  you  betrayed  progress.  That,  Vera  Pavlovna,  is  what  is 
called,  in  ecclesiastical  language,  the  sin  against  the  Holy  Ghost,  the  only  unpar- 
donable sin.  Isn't  that  true,  madam  criminal?  Fortunately  everything  has  hap- 
pened as  it  has,  and  you  have  sinned  only  in  intention.  Ah!  you  blush  in  earnest, 
Vera  Pavlovna.  It  is  well;  now  I  will  console  you.  If  you  had  not  suffered  so 
much,  you  would  not  have  committed  such  crimes  even  in  your  imagination. 
Therefore  the  real  criminal  is  he  who  has  occasioned  you  so  much  torment.  And 
you  repeat  continually:  'How  good  he  is!  how  good  he  is!'" 

"What!     Do  you  tliink  that,  if  I  have  suffered,  it  is  through  his  fault?" 

"  Whose  fault  is  it,  then  ?  He  has  managed  this  affair  well,  I  admit,  but  why 
all  this  hubbub?     Nothing  of  the  kind  should  have  happened." 

"  Yes,  I  should  not  have  had  this  feeling.  But  I  did  not  invite  it ;  on  the  con- 
trary, I  tried  to  suppress  it." 

"'I  should  not  have  had' — that  is  good!  You  do  not  see  wherein  you  are 
guilty,  and  you  reproach  yourself  when  there  is  no  occasion  to.  This  feeling  ne- 
cessarily had  to  arise  in  one  way  or  another,  given  your  character  and  that  of 
Dmitry  Sergueitch,  and  it  would  have  developed  itself  under  any  circumstances. 
The  essential  point  in  the  matter  is  not  that  you  are  in  love  with  anoth(!r,  which 
is  only  a  result;  it  is  the  dissatisfaction  with  your  former  relations.  What  form 
was  this  dissatisfaction  obliged  to  take?  If  both,  or  even  one  of  you,  had  been 
deficient  in  intellectual  development  and  refinement,  or  if  you  had  been  bad  peo- 
ple, your  dissatisfaction  would  have  taken  the  ordinary  form,  —  hostility  between 
husband  and  wife;  you  would  have  devoured  each  other,  if  you  had  both  been  bad; 
or  one  of  you  would  have  tormented  the  other,  and  the  other  would  have  been  piti- 
lessly tormented.  It  would  have  been  in  any  case  one  of  those  domestic  hells  that 
we  find  in  most  families.  That  evidently  would  not  have  prevented  the  appear- 
ance of  love  for  another,  but  in  addition  there  would  have  been  hell,  mutual  tor- 
ment, I  know  not  what.  With  you  dissatisfaction  could  not  take  this  form, 
because  both  of  you  are  honest;  so  it  took  only  its  lightest,  mildest,  most  inoffensive 
form, — love  of  another.  Of  this  love  there  is  no  occasion  to  speak:  it  is  not,  I 
repeat,  the  essential  point.  The  essential  point  is  the  dissatisfaction  with  your 
former  situation,  and  the  cause  of  your  dissatisfaction  is  the  difference  in  your 
characters.  Both  of  you  are  good,  but  when  your  character,  Vdra  Pavlovna,  ma- 
tured, when  it  lost  its  childish  ambiguity  and  acquired  definite  traits,  it  became 
evident  that  you  and  Dmitry  Sergueitch  were  not  well  suited  to  each  other.    What 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Ilushand,  and  the  Second  Love.     231 

is  there  in  that  that  is  against  either  of  you  ?  I,  for  instance,  am  not  a  bad  man. 
Could  you  live  a  long  time  with  uie?  You  would  die  of  ennui  In  how  many  days, 
do  you  think?" 

"  In  a  very  few  days,"  said  Vera  Pavlovna,  laughing. 

"He  is  not  as  sober  as  I  am,  but  nevertheless  there  is  altogether  too  much  differ- 
ence between  you.  Who  should  have  noticed  it  first?  Who  is  the  older?  Whose 
character  was  formed  the  earlier?  Who  has  had  the  greater  experience  in  life? 
He  should  have  foreseen  all  and  prepared  you,  in  order  that  you  might  not  be 
frightened  and  eaten  up  with  sorrow.  He  did  not  realize  this  until  the  feeling 
that  he  should  have  anticipated  was  not  only  developed,  but  had  produced  its  re- 
sults. Why  did  he  foresee  nothing,  notice  nothing?  Was  it  stupidity?  He  does 
not  lack  wit.  No,  it  was  inattention,  negligence,  rather;  he  neglected  his  rela- 
tions with  you.  Vera  Pavlovna.  That  was  the  real  trouble.  And  still  you  repeat: 
'He  is  good;  he  loved  me.'" 

Rakhmetoff  was  gradually  becoming  animated,  and  already  spoke  with  warmth. 
But  Vdra  Pavlovna  stopped  him. 

"  I  must  not  listen  to  you,  Rakhmetoff,"  said  she  in  a  bitter  and  discontented 
tone;  "yon  hcajt  n-proaclics  upon  the  man  to  whom  T  am  under  infiiiile  obligations." 

"Vera  Pavlovna,  if  you  ought  not  to  listen  to  this,  I  would  not  say  it  to  you.  Do 
you  imagine  that  I  now  notice  this  for  the  first  time?  You  know  that  no  one  can 
avoid  a  conversation  with  jn<!  if  it  seems  to  me  indispciusable.  Therefore  I  could 
have  saiil  this  to  you  before,  and  yet  I  said  nothing.  Therefore  the  fact  that  I 
have  now  begun  to  si)cak  means  tiiat  it  is  necessary.  I  never  speak  sooner  tlian  is 
necessary.  You  saw  me  keep  tlie  note  in  my  pocket  nine  whole  hours,  jillhough 
it  fil](!d  me  with  pity  to  see  you.  Pint  it  was  necessary  to  keep  silenl,  ihhI  I  lu>pt 
silent.  So,  if  I  now  say  what  I  long  ago  thought  about  the  ways  <>!  Dmitry 
Sergu<5itcli  towards  you,  that  means  that  it  is  necessary  to  speak  about  it." 

"Hut  1  will  not  listen  to  you,"  said  Vera  Pavlovna  with  extniine  velii'iiieiice :  "I 
beg  you  to  be  HJicnt,  Rakhmetoff.  I  beg  you  to  go  away.  I  itm  inurh  (tMi;;cd  Ut 
you  for  liaving  sacrificed  an  evening  on  my  account.    Rut  I  beg  you  to  go'avvay." 

"Absolutely?" 

"Absolutely." 

"Good,"  said  he,  laughing.  "No,  Vera  Pavlovna,  you  cannot  get  rid  of  me  so 
easily.  I  foresaw  this  contingency,  ami  took  my  precautions.  The  note  whicii  I 
burned  was  written  of  his  own  accord.  And  here  is  one  which  he  wrote  because  I 
asked  him  to.  Tliis  I  can  leavi?  with  you,  liecause  it,  is  not  an  important  document. 
Here  it  i.s." 

Raklitn(^tofr  iianded  the  note  to  Vera  Pavlovna. 

My  dear  Vcrnlchha : 

Listen  to  all  that  Rakhmetoff  has  to  say  to  you.  I  do  not  know  what  he  in- 
tends to  say  to  you,  1  have  not  charged  him  to  say  anything  to  you,  and  he  has 


232  What's  To  Be  Done? 

not  made  the  slightest  aUusion  to  what  he  intends  to  say.     But  I  know  that  he 
never  says  anything  unnecessary.     Yours,  I>.  L. 

July  11,  2  o'clock  in  the  morning. 

God  knows  how  many  times  Vera  Pavlovna  kissed  this  note. 

"Why  did  you  not  give  it  to  me  sooner?  Perhaps  you  have  something  else 
from  him." 

"No,  I  have  nothing  more,  because  nothing  more  was  necessary.  Why  did  I 
not  give  it  to  you?  There  was  no  reason  for  giving  it  to  you  until  it  became 
necessary." 

"But  to  give  me  the  pleasure  of  receiving  a  few  lines  from  him  after  our  sepa- 
ration." 

"  If  that  is  all,  that  is  not  so  important,"  and  he  smiled. 

"Ah,  IvakhmetolT,  you  will  put  me  in  a  rage!" 

"So  this  note  is  the  cause  of  a  new  quarrel  between  us?"  said  he,  smiling  again: 
"if  that  is  the  case,  I  will  take  it  away  from  you  and  burn  it;  you  know  well  what 
they  say  of  such  people  as  we  are,  —  that  to  them  nothing  is  sacred.  Hence  we 
are  capable  of  all  sorts  of  violence  and  rascality.     ISIay  I  continue?" 

They  both  became  calm, — she,  thanks  to  the  note,  he,  because  he  remained  si- 
lent while  she  kissed  the  note. 

"Yes,  I  must  listen  to  you." 

"He  did  not  notice  what  he  should  have  noticed,"  began  Rakhmetoff  calmly: 
"that  has  produced  bad  results.  Though  we  cannot  call  it  a  crime  in  him,  neither 
can  we  excuse  it.  Suppose  that  he  did  not  know  that  the  rupture  was  inevitable; 
still,  given  your  character  and  his  own,  be  should  nevertheless  have  prepared  you 
at  all  events  against  anything  like  it,  just  as  one  would  against  any  accident  which 
is  not  to  be  desired  and  which  there  is  no  reason  to  expect,  but  which  is  to  be  pro- 
vided for :  for  one  cannot  answer  for  the  future  and  the  changes  that  it  may  bring. 
With  this  axiom —  that  we  are  exposed  to  all  sorts  of  accidents — he  was  familiar, 
we  may  be  sure.  Why  did  he  leave  you  in  ignorance  to  such  an  extent  that,  when 
the  present  circumstances  arose,  you  were  not  at  all  prepared  for  them?  His  lack 
of  foresight  came  from  negligence,  injurious  to  you,  but  in  itself  an  indilfereiit 
thing,  neither  good  nor  bad;  but,  in  failing  to  prepare  you  against  any  contin- 
gency, he  acted  from  an  absolutely  bad  motive.  To  be  sure,  he  had  no  data  to  act 
upon,  but  it  is  precisely  in  those  matters  where  one  acts  without  data  that  nature 
best  manifests  itself.  It  would  have  been  contrary  to  his  interests  to  prepare  you, 
for  thereby  your  resistance  to  the  feeling  not  in  harmony  with  his  interests  would 
have  been  weakened.  Your  feeling  proved  so  strong  that  your  resistance  could 
not  overcome  it;  but  it  was  not  at  all  unlikely  that  this  feeling  would  manifest  it- 
self with  less  force.  If  it  had  been  inspired  by  a  man  less  exceptionally  worthy,  it 
would  have  been  weaker.     Feelings  against  which  it  is  useless  to  struggle  are  an 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.     233 

exception.  There  are  many  more  chances  that  this  feeling  will  manifest  itself  in 
such  a  way  that  it  may  be  stifled,  if  the  power  of  i-esistance  is  not  wholly  destroyed. 
It  was  precisely  in  view  of  these,  the  most  probable  chances,  that  he  did  not  wish 
to  lessen  your  power  of  resistance.  Those  were  his  motives  for  leaving  you  unpre- 
pared and  subjecting  you  to  so  much  suffering.     "What  do  you  say  to  this?" 

"It  is  not  true,  llakhmetoif.  He  did  not  liide  his  ways  of  thinking  from  me. 
Ills  convictions  were  as  well  known  to  me  as  to  you." 

"To  hide  them  would  have  been  difficult.  To  oppose  in  your  presence  convic- 
tions corresponding  to  his  own  and  to  pretend  for  such  a  purpose  to  think  other- 
wise than  he  did  would  have  been  simply  dishonesty.  You  would  never  have 
loved  sucli  a  man.  Have  I  pronounced  him  bad?  He  is  very  good;  I  could  say 
nothing  else;  I  will  praise  him  as  highly  as  you  like.  I  only  say  this:  at  the  time 
of  your  rupture  his  conduct  was  very  good,  but  before  that  his  conduct  towards 
you  was  bad.  ^\'hy  did  you  distress  yourself?  He  said  (was  it  worth  while  to  say 
so,  it  being  clear  without  it?)  that  it  was  because  you  did  not  wish  to  grieve  liim. 
Why  was  this  thought  that  you  could  thereby  greatly  grieve  him  able  to  find  a 
place  in  your  mind ?  It  should  not  have  found  a  place  there.  What  grief?  It  is 
stupid.    Jealousy?" 

"You  do  not  admit  jealousy,  Kakhmetoff?" 

"A  man  with  a  d(!velof>ed  miml  shoulil  not  have  it.  It  is  a  distorted  feeling,  a 
false  feeling,  an  a))ominable  feeling;  it  is  a  phenomenon  of  our  existing  order  of 
things,  based  upon  the  same  idea  that  prevents  me  from  permitting  any  one  to 
wear  my  linen  or  smoke  my  pipe:  it  is  a  result  of  the  fashion  of  considej'ing  one's 
companion  as  an  oi)joct  that  one  has  appropriated." 

"But,  UaklimetolT',  not  to  admit  jealousy  leads  to  iiorrible  consequences." 

"To  tliose  who  are  jealous  they  are  Iiorrible,  but  to  those  who  are  not  there  is 
not  only  nothing  lK)nibl(!  about  Micm,  but  notjiing  even  of  importance." 

"You  preach  utter  immorality,  itakhmetoli!" 

"Docs  it  seem  so  to  you  after  living  with  him  for  four  years?  That  is  precisely 
where  he  has  done  wrong.  How  many  times  a  day  do  you  dine?  Only  once. 
Would  auy  one  TiikI  fault  with  you  if  you  dined  twice?  Probably  not.  Why  do 
you  not  do  so?  Do  you  fear  that  you  may  grieve  some  one?  rrobably  because 
you  do  not  feel  the  necessity  of  it.  Yet  dinner  is  a  very  agreeable  thing.  But  the 
niin<l  and  (more  important  still)  the  stomach  say  that  one  dimier  i.i  agri;eable  and 
that  a  second  would  be  disagreeable.  I'.ut  if  th(!  fancy  seized  you  or  you  ha<l  an 
unhealthy  desire  to  dine  twice,  would  you  bo  preventtvl  by  the  f(!ar  of  grieving 
some  one?  No,  if  any  one  felt  grieved  f)r  prohibited  you,  you  wouM  hide  and  cat 
your  food  in  bad  condition,  you  would  soil  your  hands  in  taking  it  hastily,  you 
would  soil  your  clothes  l)y  hiding  bits  in  your  pockets,  and  that  would  be  all.  The 
question  here  is  not  one  of  morality  or  immorality,  but  only  this:  is  smuggling  a 
gooil  thing?     Who  is  restrained  by  the  idea  that  jealousy  is  a  feeling  worthy  of 


234  W/mt's  To  Be  Bone? 

esteem  and  respect  ?  ^^^lo  says  to  himself :  "  Ah !  if  I  do  this,  T  shall  cause  him 
grief"?  Who  is  tormented  by  these  useless  struggles?  Few  people,  the  best,  just 
those  whose  nature  would  not  lead  them  into  immorality.  The  mass  are  not  re- 
strained by  these  stupidities ;  they  only  resort  to  further  strategy.  They  fill  their 
lives  with  deceit  and  become  really  bad.  That  is  all.  Are  you  not  well  aware  of 
this?" 

"  Why,  certainly." 

"Where,  then,  do  you  find  the  moral  utility  of  jealousy?" 

"  ^Miy,  we  have  always  talked  in  this  vein  ourselves." 

"Not  exactly  in  this  vem,  probably,  or  perhaps  you  talked  so  without  believing 
your  own  words,  not  believuig  them  because  on  this  as  on  other  questions  you 
heard  continually  the  opposite  view's.  If  that  was  not  the  case,  why  did  you  tor- 
ment yourself?  Why  all  this  confusion  about  such  trivial  matters?  Wliat  an 
embarrassment  to  all  three  of  you,  and  especially  to  you.  Vera  Pavlovna  I  Whereas 
you  might  all  three  live  as  in  the  past,  as  you  lived  a  year  ago,  or  take  apartments 
together,  or  arrange  your  life  in  any  other  way,  according  to  your  choice,  but  with- 
out any  upturning,  and  all  three  take  tea  or  go  to  the  opera  together  as  in  the  past. 
Why  these  anxieties?  "Why  these  catastrophes?  Always  because,  owing  to  his 
wrong  policy  of  keeping  you  in  ignorance  on  this  matter,  he  has  thus  caused  you 
much  useless  sorrow." 

"  Xo,  Rakhmetoff,  you  say  horrible  things." 

"  'Ilon-ible  things'  again!  Groundless  anxieties  and  needless  catastrophes  are 
the  things  that  seem  horrible  to  me." 

"Then,  in  your  eyes,  our  whole  story  is  only  a  stupid  melodrama?" 

"Yes,  an  utterly  useless  melodrama  coupled  with  a  dramatist  no  less  useless. 
And  instead  of  a  simple  and  peaceful  conversation  there  has  been  a  harrowing 
melodrama;  the  guilty  party  is  Dmitry  Sergueitch.  His  honest  conduct  at  the  last 
hardly  suffices  to  cancel  his  original  fault.  Yes,  he  is  very  guilty.  But,  then,  he 
has  paid  dearly  enough  for  it.  Take  another  glass  of  sherry  and  go  to  bed.  I 
have  accomplished  the  oljject  of  my  visit;  it  is  already  three  o'clock,  and,  if  not 
waked,  you  will  sleep  a  long  time.  Now,  I  told  Macha  not  to  call  you  till  half  past 
ten,  so  that  tomorrow  you  will  hardly  have  time  to  take  breakfast,  but  will  have  to 
hurry  to  the  depot ;  even  though  you  should  not  have  time  to  pack  all  your  things, 
you  will  corne  back  soon,  or  else  they  will  be  sent  to  you.  Do  you  wish  Alexander 
Matvditch  to  go  directly  after  you,  or  do  you  prefer  to  come  back  yourself?  But 
it  would  be  painful  for  you  to  be  in  Macha's  presence,  for  she  must  not  notice  that 
you  are  entirely  calm.  She  will  not  notice  this  during  half  an  hour  of  hurried  pre- 
parations. With  Madame  !Mertzaloft'  it  is  another  thing.  I  will  go  to  her  tomor- 
row morning,  and  tell  her  not  to  come  because  you  went  to  bed  late  and  must  not 
be  waked ;  that  she  must  go  directly  to  the  depot  instead." 

"  IIow  attentive  you  are  to  me ! "  said  Vera  Pavlovna. 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Husband^  and  the  Second  Love.     235 

"This  .attention,  at  least,  you  need  not  attribute  to  him;  it  comes  from  me. 
Except  that  I  rebuke  him  for  the  past  (to  his  face  I  said  much  more)  on  account 
of  his  responsibility  for  this  useless  anxiety,  I  find  that,  as  soon  as  you  actually 
began  to  suffer,  he  acted  very  commendably." 

XXXT. 

AX     INTERVIEW     WITH     THE     READER    WITH    THE     PEXETRATIXG    EYE,    AND    HIS 

EXPULSION. 

Tell  me,  then,  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye,  why  T  have  shown  you  Eakhme- 
tofF,  who  has  just  gone  away  to  appear  no  more  in  my  story.  I  have  already  told 
you  that  he  would  take  no  part  in  the  action. 

"It  is  not  true,"  interrupts  the  reader  wifh  the  penetrating  eye.  "Kakhmetoff 
is  a  personage,  for  he  brought  the  note,  which"  .... 

Why,  how  weak  you  are,  my  good  sir,  in  the  a?sthetic  discussions  of  which  you 
are  so  fond  1  In  that  case  Macha  too  is,  in  your  eyes,  a  personage?  She  also,  at 
the  l)eginniiig  of  the  story,  brought  a  letter,  which  horrified  Vera  Pavlovna.  And 
pr-rhaps  I'achel  is  a  personage?  For  it  was  she  Avho  bought  Wra  ra\lovna's 
things,  without  which  tlie  latter  could  not  have  gone  away.  And  Professor  N.  is 
a  personage,  because  he  recommended  Vdra  Pavlovna  to  Madame  B.  as  a  governess, 
without  which  tlie  scene  of  tlie  return  from  the  Boulevard  Konno-Gvardeisky 
would  not  have  oecurn-d.  Perhaps  tin'  Boulevard  Konno-flvardeisky  is  also  a  per- 
sonage? Tor  without  this  boulevard  the  scene  of  tlie  rendezvous  and  the  return 
wouM  not  have  occurre<l  either.  Ami  the  Rue  Gorokhovaia  nuist  be  the  most 
essential  p<!r8onage,  because  without  it  tin-  houses  there  situated  would  not  have 
existed,  including  tlie  Storechnikon'  house,  and  as  a  consecpience  there  would  have 
been  no  steward  of  this  liouse  and  no  stewanl's  daughter,  and  tlicii  tlicn^  would 
woulil  have  been  no  8tf)ry  at  all. 

Aflmitting  with  you  tliat  the  Boulevanl  Konno-Gvardcisky  and  IMadia,  Baehel 
and  the  Biie  (iorokhovaia  are  personages,  why  is  it  that  only  five  words  or  even 
less  are  said  (if  fach  f)f  fhein?  It  is  because  their  aetion  is  wortli  no  Tuore.  On 
the  other  haml,  hnw  many  pages  are  devoted  to  ISaklimetolT? 

"Ah!  now  I  know,"  says  the  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye.  "IJiikhmetoff 
appeared  to  prouoimco  judgment  on  Vera  Pavlovna  and  Loitoukholl";  he  was 
neeiled  for  tlie  conversation  with  Vera  Pavlovna." 

Your  weakness  is  really  deplorable,  my  worthy  friend.  You  construe  the  mat- 
ter in  just  the  wrong  way.  Was  it  necessary  to  bring  a  man  in  simply  that  he 
mii;ht  j>ronounce  his  opinion  of  the  other  personages?  Your  great  artists  do  it, 
]>eihapH.  As  for  me,  though  a  feelde  writer,  I  iniderstand  the  ootiditions  of  art  a 
little  better  than  that.     No,  my  good  sir,  Kakhmetoff  wan  not  at  all  necessary  for 


230  What's  To  Be  Done? 

that.  IIow  many  times  has  Vera  Pavlovna  herself,  how  many  times  have  Lopouk- 
hoff  and  Kirsanoff  tlieniselves,  expressed  their  own  opinion  concerning  their  own 
actions  and  relations!  They  are  intelligent  enough  to  judge  what  is  good  and 
what  is  bad;  they  need  no  prompter  for  that.  Do  you  believe  that  Vera  Pavlovna 
herself,  recalling  at  her  leisure  a  few  days  later  the  tumult  ^ust  passed  through, 
would  not  have  blamed  herself  for  having  forgotten  the  shop  in  the  same  way  that 
Rakhmetoff  blamed  her?  Do  you  believe  that  Lopoukhoff  himself  did  not  think 
of  his  relations  with  Vera  Pavlovna  quite  as  Rakhmetoff  spoke  of  them  to  Vera 
Pavlovna?  Honest  people  think  of  themselves  all  the  evil  that  can  be  said  of 
them,  and  that  is  the  reason,  my  good  sir,  why  they  are  honest  people ;  do  you  not 
know  it?  IIow  weak  you  are  when  it  comes  to  analyzing  the  thoughts  of  honest 
people !  I  will  say  more :  did  you  not  think  that  llakhmetofE  in  his  conversa- 
tion with  Vera  Pavlovna  acted  independently  of  Lopoukhoff?  Well,  he  was  only 
Lopoukhoff's  agent;  he  understood  it  so  himself,  and  Vera  Pavlovna  saw  it  a  day 
or  two  later;  and  she  would  have  seen  it  as  soon  as  Rakhmetoff'  opened  liis  mouth, 
if  she  had  not  been  so  much  agitated.  So  that  is  how  things  happened  as  they 
did;  Ls  it  possible  that  you  did  not  understand  even  this  much?  Certainly  Lo- 
poukhoff told  the  truth  in  his  second  note;  he  had  said  nothing  to  Rakhmetoff 
and  the  latter  had  said  nothing  to  him  about  the  conversation  which  was  to  take 
place ;  but  Lopoukhoff  was  acquainted  with  Rakhmetoff"  and  knew  what  the  latter 
thought  of  such  or  such  things  and  what  he  would  say  under  such  or  such  circum- 
stances. Honest  people  understand  each  other  without  explaining  themselves. 
Lopouklioff  could  liave  written  in  advance,  almost  word  for  word,  all  that  Rakhme- 
toff would  say  to  Vera  Pavlovna,  and  that  is  exactly  why  he  asked  Rakhmetoff  to 
be  his  agent.  !Must  I  instruct  you  further  in  psychology?  Lopoukhoff  knew  per- 
fectly well  that  all  he  thought  about  himself,  Rakhmetoff,  Mertzaloff  and  his  wife, 
and  the  officer  Avho  had  wrestled  with  him  on  the  islands  thought  also,  and  that 
Vera  Pavlovna  was  sure  to  think  so  within  a  short  time  even  though  no  one  should 
say  it  to  her.  She  would  see  it  as  soon  as  the  first  flush  of  gratitude  passed: 
therefore,  calculated  Lopoukhoff,  I  really  lose  nothing  by  sending  Rakhmetoff  to 
her,  although  he  will  rebuke  me,  for  she  would  reach  the  same  opinion  herself;  on 
the  contrary,  I  gain  in  her  esteem :  she  will  see  that  I  foresaw  the  substance  of  the 
conversation,  and  that  I  arranged  it,  and  she  will  think:  "IIow  noble  he  is!  He 
knew  that  during  these  first  days  of  agitation  my  exalted  gratitude  would  domi- 
nate everything,  and  he  took  care  to  plant  in  my  mind  as  early  as  possible  tlioughts 
which  would  lessen  this  burden.  Although  I  am  angry  with  Rakhmetoff  for  ac- 
cusing him,  I  see  that  really  Rakhmetoff  was  right.  In  a  week  I  should  have 
seen  it  myself,  but  then  it  would  not  have  been  of  any  importance  to  me,  and  I 
should  have  had  to  recover  from  my  agitation  without  it,  whereas  by  hearing 
these  thoughts  the  same  day  I  have  escaped  a  painful  emotion  which  otherwise 
would  have  lasted  a  whole  week.  At  that  time  these  thoughts  were  very  useful  to 
me ;  yes,  he  has  a  very  noble  heart." 


Life  of  Vera  with  her  Ilushand,  and  the  Second  Love.     237 

That  was  the  plan  wliich  Lopoulchoff  devised,  and  Rakhmetoff  was  only  his 
agent.  You  see,  my  good  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye,  what  sly  dogs  honest 
people  are  and  how  their  egoism  works;  their  egoism  is  different  from  yours,  be- 
cause they  do  not  find  their  pleasiire  in  the  same  direction  that  you  do.  They  find 
their  greatest  pleasure,  you  see,  in  having  people  whom  they  esteem  think  well  of 
tliem,  and  that  is  why  they  trouble  themselves  to  devise  all  sorts  of  plans  with  no 
less  zeal  than  you  show  in  other  matters.  But  your  objects  are  different,  and  the 
plans  that  you  devise  are  different.  You  concoct  evil  plans,  injurious  to  others, 
wliile  they  concoct  honest  plans,  useful  to  others. 

"Why!  how  dare  you  say  such  insulting  things  to  me?"  cries  the  reader  with 
the  penetrating  eye;  "I  will  bring  a  complaint  against  you;  I  will  proclaim  every- 
where that  you  are  a  man  of  evil  disposition." 

Pardon,  my  good  sir,  how  could  I  dare  to  say  insulting  things  to  you  when  I 
esteem  your  character  as  highly  as  your  mind?  I  simply  take  the  liberty  to  en- 
lighten you  concerning  art,  which  you  love  so  well.  In  this  respect  you  were  in 
error  in  thinking  that  Rakhmetoff  appeared  to  pronounce  sentence  on  Vera  Pav- 
lovna  and  Lopoukhoff.  No  sucli  thing  was  necessary.  He  has  said  nothing  that  I 
might  not  liave  given  you  as  thoughts  which,  without  Rakhmetoft's  intervention, 
would  liave  come  to  Vera  Pavlovna  in  time. 

Now,  my  good  sir,  a  question  :  why,  then,  do  I  give  you  Rakhmetoff's  conversar 
lion  with  Vera  Pavlovna?  Do  you  uiulerstand  now  that  when  I  give  you,  not  the 
thoughts  of  Lopoukhoff  aiid  Vera  Pavlovna,  but  Rakhmetoff's  conversation  with 
the  latter,  I  thereby  signify  the  necessity  of  giving  you,  not  alone  the  thoughts 
which  constitute  the  essence  of  the  conversation,  but  the  actual  conversation 
itself? 

Wliy  is  it  necessary  to  give  you  tlie  precise  conversation?  Because  it  is  Rakli- 
m(;totrs  ccnivorsation  with  V('Ta  Pavlovna.  Do  you  understand  now?  No,  not 
yet?  What  a  thick  head  I  How  weak-minded  you  are  I  I  am  going  to  make  you 
understanil. 

Wlii'U  two  men  talk,  one  sees  inorf  or  Ifss  tlie  rliaractrr  of  these  nwii ;  do  you 
see  whither  this  tends?  Was  Vera  I'avlovna's  character  suHiciently  well  known  to 
you  l)efore  tlii.s  conversation?  It  was;  you  have  learned  nothing  about  lier:  you 
already  know  that  she  flares  up,  tliat  slio  jests,  that  she  likes  good  things  to  eat 
and  a  glass  of  sherry  to  drink;  therefore  the  conversation  was  necessary  to  show 
the  cliaracter,  not  of  Vera  I'avlovna,  but  of  wliom  then?  There  were  but  two  in 
the  conversation,  she  and  Rakhmetoff.  To  show  the  character,  not  of  Vdra  Pav- 
lovna, but — well,  guess  I 

"Raklundtoff,"  shouts  the  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye. 

Bravo!  You  have  liit  it;  I  like  you  for  that.  Well,  you  see,  it  is  just  the  con- 
trary of  what  you  first  thought.  Rakhmetoff  is  not  shown  for  the  sake  of  the 
conversation,  but  the  conversation  is  given  to  make  you  better  acquainted  with 


238  What's  To  Be  Done? 

Kaklinictoff  and  solely  for  that  purpose.  Through  this  conversation  you  have 
learned  that  Rakhmetoff  had  a  desire  for  sherry,  although  he  never  drank  wine ; 
that  Rakhinetoff  was  not  absolutely  solemn  and  morose;  that  on  the  contrary, 
when  engaged  in  agreeable  business,  he  forgot  his  sorrowful  thoughts,  his  bitter 
sadness,  and  gaily  jested  and  made  merry:  only,  as  he  explained  it,  "that  is  rarely 
the  case  with  me,  and  I  am  sorry  that  it  is  so  rarely  the  case;  I  do  not  like  to  be 
solemn,  but  circumstances  are  such  that  a  man  with  my  ardent  love  of  good  can- 
not help  being  solemn ;  if  it  wei'e  not  for  that,  I  should  jest,  I  should  laugh ;  per- 
haps I  should  sing  and  dance  all  day  long."  Do  you  understand  now,  reader  with 
the  penetrating  eye,  why,  though  many  pages  were  used  in  directly  describing 
Rakhmetoff,  I  have  devoted  additional  pages  to  the  accomplishment  of  the  same 
purpose  indirectly?  Tell  me,  now,  why  I  have  shown  and  described  this  figure  in 
such  detail.  Remember  what  I  have  already  told  you,  —  "solely  to  satisfy  the 
most  essential  condition  of  art."  What  is  this  condition,  and  how  is  it  satisfied 
by  the  fact  that  I  have  put  Rakhmetoff 's  figure  before  you  ?  Do  you  understand  ? 
No,  you  cannot  see.  Well,  listen.  Or  rather  do  not  listen ;  you  will  never  under- 
stand ;  go  away ;  I  have  laughed  at  you  enough.  I  speak  to  you  no  longer,  but  to 
the  public,  and  I  speak  seriously.  The  first  demand  of  art  consists  in  this,  —  to 
so  represent  objects  that  the  reader  may  conceive  them  as  they  really  are.  For 
instance,  if  I  wish  to  represent  a  house,  I  must  see  to  it  that  the  reader  will  con- 
ceive it  as  a  house,  and  not  as  a  hovel  or  a  palace.  If  I  wish  to  represent  an  ordi- 
nary man,  I  must  see  to  it  that  the  reader  will  not  conceive  him  as  a  dwarf  or  as 
a  giant. 

It  has  been  my  purpose  to  represent  ordinarily  upright  people  of  the  new  gene- 
ration, people  whom  I  meet  by  hundreds.  I  have  taken  three  of  them :  Vdra  Pav- 
lovna,  Lopoukhoff,  and  Kirsanoff.  I  consider  them  ordinary  people,  they  consider 
themselves  such,  and  are  considered  such  by  all  their  acquaintances  (who  resemble 
them).  Have  I  spoken  in  any  other  vein ?  Have  I  told  extraordinary  things?  I 
have  represented  them  with  affection  and  esteem,  it  is  true,  but  that  is  because 
every  upright  man  is  worthy  of  such  affection  and  esteem. 

But  wlien  have  I  bowed  before  them?  Where  have  you  seen  in  me  the  slightest 
tendency  to  adoration,  or  hint  that  nothing  superior  to  them  can  be  imagined  and  y 
that  they  are  ideal  characters?  As  I  conceive  them,  so  they  act, — like  simple,  u])- 
right  people  of  the  new  generation.  'NMiat  do  they  do  that  is  remarkably  elevated? 
They  do  not  do  cowardly  things,  they  are  not  poltroons,  they  have  honest  but  ordi- 
nary convictions,  they  try  to  act  accordingly,  and  that  is  all.  Where  is  their  he- 
roism? Yes,  it  has  been  my  purpose  to  show  human  beings  acting  just  as  all 
ordinary'  men  of  this  type  act,  and  I  hope  I  have  succeeded.  Those  of  my  readers 
who  are  intimately  acquainted  with  living  men  of  this  type  have  seen  from  the  be- 
ginning and  up  to  the  present  moment  that  my  principal  characters  ai'e  not  at  all 
ideal  and  not  above  the  general  level  of  people  of  their  type,  and  that  these  men 


Life  of  Vera  loith  her  Husband,  and  the  Second  Love.     239 

do  not  act  in  real  life  in  any  other  way  than  that  in  ^vivich  I  picture  them  as  acting. 
Suppose  that  other  upright  people  had  been  confronted  with  a  slightly  different 
situation :  it  is  not  a  matteu  of  absolute  necessity  or  fatality  that  all  husbands  and 
all  wives  should  separate;  all  upright  wives  do  not  strongly  feel  a  passionate  love 
for  their  husband's  friend,  all  upright  men  do  not  have  to  struggle  against  their 
passion  for  a  married  woman  during  three  whole  years;  nor  is  one  always  foi'ced 
to  blow  his  brains  out  on  a  bridge  or  (to  use  the  words  of  the  reader  with  the  pene- 
trating eye)  to  disappear  from  a  hotel  to  go  no  one  knows  where.  But  no  upright 
man  in  the  place  of  the  people  pictured  by  me  would  have  considered  it  lieroic  to 
do  as  they  have  done;  he  would  do  likewise  under  similar  circumstances.  Many 
times  he  has  acted  thus  in  many  situations  no  less  difficult,  if  not  still  more  so,  and 
yet  he  does  not  consider  himself  a  man  to  be  admired,  but  simply  an  ordinary, 
moderately  upright  man,  nothing  more.  And  the  friends  of  such  a  man,  resem- 
bling him  (for  these  [>eople  form  friendships  only  with  those  who  act  and  think  as 
they  do),  consider  him  an  estimable  man,  but  never  dream  for  a  moment  of  drop- 
ping on  their  knees  before  him;  they  say  to  themselves:  We,  too,  are  like  him. 

I  hope,  T  say,  that  I  have  succeeded  in  making  every  upriglit  man  of  the  new 
generation  recognize  the  type  of  his  friends  in  my  throe  cliaractcrs.  r>ut  those 
who  from  the  beginning  of  tlic  story  have  been  able  to  tliink  of  Vdra  Pavlovna, 
Kirsanoff,  and  Lopouklioff  as  "our  friends,  people  like  ourselves  simply," — these 
are  yot  but  a  minority  of  the  public.  Tho  majority  are  still  nnich  l)elow  this  type. 
A  man  who  has  never  seen  anytliiiig  Imt  dirty  huts  miglit  take  an  engraving  of  a 
very  ordinary  hou.se  for  the  picture  of  a  palace.  How  sluill  the  house  be  made  to 
Beem  to  sudi  a  man  a  liouse  and  not  ai  palace?  Oidy  by  .showing  in  the  same  pic- 
ture even  a  liftli'.  wing  of  a  I'alaci';  lie  will  then  sec  from  this  wing  that  tin'  palace 
must  be  fpiitf'  a  (liffercnt  thing  from  the  building  represented  in  the  jiieture,  and 
that  tlie  latter  is  really  but  a  Hiiiiplc  liouse  no  better  than  every  one  ought  to  have, 
perhaps  not  a,s  good.  If  I  had  not  shown  I  In-  figure  of  KaklniK'toff,  the  iii.i  joril  y 
of  readfTH  wfnild  liavr;  had  a  falsr-  iilca  of  tlm  jirincipal  cliaractcrs  of  my  story.  I 
will  wag'T  that  up  to  tlin  roncluding  jiaragrajihs  of  this  chapter  Vera  I'avlovnii, 
KirsanolT,  and  Lopouklioff  have  secuH'd  to  llu;  majority  of  the  public  to  be  heroes, 
individuals  of  a  Hupf*rior  nature,  if  not  ideal  persons,  if  not  even  persons  iinpo.ssi- 
ble  in  n-al  life  (»y  reason  of  their  vei-y  noble  conduct.  No,  my  poor  frit'uds,  you 
have  lifen  wrong  in  this  thought:  they  are  not  too  high,  you  are  loo  low.  You  .see 
now  that  they  simply  »tan«l  on  the  surfaces  of  the  earth;  ami,  if  they  have  seemed 
to  you  to  be  soaring  in  the  clouds,  it  is  because  you  are  in  the  infernal  de))ths. 
The  height  where  they  stand  all  men  should  and  can  reach. 

Elevated  natures,  such  as  neither  you  nor  I,  my  jioor  friends,  can  equal, — elevated 
natures  are  not  like  these.  T  have  shown  you  a  faint  outline  of  the  jimfile  of  one 
of  them ;  the  features  are  different,  as  you  clearly  see.  Now,  it  is  possible  for  you 
to  become  entirely  the  equals  of  the  men  whom  I  represent  provided  you  will  work 


240  WTiat's  To  Be  Done? 

for  your  intellectual  and  moral  development.    Whoever  is  beneath  them  is  very 

Come  up  from  yonr  caves,  my  friends,  ascend !  It  is  not  so  difficult.  Come  to 
the  surface  of  this  earth  where  one  is  so  well  situated  and  the  road  is  easy  and  at- 
tractive !  Try  it :  development !  development  I  Observe,  think,  read  those  who  tell 
you  of  the  pure  enjoyment  of  life,  of  the  possible  goodness  and  happiness  of  man. 

Read  them,  their  books  delight  the  heart;  observe  life,  —  it  is  interesting;  think, 
—  it  is  a  pleasant  occupation.  And  that  is  all.  Sacrifices  are  unnecessary,  priva- 
tions are  unnecessary,  unnecessary.  Desire  to  be  happy:  this  desire,  this  desire 
alone,  is  indispensable.  With  this  end  in  view  you  will  work  with  pleasure  for 
your  development,for  there  lies  happiness. 

Oh!  how  great  the  pleasure  enjoyed  by  a  man  of  developed  mind!  That  which 
would  make  another  suffer  he  feels  to  be  a  satisfaction,  a  pleasure,  so  many  are 
the  joys  to  which  his  heart  is  open. 

Try  it,  and  you  wiU  see  how  good  it  is. 


jTZe  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Husband.     241 


CHAPTER      FOURTH. 

The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Husband. 

I. 

Berlin,  July  20,  1856. 
Madame  and  hlgJdy  esteemed  Vera  Pavlovna : 

My  intimacy  with  Dmitry  Sergueitch  Lopoukhoff,  who  has  just  perished,  and 
my  profound  esteem  for  you  lead  me  to  hope  that  you  will  kindly  athiiit  me 
among  the  number  of  your  acquaintances,  although  I  am  entirely  unknown  to  you. 
However  that  may  be,  I  make  bold  to  believe  that  you  will  not  accuse  me  of  im- 
portunity. I  l)ut  execute  effectively  the  will  of  this  poor  Dmitry  Sergueitch ;  and 
you  may  consider  the  information  which  I  have  to  communicate  to  you  on  his  ac- 
count as  perfectly  authentic,  for  the  good  reason  that  I  am  going  to  give  you  his 
own  thouglits  in  his  own  words,  as  if  he  were  speaking  himsell". 

These  are  his  words  upon  the  matter  which  it  is  the  object  of  my  letter  to 
clear  u\>: 

•'The  ideas  which  liave  resulted  in  pushing  me  to  the  act  that  has  so  nnich 
alarmed  my  intimate  friends  [I  give  you  the  very  words  of  Dmitry  Sergueitch,  as 
I  have  already  told  you]  ripened  in  me  gradually,  and  changed  several  times  before 
taking  their  definitive  form.  It  was  quite  unexpectedly  that  I  was  struck  by  the 
event  which  threw  me  into  th(!se  thouglits,  and  only  when  she  [Dmitry  Sergui'itch 
refers  to  you]  told  me  with  fright  a  dream  that  had  horrified  her.  This  dream 
made  a  great  impression  on  me,  and  as  a  man  who  analyzed  the  feelings  which 
caused  it  I  understood  from  that  moment  that  new  horizons  were  about  to  dawn 
upon  Ikm-  life,  and  that  for  a  longfu-  or  sliorter  time  the  natun;  of  our  n-lations 
would  comi)letely  change.  One  always  tries  to  maintain  to  tiio  last  extremity  the 
position  which  one  lias  made  for  liimself.  At  the  l<ottom  of  our  nature  lies  that 
conservative  element  which  we  abandon  only  when  forced  to  do  so.  Th(ne,  in  my 
opinion,  is  to  be  found  the  explanation  of  my  first  supposition.  I  wished  to  be- 
lieve, and  I  did  really  believe,  that  this  changfj  wouhl  not  be  of  long  duration,  that 
our  old  relations  would  bo  reestablished.  She  even  tried  to  escape  this  change  by 
holding  herself  to  me  a,s  closely  as  possible.  That  had  its  influence  upon  me,  and 
for  some  days  I  believed  it  possible  to  realize  her  hope.  But  I  soon  saw,  neverthe- 
less, that  this  hope  was  vain. 

"The  reason  lies  in  my  character,  which,  in  so  speaking  of  it,  I  in  no  wise 
blame.     I  simply  so  understand  things. 

"lie  who  euijUoys  his  time  well  divides  it  into  three  parts,  —  work,  pleasure,  rest 


242  Uliat's  To  Be  Bone? 

or  distraction.  Pleasure  demands  rest  as  much  as  work  does.  In  work  and  in 
pleasure  the  human  element  predominates  over  individual  peculiarities.  We  are 
driven  to  labor  by  the  preponderant  motive  of  external  rational  needs.  To  plea- 
sm-e  by  the  preponderant  motive  of  other  needs  of  liuman  nature,  —  needs  quite  as 
general.  Bj'  rest  and  distraction  the  individual  seeks  to  reestablish  his  forces  after 
the  excitement  which  has  exhausted  them.  In  this  the  individual  decides  freely 
for  himself  in  accordance  with  his  personal  tastes  and  proclivities.  In  work  and 
in  pleasure  men  are  drawn  to  each  other  by  a  powerful  general  force  above  their 
personal  peculiarities,  —  in  work  by  a  clearly  understood  self-interest,  and  in  plea- 
sure by  the  identical  needs  of  the  organism.  In  rest  it  is  not  the  same.  Here 
there  is  no  general  force  acting  to  dominate  individual  peculiarities :  leisure  is  of 
all  things  the  most  personal,  the  thing  in  which  nature  demands  most  liberty; 
here  man  most  individualizes  hunself,  each  seeking  the  satisfaction  most  agree- 
able to  him. 

"In  this  respect  men  are  divided  into  two  principal  categories.  For  those  of  one 
category  leisure  or  distraction  is  most  agreeable  in  the  society  of  others.  Solitude 
is  indispensable  to  every  one.  But  to  them  it  is  indispensable  that  it  should  be  an 
exception,  their  rule  being  life  with  others.  This  class  is  much  more  numerous 
than  the  other,  which  needs  the  opposite.  Those  of  the  latter  class  are  more  at 
ease  in  solitude  than  in  society.  This  divergence  has  been  remarked  by  general 
opinion,  which  has  signified  it  by  the  expressions  'sociable  men'  and  'unsociable 
men.'  I  belong  to  the  category  of  the  unsociables,  she  to  that  of  the  sociables. 
That  is  the  whole  secret  of  our  history.  It  is  clear  that  neither  of  us  is  to  blame 
for  this,  any  more  than  either  of  us  is  to  blame  for  not  having  strength  enough  to 
remove  this  cause :  man  can  do  nothing  against  his  own  nature. 

