 Section 3 of Short Stories by Fyodor Dostoyevsky. This unpleasant business occurred at the epic when the regeneration of our beloved fatherland, and the struggle of her valiant sons towards new hopes and destinies, was beginning with irresistible force, and with a touchingly naive impetuosity. One winter evening in that period between eleven and twelve o'clock, three highly respectable gentlemen were sitting in a comfortable and even luxuriously furnished room in a handsome house of two stories on the Petersburg side, and were engaged in a staid and edifying conversation on a very interesting subject. These three gentlemen were all of general's rank. They were sitting round a little table, each in a soft, handsome armchair, and, as they talked, they quietly and luxuriously sipped champagne. The bottle stood on the table on a silver stand with ice-round it. The fact was that the host, a privy counsellor called Stepan Nikiforovich Nikiforov, an old bachelor of sixty-five, was celebrating his removal into a house he had just bought, and as it happened, also his birthday, which he never kept before. The festivity, however, was not on a very grand scale. As we have seen already, there were only two guests, both of them former colleagues and former subordinates of Mr. Nikiforov. That is, an actual civil counsellor called Semyon Ivanovich Shepulenko, and another actual civil counsellor, Ivan Ilyich Pralinsky. They had arrived to tea at nine o'clock, and then had begun upon the wine, and knew that at exactly half past eleven they would have to set off home. Their host had all his life been fond of regularity. A few words about him. He had begun his career as a petty clerk with nothing to back him, and had quietly plotted on for forty-five years, knew very well what to work towards, had no ambition to draw the stars down from heaven, though he had two stars already, and particularly disliked expressing his own opinion on any subject. He was honest, too. That is, it had not happened to him to do anything particularly dishonest. He was a bachelor because he was an egoist. He had plenty of brains, but he could not bear showing his intelligence. He particularly disliked slovenliness and enthusiasm, regarding it as moral slovenliness, and towards the end of his life had become completely absorbed in a voluptuous, indolent comfort and systematic solitude. Though he sometimes visited people of a rather higher rank than his own, yet from his youth up he could never endure entertaining visitors himself, and of late he had, if he did not play a game of patience, then satisfied with the society of his dining-room clock, and would spend the whole evening dozing in his armchair, listening placidly to its ticking under its glass case on the chimney-piece. In appearance, he was closely shaven and extremely proper-looking. He was well-preserved, looking younger than his age. He promised to go on living many years, and closely followed the rules of the highest good breeding. His post was a fairly comfortable one. He had to preside somewhere and to sign something. In short, he was regarded as a first rate man. He had only one passion, or, more accurately, one keen desire, that was to have his own house, and a house built like a gentleman's residence, not a commercial investment. His desire was at last realized. He looked out and bought a house on the Petersburg side, a good way off, it is true, but it had a garden and was an elegant house. The new owner decided that it was better for being a good way off. He did not like entertaining at home, and for driving to see anyone, or to the office, he had a handsome carriage of a chocolate hue, a coachman, may he, and two little but strong and handsome horses. All this was honorably acquired by the careful frugality of forty years, so that his heart rejoiced over it. This was how it was that Stepan Nikiforovich felt such pleasure in his placid heart that he actually invited two friends to see him on his birthday, which he had hitherto carefully concealed from his most intimate acquaintances. He had special designs on one of these visitors. He lived in the upper story of his new house, and he wanted a tenant for the lower half, which was built and arranged in exactly the same way. Stepan Nikiforovich was reckoning upon Semyon Ivanovich Shipolenko, and had twice that evening broach the subject in the course of conversation. But Semyon Ivanovich made no response. The latter, too, was a man who had doggedly made a way for himself in the course of long years. He had black hair and whiskers, and a face that always had a shade of jauntess. He was a married man of morose disposition who liked to stay at home. He ruled his household with a rod of iron, and his official duties he had the greatest self-confidence. He, too, knew perfectly well what goal he was making for, and better still, what he never would reach. He was in a good position, and he was sitting tight there. Though he looked upon the new reforms with