'•It  is  very  difficult  for  us  to  understand  the  peculiarities  of  other  natures;  every 
man  pictures  all  other  men  to  himself  from  the  standpoint  of  his  own  character. 
That  which  I  do  not  need  others  need  no  more  than  I :  so  our  individuality  man- 
ifests itself.  I  need  more  than  evidence  to  recall  me  to  the  opposite  feeling.  The 
.situation  which  suits  me  ought,  in  my  opinion,  to  suit  others.  This  tendency  of 
thought  l>eing  natural,  in  it  I  find  my  excuse  for  having  remarked  too  late  the 
difference  between  her  nature  and  my  own.  This  is  important.  When  we  began 
to  live  together,  she  placed  me  on  too  high  a  pedestal:  so  at  that  time  we  did  not 
stand  on  an  equality.  She  had  too  much  esteem  for  me;  my  way  of  living  seemed 
to  her  exemplary;  she  considered  my  individual  peculiarity  as  a  characteristic  be- 
fitting all  men,  and  for  a  time  she  was  under  its  influence.  There  was,  besides,  a 
reason  that  controlled  her  in  a  different  way. 

"  The  inviolability  of  the  inner  life  is  very  lightly  esteemed  among  people  of  but 
little  intellectual  development.  Every  member  of  the  family  —  especially  the  old- 
est members — unceremoniously  thrusts  his  nose  into  your  private  life.  Not  that 
our  secrets  are  thereby  violated :  secrets  are  things  more  or  less  precious,  which 


TIlc  Life  of  Vera  Pavloinia  with  her  Second  Ilushand.     243 

one  dofis  not  forget  to  conceal  and  guard.  Moreover,  every  man  does  not  have 
them,  so  nmnerous  are  those  who  have  nothing  to  hide  from  their  relatives.  But 
eveiy  one  wishes  to  keep  a  little  corner  of  his  inner  life  into  which  no  one  may 
penetrate,  just  as  every  one  wishes  to  have  a  room  of  his  own.  People  of  but  little 
intellectual  development  pay  small  respect  either  to  the  one  or  the  other:  even  if 
you  have  a  room  of  your  own,  everybody  walks  into  it,  not  exactly  to  watch  you 
or  intrude  upon  you,  but  because  they  do  not  dream  that  they  may  disturb  you; 
they  imagine  that  you  can  object  to  unexpected  visits  from  none  but  those  whom 
you  dislike;  they  do  not  understand  that,  even  with  the  best  intentions,  one  may 
be  intrusive.  The  threshold,  which  no  one  has  a  right  to  cross  against  the  will  of 
the  interested  party,  is  respected  only  in  one  case,  that  of  the  head  of  the  family, 
who  may  put  out  by  the  shoulders  whoever  intrudes  upon  him.  All  the  rest  must 
submit  to  any  and  every  intrusion  and  on  the  most  idle  pretexts,  or  even  without 
any  pretext  at  all.  A  young  girl  has  two  every-day  dresses,  one  white  and  the 
other  red;  she  puts  on  the  red  dress;  that  is  enough  to  start  the  babble. 

"  'You  have  put  on  yom-  red  dress,  Anuta;  why  did  you  do  so?' 

"Anuta  herself  does  not  know  wliy;  she  had  to  put  on  one,  and,  after  all,  if  she 
had  put  on  lier  white  dress,  it  would  have  been  just  the  same. 

'"I  do  not  know,  mamma,'  (or,  'my  sister'). 

"'You  would  do  better  to  put  on  your  white  dress.' 

"Why  wouM  slie  do  better?  Anuta's  questioner  does  not  know,  herself;  only 
she  must  say  something. 

" '  You  are  not  gay  today,  Anuta.' 

"Anuta  is  nrtitlior  gay  nor  sad. 

"'I  did  not  know  it;  it  seems  to  me  that  T  am  just  as  usual.' 

"'No,  you  are  not  gay.' 

"Two  miimtes  later: 

'"If  yi)U  would  play  a  little  on  the  jiiano,  Anuta.' 

"Wliy,  no  one  knows;  and  so  it  goes  all  day.  As  if  your  soul  were  a  street  and 
every  one  stationed  liimself  at  the  windoNy  to  look  into  it,  not  expecting  to  see  any- 
thing,—  knowing,  in  fact,  tliat  lie  will  see  notliing  useful  or  interesting,  —  but 
looking  because  he  has  ufMliing  (rlsn  to  do.  Why  should  not  one  look  into  the 
street?  Ami,  indefd,  to  tiie  street  it  is  a  matter  of  indifference;  but  man  does  not 
like  to  be  intruded  upon. 

"It  is  natural  that  these  intrusions,  without  puqiose  or  intention,  should  pro- 
voke a  reaction;  and  as  soon  as  the  individual  finds  himself  in  a  position  to  live 
alone,  he  takes  pleasure  for  some  time  in  solitude,  though  natnr.-iily  inclined  to 
society. 

"To  come  back  to  the  p<'rson  in  qu/^stion.  Keforo  marrying  she  was  in  a  very 
peculiar  situation ;  she  was  intruded  upon,  her  thoughts  were  scrutinized,  not 
simply  to  kill  time,  or  even  through  indelicacy,  but  systematically,  shamelessly, 


244  WhcrL'!^   To  Be  Done? 

grossly,  and  with  bad  intentions.  Consequently  the  reaction  was  very  strong  in 
her. 

'•That  is  why  my  fault  must  not  be  judged  too  severely.  For  some  months, 
perliaps  a  year,  I  was  not  mistaken :  she  did,  indeed,  need  solitude,  and  took  plea- 
sure in  it.  And  during  that  time  I  formed  my  idea  of  her  character.  Her  intense 
temporary  need  of  solitude  was  identical  with  my  constant  need ;  why  is  it  aston- 
ishing, then,  that  I  should  have  taken  a  temporary  phenomenon  for  a  constant 
trait  of  lier  character?     Every  one  is  led  to  judge  others  by  himself! 

"This  is  a  fault  and  a  pretty  serious  one.  I  do  not  accuse  myself,  but  I  am 
moved,  nevertheless,  to  justify  myself;  that  is,  I  foresee  that  others  will  not  be  as 
indulgent  for  me  as  I  am  for  myself.  That  is  why,  in  order  to  soften  the  blame 
and  help  to  an  understanding,  I  must  enter  into  some  details  about  my  character 
relatively  to  the  subject  which  we  are  considering. 

"I  have  no  idea  of  rest  eacept  in  solitude.  To  be  in  society  means  to  me  to 
busy  one's  self  with  something,  or  to  work,  or  to  delight  one's  self. 

"  I  feel  completely  at  my  ease  only  when  I  am  alone.  What  shall  we  call  this 
feeling?  "What  is  its  origin?  In  some  it  comes  from  dissimulation;  in  others, 
from  timidity;  in  a  third  class,  from  a  tendency  to  melancholy;  in  a  fourth,  from  a 
lack  of  sympathy  for  others.  It  seems  to  me  that  I  have  none  of  these  things.  I 
am  straightforward  and  sincere ;  I  am  always  ready  to  be  gay,  and  am  never  sad. 
Company  pleases  me :  only  it  is  all  combined  for  me  either  with  work  or  with 
pleasm-e.  But  these  occupations  must  be  relieved  by  rest, — that  is,  by  solitude. 
As  far  as  I  can  understand  myself,  I  am  moved  by  a  desire  of  independence,  of 
liberty. 

"So  the  force  of  the  reaction  against  her  old  family  life  led  her  to  accept  for  a 
time  away  of  life  not  in  conformity  with  her  steady  inclinations;  her  esteem  for 
me  maintained  these  temporary  dispositions  in  her  longer  than  they  would  other- 
wise have  lasted.  Then  I  said  to  myself  that  I  had  formed  a  false  idea  of  her 
character:  I  had  taken  her  inclinations  of  the  moment  for  steady  inclinations; 
and  I  rested  on  this  thought.  That  is  \the  whole  story.  On  my  side  there  is  a 
fault  desen'ing  of  not  much  blame;  on  hers  there  is  no  fault  at  all.  How  much 
suffering  all  this  has  cost  her,  and  by  what  a  catastrophe  am  I  forced  to  put  an 
end  to  it ! 

"When  the  fright  occasioned  by  her  horrible  dream  had  ojwned  my  eyes  to  the 
state  of  her  feelings,  it  was  already  too  late  to  repair  my  fault.  But  if  we  had 
seen  .sooner  what  she  lacked,  it  is  possible  that,  by  making  steady  efforts  over 
ourselves,  she  and  I  would  have  succeeded  in  achieving  a  sort  of  contentment  with 
each  other.  But  I  do  not  believe  that,  had  we  succeeded,  anything  good  would 
have  resulted  from  it.  Suppose  we  had  reconstinicted  our  characters  sufficiently 
to  render  them  harmonious;  conversions,  nevertheless,  are  good  only  when  brought 
into  action  against  some  evil  proclivities ;  now,  the  proclivities  that  we  should 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Hushand.     245 

have  had  to  change  are  in  no  way  blamevvorthj^  In  what  respect  is  sociability 
worse  or  better  than  the  desire  for  solitude,  and  vice  versa?  Now,  conversion, 
after  all,  is  violence,  dispersion;  in  dispersion  many  things  are  lost,  and  the  effect 
of  violence  is  to  stupefy. 

"The  result  that  we  perhaps  (perhaps!)  should  have  attained  would  not  have 
been  a  compensation.  We  should  have  become  insignificant  and  should  have 
withered  more  or  less  the  freshness  of  our  life.  And  why?  To  keep  certain 
places  in  certain  rooms?  If  we  had  had  children,  tliat  would  have  been  another 
matter;  then  we  should  have  had  to  consider  carefully  the  possibly  bad  inlluence 
that  our  separation  would  have  had  upon  tlieir  fortunes.  In  that  case  it  would 
have  been  necessary  to  make  every  possible  effort  to  avoid  this  denoument,  and  the 
result — -tlie  joy  of  having  done  all  that  was  necessary  to  make  those  dear  to  us 
happier  —  would  have  rewarded  adequately  all  our  efforts.  But  in  the  actual 
state  of  things  what  rational  object  could  our  efforts  have  had? 

"Consequently,  the  present  situation  being  given,  all  is  arranged  for  the  best. 
We  have  not  had  to  violate  our  natures.  We  have  had  mucli  sorrow,  but,  had  we 
acted  any  oth(;rwise,  we  should  have  had  nuich  more,  and  the  result  would  not 
have  been  as  satisfactory." 

Such  are  the  words  of  Dmitry  Sergueitch.  You  can  easily  see  with  what  per- 
sistence lie  has  dwelt  in  this  matter  upon  what  he  calls  his  wrongs.  He  added: 
"I  feel  sure  that  those  who  analyze  my  conduct  without  sympathy  for  mo  will 
find  that  I  have  not  been  entirely  right.  IJiit  I  am  sure  of  their  synq)athy  for  her. 
She  will  judge  me  even  better  than  I  judge  myself.  Now,  for  my  part,  I  believe 
that  I  have  done  perfectly  right.  Such  is  my  opinion  of  my  conduct  up  to  the 
time  of  lh(j  dream." 

Now  I  am  going  to  comnnmicate  to  you  his  feelings  concerning  the  subsequent 
events : 

"I  have  said  [Dmitry  Sergueitch's  words]  that  from  tlie  first  words  that  she 
uttf'rerl  al>oul/ lnM"  dream  I  und(Mst.oo(l  thai,  a  ciiaiigi!  in  oin'  relations  was  inevit- 
able. I  e.\p<!<:ted  that  this  change  would  1m;  a  pretty  radical  one,  tor  it  was  impos- 
sible tliat  it  should  be  otherwise,  considering  the  energy  of  her  nalun;  and  the 
intensity  of  her  discontent  at  that  time ;  and  her  disconUiut  was  all  the  greater 
from  having  Ixien  long  suppressed.  Nevertlieless,  I  looked  only  for  an  external 
change  and  on(5  rpiiUj  to  my  .advantage.  I  said  to  myself :  'For  a  time  she  will  Ito 
under  the  influence  of  a  p.'issionate  love  for  some  one;  then,  a  year  or  two  having 
gone  by,  she  will  come  back.  I  am  an  estimable  man  ;  the  cliances  of  finding 
another  man  like  me  are  very  rare  (I  say  what.  T  think,  and  have  not  Iiyjiocrisy 
enough  to  underrate  my  merits)  ;  iier  feeling  will  lose  a  portion  of  its  intensity  by 
satisfaction  ;  and  she  will  see  that,  although  one  side  of  her  nature  is  less  satisfied 
in  living  with  me,  on  the  whole  she  is  happier  and  freer  with  me  than  with  any 
one  else.     Then  things  will  again   shape   tliemselves   as  in  the  past.     Having 


246  What's  To  Be  Done? 

learned  by  experience,  I  shall  bestow  more  attentions  upon  her,  she  will  have  a 
greater  and  keener  attachment  for  me,  and  we  shall  live  more  harmoniously  than 
in  the  past.' 

'■But  (this  is  a  thing  which  it  is  a  very  delicate  matter  for  me  to  explain,  and 
yet  it  must  be  done),  —  but  what  effect  did  the  prospect  of  this  reestablishment  of 
our  relations  have  upon  me?  Did  it  rejoice  me?  Evidently.  But  was  that  all? 
No,  I  looked  forward  to  it  as  a  bm-den,  a  very  agreeable  burden,  to  be  sure,  but 
still  a  Ijurden.  I  loved  her  much,  and  would  have  violated  my  nature  to  put 
myself  in  greater  harmony  with  her ;  that  would  have  given  me  pleasure,  but  my 
life  would  have  been  under  restraint.  That  was  the  way  in  which  I  looked  at 
things  after  the  first  impression  had  passed  away,  and  I  have  seen  that  I  was  not 
mistaken.  She  put  me  to  the  proof  of  that,  when  she  w^ished  me  to  force  myself 
to  keep  her  love.  The  month  of  complaisance  which  I  devoted  to  her  was  the  most 
painful  month  of  my  life.  There  was  no  suffering  in  it, — that  expression  would 
be  out  of  place  and  even  absurd,  for  I  felt  only  joy  in  trying  to  please  her, — but 
it  wearied  me.  That  is  the  secret  of  the  failure  of  her  attempt  to  preserve  her 
love  for  me. 

"  At  first  blush  that  may  seem  strange.  Why  did  I  not  get  weary  of  devoting 
so  many  evenings  to  students,  for  whom  I  certainly  would  not  have  seriously  dis- 
turbed myself,  and  why  did  I  feel  so  much  fatigue  from  devoting  only  a  few  eve- 
nings to  a  woman  whom  I  loved  more  than  myself  and  for  whom  I  was  ready  to 
die,  and  not  only  to  die,  but  to  suffer  all  sorts  of  torments?  It  is  strange,  I  admit, 
but  only  to  one  who  has  not  fathomed  the  nature  of  my  relations  with  the  young, 
to  whom  I  devoted  so  much  time.  In  the  first  place,  I  had  no  personal  relations 
with  these  young  people ;  when  I  was  with  them,  I  did  not  seem  to  have  men 
before  me,  but  abstract  types  exchanging  ideas ;  my  conversations  with  them  were 
hardly  to  be  distinguished  from  my  solitary  dreams ;  but  one  side  of  the  man  was 
occupied,  that  which  demands  the  least  rest, — thought.  All  the  rest  slept.  And 
furthermore  the  conversation  had  a  practical,  a  useful  object,  —  cooperation  for 
the  development  of  the  intellectual  life  and  the  perfecting  of  my  young  friends. 
This  wa.s  so  easy  a  task  that  it  rather  reestablished  my  strength,  exhausted  by 
other  work, — a  task  which  did  not  tire  me,  but,  on  the  contrary,  refreshed  me; 
nevertheless,  it  was  a  task,  and  it  was  not  rest  that  I  was  after,  but  a  useful  ob- 
ject. In  short,  I  let  my  whole  l^eing  go  to  sleep,  thought  excepted,  and  that  acted 
without  being  troubled  hj  any  personal  prepossession  regarding  the  men  with 
whom  I  was  talking;  consequently,  I  felt  as  much  at  my  ease  as  if  I  had  been 
alone.  These  conversations  did  not  take  me  out  of  my  solitude,  so  to  speak. 
There  was  nothing  in  them  similar  to  the  relations  in  which  the  enth-e  man 
participates. 

"I  know  what  a  delicate  matter  it  is  to  utter  the  word  ^ ennui';  but  sincerity  will 
not  permit  me  to  withhold  it.     Yes,  with  all  my  love  for  her,  I  felt  a  sense  of 


The,  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Husband.     247 

relief  when  later  I  became  convinced  that  our  I'elatious  were  forever  broken.  I 
became  convinced  of  it  about  the  time  when  she  perceived  that  to  comply  with 
her  desires  was  a  burden  to  me.  Tlien  my  future  seemed  to  assume  a  more  agree- 
able shape ;  seeing  that  it  was  impossible  to  maintain  our  old  relations,  I  began  to 
consider  by  what  method  we  could  soonest  —  I  must  again  use  a  delicate  expres- 
sion— consummate  the  separation.  That  is  why  those  who  judge  only  by  appear- 
ances have  been  able  to  believe  in  my  generosity.  Nevertheless  I  do  not  wish  to 
be  hypocritical  and  deny  the  good  that  is  in  me ;  therefore  I  must  add  that  one  of 
my  motives  was  the  desire  to  see  her  happy.  But  this  was  only  a  secondary  mo- 
tive, a  strong  one  enough,  to  be  sure,  but  far  inferior  in  intensity  to  the  first  and 
principal  motive,  —  the  desire  to  escape  ennui:  that  was  the  princijial  motive.  It 
was  under  tliis  influence  that  I  began  to  analyze  attentively  her  manner  of  life, 
and  I  easily  discovered  that  the  person  in  question  was  dominated  in  her  feelings 
and  acts  by  the  presence  and  absence  of  Alexander  IMatveitch.  That  obliged  me 
to  consider  him  also.  Tlien  I  understood  the  cause  of  her  strange  actions,  to 
which  I  had  at  first  paid  no  attention.  That  made  me  see  things  in  a  still  more 
agreeable  light.  Wiien  I  saw  in  her  not  only  the  desire  for  a  passionate  love,  but 
also  the  love  itself,  an  unconscious  love  for  a  man  entirely  worthy  of  her  and  able 
to  completely  replace  me  at  her  side;  when  I  saw  that  this  man  too  had  a  great 
passion  for  her,  —  I  was  thorouglily  rejoiced.  It  is  true,  however,  tliat  the  first 
impression  was  a  painful  one :  no  grave  cliange  takes  place  without  some  sorrow. 
I  saw  now  tliat  I  could  no  longer  conscientiously  consider  myself  indispensable  to 
her,  as  I  had  been  accustomed  to  do  and  with  deliglit;  tliis  new  cliango,  tlicrofore, 
ha<l  a  painful  side.  But  not  long.  Now  I  was  sure  of  her  happiness  and  felt  no 
anxiety  about  her.  That  was  a  source  of  great  joy.  But  it  would  be  an  error  to 
believe  that  that  was  my  chief  pleasun;;  no,  personal  feeling  was  dominant  even 
here:  I  saw  that  I  was  to  bo  free  I  do  not  mean  tiiat  single  life  seemcMl  to  nic 
freer  llian  family  life:  no,  if  liusband  and  wife  make  each  otlier  mutually  li'ippy 
without  effort  and  without  thougiit,  the  mon;  intimate  their  relations  the  liapi>ier 
they  arc.  But  our  relations  were  not  of  tliat  character.  Consequently  to  hk;  sepa- 
ration meant  freedom. 

"It  will  be,  seen  thai  I  aeled  in  my  own  inleresl,  wlien  T  d<!oided  not  fo  stand  in 
the  way  of  their  liappiness;  there  w;»s  a  nobh-  ,si(l(;  to  my  conduct,  but  tin;  motive 
power  v/iiH  the  desire  of  my  own  nature  for  a  more  comfortable  situation.  And 
that  is  why  I  liiid  the  strength  to  act  well,  to  ilo  without  liesitation  ami  wilhout 
pain  what  I  believed  to  bo  my  duty:  one  docs  his  duty  easily  when  inqu-lled  by 
his  own  nature. 

"I  started  for  Riazan.  Some  time  afterwards  she  called  mo  back,  saying  that 
my  presence  would  not  trouble  lior.  I  took  the  contrary  view, — for  two  reasons, 
as  I  l)elieve.  It  was  painful  to  her  to  see  the  nian  to  whom  ("in  her  ojiinion)  she 
owed  80  nmch.     She  was  mistaken;  she  was  under  no  obligation  to  me,  because  I 


248  What's  To  Be  Done? 

had  always  acted  much  more  in  my  own  interest  than  in  hers.  But  she  saw  it 
differently,  and  moreover  she  felt  a  very  profound  attachment  for  me,  which  was  a 
source  of  pain.  This  attachment  had  also  its  agreeable  side,  but  this  could  not 
have  become  dominant  unless  it  had  been  less  intense,  for,  when  intense,  it  is  very 
painful.  The  second  motive  (another  delicate  explanation,  but  I  must  say  what  I 
think)  arose  from  the  fact  that  her  rather  abnormal  situation  in  the  matter  of  so- 
cial conditions  was  disagreeable  to  her.  Thus  I  came  to  sec  that  the  proximity  of 
my  existence  to  hers  was  painful  to  her.  I  will  not  deny  that  to  this  new  discov- 
ery there  was  a  side  incomparably  more  painful  to  me  than  all  the  feelings  that  I 
had  experienced  in  the  preceding  stages  of  the  affair.  I  retained  very  good  dispo- 
sitions toward  her :  I  wished  to  remain  her  friend.  I  hoped  that  such  would  be 
the  case.  And  when  I  saw  that  it  could  not  be,  I  was  much  grieved.  And  niy 
chagrin  was  compensated  by  no  personal  interest.  I  may  say,  then,  that  my  final 
resolution  was  taken  only  through  attachment  to  her,  through  a  desire  to  see  her 
happy.  Consequently,  my  conduct  toward  her  even  in  our  happiest  days  never 
gave  me  so  much  inner  satisfaction  as  this  resolution.  Then  at  last  I  acted  under 
the  influence  of  what  I  may  call  nobility,  or,  to  speak  more  accurately,  noble  de- 
sign, in  which  the  general  law  of  human  nature  acts  wholly  by  itself  without  the 
aid  of  individual  peculiarities ;  and  T  learned  to  know  the  high  enjoyment  of  see- 
ing one's  self  act  nobly,  —  that  is,  in  the  way  in  wliich  all  men  without  exception 
ought  to  act.  This  high  enjoyment  of  feeling  one's  self  simply  a  man,  and  not 
Ivan  or  Peter,  is  too  intense ;  ordinary  natures  like  mine  cannot  stand  it  too 
often.     But  happy  the  man  who  has  sometimes  felt  it ! 

"I  do  not  need  to  explain  this  side  of  my  conduct,  which  would  have  been  sense- 
less to  the  last  degree  in  dealing  with  other  men;  it  is,  however,  only  too  well  jus- 
tified by  the  character  of  the  person  to  whom  I  yielded.  When  I  was  at  lliazan, 
not  a  word  passed  between  her  and  Alexander  Matveitch.  Later,  at  the  time 
when  I  took  my  final  resolution,  not  a  word  passed  between  him  and  me  or  be- 
tween her  and  me.     But  to  know  their  thoughts  I  did  not  need  to  hear  them." 

I  have  transmitted  literally  the  words  of  Dmitry  Sergucitch,  as  I  have  already 
said. 

I  am  an  entire  stranger  to  you,  but  the  correspondence  upon  which  T  enter  with 
you,  in  carrying  out  the  will  of  poor  Dmitry  Sorgueitch,  is  of  so  intimate  a  nature 
that  you  will  be  curious  perhaps  to  know  who  this  unknown  correspondent  is,  who 
is  so  familiar  with  Dmitry's  inner  life.  I  am  a  medical  student  who  has  renounced 
liis  profession;  I  can  tell  you  nothing  more  aljout  myself.  Of  late  years  I  have 
lived  in  St.  Petersburg.  A  few  days  ago  I  conceived  the  idea  of  travelling  and 
seeking  a  new  career  in  foreign  lands.  I  left  St.  Petersburg  the  day  after  you 
learned  of  Dmitry's  loss.  By  the  merest  chance  I  did  not  have  my  passport,  but  I 
succeeded  in  getting  that  of  another,  which  one  of  our  common  acrjuaintances  had 
the  kindness  to  furnish  me.     lie  gave  them  to  me  on  condition  that  I  would  do 


TliQ  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  loith  her  Second  Husband.     249 

some  errands  for  him  on  the  way.  If  you  happen  to  see  M.  Rakhmetoff,  be  kind 
enough  to  tell  him  that  all  his  cormnissions  have  been  attended  to.  Now  I  am 
going  to  wander  about  for  a  while, — probably  in  Germany  observing  the  customs 
of  the  people.  I  have  a  few  hundred  roubles,  and  I  wish  to  live  at  my  ease  and 
without  doing  anything.  When  I  grow  weary  of  idleness,  I  shall  look  for  work. 
Of  what  sort  ?  It  is  of  no  consequence.  Where  ?  It  matters  not.  I  am  as  free 
as  a  bird,  and  I  can  be  as  careless  as  a  bird.     Such  a  situation  enchants  me. 

Probably  you  will  wish  to  reply,  but  I  do  not  know  where  I  shall  be  a  week 
hence,  —  perhaps  in  Italy,  perhaps  in  England,  perhaps  at  Prague.  Now  I  can 
live  according  to  my  caprice,  and  where  it  will  lake  me  I  know  not.  Conse- 
quently, upon  your  letters  place  only  this  address:  ^^ Berlin,  Fricdric/istraxse  20, 
Ayentur  von  II.  Sclimeidler" ;  within  this  envelope  place  another  containing  your 
letter,  and  upon  the  inner  envelope,  instead  of  any  address,  write  the  figures 
12345;  to  tlie  Schmeidler  agency  that  will  mean  that  the  letter  is  to  be  sent  to 
me.  Accept,  Madame,  the  assiu'ance  of  the  high  esteem  of  a  man  unknown  to 
you,  but  profoundly  devoted  to  you,  who  signs  himself 

A   QUONDAM   MEDICAL   STUDENT. 

il/y  much  exteemed  Monsieur  Alexander  Matve'itck: 

In  conformity  with  the  wishes  of  poor  Dmitry  Sergueitch,  T  must  tell  you  that 
he  considered  the  obligation  to  yield  his  plac  ;  to  you  the  best  conclusion  possible. 
The  circumstances  which  liave  induced  this  change  have  gradually  come  about 
within  tlie  last  three  years,  in  wliich  you  had  almost  aban^loned  his  society,  and 
without,  consequently,  any  sliare  in  thini  on  your  pari.  'I'liis  change  results 
solely  from  (he  acts  of  two  individuals  whom  you  have  tried  in  vain  (o  bring 
together,  and  the  conclusion  was  inevitable.  It  is  needless  to  say  that  Dmitry  Ser- 
gueitch couM  in  no  way  attribute  it  to  you.  Of  coiu'so  this  ex)>lanatinn  is  snper- 
tiuouH,  and  it  is  only  for  form's  sake  tliat  lie  has  chargcid  me  willi  making  it.  lie 
was  not  fitted  for  the  situation  which  ho  occupied,  and  in  his  opinion  it  is  better 
for  all  that  he  has  yielded  his  place  to  you. 

I  shake  your  hand. 

A   QUONDAM    MKDICAL   STUDENT. 


"And,  for  my  part,  I  know"  .... 

What's  (hat?  The  voice  is  familiar  to  me.  I  look  behind  me;  it  is  he,  it  is 
really  he,  the  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye;  lately  expelled  for  kiu)wing  neither 
A  nor  I>  on  a  question  of  art,  here  he  is  again,  and  with  his  usual  penetration 
again  he  knows  sometiiing. 

"All!    I  know  who  wrote  that" 

I  seize  precipitately  the  first  object  that  comes  to  my  hand,  —  it  is  a  jiapkin,  in- 


250  What's  To  Be  Done? 

asnnich  as,  after  copying  the  letter  of  the  quondam  student,  I  sat  down  to  break- 
fast,— I  seize  the  napkin  and  I  close  his  mouth.  "AVell!  know  then!  but  why 
cry  out  like  a  madman  ?  " 

II. 

St.  Petersbm-g,  August  25,  I80G. 
Afonsieur: 

You  cannot  imagine  how  happy  I  was  to  receive  your  letter.  I  thank  you  w  ith 
all  my  heart.  Your  intimacy  with  Dmitry  Sergueitch,  who  has  just  perished,  en- 
titles me  to  consider  you  a  friend,  and  permit  me  to  call  you  so. 

In  each  of  tlie  words  which  you  have  communicated  to  me  I  have  recognized  the 
character  of  Dmitry  Sergueitch.  He  was  always  searching  for  the  most  hidden 
causes  of  his  acts,  and  it  pleased  him  to  apply  thereto  the  theory  of  egoism.  For 
that  matter  it  is  a  habit  common  to  all  our  circle.  My  Alexander  also  is  fond  of 
analyzing  himself  in  this  fashion.  If  you  could  hear  how  he  explains  his  conduct 
towards  me  and  Dmitry  Sergueitch  for  the  last  three  years !  To  hear  him,  he  did 
everything  from  selfish  design,  for  his  own  pleasure.  I,  too,  long  since  acquired 
this  habit.  Only  it  occupies  us  —  Alexander  and  me  —  a  little  less  than  Dmitry 
Sergueitch;  we  have  the  same  inclination,  only  his  was  stronger.  Yes,  to  hear  us, 
we  are  all  three  the  greatest  egoists  that  the  world  has  yet  seen.  And  perhaps  it 
is  the  truth.    It  is  possible,  after  all. 

But,  besides  this  trait,  common  to  all  three  of  us,  the  words  of  Dmitry  Sergueitch 
contain  something  peculiar  to  himself :  the  object  of  his  explanations  is  evident, — 
to  quiet  me.  Xot  that  his  words  are  not  wholly  sincere,  —  he  never  said  what  he 
did  not  thmk, — but  he  makes  too  prominent  that  side  of  the  truth  calculated  to 
quiet  me.  I  am  very  grateful  to  you,  my  friend,  but  I  too  am  an  egoist,  and  I  will 
say  that  liis  anxiety  on  my  account  was  useless.  We  justify  ourselves  much  more 
easily  than  others  justify  us.  I  too  do  not  consider  myself  at  all  guilty  towards 
him ;  I  will  say  more :  I  do  not  even  feel  under  any  obligation  to  have  an  attach- 
ment for  him.  I  appreciate  highly  his  noble  conduct,  but  I  know  that  he  acted 
noVjly,  not  for  me,  but  for  himself;  and  I,  in  not  deceiving  him,  acted,  not  for  him, 
but  for  myself,  —  not  because,  in  deceiving  him,  I  sliould  have  been  unjust  to  him, 
but  because  to  do  so  was  repugnant  to  me.  I  say,  like  him,  that  I  do  not  accuse 
myself.  But  like  him  also  I  am  moved  to  justify  myself;  to  use  his  expression  (a 
very  correct  one),  that  means  that  I  foresee  that  others  will  not  be  as  indulgent  as 
myself  regarding  some  phases  of  my  conduct.  I  have  no  desire  to  justify  myself 
regarding  that  part  of  the  matter  upon  which  he  touches;  but,  on  the  other  hand, 
I  have  a  desire  to  justify  myself  regarding  the  part  upon  which  he  does  }iot  need 
to  justify  himself.  No  one  will  call  me  guilty  on  account  of  what  took  place  be- 
fore my  dream.     But,  then,  is  it  not  my  fault  that  the  affair  took  so  melodramatic 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  loith  Aer  Second  Ilushand.     251 

an  aspect  and  led  to  a  theatrical  conclusion  ?  Ought  I  not  to  have  taken  a  much 
simpler  view  of  a  change  of  relations  already  inevitable,  when  my  dream  for  the 
first  time  opened  the  eyes  of  Dmitry  Sergueitch  and  myself  to  my  situation?  In 
the  evening  of  the  day  when  Dmitry  Sergueitch  died,  I  had  a  long  conversation 
with  that  ferocious  Eakhmetolf;  what  a  good  and  tender  man,  that  Kakhmetoff! 
He  said  I  know  not  how  many  horrible  things  about  Dmitry  Sergueitch.  But,  if 
one  should  repeat  them  in  a  friendly  tone,  they  would  be  almost  just. 

I  believed  that  Dmitry  Sergueitch  knew  perfectly  well  what  Rakhmotoff  was 
going  to  say  to  me,  and  that  he  had  calculated  upon  it.  In  my  state  of  mind  I 
needed  to  hear  him,  and  his  remarks  did  much  to  quiet  me.  Whoever  planned 
that  conversation,  I  thank  you  much,  my  friend.  But  the  ferocious  llalilimetoff 
himself  had  to  confess  that  in  the  last  half  of  the  affair  the  conduct  of  Dmitry  Ser- 
gueitch was  perfect.  llakhmetoIT  blamed  hini  only  for  the  first  half,  concerning 
which  it  pleased  Dmitry  Sergueitch  to  justify  himself. 

But  I  am  going  to  justify  myself  concerning  the  second  half,  although  no  one 
has  told  me  that  I  was  guilty.  But  every  one  of  us  —  I  speak  of  ourselves  and  our 
friends,  of  our  whole  circle  —  has  a  severer  censor  than  Rakhmetoif  himself,  —  his 
or  her  own  mind.  Yes,  I  understand,  my  friend,  that  it  would  have  been  much 
easier  for  all  if  I  had  taken  a  simpler  view  of  the  affair  and  had  not  given  it  so 
tragic  a  bearing.  And,  if  we  leave  it  to  the  opinion  of  Dmitry  Sergueitch,  I  shall 
liavc!  to  say  further  that  he  would  then  have  had  no  need  to  resort  to  a  sensational 
climax  very  painful  to  him:  he  had  to  act  as  he  did  only  because  pushed  by  my 
impetuou-s  way  of  looking  at  things. 

I  suppose  that  lie  must  have  thought  so  too,  although  he  did  not  charge  you  to 
tell  me  so.  I  set  the  higher  value  on  his  good  feelings  towards  me  from  the  fact 
that,  in  spite  of  all  that  liai>[K'ned,  tlicy  did  not  weaken.  Rut  listen,  my  friend; 
this  opinion  h  not  ju.st;  it  was  not  from  any  fault  t,(  mine,  it  was  not  from  my 
unnecessary  exaggeration  of  feeling,  that  the  necessity  presented  itself  to  Dmitry 
SergiK^iteh  of  an  experif-nen  wliieli  lie  himself  calls  very  painful.  It  is  true  that, 
if  I  had  not  altache<l  a  great  importance  to  the  change  of  relations,  the  jonrney  to 
Ria/an  might  have  been  dispensed  witli,  l)ut  he  says  that  that  was  not  painful  to 
him;  in  this  respect,  tlien,  my  excitement  caused  no  great  unhajipiness.  It  was 
only  the  necessity  <>f  living  that  was  painful  to  him.  He  explains  by  two  rea.sons 
why  he  was  forc(;d  to  adopt  that  resolution. 

In  the  first  place,  I  sufftsrcd  from  my  extreme  attachment  for  him ;  in  tho  second, 
I  suffered  liecause  I  could  not  give  my  relations  witii  Alexander  the  character  de- 
manded by  public  opinion.  In  fact,  T  was  not  altogether  tramiuil;  my  situation 
was  burdensome,  but  he  did  not  divine  the  real  cause.  He  believed  that  his  pres- 
chce  was  painfid  to  me  on  account  of  the  depth  of  my  gratitude;  this  was  not 
quite  the  case.  We  are  very  nnich  disposed  to  look  for  consoling  thouglits,  and 
when  Dmitry  Sergueitch  saw  the  necessity  of  dyhig,  that  necessity  had  long  ceased 


252  What's  To  Be  Done? 

to  exist :  my  gi-atitiuie  had  decreased  to  that  moderate  degree  which  constitutes  an 
agi'eeable  feeling.  Now,  deep  gratitude  was  the  sole  cause  of  my  painful  exagger- 
ation of  feeling.  The  other  cause  mentioned  by  Dmitry  Sergueitch  —  the  desire 
to  give  my  relations  with  Alexander  the  character  demanded  by  society — did  not 
depend  at  all  upon  my  way  of  viewing  the  aifair.  It  was  the  result  of  society's 
ideas.  That  cause  I  could  not  have  controlled;  but  Dmitry  Sergueitch  was  abso- 
lutely mistaken  if  he  supposed  that  his  presence  was  painful  to  me  for  that  reason. 
If  a  husband  lives  with  his  wife,  that  is  enough  to  prevent  scandal,  whatever  the 
relations  of  his  wife  with  another.  That  is  a  great  step  already.  We  see  many 
examples  where,  thanks  to  the  noble  character  of  the  husband,  affairs  are  thus  ar- 
ranged, and  in  that  case  society  lets  the  W'oman  alone.  Now,  I  consider  that  the 
best  and  easiest  way  of  arranging  affairs  of  this  sort.  Dmitry  Sergueitch  at  first 
proposed  this  plan  to  me.  I  then  refused  on  account  of  my  exaggeration  of  feel- 
ing. I  do  not  know  what  would  have  happened  if  I  had  accepted;  but,  if  I  had 
been  able  to  content  myself  with  being  left  alone  and  the  avoidance  of  scandal  re- 
garding my  relations  with  Alexander,  it  is  evident  that  the  plan  proposed  by  Dmi- 
try Sergueitch  would  have  been  sufficient,  and  that,  if  I  had  adopted  it,  there  would 
have  been  no  need  of  his  decision  to  die.  In  that  case  evidently  I  should  have  had 
no  reason  to  desire  to  formally  determine  my  relations  with  Alexander.  But  it 
seems  to  me  that  such  an  arrangement,  satisfactory  in  most  cases  similar  to  ours, 
in  ours  would  not  have  been  so.  Our  situation  had  one  peculiar  feature,  —  the 
three  individuals  whom  it  concerned  were  of  equal  force.  If  Dmitry  Sergueitch 
had  felt  an  intellectual  and  moral  superiority  in  Alexander;  if,  in  yielding  his 
place  to  him,  he  had  yielded  to  moral  superiority ;  if  his  withdrawal,  instead  of 
being  voluntary,  had  been  only  the  withdrawal  of  the  weak  before  the  strong, — 
why,  then  certainly  nothing  would  have  weighed  upon  me.  Likewise,  if  I  had 
been  superior  in  mind  and  character  to  Dmitry  Sergueitch;  if  he  himself,  before 
the  birth  of  my  passion,  had  been  one  of  the  two  heroes  of  a  certain  anecdote  which 
once  made  us  laugh  so  heartily,  —  all  would  have  been  arranged,  he  would  have 
submitted.  The  anecdote  was  of  two  gentlemen  who,  after  having  conversed  some 
tune  and  being  pleased  with  each  other,  desired  to  make  each  other's  acquaintance: 

"I  am  Lieutenant  So-and-So,"  said  one,  with  an  air  of  dignity. 

"And  I  am  the  liu.sband  of  Madame  Tedesco,"  said  the  other. 

If  Dmitry  Sergueitch  had  been  the  husband  of  Madame  Tedesco,  why,  then  he 
would  have  had  no  need  to  resort  to  extremities,  he  would  have  submitted  to  his 
fate,  he  would  have  seen  nothing  offensive  to  him  in  his  submission,  and  every- 
thing would  have  been  delightful.  But  his  relations  with  me  and  with  Alexander 
were  not  at  all  of  such  a  character.  In  no  respect  was  he  either  our  inferior  or  our 
superior;  this  was  evident  to  all.  My  liberty  could  depend  only  on  his  good  will 
and  not  at  all  on  his  weakness.     You  cannot  deny  it,  my  friend. 

What,  then,  was  my  situation?    I  saw  myself  dependent  on  his  good  will.     That 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Ilushand.     253 

■was  why  my  situation  was  painful  to  me,  that  was  why  he  deemed  it  useful  to 
adopt  his  noble  resolution.     Yes,  my  friend,  the  cause  of  my  feeling,  which  forced 
him  to  this  step,  was  much  more  deeply  hidden  than  he  explains  in  your  letter. 
The  overwhelming  degree  of  gratitude  no  longer  existed.     To  satisfy  the  require- 
ments of  society  would  have  been  easy  in  the  way  proposed  by  Dmitry  Sergueitch 
himself,  and,  after  all,  these  requirements  did  not  affect  me,  living  in  my  little  cir- 
cle, entirely  beyond  the  reach  of  gossip.      But  I  remained  dependent  upon  Dmitry 
Sergueitch.     That  was  the  painful  part  of  it.     What  had  my  view  of  the  change 
of  our  relations  to  do  with  this  V     Dmitry  Sergueitch  remained  the  master.     Now, 
you  know  and  approve  my  feeling :  I  do  not  wish  to  be  dependent  upon  the  good 
will  of  any  one,  tliougli  he  were  the  most  devoted  of  men,  tlie  man  whom  I  most 
esteemed,  in  wliom  I  believed  as  in  another  self,  and  iu  whom  I  had  full  confidence. 
I  do  not  wish  it,  and  I  know  that  you  approve  this.     But  why  so  many  words? 
Why  this  analysis  of  our  inmost  feelings,  which  no  one  would  have  gone  into? 
Like  Dmitry  Sorgu('itch,  T  liave  a  mania  for  undressing  my  feelings  in  order  that  I 
may  say:  It  is  not  my  fault,  but  the  result  of  a  circumstance  beyond  my  control? 
I  make  this  remark  because  Dmitry  Sergueitch  liked  remarks  of  tliis  character.     I 
wish  to  insinuate  myself  into  your  mind,  my  friend.     But  enough  of  this!     You 
have  had  so  nmch  sympathy  for  me  that  you  have  thought  nothing  of  tlie  few 
hours  required  to  write  your  long  and  precious  letter.     From  it  I  see  (whether 
from  Dmitry  Serguditcirs  style  or  yours),  —  yes,  I  see  tliat  you  will  be  curious  to 
know  what  became  of  me  after  Dmitry  Sergueitch  left  me  to  go  to  Moscow  and 
then  to  come  l)ack  and  die.     On  his  return  from  Kiazan  he  saw  that  I  was  embar- 
rassed.    This  w.'is  manifest  in  me  only  in  his  presence;  as  long  as  he  was  at  Ilia- 
/an,  I  (lid  not  think  so  mndi  iiliuiit  liiiii.     But,  whiMi  he  started  for  l\Ioscow,  T  saw 
that  he  was  meditating  sometliing  grave.     He  settled  up  his  affairs  at  St.  Peters- 
burg.    He  had  been  waiting  for  a  week  only  to  get  everything  arranged  for  his 
departure,  and  why  sIinuM   I  not  hav(!   fon^snen   this?     During   tlm   last  days  T 
HonietimcH  saw  sadness  on  his  face,  on  that  face  which  knew  so  well  how  to  hide 
secrets.     I  foresaw  that  something  decisive  was  to  be  expected.     And  when  he 
boarded  the  train,  I  was  so  sad*!     The  next  day  and  the  day  after  my  sorrow  in- 
creased.    Sudflenly  Macha  bronglit  me  a  Idler.     What  a  painful  inomentl     What 
a  painful  day!     You  know  it.     How  nnM;h  lictter  I  know  now  the  strength  of  my 
attachment  for  Dmitry  Sergueitch  I     I  had  no  idea  myself  that  it  was  so  deep. 
You  know  the  strength  of  our  nuttual  attachment.     Yon  certainly  know  that  I 
ha<l  then  decided  fo  see  Alexander  no  more;  all  day  I  felt  that  my  life;  was  broken 
forever,  and  you  know  of  my  childish  enthusiasm  when  I  saw  the  note  of  my  good, 
my  verj'  gootl,  friend,  the  note  that  changed  completely  all  my  thoughts  (notice 
the  prudence  of  my  expressions;  you  must  be  contented  with  them,  my  friend). 
You  know  all  this,  because  Bakhnietoff,  after  escorting  me  to  the  train,  went  to 
accompany  you  to  the  station ;   Dmitry  Sergueitch  and  he  were  right  in  saying 


254  Mliat's  To  Be  Bone? 

that  I  ought  nevertheless  to  leave  St.  Petersburg  in  order  to  produce  the  effect  so 
much  desired  by  Dmitry  Serguditch  that  he  inflicted  upon  me  to  achieve  it  such 
liorrible  torments  for  an  entire  day.  How  grateful  I  am  to  him  for  having  had  so 
little  pity  on  me  !  lie  and  Rakhmetoff  were  also  right  in  advising  Alexander  not 
to  appear  before  me  or  escort  me  to  the  station.  But,  as  I  no  longer  needed  to 
go  as  far  as  ^Moscow,  it  being  necessary  only  to  leave  St.  Petersburg,  I  stopped  at 
Novgorod.  A  few  days  later  Alexander  came  there  with  the  documents  establish- 
ing the  loss  of  Dmitry  Sergueitch.  We  were  married  a  week  after  this  loss,  and 
have  lived  almost  a  month  at  Tchoudovo,*  near  the  railroad,  in  order  that  it  may 
be  easy  for  Alexander  to  go  three  or  four  times  a  week  to  his  hospital.  Yesterday 
we  returned  to  St.  Petersburg,  and  that  is  why  I  am  so  late  in  answering  your  let- 
ter. It  has  remained  in  Macha's  box,  who  had  almost  forgotten  it.  And  you  have 
probably  framed  all  sorts  of  ideas  in  consequence  of  receiving  no  reply. 
I  clasp  you  in  my  arms,  my  friend. 