a certain distaste, he was not particularly agitated about them. He was extremely self-confident and listened with a shade of ironical malice to Ivan Ilyich Prolinsky expaciating on new themes. All of them had been drinking rather freely, however, so that Stepan Nikiforovich himself condescended to take part in a slight discussion with Mr. Prolinsky concerning the latest reforms. But we must say a few words about his Excellency Mr. Prolinsky, especially as he is the chief hero of the present story. The actual civil counselor Ivan Ilyich Prolinsky had only been his Excellency for four months. In short, he was a young general. He was young in years two, only forty-three, no more, and he looked and liked to look even younger. He was a tall, handsome man. He was smart in his dress and prided himself on its solid, dignified character. With great aplomb, he displayed an order of some consequence on his breast. From his earliest childhood, he had known how to acquire the heirs and graces of aristocratic society, and being a bachelor, dreamed of a wealthy and even aristocratic bride. He dreamed of many other things, though he was far from being stupid. At times he was a great talker and even liked to assume a parliamentary pose. He came of a good family. He was the son of a general and brought up in the lap of luxury. In his tender childhood he had been dressed in velvet and fine linen, had been educated at an aristocratic school, and though he acquired very little learning there, he was successful in the service, and had worked his way up to being a general. The authorities looked upon him as a capable man, and even expected great things from him in the future. Stepan Nikiforovich, under whom Ivan Ilyich had begun his career in the service, and under whom he had remained until he was made a general, had never considered him a good businessman, and had no expectations of him whatever. What he liked in him was that he belonged to a good family, had property, that is a big block of buildings let out in flats, in charge of an overseer, was connected with persons of consequence and, what was more, had a majestic bearing. Stepan Nikiforovich blamed him inwardly for excess of imagination and instability. Ivan Ilyich himself felt at times that he had too much a more proper, and even sensitiveness. Strange to say, he had attacks from time to time of morbid tenderness of conscience, and even a kind of faint remorse. With bitterness and a secret soreness of heart, he recognized now and again that he did not fly so high as he imagined. At such moments, he sank into despondency, especially when he was suffering from hemorrhoids, called his life une existence manqué, and ceased privately, of course, to believe even in his parliamentary capacities, calling himself a talker, a maker of phrases. And though all that, of course, did him great credit, it did not in the least prevent him from raising his head again half an hour later, and growing even more obstinately, even more conceitedly self-confident, and assuring himself that he would yet succeed in making his mark, and that he would be not only a great official, but a statesman whom Russia would long remember. He actually dreamed at times of monuments. From this it will be seen that Ivan Ilyich aimed high, though he hid his vague hopes and dreams deep in his heart, even with a certain trepidation. In short, he was a good-natured man and a poet at heart. Of late years these morbid moments of disillusionment had begun to be more frequent. He had become peculiarly irritable, ready to take offense, and was apt to take any contradiction as an affront. But reformed Russia gave him great hopes. His promotion, in general, was the finishing touch. He was roused. He held his head up. He suddenly began talking freely and eloquently. He talked about the new ideas which he very quickly and unexpectedly made his own, and professed with vehemence. He sought opportunities for speaking, drove about the town, and in many places succeeded in gaining the reputation of a desperate liberal, which flattered him greatly. That evening, after drinking four glasses, he was particularly exuberant. He wanted on every point to confute Stepan Nikiforovich, whom he had not seen for some time past, and whom he had hitherto always respected, and even obeyed. He considered him for some reason reactionary, and fell upon him with exceptional heat. Stepan Nikiforovich hardly answered him, but only listened slyly, though the subject interested him. Ivan Ilyich got hot, and in the heat of the discussion sipped his glass more often than he ought to have done. Then Stepan Nikiforovich took the bottle and at once filled his glass again, which for some reason seemed to offend Ivan Ilyich, especially as Semyon Ivanich Šipelenko, whom he particularly despised, and indeed feared on the count of his cynicism and ill nature, preserved a treacherous silence, and smiled more frequently than was necessary. They seemed to take me for a