Yours, 

VjSra  Kirsanoff. 

I  grasp  your  hand,  my  dear ;  only  I  beg  you  not  to  send  compliments,  at  least  to 
me ;  else  I  will  let  my  heart  flow  out  before  you  in  a  torrent  of  adoration,  wliich 
would  certainly  be  disagreeable  to  you  in  the  highest  degree.  But  do  you  know 
that  for  us  to  write  so  briefly  to  each  other  shows  considerable  stupidity  in  me  as 
well  as  in  you  ?  It  seems  that  we  are  somewhat  embarrassed  in  each  other's  pre- 
sence. Supposing  that  this  were  pardonable  in  me,  why  should  you  feel  any  em- 
barrassment? Next  time  I  hope  to  talk  freely  with  you,  and  I  shall  forthwith 
write  you  a  heap  of  St.  Petersburg  news. 

Yours, 

Alexander  Kirsanoff. 

m. 

These  letters,  while  perfectly  sincere,  were  indeed  a  little  exclusive,  as  Vdra 
Pavlovna  herself  remarked.  The  two  correspondents  evidently  tried  to  make  the 
painful  shocks  which  they  had  felt  seem  less  intense  to  each  other.  They  are  very 
shrewd  people.  I  have  very  often  heard  them — them  and  those  like  them  —  say 
things  which  made  me  laugh  heartily  in  the  midst  of  their  pathetic  assertions  that 
such  and  such  a  thing  was  nothing  and  could  easily  be  endured. 

I  laughed  at  such  assertions  when  made  privately  to  me,  a  stranger.  And  when 
I  heard  them  said  before  a  man  who  could  not  help  listening,  T  corroborated  them, 

•  A  railway  station  and  large  village  situated  about  sixty-five  miles  from  St.  Petersburg. 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Husband.     255 

and  said  that  such  and  such  a  thing  was  indeed  nothing.  An  honest  man  is  very 
queer;  I  have  always  laughed  at  them  when  I  have  met  them. 

They  are  sometimes  even  absurd.  Take,  for  example,  these  letters.  I  am  a  little 
accustomed  to  such  things,  being  on  terms  of  friendship  with  them,  but  on  an  en- 
tire stranger  what  an  impression  they  must  make,  —  on  the  reader  with  the  pene- 
trating eye,  for  instance ! 

The  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye,  v.-ho  has  already  had  time  to  get  clear  of 
his  napkin,  pronounces  sentence,  shaking  his  head: 

"Immoral!" 

"  Bravo  !     Do  me  the  favor  of  saying  one  word  more." 

''The  author  also  is  an  immoral  man  to  approve  such  things,"  says  the  reader 
with  the  penetrating  eye,  adding  to  the  sentence. 

"No,  my  dear,  you  arc  mistaken.  There  are  many  things  in  this  that  I  do  not 
approve,  and,  to  tell  the  truth,  I  do  not  even  approve  any  of  it.  It  is  all  much  too 
ingenious,  much  too  far-fetched  ;  life  is  much  simpler." 

"Then  you  are  still  more  immoral?"  asks  the  reader  with  tlie  penetrating  eye, 
opening  his  eyes  wide,  astonished  at  the  inconceivable  immorality  into  which  hu- 
manity has  fallen  in  my  person. 

"Much  more  inunoral,"  I  say,  and  no  one  knows  whether  I  am  telling  the  truth 
or  laugliing  at  the  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye. 

Tlie  corn-spotidencc  lasted  three  or  four  months  longer,  —  actively  on  the  part  of 
the  KirsanofFs,  negligently  and  inadequately  on  the  part  of  their  correspondent. 
The  latter  soon  ceased  to  answer  their  letters;  they  saw  that  his  sole  intention 
was  to  comnninicate  to  Wra  I'avlovna  and  her  husband  the  thoughts  of  Lopouk- 
hoff,  and  tliat,  after  having  fuKilled  tliis  duly,  he  de<MMt'd  furtlicr  correspondence 
useless.  Having  obtained  no  reply  to  two  or  three  letters,  the  Kirsanoffs  under- 
stood liim  and  stopped  writing. 

IV. 

Vdra  Pavlovna  is  resting  on  her  soft  couch,  waiting  for  her  husband  to  come 
V)ack  from  the  hosiiital  to  diniK-r.  'F'oday  she  docs  not  care  to  make  pastry  for 
dinner;  she  prefers  to  rest,  for  she  lia.s  worked  hard  all  the  morning.  It  has  been 
so  for'a  long  time,  and  it  will  be  so  for  a  very  long  time  to  come :  she  is  starting 
another  workshop  for  seamstresses  at  the  other  extremity  of  the  city.  Vera  Pav- 
lovna LripDiikhoff  lived  on  the  island  of  Vassilicvsky,  Vera  Pavlovna  Kirsanoff 
lives  on  the  Hue  Serguicvskaia,  lier  husband  requiring  rooms  in  the  neigiiborhood 
of  the  Wyborg  district. 

Madame  MertzalolT  proved  equal  to  the  management  of  the  shop  on  the  island 
of  Vassilievsky,  which  was  quite  natural,  she  and  the  shop  being  old  acqiuiint- 
ances.     On  her  return  to  St.  Petersburg  Vera  Pavlovna  saw  that  she  did  not  need 


256  What's  To  Be  Done? 

to  visit  the  shop  often  to  see  that  things  went  well,  and,  though  she  continued  to 
visit  it  almost  daily,  it  was  solely  because  she  was  drawn  by  her  sympathy.  It 
must  be  added,  however,  tliat  her  visits  were  not  quite  useless,  for  Madame  Mert- 
zaloff  often  needed  her  advice ;  but  that  took  very  little  time,  besides  being  needed 
less  and  less  frequentlj'.  Madame  MertzalofE  will  soon  have  as  much  experience 
as  hei-self,  and  will  be  able  to  conduct  things  herself.  After  her  return  to  St. 
Petersburg  Vera  Pavlovna  visited  the  island  of  Vassilievsky  more  as  a  dear  friend 
than  as  an  indispensable  person ;  what,  then,  was  to  be  done  ?  Establish  a  new 
workshop  for  seamstresses,  in  her  own  neighborhood,  at  the  other  end  of  the  city. 

So,  in  fact,  a  new  shop  was  established  in  one  of  the  smaller  streets  between 
the  Rue  Basseinaia  and  the  Rue  Serguievskaia.  Here  there  is  much  less  work 
than  in  the  first  shop :  the  first  five  of  the  working-girls  are  from  the  old  shoji, 
where  their  places  have  been  filled  by  others ;  the  rest  of  the  force  is  made  up  of 
acquaintances  of  the  seamstresses  in  the  old  shop.  So,  everything  is  half  done, 
to  start  with.  All  the  comrades  are  perfectly  familiar  with  the  purpose  and  or- 
ganization of  the  shop;  the  young  girls  came  filled  with  a  desire  to  establish 
promptly  in  the  new  shop  the  organization  which  had  been  effected  so  slowly  in 
the  old.  Oh !  now  the  organization  went  ahead  ten  times  faster  than  then,  and 
with  three  times  less  embarrassment.  But  none  the  less  there  was  a  great  deal  of 
work  to  be  done,  and  Vera  Pavlovna  was  tired,  as  she  had  been  yesterday,  and 
day  before  yesterday,  and  as  she  had  been  for  about  two  months.  Two  months 
only,  although  six  months  had  elapsed  since  her  second  marriage ;  after  all,  it  was 
very  necessary  that  she  should  allow  herself  a  honeymoon ;  now  she  bad  resumed 
work. 

Yes,  she  had  worked  a  great  deal;  now  she  was  resting  and  thinking  of  many 
things,  especially  of  the  present;  it  is  so  beautiful  and  so  full  1  So  full  of  life  that 
but  little  time  is  left  for  memories;  memories  will  come  later.  Oh!  much  later! 
Not  in  ten  years,  nor  even  in  twenty,  but  later  still.  Nevertheless,  they  do  come 
even  now,  though  rarely.  At  this  moment,  for  example,  she  is  recalling  what  has 
most  impressed  her.    Here  is  what  her  memory  brings  back  to  her. 

V. 

''My  darling,  I  am  going  with  you." 
"  But  you  have  not  your  things." 

"  I  will  go  tomorrow,  since  you  will  not  take  me  with  you  today." 
"  Reflect,  meditate.     And  await  my  letter.     It  will  reach  you  tomorrow." 
There  she  is  on  her  way  back  from  the  station  to  the  house ;  what  does  she  feel 
and  what  does  she  think  as  she  comes  back  with  Macha?    She  hardly  knows,  her- 
self, so  shaken  has  she  been  by  the  rapid  shaping  of  events.     It  is  but  twenty-two 
hours  since  he  found  in  his  room  the  letter  which  she  had  written,  and  already  he 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Husband.     251 

is  gone  I  How  quickly,  how  suddenly !  At  two  o'clock  in  the  morning  she  fore- 
saw nothing  of  this.  lie  waited  till,  conquered  and  exhausted  by  fatigue,  she  was 
overcome  by  sleep;  then  he  entered  her  room  and  said  a  few  not  over-sensible 
words  as  a  scarcely  comprehensible  preface  to  this  bit  of  information  : 

"I  have  not  seen  my  old  parents  in  a  long  time;  I  am  going  to  see  them;  they 
will  be  very  glad." 

Only  that,  and  then  he  went  out.  She  ran  after  him,  although  he  had  made 
her  promise  not  to  do  So. 

"Where  is  he,  then?     Macha,  where  is  he,  where  is  he?" 

Macha,  who  was  still  engaged  in  clearing  the  tea-table  just  left  by  visitors, 
answered : 

"Dmitry  Serguditch  went  out;  he  said,  as  he  passed  by,  'I  am  going  to  walk.'  " 

She  had  to  go  back  to  bed.  How  could  she  sleep?  She  did  not  know  that  liis 
departure  was  to  take  place  in  a  few  hours.  He  had  said  that  they  still  had  time 
to  talk  over  all  these  things  together.  And  when  she  awoke,  it  was  time  to  go  to 
the  station. 

All  this  passes  before  her  eyes  like  a  flash,  as  if  it  had  not  happened  to  hvv,  ])ut 
had  been  tlie  experience  of  some  one  else,  which  had  been  told  to  her  hastily. 
Only  on  reaching  the  house  does  she  regain  possession  of  herself,  and  begin  to 
think  :  What  is  she  now?  what  is  to  become  of  her? 

Yes,  she  will  go  to  lliazan.  She  will  go.  To  <lo  otherwise  is  impossible.  But 
the  letter?  Wliat  will  it  say?  Wliy  wait  for  it  Ijcfon;  dt'cidiug?  She  kiiDWs  the 
contents  in  advance.  No,  it  is  necessary  to  wait  until  the  letter  comes.  But  what 
is  the  use  of  waiting?  She  will  go.  Yes,  slie  will  go.  She  repeats  it  to  lierself 
for  one,  two,  three,  four  Iiours.  But  I\Iacha,  getting  hungry,  is  already  calling  her 
to  dinner  for  thi-  lliird  tiuii-,  and  lliis  time  site  orders  r.iliirr  tlian  (tails;  well,  it  is 
at  lea«t  a  distraction. 

"Poor  Maclia,  slie  must  be  very  hungry  on  my  account.  Wl)y  did  you  wait  for 
me,  Madia?     You  would  liave  done  better  to  dine  without  waiting  for  me." 

"That  cannot  be.  Vera  I'avlovna." 

And  again  the  young  woman  njflects  for  two  hours : 

"I  will  go.  Tomorrow.  Only  I  will  wait  for  the  letter,  for  ho  begged  me  to. 
But,  wiialever  its  contcntH, —  I  know  what  it  will  contain,  —  I  will  go." 

That  is  what  she  thinks;  l)nt  is  that  really  all?  No,  her  tliought  si  ill  runs 
upon  five  little  words:  lie  t/nes  not  uuuli  it,  and  tliest;  five  little  words  dominate  her 
thought  more  and  more.  The  setting  sun  finds  her  still  absorbed.  And  Just  at 
the  moment  when  the  importunate  Marha  comes  to  demand  that  she  shall  take 
tea,  six  words  adrl  themsidves  to  tiie  five :  Nor  do  I  wish  it  either.  Macha  has  en- 
tered;  she  has  driven  away  these  six  new  l)ad  little  words.  But  not  for  long.  At 
first  they  do  not  dare  to  make  their  appearance,  and  give  place  to  their  own  refu- 
tation :  But  I  must  (/>t ;  but  they  yield  only  to  come  back  escorted  by  this  refuta- 


258  What's  To  Be  Done? 

tion.  In  a  t\\inkling  they  return  to  Vdra  Pavlovna's  thought :  He  does  not  wish 
it  —  Nor  do  I  wish  it  either.  For  half  an  hour  they  dance  a  saraband  in  her  brain ; 
then  against  these  words  so  often  uttered,  I  will  go,  rush  these  three,  Shall  I  go  f 
But  here  comes  Macha  again. 

"  I  gave  a  rouble  to  the  bearer,  Vdra  Pavlovna,  for  it  was  written  on  the  envelope 
that,  if  he  brought  the  letter  before  nine  o'clock,  he  should  be  given  a  rouble;  if 
after  that,  only  half  as  much.  Now,  he  brought  it  before  nine  o'clock.  To  go 
faster  he  took  a  cab ;  '  I  did  as  I  promised,'  he  said  to  me." 

A  letter  from  him  I  She  knows  what  it  contains  :  "  Do  not  come."  But  she  will 
go  just  the  same;  she  does  not  wish  to  listen  to  this  letter.  The  letter  contains 
something  else, — something  which  cannot  be  disregarded  : 

"I  am  going  to  Riazan,  but  not  directly.  I  have  many  business  matters  to 
attend  to  on  the  way.  Besides  Moscow,  where  press  of  business  will  oblige  me  to 
spend  a  week,  I  must  stop  at  two  cities  this  side  of  Moscow  and  three  places  the 
other  side,  before  reaching  Riazan.  How  much  time  I  shall  have  to  sacrifice  in 
this  way  I  cannot  tell.  For  instance,  I  have  to  collect  some  money  from  our  com- 
mercial representatives,  and  you  know,  my  dear  friend  [these  words,  dear  friend^ 
were  repeated  in  the  letter  that  I  might  see  that  he  was  still  well-disposed  towards 
me;  how  I  kissed  these  words!], — you  know,  my  dear  friend,  that,  when  one  has 
to  collect  money,  he  often  has  to  wait  several  days  where  he  expected  to  stay  but 
a  few  hours.  So  I  absolutely  cannot  fix  the  day  of  my  arrival  at  Riazan,  but  it 
surely  will  not  be  immediately." 

Vdra  Pavlovna  still  remembers  word  for  word  the  contents  of  this  letter.  What, 
then,  is  to  be  done?  He  deprives  her  of  all  dependence  upon  him  by  which  she 
may  remain  attached  to  him.  And  the  words,  /  must  go  to  him,  change  into  these : 
Nevertheless  I  must  not  see  him,  and  in  the  latter  sentence  the  word  him  refers  to 
another  person.  She  repeats  these  words  for  an  hour  or  two :  /  must  not  see  him. 
Of  this  thought  is  born  another:  Is  it  possible  that  I  wish  to  see  him?  No.  When 
she  goes  to  sleep,  this  last  thought  gives  way  to  another :  Will  it  he  possible  for  me 
to  see  him  ?  No  answer,  but  a  new  transformation :  Is  it  possible  that  I  may  not  see 
him  f  And  she  sleeps  till  morning  in  this  last  thought :  Is  it  possible  that  I  may  not 
see  him  f 

And  when  she  awakes  very  late  in  the  morning,  all  the  thoughts  of  the  evening 
before  and  of  the  night  give  way  to  these  two,  which  clash  against  each  other :  1 
will  see  him !  I  will  not  see  him !  That  lasts  all  the  morning.  /  will  see  him  !  No  1 
nol  no  I  But  what  is  she  doing?  She  has  taken  her  hat,  she  looks  in  the  glass 
instinctively  to  see  if  her  hair  is  in  order,  and  in  the  glass  she  sees  her  hat;  every- 
thing vanishes  then  before  these  three  words :  "  No  going  back  1  No  going  back  I 
No  going  back  I " 

"Macha,  do  not  wait  for  me  to  come  to  dinner.    I  shall  not  dine  at  home." 

"Alexander  Matvditch  has  not  yet  returned  from  the  hospital,"  says  Stepane  to 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  witJi  Tier  Second  Husband.     259 

her,  calmly.  Indeed,  there  is  no  reason  for  Stepane  to  be  astonished  at  the  pre- 
sence of  Vera  Pavlovna,  who  had  come  very  often  lately. 

"I  suspected  as  much,  but  it  makes  no  difference;  I  will  wait.  Do  not  tell  him 
that  I  am  here." 

She  takes  up  a  literary  review, — yes,  she  can  read,  she  sees  that  she  can  read; 
yes,  now  that  there  is  no  going  back,  now  that  her  resolution  is  taken,  she  feels 
very  calm.  Evidently  she  reads  but  little,  or  perhaps  not  at  all;  she  looks  the 
room  over  and  begins  to  arrange  things,  as  if  she  were  at  home;  evidently  she 
does  not  do  much  arranging,  but  she  is  calm :  and  she  can  read  and  occupy  herself 
with  matters  in  general ;  she  notices  that  the  ash-pan  is  not  empty,  that  the  table- 
clotli  needs  straightening,  and  that  this  chair  is  not  in  its  place.  She  sits  down 
and  thinks :  No  going  back,  no  choice,  a  new  life  is  about  to  berjin.  That  lasts  an 
hour  or  two. 

A  new  life  is  about  to  begin.  How  astonished  and  happy  he  will  be  I  A  new 
life  is  about  to  begin.  IIow  happy  we  are !  A  ring ;  she  blushes  slightly  and 
smiles ;  the  door  opens. 

"Vera  Pavlovna!" 

lie  staggers;  yes,  he  staggers;  he  has  to  support  himself  against  the  door,  but 
Bhe  runs  to  him,  and,  kissing  him,  says : 

''My  dear,  dear  frien<ll  IIow  noble  he  is  I  IIow  I  love  you  I  I  could  not  live 
without  you ! " 

"Wliat  look  place  then,  how  they  crossed  the  room,  she  does  not  remember ;  she 
only  remomlicTH  running  to  him  and  kissing  him;  for  that  matter,  he  remembers 
no  more  than  she.     They  only  remember  that  they  passed  by  arm-chairs  and  by 

tlie  tab]*',  but  liow  did  tlu'V  Ifuv*-  {\\(\  door? Yes,  for  a  few  seconds  their 

heads  wfru  tiirncfl,  tlicir  sight  disturlicd  liy  this  kiss 

"Vdrotclika,  my  angel  I" 

"My  friend,  I  could  not  live  without  you.  IIow  long  you  have  loved  mc  withoixt 
telling  me  sol     IIf>\v  nol)l<^  you  arc,  and  liow  nobic!  Ik;  is,  tool" 

"Tell  me,  then,  Vrrotclika,  how  tliis  has  iiaiipened." 

"I  told  liim  that  I  could  not  live  without  you;  the  next  day  —  that  is,  yester- 
day—  li'-  went  away;  T  desired  to  follow  hini;  all  day  yesterday  I  thought  that  I 
should  go  to  him;  yet  lien?  I  have  lieou  Wiiiliiig  a  long  timt'." 

"I5ut  how  thin  you  have  grown  in  the  last  two  weeks,  Verotchkal  IIow  deli- 
cate your  hands  are  1 " 

He  kisses  her  hands. 

"Yes,  my  friend,  it  was  a  painful  strugglfl  Nf)w  I  can  approciate  how  you 
hiave  fiuffered  to  avoid  disturliing  my  i>i'ace.  IIf>w  did  you  succeed  in  maintaining 
such  self-possession  that  I  noticed  notiiingV     IIow  you  must  have  suffered  I" 

"Yes,  Verotchka,  it  was  not  easy." 

And  he  still  covers  her  hands  with  kisses.     Suddenly  she  begins  to  laugh  : 


260  What's  To  Be  Done? 

"  All !  how  inattentive  I  am  to  you !     You  are  tired,  Saclia,  you  are  hungry ! " 

She  escapes  and  runs  away. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Verotchka?" 

But  xhe  does  not  answer;  akeady  she  is  in  the  kitchen,  talking  to  Stdpane  in 
gay  and  urgent  tones. 

"  Get  dinner  for  two !  Quick,  quick  I  Where  are  the  plates,  and  knives  and 
forks?  I  will  set  the  table.  Bring  in  something  to  eat;  Alexander  is  so  tired 
from  his  hospital  duties  that  his  dinner  must  he  served  in  a  hurry." 

She  returns  with  the  plates,  on  which  rattle  knives,  forks,  and  spoons. 

"You  know,  my  darling,  that  the  first  thought  of  lovers  at  the  first  interview  is 
to  dine  as  quickly  as  possible,"  says  she,  laughing. 

He  laughs  also,  and  helps  her  set  the  table ;  he  helps  her  much,  but  delays  her 
still  more,  for  he  is  constantly  kissing  her  hands. 

"  Ah !  how  delicate  your  hands  are ! "    And  he  kisses  them  again. 

"Come  to  the  table,  Sacha,  and  be  quiet!" 

Stepane  brings  the  soup.     During  dinner  she  tells  him  how  this  all  happened. 

"Ah!  my  darlmg,  how  we  eat  for  lovers!  It  is  true,  though,  that  yestei'day  I 
ate  nothing." 

Stepane  enters  with  the  last  dish. 

"  Stepane,  I  have  eaten  your  dinner." 

"Yes,  Vera  Pavlovna,  I  shall  liave  to  buy  something  at  the  shop." 

"Do  so,  and  now  you  must  know  that  in  future  you  will  always  have  to  prepare 
for  two,  not  counting  yourself.     Sacha,  where  is  your  cigar-case?    Give  it  to  me." 

She  cuts  a  cigar  herself,  lights  it,  and  says  to  him  : 

"Smoke,  my  darling;  meantime  I  will  prepare  the  coffee;  or  perhaps  you  prefer 
tea?  Do  you  know,  my  darling,  our  dinner  ought  to  be  better;  you  are  too  easy 
with  Stepane." 

Five  minutes  later  she  returns;  Stepane  follows  her  with  the  tea-service,  and,  as 
she  comes  in,  she  sees  that  Alexander's  cigar  lias  gone  out. 

"  Ha !  ha !  my  darling,  how  dreamy  you  have  become  in  my  absence  I " 

He  laughs  too. 

"Smoke,  then,"  and  again  she  lights  his  cigar. 

In  recalling  all  this  now.  Vera  Pavlovna  laughs  over  again :  "How  prosaic  our 
romance  is!  The  first  interview  and  the  soup;  our  heads  turned  at  the  first  kiss, 
then  a  good  appetite, —  what  a  strange  love-scene!  It  is  very  queer.  And  how 
his  eyes  shone !  But  indeed  they  shine  still  in  the  same  way.  How  many  of  his 
tears  have  fallen  on  my  hands,  which  were  then  so  delicate,  but  which  certainly 
are  not  so  now.  But  really  my  hands  are  beautiful;  he  tells  the  truth."  She 
looks  at  her  hands  and  says:  "Yes,  he  is  right.  But  what  has  that  to  do  with 
our  first  interview  and  its  accompaniments?  I  sit  down  at  the  table  to  pour  the 
tea. 


Tlic  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  Iter  Second  Hushand.     261 

"'Stepane,  have  you  any  cream?  Could  you  get  some  that  is  good?  But  no, 
■we  have  not  time,  and  surely  you  would  not  find  any.  So  be  it,  but  tomorrow  we 
will  arrange  all  that.  Smoke  away,  my  darling;  you  are  all  the  time  forgetting  to 
smoke.' " 

The  tea  is  not  yet  finished  when  a  terrible  ring  is  heard ;  two  students  enter  the 
room  in  all  haste,  and  in  their  hurry  do  not  even  see  her. 

"Alexander  Matveitch,  an  interesting  subject!"  they  say,  all  out  of  breath;  "an 
extremely  rare  and  very  curious  subject  [here  they  give  the  Latin  name  of  the  dis- 
ease] has  just  been  brought  in,  Alexander  Alatveitch,  and  aid  is  needed  immedi- 
ately ;  every  half -hour  is  precious.    We  even  took  a  cab." 

"  Quick,  quick,  my  friend,  make  haste ! "  says  she.  Not  till  then  do  the  students 
notice  her  and  l)0w,  and  in  a  twinkling  they  drag  away  their  professor,  who  was 
not  long  in  getting  ready,  having  kept  on  his  military  overcoat.  Again  she  hur- 
ries him. 

"  From  there  you  will  come  to  me  ?  "  says  she,  as  she  takes  leave  of  him. 

"Yes." 

In  the  evening  he  makes  her  wait  a  long  time.  It  is  ten  o'clock,  and  he  does  not 
come;  eleven,  —  it  is  useless  to  exp^^ct  him.  What  does  it  mean?  Certainly  she  is 
not  at  all  anxious;  nothing  can  have  happened  to  him;  but  why  is  he  obliged  to 
stay  with  the  interesting  subject  ?  Is  he  still  alive,  this  poor  interesting  .subject? 
Has  Sacha  succeeded  in  saving  him?  Yes,  Sacha  was,  indeed,  detained  a  long 
time.  He  does  not  come  till  the  next  morning  at  nine  o'clock;  till  four  he  had 
remained  at  the  hospital. 

"The  ca.se  was  very  difHcult  and  interesting,  Vdrotchka." 

"Saved?" 

"  YOH." 

" But  why  did  you  rise  so  early?" 

"I  have  not  been  in  l)ed." 

"You  have  not  been  in  bed!  To  avoiil  delaying  your  arrival  you  ilid  not  sloop 
la.st  night!  Impious  man!  Go  to  yoin-  room  and  sleep  till  dinner-linn!;  be  sure 
that  I  find  you  still  asleep." 

In  two  minut«>H  he  was  driven  away. 

Such  were  their  first  two  interviews.  l»ul  tlio  seeoufl  dinner  went  off  better; 
they  tfild  each  other  of  tiieir  affairs  in  a  reasonal)le  manner.  The  night  before,  on 
the  contrary,  they  did  not  know  what  they  were  saying.  They  laughed,  and  then 
were  gloomy.     It  .seemetl  to  each  of  them  that  the  other  had  suffered  the  more. 

Ten  days  later  they  hired  a  little  country-house  on  the  island  of  Kamennoy. 

vr. 

It  is  not  very  often  that  Vera  Pavlovna  recalls  the  past  of  hor  new  love :  the 
present  is  so  full  of  life  that  but  little  time  is  left  for  memories.     Nevertheless 


262  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

these  memories  come  back  oftener  and  oftener,  and  gradually  she  feels  the  growth 
withiu  her  of  a  certain  discontent,  faint,  slight,  vague,  at  first,  —  a  discontent  with 
whom,  with  what?  Ah!  there  it  is;  at  last  she  sees  that  it  is  with  herself  that 
she  is  discontented,  but  why?  She  was  too  proud  for  that.  Is  it  only  with  the 
past  that  she  is  discontented?  That  was  the  case  at  first,  but  she  notices  that  this 
discontent  refers  also  to  the  present.  And  of  how  strange  a  character  this  feeling 
is  I  As  if  it  were  not  her.  Vera  Pavlovna  Kirsanoff,  who  felt  this  discontent,  but 
as  if  it  were  the  discontent  of  thousands  and  millions  of  liuiiian  beings  reflected  in 
her.  For  what  reason  are  these  thousands  and  millions  of  human  beings  discon- 
tented with  themselves?  If  she  had  lived  and  thought  as  she  used  to  when  she 
was  alone,  it  is  probable  that  this  feeling  would  not  have  shown  itself  so  soon ;  but 
now  she  was  constantly  with  her  husband,  they  always  thouglit  together,  she  thinks 
of  liim  in  the  midst  of  these  other  thoughts.  That  aids  her  much  in  determining 
the  character  of  her  feeling.  lie  has  been  unable  to  find  the  solution  of  the  enig- 
ma :  this  feeling,  obscure  to  her,  is  still  more  so  to  him ;  it  is  even  difficult  for  him 
to  understand  how  one  can  feel  discontent  without  this  discontent  referring  to 
something  personal.  This  is  a  singularity  a  hundred  times  more  obscure  to  him 
than  to  her.  Nevertheless  she  feels  much  aided  by  the  fact  that  she  thinks  always 
of  her  husband,  that  she  is  always  with  him,  observes  him,  and  thinks  with  him. 
She  has  noticed  that,  when  the  feeling  of  discontent  comes,  it  is  always  followed 
by  a  comparison  (it  is  even  contained  in  this  comparison)  between  herself  and  her 
husband,  and  her  thought  is  illuminated  by  the  right  word:  "A  difference,  an 
offensive  difference."    Now  all  is  clear  to  her. 


VII. 

"How  agreeable  N".  N.  is,  Sacha!  [The  name  spoken  by  Vera  Pavlovna  was 
that  of  the  officer  through  whom  she  had  desired  to  make  the  acquaintance  of 
Tamberlik  in  her  horrible  dream.]  He  has  brought  me  a  new  poem,  which  is  not 
to  be  printed  for  a  long  time  yet,"  said  Vera  Pavlovna,  at  dinner.  "  When  we 
have  dined,  we  will  read  this  poem,  if  you  like.  I  have  waited  for  you,  though  I 
had  a  great  desire  to  read  it." 

"What,  then,  is  this  poem?" 

"You  shall  judge.  We  shall  see  if  he  has  succeeded.  N.  N.  says  that  he  him- 
self—  I  mean  the  author  —  is  almost  satisfied  with  it." 

They  sat  down  in  Vera  Pavlovna's  room,  and  she  began  to  read : 

Oh !  comme  la  corbeille  est  pleine ! 
J'ai  de  la  perse  et  du  brocart. 
Ayez  pitic,  6  mon  amour, 
De  I'epaule  du  gar^on. 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Husband.     263 

"  Xow  I  see,"  said  Kirsano^,  after  hearing  several  dozen  lines :  "  it  is  a  new 
style  peculiar  to  the  author.  But  it  is  easy  to  see  Avho  wrote  it.  Nekrassoff,  is  it 
not  V     I  thauk  you  very  much  for  having  waited  for  me." 

"I  believe  it  is!"  said  Vera  Pavlovna.  And  they  read  twice  the  little  poem, 
which,  thanks  to  their  intimacy  with  a  friend  of  the  author,  they  thus  had  the 
privilege  of  seeing  three  years  before  its  publication. 

"But  do  you  know  the  lines  which  most  impress  me?"  said  Vera  Pavlovna, 
after  they  had  several  times  read  and  re-read  several  passages  of  the  poem;  "these 
lines  do  not  belong  in  the  principal  passages,  but  they  impress  me  exceeduigly. 
When  Katia*  was  awaiting  the  return  of  her  lover,  she  grieved  much : 

Inconsolable,  elle  se  serait  consum^e  de  douleur 
Si  elle  avait  eu  le  temps  de  se  chagriner ; 
Mais  Ic  temps  dcs  travaux  penibles  pressait, 
II  aurait  fallu  ai-hever  luic  dizaiue  d'affaires. 
Bien  qu'il  lui  ariivi'it  souvent 
De  tomber  de  fati},'ue,  la  pauvre  enfant, 
Sous  sa  faux  vaillante  tombail  I'lierbe, 
Le  ble'  criait  sous  sa  faucille ; 
•         C'cst  de  toules  Kcs  forces 

Qu'elle  lialtait  le  ble  tons  les  matins, 

Et  jiisfprii  la  nitit  noire  elle  etendait  lo  lin 

Sur  les  prairies  pleines  do  rosce.f 

These  lines  arc  oidy  the  preface  of  the  episode  where  this  wortliy  Katia  dreams 
of  Vania;J  but,  I  repeat,  th<;y  are  tlie  ones  whicli  most  impress  \\w," 

"  Yi's,  tliis  picture  is  one  of  tlie  finest  in  the  poem,  but  tIi<!S(3  lines  do  not  occupy 
a  prominent  place;.  You  find  them  so  beautiful  because  they  accord  so  closely 
with  the  thouglits  that  fill  your  own  mind.     What,  then,  are  these  thoughts?" 

"These,  Saeha.  We  have  often  said  that  it  is  probalile  that  woman's  organiza- 
tion is  HU[ieiior  lo  man's,  and  that  it  is  probable,  therefore,  that  intellectually  man 
will  lie  thrown  back  by  woman  to  a  second  place  when  the  reign  of  brute  force  is 
over.  We  have  reached  tliis  supposition  by  watching  real  life  and  especially  by 
noting  the  fact  that  thr;  numlier  ((f  women  born  iiitellig<'nt  is  greater  than  that  of 
men.  Moreover,  you  rest  this  opinion  on  various  anatouiical  and  physiological 
details." 


•Katia  Is  thn  (timiiiutivo  of  Knt/Tiiiti. 

t  Trcmn  trHMKliitioii:  IiirfiiiMiliiMf,  f\\*'  woiilil  Ii.'ivp  lipon  roiiRuniPil  Iiy  non'ow  If  hIip  li;icl  li:iil  liiiip  to 
grlnvo;  Imt  tlin  fmip  for  nnluonn  InnUH  wan  prisfinc,  iiml  llicn-  wcrr  ii  ilozi'ii  tliiii|.'i«  to  li"  liiiiHlKMl. 
Although  Iho  poor  fliild  oft<  n  ffU  from  fiiticiu',  umlrr  lur  f'lU'i'it  wyllH'  fill  tin-  pi:  kh.  (1h!  corn 
riiMtlnl  iindrr  lifT  i<ickle;  with  nil  licr  otrrngtli  Mic  tliresiicd  tin'  I'oni  i-vcry  iiioriiiiit;,  miil  until  dark 
nlplit  ulip  sprrnU  the  fl.ax  ovor  tlio  dewy  field*. 

\  Vaiiia  is  the  diinhintivo  uf  Ivan. 


2G4  Wliat's  To  Be  Do7ie? 

"  How  well  you  treat  men,  Verotchka !  Fortunately,  the  time  that  you  foresee 
is  still  far  off.  Otherwise  I  should  quickly  change  my  opiiiiou  to  avoid  being  rele- 
gated to  a  second  place.  For  that  matter,  it  is  only  probability;  science  has  not 
yet  observed  facts  enough  to  solve  this  grave  question  properly." 

"But,  dear  friend,  have  we  not  also  asked  ourselves  why  the  facts  of  history 
have  been  hitherto  so  contradictory  of  the  deduction  which  may  be  drawn,  with 
almost  entire  certainty,  from  observations  of  private  life  and  the  constitution  of 
the  organism?  Hitherto  woman  has  played  but  a  minor  part  in  intellectual  life, 
because  the  reign  of  violence  deprived  her  of  the  means  of  development  and  stifled 
her  aspirations.  That  is  a  sufficient  explanation  in  itself;  but  here  is  another.  So 
far  as  physical  force  is  concerned,  woman's  organism  is  the  weaker,  but  it  has  at 
the  same  time  the  greater  power  of  resistance,  has  it  not?" 

"This  is  surer  than  the  difference  in  native  intellectual  powers.  Yes,  woman's 
organism  is  more  effective  in  its  resistance  to  the  destructive  forces,  —  climate,  in- 
clement weather,  insufficient  food.  ]\Iedicine  and  physiology  have  paid  but  little 
attention  to  this  question  as  yet,  but  statistics  has  already  given  an  eloquent  re- 
ply :  the  average  life  of  women  is  longer  than  that  of  men.  We  may  infer  from 
this  tliat  the  feminine  organism  is  the  more  vigorous." 

"  The  fact  that  woman's  manner  of  life  is  generally  even  less  healthy  than  man's 
makes  this  all  the  truer." 

"There  is  another  convincing  consideration  given  us  by  physiology.  Woman's 
growth  may  be  said  to  end  at  the  age  of  twenty,  and  man's  at  tlie  age  of  twenty- 
five  ;  these  figures  are  approximately  correct  in  our  climate  and  of  our  race.  Ad- 
mitting that  out  of  a  given  number  there  are  as  many  women  who  live  to  the  age- 
of  seventy  as  men  who  attain  the  age  of  sixty-five,  if  we  take  into  consideration 
the  difference  in  the  periods  of  development,  the  preponderance  of  vigor  in  the 
feminine  organism  becomes  even  more  evident  than  the  statisticians  sujipose,  as 
they  have  never  taken  into  account  the  difference  in  the  ages  of  maturity.  Sev- 
enty years  is  twenty  times  three  and  five-tenths;  sixty-five  years  is  twenty-five 
times  two  and  six-tenths.  Therefore  woman's  life  is  three  and  one-half  times  as 
long  as  the  f)eriod  of  her  development,  while  man's  is  but  little  more  than  two  and 
one-half  times  as  long  as  the  period  of  his  development,  which  is  a  little  slower. 
Now,  the  respective  strength  of  the  two  organisms  should  be  measured  by  this 
standard." 

"The  difference  is  greater  than  my  readings  had  led  me  to  believe." 

"You  have  read  only  the  statistical  summaries  bearing  on  Iho  average  length  of 
life.  But  if  to  these  statistical  facts  we  add  physiological  facts,  the  difference  will 
appear  verj'  much  greater  yet." 

"That  is  so,  Sacha;  I  thought  —  and  the  thought  now  strikes  me  still  more  forci- 
bly—  that,  if  the  feminine  organism  is  better  fitted  to  resist  destructive  forces,  it 
is  probable  that  woman  could  endure  moral  shocks  with  the  greater  ease  and  firm- 
ness.    But  in  reality  the  opposite  seems  to  be  the  truth." 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Hushand.     265 

"Yes,  it  is  probable.  But  it  is  only  a  supposition.  It  is  true,  nevertheless,  that 
your  conclusion  is  derived  from  indisputable  facts.  The  vigor  of  the  organism  is 
very  intimately  connected  with  the  vigor  of  the  nerves.  "Woman's  nerves  are 
probably  more  elastic  and  of  more  solid  texture,  and,  if  that  is  the  case,  they 
ought  to  endure  painful  shocks  and  sensations  with  the  greater  ease  and  firmness. 
In  actual  life  we  have  far  too  many  examples  of  the  contrary.  "Woman  is  very 
often  tormented  by  things  that  man  endures  easily.  Not  much  effort  lias  been 
made  as  yet  to  analyze  the  causes  which,  given  our  historical  situation,  show  us 
phenomena  the  opposite  of  what  we  are  justified  in  expecting  from  the  very  con- 
stitution of  the  organism.  But  one  of  these  causes  is  plain  ;  it  governs  all  histori- 
cal phenomena  and  all  the  phases  of  our  present  condition.  It  is  the  force  of 
bias,  a  bad  habit,  a  false  expectation,  a  false  fear.  If  a  person  says  to  himself,  'I 
can  do  nothing,'  Ik;  finds  himself  unable  to  do  anything.  Xow,(^vomon  have  al- 
ways been  tol<l  that  they  are  weak,  and  so  they  feel  weak  and  to  all  intents  and 
purposes  are  weak.  -  You  know  instances  where  men  really  in  good  health  have 
been  seen  to  waste  away  and  die  from  the  single  tliought  that  they  were  going  to 
weaken  and  die  But  tlu're  are  also  instances  of  tliis  in  the  ronduct  of  great 
masses  of  i>eopIe,  entire  humanity.  One  of  the  most  remarkable  is  furnished  by 
niilitar}'  liistorj*.  In  the  Middle  Ages  infantry  imagined  that  it  could  not  hold  its 
own  against  cavalry,  and  actually  it  could  not.  Knlire  annies  of  foot  soldiers  were 
scatt/Ted  like  flocks  of  sheep  by  a  f<*\v  hundred  horsemen;  and  that  lasted  until 
the  Knglisli  foot-soldiers,  small  proprictol-s,  proud  and  independent,  appeared  on 
the  Continent.  Th(;se  did  not  share  this  fear,  and  were  not  accustomed  to  sur- 
render without  a  struggle.  They  concpiered  every  time  tliey  met  the  innumerable 
and  formidable  rreneli  cavalry.  Do  you  remember  those  famous  defeats  of  French 
hors<'nien  by  small  armies  of  Knglish  foot-soldiers  at  Crecy,  roitier.s,  and  Agin- 
court?  The  sanir;  fact  was  repi-ated  when  the  Swiss  foot-soldiers  oneti  got  the 
idea  that  tlu?y  liad  no  reason  to  think  themselves  weaker  than  (he  feudal  cavaliy. 
The  Austrian  lu»rsemen,  and  afterwards  tliosr;  of  Burgundy,  still  more  ininierous, 
were  bpaten  l>y  Wvxw  in  every  fight.  The  other  horsemen  wanteil  to  meet  them 
also,  an<l  v.ere  always  routed.  Kverybody  saw  then  that  infantry  was  a  more  solid 
body  than  cavalry:  but  entire  oenturies  had  gone  l.y  in  wliirli  iiif:nitry  was  very 
weak  in  comparison  with  cavalry,  simply  because  it  thought  itself  so." 

"True,  Sacha.  We  are  weak  lieeause  we  consider  oiirselves  so.  But  it  seems  to 
me  that  there  is  still  amither  canse.  I  have  us  fwd  in  mind.  Does  it  not  seem  to 
you  that  T  changed  a  great  deal  iluring  the  two  weeks  when  you  diil  not  see  meV" 

"Yes,  yoti  grew  very  thin  and  pale." 

"It  is  precisely  iJiat  whicli  is  revollini;  to  my  pride  when  I  reininilier  thai  no 
one  noticed  you  grow  tliin  f)r  ]>.'ile,  (hon'^h  yon  siifTered  an<l  slni;;gle(l  as  nuuih  as 
I.     How  did  you -do  it?" 

"This  is  the  rea.son,  then,  why  tliese  lines  about  Katia,  who  cscaiies  sorrow 


2GG  Wliat's  To  Be  Done? 

through  labor,  have  made  such  an  impression  on  you !  I  endured  struggle  and 
suffering  with  reasonable  ease,  because  I  had  not  much  time  to  think  about  them. 
During  the  time  that  I  devoted  to  them  I  suffered  horribly,  but  my  urgent  daily 
duties  forced  me  to  forget  them  the  greater  part  of  the  time.  I  had  to  prepare 
my  lessons  and  attend  to  my  patients.  In  spite  of  myself  I  rested  during  that 
time  from  my  bitter  thoughts.  On  the  rare  days  when  I  had  leisure,  I  felt  my 
strength  leaving  me.  It  seems  to  me  that,  if  I  had  abandoned  myself  for  a  week 
to  my  thoughts,  I  should  have  gone  mad." 

"That's  it,  exactly.  Of  late  I  have  seen  that  the  origin  of  the  difference  between 
us  was  there.  One  must  liave  work  that  cannot  be  neglected  or  postponed,  and 
then  one  is  incomparably  securer  against  sorrow." 

"But  you  had  a  great  deal  of  work  too." 

"My  household  duties,  to  be  sure,  but  I  was  not  obliged  to  attend  to  them,  and 
often,  when  my  sadness  was  too  strong,  I  neglected  them  to  abandon  myself  to  my 
thoughts ;  one  always  abandons  that  which  is  least  important.  As  soon  as  one's 
feelings  get  firm  possession  of  them,  these  drive  all  petty  cares  out  of  the  mind.  I 
have  lessons;  these  are  more  important;  but  I  can  neglect  them  when  I  like,  and 
the  work  is  not  absorbing.  I  give  it  only  such  attention  as  I  choose  ;  if  my  mmd 
wanders  during  the  lesson,  no  great  harm  is  done.  And  again :  do  I  live  by  my 
lessons?  Is  my  position  dependent  on  therii?  No,  my  main  support  then  came 
from  Dmitry's  work  as  it  now  comes  from  yours.  The  lessons  allow  me  to  flatter 
myself  that  I  am  independent,  and  are  by  no  means  useless.  But  then  I  could  get 
along  without  them. 

"Then  I  tried,  in  order  to  drive  away  the  thoughts  which  were  tormenting  me, 
to  basy  myself  in  the  shop  more  than  usual.  But  I  did  it  only  by  an  effort  of  the 
will.  I  understood  well  enough  that  my  presence  in  the  shop  was  necessary  only 
for  an  hour  or  an  hour  and  a  half,  and  that,  if  I  stayed  longer,  I  was  tying  myself 
down  to  a  fatigue  which,  though  certainly  useful,  was  not  at  all  indispensable. 
And  then,  can  such  altruistic  occupation  sustain  persons  as  ordinary  as  T  am?  The 
Eakhmetoffs  are  another  sort  of  people:  they  are  so  nmch  concerned  about  the 
common  welfare  that  to  work  for  public  ends  is  a  necessity  to  them,  so  much  so 
that  to  them  altruistic  life  takes  the  place  of  jirivate  life.  But  we  do'  not  scale 
these  high  summits,  we  are  not  Rakhmetoffs,  and  our  private  life  is  the  only  thing, 
properly  speaking,  that  is  indispensable  to  us.  The  shop  was  not  my  matter,  after 
all;  I  was  concerned  in  it  only  for  others  and  for  my  ideas;  but  I  am  one  of  those 
who  take  little  interest  in  the  affairs  of  others,  though  they  are  suffering  them- 
selves. What  we  need  in  such  cases  is  a  personal,  urgent  occupation,  upon  which 
our  life  depends;  such  an  occupation,  considering  my  feelings  and  condition,  would 
weigh  more  with  me  than  all  the  impulses  of  jiassion ;  it  alone  could  serve  to  sup- 
port me  in  a  struggle  against  an  omnipotent  passion;  it  alone  gives  strength  and 
rest.    I  want  such  an  occupation." 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Husband.     267 

"  You  are  right,  my  friend,"  said  Kirsanoff,  warmly,  kissing  his  wife,  whose  eyes 
sparkled  with  animation.  "  To  think  that  it  has  not  occmTed  to  me  before,  when 
it  wonld  have  been  so  simple;  I  did  not  even  notice  it!  Yes,  Verotchka,  no  one 
can  think  for  another.  If  you  wish  to  be  comfoxtable,  think  for  yourself  of  your- 
self; no  one  can  take  your  place.  To  love  as  I  love,  and  not  to  have  understood 
all  this  before  you  explained  it  to  me !  But,"  he  continued,  laughing,  and  still  kiss- 
ing his  wife,  "why  do  you  think  this  occupation  necessary  now?  Are  you  becom- 
ing amorously  inclined  towards  any  one?" 

Vera  Pavlovna  began  to  laugh  heartily,  and  for  some  minutes  mad  laughter  pre- 
vented them  from  speaking. 

"Yes,  we  can  laugh  at  that  now,"  she  said,  at  last :  "both  of  us  can  now  be  sure 
that  nothing  of  the  kind  will  ever  happeiv  to  either  of  us.  But  seriously,  do  you 
know  what  I  am  thinking  about  now?  v. Though  my  love  for  Dmitry  was  not  the 
love  of  a  completely  developed  woman,  neither  did  he  love  me  in  the  way  in  which 
we  understand  love.  His  feeling  for  me  was  a  mixture  of  strong  friendship  with 
the  fire  of  amorous  passion.  He  had  a  great  friendship  for  me,  but  his  amorous 
transports  needed  l»ut  a  woman  for  llieir  satisfaction,  not  me  personally.  No,  that 
was  not  love.  Did  lie  canj  much  about  my  thoughts?  No,  no  more  than  I  did 
about  his.     There  was  no  real  love  between  us." 

"You  are  unjust  to  him,  Verotchka." 

"No,  Sacha,  it  is  really  so.  I5etween  us  it  is  useless  to  praise  him.  We  both 
know  very  well  in  what  high  esteem  we  hold  him;  it  is  vain  for  him  to  say  that  it 
would  have  Ijeen  easy  to  separate  me  from  him ;  it  is  not  so;  you  said  in  the  same 
way  that  it  was  ea.sy  for  you  to  struggle  against  your  passion.  Y(!t,  however  sin- 
cere Ills  words  and  youis,  they  uiust  not  be  unilerstood  or  construed  literally. 

"f)li!  my  friend,  I  understand  how  much  you  sulTered.  And  tins  is  Imw  I  under- 
stand it." 

"  Vdrotchka,  you  stifle  me.  Confess  that,  besides  the  force  of  sentiment,  you  also 
wanted  to  show  ww  your  nmscular  force.  How  strong  you  are,  indeed!  But  liow 
could  you  be  otherwise  with  such  a  chest?" 

"My  dear  Sacha  I" 

"But  you  did  not  let  nie  talk  business,  Sacha,"  began  Vdra  Pavlovna,  when,  two 
hours  later,  they  sat  down  to  Unx. 

"  T  did  not  let  you  talk?     Wa.s  it  my  fault?" 

"Certainly." 

"  Who  began  the  indidgencc?" 

"Are  you  not  ashamed  to  say  that?" 

"What?" 


268  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

"  That  1  began  the  indulgence.  Fie  I  the  idea  of  thus  compromising  a  modest 
woman  on  the  plea  of  coldness!" 

"Indeed!    Do  you  not  preach  equality?  Why  not  equality  of  initiative  as  well?'.' 

"  Ha,  ha,  ha  I  a  fine  argument !  But  would  you  dare  to  accuse  me  of  being  il- 
logical? Do  I  not  try  to  maintain  equality  in  initiative  also?  I  take  now  the 
initiative  of  continuing  our  serious  conversation,  which  we  have  too  thoroughly 
forgotten." 

"Take  it,  if  you  will,  but  I  refuse  to  follow  you,  and  I  take  the  initiative  of  con- 
tinuing to  forget  it.     Give  me  your  hand." 

"  But  we  must  finish  our  talk,  Sacha." 

"We  shall  have  time  enough  tomorrow.  Now,  you  see,  I  am  absorbed  in  an 
analysis  of  tliis  hand." 

IX. 

"  Sacha,  let  us  finish  our  conversation  of  yesterday.  We  must  do  so,  because  I 
am  getting  ready  to  go  with  you,  and  you  must  know  why,"  said  Vera  Pavlovna 
the  next  morning. 

"  You  are  coming  with  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly.  You  asked  me,  Sacha,  why  I  wanted  an  occupation  upon  which  my 
life  should  depend,  which  I  should  look  upon  as  seriously  as  you  on  yours,  which 
should  be  as  engaging  as  yours,  and  which  should  require  as  much  attention  as 
yours  requires.  I  want  this  occupation,  my  dear  friend,  because  I  am  very  jiroud. 
When  I  think  that  during  my  days  of  trial  my  feelings  became  so  visible  in  my 
person  that  others  could  analyze  them,  I  am  thoroughly  ashamed.  I  do  not  speak 
of  my  sufferings.  You  had  to  struggle  and  suffer  no  less  than  I,  and  you  triumphed 
where  I  was  conquered.  I  wish  to  be  as  strong  as  you,  your  equal  in  everything. 
And  I  have  found  the  way ;  I  have  thought  a  great  deal  since  we  left  each  other 
yesterday,  and  I  have  found  it  all  alone ;  you  were  unwilling  to  aid  me  with  your 
advice ;  so  much  the  worse  for  you.  It  is  too  late  now.  Yes,  Sacha,  you  may  be 
very  anxious  about  me,  my  dear  friend,  but  how  happy  we  shall  be  if  I  prove  cap- 
able of  success  in  what  I  wish  to  undertake ! " 

Vera  Pavlovna  liad  just  thought  of  an  occupation  which,  under  Kirsanoff's  guid- 
ance and  her  liand  in  his,  she  could  engage  in  successfully. 

LopoukhofT,  to  be  sure,  had  not  hindered  her  at  all;  on  the  contrary,  she  was 
sure  of  finding  support  from  him  in  all  serious  matters.  But  it  was  only  under  se- 
rious circumstances  that  he  was  as  devoted  and  firm  as  Kirsanoff  would  have  been. 
This  he  had  shown  when,  in  order  to  marry  her  and  deliver  her  from  her  oppressive 
situatioUj  he  had  sacrificed  all  his  scientific  dreams  and  exposed  himself  to  the  suf- 
ferings of  hunger.  Yes,  when  the  matter  was  serious,  his  hand  was  held  out  to  her, 
but  usually  it  was  wanting.     Vera  Pavlo^ma,  for  instance,  organized  her  shop:  if. 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Husband.     2G9 

in  any  way  whatever,  his  aid  had  been  indispensable,  Lopoukhoff  would  have  given 
it  with  pleasure.  But  why  did  he  actually  give  almost  no  aid  at  all?  He  stood  in 
the  way  of  nothing;  he  approved  what  was  done  and  rejoiced  at  it.  But  he  had 
his  own  life  as  she  had  hers.  ,  Xow  it  is  not  the  same.  Kirsanoff  does  not  wait  for 
his  wife  to  ask  him  to  participate  in  all  that  she  does.  He  is  as  interested  m  every- 
thing that  is  dear  to  her  as  she  is  in  everything  that  relates  to  him. 

From  this  new  life  Vera  Pavlovna  derives  new  strength,  and  what  formerly 
seemed  to  her  as  if  it  would  never  leave  the  realms  of  the  ideal  now  appears  en- 
tirely within  reach. 

As  for  her  thoughts,  this  is  the  order  in  which  they  came  to  her : 

X. 

"  Almost  all  the  paths  of  civil  life  are  formally  closed  to  us,  and  those  which  are 
not  closed  by  formal  ol)stacles  are  by  practical  diliicultios.  Only  the  family  is  left 
us.  'What  occupation  can  we  engage  in,  outside  of  tlu-  family?  That  of  a  govern- 
ess is  almost  the  only  one;  perhaps  we  liave  one  other  resource,  —  that  of  giving 
lessons  (such  lessons  as  are  left  after  the  men  liave  chosen).  But  we  all  rush  into 
this  single  patli  anrl  stifle  there.  We  are  too  numerous  to  find  independence  in  it. 
Tlierc  are  so  many  to  clioose  from  that  no  one  needs  us.  "Who  would  care  to  be  a 
governess?  "When  any  one  wants  one,  lie  is  besieged  by  ten,  a  hundred,  or  even 
more  applicant.s,  each  trying  to  get  tlie  place  to  the  detriment  of  tiie  others. 

*'\(),  until  women  launch  out  into  a  greater  number  of  careers,  they  will  not  en- 
joy iiid(|)endence.  It  is  diflicult,  to  be  sure,  to  open  a  new  road.  But  I  o(cu]>y  an 
espfrially  favoralde  position  for  dcjing  it.  I  should  be  asliamed  not  to  profit  by  it. 
We  are  not  prei)ared  for  serious  <liities.  For  my  part,  I  do  not  know  Imw  far  a 
guide  is  indisjK'nsabh!  to  me  in  order  fo  confront  them.  Bui  I  do  know  that  every 
time  I  need  him  I  slirdl  titid  him,  and  that  In-  will  always  take  great  pleasure  in 
Iwlping  me. 

'•I'nblic  prejudice  lias  closed  to  us  such  paths  of  indejwndent  activity  as  tiie  law 
has  not  forbidden  us  to  ent^-r.  But  I  can  enter  whichever  of  these  paths  I  choose, 
provided  I  am  willing  tf)  bravi*  tlu-  usual  gossip.  Which  shall  T  choosi-?  My  hus- 
band is  11  dfK:tor;  In*  ili-votcs  all  his  leisure  lime  to  m<!.  Willi  such  a  man  it  would 
be  ea.sy  for  me  to  attempt  to  follow  the  medical  profession. 

"Indeed,  it  is  very  important  that  there  should  b»f  womcn-iihysicians.  They 
would  be  vi-ry  useful  to  [MTsons  of  I  heir  own  sex.  It  is  much  (•asi<'r  for  a  woman 
to  talk  to  another  woman  than  to  a  man.  How  much  distress,  suffering,  and  death 
would  thus  be  averted  I     The  experiment  must  be  tried." 

W. 

Vera  Pavlovna  fini-'ln'd  the  conversation  with  her  husband  by  putting  on  her 
hat  to  follow  him  to  the  hospital,  where  she  wished  to  try  her  nerves  and  see  if  she 


270  Wmt's  To  Be  Done'? 

could  stand  the  siglit  of  blood  and  whether  she  would  be  capable  of  pursuing  the 
study  of  anatomy.  In  view  of  Kirsanoff 's  position  in  the  hospital,  there  certainly 
would  be  no  obstacles  in  the  way  of  this  attempt. 


I  have  already  unconsciously  compromised  Vera  Pavlovna  several  times  from 
the  poetical  standpoint;  I  have  not  concealed  the  fact,  for  instance,  that  she  dined 
everj'  day,  and  generally  with  a  good  appetite,  and  that  furtlier  she  took  tea  twice 
a  day.  But  I  have  now  reached  a  point  where,  in  spite  of  the  depravity  of  my 
tastes,  I  am  seized  with  scruples,  and  timidly  I  ask  myself :  Would  it  not  be  better 
to  conceal  this  circumstance?  What  will  be  thought  of  a  woman  capable  of  study- 
ing medicine? 

What  coarse  nerves,  what  a  hard  heart,  she  must  have !  She  is  not  a  woman, 
she  is  a  butcher.  Nevertheless,  remembering  that  I  do  not  set  up  my  characters  as 
ideal  tj'pes,  I  calm  myself:  let  them  judge  as  they  will  of  the  coarseness  of  Vera 
Pavlovna's  nature,  how  can  that  concern  me?     She  is  coarse?    Well!  be  it  so. 

Consequently  I  say  in  the  most  cold-blooded  way  that  she  found  it  one  thing  to 
look  at  others  do  and  quite  another  to  do  herself.  And  indeed  whoever  is  at  work 
has  no  time  to  be  frightened  and  feel  repugnance  or  disgust.  So  Vera  Pavlovna 
studies  medicine,  and  I  number  among  my  acquaintances  one  of  those  who  intro- 
duced this  novelty  among  us.  She  felt  transformed  by  the  study,  and  she  said  to 
herself :  In  a  few  years  I  shall  get  a  foothold. 

That  is  a  great  thought.  There  is  no  complete  happiness  without  complete  in- 
dependence.   Poor  women  that  you  are,  how  few  of  you  enjoy  this  happiness! 

XII. 

One  year,  two  years  pass ;  yet  another  year  will  pass  from  the  time  of  her  mar- 
riage with  Kirsanoff,  and  Vera  Pavlovna's  occupation  will  be  the  same  as  now; 
many  years  will  pass,  and  her  days  will  still  be  the  same,  unless  something  special 
happens.  Who  knows  what  the  future  will  bring?  Up  to  the  time  when  I  write 
these  lines,  nothing  special  has  happened,  and  Vera  Pavlovna's  occupations  have 
not  changed.  Xow  that  the  frank  confession  of  Vera  Pavlovna's  bad  taste  in  dar- 
ing to  study  medicine  and  succeed  in  it  has  been  made,  it  is  easy  for  me  to  speak 
of  anything;  nothing  else  can  harm  her  as  much  in  the  estimation  of  the  pu!)Iic. 
So  I  will  say  that  now,  in  the  Rue  Serguievskaia,  Vdra  Pavlovna's  day  is  divided 
into  three  parts, — by  her  morning  cup  of  tea,  her  dinner,  and  her  evening  tea;  yes, 
she  has  kept  up  the  unpoetic  habit  of  dining  every  day  and  taking  tea  twice  a  day; 
she  finds  it  pleasant;  in  general,  she  has  kept  up  all  her  habits  of  that  sort. 

Many  other  things  have  remained  the  same  as  before  in  this  new  and  peaceful 
life. 


11  le  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Husband.     271 

The  rooms  are  divided  into  the  neutral  and  the  non-neutral;  all  the  rules  regard- 
ing entrance  into  the  non-neutral  rooms  are  still  the  same.  However,  there  are  a 
few  notable  changes. 

For  instance,  they  no  longer  take  tea  in  the  neutral  room;  they  take  their  eve- 
ning tea  in  KirsanofE's  study  and  their  morning  tea  in  Vera  Pavlovna's  chamber. 

On  awaking  in  the  morning  she  dozes  and  tosses  about  as  of  old,  now  sleeping, 
now  meditating.  She  now  has  two  new  subjects  of  reflection,  which  in  the  third 
year  of  her  marriage  were  followed  by  a  third,  the  little  Mitia,*  so  named  in  honor 
of  her  friend  Dmitry;  the  two  others  are,  first,  the  sweet  thought  of  the  independ- 
ence that  she  is  to  acquire,  and,  second,  the  thought  of  Sacha;  the  latter  cannot 
even  be  called  a  special  thought,  being  mingled  with  all  her  thoughts,  for  her  dear 
husband  participates  in  her  wliole  life. 

After  having  taken  a  bath,  she  takes  tea,  or  rather  creSm,  with  Sacha,  after  which 
she  lounges  again,  not  on  her  bed  this  time,  but  on  her  little  divan,  until  ten  or 
eleven  o'clock,  the  time  when  Sacha  is  to  go  to  the  hospital,  or  the  clinifjue,  or  else 
the  academical  lecture-room.  But  her  mornings  were  not  on  that  account  devoted 
to  idleness;  as  soon  as  Sacha,  after  drinking  his  last  cup,  had  lit  his  cigar,  one  of 
the  two  said  to  the  other :  "  Let's  go  to  work,"  or  else :  "  Enough !  enough !  now  for 
workl"  What  work?  you  ask.  The  private  lesson.  Sacha  is  her  private  tutor  in 
medicine;  she  is  aided  by  liim  still  further  in  mathematics,  and  in  Latin,  which  is 
perhaps  even  more  tiresome  tlian  mathematics,  but  for  that  matter  tlie  Academy  of 
Medicine  requires  but  very  little.  I  should  be  very  careful  al)out  asserting  thiit 
Vdra  Pavlovna  will  ever  know  enough  Latin  to  translate  even  Iwn  lines  of  Corne- 
lius Nepos,  but  she  already  knew  enough  to  decipher  the  Latin  phrases  which  she 
met  in  medical  books,  and  that  was  what  she  needed.  'J'his  is  the  finishing  touch; 
I  see  that  I  am  compromising  Vera  Pavlovna  enormously:  probably  the  reader 
with  the  pen  " 

XTTL 

A    niOKKSSION    rONCEUNlNO    ni.l'F.-STOCKIXr.S. 

"yl  Ijlue-.itnckinf/!  The  last  degree  of  blue-s/ocLinfj!  1  cannot  abide  a  blue- 
stocking. A  blue-stocking  is  utupid  and  tiresome  I"  exclaims  angrily,  but  not 
without  dignity,  the  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye. 

The  reader  with  the  j)(,Mietrating  eyo  and  myself  are  considerably  attached  to 
each  other.  lie  has  insulted  me  once,  I  have  put  him  out  doors  twice,  and,  in 
Bpite  of  all,  we  cannot  liclp  exchanging  cordial  words;  a  mysterious  inclination  of 
hearts,  is  it  not? 


•Mitia  i8  tbo  (llininutiTO  of  Dmitry. 


272  WTiat's  To  Be  Bone? 

"O  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye!"  I  say  to  him,  "you  are  quite  right:  the 
blue-stocking  is  stupid  and  tiresome,  and  it  is  impossible  to  endure  him.  That  you 
have  seen  correctly;  but  you  have  not  seen  who  the  blue-stocking  is.  You  shall 
sec  him,  as  in  a  mirror.  The  blue-stocking  is  the  man  who  speaks  with  importance 
and  stupid  affectation  of  literary  and  scientific  matters,  of  which  he  does  not  know 
the  a-b-c,  and  who  speaks  of  them,  not  because  he  is  interested  in  them,  but  to  make 
a  show  of  brains  (of  which  nature  has  been  very  niggardly  to  him),  of  his  lofty  aspi- 
rations (of  whicli  he  has  as  many  as  the  chair  on  which  he  sits),  and  of  his  learning 
(he  has  as  much  as  a  parrot).  Do  you  know  this  coarse  face,  this  carefully-brushed 
head?  It  is  you,  my  dear  sir.  Yes,  however  long  you  let  your  beard  grow,  or  how- 
ever carefully  you  shave  it  off,  in  any  case  you  are  indubitably  and  incontestably  a 
blue-stocking  of  the  most  authentic  stamp.  That  is  why  I  have  twice  put  you  out 
doors,  sunply  because  I  cannot  endure  blue-stockings.  Among  us  men  there  are 
ten  times  as  many  as  among  women. 

"But  any  person,  of  whatever  sex,  who,  with  any  sensible  object  in  view,  engages 
in  something  useful,  is  simply  a  human  being  engaged  in  business,  and  nothing 
else." 


XTV. 

The  Kirsanoffs  were  now  the  intellectual  centre  of  a  large  number  of  families 
in  a  condition  similar  to  their  own  and  sharing  their  ideas ;  these  associations 
took  half  of  their  leisure  time.  But  there  is  one  thing  of  which  iinfortunately  it 
is  necessary  to  speak  at  too  great  length  to  many  individuals  in  order  to  be  under- 
stood. "\\Tioever  has  not  felt  himself  must  at  least  have  read  that  there  is  a  great 
difference  between  a  simple  evening  party  and  one  where  the  object  of  your  love 
is  present.  That  is  well  known.  But  what  very  few  have  felt  is  that  the  charm 
which  love  gives  to  everything  should  not  be  a  passing  phenomenon  in  man's  life, 
that  this  intense  gleam  of  life  should  not  light  simply  the  period  of  desire,  of 
aspiration,  the  period  called  courting,  or  seeking  in  marriage;  no,  this  i^eriod 
should  be  only  the  ravishing  dawn  of  a  day  more  ravishing  yet.  Light  and  heat 
increase  during  the  greater  part  of  the  day;  so  during  the  course  of  life  ought 
love  and  its  delights  to  increase.  Among  people  of  the  old  society  such  is  not  the 
case ;  the  poetry  of  love  does  not  survive  satisfaction.  The  contrary  is  the  rule 
among  the  people  of  the  new  generation  whose  life  I  am  describing.  The  longer 
they  live  together,  the  more  they  are  lighted  and  warmed  by  the  poetry  of  love, 
until  the  time  when  the  care  of  their  growing  children  absorbs  them.  Then  this 
care,  sweeter  than  personal  enjoyment,  becomes  uppermost ;  but  until  then  love . 
grows  incessantly.  That  which  the  men  of  former  times  enjoyed  only  for  a  few 
short  months  the  new  men  keep  for  many  years. 

And  why  so?    It  is  a  secret  which  I  will  unveil  to  you,  if  you  wish.     It  is  a 


Tlie  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  Tier  Second  Husband.     273 

fiue  secret,  oue  worth  having,  and  it  is  not  difficult.  One  need  have  but  a  pure 
heart,  an  upright  soul,  and  that  new  and  just  conception  of  the  human  being 
which  prompts  respect  for  the  liberty  of  one's  life  companion.  Look  upon  your 
wife  as  you  looked  upon  your  sweetheart ;  remember  that  she  at  any  moment  has 
the  right  to  say  to  you :  "  I  am  dissatisfied  with  you ;  leave  me."  Do  this,  and 
ten  years  after  your  marriage  she  will  inspire  iu  you  the  same  enthusiasm  that  she 
did  when  she  was  your  sweetheart,  and  she  will  have  as  much  charm  for  you  as 
then  and  even  more.  Recognize  her  liberty  as  openly,  as  explicitly,  and  with  as 
little  reserve,  as  you  recognize  the  liberty  of  your  friends  to  be  your  friends  or 
not,  and  ten  years,  twenty  years,  after  marriage  you  will  be  as  dear  to  her  as  when 
you  were  her  sweetheart.  This  is  the  way  in  which  the  people  of  our  new  gene- 
ration live.  Their  condition  in  this  respect  is  very  eiwiable.  Among  them  hus- 
bands and  wives  are  loyal,  sincere,  and  love  each  other  always  more  and  more. 

After  ten  years  of  marriage  they  do  not  exchange  false  kisses  ck  false  words. 
"  A  lie  was  never  on  his  lips ;  there  was  no  deception  in  his  heart,"  was  said  of 
some  one  in  a  certain  book.  In  reading  these  things  we  say  :  The  author,  when 
he  WTote  this  book,  said  to  liimself  tliat  tliis  was  a  man  whom  all  must  admire  as 
one  to  be  celebrated.  This  author  did  not  foresee  that  new  men  would  arise,  who 
would  not  admit  among  theii-  acquaintances  people  who  liad  not  attained  the 
heiglit  of  his  unparalleled  hero,  and  llie  readers  of  the  aforesaid  bonk  \\\\\  have 
difficulty  in  undi!rstan<Iiiig  what  I  have  just  said,  especially  if  I  add  that  uiy  iie- 
roos  do  not  consider  their  numerous  friends  as  exceptions,  but  {simply  as  estinuible, 
though  very  ordinary,  individuals  of  the  new  generation. 

What  a  pity  that  at  tlic  present  hour  there  are  still  more  than  ten  antediluvians 
for  every  new  man !  It  is  very  natural,  however.  An  antediluvian  world  can 
have  only  an  antediluvian  population. 

XV. 

"See,  we  have  boon  living  togetJHT  for  three  years  already  [forniorly  it  was  one 
year,  then  two,  nnxt  it  will  be  four,  an<l  so  on],  and  we  am  still  lil<(!  lovers  who 
see  each  other  rarely  and  secretly.  Where  did  llif  idi-a  conic  Inini,  Sacha,  that 
love  grows  weaker  when  there  is  nothing  to  disturl)  possession?  People  who  be- 
lieve that  have  not  known  Xrxw  hn-f.  Tln-y  hiivc  kuftwn  only  self-love  or  erotic 
fancies.     True  love  really  begins  with  life  in  coiimioii." 

"Am  I  not  the  inspiration  of  this  remark?" 

"You?  You  will  in  a  few  years  forget  medicine,  unlearn  to  read,  and  lose  all 
your  intellectual  faculties,  an<l  you  will  end  ])y  f-eeing  nothing  Init  me." 

Such  conversations  are  neither  long  nor  frequent,  but  they  sometimes  occur. 


274  WTiat's  To  Be  Bone? 

Conversations  like  these  are  more  frequent. 

"  Sacha,  how  your  love  sustains  me  I  It  inspires  in  me  the  power  of  independ- 
ence even  against  you.     Does  my  love  give  nothing  to  you  ?  " 

"  To  me.  No  less  than  to  you.  This  continuous,  strong,  healthy  excitement  of 
the  nerves  necessarily  develops  the  nervous  system  [gi-oss  materialism,  let  us  note 
with  the  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye]  ;  consequently  my  intellectual  and  moral 
forces  grow  in  proportion  to  your  love." 

"  Yes,  Sacha,  I  understand  what  they  say  (I  should  not  dare  to  believe  it  if  I 
were  the  only  one  to  see  it,  not  being  a  disinterested  witness) ;  others  see,  as 
I  do,  that  your  eyes  are  becoming  clearer  and  j-our  expression  more  intense  and 
powerful." 

"  There  is  no  reason  to  praise  me  for  that,  even  in  your  behalf,  Vdrotchka.  We 
are  one  and  the  same  being.  But  it  is  sure  that,  my  thought  having  become  much 
more  active,  it  must  be  reflected  in  my  eyes.  When  I  come  to  draw  inferences 
from  my  observations,  I  now  do  in  an  hour  what  formerly  required  several  hours. 
I  can  hold  in  my  mind  many  more  facts  than  before,  and  my  deductioijs  are  larger 
and  more  complete.  If  I  had  had  any  germ  of  genius  in  me,  Verotchka,  with  this 
sentiment  I  should  have  become  a  great  genius.  If  I  had  been  given  a  little  of 
the  creative  power,  with  the  sentiment  which  dominates  me  I  could  have  acquired 
the  strength  to  revolutionize  science.  But  I  was  born  to  be  only  a  drudge,  an  or- 
dinary and  obscure  laborer  able  to  handle  special  questions  only.  That  is  what  I 
was  without  you.  Now,  you  know,  I  am  something  else :  much  more  is  expected 
of  me ;  it  is  believed  that  I  will  revolutionize  an  entire  branch  of  science,  the  whole 
theory  of  the  functions  of  the  nervous  system.  And  I  feel  that  I  shall  meet  this 
expectation.  At  the  age  of  twenty-four  man  has  a  broader  and  bolder  intellectual 
view  than  at  the  age  of  twenty-nine,  or  thirty,  or  thirty-two,  and  so  on.  I  am  as 
strong  as  I  was  at  twenty-four.  And  I  feel  that  T  am  still  growing,  which  would 
not  be  so  were  it  not  for  you.  I  did  not  grow  during  the  two  or  three  years  pre- 
ceding our  union.  You  have  restored  to  me  the  freshness  of  early  youth  and  the 
strength  to  go  much  farther  than  I  could  have  gone  without  your  love." 


Conversations  like  these  are  very  frequent  also. 

"  My  dear  friend,  I  am  reading  Boccaccio  now  [what  immorality !  let  us  note 
with  the  reader  with  the  penetrating  eye.  Only  we  men  may  read  that ;  but  for 
my  part  I  am  going  to  make  this  remark  :  a  woman  will  hear  the  reader  with  the 
penetrating  eye  give  utterance  to  more  conventional  filth  in  five  minutes  than  she 
will  find  in  all  Boccaccio,  and  she  will  not  hear  from  the  reader  with  the  pene- 
trating eye  a  single  one  of  those  luminous,  fresh,  and  pure  words  in  which  Boc- 
caccio abounds]  :  you  are  right  in  saying  that  he  has  very  great  talent.  Some  of 
his  tales  deserve  to  be  placed  beside  the  best  dramas  of  Shakspere  for  depth  and 
delicacy  of  psychological  analysis." 


The,  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  with  her  Second  Hushand.     275 

"How  do  his  humorous  stories,  where  Boccaccio  is  so  broad,  please  you?" 

"Some  of  them  are  funny,  but  generally  they  are  tiresome,  like  every  farce,  from 
being  too  coarse." 

"But  he  must  be  pardoned ;  he  lived  five  hundred  years  before  our  time.  "What 
now  seems  to  us  too  filthy  and  too  much  like  Billingsgate  was  not  considered  im- 
proper then." 

"  It  is  the  same  with  many  of  our  manners  and  customs ;  they  will  seem  coarse 
and  unclean  in  much  less  than  five  hundred  years.  But  I  pay  no  attention  to  the 
license  of  Boccaccio ;  I  speak  of  those  novels  of  his  in  which  he  describes  an  ele- 
vated and  passionate  love  so  well.  It  is  there  that  his  great  talent  appears.  I 
come  back  to  what  I  was  going  to  say :  he  paints  very  well  and  very  vividly.  But, 
judging  from  his  writings,  we  may  say  that  they  did  not  know  in  those  days  that 
delicacy  of  love  which  we  know  now;  love  was  not  felt  so  deeply,  although  it  is 
said  to  have  been  the  epoch  when  they  enjoyed  it  most  completely.  No,  the  peo- 
ple of  that  day  did  not  enjoy  love  so  well.  Their  sentiments  were  too  superficial 
and  their  intoxication  too  mild  and  transient." 


XVI. 

A  year  had  passed ;  the  new  shop,  thoroughly  organized,  was  doing  well.  Tlio 
two  shops  cooperated:  when  one  was  overworked,  it  sent  orders  to  the  other. 
They  kept  a  running  account  with  each  other.  Tlieir  means  were  already  so 
large  that  tliey  were  altle  to  open  a  store  on  the  Prrspoctive  Xevsky :  but  they 
had  to  coopfTate  more  closely,  which  embarrassed  Xdwi  Pavlovna  and  Madame 
IMortzaloff  not  a  little.  Althoiigli  the  two  associations  were  friendly,  met  fre- 
qtiently,  and  often  took  walks  together  in  the  suburbs,  tlie  idea  of  complete  coop- 
eration bftw/^cii  the  two  niitorpriscs  was  now,  and  a  great  deal  had  to  be  done. 
Nevertlicless  the  advantage  of  liaving  their  r)wn  store  on  the  l\'rspective  Nevsky 
was  evident,  and,  after  experimenting  for  some  months,  Vdra  Pavlovna  and  Mad- 
ame MertzalDlT  finally  succeeded.  A  new  sign  appeared  on  the  Perspective  Nevsky 
in  French:  An  hon  Irnrail.  Mnr/ajiin  tic  Nottrraulcs.*  With  the  opening  of  the 
store  l)UsincHS  began  to  improve  rapidly,  and  was  done  to  better  an<l  belter  advan- 
tage. Madame  MertzalofT  anrl  Vora  Pavlovna  rherislied  the  dream  of  seeing  the 
number  of  shops  rise  from  two  to  five,  ten,  twenty. 

Three  months  after  the  opening  of  the  store  KirsanofF  received  a  visit  from  one 
of  his  colleagups  witli  whom  ho  was  somowhat  acquainted.  The  latter  talkr-d  to 
him  a  great  deal  of  various  medical  ajipliratioiis,  an<l  especially  of  the  astonisliiiig 
efficacy  of  his  method,  which  consisted   in   j'lacing  on  the  breast  and  belly  two 


•Good  work.    Linen-draper's  store. 


270  WLaf\s   To  Be  Bone? 

small  bags,  narrow  and  long,  filled  with  jiounded  ice  and  each  wrapped  in  four 
napkins.  In  conclusion,  he  said  that  one  of  his  friends  wished  to  make  Kirsanoff's 
acquaintance. 

KirsanofI  complied  with  this  desire.  The  acquaintaiico  was  an  agreeable  one, 
and  the  conversation  tuiuied  on  many  things,  —  among  others  the  store.  Kirsanoff 
explained  that  it  had  been  opened  for  an  exclusively  commercial  purpose.  Thoy 
talked  a  long  time  about  the  sign ;  was  it  well  to  have  the  sign  bear  the  word 
travail?  Kirsanoff  said  that  Au  bon  travail  meant  in  Russian  a  house  that  filled  its 
orders  well :  then  they  discussed  the  question  whether  it  would  not  be  better  to 
substitute  for  this  motto  the  name  of  the  manager.  Kirsanoff  objected  that  his 
wife's  Russian  name  would  drive  away  much  custom.*  At  last  he  said  that  his 
wife's  name  was  Vera,  which,  translated  into  French,  was/oi,  and  that  it  would  be 
sufficient  to  put  on  the  sign,  instead  oi  Au  bon  travail,  A  la  bonne  foi.  This  would 
have  a  most  innocent  meaning,  —  simply  a  house  that  was  conscientious,  —  and  be- 
sides the  name  of  the  manager  would  appear.  After  some  discussion  they  decided 
that  this  was  feasible.  Kirsanoff  led  the  conversation  on  such  subjects  with  espe- 
cial zeal,  and,  as  a  general  thing,  carried  his  point,  so  that  he  returned  home  well 
satisfied. 

^Madame  ^Mertzaloff  and  Vera  Pavlovna,  however,  had  to  abate  their  fine  hopes, 
and  think  only  of  preserving  what  had  been  already  achieved. 

The  founders  of  the  establishment  considered  themselves  fortunate  in  the  xtatu 
quo.  Kirsanoff's  new  acquaintance  continued  his  visits  and  proved  very  interest- 
ing.   Two  years  went  by,  and  nothing  of  especial  note  happened. 

XVIL 

LETTER    OF    KAT^RINA   VASSILIEVNA   POLOSOFF. 

St.  Petersburg,  August  17,  1860. 

My  dear  Polina,  T  wish  to  tell  you  of  something  new  which  I  have  just  discov- 
ered, which  has  pleased  me  greatly,  and  which  I  am  now  zealously  concerned  in. 
I  am  sure  that  it  will  interest  you.  But  the  most  important  point  is  that  you  per- 
haps will  engage  in  something  similar.     It  is  so  agreeable,  my  friend. 

It  is  about  a  sewing-women's  shop, — two  shops,  to  speak  more  accurately,  both 
based  on  the  same  principle,  both  founded  by.  one  woman,  whose  acquaintance  I 
made  only  a  fortnight  ago  and  whose  friend  I  have  already  become.  I  am  now 
helping  her  on  condition  that  she  will  help  me  to  organize  a  similar  shop.  This 
lady's  name  is  Vera  Pavlovna  Kirsanoff,  still  young,  kind,  gay,  quite  to  my  fancy; 


•The  most  famona  and  welVknown  dressraakiiig  and  millinery  establishments  in  St.  Petersburg  are 
kept  by  Frenchwomen. 


The  Life  of  Vera  Pavlovna  itnth  her  Second  Hushand.     277 

she  resembles  you,  Polina,  more  than  your  Katia,  who  is  so  quiet.  She  is  an  ener- 
getic and  fearless  person.  Hearing  of  her  shop  by  chance,  —  they  told  me  of  but 
one,  —  I  came  directly  to  her  without  recommendation  or  pretext,  and  simply  told 
her  that  1  was  much  interested  in  her  shop.  We  became  friends  at  our  first  inter- 
view, and  the  more  easily  because  in  her  husband,  Kirsanoff,  I  found  again  that 
Doctor  Kirsanoff  who  rendered  me  so  great  a  service,  you  remember,  five  years  ago. 

After  talking  with  me  for  half  an  hour  and  seeing  that  I  was  really  in  sympathy 
with  these  things,  Vera  Pavlovna  took  me  to  her  shop,  the  one  which  she  person- 
ally superintends  (the  other  shop  is  now  in  charge  of  one  of  her  friends,  also  a  very 
excellent  person).  I  wish  now  to  give  you  an  account  of  the  impression  made 
upon  me  by  this  first  visit.  This  impression  was  so  vivid  and  new  that  1  hastened 
to  write  it  in  my  journal,  long  since  abandoned,  but  now  resumed  in  consequence 
of  a  peculiar  cii'cumstance  which  I  perhaps  will  tell  you  about  some  time.  I  am 
very  glad  that  I  thus  fixed  my  thoughts ;  otherwise  I  should  now  forget  to  men- 
tion many  things  which  struck  me  at  the  time.  Today,  after  two  weeks,  what 
astonished  me  so  much  seems  ordinary.  And,  curiously  enough,  the  more  ordinary 
I  find  it  all,  the  more  I  become  attached  to  it. 

Having  said  thus  much,  dear  Polina,  T  now  copy  my  journal,  adding  to  it  some 
later  observations. 

Wo  then  went  to  the  shop.  On  entering,  I  saw  a  large  room,  well  furnished 
and  containing  a  grand  piano,  as  if  the  room  belonged  to  the  residence  of  a  family 
spending  four  or  five  thousand  roubles  a  year.  It  was  the  reception  room;  the 
sewing-women  also  spent  their  evenings  there.  Then  we  visited  the  twenty  other 
rooms  occupied  by  th(!  working-woincn.  They  are  all  very  well  furnished,  although 
the  furniture  is  not  alike  in  all  of  tliem,  liaving  lieen  l)ought  as  occasion  required. 

.\ftcr  seeing  the  rooms  where  the  working-women  slept,  we  went  into  the  rooms 
where  they  worked.  Then;  I  found  young  girls  very  well  dressed  in  inexjiensive 
silk  or  muslin.  It  was  eviilent  Ironi  their  gentle  and  tender  faces  that  they  lived 
comfortably.  You  cannot  imagine  how  I  was  struck  by  all  this.  I  made  the  ac- 
q\iaintance  of  several  of  these  young  girls  on  the  spot.  All  iiad  not  reached  iIk- 
same  degrer?  of  intellc'ctual  dcvclopiiicnt :  soin(!  aln-ady  used  the  language  of  edu- 
cated jM-ople,  had  some  acijuaintance  with  literature,  like  our  young  ladies,  and 
knew  a  little  about  history  and  foreign  countries;  two  of  them  had  oven  read  a 
great  deal.  Others,  who  liad  been  in  the  shop  but  a  short  time,  were  less  devel- 
oped, but  still  one  rould  talk  with  any  of  tlu'in  as  with  a  young  girl  who  has  re- 
ceived a  certain  amount  of  edueatictn.  (ienerally  speaking,  the  disgree  of  their 
development  is  proportional  to  the  time  that  they  have  been  in  the  shop. 

We  stayed  there  to  dinner.  The  dinner  consists  of  three  dishes  ;  that  day  they 
had  rice  soup,  l>akefl  fish  with  sauce,  and  veal ;  after  dinner  tea  and  coffee  were 
served.  The  dinner  was  so  good  that  I  ate  with  great  relish  ;  I  should  not  consider 
it  a  jnivation  to  eat  so  always,  and  yet  you  know  that  my  father  lias  always  had  a 
very  good  cook. 


278  What's  To  Be  Done? 

When  we  returned  to  Vera  Pavlovna's,  she  and  her  husband  explained  to  me 
that  there  was  nothing  astonishing  in  this.  All  that  I  saw,  they  said,  was  due  to 
two  causes. 

On  the  one  hand  a  greater  profit  for  the  sewing-women,  and  on  the  other  a 
greater  economy  in  their  expenses. 

Do  you  understand  why  they  earii  more?  They  work  on  their  own  account, 
they  are  their  own  employers,  and  consequently  they  get  the  part  which  would 
otherwise  remain  in  their  employer's  pocket.  But  that  is  not  all ;  in  working  for 
their  own  benefit  and  at  their  own  cost,  they  save  in  provisions  and  time :  their 
work  goes  on  faster  and  with  less  expense. 

It  is  evident  that  there  is  a  great  saving  also  in  the  cost  of  their  maintenance. 
They  buy  everything  at  wholesale  and  for  cash,  and  consequently  get  everything 
cheaper  than  if  they  bought  on  credit  and  at  retail- 
Besides  this,  many  expenses  are  much  diminished,  and  some  become  utterly 
useless. 

According  to  the  calculation  made  for  me  by  Kirsanoff,  the  sewing-women,  in- 
stead of  the  hundred  roubles  a  year  which  they  ordinarily  earn,  receive  two  hun- 
dred, but,  by  living  in  cooperation  and  buying  everything  at  wholesale  and  in 
quantities  not  exceeding  the  wants  of  the  association  (for  instance,  the  twenty- 
five  working-women  have  only  five  umbrellas),  they  use  these  two  hundred  roubles 
twice  as  advantageously. 

Such  is  the  marvel  that  I  have  seen,  dear  Polina,  the  explanation  of  which  is  so 
simple.  Now  I  am  so  accustomed  to  this  marvel  that  it  seems  strange  to  me  that 
I  was  ever  astonished  at  it.  Why  did  I  not  expect  to  find  everything  as  I  did 
find  it? 

Write  me  whether  you  can  interest  yourself  in  a  shop  of  this  sort.  I  am  doing 
80,  Polina,  and  find  it  very  pleasant.  Youi's, 

K.  POLOSOFF. 


New   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  279 


CHAPTER      FIFTH. 
New  Characters  and  the  Conclusion. 


^lademoiselle  PolosofE  said  in  her  letter  to  her  f rieud  that  she  was  under  obliga- 
tions to  Vera  Pavlovna's  husband.  To  understand  this  it  is  necessary  to  know  who 
her  father  was. 

Polosoff  had  been  a  captain  or  lieutenant,  but  had  resigned  his  office.  Following 
the  custom  of  the  good  old  days,  lie  had  led  a  dissipated  life  and  devoured  a  large 
inheritance.  After  having  spent  all  he  had,  he  reformed  and  sent  in  his  resigna- 
tion, in  order  to  make  a  new  fortune.  Gathering  up  the  debris  of  his  old  fortune, 
he  had  left  about  ten  tliousand  roubles  in  the  paper  money  of  that  time.*  AVith 
this  sum  he  started  as  a  small  dealer  in  wheat:  he  began  by  taking  all  sorts  of 
little  contracts,  availing  himself  of  every  advantageous  opportunity  when  his  means 
permitted,  and  in  ten  years  he  amassed  a  considerable  capital.  With  the  reputa- 
tion of  so  positive  and  shrewd  a  man,  and  with  his  rank  and  name  woll  known  in 
the  vicinity,  he  could  select  a  bride  from  the  daugiiters  of  the  nn.'rchants  in  the  two 
provinces  in  which  he  did  business.  lie  reasonably  chose  one  with  a  dowry  of  half 
a  million  (likewise  in  paper).  He  was  then  fifty  years  old;  tliat  was  twenty  years 
before  the  time  when  his  daiighlcr  and  Vera  Pavlovna  became  friends,  as  we  liave 
seen.  With  this  new  fortune  added  to  his  own,  he  was  able  to  do  business  on  a 
large  scale,  and  ten  years  later  he  found  himscilf  a  millionaire  in  the  money  then 
in  circulation.  His  wife,  accustomed  to  country  life,  liad  kept  liim  away  from  the 
capital;  l)Ut  she  dii-d,  and  then  he  went  to  St.  l'(!tersburg  to  live.  His  business 
took  a  still  better  turn,  and  in  another  ten  years  he  was  reputed  to  be  worth  three 
or  fotn-  millions.  Young  girls  and  widows  set  tlufir  c!i])s  for  him,  but  he  did  not 
wish  to  marry  again,  partly  througli  fidelity  to  his  wife's  memory,  and  still  more 
because  he  did  not  wish  to  impose  astep-inother  upon  his  daughter  Katia,  of  whom 
he  was  very  fond. 