schoolboy, flashed across Ivan Ilyich's mind. No, it was time, high time. He went on hotly. We have put it off too long, and to my thinking humanity is the first consideration. Humanity with our inferiors, remembering that they too are men. Humanity will save everything, and bring out all that is. He he he was heard from the direction of Semyon Ivanovich. But why are you giving us such a talking to? Stepan Nikiforovich protested at last, with an affable smile. I must own Ivan Ilyich. I have not been able to make out so far what you are maintaining. You advocate humanity? That is love of your fellow-creatures, isn't it? Yes, if you like. I allow me. As far as I can see that's not the only thing. Love of one's fellow-creatures has always been fitting. The reform movement is not confined to that. All sorts of questions have arisen relating to the peasantry, the law courts, economics, government contracts, morals, and… and… and those questions are endless, and altogether may give rise to great upheavals, so to say. That is what we have been anxious about, and not simply humanity. Yes, the thing is a bit deeper than that, observed Semyon Ivanovich. I quite understand, and allow me to observe Semyon Ivanovich, that I can't agree to being inferior to you in depth of understanding. Ivan Ilyich observed sarcastically, and with excessive sharpness. However, I will make so bold as to assert Stepan Nikiforovich that you have not understood me either. No, I haven't. And yet I maintain and everywhere advance the idea that humanity and nothing else with one's subordinates, from the official in one's department down to the copian clerk, from the copian clerk down to the house surf, from the servant down to the peasant humanity, I say, may serve, so to speak, as the cornerstone of the coming reforms, and the reformation of things in general. Why? Because. Take a syllogism. I am a human. Consequently, I am loved. I am loved, so confidence is felt in me. There is a feeling of confidence, and so there is trust. There is trust, and so there is love. That is, no. I mean to say that if they trust me, they will believe in the reforms, they will understand, so to speak, the essential nature of them, will, so to speak, embrace each other in a moral sense, and will settle the whole business in a friendly way, fundamentally. What are you laughing at, Semyon Ivanovich? Can't you understand? Step on, Nikki Fortovich, raised his eyebrows without speaking. He was surprised. I fancy I have drunk a little too much, said Semyon Ivanovich sarcastically, and so I am a little slow of comprehension, not quite all my wits about me. Ivanovich winced. We should break down. Step on, Nikki Fortovich pronounced suddenly, after a slight pause of hesitation. How do you mean we should break down? asked Ivanovich, surprised that Step on, Nikki Fortovich, is abrupt remark. Why, we should break under the strain. Step on, Nikki Fortovich evidently did not care to explain further. I suppose you are thinking of new wine and old bottles? Ivan Ilyich replied, not without irony. Well, I can answer for myself anyway. At that moment the clock struck half past eleven. One sits on and on, but one must go at last, said Semyon Ivanovich getting up, but Ivan Ilyich was before him. He got up from the table and took his sable cap from the chimney place. He looked as though he had been insulted. So how is it to be Semyon Ivanovich? Will you think it over? said Step on, Nikki Fortovich, as he saw the visitors out. About the flat, you mean. I'll think it over. I'll think it over. Well, when you have made up your mind, let me know as soon as possible. Still on business, Mr. Pralinsky observed affably in a slightly ingratiating tone playing with his hat. It seemed to him as though they were forgetting him. Step on, Nikki Fortovich raced his eyebrows and remained mute, as a sign that he would not detain his visitors. Semyon Ivanovich made haste to bow himself out. Well, after that what is one to expect? If you don't understand the simple rules of good manners, Mr. Pralinsky reflected to himself and held out his hand to step on, Nikki Fortovich in a particularly offhand way. In the hall, Ivanovich wrapped himself up in his light expensive fur coat. He tried for some reason not to notice Semyon Ivanovich's shabby raccoon, and they both began descending the stairs. The old man seemed offended, said Ivanovich to the silent Semyon Ivanovich. No. Why? answered the latter with cool composure. Servile flunky! Ivan Ilyich thought to himself. They went out at the front door. Semyon Ivanovich's sledge with a gray ugly horse drove up. What the devil! What has Trifon done with my carriage? cried Ivan Ilyich not seeing his carriage. The carriage was nowhere to be seen. Stepan Nikki Fortovich's servant knew nothing about it. They appealed to Varlam, Semyon Ivanovich's coachman, and received the answer that he had been standing there all the time, and that the carriage had been there, but now there was no sign of