Polosoff's  operations  grew  larger  and  larger;  he  might  already  have  been  the 
possessor,  not  of  three  or  four  millions,  but  of  a  good  ten,  liad  he  taken  the  liiinor 
privilege;  but  he  felt  a  certain  repugnance  to  that  business,  which  Ik;  did  not  con- 
sider as  respectable  as  contracts  and  supplies.  His  millionaire  colleagues  made 
great  fun  of  this  casuistry,  and  tlmy  were  not  wrong;  but  he,  though  wrong,  held 
to  his  opinion.     "  I  am  a  merchant,"  said  he,  "and  I  do  not  wish  to  get  rich  by  ex- 

•  A  silver  rouble,  In  the  muncy  of  today,  ia  worth  three  uiiil  one-half  tunes  aa  much  as  a  pajicr  rouble. 


280  What's   To  Be  Done? 

tortion."  Nevertheless,  about  a  year  before  his  daughter  made  Vdra  Pavlovna's 
acquaintance,  he  was  furnished  with  only  too  glaring  a  pi'oof  that  his  business  at 
bottom  was  scarcely  distinguishable  from  the  licjuor  monopoly,  although  in  his 
opinion  it  differed  much.  He  had  an  enormous  contract  for  a  supply  of  cloth,  or 
provisions,  or  shoe  leather,  or  something  or  other,  —  I  don't  know  exactly  what; 
age,  his  steady  success,  and  the  growing  esteem  in  which  he  was  held  rendering 
him  every  year  more  and  more  haughty  and  obstinate,  he  quarreled  with  a  man 
who  was  necessary  to  him,  flew  into  a  passion,  insulted  him,  and  his  luck  turned. 

A  week  afterwards  he  was  told  to  submit. 

"I  will  not." 

"  You  will  be  ruined." 

"What  do  I  care?  I  will  not." 

A  month  later  the  same  thing  was  repeated  to  him,  he  gave  the  same  reply,  and 
in  fact  he  did  not  submit ;  but  he  was  utterly  ruined.  His  merchandise  lay  upon 
his  hands;  further,  some  evidences  of  neglect  or  sharp  practice  were  found;  and 
his  three  or  four  millions  vanished.  Polosoff,  at  the  age  of  seventy,  became  a  beg- 
gar,— that  is,  a  beggar  in  comparison  with  what  he  had  been;  but,  comparisons 
aside,  he  was  comfortably  well  off.  He  still  had  an  interest  in  a  stearine  factoiy, 
and,  not  in  the  least  humiliated,  he  became  manager  of  this  factory  at  a  very  fair 
salary.  Besides  this,  some  tens  of  thousands  of  roubles  had  been  saved  by  I  know 
not  what  chance.  With  this  money,  had  he  been  ten  or  fifteen  years  younger,  he 
could  have  begun  again  to  make  his  fortune,  but  at  his  age  this  was  not  to  be 
thought  of.  And  Polosoff's  only  plan,  after  due  reflection,  was  to  sell  the  factory, 
which  did  not  pay.  This  was  a  good  idea,  and  he  succeeded  in  making  the  other 
stockholders  see  that  a  prompt  sale  was  the  only  way  to  save  the  money  invested 
in  the  enterprise.  He  thought  also  of  finding  a  husband  for  his  daughter.  But 
his  first  care  was  to  sell  the  factory,  invest  all  his  capital  in  five  per  cent,  bonds,  — 
which  were  then  beginning  to  be  fashionable,  —  and  live  quietly  out  the  remainder 
of  his  days,  dwelling  sometimes  on  his  past  grandeur,  the  loss  of  which  he  had 
borne  bravely,  losing  with  it  neither  his  gayety  nor  his  firnniess. 

II. 

Polosoff  loved  Katia  and  did  not  let  ultra-aristocratic  governesses  hold  his 
daughter  too  severely  in  check.  "These  are  stupidities,"  said  he  of  all  efforts  to 
correct  her  attitudes,  manners,  and  other  similar  things.  When  Katia  was  fifteen, 
he  agreed  with  her  that  she  could  dispense  with  the  English  governess  as  well  as 
with  the  French  one.  Then  Katia,  having  fully  secured  her  leisure,  was  at  per- 
fect liberty  in  the  house.  To  her  liberty  then  meant  liberty  to  read  and  dream. 
Friends  she  had  but  few,  being  intimate  with  only  two  or  three;  but  her  suitors 
were  innumerable:  she  was  the  only  daughter  of  Polosoff,  possessor  —  immense!  — 


New   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  281 

of  four  millions!  But  Katia  read  and  dreamed,  and  the  suitors  despaired.  She 
was  already  seventeen,  and  she  read  and  dreamed  and  did  not  fall  in  love.  But 
suddenly  she  began  to  grow  thin  and  pale,  and  at  last  fell  seriously  ill. 

III. 

Kirsanoff  was  not  in  active  practice,  but  he  did  not  consider  that  he  had  a  right 
to  refuse  to  attend  consultations  of  physicians.  And  at  about  that  time  —  a  year 
after  he  had  become  a  professor  and  a  year  before  his  marriage  with  Vera  Pavlovna 
—  the  bigwigs  of  St.  Petersburg  practice  began  to  invite  him  to  their  consultations 
often,  —  even  oftener  than  he  liked.  These  invitations  had  their  motives.  The 
first  was  that  the  existence  of  a  certain  Claude  Bernard  of  Paris  had  been  estab- 
lished; one  of  the  aforesaid  bigAvigs,  having — no  one  knows  why — gone  to  Paris 
for  a  scientific  purpose,  had  seen  with  liis  own  eyes  a  real  flesh-and-blood  Claude 
Bernard ;  lie  had  recommended  himself  to  him  by  his  rank,  his  profession,  his  dec- 
orations, and  the  high  standing  of  his  patients.  After  listening  to  him  about  half 
an  lioiir,  Claude  Bernard  had  said  io  him:  "It  was  quite  useless  for  you  to  come 
to  Paris  to  study  mr-dieal  progress;  you  did  not  ne(Hl  to  leave  St.  Petersburg  for 
tliat."  The  bigwig  t(jok  that  fur  an  endorsement  of  his  own  labors,  and,  returning 
to  St.  Petersburg,  pronounced  the  name  of  Claude  Bernard  at  least  ten  times  a  day, 
adding  at  least  five  times,  "my  learned  friend,"  or,  "my  illustrious  companion  in 
science."  After  tliat,  then,  how  could  they  avoid  inviting  Kirsanoff  to  the  consulta- 
tions? It  could  not  be  otiicrwise.  'Jhe  other  reason  was  still  more  important:  all 
the  bigwigs  saw  tiiat  KirsanolT  would  not  try  to  get  away  tlieir  practice,  for  he  did 
not  accept  patients,  even  wlicu  l)egged  to  take  llicin.  It  wiis  well  known  (li;it  a 
great  many  of  the  bigwig  practitioners  followed  this  line  of  conduct:  when  the 
patient  (in  the  bigwig's  opinion)  was  ap|>n)acliing  an  inevitable  death  and  ill- 
intentioned  destiny  had  so  arranged  tilings  tliat  it  was  ini])()ssilile  to  defeat  it, 
either  by  sending  the  patient  to  the  spriiigs  or  by  any  nlhcr  .sort  of  cxixirtation 
to  foi(!ign  jtarts,  it  then  became  necessary  to  place  liiiii  in  I  he  hands  of  another 
doctor,  and  in  such  cases  the  bigwig  was  even  almost  icidy  lo  pay  money  to  liave 
the  patient  taken  off  liis  liands.  Kiisanofl"  rarely  aecejjted  oilers  of  this  sort,  and 
to  get  rid  of  them  generally  recommended  liis  friends  in  active  jiractice,  keeping 
for  himself  only  .such  ca.ses  as  were  interesting  from  a  scientific  slandpoiiil.  Why 
should  they  not  invite  to  ronsultaf  ions,  tlien,  a  colleague  known  to  Claude  Bernard 
and  not  engaged  in  a  race  after  ]>atronage? 

Polosoff,  the  millionaire,  had  one  of  these  bigwigs  for  a  dcjctor,  and,  when  Kate- 
rina  Va-ssilievna  fell  seriously  ill,  the  medical  consultations  were  always  made  up 
of  bigwigs.  Finally  she  became  so  w<'ak  that  the  liigwigs  resolved  to  call  in  Kir- 
sanoff. In  fact,  tli(!  problem  was  a  very  difficult  one  for  them;  the;  patient  had  no 
disease,  and  yet  she  was  growing  jierceptibly  weaker.     But  some  disease  must  bo 


282  yjliat's  To  Be  Done? 

found,  and  the  doctor  having  hei"  in  charge  invented  alropJda  nervorum,  "suspension 
of  nervous  nutrition."  Whether  there  is  such  a  disease  I  do  not  know,  but,  if  it 
exists,  even  I  can  see  that  it  is  incurable.  But  as  nothing  must  be  left  undone  to 
save  the  patient,  however  hopeless  the  case,  the  problem  was  one  for  Kirsanoff  or 
some  other  bold  young  man. 

So  a  new  council  was  held,  which  Kirsanoff  attended.  They  examined  the  pa- 
tient and  pressed  her  with  questions ;  she  answered  willingly  and  very  calmly;  but 
Kirsanoff,  after  her  first  words,  stood  one  side,  doing  nothing  but  watch  the  bigwigs 
examine  and  question ;  and  wlien,  after  having  worn  themselves  out  and  harassed 
her  as  much  as  the  proprieties  in  such  cases  demand,  they  appealed  to  Kirsanoff 
with  the  question:  "What  do  you  think,  Alexander  MatveitchV"  he  answered:  "I 
have  not  examined  the  patient  sufficiently.  I  will  remain  here.  It  is  an  interest- 
ing case.  If  there  is  need  of  another  consultation,  I  will  tell  Carl  Fccdorytch,"  — 
that  is,  the  patient's  doctor,  whom  these  words  made  radiant  witli  hai)piuess  at  thus 
escaping  his  alrophia  nervorum.  When  they  had  gone,  Kirsanoff  sat  down  by  the 
patient's  bed.     A  mocking  smile  lighted  up  her  face. 

"  It  is  a  pity  that  we  are  not  acquainted,"  he  began ;  "  a  doctor  needs  confidence ; 
perhaps  I  shall  succeed  in  gaining  yours.  They  do  not  understand  your  sickness ; 
it  requires  a  certain  sagacity.  To  sound  your  chest  and  dose  you  with  drugs  would 
be  quite  useless.  It  is  necessary  to  know  but  one  thmg, — your  situation,  —  and 
then  find  some  way  to  get  you  out  of  it.    You  will  aid  me." 

The  patient  did  not  say  a  word. 

"You  do  not  wish  to  speak  to  me?" 

The  patient  did  not  say  a  word. 

"  Probably  you  even  want  me  to  go  away.  I  ask  you  only  for  ten  minutes.  If 
at  the  end  of  that  time  you  consider  my  presence  useless,  as  you  do  now,  I  will  go 
away.  You  know  that  sorrow  is  the  only  thing  that  troubles  you.  You  know  that, 
if  this  mental  state  continues,  in  two  or  three  weeks,  perhaps  even  soonei*,  you  will 
be  past  saving.  Perhaps  you  have  not  even  two  weeks  to  live.  Consumption  has 
not  yei  set  in,  but  it  is  near  at  hand,  and  in  a  person  of  your  age  and  condition  it 
would  develop  with  extraordinary  rapidity  and  might  carry  you  off  in  a  few  days." 

The  patient  did  not  say  a  word. 

"You  do  not  answer.  You  remain  indifferent.  That  means  that  nothing  that 
I  have  said  is  new  to  you.  By  your  very  silence  you  answer :  '  Yes.'  Do  you  know 
what  any  other  doctor  would  do  in  my  place?  lie  would  speak  to  your  father. 
Perhaps,  were  I  to  have  a  talk  with  him,  it  would  save  you,  but,  if  it  would  dis- 
please you  to  have  me  do  so,  I  will  not.  And  why?  Because  I  make  it  a  rule  to 
tmdertake  nothing  in  any  one's  behalf  against  his  or  her  will;  liberty  is  abbve 
everything,  above  life  itself.  Therefore,  if  you  do  not  wish  me  to  learn  the  cause 
of  your  very  dangerous  condition,  I  will  not  try-  to  find  it  out.  If  you  say  that  you 
•wish  to  die,  I  will  only  ask  you  to  give  me  your  reasons  for  this  desire ;  even  if  they 


New  Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  283 

should  seem  to  me  without  foundation,  I  should  still  have  no  right  to  prevent  you ; 
if,  on  the  contrary,  they  should  seem  to  me  well  founded,  it  would  be  my  duty  to 
aid  you  in  your  purpose,  and  I  am  ready  to  do  so.  I  am  ready  to  give  you  poison. 
Under  these  circumstances  I  beg  you  to  tell  me  the  cause  of  your  sickness." 

The  patient  did  not  say  a  word. 

"You  do  not  deign  to  answer  me?  I  have  no  right  to  question  you  further,  but 
I  may  ask  your  permission  to  tell  you  something  of  myself,  which  may  establish 
greater  confidence  between  us.  Yes ''  I  thank  you.  You  suffer.  AVell,  I  suffer 
too.  I  love  a  woman  passionately,  who  does  not  even  know  that  I  love  her  and 
who  must  never  find  it  out.     Do  you  pity  me?" 

The  patient  did  not  say  a  word,  but  a  sad  smile  appeared  upon  her  face. 

"You  are  silent,  but  yet  you  could  not  hide  from  mo  the  fact  that  my  last  words 
impressed  you  more  then  any  that  preceded  them.  That  is  enough  for  me;  I  see 
that  you  suffer  from  tlie  same  cause  as  myself.  You  wish  to  die.  That  I  clearly 
understand.  I>ut  to  die  of  consumption  is  too  long,  too  painful  a  process.  I  can 
aid  you  to  die,  if  you  will  not  be  aided  to  live ;  I  say  that  I  am  ready  to  give  you 
poison,  poison  lliat  will  kill  instantly  and  juiinlessly.  On  this  condition,  will  you 
furnish  me  with  the  means  of  finding  out  whether  your  situation  is  really  as  des- 
perate as  you  believe  it  to  be?" 

"You  will  not  deceive  me?"  said  the  patient. 

"Look  me  steadily  in  the  eyes,  and  yon  will  see  that  T  will  not  deceive  you." 

The  patient  hesitated  a  few  moments:  "Xo,  1  do  not  know  you  well  enough." 

"Anybody  else  in  my  place  would  have  already  told  you  that  the  feeling  from 
wliicli  you  suffer  is  a  good  one.  I  will  not  say  so  yet.  Does  your  father  know 
of  it?  I  beg  you  not  to  forget  that  I  shall  say  nothing  to  him  without  your  per- 
mission." 

"He  knows  notliing  about  it." 

"Does  lie  love  you?" 

"Yr-s." 

"What  shall  I  say  t(j  you  now?  Wiiat  do  you  think  yoinsclf?  You  say  tliat 
he  loves  you;  I  liavo  hfard  that  he  is  a  man  of  good  sense.  Why,  tlicn,  do  you 
think  that  it  would  be  useless  to  inform  him  of  youi-  fueling,  and  (hat  he  would  re- 
fuse his  consent?  If  the  obstacle  consisted  only  in  tiio  poverty  of  llie  man  whom 
yon  lovo,  (hat  would  not  have  ])n'ventf'd  you  from  trying  to  induce  your  father  to 
give  his  consent;  at  least,  that  is  my  opinion.  So  you  bi'lieve  that  your  father 
thinks  ill  of  him  ;  your  silence  towards  your  father  cannot  be  otherwise  explained. 
Am  I  not  right?" 

The  pati'-tit  did  not  say  a  word. 

"I  see  that  I  am  not  mistaken.  Do  you  know  what  I  (hiiik  now?  Your  father 
is  an  experienced  man,  who  know.s  men  well;  you,  on  the  contrary,  are  inexpe- 
rienced; if  any  man  should  seem  bad  to  him  and  good  to  you,  in  all  probability 


284  Wl^at's  To  Be  Done? 

YOU  would  be  wrong,  not  lie.  You  see  that  I  am  forced  to  think  so.  Do  you  want 
to  know  why  I  say  so  disagreeable  a  thing  to  you?  I  will  tell  you.  Perhaps  you 
will  resent  it,  but  nevertheless  you  will  say  to  yourself:  'He  says  what  ho  thinlcs; 
he  does  not  dissimulate  and  does  not  wish  to  deceive  ine.'  I  shall  gain  your  confi- 
dence.    Do  I  not  talk  to  you  like  an  honest  man?" 

The  patient  answered,  hesitating : 

"You  are  a  very  strange  man,  doctor." 

"Kot  at  all;  I  am  simply  not  like  a  hypocrite.  I  Kave  spoken  my  thought 
frankly.  But  still  it  is  only  a  supposition.  1  may  be  mistaken.  Give  me  the 
means  of  finding  out.  Tell  me  the  name  of  the  man  whom  you  love.  Then  —  al- 
ways with  your  permission — I  will  go  and  talk  with  your  father." 

"  What  will  you  say  to  him  ?  " 

"Does  he  know  him  well?" 

"Yes." 

"  Then  I  will  ask  him  to  consent  to  your  marriage  on  condition  that  the  wedding 
shall  take  place,  not  tomorrow,  but  two  or  three  months  hence,  in  ordei*  that  you 
may  have  time  to  reflect  coolly  and  consider  whether  your  father  is  not  right." 

"  He  will  not  consent." 

"  In  all  probability  he  will.    If  not,  I  will  aid  you,  as  I  have  already  promised." 

Kirsanoff  talked  a  long  time  in  this  tone.  And  at  last  the  patient  told  him  the 
name  of  the  man  she  loved,  and  gave  him  permission  to  speak  to  her  father.  Polo- 
sofE  was  greatly  astonished  to  learn  that  the  cause  of  his  daughter's  exhaustion  was 
a  desperate  passion;  he  was  still  more  astonished  when  he  heard  the  name  of  the 
man  whom  she  loved,  and  said  firmly:  "Let  her  die  rather.  Her  death  would  be 
the  lesser  misfortune  for  her  as  well  as  for  me." 

The  case  was  the  more  diflacult  from  the  fact  that  Kirsanoff,  after  hearing  Polo- 
soff's  reasons,  saw  that  the  old  man  was  right  and  not  his  daugliter. 

IV. 

Suitors  by  hundreds  paid  court  to  the  heiress  of  an  immense  fortune;  but  the 
society  which  thronged  at  Polosoff's  dinners  and  parties  was  of  that  very  doubtful 
sort  and  tone  which  ordinarily  fills  the  parlors  of  the  suddenly  rich  like  Polosoff, 
who  liave  neither  relatives  nor  connections  in  the  real  aristocracy.  Conse(]uently 
these  people  ordinarily  become  the  hosts  of  sharpers  and  coxcombs  as  destitute  of 
external  polLsh  as  of  internal  virtues.  That  is  why  Katcrina  Vassilievna  was  very 
nmch  impressed  when  among  her  admirers  appeared  a  real  gallant  of  the  best 
tone:  his  deportment  was  much  more  elegant,  and  his  conversation  much  wiser 
and  more  interesting,  than  those  of  any  of  the  others. 

The  father  was  quick  to  notice  that  she  showed  a  preference  for  him,  and,  being 
a  positive,  resolute,  and  firm  man,  he  instantly  had  an  explanation  with  his  daugh- 


New   Cliaracters  and  the   Conclusion.  285 

ter:  "Dear  Katia,  Solovtzoff  is  paying  you  assiduous  attention;  look  out  for  him; 
he  is  a  very  bad  man,  utterly  heartless;  you  would  be  so  unhappy  "svith  him  that  T 
would  rather  see  j'ou  dead  than  married  to  him ;  it  would  not  be  so  painful  either 
for  me  or  for  you." 

Katerina  Yassilievna  loved  her  father  and  was  accustomed  to  heed  his  advice, 
for  he  never  laid  any  restraint  upon  her,  and  she  knew  that  he  spoke  solely  from 
love  of  her;  and,  further,  it  was  her  nature  to  try  rather  to  please  those  who  loved 
her  than  to  satisfy  her  own  caprices;  she  was  of  those  who  love  to  say  to  their  rela- 
tives: "You  wish  it;  I  will  do  it."  She  answered  her  father:  "Solovtzoff  pleases 
me,  but,  if  you  think  it  better  that  I  should  avoid  his  society,  I  will  follow  your 
advice."  Certainly  she  would  not  have  acted  in  this  way,  and,  in  conformity  with 
lier  nature,  —  not  to  lie,  —  she  would  not  have  spoken  in  this  way,  if  she  had  loved 
liiin;  but  at  that  time  she  had  but  a  very  slight  attaclunent  for  Solovtzoff,  almost 
none  at  all :  he  simply  seemed  to  her  a  little  more  interesting  than  the  others.  She 
became  cold  towards  him,  and  perhaps  everything  would  have  passed  off  quietly, 
had  not  her  father  in  his  ardor  gone  a  little  too  far,  just  enough  for  the  cunning 
Solovtzoff.  He  saw  that  lie  must  play  the  rule  of  a  victim,  but  where  should  he 
find  a  pretext?  One  day  Polosoff  liappened  to  indulge  in  a  bitter  jest  at  his  ex- 
pense. Solo\i;zofF,  with  an  air  of  wounded  dignity,  took  his  leave  and  ceased  his 
visits.  A  week  later  Katerina  Yassilievna  received  from  him  a  passionate,  but  ex- 
tremely Immble,  letter.  lie  had  not  hoped  that  slie  would  love  him;  the  happiness 
of  sometimes  .seeing  licr,  though  even  without  speaking  to  her,  had  been  enough 
for  him.  And  yet  lie  sacrificed  this  happiness  to  the  peace  of  his  divinity.  After 
all,  he  was  happy  in  loving  her  even  hopelessly,  and  so  on ;  but  no  prayers  or  de- 
sires. He  did  not  even  ask  for  a  reply.  Other  hitters  of  the  same  style  arrived 
from  time  to  time,  and  finally  had  an  effect  upon  the  young  girl. 

Not  very  quickly,  liowever.  After  SolovtzofC's  withdrawal  Katerina  Yassilievna 
was  at  first  neither  sad  nor  pensive,  and  before  his  withdrawal  she  had  already  be- 
come cold  towards  iiim;  and,  besides,  she  iiad  accepted  her  father's  counsel  with 
tli(!  utmost  calmness.  Coiiseciueiitly,  when,  two  months  later,  she  grew  sad,  how 
^ould  her  father  imagine  that  Solovtzoff,  whom  he  had  already  forgotten,  had  any- 
thing to  do  with  it? 

"You  seem  sad,  Katia." 

"I?     Xo,  there  is  notiiing  IIh;  matter  with  me." 

A  week  or  two  later  the  old  man  said  to  her : 

"But  are  you  not  sick,  Katia?" 

"No,  there  is  nothing  the  matter  with  me." 

A  fortnight  later  still : 

"You  must  consult  the  doctor,  Katia." 

The  doctor  began  to  treat  Katia,  and  the  old  man  felt  entirely  easy  again,  for 
the  doctor  saw  no  danger,  but  only  weakness  and  a  little  exhaustion.     He  pointed 


286  What's  To  Be  Bone? 

out,  and  correctly  enough,  that  Kate'rina  Vassilievna  had  led  a  very  fatiguing  life 
that  winter, — every  evening  a  party,  -which  lasted  till  two,  three,  and  often  five 
o'clock  in  the  morning.  ''This  exhaustion  will  pass  away."  But,  far  from  pass- 
ing away,  the  exhaustion  went  on  increasing. 

Why,  then,  did  not  Katerina  Vassilievna  speak  to  her  father?  Because  she  was 
sure  that  it  would  have  been  in  vain.  lie  had  signified  his  ideas  in  so  firm  a  tone, 
and  he  never  spoke  lightly !  Never  would  he  consent  to  the  marriage  of  his  daugh- 
ter to  a  man  whom  he  considered  wicked. 

Katerina  Vassilievna  continued  to  dream,  reading  Solovtzoff's  humble  and  de- 
spairing letters,  and  six  months  of  such  reading  brought  her  within  a  step  of  con- 
sumption. And  she  did  not  drop  a  single  woi'd  that  could  lead  her  father  to  think 
that  he  was  responsible  for  her  sickness.     She  was  as  tender  with  him  as  ever. 

"You  are  discontented  with  something?" 

"Xo,  papa." 

"Are  you  not  in  sorrow  about  something?" 

"No,  papa." 

"It  is  easy  to  see  that  you  are  not;  you  are  simply  despondent,  but  that  comes 
from  weakness,  from  sickness.     The  doctor  too  said  that  it  came  from  sickness." 

But  whence  came  the  sickness?  As  long  as  the  doctor  considered  the  sickness 
trivial,  he  contented  himself  with  attributing  it  to  dancing  and  tight  lacing;  when 
he  saw  that  it  was  growing  dangerous,  he  discovered  "the  suspension  of  nervous 
nutrition,"  the  atrophia  nervorum. 


But,  though  the  bigwig  practitioners  had  agreed  in  the  opinion  that  Mademoi- 
selle PolosofE  had  atrophia  nervorum,  which  had  been  developed  by  the  fatiguing 
life  that  she  led  in  spite  of  her  natural  inclinations  towards  reverie  and  melan- 
choly, it  did  not  take  Kirsanoff  long  to  see  that  the  patient's  weakness  was  due  to 
some  moral  cause.  Before  the  consultation  of  physicians  the  family  doctor  had 
explained  to  him  all  the  relations  of  the  patient:  there  were  no  family  sorrows; 
the  father  and  daughter  were  on  very  good  terms.  And  yet  the  father  did  not 
know  the  cause  of  the  sickness,  for  the  family  doctor  did  not  know  it;  what  did 
that  mean?  It  was  evident  that  the  young  girl  had  exercised  her  independence  in 
concealing  her  illness  so  long  even  from  her  father,  and  in  so  acting  through  the 
whole  of  it  that  he  could  not  divine  its  cause ;  the  calmness  of  her  replies  at  the 
medical  consultation  confirmed  this  opinion.  She  endured  her  lot  with  firmness 
and  without  any  trace  of  exasperation.  Kirsanoff  saw  that  a  person  of  such  a  char- 
acter deserved  attention  and  aid.  His  intervention  seemed  indispensable:  to  be 
sure,  light  some  day  might  be  thrown  upon  the  matter  in  one  way  or  another  with- 
out him,  but  would  it  not  then  be  too  late?    Consumption  was  about  to  set  in,  and 


New   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  287 

soon  all  the  care  imaginable  ■would  be  powei'less.  For  two  hours  he  had  been  striv- 
ing to  gain  the  patient's  confidence;  at  last  he  had  succeeded;  now  he  had  got 
down  to  the  heart  of  the  matter,  and  had  obtained  pei'mission  to  speak  to  her 
father. 

The  old  man  was  very  much  astonished  when  he  learned  from  Kirsanoff  that  it 
was  love  for  Solovtzofi  that  was  at  the  bottom  of  his  daughter's  sickness.  How 
could  that  be  ?  Katia  had  formerly  accepted  so  coolly  his  advice  to  avoid  Solovt- 
zoff's  society,  andliad  been  so  indifferent  when  his  visits  ceased!  '  How  could  she 
have  begun  to  die  of  love  on  his  account?  Does  any  one  ever' die  of  love?  Such 
exaltation  did  not  seem  at  all  probable  td  so  calculating  and  practical  a  man.  But 
he  was  made  very  anxious  by  what  Kirsanoff  said,  and  kept  saying  in  reply :  "  It 
is  a  child's  fancy  and  will  pass  away."  Kirsanoff  explained  again  and  again,  and 
at  last  made  him  understand  that  it  was  precisely  because  she  was  a  cliild  that 
Katia  would  not  forget,  but  would  die.  Polosoff  was  convinced,  but,  instead  of 
yielding,  he  struck  the  table  with  his  fist  and  said  with  inflexible  resolution :  "  AVell, 
let  her  die!  let  her  die!  better  that  than  be  unhappy.  For  lior  as  well  as  for  me  it 
will  be  less  painful ! "  Tlio  same  words  that  he  had  said  1o  his  daughter  six  months 
before.  Katerina  Vassilievna  was  right,  therefore,  in  believing  that  it  was  useless 
to  speak  to  lier  father. 

"But  v.hy  are  you  so  tenacious  on  lliis  point?  I  am  willing  to  admit  tliat  the 
lover  is  bad,  ])ut  is  lie  as  bad  as  death?" 

"Yes!     He  has  no  heart.     She  is  sweet  and  delicate;  he  is  a  base  libertine." 

And  Polosoff  painted  Solovtzoff  so  black  that  Kirsanoff  could  say  nothing  in  re- 
ply. In  fact,  how  could  he  help  agreeing  with  Polosoff?  Solovtzoff  was  no  other 
than  the  Joan  whom  wo  forniorly  saw  at  sui>p(M-  with  Storochnikoff,  Sorgo,  and 
.Julie.  Iloncc  it  was  evident  that  an  honest  young  girl  hail  bottor  dio  than  marry 
such  a  man.  lie  would  stifle  and  prey  upon  an  honest  woman.  She  hud  much 
better  dio. 

Kirsanoff  thought  for  a  f(!W  minutes  in  silence,  and  then  said: 

"No,  j-our  argumonts  are  not  valid.  There  is  no  danger  for  the  very  reason 
that  the  individual  is  so  bad.  Slu;  will  find  it  out,  if  you  leave  her  to  examine  liim 
coolly." 

And  Kirsanoff  persisted  in  explaining  his  plan  to  Polosoff  in  more  detail.  Had 
he  not  iiimself  said  to  his  daughter  that,  if  she  should  find  out  that  tho  object  of 
her  love  was  unworthy,  slic  would  renounce  liim  herself?  Now  he  might  be  quite 
sure  of  such  renunciation,  the  man  loved  being  very  unworthy. 

"It  will  not  do  for  me  to  tell  you  that  marriage  is  not  a  thing  of  extreme  impor- 
tance if  we  view  it  without  projudiro,  though  really,  when  a  wife  is  indiappy,  there 
is  no  reason  why  she  should  not  separate  from  lier  husband.  But  you  think  that 
out  of  the  question,  and  your  daughter  has  been  brought  up  with  the  same  ideas; 
to  you  as  well  as  to  her  marriage  is  an  irrevocable  contract,  and,  before  she  could 


288  What's   To  Be  Done? 

get  any  other  ideas  into  her  head,  life  with  such  a  man  would  kill  her  in  much  more 
painful  fashion  than  consumption.  Therefore  we  must  consider  the  question  from 
another  standpoint.  AVhy  not  rely  on  your  daughter's  good  sense?  She  is  not  in- 
sane ;  far  from  it.  Always  rely  on  the  good  sense  of  any  one  whom  you  leave  free. 
The  fault  in  this  matter  is  yours.  You  have  put  chains  on  your  daughter's  will; 
iincliain  her,  and  you  will  see  her  come  to  your  view,  if  you  are  right.  Passion  is 
blind  when  it  ijieets  obstacles;  remove  the  obstacles,  and  your  daughter  will  be- 
come prudent.'  Give  her  the  liberty  to  love  or  not  to  love,  and  she  will  see  whether 
this  man  is  worthy  of  love.  JJ^et  him  be  her  sweetheart,  and  in  a  short  time  she 
will  dismiss  him." 

Such  a  wav  of  viewing  things  was  far  too  novel  for  Polosoff.  He  answered  with 
some  asperity  that  he  did  not  believe  in  such  twaddle,  that  he  knew  life  too  well, 
and  that  he  saw  too  many  instances  of  human  folly  to  have  any  faith  in  humanity's 
good  sense.  Especially  ridiculous  would  it  be  to  trust  to  the  good  sense  of  a  little 
gii'l  of  seventeen.  In  vain  did  Kirsanoff  reply  that  follies  ai'e  committed  only  in 
two  cases, — either  in  a  moment  of  impulse,  or  else  when  the  individual  is  deprived 
of  liberty  and  irritated  by  resistance.  These  ideas  wei-e  Hebrew  to  Polosoff.  "  She 
is  insane ;  it  would  be  senseless  to  trust  such  a  child  with  her  own  fate ;  rather  let 
her  die."  He  could  not  be  swerved  from  his  decision.  But  however  firm  an  obsti- 
nate man  may  be  in  his  ideas,  if  another  man  of  more  developed  mind,  knowing 
and  understanding  the  circumstances  better,  labors  constantly  to  free  him  of  his 
error,  the  error  will  be  overcome.  Still,  how  long  will  the  logical  struggle  last  be- 
tween the  old  father  and  the  young  doctor?  Certainly  today's  conversation  will 
not  fail  to  have  its  effect  on  Polosoff,  although  it  has  not  yet  produced  any;  the 
old  man  will  inevitably  reflect  upon  Kirsanoff's  words ;  and  by  renewing  such  con- 
versations he  may  be  recalled  to  his  senses,  although,  proud  of  his  experience,  he 
deems  himself  infallible.  In  any  case  his  conversion  would  be  a  long  process,  and 
delay  was  dangerous;  a  long  delay  would  surely  be  fatal,  and  such  delay  was  inevi- 
table in  view  of  all  the  circumstances.  Therefore  radical  means  must  be  resorted 
to.  There  was  danger  in  so  doing,  it  is  true,  but  there  was  only  danger,  while  any 
other  course  meant  certain  loss.  The  danger,  though  real,  was  not  very  grave: 
there  was  but  one  chance  of  loss  against  an  infinity  of  chances  of  salvation.  Kir- 
sanoff saw  in  his  patient  a  young  girl  of  calm  and  silent  firmness,  and  was  sure  of 
her.     But  had  he  a  right  to  submit  her  to  this  danger?     Yes,  certainly. 

"Very  well,"  said  Kirsanoff,  "you  will  not  cure  her  by  the  means  within 
your  power ;  I  am  going  to  treat  her  with  my  own.  Tomorrow  I  will  call  another 
consultation." 

Returning  to  his  patient,  he  told  her  that  her  father  was  obstinate,  more  obsti- 
nate than  he  expected,  and  that  it  was  necessary  consequently  to  proceed  energeti- 
cally in  opposition  to  him. 

"  No,  nothing  can  be  done,"  said  the  patient  in  a  very  sad  tone. 


New   Charactei's  and  the   Conclusion.  289 

"  Are  you  sm-e  ?  " 

"Yes." 

"Are  you  ready  to  die?" 

"Yes." 

"And  if  I  decide  to  submit  you  to  the  risk  of  death?  I  have  already  spoken  of 
this  to  you,  but  only  to  gain  your  confidence  and  sliow  you  that  I  woultl  consent 
to  anything  in  order  to  be  useful  to  you:  now  I  speak  positively.  Suppose  I  were 
to  give  you  poison?" 

"  I  have  long  known  that  my  death  is  inevitable ;  I  have  but  a  few  days  more  to 
live." 

"And  suppose  it  were  tomorrow  morning?" 

"  So  much  the  better." 

She  spoke  quite  calmly. 

When  there  is  but  one  resource  left,  —  to  fall  back  on  the  resolve  to  die,  —  suc- 
cess is  almost  sure.  When  any  one  says  to  us:  "Yield,  or  I  di(>,"  we  almost  always 
yield ;  but  such  a  resort  cannot  be  played  with  without  loss  of  dignity ;  if  there  is 
no  yielding,  then  death  must  be  faced. 

He  explained  liis  plan  to  her,  although  it  really  needed  no  further  elucidation. 

VI. 

Certainly  KirsanofT  would  never  have  made  it  a  rule  in  such  cases  to  resort  to 
such  a  risk.  It  would  iiavo  been  nnich  simpler  to  carry  the  young  girl  away  and 
let  her  mairy  any  one  she  might  choose;  but  in  this  case  tlio  cpiestion  w;us  made 
very  complex  by  the  young  girl's  ideas  and  the  ciiaractcr  of  the  man  wiiom  she 
lovcrl.  With  her  ideas  of  tin;  indissolubility  of  marriage  she  would  continue- to 
live  with  this  base  man,  ev(!n  though  Ikm"  life  with  him  should  i)rovo  a  hdl.  To 
unite  her  to  him  was  worse  than  to  kill  iier.  Consefiucntly  then;  was  but  oni!  way 
left,  —  to  cause  her  death  or  give  licr  the  opportunity  of  coming  back  to  her  right 
mind. 

The  next  day  the  medical  council  reasseinM<'i|.  ll  cousistrd  (if  half  atli>/.rii  v<;rv 
grave  and  celebrated  personages;  els(!  iiow  could  it  liave  had  any  elTect  on  I'oiosorf? 
It  wa8  necessary  that  ho  should  regard  xln  decree  as  final.  Kirsanolf  spoke;  tliey 
listened  gravely  to  what  he  said,  and  endorsed  his  opinion  no  Ifss  gravely;  it  could 
not  be  otherwiso,  for,  as  you  remember,  there  w;us  in  the  worlil  a  certain  ("l.nide 
Bernard,  who  lived  in  I'aris  and  iiad  a  higli  opinion  of  Kirsanolf.  Ik-sides,  Kir- 
sanolT  said  things  that — the  devil  take  these  urchins!  —  they  did  not  understand 
at  all;  how,  then,  could  they  refuse  tiieir  approval?  Kirsanolf  said  that  he.  liad 
watched  the  patient  very  carefully,  and  that  he  entirely  agreed  with  Carl  Fa-do- 
ryteh  that  the  disease  was  incurable;  now,  the  agony  l>eing  very  painful,  and  each 
additional  hour  of  the  patient's  life  being  but  another  hour  of  sullering,  he  be- 


200  What's  To  Be  Done? 

lieved  it  to  be  the  duty  of  the  council  to  decree,  for  the  sake  of  humanity,  that  the 
patient's  sufferings  should  be  at  once  terminated  by  a  dose  of  morphine,  from  the 
effects  of  which  slie  would  never  awaken. 

The  council  looked  at  the  patient,  sounded  her  chest  once  more  to  decide  whether 
it  ought  to  accept  or  reject  this  proposition,  and,  after  a  long  examination,  much 
blinking  of  the  eyes,  and  stifled  murmurs  against  Kirsanoff's  unintelligible  science, 
it  came  back  to  the  room  adjoining  the  sick  chamber  and  pronounced  this  decree: 
The  patient's  sufferings  must  be  terminated  by  a  fatal  dose  of  morphine.  After 
this  proclamation,  Kirsanoff  rang  for  the  servant  and  asked  her  to  call  Polosoff 
into  the  council-chamber.  Polosoff  entered.  The  gravest  of  the  sages,  in  a  sad 
and  solemn  form  and  a  majestic  and  sorrowful  voice,  announced  to  him  the  decree 
of  the  council. 

Polosoff  was  thunderstruck.  Between  expecting  an  eventual  death  and  hearing 
the  words:  "In  half  an  hour  your  daughter  w^ill  be  no  more,"  there  is  a  difference. 
Kirsanoff  looked  at  Polosoff  with  sustained  attention;  he  was  sure  of  the  effect; 
nevertheless  it  was  a  matter  calculated  to  excite  the  nerves;  for  two  minutes  the 
stupefied  old  man  kept  silent. 

"It  must  not  be!  She  is  dying  of  my  obstinacy!  I  consent  to  anything!  Will 
she  get  well?" 

"Certainly,"  said  Kirsanoff. 

The  celebrities  would  have  been  seriously  offended  if  they  had  had  time  to  dart 
glances  at  each  other  signifying  that  all  understood  that  this  urchin  had  played 
with  them  as  if  they  were  puppets;  but  Kirsanoff  did  not  leave  them  time  enough 
for  the  development  of  these  observations.  He  told  the  servant  to  take  away  the 
drooping  Polosoff,  and  then  congratulated  them  on  the  perspicacity  with  which 
they  had  divined  his  intention,  understanding  that  the  disease  was  due  to  moral 
suffering,  and  that  it  was  necessary  to  frighten  the  opinionated  old  man,  who  else 
would  really  have  caused  his  daughter's  death.  The  celebrities  separated  each  con- 
tent at  hearing  his  perspicacity  and  erudition  thus  attested  before  all  the  others. 

After  having  given  them  this  certificate,  Kirsanoff  went  to  tell  the  patient  that 
the  policy  had  succeeded.  At  liis  first  words  she  seized  his  hand  and  tried  to  kiss 
it;  he  withdrew  it  with  great  difficulty. 

"But  I  shall  not  let  your  father  visit  you  immediately  to  make  the  same  an- 
nouncement to  you:  I  have  first  to  give  him  a  lesson  concerning  the  way  in  which 
he  must  conduct  himself." 

Ho  told  her  what  advice  he  was  going  to  give  her  father,  saying  that  he  would 
not  leave  him  until  he  should  be  completely  prepared. 

Disturbed  by  all  that  had  happened,  the  old  man  was  very  much  cast  down ;  he 
no  longer  viewed  Kirsanoff  with  the  same  eyes,  but  as  Maria  Alexevna  had  for- 
merly viewed  Lopoukhoff  when,  in  a  dream,  she  saw  him  in  possession  of  the  lu- 
crative monopoly  of  the  liquor  business.     But  yesterday  Polosoff  naturally  thought 


New   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  291 

in  this  vein:  "I  am  older  and  more  experienced  than  you,  and,  besides,  no  one  in 
the  world  can  surpass  me  in  brains;  as  for  you,  a  beardless  boy  and  a  sans-culotte, 
I  have  the  less  reason  to  listen  to  you  from  the  fact  that  I  have  amassed  by  my 
own  wits  two  millions  [there  were  really  but  two  millions,  and  not  four] ;  first 
amass  as  much  yourself,  and  (hen  we  will  talk."  Xow  his  thought  took  this  turn: 
"What  a  bear!  AVhat  a  will  he  has  showm  in  this  affair!  lie  understands  how 
to  make  men  bend."  And  the  more  he  talked  with  Ivirsanoff,  the  more  and  more 
vividly  was  painted  upon  his  imagination  this  additional  picture,  an  old  and  for- 
gotten memory  of  hussar  life:  the  horseman  Zakhartchenko  seated  on  the  "Gro- 
moboy"*  (at  that  time  Joukovsky's  ballads  were  still  fashionable  among  young 
ladies,  and,  through  them,  among  civil  and  military  cavaliers),  the  Gromoboy  gal- 
loping fast  under  Zakhartchenko,  with  torn  and  bleeding  lips. 

PolosofE  was  seized  with  fright  on  hearing,  in  answer  to  his  first  question: 
"Would  you  really  have  given  her  a  fatal  dose?"  this  reply,  given  quite  coldly  by 
Kirsanoff :  "  Why,  certainly." 

"  What  a  brigand  ! "  said  PolosofE  to  himself.  "  He  talks  like  a  cook  wrhiging  a 
hen's  neck." 

"  And  you  would  liave  had  the  courage?"  continued  he,  aloud. 

"Of  course;  do  you  take  me  for  a  wet  rag?" 

"You  are  a  horrible  man,"  said  and  repeated  Polosoff. 

"That  only  means  that  you  have  never  seen  horrible  men,"  answered  Kirsanoff, 
with  an  indulgent  smile,  at  tlie  same  time  sayuig  to  himself:  "You  ought  to  see 
Pakliinotoff." 

"But  iiow  did  you  persuade  all  these  physicians?" 

"Is  it,  then,  so  dillicult  to  persuade  such  people?"  answered  Kirsanoff,  witli  a 
slight  grimace. 

Then  Polosoff  rccallfd  Zakliartclicnko  saying  lo  Lii'ulcnant  Volynoff:  "Must  I 
break  in  this  long-earod  jade,  your  iiiglincss?     I  am  asliann'il  to  sit  upon  Iicr." 

Afti.T  having  put  a  stop  to  Polosoff's  interminable  questions,  Kirsanoff  began  liis 
instructions. 

"I)o  not  forget  tliat  buiiian  beings  reflect  coolly  only  when  not  thwarted,  that 
they  get  heated  only  wlutn  irritated,  and  that  they  set  no  value  on  their  lanlasies 
if  no  attempt  is  made  to  deprive  them  of  them  nnd  they  arc  left  free  to  inquire 
whether  they  are  good  or  bad.  If  Solovtzoff  is  as  bad  as  you  say,  —  and  I  I'ully 
believe  you,  —  your  daughter  will  see  it  for  herself,  but  only  when  you  slop  thwart- 
ing her;  a  single  word  from  you  against  iiim  would  set  the  matter  back  two  weeks, 
several  words  forever;  you  nmst  iiold  yourself  quite  aloof." 

The  instructions  were  spiced  with  arguments  of  this  sort :  "  It  is  not  easy  to 
make  yourself  do  what  you  do  not  wish  to  do.     Still,  I  have  succeeded  in  such  at- 

*  The  name  of  a  ballad  by  Joakovsky,  a  romantic  poet  of  the  l>egiuning  of  this  century. 


292  JMiat's  To  Be  Done? 

tempts,  and  so  I  know  how  to  treat  these  matters;  believe  me,  what  I  say  must  be 
done.     I  know  what  I  say;  you  have  only  to  listen." 

"With  people  like  I'olosoff  one  can  act  effectively  only  with  a  high  hand.  Polo- 
soff  was  subdued,  and  promised  to  do  as  he  was  told.  But  while  convinced  that 
Kirsanoff  was  right  and  must  be  obeyed,  he  could  not  understand  him  at  all. 

"You  are  on  my  side  and  at  the  same  time  on  my  daughter's  side ;  you  order  me 
to  submit  to  my  daughter  and  you  wish  her  to  change  her  mind.  How  are  these 
two  things  to  be  reconciled?" 

"It  is  simple  enough;  I  only  wish  you  not  to  prevent  her  from  becoming 
reasonable." 

Tolosoif  wrote  a  note  to  Solovtzoff,  begging  him  to  be  good  enough  to  call  upon 
him  concerning  an  important  matter;  that  evening  Solovtzoff  appeared,  came  to 
an  amicable  but  very  dignified  understanding  with  the  old  man,  and  was  accepted 
as  the  daughter's  intended,  on  the  condition  that  the  marriage  should  not  take 
place  inside  of  three  months. 

VII. 

Kirsanoff  could  not  abandon  this  affair:  it  was  necessary  to  come  to  Katcrina 
Yassilievna's  aid  to  get  her  out  of  her  blindness  as  quickly  as  possible,  and  more 
necessary  still  to  watch  her  father  and  see  that  he  adhered  to  the  policy  of  non- 
interveirtion.  Nevertheless,  for  the  first  few  days  after  the  crisis,  he  abstained 
from  visiting  tlie  Polosoffs:  it  was  certain  that  Katcrina  Vassilievna's  state  of 
exaltation  still  continued;  if  he  should  find  (as  lie  expected)  her  sweetheart  un- 
worthy, the  very  fact  of  betraying  his  dislike  of  him  —  to  say  nothing  of  directly 
mentioning  it — would  be  injurious  and  heighten  the  exaltation.  Ten  days  later 
Kirsanoff  came,  and  came  in  the  morning  expressly  that  he  might  not  seem  to  be 
seeking  an  opportunity  of  meeting  the  sweetheart,  for  he  wished  Katerina  Vassili- 
evna  to  consent  with  a  good  grace.  Katerina  Vassilievna  was  already  well  ad- 
vanced on  the  road  to  recovei-y;  she  was  still  very  pale  and  thin,  but  felt  quite 
well,  although  a  great  deal  of  medicine  had  been  given  her  by  her  illustrious  phy- 
sician, into  whose  hands  Kirsanoff  had  resigned  her,  saying  to  the  young  girl: 
"I>et  him  attend  you;  all  his  drugs  cannot  harm  you  now."  Katdrina  Vassili- 
evna welcomed  Kirsanoff  enthusiastically,  but  she  looked  at  him  in  amazement 
when  he  told  her  why  he  had  come. 

"You  have  saved  my  life,  and  yet  need  my  permission  to  visit  us?" 

"But  my  visit  in  his  presence  might  seem  to  you  an  attempt  at  interference  in 
your  relations  without  your  consent.  You  know  my  rule, — to  do  nothing  without 
the  consent  of  the  person  in  behalf  of  whom  I  wish  to  act." 

Coming  in  the  evening  two  or  three  days  afterwards,  Kirsanoff  found  the  sweet- 
heart as  Polosoff  had  painted  him,  and  Polosoff  himself — behaving  satisfactorily: 


N&vo   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  293 

the  well-trained  old  man  was  placing  no  obstacles  in  his  daughter's  path.  Kirsa- 
noff  spent  the  evening  there,  not  showing  in  any  way  whatever  his  opinion  of  the 
sweetheart,  and  in  taking  leave  of  Katerina  Vassilievna  he  made  no  allusion  to 
him,  one  way  or  another. 

This  was  just  enough  to  excite  her  curiosity  and  doubt.  The  next  day  she  said 
to  herself  repeatedly:  "Kirsanoff  did  not  say  a  word  to  me  about  him.  If  he  had 
left  a  good  impression  on  him,  Kirsanoff  would  have  told  me  so.  Can  it  be  that 
he  does  not  please  him?  In  what  respect  can  he  be  displeasing'  to  Kirsanoff V" 
When  the  sweetheart  returned  the  following  day,  she  examined  his  manners 
closely,  and  weighed  his  words.  She  asked  herself  why  she  did  this :  it  was  to 
prove  to  herself  that  Kirsanoff  should  not  or  could  not  have  found  any  out  about 
liim.  This  was  really  her  motive.  But  the  necessity  of  proving  to  one's  self  that 
a  person  whom  one  loves  has  no  outs  puts  one  in  the  way  to  liud  some  very  soon. 

A  few  days  later  Kirsanoff  came  again,  and  still  said  nothing  of  tlie  sweetheart. 
This  time  she  could  not  restrain  herself,  and  towards  the  end  of  the  evening  she 
said  to  Kirsanoff": 

"Your  opinion?     Why  do  you  keep  silence?" 

"I  do  not  know  whether  it  would  be  agreeable  to  you  to  hear  my  opinion;  I  do 
not  know  whether  you  would  tliink  it  impartial." 

"He  displeases  you?" 

Kirsanoff  made  no  answer. 

"He  displeases  you?" 

"  I  liave  not  said  so." 

"  It  is  easy  to  see  that  lie  does.     Wliy,  then,  does  he  displease  you?" 

"  I  will  wait  for  others  to  see  tli<^  why." 

The  next  night  KaltTJua  Vassilievna  (examined  Solovlzoff  more  attcnlivcly  yet. 

"Everything  about-  him  is  all  right;  Kirsanoff  is  unjust;  Imt  why  can  I  not  see 
what  it  is  in  him  that  displeases  Kirsanoff?" 

Her  jtride  was  excited  in  a  direetion  most,  dangerous  to  the  sweetheart. 

^\'hen  Kiri^anolf  retiniied  a  few  d;iys  afti'rwanls,  he  saw  that  he  was  already  in 
a  jiosition  to  act  more  positively.  Hitherto  lie  had  avoided  conversations  with 
Solovt/olT  in  onler  not  to  alarm  Katt-rina  Viissilievna  by  I'rcmaturn  intervention. 
Now  h<?  made,  one  of  the  group  surnniiiding  (hr;  yoimg  girl  and  her  sweetln-art, 
and  began  to  direct  the  conversation  upon  subjects  calculated  to  unveil  Solovtzolf's 
character  by  dragging  him  into  the  diaUigue.  The  conversation  turned  u]iou 
wealth,  ami  it  seemeil  to  Katerina  Vassilievna  that  Solovt/.oiT  was  far  loo  imnh 
occupied  with  thoughts  about,  wealth;  the  conversation  turni'd  upon  women,  and 
it  seemed  to  her  that  Snlovtzfiff  si)fike  of  (hem  murh  too  lightly;  the  conversation 
turned  upon  family  life,  and  she,  trie<l  in  vain  to  drive  away  the  impression  that 
life  with  such  a  husband  would  be  perhaps  not  very  inspiring,  but  rather  painful, 
to  a  woman. 


294  What's  To  Be  Done? 

The  crisis  had  arrived.  For  a  long  time  Katerina  Vassilievna  could  not  go  to 
sleep ;  she  wept  in  vexation  with  herself  at  having  injured  Solovtzott'  by  such 
thoughts  regarding  him.  "No,  he  is  not  a  heartless  man;  he  does  not  despise 
women ;  he  loves  me,  and  not  my  money."  If  tliese  replies  had  been  in  answer  to 
another's  words,  she  would  have  clung  to  them  obstinately.  But  she  was  replying 
to  herself ;  now,  against  a  truth  that  you  have  discovered  yourself  it  is  impossible 
to  struggle  long ;  it  is  your  own ;  there  is  no  ground  for  suspicion  of  trickery. 
The  next  evening  Katerina  Vassilievna  herself  put  Solovtzoif  to  tlie  test,  as  Kirsa- 
uoii'  had  done  the  evening  before.  Slie  said  to  lierself  that  she  wished  only  to  con- 
vince herself  that  she  had  injured  him  needlessly,  ]mt  at  the  same  time  she  felt 
that  she  had  less  confidence  in  him  than  before.  And  again  she  could  not  go  to 
sleep,  and  this  time  it  was  with  him  that  she  was  vexed :  why  had  he  spoken  in 
such  a  way  that,  instead  of  quieting  her  doubts,  he  liad  strengthened  them  ?  She 
was  vexed  with  herself  too,  and  in  this  vexation  could  be  seen  clearly  enough  this 
motive  :  "  How  could  I  have  been  so  blind  ?" 

It  is  easy  to  understand  that  two  days  later  she  was  completely  absorbed  by 
this  thought :  "It  will  soon  be  too  late  to  rei)air  my  error,  if  I  am  mistaken." 

When  Kirsanoff  returned  for  the  first  time  after  his  conversation  with  Solovt- 
zoff,  he  saw  that  he  might  speak  to  Katerina. 

"Formerly  you  desired  to  know  my  opinion  about  him,"  said  he:  "it  is  not  as 
important  as  yours.     What  do  you  think  of  him  yourself?" 

Xow  it  was  she  who  kept  silent. 

"I  do  not  dare  to  press  you  for  an  answer,"  said  he.  He  spoke  of  other  things, 
and  soon  went  away. 

But  half  an  hour  afterwards  she  called  on  him  herself. 

"Give  me  your  advice;  you  see  that  1  am  liesitatiiig." 

"Why,  then,  do  you  need  the  advice  of  another,  when  you  know  yourself  what 
should  be  done  in  case  of  hesitation?" 

"Wait  till  the  hesitation  is  over?" 

"  You  have  said  it." 

"  I  could  postpone  the  marriage." 

"Why  not  do  so,  then,  if  you  think  it  would  be  better?" 

"But  how  would  he  take  it?" 

"When  you  see  in  what  way  he  will  take  it,  you  can  reflect  further  as  to  the 
better  course  to  follow." 

"But  it  would  be  jjainful  to  me  to  tell  him." 

"  If  that  be  the  case,  ask  your  father  to  do  it  for  you ;  he  will  tell  him." 

"I  do  not  wish  to  hide  behind  another.     I  will  tell  him  myself." 

"If  you  feel  in  a  condition  to  tell  him  yourself,  that  is  certainly  much  the  bet- 
ter way." 

It  is  evident  that  with  other  persons  —  with  Vera  Pavlovna,  for  instance  —  it 


Hew   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  295 

would  not  have  taken  so  long  to  bring  the  affair  to  a  conclusion.  But  each  tem- 
perament has  its  own  particular  requii-ements :  if  an  ardent  natm'e  is  irritated  by 
delay,  a  gentle  natui-e  on  the  contrary  rebels  against  abruptness. 

The  success  of  Katerina  Vassilievua's  explauatiou  with  her  sweetheart  sur- 
passed the  hopes  of  Kirsanoff,  who  believed  that  Solovtzoff  would  have  wit  enough 
to  drag  the  matter  along  by  his  submission  and  soft  beseechings.  No ;  with  all 
his  reserve  and  tact  Solovtzoff  could  not  restrain  himself  at  seeing  an  enormous 
fortune  escape  him,  and  lie  himself  permitted  the  escape  of  the  few  cliauces  that 
were  left  him.  He  launched  out  in  bitter  complaints  against  Polosoff,  whom  he 
called  an  intriguer,  telling  Katerma  Vassilievna  that  she  allowed  her  father  to 
have  too  nmch  power  over  her,  that  she  feared  him,  antht^iat  in  this  matter  she 
was  acting  in  accordance  with  his  orders.  Kow,  Polosoif  as  yet  knew  nothing 
about  this  resolution  of  his  daughter;  she  felt  that  she  was  entirely  free.  The 
reproaches  heaped  upon  her  father  wounded  her  by  their  injustice,  and  outraged 
her  in  showing  her  that  Solovtzoff  considered  her  a  being  destitute  of  will  and 
character.  '"' 

"You  seem  to  think  me  a  plaything  in  the  hands  of  others." 

"Yes,"  he  said,  thoroughly  irritated. 

"I  was  ready  to  die  without  thinking  of  my  father,  and  you  do  not  understand 
it.     From  this  moment  all  is  over  between  us,"  said  sh(,',  quickly  leaving  the  room. 

Yiir. 

For  a  long  time  Katorina  Yassilievna  was  sad,  but  her  sadness,  whidi  grew  out 
of  these  events,  soon  turned  to  something  else. 

There  are  ciiaracters  who  feel  but  little  interest  in  a  sjx'cial  fact  in  itself  and 
are  only  pushed  by  it  in  the  direction  of  general  ideas,  which  then  act  upon  liiem 
with  Ynurh  greater  intensity.  If  sudi  people  possess  mimls  of  rcinarkaliK;  vigor, 
they  become  reformers  of  general  ideas,  and  in  ancient  times  they  became  great 
philoso[)hi;rH :  Kant,  Ficiite,  Ilegi;],  did  not  elaborate  any  single  s])ecial  (piestion  ; 
such  tasks  they  found  wearisome.  This  refer.s  only  to  men,  be-  it  understood; 
women,  according  to  generally  received  opinion,  never  have  strong  mimis;  nature, 
you  see,  has  denied  them  that,  just  as  it  lias  denied  blacksinitlis  soft  complexions, 
tailors  fine  figures,  and  shoemakers  a  iilcasant  odor.  Wliat  do  you  expect?  Na- 
ture is  queer,  and  tliat  is  why  there  are  so  few  great  min<ls  among  women. 

People  of  uncommonly  small  minds,  witii  svich  a  tendency  of  diaracter,  are  gen- 
erally ]ihlegmatic  and  insuscej>tible ;  those  having  tninds  of  ordinary  calibre  are 
prone  to  melancholy  and  reverie.  Wliicli  does  not  mean  tliat  tliey  let  their  ima- 
ginations run  riot:  many  of  them  are  deficient  in  imagination  and  very  jiositive, 
only  they  love  to  plunge  into  quiet  reverie. 

Katerina  Yassilievna's  love  of  SolovtzolT  had  l)een  inspired  by  his  letters;  she 


29G  Wliat's  To  Be  Done? 

was  dying  of  a  love  created  by  her  imagination.  It  is  evident  from  this  that  she 
had  very  romantic  tendencies,  although  the  noisy  life  of  the  commonplace  society 
which  filled  the  Polosott's'  house  did  not  dispose  her  to  exalted  idealism.  It  was 
one  of  her  traits,  therefore.  The  stir  and  noise  had  long  been  a  burden  on  her ; 
she  loved  to  read  and  dream.  Now  not  only  the  stir,  but  the  wealth  itself,  was  a 
burden  on  her.  It  does  not  necessarily  follow  that  she  was  an  extraordinary  per- 
son. This  feeling  is  common  to  all  rich  women  of  gentle  and  modest  natures. 
Only  in  her  it  had  developed  sooner  than  usual,  the  young  girl  having  received  a 
harsh  lesson  at  an  early  age. 

"In  whom  can  I  believe?  In  what  can  I  believe?"  she  asked  herself,  after  her 
rupture  with  Solovtzoff ;  and  she  was  forced  to  conclude  that  she  could  believe  in 
nol)ody  and  in  nothing.  Her  father's  fortune  attracted  avarice,  strateg;y',  and  de- 
ception from  all  quarters  of  the  city.  She  was  surrounded  by  greedy,  lying,  flat- 
tering people  ;  every  word  spoken  to  her  was  dictated  by  her  father's  millions. 

Her  inner  thoughts  became  more  and  more  serious.  General  questions — con- 
cerning wealth,  which  wearied  her  so  much,  and  poverty,  which  tormented  so 
many  others  —  began  to  interest  her.  Her  father  allowed  her  a  large  amount  of 
pin-monej-;  she — in  that  respect  like  all  charitable  women — helped  the  poor.  At 
the  same  time  she  read  and  reflected ;  she  began  to  see  that  help  of  the  kind  which 
she  lavished  was  much  less  efficacious  than  might  have  been  expected.  She  was 
unworthily  deceived  by  the  base  or  pretended  poor ;  and,  besides,  even  those  who 
were  worthy  of  aid  and  knew  how  to  profit  by  the  money  given  them  could  not 
get  out  of  their  poverty  with  the  alms  which  they  received.  That  made  her  re- 
flect. Why  so  mucli  wealth  in  the  hands  of  some  to  spoil  them,  why  so  much 
poverty  for  others  ?  And  why  did  she  see  so  many  poor  people  who  were  as  un- 
reasonable and  wicked  as  the  rich  ? 

She  was  dreamy,  but  her  dreams  were  mild,  like  her  character,  and  had  as  little 
brilliancy  as  herself.  Iler  favorite  poet  was  Georges  Sand;  but  she  represented 
herself  neither  as  a  Lelia,  or  an  Indiana,  or  a  Cavalcanti,  or  even  a  Consuelo;  in 
her  dreams  she  was  a  Jeanne,  antl  oftener  still  a  Genevieve,  (ienevieve  was  her 
favorite  heroine.  She  saw  her  walking  in  the  fields  and  gathering  flowers  to  serve 
as  models  for  her  work;  she  saw  her  meeting  Andre, — what  sweet  rendezvous! 
Then  they  find  out  that  they  love  each  other ;  those  were  dreams,  she  know.  But 
she  loved  also  to  dream  of  the  enviable  lot  of  Miss  Nightingale,  that  sweet  and 
modest  young  girl,  of  whom  no  one  knows  anything,  of  whom  there  is  nothing  to 
know,  except  that  she  is  the  beloved  of  all  England.  Was  she  young?  Poor  or 
rich?  Was  she  happy  in  her  private  life  or  not?  No  one  speaks  of  that,  no  one 
thinks  of  it,  but  all  bless  the  consoling  angel  of  the  English  hospitals  of  the  Cri- 
mea and  Scutari.  Returning  to  her  country  after  the  war  was  over,  she  had  con- 
tinued to  care  for  the  sick.  Tliis  was  the  dream  that  Katcrina  Vassilievna  would 
have  liked  to  realize  for  herself.     Iler  fancy  did  not  carry  her  beyond  these  reve- 


I^ew   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  297 

ries  about  Genevieve  and  Miss  Nightingale.  Can  it  be  said  that  she  is  given  to 
fantasy  ?     Can  she  be  called  a  dreamer  ? 

Had  Genevieve  been  surrounded  by  the  noisy  and  commonplace  society  of  the 
lowest  rank  of  sharpers  aiid  coxcombs,  had  Miss  Nightingale  been  plunged  into  a 
life  of  idle  luxury,  might  they  not  have  been  sad  and  sorrowful?  Therefore  Kate- 
rina  Vassilievna  was  perhaps  more  rejoiced  than  afflicted  when  her  father  was  ru- 
ined. It  affected  her  to  see  him  grow  old  and  weak,  he  who  was  once  so  strong ; 
it  weigliod  upon  her  also  to  have  less  means  with  which  to  do  good.  The  sudden 
disdain  of  the  crowd  which  had  formerly  fawned  upon  her  and  lier  father  offended 
her  somewhat;  but  this  too  had  its  consoling  side,  —  the  being  abandoned  by  the 
trivial,  wearisome,  and  vile  crowd,  the  being  no  more  disgusted  by  its  baseness 
and  treachery,  the  being  no  more  embarrassed  by  it.  Yes,  now  she  was  tranquil. 
She  recovered  hope. 

"Now,  if  any  one  loves  me,  it  will  be  for  myself,  and  not  for  my  father's  millions." 

IX. 

Polosoff  desired  to  arrange  the  sale  of  the  stearine  factory  of  wliitli  he  was  a 
stockholder  ami  director.  After  six  months  of  assiduous  search,  he  Jinally  found 
a  purchaser.  The  purdiaser's  cards  read:  Charles  Jicnumont,  hxi*:  then'  did  not 
give  tills  name  the  French  pronunciation,  as  persons  unaccpiainted  witli  the  indi- 
vidual might  have  done,  but  the  Englisli ;  and  it  was  very  natural  that  they  should 
so  pronounce  it,  for  the  purchaser  was  the  agent  of  tlie  London  liouse  of  Hodgson, 
Lotcr  &  Co.  Tlie  factory  could  not  prosper;  everything  ahout  it  was  in  liiid  con- 
dition,—  its  finances  and  its  administration;  but  in  more  exj)erieneed  hands  it 
probably  would  yield  large  returns;  an  investment  of  five  or  six  hundred  thousand 
roubles  might  give  an  anini.il  profit  of  a  liiiiKlrcd  IIkmi^iiihI.  The  agent  was  con- 
scientious: In;  carefully  insin-ctted  the  factory,  and  exaiuincd  its  books  with  the 
utmost  minuteness  before  advising  his  liouso  to  purchase.  'I'hen  began  the  dis- 
cussions as  to  tl»e  condition  of  the  business  and  how  much  it  was  worth  ;  these 
(Iragged  along  almost  intcjrminably,  iinui  tin-  v<  ry  naliMe  of  our  stock  companies, 
with  wliich  tlie  [latient  (Jreeks  llieniselves,  who  for  ten  years  did  not  weary  of  be- 
sieging the  city  of  I'roy,  would  havi;  lost  patience;.  During  all  this  lime  I'olosolT, 
in  accordance  with  an  ol<l  custom,  was  very  attentive  to  the  agent  and  always  in- 
vited him  to  dinner.  The  agent  kej)t  liimself  at  a  resjjcctful  distance  from  tlu'  old 
man,  and  for  a  long  time  declined  his  invitations,  but  one  day,  feeling  tired  and 
liungry  after  an  unusually  long  iliscussion  with  the  ilirectors,  he  consented  to  go 
to  dinner  with  Polosoff,  who  lived  on  the  same  fioor. 

X. 

Charles  IVanmont,  like  every  Charles,  .John,  James,  or  William,  was  not  fond  of 
personal  intimacies  and  effusions;   but,  when  asked,  lie  told  his  story  in  a  few 


298  What's  To  Be  Done? 

words,  but  very  clearly.  His  family,  he  said,  was  of  Canadian  origin  ;  in  fact,  in 
Canada  a  good  half  of  the  population  consists  of  descendants  of  French  colonists ; 
to  these  descendants  belonged  his  family ;  hence  his  French  name.  lu  his  features 
he  certainly  resembled  a  Frenchman  more  than  an  Englishman  or  a  Yankee.  But, 
he  continued,  his  grandfather  left  the  suburbs  of  Quebec  and  went  to  New  York 
to  live;  such  things  happen.  Therefore  his  father  went  to  New  York  when  still 
a  child  and  grew  up  there.  ^Vlien  he  became  an  adult  (exactly  at  that  time),  a 
rich  and  progressive  proprietor,  living  in  the  southern  part  of  the  Crimea,  con- 
ceived the  idea  of  replacing  his  vineyards  with  cotton  plantations.  So  he  de- 
spatched an  agent  to  find  an  overseer  for  him  in  North  America.  The  agent  found 
James  Beaumont,  of  Canadian  origin  and  a  resident  of  New  York,  —  that  is,  an 
individual  who  had  no  more  seen  a  cotton  plantation  than  you  or  I,  reader,  liave 
seen  !Mount  Ararat  from  our  St.  Petersburg  or  Kursk ;  progressive  people  are 
always  having  such  experiences.  It  is  true  that  the  experiment  was  in  no  wise 
spoiled  by  the  American  overseer's  complete  ignorance  of  this  branch  of  produc- 
tion, since  it  would  have  been  quite  as  wise  to  try  to  grow  grapes  at  St.  Petersburg 
as  cotton  at  the  Crin)ea.  Nevertheless  this  impossibility  resulted  in  the  overseer's 
discharge,  and  by  chance  he  became  a  distiller  of  brandy  in  the  government  of 
Tambov,  where  he  passed  almost  all  the  rest  of  his  life ;  there  his  son  Charles  was 
born,  and  there,  shortly  afterwards,  he  buried  his  wife.  When  nearly  sixty-five 
years  old,  having  laid  by  a  little  money  for  his  old  age,  he  began  to  tliink  of  re- 
turning to  America,  and  finally  did  return.  Charles  was  then  about  twenty  years 
old.  After  his  father's  death  Charles  desired  to  return  to  Russia,  where  he  was 
born  and  where,  in  the  fields  of  the  government  of  Tambov,  he  had  spent  his 
childhood  and  youth ;  he  felt  himself  a  Russian.  At  New  York  he  was  a  book- 
keeper in  a  counnercial  house;  he  soon  left  this  situation  lor  one  in  the  London 
house  of  Hodgson,  Loter  &  Co. :  ascertaining  that  this  house  did  business  with  St. 
Petersburg,  he  took  the  first  opportunity  to  express  a  desire  of  obtaining  a  place 
in  Russia,  explaining  that  he  knew  Russia  as  if  it  were  his  own  country.  To  have 
such  an  employee  in  Russia  would  evidently  be  of  great  advantage  to  the  house; 
so  it  sent  liira  from  the  London  establishment  on  trial,  and  here  he  is  in  St.  Peters- 
burg, having  been  here  six  months,  on  a  salary  of  five  hundred  pounds.  It  was 
not  at  all  astonishing,  then,  that  Beaumont  spoke  Russian  like  a  Russian  and  pro- 
nounced English  with  a  certain  foreign  accent. 

XL 

Beaumont  found  himself  a  third  at  dinner  with  the  old  gentleman  and  his 
daughter,  a  very  pretty  blonde  with  a  somewhat  melancholy  cast  of  countenance. 

"Could  I  ever  have  thought,"  said  Polosoff  at  dinner,  "that  my  stock  in  this 
factory  would  some  day  be  a  matter  of  importance  to  me?    It  is  very  painful  at 


New   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  299 

my  age  to  fall  from  so  high  a  point.  Fortunately  Katia  has  endured  with  much 
indifference  the  loss  of  her  fortune  sacrificed  by  me.  Even  during  my  life  this 
fortune  belonged  more  to  her  than  to  me.  Her  mother  had  capital ;  as  for  me,  I 
brought  but  little ;  it  is  true  that  I  earned  a  great  deal  and  that  my  labor  did 
more  than  all  the  rest !     What  shrewdness  I  have  had  to  show  1 " 

The  old  man  talked  a  long  time  in  this  boasting  tone;  it  was  by  sweat  and 
blood,  and  above  all  by  brains,  that  he  had  gained  his  fortune ;  and  in  conclusion 
he  repeated  his  preface  that  it  was  painful  to  fall  from  so  high  a  point,  and  that, 
if  Katia  had  been  consumed  with  sorrow  because  of  it,  he  probably  would  have 
gone  mad,  but  that  Katia,  far  from  complaining,  still  encouraged  and  sustained 
him. 

In  accordance  with  the  American  habit  of  seeing  nothing  extraordinary  in 
rapid  fortune  or  sudden  ruin,  and  in  accordance  also  with  his  individual  charac- 
ter, Beaumont  was  not  inclined  either  to  be  delighted  at  the  greatness  of  mind 
which  had  succeeded  in  acquiring  three  or  four  millions,  or  to  be  afflicted  at  a  ruin 
which  still  permitted  the  employment  of  a  good  cook.  But,  as  it  was  necessary  to 
say  a  word  of  sympathy  in  answer  to  this  long  discourse,  he  remarked : 

"Yes,  it  is  a  great  relief  when  one's  family  bears  up  so  well  under  reverses." 

"But  you  seem  to  doubt  it,  Karl  lakovlitch.  You  think  that,  because  Katia  is 
melancholy,  she  mourns  the  loss  of  wealth?  No,  Karl  lakovlitch,  you  wrong  her. 
We  have  experienced  another  misfortune:  we  have  lost  confidence  in  everybody," 
said  PolosoiT,  in  the  halt-serious,  hall-jocose  tone  used  by  experienced  old  men  in 
speaking  of  the  good  but  na'ice  thoughts  of  children. 

Katdrina  Vassilievna  blushed.  It  was  distasteful  to  lier  to  have  hm-  father  turn 
the  conversation  upon  the  sul)j(;ct  of  her  feelings.  Besides  paternal  love  there  was 
aufither  circumstance  that  went  far  to  excuse  her  father's  fault.  When  one  has 
nothing  to  say  and  is  in  a  room  where  there  is  a  cat  or  a  dog,  ho  speaks  of  it,  and, 
if  there  is  no  cat  or  dog,  lie  speaks  of  children;  not  until  tiiese  two  subjects  are 
exhaustcfl  drx's  he  talk  about  the  rain  and  the  fnie  wcatlicr. 

"No,  papa,  you  are  wrong  in  attiiimting  iny  melancholy  to  so  lolly  a  motive.  It 
is  not  my  nature  to  be  gay,  and,  besides,  I  am  Kulfering  from  t'linui." 

"One  may  be  gay  or  not,  according  to  circumstances,"  said  Beaumont;  "but  to 
suffer  from  fntiul  i.-(,  in  my  opinion,  un]iardonable.  ICimul  is  the  fasliion  among 
our  brolhers,  the  English,  but  we  Americans  know  nolliing  about  it.    A\'e  have  no 

time  for  it:  we  are  too  busy.     I  consider It  seems  to  me,"  he  resumed, 

correcting  his  Americanism,  "tliat  tlie  same  should  bo  true  of  the  Uussian  people 
also:  in  my  opinion  you  have  too  miieh  to  ilo.  But  I  notice  in  the  IJussians  just 
the  opposite  characteristic:  they  are  strongly  disposed  to  spleen.  Even  the  Eng- 
lish are  not  to  be  compared  with  tliem  in  this  respect.  English  society,  looked 
upon  by  all  Europe,  including  Russia,  as  the  most  tiresome  in  the  world,  is  more 
talkative,  lively,  and  gay  tlian  Ilussiau  society,  Just  as  it  yields  the  palm  to  French 


300  Jnat's  To  Be  Done? 

society  in  this  particular.  Your  travellers  talk  of  English  spleen ;  I  do  not  know 
where  their  eyes  are  when  they  are  in  their  own  country." 

"And  the  Russians  have  reason  to  feel  ejinui," said  Katerina  Vassilievna ;  "what 
can  they  busy  themselves  about?  They  have  nothing  to  do.  They  must  sit  with 
folded  arms.     >.'ame  me  an  occupation,  and  my  e7inui.  probably  will  vanish." 

"You  wish  to  find  an  occupation  ?  Oh  I  that  is  not  so  dDhcult ;  you  see  around 
you  such  ignorance,  —  pardon  me  for  speaking  in  this  way  of  your  country,  of  your 
native  country,"  he  hastened  to  add  in  correction  of  his  Anglicism;  "but  I  was 
born  hei-e  myself  and  gTCw  up  liere,  and  I  consider  it  as  my  own,  and  so  I  do  not 
stand  on  ceremony, — you  see  here  a  Turkish  ignorance,  a  Japanese  indifference : 
1  hate  your  native  country,  since  I  love  it  as  my  own  country,  may  I  say,  in  imi- 
tation of  j-our  poet.     Why,  there  are  many  things  to  be  done." 

"Yes,  but  what  can  one  man  do,  to  say  nothing  of  one  woman?" 

"Why,  you  are  doing  already,  Katia,"  said  Polosoif ;  "  I  will  unveil  her  secret  for 
you,  Karl  lakovlitch.  To  drive  away  ennui  she  teaches  little  girls.  Every  day  she 
receives  her  scholars,  and  she  devotes  three  hours  to  them  and  sometimes  even 
more." 

Beaumont  looked  at  the  young  girl  with  esteem :  "  That  is  American.  By 
America  I  mean  only  the  free  States  of  the  North ;  the  Southern  States  are  worse 
than  all  possible  Mexicos,  are  almost  as  abominable  as  Brazil  [Beaumont  was  a 
furious  al)o]itionist]  ;  it  is  like  us  to  teach  children  ;  but  then,  why  do  you  suffer 
from  ennui?" 

"  Do  you  consider  that  a  serious  occupation,  M.  Beaumont  ?  It  is  but  a  distrac- 
tion ;  at  least,  so  it  seems  to  me ;  perhaps  I  am  mistaken,  and  you  will  call  me 
materialistic?" 

"Do  you  expect  such  a  reproach  from  a  man  belonging  to  a  nation  which  every- 
body reproaches  with  having  no  other  thought,  no  other  ideal,  than  dollars?" 

"  You  jest,  but  I  am  seriously  afraid ;  I  fear  to  state  my  opinions  on  this  subject 
before  you ;  my  views  might  seem  to  you  like  those  preached  by  the  obscurantists 
concerning  the  uselessness  of  instruction." 

"Bravo!"  said  Beaumont  to  himself:  "is  it  possible  that  she  can  have  arrived 
at  this  idea?     This  is  getting  interesting." 

Then  he  continued  aloud:  "I  am  an  obscurantist  myself;  I  am  for  the  unlet- 
tered Vjlacks  against  their  civilized  proprietors  in  the  Southern  States.  But  par- 
don me;  my  American  hatred  has  diverted  me.  It  would  be  very  agreeable  to  me 
to  hear  your  opinion." 

"  It  is  veiy  prosaic,  M.  Beaumont,  but  I  have  been  led  to  it  by  life.  It  seems  to 
me  that  the  matter  with  which  I  occupy  myself  is  l>ut  one  side  of  the  whole,  and, 
moreover,  not  the  side  upon  which  the  attention  of  those  who  wisVi  to  serve  the 
people  should  be  first  fixed.  This  is  what  I  think :  give  people  bread,  and  they 
will  learn  to  read  themselves.  It  is  necessary  to  begin  with  the  bread ;  otherwise 
it  will  be  time  wasted." 


New   CJiaraders  and  the   Conclusion.  301 

"Then  -why  don't  you  commence  at  the  necessary  point?"  said  Beaumont,  akeady 
a  little  animated.    "  It  is  possible ;  I  know  examples,  with  us  in  America,"  he  added. 

"I  have  already  told  you  why,  "What  can  I  undertake  alone?  I  do  not  know 
how  to  go  to  work ;  and,  even  if  I  knew,  could  I  do  it?  A  young  girl  is  so  ham- 
pered in  every  direction.  I  am  free  in  my  own  room.  But  what  can  I  do  there? 
Put  a  book  on  the  table  and  teach  people  to  read  it.  Where  can  I  go?  What  can 
I  do  alone?" 

"  Are  you  trying  to  make  me  out  a  despot,  Katia?"  said  the  father:  "but  it  is 
not  my  fault,  you  having  given  me  so  severe  a  lesson." 

"I  blush  at  the  thought,  papa;  I  was  then  a  child.  No,  you  are  good,  you  do 
not  thwart  me.  It  is  society  that  thwarts  me.  Is  it  true,  M.  Beaumont,  that  in 
America  a  young  girl  is  much  less  hampered?" 

"  Yes,  we  may  be  proud  of  it,  although  we  are  far  from  where  we  ought  to  be ; 
but  what  a  comparison  with  Europeans !  All  that  you  hear  about  the  liberty  of 
woman  in  our  counti-y  is  really  the  truth." 

"  Papa,  let  us  go  to  America,  after  M.  Beaumont  has  bought  the  factory,"  said 
Katerina  Vassilievna,  jokingly:  "tliere  I  will  do  something.  Ahl  how  happy  I 
should  be!" 

"One  may  find  an  occupation  at  St.  Petersburg  also,"  said  Beaumont. 

"How?" 

Beaumont  hesitated  two  or  three  seconds.  "But  why,  then,  did  I  come  here? 
And  who  could  better  inform  meV"  said  he  to  himself. 

"Have  you  not  heard  of  it?  There  is  an  attempt  in  progress  to  apply  the  prin- 
ciples lately  deduced  by  economic  science:  are  you  familiar  with  them?" 

"Yes,  I  have  read  a  little  aboi-.t  thoin;  that  must  Im  very  interesting  and  very 
useful.     And  could  I  take  part  in  it?     Where  shall  1  find  it?" 

"The  shop  was  founded  by  Madame  KirsanolT." 

"Is  she  the  doctor's  wife?" 

"You  know  him?     And  has  he  said  nolliing  to  you  about  tins  matter?" 

"  A  long  time  ago.  Then  he  was  not  married.  I  was  sick  ;  he  came  several  times, 
and  saved  me.     Ah!  what  a  man!     Docs  she  reseml)le  him?" 

But  how  make  Madame  Kirsanov's  acquaintance?  Could  Beaiunont  give  Kat<S- 
rina  Vassilievna  a  letter  of  introduction  to  Madame  Kirsanoff  ?  Wliat  was  the  use? 
Tho  Kirsanoffs  had  never  even  hoard  his  name;  but  no  introduction  was  necessary: 
Madame  Kirsanoff  surely  would  l)e  very  glad  to  find  so  much  sympatliy.  As  for 
lier  address,  it  would  have  to  be  ascertained  at  the  hospital  or  the  Academy  of 
Medicine. 

XII. 

Such  was  the  way  in  which  Mademoiselle  Polosoff  came  to  know  Vera  Pavlovna; 
she  called  upon  the  latter  the  following  morning;  and  Beaumont  was  so  interested 
in  the  matter  that  he  came  in  the  evening  to  inquire  about  her  visit. 


302  mat's  To  Be  Done? 

Katerina  Vassilievna  was  very  animated.  There  was  no  trace  of  her  sorrow  left; 
ecstasy  had  replaced  melancholy.  She  described  to  Beaumont,  with  enthusiasm, 
what  she  had  seen  and  heard;  she  had  already  told  the  story  to  her  fathei',  but  it 
was  impossible  for  her  to  weary  of  it;  her  heart  was  so  full :  she  had  found  an  at- 
tractive occupation.  Beaumont  listened  attentively;  but  does  one  listen  like  that? 
And  she  said  to  him,  almost  angrily:  "M.  Beaumont,  I  am  beginning  to  be  disen- 
chanted with  you:  is  it  possible  that  you  can  be  so  little  impressed?  One  would 
suppose  that  you  felt  almost  no  interest." 

"Do  not  forget,  Katerina  Vassilievna,  that  I  have  seen  all  this  in  America;  I  am 
interested  in  a  few  of  the  details;  but  as  a  whole  I  know  it  only  too  well.  It  is 
only  in  the  persons  who  have  taken  this  initiative  here  that  I  can  be  much  inter- 
ested.    For  instance,  what  can  you  tell  me  of  Madame  Kirsanoff?" 

"  Ah,  my  God!  she  certainly  pleased  me  much.  She  explained  everything  to  me 
with  so  much  ardor." 

"You  have  already  said  so." 

"What  more  do  you  want?  What  else  could  I  tell  you?  Could  you  expect  me, 
indeed,  to  be  thinking  of  her,  when  I  had  such  a  sight  before  my  eyes?" 

"I  understand  that  one  entirely  forgets  persons  when  interested  in  things;  but 
nevertheless  what  else  can  you  tell  me  of  Madame  Kirsanoff?" 

Katerina  Vassilievna  called  up  her  recollections  of  Vera  Pavlovna,  but  found  in 
them  only  the- first  impression  that  Vera  Pavlovna  had  made  upon  her;  she  de- 
scribed very  vividly  her  external  appearance,  her  manner  of  speech,  all  that  one 
sees  at  a  glance  when  first  meeting  a  stranger;  but  beyond  this  there  was  almost 
nothing  in  her  memory  relating  to  Vera  Pavlovna:  the  shop,  the  shop,  the  shop, — 
and  Vera  Pavlovna's  explanations.  These  explanations  she  understood  thoroughly, 
but  Vera  Pavlovna  herself  she  understood  but  very  little. 

"For  this  once,  then,  you  have  disappointed  my  hopes;  I  should  have  been  very 
glad  to  learn  something  from  yDu  as  to  Madame  Kirsanoff;  nevertheless  I  do  not 
release  you;  in  a  few  days  I  will  question  you  again  on  this  subject." 

"But  why  not  make  her  acquaintance,  if  she  interests  you  so  much?" 

"I  should  like  to  do  so;  perhaps  I  shall  some  day.  But  first  I  must  learn  more 
about  her." 

Beaumont  was  silent  for  a  few  moments. 

"  I  am  considering  whether  I  should  ask  a  favor  of  you.  Yes,  it  is  better  that  I 
should.  This  is  it:  if  my  name  happens  to  be  mentioned  in  your  conversations 
with  them,  do  not  say  that  I  have  questioned  you  about  her,  or  that  it  is  my  inten- 
tion to  sometime  make  her  acquaintance." 

"But  this  is  getting  enigmatical,  M.  Beaumont,"  said  Katdrina  Vassilievna,  in 
a  serious  tone.  "Through  me  as  an  intermediary  you  wish  to  obtain  information 
about  them,  while  you  remain  concealed  yourself?" 

"Yes,  Katerina  Vassilievna;  how  shall  I  explain  it  to  you?  I  fear  to  make  their 
acquaintance." 


New   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  803 

"  All  this  is  very  strange,  M.  Beaumont." 

"  True.  I  will  say  more :  I  fear  that  it  may  be  disagreeable  to  them.  They  have 
never  heard  my  name.  But  I  have  had  something  to  do  witli  one  of  their  relatives, 
and  even  with  them.  In  short,  I  must  first  be  sure  that  it  would  be  agreeable  to 
them  to  make  my  acquaintance." 

"  All  this  is  strange,  M.  Beaumont." 

"I  a  A  an  honest  man,  Katdrina  Vassilievna;  I  venture  to  assure  you  that  I  shall 
never  permit  myself  to  compromise  you;  I  see  you  now  only  for  the  second  time, 
but  already  I  esteem  you." 

"I  see  for  myself,  M.  Beaumont,  that  you  are  an  honest  man;  but" 

"If  you  think  me  an  honest  man,  you  will  permit  me  to  come  to  see  you  in  order 
that,  as  soon  as  you  shall  feel  entirely  sure  about  me,  I  may  ask  you  for  details 
aliout  the  Kirsanoffs.  Or  rather,  you  shall  break  the  silence  yourself,  whenever  it 
may  seem  to  you  that  you  can  satisfy  the  request  which  I  have  just  made  of  you 
and  which  I  shall  not  renew.     Are  you  willing?" 

"Certainly,  M.  Beaumont,"  said  Katerina  Vassilievna,  slightly  shrugging  her 
shoulders.     "But  confess,  then" 

This  time  she  did  not  wisli  to  finish. 

"That  I  must  now  inspire  you  with  some  mistrust?  True.  But  I  will  wait  til] 
that  has  disappeared." 

XIII. 

Beaumont  visited  the  Polosoffs  very  often.  "Why  not?"  thought  the  old  man : 
"he  is  a  good  match.  Certainly  he  is  not  such  a  hnsban<l  as  Kalia  mit;;ht  once 
have  had.  But  then  she  was  neither  concerned  nor  ambitious.  Now  one  could 
not  ask  a  better." 

In  fact,  Beaumont  was  a  good  matfli.  lie  said  that  hf>  llioUL;ht  of  living,'  in 
Russia  for  the  rest  of  his  days,  as  he  regarded  it  as  his  native  country.  Here  was 
a  positive  man;  at  thirty  years,  thougli  Imrn  poor,  he  liad  a  good  position  in  life. 
If  he  had  been  a  Russian,  Polosoff  would  liave  liked  it  liad  he  been  a  ii(iI)I(Mnan, 
but  in  the  case  of  foreigners  this  is  not  an  important  consideration,  especially  when 
they  arc  Frenclimen  and  still  less  wlien  they  arc  Americans.  In  America  one  may 
be  today  in  the  employ  of  a  shoemaker  or  a  farmer,  loniormw  a  general,  the  day 
after  president,  and  then  again  a  clerk  or  a  lawyer.  They  are  a  peoi)le  apart,  judg- 
ing individuals  only  by  their  wealth  and  their  capacities.  "And  they  aro  quite 
right,"  reflected  PolosofF;  "I  am  such  a  man  myself.  I  began  in  commerce  and 
married  a  merchant's  daughter.  Money  is  the  mo«t  important  thing;  brains  also, 
to  be  sure,  for  without  brains  one  caimot  get  money:  he  has  taken  a  good  road, 
lie  will  buy  the  factory  and  be  its  manager;  then  he  will  become  a  partner  in  the 
house.     And  their  houses  are  not  like  ours.     He,  too,  will  control  millions." 


304  Jnat's   To  Be  Bone? 

It  was  very  probable  that  Polosoff "s  dreams  concerning  his  future  son-in-law  wore 
no  more  to  be  realized  than  the  similar  dreams  of  Maria  Alexevna.  But,  however 
tliat  may  be,  Beaumont  was  a  good  match  for  Katc'rina  Vassilievna. 

Was  not  PolosofE  mistaken,  nevertheless,  in  his  prevision  of  a  son-in-law  in  Beau- 
mont? If  the  old  man  had  had  any  doubts  at  first,  these  doubts  would  have  dis- 
appeared when  Beaumont,  two  weeks  after  he  had  begun  to  visit  them,  said  that 
it  was  very  probable  that  the  purchase  of  the  factory  would  be  delayed  a  f%w  days; 
at  anj'  rate  he  wished  to  defer  the  drawing-up  of  the  contract,  as  he  was  waiting 
for  Mr.  Loter,  who  would  soon  arrive  at  St.  Petersbm-g.  '-At  first,  when  I  was  not 
personally  acquainted  with  you,"  added  Beaumont,  "I  wanted  to  conclude  the  mat- 
ter myself.  Now  that  we  are  so  well  acquainted,  this  would  not  be  proper.  And 
that  later  there  may  be  no  misunderstandings,  I  have  written  to  my  employers  that, 
during  the  negotiations,  I  have  made  the  acquaintance  of  the  manager  and  princi- 
pal stockholder,  who  has  nearly  his  entire  fortune  invested  in  the  factory,  and  have 
asked,  in  consequence,  that  the  house  should  send  some  one  to  conclude  the  nego- 
tiations in  my  place;  that  is  the  reason,  you  see,  why  Mr.  Loter  is  coming." 

Prudence  and  wisdom,  —  these  showed  clearly  an  intention  to  marry  Katia:  a 
simple  acquaintance  would  not  have  been  enough  to  prompt  such  precaution. 

XIV. 

The  next  two  or  three  visits  of  Beaumont  were  marked  at  first  "by  a  rather  cold 
welcome  orr  the  part  of  Katerina  Vassilievna.  She  began  indeed  to  feel  a  little  dis- 
trust of  this  comparative  stranger,  who  had  expressed  an  enigmatical  desire  for 
information  concerning  a  family  to  whom,  if  he  were  to  be  believed,  he  was  not 
known,  and  yet  feared  to  make  their  acquaintance  in  the  absence  of  knowledge 
that  his  acquaintance  would  be  agreeable.  But  even  during  these  first  visits, 
though  Katerina  Vassilievna  viewed  him  with  distrust,  she  nevertheless  was  quickly 
drawn  into  lively  conversation  with  him.  In  her  past  life,  before  making  the  ac- 
quaintance of  Kirsanoif,  she  had  never  met  such  men.  He  sympathized  so  much 
with  all  that  interested  her,  and  understood  her  so  well!  Even  with  her  dearest 
friends  (for  that  matter,  properly  speaking,  she  had  but  a  single  friend,  Polina, 
who  had  long  been  living  at  Moscow,  after  her  marriage  to  a  manufacturer  of  that 
city),  even  with  Polina  she  did  not  converse  so  much  at  her  case  as  with  him. 

And  he  at  first  came,  not,  of  course,  to  see  her,  but  to  inquire  about  the  Kir- 
sanofEs;  nevertheless  from  the  very  first,  from  the  moment  when  they  began  to 
talk  of  ennui  and  the  means  of  escaping  it,  it  was  plain  that  he  esteemed  her  and 
was  in  sjinpathy  with  her.  At  their  .second  interview  he  was  very  much  drawn  to 
her  by  her  enthusiasm  at  having  found  a  useful  occupation.  Now  at  each  new  in- 
terview his  good  feeling  toward  her  became  more  evident.  Straightway  a  friend- 
ship of  the  simplest  and  most  fervent  sort  was  formed  between  them,  so  that  a 


I^ew   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  305 

week  later  Katerina  Yassilievna  had  already  told  him  all  that  she  knew  about  the 
Kirsanoffs :  she  was  sure  that  this  man  was  incapable  of  entertaining  an  evil  design. 

It  is  none  the  less  true  that,  when  she  broached  the  subject  of  the  Ku'sanoffs,  he 
stopped  her. 

"  Why  so  soon  ?    You  know  me  too  little." 

"No,  I  know  you  enough,  M.  Beaumont;  I  see  that  your  unwillingness  to  explain 
to  me  what  seemed  strange  in  your  desire  was  probably  due  to  the  fact  that  you 
had  no  right  to  do  so;  there  are  secrets." 

To  which  he  answered : 

"And,  you  see,  I  am  no  longer  so  impatient  to  know  what  I  desired  to  learn 
about  tliem." 


XV. 

Katdrina  Vassilievna's  animation  continued  without  weakening,  but  it  changed 
into  a  perpetual  playfulness  full  of  luminous  humor.  It  was  precisely  this  anima- 
tion which  most  drew  Beaumont  to  her;  that  was  very  evident.  After  liaving  lis- 
tened two  or  three  times  to  tlie  stories  that  she  told  liiTu  regarding  the  Kirsanoffs, 
he  said  to  her  the  fourth  time:  "Now  I  know  all  that  I  had  to  find  out.  I  thank 
you." 

"But  what  do  you  know,  then?  I  have  only  told  you  so  far  that  they  love  each 
other  and  are  very  happy." 

"That  is  all  that  I  liad  to  find  out;  besides,  I  knew  it." 

And  tlie  subject  of  conversation  changed. 

The  first  thought  of  Katerina  Vassilicvjia,  on  hearing  Beaumont's  first  question 
about  Madame  Kirsanoff,  had  been  that  ho  was  enamored  of  her.  But  now  it  was 
clear  that  such  was  not  tlie  case. 

As  well  a.s  Katerina  Yassilievna  now  knew  him,  she  even  believed  tli;it  Iicaii- 
mont  was  not  capable  of  becoming  enamored.  "Love  he  may.  But  if  he  loves 
anybody  now,  it  is  I,"  thouglit  Katerina  Yassilievna. 

XV  I. 

But  did  they  really  love  each  other?  Did  she,  for  instance,  love  him?  On  one 
occasion  she  showed  some  feeling  for  Beaumont;  but  how  it  ended  I  Not  at  all  as 
the  beginning  would  have  led  one  to  exjiect. 

Beaumont  came  to  tlie  rolosofTs'  every  day  for  longer  or  shorter  calls,  but  every 
day;  it  was  precisely  on  that  ffict  that  PolosofE  based  his  assurance  that  Beaumont 
intended  to  ask  for  Katerina  Vassilievna's  hand;  there  were  no  other  indications. 
One  day  the  evening  went  by,  and  Beaumont  did  not  come. 

"You  do  not  If  now  what  has  become  of  him,  papa?" 


306  What's  To  Be  Done? 

"I  know  nothing  about  it;  probably  he  did  not  have  time." 

Another  evening  passed,  and  still  Beaumont  did  not  come.  The  next  morning 
Katerina  Vassilievna  was  getting  ready  to  go  out. 

"Where  are  you  going,  Katia?" 

"  To  attend  to  some  affairs  of  mine." 

She  went  to  see  Beaumont.  He  was  sitting  down,  in  an  overcoat  with  large 
sleeves,  and  reading;  he  raised  his  eyes  from  his  book  when  he  saw  the  door  open. 

"Ah!  it  is  you,  Katerina  Vassilievna?  I  am  very  glad,  and  I  thank  you  very 
much." 

This  was  said  in  the  same  tone  in  which  he  would  have  greeted  her  father,  ex- 
cept that  it  was  a  little  more  affable. 

"What  is  the  matter  with  you,  M.  Beaumont?  Why  have  you  stayed  away  so 
long?  You  have  made  me  anxious  about  you,  and,  besides,  you  have  made  time 
hang  heavy  on  my  hands." 

"Xothing  of  importance,  Katerina  Vassilievna;  I  am  well,  as  you  see.  Will  you 
not  take  some  tea?     See,  I  am  drinking  some." 

"Very  well,  but  why  is  it  so  long  since  we  have  seen  you?" 

"Peter,  bring  a  cup.  You  see,  I  am  well;  there  is  nothing  the  matter,  then. 
Stop!  I  have  been  to  the  factory  with  Mr.  Loter,  and,  in  explaining  it  to  him,  I 
was  careless  and  placed  my  arm  on  some  gearing,  which  scratched  it.  And  neither 
yesterday  nor  the  day  before  could  T  put  on  my  undercoat." 

"Show  me  your  arm;  else  I  shall  be  anxious  and  believe  that  yon  are  mutilated." 

"Oh!  no  [Peter  entered  with  a  cup  for  Katerina  Vassilievna],  I  really  have  my 
two  hands.  But  then,  if  you  insist  [he  pulled  his  sleeve  up  to  his  elbow].  Peter, 
empty  this  ash-receiver  and  give  me  my  cigar-case;  it  is  on  the  table  in  the  study. 
You  see  that  it  is  nothing;  it  needed  nothing  but  some  court-plaster." 

"Nothing?    It  is  swollen  and  very  red." 
•  "Yesterday  it  was  much  worse,  tomorrow  it  will  be  well.     [After  emptying  the 
ash-receiver  and  bringing  the  cigar-case,  Peter  withdrew.]     I  did  not  want  to  ap- 
pear before  you  as  a  wounded  hero." 

"But  why  did  you  not  write  a  word?" 

"Oh!  at  first  I  thought  that  I  should  be  able  to  wear  my  imdercoat  the  next 
day, — that  is,  day  before  yesterday,  —  day  before  yesterday  I  thought  that  I  should 
be  able  to  wear  it  yesterday,  and  yesterday  today.  I  thought  it  not  worth  while  to 
trouble  you." 

"  And  you  have  troubled  me  much  more.  Your  conduct  was  not  good,  M.  Beau- 
mont.    When  will  this  matter  of  the  sale  be  finished?" 

"One  of  these  days,  probably,  but,  you  know,  this  delay  is  not  my  fault,  or  Mr. 
Loter's,  but  that  of  the  corporation  itself." 

"^Vhat  are  you  reading?" 

"  Thackeray's  new  novel.  To  have  such  talent  and  repeat  the  same  thing  ever- 
lastingly I     It  is  because  his  stock  of  ideas  is  small." 


iVezo   Characters  and  the  Conclusion.  307 

"I  have  already  read  it;  in  fact,"  etc. 
.  They  lamented  the  fall  of  Thackeray,  and  talked  for  half  an  hour  about  other 
similar  matters. 

"  But  it  is  time  to  go  to  Vera  Pavlovna's ;  and,  by  the  way,  when  will  you  make 
their  acquaintance?     They  are  excellent  people." 

"Some  day  or  other  I  will  ask  you  to  take  nxe.  there.  I  thank  you  very  much  for 
your  visit.     Is  that  your  horse?" 

"Yes,  that  is  mine." 

"That  is  why  your  father  never  uses  it.     It  is  a  fine  horse." 

"  It  seems  to  me  so,  but  I  know  nothing  about  it." 

"It  is  a  very  good  horse.  Monsieur,  worth  about  three  hundred  and  fifty  roubles, 
said  the  coachman.  , 

"How  old  is  it?" 

"Six  years,  i\Ionsieur." 

"Go  on,  Zakliar,  I  am  ready.     Au  revoir,  M.  Beaumont;  will  you  come  today?" 

"  I  doubt  it  ....  no ;  tomorrow,  surely." 

XVII. 

Do  young  girls  who  are  in  love  make  sucli  visits  as  these?  In  the  first  place,  no 
weH-bred  young  girl  would  ever  permit  herself  to  do  anything  of  the  kind;  but,  if 
she  should  permit  herself,  evidently  something  very  different  would  rcsull  fn mi  it. 
If  Katerina  Vassilievna's  act  is  contrary  to  moralily,  (lie  content  of  tliis  iiiiinoral 
act,  so  to  speak,  is  still  more  contrary  to  all  received  ideas.  Is  it  nut  clear  that 
Katc'Tina  V.-ussilievna  and  Beaumont  were  not  liunian  beings,  l)ut  fishes,  or,  if  they 
were  human  beings,  that  they  at  le.'ist  liad  lislies'  IiJikkI  in  lln-ir  veins?  Ami  when 
she  saw  liim  at  her  liomc,  she  treated  him  in  a  niiinnrr  (|iiite  in  e(Miforniit y  with 
tliis  interview. 

"I  am  tired  fif  talking,  M.  Beaumont,"  said  she,  when  he  stayed  too  long;  "stay 
with  papa;  I  am  going  to  my  room." 

And  she  went  out.     Sometimes  ho  answered: 

"Slay  fifteeji  minutes  longer,  Katerina  Vassiliovna." 

"Very  well,"  slu^  then  replied. 

But  generally  he  answered : 

"An  revoir,  then,  Katdriua  Vassiliovna." 

What  sort  of  peojile  are  tliese,  I  should  like  to  know;  and  I  slmuld  like  to  know 
also  if  they  are  not  simply  honest  people,  whom  no  one  j>revents  from  set'ing  each 
other  in  their  own  fasliion,  whom  no  one  will  prevent  from  marrying  whenever  the 
idea  occurs  to  them,  and  who,  consequently,  have  no  reason  to  bear  up  against  ob- 
stacles. Yet  I  am  embarrassed  by  tlie  coolness  of  their  association,  not  so  much 
on  their  account  as  on  my  own.     Am  I  condemned,  in  my  capacity  of  novelist,  to 


308  ^nat's  To  Be  Done? 

compromise  all  my  heroes  and  heroines  in  the  eyes  of  well-bred  people  ?     Some  eat 
and  drink,  others  do  not  get  excited  without  reason:  what  an  uninteresting  set! 

XVIII. 

And  yet,  in  the  opinion  of  the  aged  Polosoff,  the  affair  meant  marriage.  Con- 
siderhig  the  nature  of  the  relations  between  the  supposed  lovers,  how  could  he 
imagine  such  a  thing?  Had  he  not  lieard  their  conversations?  Not  always,  it  is 
true;  sometimes  they  stayed  with  him,  but  oftener  went  to  sit  or  promenade  in 
other  rooms.  It  is  true  that  this  did  not  change  at  all  the  character  of  their  con- 
versation. These  conversations  were  such  that  a  connoisseur  in  matters  of  the  hu- 
man heart  (a  human  heart  which  men  really  do  not  have)  would  have  lost  all  hope 
of  ever  seeing  Katerina  Vassilievna  and  Beaumont  married.  Not  that  they  did 
not  talk  of  sentiments  to  each  other;  they  talked  of  those  as  they  did  of  everything 
else,  but  only  a  little  and  in  what  a  tone!  In  a  tone  that  was  revolting,  so  calm 
was  it  and  so  horri>)le  in  the  eccentricity  of  the  thoughts  expressed.  Here  is  an 
example.  A  week  after  the  visit  for  which  Beaumont  had  "  very  much  thanked  " 
Katerina  Vassilievna,  and  two  months  after  the  beginning  of  their  acquaintance, 
the  sale  of  the  factory  was  consummated;  I\Ir.  Loter  was  getting  ready  to  start  the 
next  day  (and  he  started;  expect  no  catastrophe  from  his  departure;  after  having 
completed  the  commercial  transaction  as  a  merchant  should,  he  notified  Beaumont 
that  the  house  appointed  him  manager  of  the  factory  at  a  salary  of  a  thousand 
pounds  sterling;  that  is  what  need  he  expected,  and  that  is  all;  what  need  he  has 
of  mingling  in  anything  but  commerce  judge  for  yourself);  the  stockholders,  in- 
cluding Polosoff,  were  to  receive  the  very  next  day  (and  they  did  receive  it;  expect 
no  catastrophe  here  either:  the  house  of  Hodgson,  Loter  &  Co.  is  very  solid)  half 
of  the  sum  in  cash  and  half  in  bills  of  exchange  payable  in  three  months.  Polo- 
soff, perfectly  satisfied,  was  seated  at  a  table  in  the  drawing-room,  turning  over  liis 
business  papers,  and  half  listening  to  his  daughter's  conversation  with  Beaumont 
as  they  passed  through  the  drawing-room:  they  were  promenading  in  the  four 
apartments  facing  tlie  street. 

"If  a  woman,  a  young  girl,  is  hampered  by  prejudices,"  said  Beaumont,  without 
further  Anglicisms  or  Americanisms,  "man  too — I  speak  of  honest  men  —  suffers 
great  annoyance  thereby.  How  can  one  marry  a  young  girl  who  has  had  no  expe- 
rience in  the  daily  relations  which  will  result  from  her  consent  to  the  proposition? 
She  cannot  judge  whether  daily  life  with  a  man  of  such  a  character  as  her  sweet- 
heart will  please  her  or  not." 

"But,  M.  Beaumont,  if  her  relations  with  this  man  have  been  daily,  that  surely 
gives  her  a  certain  guarantee  of  mutual  happiness." 

"A  certain,  —  yes;  nevertheless  it  would  be  much  surer  if  the  test  were  more 
thorough.     The  young  girl,  from  the  nature  of  the  relations  permitted  her,  do38 


^eio   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  309 

not  know  enough  about  marriage;  consequently  for  her  it  is  an  enormous  risk.  It 
is  the  same  with  an  honest  man  who  marries.  Only  he  can  judge  in  a  general  way; 
he  is  well  acquainted  with  women  of  various  characters,  and  knows  what  character 
suits  him  best.     She  has  no  such  experience." 

"But  she  has  had  a  chance  to  observe  life  and  characters  iu  her  family  and 
among  her  acquaintances;  she  has  had  excellent  opportunities  for  reflection." 

"All  that  is  very  fine,  but  it  is  not  sufficient.  There  is  no  substitute  for  per- 
sonal experience." 

"You  would  have  only  widows  marry,"  said  Katerina  Vassilievna,  laughing. 

"Your  expression  is  a  very  happy  one.  Only  widows.  I'oung  girls  should  be 
forbidden  to  marry." 

"  You  are  right,"  said  Katerina  Vassilievna,  seriously. 

At  first  it  seemed  very  queer  to  Polosoff  to  hear  such  conversations  or  parts  of 
conversations.  But  now  he  was  souiewhat  accustomed  to  it,  and  said  to  himself : 
"  I  too  am  a  man  devoid  of  prejudices.  I  went  into  commerce  and  married  a  mer- 
chant's daughter." 

The  next  day  this  part  of  the  conversation,  —  the  general  conversation  was  usu- 
ally devoted  to  otiier  subjects, — this  part  of  the  couversation  of  the  night  before 
continued  as  follows: 

"You  have  told  me  the  stoiy  of  your  love  for  Solovtzoif.  But  what  was  this? 
It  was" 

"We  will  sit  down,  if  it  is  all  the  same  to  you.     I  am  tired  of  walking." 

"Very  well.  It  was,  I  say,  a  childish  sentiment,  about  whicii  there  was  no  secu- 
rity. It  is  a  good  subject  for  jest,  when  you  look  back  to  it,  and  also  for  grief,  if 
you  will,  for  it  had  a  very  sad  side.  You  were  saved  only  by  a  very  unusual  circum- 
stanco,  because  the  matter  fell  into  the  hands  of  a  man,  like  Alexander." 

"WhoV" 

"Matveitch  KirsanofF,"  he  finisluid,  as  if  h(!  had  not  paused  after  the  first  name, 
Alexander;  "but  for  KirsannlV  you  woulil  have  died  of  (lonsuniplion.  You  Iiad  an 
opf>ortunity  to  df^duce  from  this  exp«ri(Mic(;  W(!ll-foundf,d  ideas  jis  to  the  liarmful 
character  of  the  situation  whicii  you  Iiad  occupied  in  society.  And  you  deduced 
them.  All  that  is  very  raasonable,  but  il  by  no  means  gave  you  the  experience 
necessary  to  enable  you  to  ai>i)reciate  the  character  wliidi  it  would  Ik;  good  for  you 
to  fiiifl  in  a  husband.  You  df)  not  want  a  rascal,  but  an  honest  man,  —  that  is  all 
that  you  have  li-arned.  (Jood.  But  slutuld  every  honest  woman  be  content,  what- 
ever the  character  of  the  man  she  may  have  chosen,  provided  ho  is  honest?  In  such 
matters  a  better  knowledge  of  characters  anil  relationships  is  needed,  —  a  wholly 
different  experience.  We  decided  yesterday  that  oidy  widows  should  marry,  to  use 
your  expression.     What  sort  of  a  widow  are  you,  then?" 

Beaumont  said  all  this  with  a  sort  of  discontent,  and  in  the  last  words  there  was 
almost  a  trace  of  spite. 


310  What's  To  Be  Done? 

"It  is  true,"  said  Katerina  Vassilievna,  somewhat  sadly,  "but  at  any  rate  I  have 
not  deceived  any  one." 

"And  you  would  not  have  succeeded  in  doing  so,  for  one  cannot  feign  experience 
when  one  lias  it  not." 

"You  are  always  talking  of  the  insufficiency  of  the  means  afforded  us,  young 
girls,  for  making  a  well-grounded  choice.  As  a  general  thing,  that  a  choice  may 
be  well-grounded,  no  experience  of  this  sort  is  necessary.  If  a  young  gu'l  is  not 
too  young,  she  may  know  lier  own  character  very  well.  I,  for  instance,  know  mine, 
and  it  is  evident  that  I  shall  not  change.  I  am  twenty-two  years  old.  I  know 
what  I  need  in  order  to  be  happy :  a  tranquil  life,  with  no  one  to  disturb  my  peace, 
and  that  is  all." 

"  Evidently  you  are  right. 

"Is  it  so  difficult  to  tell  whether  these  indispensable  traits  exist  or  not  in  the 
character  of  any  given  man  ?     One  can  find  it  out  from  a  few  conversations." 

"You  are  right.  But  you  have  said  yourself  that  this  is  the  exception  and  not 
the  rule." 

"Certainly  it  is  not  the  rule,  M.  Beaumont;  given  our  conditions  of  life,  our 
ideas,  and  our  customs,  one  cannot  desire  for  a  young  girl  this  knowledge  of  every- 
day relations,  this  knowledge  of  which  we  say  that,  if  it  is  lacking,  the  young  girl 
nins  a  great  risk  of  making  a  bad  choice.  Under  her  present  conditions  there  is 
no  way  out  of  her  situation.  These  conditions  once  given,  whatever  relations  she 
may  enter  into,  she  cannot  derive  the  necessary  experience  from  them  except  in 
very  rare  cases ;  it  would  be  useless  to  wait  for  it,  and  the  danger  is  gi-eat.  The 
young  girl  might,  indeed,  easily  stoop  and  learn  dissimulation.  She  would  have 
to  deceive  her  parents  and  the  world,  or  hide  lierself  from  them,  which  is  the  next 
thing  to  deceit;  and  this  would  decidedly  lower  lier  character.  It  is  very  probable 
also  that  she  would  view  life  far  too  lightly.  And  if  that  did  not  happen,  if  she 
did  not  become  bad,  her  heart  would  be  broken.  And  yet  she  would  gain  almost 
no  experience  of  actual  life,  because  these  relations,  eitlier  so  dangerous  to  her 
character  or  so  painful  to  her  heart,  are  never  more  than  relations  of  appearance, 
not  at  all  the  relations  of  every-day  life.  You  see  that  that  would  not  be  at  all 
advisable,  considering  our  present  way  of  living." 

"Certainly,  Katdrina  Vassilievna;  but  that  is  just  why  our  present  way  of  living 
is  bad." 

"Surely;  we  are  in  accord  on  that  point.  What  does  it  mean,  in  fact?  Saying 
nothing  of  the  confusion  of  general  ideas,  what  is  its  significance  in  personal  rela- 
tions? The  man  says:  'I  doubt  whether  you  would  make  me  a  good  wife.'  And 
the  young  girl  answers:  'No,  I  beg  of  you,  make  me  a  proposal.'  Unheard-of  inso- 
lence! Or  perhaps  that  is  not  the  way?  Perhaps  the  man  says:  'I  have  not  so 
much  as  to  consider  whether  I  should  be  happy  with  you ;  but  be  prudent,  even  in 
choosing  me.     You  have  chosen  me,  but,  I  pray  you,  reflect,  reflect  again.     It  is 


I^ew   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  311 

much  too  serious  a  matter  even  in  relation  to  me  who  love  you  much ;  do  not  give 
yourself  up  without  a  very  rigid  and  systematic  examination.'  And  perhaps  the 
young  girl  answers:  'My  friend,  I  see  that  you  think,  not  of  yourself,  but  of  me. 
You  are  right  in  saying  that  we  are  pitiful  beings ;  that  men  deceive  us  and  lead 
us  into  error  with  bandaged  eyes.  But  have  no  fear  on  my  account :  /  am  sure  that 
you  are  not  deceiving  me.  My  haj^piness  is  sm-e.  As  tranquil  as  you  are  on  your 
account,  so  tranquil  am  I  on  mine.' " 

'•I  am  astonished  only  at  this,"  continued  Beaumont  the  next  day  (they  were 
again  walkhig  through  the  rooms,  in  one  of  which  was  Polosoif):  ''I  am  astonished 
only  at  this,  —  that  under  such  conditions  there  are  still  some  happy  unions." 

"You  speak  as  if  you  were  displeased  that  there  are  any,"  said  Katerina  Vassi- 
lievna,  laughing.  Now  it  became  very  evident  that  she  laughed  often,  with  a  gay 
and  gentle  laugh. 

"And  indeed  they  may  lead  you  to  sad  thoughts:  if,  with  such  inadequate  means 
of  judging  of  tlie  needs  and  cliaracteristics  of  men,  young  girls  still  know  enougli 
to  make  a  tolerably  happy  clioice,  what  lucidity  and  sagacity  that  argues  in  the 
feminine  mind!  Witli  what  clear,  strong,  and  just  mental  vision  woman  is  en- 
dowed by  nature  I  And  yet  it  remains  useless  to  society,  which  rejects  it,  crushes 
it,  stifles  it;  if  this  were  not  the  case,  if  her  mind  were  not  compressed,  if  such  a 
great  quantity  of  moral  power  were  not  destroyed,  humanity  wouhl  progress  ten 
times  more  rai)idly." 

"You  are  a  panegyrist  of  women,  M.  Beaumont;  may  not  all  this  be  explained 
more  simply  by  chance?" 

"Chancel  ex])Iain  wljat  you  will  l>y  chance;  wht-u  (-iisl-s  are  numerous,  tliry  are 
the  result  of  a  general  cause.  No  other  exi)laaation  of  this  fact  can  lu;  given  than 
a  well-weighed  clioice  proportional  in  its  wisdom  to  the  mental  intensity  and  per- 
spicacity of  the  young  girls." 

"You  reason  on  the  (puistion  of  women  like  .Mrs.  Heecher  Stowe,  M.  lieaiiniout. 
She  denioiistr:iles  ihat  the  negro  race  ia  endowed  with  greater  intellect  than  the 
white  race." 

"You  jest,  but  1  am  not  jesting  at  all." 

"You  do  not  like  it  because  1  do  not  liow  before  woman?  But  consider  at  le.-ist 
as  an  extenuating  circumstuuce  the  diliiculty  that  there  is  in  kneeling  liel'ore  one's 
self." 

"You  are  jesting;  it  annoys  me  seriously." 

"You  are  not  annoye<l  with  me,  I  hoi)e?  If  women  and  young  girls  cannot  do 
that  which,  in  yom'  opinion,  is  indispensaldc  to  them,  it  is  not  at  all  my  fault. 
But  I  am  going  to  give  you  my  serious  opinion,  if  you  wish  it,  not,  liowever,  upon 
the  woman  question,  —  I  do  not  care  to  be  judge  in  my  own  cause,  —  but  simply 
upon  yourself,  M.  Beaumont.  You,  by  nature,  are  a  man  of  great  self-control, 
and  you  get  angry  when  you  talk  upon  this  question.     What  does   this  mean? 


312  Wiat's  To  Be  Bone? 

That  you  probably  have  liad  some  personal  experience  in  connection  with  it. 
Probably  you  have  been  the  victim  of  what  you  consider  an  inexperienced  young 
j^irl's  erroneous  choice." 

"  Perhaps  myself,  or  perhaps  some  relative  of  mine.  Nevertheless,  think  about 
this,  Katerina  Vassilievna.  I  will  tell  you,  after  I  have  received  your  reply.  In 
three  days  I  will  ask  you  to  give  me  a  reply." 

'•To  a  question  which  is  not  formulated?  Do  I  know  you  so  little  that  I  need 
to  reflect  for  three  days?" 

Katerina  Vassilievna  stopped,  placed  her  hand  upon  Beaumont's  neck,  bent  the 
young  man's  head  towards  her,  and  kissed  him  on  the  forehead. 

According  to  all  precedents,  and  even  according  to  the  demands  of  common  po- 
liteness, Beaumont  ought  to  have  embraced  her  and  kissed  her  lips;  Ijut  he  did 
not;  he  only  pressed  the  hand  which  had  been  thrown  around  him.  "Very  well, 
Katerina  Vassilievna,  but  think  about  it,  nevertheless."  And  they  began  to  walk 
again. 

"But  who  told  you,  Charlie,  that  I  have  not  been  thinking  about  it  for  much 
more  than  three  days?"  she  answered,  still  holding  his  hand. 

"  Of  course  I  saw  it  clearly.  So  Lwill  tell  you  all  forthwith ;  it  is  a  secret ;  let 
us  go  into  the  other  room  and  sit  down,  that  we  may  not  be  overheard." 

They  said  these  last  words  as  they  passed  by  the  old  man:  he,  seeing  them 
walking  arm  in  arm,  which  had  never  happened  before,  said  to  himself:  "lie  has 
asked  her  hand,  and  she  has  given  him  her  word.     Good!" 

"Tell  your  secret,  Charlie;  here  papa  will  not  hear  us." 

"It  seems  ridiculous,  Katerina  Vassilievna,  to  appear  to  have  fears  on  your  ac- 
count ;  certainly  there  is  nothing  to  fear.  But  you  will  understand  \Yhy  I  \)ut  you 
on  your  guard  in  this  matter  when  I  tell  you  of  the  experience  through  which  I 
have  passed.  Certainly  we  might  both  have  lived  together.  But  I  pitied  her. 
How  much  she  suffered,  and  of  how  many  years  of  the  life  that  she  needed  was 
she  deprived!  It  is  very  sad.  It  matters  little  where  the  thing  occurred,  —  say 
New  York,  Boston,  Philadelphia,  or  where  you  will.  She  was  an  excellent  person 
and  looked  upon  her  husband  as  an  excellent  man.  They  were  extremely  attached 
to  each  other.  And  yet  she  must  have  suffered  much.  He  was  ready  to  give  his 
head  to  procure  for  his  wife  the  slightest  additional  happiness.  And  yet  she  could 
not  be  happy  with  him.  Fortunately  it  ended  as  it  did.  But  it  was  painful  to 
her.    You  do  not  know  this,  and  that  is  why  I  have  not  yet  your  final  answer." 

"Can  I  have  heard  this  story  from  any  one?" 

"Maybe." 

"From  herself,  perhaps?" 

"Maybe." 

"I  have  not  yet  given  you  an  answer?" 

"No." 


Kew   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  813 

"You  know  it." 

"  I  know  it,"  said  Beaumont,  and  the  ordinary  scene  that  occurs  between  lovers 
began  with  ardent  embraces. 

XIX. 

The  next  day  at  three  o'clock  Katcrina  Vassilievna "called  at  Vera  Pavlovna's. 

"I  am  to  marry  day  after  tomorrow.  Vera  Pavlovna,"  said  she,  as  she  came  in, 
"and  tonight  I  will  bring  my  sweetheart  to  see  you." 

"  Undoubtedly  it  is  Beaumont,  over  whom  you  have  been  mad  so  long." 

"I?    Mad?    Wlien  all  has  happened  so  simply?" 

"I  am  willing  to  believe  that  you  have  acted  simply  with  him,  l)ut  with  me 
nothing  of  the  sort." 

"Really?  That  is  curious.  But  here  is  something  more  curious  still:  he  loves 
you  much,  both  of  you,  but  you,  Vera  Pavlovna,  he  loves  even  much  more  than 
Alexander  Matveitch." 

"What  is  there  curious  about  that?  If  you  have  spoken  to  liim  of  me  with  a 
thousandth  part  of  the  enthusiasm  with  which  you  have  spoken  to  mc  of  him,  it 
is  needless  to  say "  .  .  .  . 

"You  think  that  lie  knows  you  through  me?  That's  just  the  point;  it  is  not 
Ihrongh  me,  but  through  himself  that  he  knows  you,  and  much  bitter  IIkiii  I  do." 

" That "s  news!     lluw  is  that?"  * 

"How?  I  will  tell  you  at  once.  Since  the  first  day  of  his  anivul  at  St.  Peters- 
burg, he  has  wanted  very  much  to  see  you,  but  it  seemed  to  liini  that  lie  would  do 
better  to  postjjone  your  accpiaintance  until  lie  could  come,  not  alom-,  but  with  his 
sweetiieart  or  his  wife.  It  seemed  to  him  that  it  would  be  more  agreeable  to  you 
to  see  liim  in  tliis  way.  So  you  sec  that  our  marriage  has  arisen  out  of  his  desire 
to  make  your  ac(juaiutance." 

"He  marries  you  to  make  my  aciiuaititance?" 

"Afarries  iIk.'!  Who  said  that  lur  marries  uw  for  your  sake?  Oli,  no,  it  is  not 
for  love  of  you  that  wc;  an-,  to  marry.  liut  wIkmi  he  came  to  St.  Pelmsliurg,  did 
either  of  us  know  of  the  other's  existence?  And  if  lie  had  not  come,  how  could 
we  liave  known  each  other?  Now,  lio  came  to  St.  Petersburg  on  your  account. 
Do  you  begin  to  see?" 

"Hn  si)eaks  llussian  better  than  English,  you  say?"  asked  Vc'ia  Pavlovna,  with 
emotion. 

"llussian  as  well  as  I  do,  and  Knglish  a,s  well  as  I  do." 

"Katerinka,  d<'ar  friend,  how  happy  I  am!" 

Vera  Pavlovna  began  to  enil)race  licr  visitor. 

"  Siicha,  come  here  I     Quick !     Quick  ! " 

"What  is  the  matter,  Verotchka?     How  do  you  do,  Katerina  Vass"  .... 


o 


U  What's  To  Be  Done? 


He  had  not  time  to  pronounce  her  name  before  the  visitor  embraced  him. 
"It  is  Easter  today,  Sacha;  so  say  to  Katennka:  *IIe  is  risen  indeed.'  "* 
"But  what  is  the  matter  with  you?" 

"Sit  down,  and  she  will  tell  us;  I  myself  know  almost  nothing  as  yet.  It  is 
enough  to  embrace  you,  —  and  in  my  presence,  too!     Say  on,  Katennka." 

XX. 

In  the  evening  the  excitement  was  certainly  still  greater.  But,  when  order  was 
restored,  Beaumont,  on  the  demand  of  his  new  acc^uaintances,  told  them  the  story 
of  his  life,  beginning  with  his  arrival  in  the  United  States.  "  As  soon  as  I  arrived," 
said  he,  "I  w-as  careful  to  do  everything  necessary  to  enable  me  to  speedily  become 
a  citizen.  To  that  end  I  had  to  connect  myself  with  some  party.  With  which 
one?  The  abolitionists,  of  com'se.  I  wrote  some  articles  for  the  'Tribune'  on  the 
influence  of  serfdom  on  the  entire  social  organization  of  Russia.  This  was  a  new 
argument,  of  considerable  value  to  the  abolitionists,  against  slavery  in  the  South- 
ern States,  and  in  consequence  I  became  a  citizen  of  Massachusetts. f  Soon  after 
my  arrival,  still  through  the  influence  of  the  abolitionists,  I  obtained  a  place  in 
one  of  their  few  business  houses  in  New  York."  Then  came  the  story  that  we  al- 
ready know.    This  part  of  Beaumont's  biography,  then,  is  beyond  doubt. 

XXI. 

It  was  agreed  that  the  two  families  should  look  for  two  suites  of  rooms  next  to 
each  other.  Until  convenient  suites  could  be  found  and  prepared,  the  Beaumonts 
lived  in  the  factory,  in  which,  in  accordance  with  the  orders  of  the  house,  a  suite 
had  l)een  arranged  for  the  manager.  This  retreat  into  the  suburbs  might  be 
looked  upon  as  corresponding  to  the  trip  which  newly-married  couples  make,  in 
accordance  with  an  excellent  English  custom,  which  is  now  spreading  throughout 
Europe. 

"When,  six  weeks  later,  two  convenient  suites  next  to  each  other  had  been  found, 
the  Kirsanoffs  went  to  live  in  one,  the  Beaumonts  in  the  other,  and  the  old  Polo- 
sofE  preferred  to  remain  in  the  factory  suite,  the  extent  of  which  reminded  him,  if 
only  feebly,  of  his  past  grandeur.    It  was  agreeable  to  him  to  remain  there  for  the 


•  During  the  Easter  festivities  the  Orthodox,  when  they  meet,  embrace  each  other  three  times,  one 
of  them  saying  at  the  same  time,  "  Christ  is  risen,"  whereupon  the  other  responds,  "  He  is  risen 
indeed." 

t  Tchemychewsky's  ideas  of  the  method  by  which  foreipiers  acquire  citizenship  in  America  are 
novel.  His  error,  however,  probably  will  not  be  considered  a  vital  one  except  by  the  reader  with  the 
penetrating  eye.  —  Translator. 


New   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  315 

additional  reason  that  he  was  the  most  important  personage  for  two  or  three  miles 
around:  innumerable  marks  of  consideration  were  shown  hira,  not  only  by  his 
own  clerks  and  commissioners,  but  by  those  of  the  neighborhood  and  by  the  rest 
of  the  suburban  population,  some  of  whom  were  beneath  and  some  slightly  above 
the  former  in  social  position.  And  it  was  with  immense  i^leasure  that  he  received, 
after  the  manner  of  a  patriarch,  these  marks  of  respectful  consideration.  The 
aon-in-law  came  to  the  factory  every  morning,  and  almost  every  day  Katia  witli 
him.  In  summer  they  went  (as  they  still  do)  to  live  entirely  in  the  factory, 
which  thus  serves  as  a  country-house.  During  the  rest  of  the  year  the  old  man, 
besides  receiving  every  morning  his  daughter  and  his  son-in-law  (who  does  not 
cease  to  be  a  North  American),  has  the  pleasure  of  receiving  once  a  week  and 
oftener  visitors  coming  to  spend  the  evening  with  Katerina  Vassilievna  and  her 
husband,  or  the  Kirsanoffs  with  some  other  young  people,  or  an  even  more  nume- 
rous company:  the  factory  is  made  the  objective  point  of  frequent  suburban  ex- 
cursions by  the  acquaintances  of  the  Kirsanoffs  and  the  Beaumonts.  Polosoff  is 
made  very  contented  by  all  these  visits,  and  how  could  it  be  otherwise?  To  him 
belongs  the  rvle  of  host,  the  jiatriarchal  role. 

XXII. 

Kacli  of  the  two  families  lives  after  its  own  fasliion,  according  to  its  own  fancy. 
On  ordinary  days  in  one  tliere  is  more  stir,  in  tlie  other  more  trancpiillity.  They 
visit  eacli  other  like  relatives;  one  day  more  than  ten  times,  but  for  one  or  two 
minutes  at  a  time;  another  day  one  of  the  suites  is  empty  almost  all  day,  its  in- 
habitants being  in  the  other.  Thi're  is  no  rule  about  tiiis.  Nor  is  tlicre  any  rule 
when  a  number  of  visitors  happen  to  come:  now  tim  door  between  (li((  two  suites 
remains  closed  (tlie  door  bctwi'cu  tin;  two  parlors  is  generally  closed,  only  tlio  door 
between  Vdra  Pavlovna's  room  iiud  Katc-rina  Vassilievna'.s  being  always  open)  — 
now,  when  the  company  is  not  numerous,  the  door  connecting  th('  rcci-jition  rooms 
remains  closed;  at  aiiollicr  timo,  wlien  the  numlxM-  is  greater,  this  door  is  open, 
and  then  the  visitors  do  not  realize  where  they  are,  wlictiier  at  Vera  I'avlovna's  or 
at  Katerina  Viissilievna's,  and  tlie  latter  hardly  know  themselves.  This  might 
perhaps  be  adinned:  when  tlu;  young  jteople  wish  to  sit  down,  it  is  almost  always 
at  Katc-rina  Vassilievna's;  when  tln-ir  inclination  is  to  the  contrary,  lh"'y  are  al- 
most always  at  Vera  I'avlovna's.  l»iit  the  young  pi'ople  cannot  bn  looked  upon  as 
visitors:  they  are  at  home,  and  Vera  I'avlovmi  drives  them  away  without  cere- 
mony to  Katerina  Vassilievna's. 

"You  tirn  me,  gentlemen;  go  and  sen  Kab'nnka;  \<m  nevi-r  tire  her.  Ami  why 
do  you  behave  yourselves  more  (piietly  when  with  her  than  when  with  me?  I  am 
even  a  little  the  older." 

"Do  not  worry  yourself;  we  like  her  better  than  you." 


316  Wiat's  To  Be  Done? 

"Katennka,  why  do  they  like  you  better  tlian  me?" 

"  Katerina  Vassilievna  treats  us  like  serious  men,  and  that  is  why  we  are  serious 
with  lier." 

A  device  which  was  very  effective  was  often  made  use  of  last  winter  in  their 
narrow  circle,  when  the  young  people  and  their  most  intimate  friends  came  to- 
gether: they  placed  the  two  pianos  back  to  back:  the  young  people,  by  drawing 
lots,  divided  themselves  into  two  choruses,  made  their  protectresses  sit  down  one 
at  each  piano,  opposite  each  other,  and  then  each  chorus  placed  itself  behind  its 
prima  donna,  and  they  sang  at  the  same  time.  Vera  Pavlovna  and  her  forces  La 
donna  e  mobile  or  some  song  from  Beranger's  Lisette,  and  Katerina  Vassilievna  and 
her  forces  Dcpuis  longtemps  repousse  par  toi  or  La  chanson  pour  lermmouchka.*  But 
this  winter  another  amusement  was  in  fashion;  the  two  women  had  reorganized 
in  common,  in  conformity  with  their  habits,  "the  discussion  of  the  Greek  philoso- 
phers concerning  the  beautiful";  it  begins  thus:  Katerina  Vassilievna,  raising 
her  eyes  to  heaven,  says,  with  a  languishing  sigh :  "  Divine  Schiller,  intoxication 
of  my  soul!"  Vera  Pavlovna  replies,  with  dignity:  "But  the  prunella  boots  from 
Koroloff's  store  are  beautiful  also,"  and  she  advances  her  foot.  Whiclievei  of  the 
young  people  laughs  at  this  controversy  is  put  in  a  corner.  Towards  the  end  of 
the  controversy,  of  the  ten  or  twelve  individuals  there  remain  but  two  or  three 
who  are  not  doing  penance.  But  the  gayety  was  at  its  height  when  they  invei- 
gled Beaumont  into  this  plaj^  and  sent  him  into  a  corner. 

What  else?  The  worksliops  continue  to  exist  and  to  work  in  closer  concert; 
now  there  are  three  of  them;  Katerina  Vassilievna  organized  hers  long  ago,  and 
DOW  very  often  acts  as  a  sulistitute  for  Vera  Pavlovna  in  the  latter's  shop;  soon 
she  will  take  her  place  entirely,  for  in  the  course  of  this  year  Vera  Pavlovna  — 
forgive  her  for  it  —  will  pass  her  medical  examination,  and  then  she  will  have  no 
more  time  to  give  to  the  shop.  "It  is  a  pity  that  the  development  of  these  shops 
is  impossible;  how  they  would  grow!"  sometimes  said  Vera  Pavlovna.  Katerina 
Vassilievna  made  no  answer;  only  her  eyes  flashed  with  hatred. 

"IIow  headlong  you  are,  Katia!  You  are  worse  than  I  am,"  said  Vdra  Pav- 
lovna.    "It  is  fortunate  that  your  father  has  something  left." 

"  Yes,  Verotchka,  one  feels  easier  about  her  child."     (Then  she  has  a  child.) 

"But  you  have  set  me  dreaming  about  I  know  not  what.  Our  life  will  go  on 
gently  and  tranquilly." 

Katdrina  Vassilievna  made  no  answer. 

"Yes,  why  don't  you  say  yes  to  me?" 

Katerina  Vassilievna  smiled  as  she  answered: 

"It  does  not  depend  on  my  'yes'  or  my  'no';  therefore  to  please  you  I  will  say: 
'Yes,  our  life  shall  go  on  tranquilly.'  " 

•  By  XekrassofI,  the  most  famous  Russian  poet. 


N'ew   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  317 

And  indeed  they  do  live  tranquilly.  They  live  in  harmony  and  amicably,  in  a 
gentle  yet  active  fashion,  in  a  joyous  and  reasonable  fashion.  But  it  does  not  at 
all  follow  from  this  that  my  story  about  them  is  finished;  by  no  means.  All  four 
are  still  young  and  active,  and,  thougli  their  life  is  ordered  as  above  described,  it 
has  not  ceased  on  that  account  to  be  interesting;  far  from  it.  I  still  have  much 
to  tell  you  about  them,  and  I  guarantee  that  the  sequel  to  my  story  will  be  much 
more  interesting  than  anything  that  I  have  yet  told  you. 

XXllT. 

They  live  gayly  and  as  friends,  working  and  resting,  enjoying  life  and  looking 
forward  to  the  future,  if  not  without  anxiety,  at  least  witli  the  firm  assurance  that 
the  farther  we  advance  in  life,  the  better  it  becomes.  Thus  they  have  spent  the 
last  two  years.  Towards  the  end  of  last  winter  Vera  Pavlovna  said  to  hei-self : 
"  Will  there  be  another  cold  day,  so  tliat  we  can  have  at  least  one  more  sleighing- 
party?"  Xo  one  could  answer  her  question;  but  tlie  days  went  by  one  after 
another,  and  the  thaw  continued,  and  every  day  tlie  chances  for  a  sleighing-party 
diminished.  But  it  came  after  they  had  lost  all  hope.  There  was  a  heavy  fall  of 
snow,  followed,  not  by  a  thaw,  but  by  slightly  freezing  weather;  tlie  sky  was  clear, 
and  the  evening  could  not  have  been  more  beautiful.  "Tiie  sleighing-parly  I  The 
sleighing-party!"  In  their  haste  they  had  not  time  to  get  many  people  together, 
—  a  small  party  collected  without  formal  invitations.* 

That  night  two  sledges  started.  In  one  they  chattered  and  joked,  in  the  other 
all  the  proiirieties  were  disregarded.  Scarcely  were  they  out  of  the  city  before 
they  began  to  sing  at  the  tops  of  their  voices.     What? 

Kill!  Hortait  la  licllo 
(Till'  liiir  oiH'  went  out) 

Do  la  ])ort(!  cocliiTt;  iiciivo, 
(Of  till-  new  <-!irriiim'  (iatf) 

Do  l;i  iK'Uvc  ])(irl(!  coclirro  en  liois  d'oriiblc, 
(Of  111"  new  ciirriiino  Kutc  of  iiiii|)l<'  wooil; 

Do  la  jxirto  cocliiTo  Ji  oarreaux. 
(Of  tlir  Ulril  nirrluno  Ki***!) 

Mnn  jKTc  oHt  Ition  hovito; 
(My  IhIIkt  In  vnry  w.-vnri!) 

II  inV'st.  (lofiivnralilo ; 

(llf  U  iIIbIiioIIiiuiI  to  favor  iiic) 


•Tlio  few  pac*  wlilrh  follow,  In  (foixluglon  of  thl«  story,  tho  tratiRlator  (Ioob  not  protend  to  undcr- 
Btanil.  He  cannot  Identify  tlic  new  cluirnctcm  Introduced  or  connect  them  wltli  the  story,  nor  can  ho 
fathom  the  piirpos*;  of  tln'ir  liitrodurlion.  Wlirther  they  ronccal  some  nrciral  i>o  revolutionary  that 
the  aulhfir  from  hl»  prison  ecll  <li<l  not  dare  avow  It  more  openly,  or  whether  the  myntery  is  a  deviro 
on  hlg  part  to  earry  over  the  interent  of  the  rea<hT  to  tho  oeipiel  whieh  ln'  uiidonhtedly  intended  to 
write,  or  whether  the  true  c;iplanatlon  l»  »ouiething  dirteront  from  either  of  thi'»e,  the  reader  muut 
determine  for  himself.—  Trantlator. 


318  Wiat's  To  Be  Done'? 

n  no  vent  pas  que  je  me  promene  trop  tard 
(lie  iloi-s  imt  want  me  to  be  out  too  late) 

Et  que  je  joue  avec  los  jeunes  hommes. 
(Ami  to'play  with  the  young  men) 

Mais  je  n'ecoute  pas  mon  pere ; 
(15ut  1  do  not  listen  to  my  father) 

Je  veux  satisfaire  mon  bien  aime  .... 
(I  wish  to  please  my  beloved) 

A  song!  But  is  that  all?  Now  this  sledge  goes  slowly  and  lags  nearly  a  quar- 
ter of  a  mile  in  the  rear;  suddenly  it  glides  rapidly  ahead,  its  occupants  give  war- 
like shouts,  and  when  they  approach  the  well-behaved  party,  the  snowballs  fly 
I'uriously.  The  members  of  the  well-behaved  party,  after  two  or  three  attacks  of 
this  sort,  decide  to  defend  themselves  and  lay  in  a  stock  of  ammunition,  but  it  is 
done  so  adroitly  as  to  escape  the  notice  of  the  noisy  party.  Now  the  noisy  party 
goes  slowly  again,  lagging  behind,  and  the  well-behaved  party  continues  cun- 
ningly on  its  way.  The  noisy  party  again  starts  off  at  full  speed,  the  warlike 
shouts  begin  once  more,  the  members  of  the  well-behaved  party  are  prepared  to 
make  unexpected  and  vigorous  resistance,  but  what?  the  noisy  party  turns  to  the 
right  across  the  brook,  and  passes  like  a  flash  at  a  distance  of  a  dozen  yards. 

"She  saw  us  and  has  taken  the  reins  herself,"  say  some  in  the  well-behaved 
party. 

"Oh,  no!  oh,  no!  we  will  catch  them!  we  will  avenge  ourselves!" 

An  infernal  gallop.     Will  they  catch  them? 

"We  will  catch  them!" 

No! 

"  We  will  catch  them ! "  with  fresh  impetuosity. 

"They  will  catch  us!" 

"They  shall  not  catch  us!" 

Yes! 

No! 

In  the  well-behaved  party  were  the  Kirsanoffs  and  the  Beaumonts ;  iii  the  noisy 
party  four  young  people  and  a  lady,  and  the  latter  was  the  cause  of  all  the  mad 
conduct  of  the  noisy  party. 

"  Good  evening,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  we  are  very  glad  to  see  you  again,"  said 
she,  from  the  top  of  the  factory  steps:  "gentlemen,  help  the  ladies  out  of  the 
sledge,"  she  added,  addressing  her  companions. 

Quickly,  quickly,  into  the  rooms!     All  of  them  were  red  with  cold. 

"Good  evening,  old  gentleman.  But  he  is  not  old  at  all !  Katerina  Vassilievna, 
why  did  you  slander  him  by  telling  me  that  he  was  old?  He  will  be  courting  me 
yet.     You  will  court  me,  dear  old  man?"  said  the  lady  of  the  noisy  party. 

"Yes,  I  will  court  you,"  said  Polosoil,  already  charmed  by  her  affable  caresses 
of  his  gray  whiskers. 

"Children,  will  you  permit  him  to  court  me?" 


Neio   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  319 

"We  permit  him,"  said  one  of  the  young  people. 

"  No,  no,"  said  the  three  others. 

But  why  was  the  lady  of  the  noisy  party  in  black?  For  mourning  or  out  of 
caprice  ?    • 

"But,  after  all,  I  am  tired,"  said  she,  throwing  herself  upon  a  divan,  in  a  cor- 
ner of  the  reception  room.  "Children,  some  cushions  I  but  not  for  me  alone;  the 
other  ladies  also  are  tired." 

"Yes,  you  have  harassed  us,"  said  Katerina  Vassilievna. 

"How  this  unbridled  race  in  the  ruts  has  tired  me!"  said  Vera  Pavlovna. 

"Fortunately  we  had  but  a  little  over  half  a  mile  to  go,"  said  Katerina  Vas- 
silievna. 

Unable  to  stand  any  longer,  they  fell  on  the  divan  stuffed  with  cushions. 

"  How  unskilled  you  arel  You  should  have  risen  up  as  1  did,  and  then  the  ruts 
would  not  have  tired  you." 

"We  are  tired  ourselves,"  said  Kirsanoff,  speaking  for  himself  and  Beaumont. 
They  sat  down  beside  their  wives.  Kirsanoff  embraced  Vera  Pavlovna ;  Beaumont 
took  the  hand  of  Katerina  Vassilievna.  An  idyllic  picture.  Tt  is  pleasant  to  see 
happy  unions.  But  over  the  face  of  the  lady  in  black  a  sudden  shadow  passed, 
which  no  one  noticed  except  one  of  her  companions ;  he  withdrew  to  the  window 
and  began  to  examine  the  arabesques  which  the  frost  had  traced  upon  the  panes. 

"Ladies,  your  histories  are  very  interesting,  but  I  do  not  know  them  exactly; 
I  only  know  that  they  are  touching  and  pleasant  and  end  happily;  that  is  what  I 
like.     But  where  is  the  old  gentleman  V  " 

"He  i.s  busy  about  the  house,  getting  us  something  to  eat;  he  is  fond  of  that 
sort  of  tiling,"  said  Katerina  Vassilievna. 

"Well,  lot  him  go  on.  Relate  your  histories,  then,  but  lot  them  be  brief:  I  like 
short  stories." 

"I  will  be  ver)'  brief,"  said  Vera  Pavlovna.  "I  begin  :  when  the  others'  turns 
come,  they  will  be  brief  also.  But  I  warn  you  that  at  the  end  of  my  story  there 
are  secrets." 

"Well,  then  we  will  drive  these  gentlemen  away.  Or,  would  it  not  be  better  to 
drive  them  away  nowV" 

"Why?     Now  they  may  listf-n." 

Vera  Pavlovna  began  her  story. 

"Ha,  ha,  ha!  That  dear  .Julie  !  I  like  her  very  much.  And  she  tiirows  herself 
upon  her  knees,  says  insulting  tluiigs,  and  behaves  most  improperly,  the  dear 
Julie  I " 

"Bravo,  Vdra  Pavlovna!     'I  will  throw  myself  out  of  the  window!'    Bravo, 


320  What's   To  Be  Done? 

gentlemen!"    The  lady  in  black  began  to  applaud.     At  this  command  the  young 
people  imitated  her  in  a  deafening  manner  and  cried  " Bravo  1"  and  "Hurrah!" 


"What's  the  matter  with  you?  What's  the  matter  with  you?"  cried  Katerina 
Vassilievna,  in  fright,  two  or  three  minutes  later. 

"Xothiug,  it's  nothing:  give  me  some  water,  do  not  be  troubled." 

Mossoloff  is  already  bringing  some. 

"Thank  you,  Mossoloff." 

She  takes  the  glass,  brought  by  the  young  companion  who  had  withdrawn  to 
the  wmdow. 

"See  how  I  have  taught  him!  Ho  knows  everything  in  advance.  Now  it  has 
entirely  passed.    Keep  on,  I  pray  you,  I  am  listening." 

"No,  I  am  fatigued,"  said  she,  five  minutes  later,  rising  calmly  from  the  divan. 
I  must  rest, — sleep  an  hour  or  an  hour  and  a  half.  See,  I  am  going  away  without 
ceremony.    Go  and  find  the  old  gentleman,  Mossoloff;  let  him  prepare  everything." 

"Permit  me,  why  should  I  not  attend  to  it?"  said  Katerina  Vassilievna. 

"Is  it  worth  while  to  trouble  yourself?" 

"You  abandon  us?"  said  a  young  man,  assuming  a  tragic  posture;  "if  we  had 
foreseen  that,  we  would  have  brought  some  daggers  with  us.  Now  we  have  noth- 
ing with  which  to  stab  ourselves." 

"They  Avill  bring  something  to  eat,  and  then  we  can  stab  ourselves  with  the 
forks !  "  said  another,  in  a  tone  of  exaltation. 

"Oh,  no,  I  do  not  wish  the  hope  of  the  country  to  be  cut  off  in  its  flower,"  said 
the  lady  in  Vjlack,  with  like  solemnity:  "console  yourselves,  my  children.  Mosso- 
loff, a  cushion  on  the  table  1 " 

Mossoloff  placed  a  cushion  on  the  table,  Tlie  lady  in  black  assumed  a  majestic 
pose  near  the  table  and  let  her  hand  slowly  fall  upon  the  cushion. 

The  young  people  kissed  her  hand,  and  Katerina  Vassilievna  escorted  the  tired 
vLsitor  to  the  bed. 

"  Poor  woman !  "  said  with  one  voice  the  three  persons  of  the  well-behaved  party 
after  they  had  gone  out  of  the  room. 

"  She  is  brave !  "  exclaimed  the  three  young  people. 

"  I  believe  you !  "  said  Mossoloff,  with  satisfaction. 

"  Have  you  known  her  long  ?  " 

"  Almost  three  years." 

"And  do  you  know  him  well?" 

"  Very  well.  Do  not  be  troubled,  I  beg,"  he  added,  addressing  the  members  of 
the  well-behaved  party :  "  it  is  only  because  she  is  tired." 

Vera  Pavlovna  cast  an  interrogative  glance  at  her  husband  and  at  Beaumont, 
and  shook  her  head. 


Kew   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  321 

"  Tired  ?    You  are  telling  us  tales,"  said  Kirsanoff. 

"  I  assure  you.  She  is  tired,  that's  all.  She  will  sleep,  and  it  will  all  pass  over, " 
repeated  Mossoloff  in  an  indifferent  and  tranquil  tone. 

Ten  minutes  later  Katerina  Vassilievna  returned. 

"  Well  ?  "  asked  six  voices.     Mossoloff  asked  no  question. 

"  She  went  to  bed,  began  at  once  to  doze,  and  probably  is  now  fast  asleep." 

"  Didn't  I  tell  you  so  V  "  observed  Mossoloff.     "  It  is  nothing." 

"  She  is  to  be  pitied,  nevertheless,"  said  Katerma  Vassilievna.  "  Let  us  keep 
separate  in  her  presence.    You  stay  with  me,  Ve'rotchka,  and  Charlie  with  Sacha." 

"But  we  need  not  trouble  ourselves  now,"  said  Mossoloff,  "we  can  sing,  dance, 
shout ;  she  is  sleeping  profoundly." 


If  she  was  asleep,  if  it  was  nothing,  why  should  they  trouble  themselves  ?  The 
impression  made  by  the  lady  in  black,  which  liad  disturbed  their  peace  for  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour,  passed  away,  disappeared,  was  forgotten,  not  quite,  but  nearly. 
Tlie  evening  gradually  became  wliat  former  similar  evenings  had  been,  and  soon 
gayety  reigned. 

Gayety  not  unmixed,  however;  five  or  six  times  the  ladies  looked  at  each  other 
witli  an  expression  of  fear  and  sadness.  Twice,  perhaps.  Vera  Pavlovna  said  fur- 
tively in  her  liusl)and's  ear:  "Sacha,  if  that  should  happen  to  nie?"  The  first 
time  Kirsanoff  made  no  answer;  the  second  he  said:  "No,  Verotchka,  that  cannot 
happen  to  you." 

"Cannot?    Are  you  sure?" 

"Yes." 

And  Katdrina  Vassilievna  also  furtively  said  twice  in  lier  husband's  ear: 

"That  cannot  hapjien  to  me,  Charlie,  can  it?" 

The  first  time  IJeaumont  only  smiled  in  a  half-hearted  and  not  very  reassur- 
ing manner;  tli<^  scrDnd  lie  answered: 

"In  all  probability  that  cannot  happen  to  you." 


But  these  were  only  passing  echoes,  and  were  heard  only  at  the  beginning.  Wwl 
in  general  the  evening  went  off  joyously,  and  half  an  hour  later  quite  gayly.  They 
chattered  and  played  and  sang. 

•"She  sleeps  profoundly,"  Mossoloff  assured  them,  and  he  set  the  example.  In 
truth  they  could  not  trouble  her  sleep,  becau.sc  the  room  where  she  was  lying 
down  was  a  long  distance  from  the  drawing-room,  tliree  rooms  away  at  the  other 
end  of  the  suite. 


322  Wtat's  To  Be  Done? 

Therefore  the  evening's  revelry  was  completely  restored. 

The  young  i^eopie,  as  usual,  now  joined  tlie  otliers,  now  separated  from  them ; 
now  in  a  body,  now  not;  twice  Beaumont  had  joined  them  :  twice  Vera  Pavlovna 
had  turned  them  away  from  Beaumont  and  from  all  serious  conversation. 

They  babbled  a  great  deal;  a  great  deal  too  much;  they  also  discussed  things 
together,  but  much  less. 


All  were  together. 

"Well,  what  is  there  of  good  or  evil?"  asked  the  young  man  who  a  little  while 
before  liad  assumed  a  tragic  attitude. 

"More  evil  than  good,"  said  Vera  Pavlovna. 

""Why  so,  Verotchka?"  said  Katerina  Vassilievna. 

"  At  any  rate  life  does  not  go  on  without  it,"  said  Beaumont. 

"An  inevitable  thing,"  affirmed  Kirsanoff. 

"Altogether  evil, — that  is,  very  good,"  decided  he  who  had  started  the  question. 

His  three  companions  nodded  their  heads,  and  said:  "Bi'avo,  Nikitinel" 


The  young  people  were  by  themselves. 

"I  never  knew  him,  Nikitine;  but  you  seem  to  have  known  him?"  said  Mosso- 
loff,  inquiringly. 

"I  was  then  a  mere  boy.    I  saw  him." 

"How  do  your  memories  seem  to  you?  Do  they  tell  the  truth?  Do  they  not 
exaggerate  through  friendship?" 

"No." 

"Has  no  one  seen  him  since?" 

"No.     Beaumont  was  then  in  America." 

"Indeed!  Karl  lalcovlitch,  I  beg  your  attention  for  a  moment.  Did  you  not 
meet  in  America  this  Russian  of  whom  they  have  been  talking?" 

"No." 

"What  caprice  has  entered  my  head?"  said  Nikitine :  "he  and  she  would  make 
a  good  pair." 

"  Gentlemen,  come  and  sing  with  me,"  said  Vdra  Pavlovna.  "  Two  volunteers  I 
So  much  the  better." 

Mossoloff  and  Nikitine  remained  by  themselves. 

"I  can  show  you  a  curious  thing,  Nikitine,"  said  Mossoloff.  "Do  you  think 
she  is  asleep?" 

"No." 

"  Only  you  must  say  nothing  about  it.  Afterwards,  when  you  know  her  better, 
you  can  tell  her  that  you  saw  her.     But  no  one  else.     She  does  not  like  that." 


New   Characters  and  the   Conclusion,  323 

The  windows  of  the  room  were  raised  a  little. 

"  It  certainly  is  the  window  where  the  light  is." 

Mossoloff  glanced  in  that  direction. 

"Yes,  do  you  see?" 

The  lady  in  black  was  sitting  in  an  easy  chair,  near  the  table.  With  her  left 
elbow  she  was  leaning  on  the  table;  her  hand  lightly  sustained  her  bowed  head, 
covering  her  temple  and  a  part  of  her  hair.  Her  right  hand  was  placed  on  the  ta- 
ble, and  her  fingers  rose  and  fell  mechanically,  as  if  playing  some  air.  The  lady's 
face  wore  an  iuunovable  expression  of  reverie,  sad,  but  still  severe.  Iler  eyebrows 
came  together  and  slightly  parted  again,  and  vice  versa. 

"Always  this  way,  Mossoloff?" 

"Do  you  see?  But  come;  else  we  shall  take  cold.  We  have  been  here  a  quarter 
of  an  hour." 

"How  unfeeling  you  are!"  said  Nikitine,  looking  steadily  at  his  companion, 
when  they  passed  by  the  reflector  in  the  ante-room. 

"By  constantly  feeling  one  becomes  unfeeling,  my  dear.    To  you  it  is  a  novelty." 

The  refreshments  were  brou-^ht  in. 

"The  brandy  must  be  very  good,"  said  Xikitine:  "but  how  strong  it  isl  It 
takes  one's  breath  away!" 

"Wliat  a  little  girl!     Your  eyes  are  red ! "  said  MossoloiT. 

Everybody  began  to  make  fun  of  Xikitine. 

"Oh!  that's  only  because  I  am  choked  up;  were  it  not  for  that,  I  could  drink," 
said  he,  in  self-justification. 

They  took  note  of  the  time.  It  was  only  eleven  o'clock;  therefore  they  could 
chatter  half  an  hour  longer;  there  was  tinu;  enough. 

Half  an  hour  latur  KaUiriiia  Vassiliiivna  went  to  awakiMi  the  lady  in  black. 
The  la«ly  came  to  meet  her  on  the  threshold,  stretching  as  if  she  had  just  been 
asleep. 

"Did  you  sleep  well?" 

"I'.Tlectly." 

"How  do  you  feel?" 

"Marvellously  well.  I  told  you  before  that  it  was  nothing.  I  was  tired,  bf- 
cause  I  liad  bct-n  acting  ho  wililly.     Now  I  sliall  In-  more  prudent." 

But  no,  slit!  did  not  succi-ed  in  being  prudent.  T'lve  minut.ijs  later  she  had 
already  charmed  TolosofF,  was  giving  orders  to  tiio  yoimg  i)eople,  and  drumming 
a  march  or  something  of  the  sort  with  the  handles  of  two  forks  on  the  table.  At 
the  same  time  she  was  urging  a  departure,  while  the*  others,  whom  her  sauciness 
had  already  made  quite  gay,  were  not  in  such  a  hurry. 

"An;  the  horses  rea<iy?"  she  asked,  after  liaving  eaten. 

"Not  yet;  the  order  to  harness  them  has  just  been  given." 

"Unendnralilel  But  if  that  is  the  case,  sing  us  something,  Vera  Pavlovna:  I 
have  heard  that  you  have  a  line  voice." 


324  Mliat's   To  Be  Done? 

Vera  Pavlovna  sang. 

"  I  shall  ask  you  to  sing  often,"  said  the  lady  in  black. 

"  It  is  your  turn,  it  is  your  turn,"  they  cried  on  all  sides. 

The  words  were  no  sooner  uttered  than  she  was  at  the  piano. 

"All  right!  I  do  not  know  how  to  sing,  but  to  me  that  is  no  obstacle!  But, 
ladies  and  gentlemen,  it  is  not  at  all  for  you  that  I  sing;  I  sing  only  for  my  chil- 
dren.    Children,  do  not  laugh  at  your  mother!" 

She  improvised  a  few  strains  on  tlie  piano  by  way  of  prelude. 

"Children,  do  not  laugh;  I  shall  sing  with  expression." 

And,  with  a  squeaking  voice,  she  began  to  sing: 

Un  pigeon  moird  .... 
(A  watered  ilove) 

The  young  people  shouted  in  surprise  and  the  rest  of  the  company  began  to 
laugh,  and  the  singer  herself  could  not  help  laughing  too;  but,  after  stifling  her 
laughter,  she  continued,  in  a  voice  that  squeaked  twice  as  much  as  before : 

....  Gemissait, 

(Wailed) 

Gemissait  la  miit  et  le  jour; 
(W'ailed  uif^Iit  and  day) 

II  appelait  son  clier  a 

(He  called  his  dear  1 ) 

At  this  word  her  voice  trembled  and  at  once  failed  her. 

"It  does  not  come;  so  much  the  better,  it  ought  not  to  come;  something  else 
will  come  to  me;  listen,  my  children,  to  the  teaching  of  your  mother:  do  not  fall 
1:1  love,  and  be  sure  that  you  do  not  marry." 

She  began  to  sing  in  a  full,  strong  contralto : 

II  V  a  bieii  des  lieautes  clans  nos  aoules ; 
(Xfiere  are  many  beauties  in  our  Caucasian  villap;e8) 

Des  astres  brillent  dans  la  profondcur  do  leurs  yeux; 
(Stars  shine  in  the  depths  ul  their  eyes) 

II  est  bien  doux  de  les  aimer,  oui,  c'est  un  grand  bonheur; 
(It  is  very  sweet  to  love  them,  yes,  it  is  a  great  happiness) 

Mais  .... 
(liut) 

this  is  a  stupid  "but,"  my  children, — 

Mais  la  liberty  de  garcon  est  pius  joyeuse. 
(But  the  bachelor's  liberty  is  more  joyous) 

this  is  no  reason,  —  this  reason  is  stupid,  —  and  you  shall  know  why: 

Ne  te  marie  pas,  jeune  homme, 
(Do  not  marry,  young  man) 

Ecoute-moi ! 
(Listen  to  me) 


New   Characters  and  tJic   Conclunion.  825 

"  Farther  on  comes  a  piece  of  nonsense,  my  children ;  this  too  is  nonsense,  i  t' 
you  like :  one  may,  my  children,  both  fall  in  love  and  marry,  but  onlj'  by  choice, 
and  without  deceit,  without  deceit,  my  children.  I  am  going  to  sing  to  you  of  the 
way  in  which  I  was  married ;  the  romance  is  an  old  one,  but  I  also  am  old.  I  am 
sitting  on  a  balcony  in  our  castle  of  Dalton ;  I  am  a  fair-skinned  Scotchwoman ;  the 
forest  and  the  Bringale  River  are  before  me ;  some  one  stealthily  approaches  the 
balcony;  it  is  certainly  my  sweetheart;  he  is  poor,  and  T  am  rich,  the  daughter  of 
a  baron,  a  lord;  but  I  love  him  nmcli,  and  I  sing  to  him : 

La  raido  cote  dc  Bringale  est  belle, 
(The  steep  hill  of  iJrinpile  is  heuutilul) 

Et  verte  est  la  foret  aiUour, 
(And  pjeeii  is  the  I'orest  arouiid) 

OU  moil  ami  et  moi  troiivons  notrc  asile  dii  jour, 
(Where  my  friend  and  I  fin<l  our  retreat  by  day) 

for  I  know  that  in  the  daytime  he  hides  and  changes  his  retreat  every  day, 

Asile  pins  olieri  nue  la  inaison  naternclle. 
(A  retreat  dearer  tliaii  the  iialcrijal  roof) 

For  tliat  matter,  the  paternal  roof  was  not  indeed  very  dear.     So  I  sing  to  Iiini :   [ 
will  go  with  you.     How  do  you  tliink  he  answers  me? 

Tu  veux,  viorjje,  el  re  iniciuie, 
( Voii  winli,  vir;;in,  to  bo  mine) 

Oublier  ta  iiaissanco  et  ta  (lij;nit(f ; 
(To  forget  your  birth  and  your  <li(^nity) 

for  I  am  of  high  liirtli, — 

Main  d'abonl  dovino 
(lint  llrHt  (;ueKH) 

Quel  cHl.  rnoii  sort. 
(WImt  my  lot  iw) 

"You  are  a  huntnr?"  I  Hay.     "No."     "Voii  an-  a  j.oaclier?"     "You  have  almost 
gue.ssed  it,"  he  say.s. 

QnnnrI  nons  rions  rassetuMeronH,  enfants  des  tciitbrcs, 
(Wlien  we  nhall  (;uthi'r,  ehildren  ol  ilarkneo«) 

for  we,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  are  childn-n  of  vi-ry  liad  sulijecls, — 

II  nons  f.'nidra,  rrolH-nioi, 

(It  will  be  ni'cefwjiry  for  tin,  brllevfi  me) 

Oublier  fjni  nous  ef  ionn  il'.'ibord, 
(To  for>;et  who  we  were  lit  llrnti 

Oublier  f|ui  nouM  Koinnies  inaintenant, 
(To  forget  who  we  un."  now) 

he  sings.     "I  gues.sed  long  ago,"  I  say;  "you  are  a  brigaml."     And  it  is  really 


326  WJiat's  To  Be  Donel 

the  truth,  he  is  a  brigand, — yes,  he  is  a  brigand.     What  does  he  say  then,  gentle- 
men?   "You  see,  I  am  a  bad  sweetheart  for  you." 

O  vier^e,  ie  ne  suis  pas  riiomme  difcne  dc  tes  vceux ; 
(O  virj^iii,  I  am  not  a  man  worthy  of  your  vows) 

J'habite  les  forets  epaisses; 
(I  dwell  in  the  thick  forests) 

that  is  the  absolute  truth,  —  "  thick  forests  " ;  so  he  tells  me  not  to  accompany  him. 

P^rilleuse  sera  ma.  vie, 
(Perilous  will  be  my  life) 

for  in  the  thick  forests  there  are  wild  beasts, — 

Et  ma  fin  sera  bien  triste. 
(And  my  end  will  be  very  sad) 

That  is  not  true,  my  children;  it  will  not  be  sad;  but  then  I  believed  it,  and  he 
believed  it  too;  nevertheless  I  answer  him  in  the  same  way: 

La  raide  cote  de  Bringale  est  belje, 
(The  steep  hill  of  IJriiigale  is  beautiful) 

Et  verte  est  la  foret  autour, 
(And  {jreen  is  the  forest  around) 

Oil  raon  ami  et  moi  trouvons  notre  asile  du  jour, 
(Whet-e  my  friend  and  I  find  our  retreat  by  day) 

Asile  plus  cheri  que  la  maison  paternelle. 
(A  retreat  dearer  than  the  paternal  roof) 

Indeed,  so  it  was.  Therefore  I  could  reget  nothing :  he  had  told  me  where  T  was 
to  go.  Thusi  one  may  marry,  one  may  love,  my  children,  —  without  deceit  and 
knowing  well  how  to  choose. 

La lune  se  leve 
(The  moon  rises) 

Lcnte  et  tranquille, 
(Slowly  and  peacefully) 

Et  le  jeune  fjuerrier 
(And  the  young  warrior) 

Se  prepare  an  combat. 
(Prepares  for  (he  combat) 

II  charjrc  son  fusil, 
(lie  loads  his  ^n) 

Et  la  vierjce  lui  dit: 
(And  the  virgin  says  to  him) 

"  Avec  audacc,  men  amour, 
(Boldly,  my  love) 

Confie-toi  k  ta  destinfe." 
(Entrust  yourself  to  your  destiny) 

With  such  women  one  may  fall  in  love,  and  one  may  marry  them." 

("  Forget  what  I  said  to  you,  Sacha;  listen  to  her!"  whispers  one  of  the  women, 


Kew   Characters  and  the   Conclusion.  327 

pressing  his  hand.  —  "AVhy  did  I  not  say  that  to  you?    Now  I  will  speak  of  it  to 
you,"  whispers  the  other.) 

"  1  allow  you  to  love  such  women,  and  I  bless  you,  my  children : 

Avec  audace,  cber  amour, 
(BoUUy,  dear  love) 

Confie-toi  a  ta  destinee. 
(Entrust  yourself  to  your  destiny) 

I  have  grown  quite  gay  with  you ;  now,  wherever  there  is  gayety,  there  should  be 
drinking. 

He!  ma  cabaretiere, 
(Ho!  luy  hostess) 

Verse-moi  de  I'hydromel  et  du  vin, 
(Pour  me  some  mead  and  wine) 

Mead,  because  the  word  cannot  be  thrown  out  of  the  song.     Is  there  any  cham- 
pagne left?    Yes?    Perfect!    Open  it. 

He!  ma  cabareti^re, 
(Ho!  my  hostess; 

Verse-moi  do  I'liydromel  et  du  vin, 
(Pour  me  some  mead  and  wine) 

Potir  (juc!  nia  lelo 
(That  my  head) 

Soit  Kaii;! 
(May  bo  gay) 

Who  is  the  hostess  ?    Me : 

Et  l;i  i-;il)!iri'tiere  a  dos  sourcils  noirs 
(AiJ<l  Mk'  hii.Klrs.t  has  lilack  eyelirows; 

Kt  di's  tiiloMH  ferres! 
(And  iron  lieels; 

She  rosf!  suddfMily,  l>as.sfd  hor  liand  ovor  lior  (•y<'bro\vs,  and  staniptMl  \s  ilh  licr  IiciIh. 

"Toured!     li^ady  I     Ladies   and  frfiitli'iiuMi,  you,  old  man,  and  you,  my  chil- 
dren, take  it  .lU'l  drink  it,  that  your  lieads  may  be  gay! " 

"To  th«;  liosU.!».s,  to  tlie  hostess  1  " 

"TliankHl  h^  7iiy  lir-altli  I  " 

She  sits  down  again  at  the  piano  and  sings : 


and  it  will  fly  away,  ■ 


Que  1p  rliaprin  vnlo  en  •'i'liitsl 
(1^-t  luirrow  lly  away  In  kliouta; 


Et  dans  dfs  rrrnrH  raieniiis 
(Anrl  into  ri'juvenaled  licarts) 

Que  riiialtcrrablo  joio  dcsrendel 
(Let  unalterable  Joy  descend; 


and  so  it  will,  probably. 


328  What's   To  Be  Done? 


La  sombre  peur  fait  comme  un  ombre, 
(Dark  ti-ar  llces  like  a  shadow) 

Dcs  rayons  qui  apportent  le  jour, 
(Rjiys  that  bring  the  day) 

La  lumiere,  la  chaleur,  et  les  parfums  printauiers 
(Light,  warmth,  and  tlie  spring  perfumes) 

Chassent  vite  les  tenebres  ct  le  frnid  ; 
((.Quickly  drive  away  tlie  darkness  and  cold) 

L'odeur  de  la  pourriture  dimiuue, 
(The  odor  of  decay  diminishes) 

L'odeur  de  la  rose  croit  sans  cesse. 
(The  odor  of  the  rose  ever  increases) 


Change  of  Scene.  329 


CHAPTER      SIXTH. 
Change  of  Scene. 

"^lu  passage!"  said  the  lady  in  black  to  the  coachman,  though  now  she  was  no 
longer  in  black :  a  liglit  dress,  a  pink  hat,  a  white  mantilla,  and  a  bouquet  in  her 
hand.  She  was  no  longer  with  Mossoloff  alone :  Mossolof?  and  Nikitine  were  on 
the  front  seat  of  the  l>arouche;  on  the  coachman's  seat  was  a  youth;  and  beside 
the  lady  sat  a  man  of  about  thirty.  IIow  old  was  the  lady?  Was  she  twenty- 
five,  as  she  said,  instead  of  twenty  only?  But  if  she  chose  to  make  herself  old, 
that  was  a  matter  for  her  own  conscience. 

"Yes,  my  dear  friend,  I  liave  been  expecting  this  day  for  more  than  two  years. 
At  tlie  time  when  I  made  his  acquaintance  (she  indicated  Nikitine  with  her  eyes), 
I  only  had  a  presentiment;  it  could  not  then  be  said  that  I  expected;  tlicn  there 
was  only  hope,  but  soon  came  assurance." 

"Permit  mel"  says  the  reader,  —  and  not  only  the  reader  with  the  penetrating 
eye, but  every  reader,  —  l)ecoMiing  more  stu[u'ficcl  (he  more  he  reflects:  "more  than 
two  3'ears  after  she  had  made  Xikitine's  ac(piaintance?" 

"Yes." 

"Hut  she  miule  Nikitine's  acquaintance  at  the  same  time  that  she  made  that  of 
the  KirsanofFs  and  the  IJeaumonts,  at  the  sleighing-party  which  took  place  (i>- 
wards  the  end  of  last  winter." 

"You  arc  perfectly  right." 

"What  does  tliis  mean,  then?     You  are  talking  of  the  beginning  of  the  year 

isrw?" 

"Yes." 

"But  how  is  tliat  possible,  pray?" 
"Wiiy  not,  if  I  know  it?" 
"Nonsense!  who  will  listen  to  you?" 
"You  will  not?" 

"What  do  you  take  me  for?    Certainly  not." 

"If  you  will  not  listen  to  me  now,  it  is  needless  to  say  that  I  must  postpone  tlie 
eequel  of  my  story  until  you  will  deign  to  listen.    I  hope  to  see  that  day  ere  long." 
April  4  (10),  1803. 

TriE  End. 


LIBERTY. 

A  FORTNIGHTLY  ORGAN  OF  ANARCHISTIC  SOCIALISM. 

THE   PIOXEEU  OF  ANARCHY  IX  A^IEKICA. 

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ONE   DOLLAR   A  YEAR. 


Liberty  nnmbors  among  its  contributors  manv  of  tlie  ablest  radical 
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Lihp:rty  insists  on  the  sovereignty  of  the  individual  and  the  just  re- 
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Liherty's  war-cry  is  "  Down  with  Authority,"  and  its  chief  battle  with 
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woman  ;  the  State,  that  corrupts  children  ;  the  State,  that  trannnels  love  ; 
the  State,  that  stilh-s  tIiou;^ht ;  the  State,  that  mon<)i)oli/,es  land  ;  tlu- 
State,  that  limits  credit;  the  State,  that  restricts  exchange;  the  State, 
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profit,  and  taxes,  robs  industrious  labor  of  its  products. 

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AVHAT  IS  PROPEKTY? 


OR, 

AN  INQUIRY  INTO  THE  PRINCIPLE  OF  RIGHT  AND  OF  GOVERNMENT. 

BY 

P.   J.    PEOUDHOK 

Prefaced  by  a  sketch  of  Proudhon's  Life  and  Works,  })y  J.  A. 

Langlois,  and  containing  as  a  Frontispiece  a  Fine 

Steel  Enjjravini]^  of  the  Author. 

Translated  from  the  French  by  Benj.  R.  Tucker. 

A  systematic,  thorough,  and  radical  discussion  of  the  institution  of 
Property,  —  its  basis,  its  history,  its  present  status,  and  its  destiny, — 
togetlier  witli  a  detailed  and  startling  expose  of  the  crimes  whicli  it  com- 
mits and  the  evils  which  it  engenders. 

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GOD   AND   THE   STATE. 

BY 

MICHAEL   BAKOUXIXE, 

FOUNDER  OF  nihilism:  AND  APOSTLE   OF  ANARCHY. 

Translated  from  the  French  by 
BEXJ.    i;.   TUCKEK. 

One  of  the  most  eloquent  j^^eas  for  libertt/  ever  written.  Paine's 
''Ar/e  of  lieason"  and  "■RirjJds  of  Man'"  consolidated  and  improved. 
It  stirs  the  pulse  like  a  trumpet  call. — New  Youk  Truth  Seekkic. 

Address  the    Publisher, 

BENJ.   R.   TUCKER,  P.  O.  Box  3366,  Boston,  Mass. 


TRUE  CIVILIZATION. 

A    SUBJECT    OF    VITAL   AND    SERIOUS    INTEREST    TO    ALL 

PEOPLE,   BUT   MOST   IMMEDIATELY  TO   THE   MEN 

AND   WOMEN   OP   LABOR  AND   SORROW. 

.lOSlAll    WARUICX. 

A   pamplilct  of    117    [(.I'^fs,    now   jiasHin;^   thn)iij;Ii    its   fifth    edition, 
exi)l:iining  tin;  liasic  |)rinci|)lcH  nf   Lulior  lufuiiii,  —  Liln-rty  ami  iv|iiity. 

Address  the  Publisher, 

BENJ.   R.   TUCKER,  P.  O.  Box  3366,  Boston,  Mass. 


" /n  many  respects  the  best  Anarchistic  tvork  produced  in  America." — ■ 
E.  C.  Walker. 

CO-OPERATION. 

I.— ITS  LAWS  AND   PRINCIPLES. 

By  C.  T.  FOWLER. 
A  PAMPITLET  of  28  pageB,  with  a  rtiu;  portrait  of  IIebbeut  Spencer  as  a  frontispiece;  showiiiK 
logically,  vividly,  and  eloquently  Liberty  and  K.|uity  as  the  only  conditions  of  true  cooperation,  and 
exposing  the  violations  of  these  conditions  by  Rent,  Interest,  I'roht,  and  Majority  Rule. 

II.— THE  REORGANIZATION  OF  BUSINESS. 
By  C.  T.  FOWLER. 
A  T'AMPIILET  of  28  pages,  with  a  fine  portrait  of  Ralpu  Waldo  Emerson  as  a  frontispiece: 
showing  how  the  principles  of  cooperation  may  be  realized  in  the  Store,  the  Bank,  and  the  Factory. 

PPtOHIBITIOJN : 

OR, 

THE  RELATION  OF  GOVERNMENT  TO  TEMPERANCE. 

By  C.  T.  FOWLER. 
A  PAMPHLET  of  28  pages;  showing  that  prohibition  cannot  prohibit,  and  would  be  unnecessary  if 
it  could  ;  that  it  promotes  intemperance;  and  that  it  is  but  a  phase  of  that  paternalism  which  leads  to 
Imbecility  and  crime,  as  opposed  to  that  equal  liberty  which  leads  to  virtue  and  self-reliance. 

Six  Cents  per  Copy;  Two  Copies,  Ten  Cents. 
Address:  BENJ.  R.  TUCKER,  Box  3366,  Boston,  Mass. 

SOCIAL  WEALTH: 

THE  SOLE  FACTORS  AND   EXACT  RATIOS  IN  ITS  ACQUIRE- 
MENT AND  APPORTIONMENT. 
By  J.  K.  INGALLS. 

This  handsome  octivo  volume  of  320  pages  treats  of  the  usurpations  of  Capitalism,  showing  that  Land 
and  Labor  are  the  only  ualural  capital,  or  source  of  wealth ;  exposing  the  trick  of  treating  variable  and 
Invariable  values  a^  one,  and  explaining  the  true  mi'dii  of  Value  in  Exchange;  showing  that  in  the  pro- 
duction of  wealth  cooperation  always  exists,  and  opposing  the  fraudulent  methods  by  which  equitable 
division  is  defeated;  exploding  the  "Taxation"  and  other  "  Remedies"  for  the  wrongs  done  Industry 
proposed  by  George,  Wallace,  and  Clark,  and  demonstrating  that  the  scientific  is  the  only  safe  method 
of  investigation  for  the  employer  or  the  employed  who  seeks  salutary  reform. 

Address :   BENJ.  R.  TUCKER,  Box  3366,  Boston,  Mass. 

A  POLITICIAN  IN  SIGHT  OF  HAVEN : 

BEING    A    PROTEST    AGAINST   THE   GOVERNMENT   OF   MAN 

BY  MAN. 

By    A-XJUEROiV    IIEItXJEIlT. 

PRICE,  10  CENTS. 
Address  the  Publisher,  BENJ.  R.  TUCKER,  P.  O.  Box  3366,  Boston,  Mass. 


LIBERTY'S    LIBRARY. 

For  any  of  the  following  Works,  address,  BENJ.  E.  TUCKEE,  Box  3366,  Boston,  Mass/ 

THE  WIND  AND  THE  WHIRLWIND.  A  poem  worthy  of  a  place  in 
evL'iT  man's  liljran',  ami  especially  interesting  to  all  victims  of  British  tyranny 
and  misrule.  By  Wilfrid  Scaweu  Blunt.  A  red-line  edition,  printed  beauti- 
fully, in  large  type,  on  line  paper,  and  bound  in  parciimeut  covers.  Elegant 
and  cheap.     32  pages.     Price,  25  cents. 

THE  RADICAL  REVIEW:  Vol.  I.,  handsomely  bound  in  cloth,  and 
containing  over  sixty  Essays,  Poems,  Translations,  and  Reviews,  by  the  most 
prominent  radical  writers,  ou  industrial,  (inancial,  social,  literary,  scientific, 
philosophical,  ethical,  and  religious  subjects.  828  pages  octavo.  Price,  §5.00. 
Single  numbers,  81.15. 

THE  FALLACIES  IN  "PROGRESS  AND  POVERTY."  A  bold  at- 
tack on  the  position  of  Henry  George.  Written  for  the  people,  and  as  revolu- 
tionary in  sentiment,  and  even  more  radical  than  "Progress  and  Poverty" 
itself.     By  William  Hanson.     11)1  pages,  cloth.     Price,  §1.00. 

NATURAL  LAW:  or,  the  Science  of  Justice.  A  Treatise  on  Natural 
Law,  Natural  Justice,  Natural  Rights,  Natural  Liberty,  and  Natural  Society, 
sliowing  that  all  legislation  whatsoever  is  an  absurdity,  a  usurpation,  and  a 
crime.     By  Lvsander  Spooner.     Price,  10  cents. 

AN  ANARCHIST  ON  ANARCHY.  An  eloquent  exposition  of  the  be- 
liefs of  .Anarchists  by  a  man  as  eminent  in  science  as  in  reform.  By  Elisfe 
Redus.  Followed  by  a  sketch  of  tlie  criminal  record  of  the  author  l)y  E. 
Vauirhan.     Price,  10  cents. 

SO  THE  RAILWAY  KINGS  ITCH  FOR  AN  EMIMRE,  DO  THEY? 
By  a  "  Red-Hot  Striker,"  of  Scranton,  Pa.  A  reply  to  an  article  l)y  William 
M.  Grosvenor  in  the  Jnli  rnntiiivid  Itiviiw.     Price,  10  cents;  |)cr  hundred,  J?!.'"). 

INTERNATIONAL  ADDRESS:  An  elaborate,  comprelieiisivt',  and 
very  entertaining  E.xposition  of  the  principles  of  The  Working-people's  Inter- 
national Association.     Bv  William  B.  Greene.     Price,  15  cents. 

THE  W()I{KIX(;  WO>iEN:  A  letter  to  the  Rev.  Henry  W.  Foote, 
.Mini-.t(ror  King's  ('li;i|i(|,  in  Viiidicatif.n  of  the  Poorer  Class  of  Boston  Work- 
ing-Women.    Bv  William  B.  (Jrccne.     l'ri(U!,  15  cents. 

ANARCHISM  (")R  AN.\RCIIV?  A  Di.seus.sion  between  William  R. 
Tillinghast  and  \Wu].  R.  Tucker.  Prcfacid  by  an  Open  Letter  to  Rev.  William 
J.  Potter.     Sent  on  rrccipt  of  a  postage  stamp. 

A  FE.MALE  NIHILIST.  A  tlniilini;  sketch  of  the  cliarMcter  and  ad- 
ventures of  a  typical  Nihilistic  heroine.  By  Slepniak,  author  of  "  Under- 
grf)und  Rii-sia."     I'riiM?,  10  rents. 

MUTUAL  IJANKINCJ:  Sliowiiii,'  (he  Radical  Dcliciciicy  of  Ihc  existinj,' 
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liam B.  (;reene.      Price,  'I't  cents. 

CAl'I'AIX  ROL.VND'S  I'URSE:  How  it  in  Filled  :uid  liow  Emplied. 
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at  'M  cents  |)er  hundred. 

SOCIALISTIC,  COM.MUNISTIC,  MUTUALISTIC,  AND  FINANCIAL 
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PRO.STITUTION  AND  TIIK  INTERNATIONAL  WO.MAN'S 
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