it. An unpleasant predicament, Mr. Shippelenko pronounced. Shall I take you home? Scoundrel-y people! Mr. Polinsky cried with fury. He asked me the rascal to let him go to a wedding close here in the Petersburg side. Some crony of his was getting married. Deuce-taker! I sternly forbade him to absent himself, then now I'll bet he has gone off there. He certainly has gone there, sir, observed Varlam. But he promised to be back in a minute to be here in time, that is. Well, there it is. I had a presentiment that this would happen. I'll give it to him. You'd better give him a good flogging once or twice at the police station, then he will do what you tell him, said Semyon Ivanovich as he wrapped the rug round him. Please don't you trouble Semyon Ivanovich. Well, won't you let me take you along? Merci. Bon voyage. Semyon Ivanovich drove off, while Ivan Ilyich set off on foot along the wooden pavement, conscious of a rather acute irritation. Yes, indeed. I'll give it to you now, you rogue. I am going on foot on purpose to make you feel it, to frighten you. He will come back and hear that his master has gone off on foot. The Blackguard. Ivan Ilyich had never abused anyone like this, but he was greatly angered. And besides, there was a buzzing in his head. He was not given a drink, so five or six glasses soon affected him. But the night was enchanting. There was a frost, but it was remarkably still, and there was no wind. There was a clear starry sky. The full moon was bathing the earth in soft silver light. It was so lovely that after walking some fifty paces, Ivan Ilyich almost forgot his troubles. He felt particularly pleased. People quickly changed from one mood to another when they are a little drunk. He was even pleased with the ugly little wooden houses of the deserted street. It's really a capital thing that I am walking, he thought. It's a lesson to trifin and a pleasure to me. I really ought to walk oftener, and I shall soon pick up a sledge on the great prospect. It's a glorious night. What little houses they all are. I suppose small fry live here. Clerks, tradesmen, perhaps. That's Stepan Nika Fortovich. What reactionaries they all are. Those old fogies. Fogies. Yes, Selamo. He is a sensible man, though. He has that balsense, sober, practical understanding of things. But they are old. Old? There is a lack of... what is it? There is a lack of something. We shall break down. What did he mean by that? He actually pondered when he said it. He didn't understand me a bit. And yet how could he help understanding? It was more difficult not to understand it than to understand it. The chief thing is that I am convinced, convinced in my soul, humanity. The love of one's kind. Restore a man to himself, revive his personal dignity, and then, when the ground is prepared, get to work. I believe that's clear. Yes, allow me your excellency. Take a syllogism, for instance. We meet, for instance, a clerk, a poor downtrodden clerk. Well, who are you? Answer, a clerk. Very good, a clerk. Further, what sort of clerk are you? Answer, I am such and such a clerk, he says. Are you in the service? I am. Do you want to be happy? I do. What do you need for happiness? This and that. Why? Because... And there the man understands me with a couple of words. The man's mine. The man is caught, so to speak, in a net. And I can do what I like with him. That is, for his good. Horrid man, that Semyon Ivanovich. And what a nasty fizz he has. Flog him in the police station. He said that on purpose. No. You are talking rubbish. You can flog, but I'm not going to. I shall punish Trifon with words. I shall punish him with reproaches. He will feel it. As for flogging, it is an open question. What about going to Emirans? Ah, damn nation, take it, the cursed pavement. He cried out, suddenly tripping up. And this is the capital, enlightenment. One might break one's leg. I detest that Semyon Ivanovich, most revolting fizz. He was chuckling at me just now, and I said they would embrace each other in a moral sense. Well, they will embrace each other, and what's that to do with you? I'm not going to embrace you. I'd rather embrace a peasant. If I meet a peasant, I shall talk to him. I was drunk, though, and perhaps did not express myself properly. Possibly I am not expressing myself rightly now. I shall never touch wine again. In the evening you babble, and next morning you are sorry for it. After all, I am walking quite steadily, but they are all scoundrels anyhow. So Ivan Ilyich meditated incoherently and by snatches, as he went on striding along the pavement. The fresh air began to affect him, set his mind working. Five minutes later he would have felt soothed and sleepy, but all at once, scarcely two paces from the great prospect he heard music. He looked round. On the other side of the street, in a very tumbled-down, looking-long wooden house of one story, there was a great fett. There was the scraping of violins, and the droning of a double bass, and the squeaky tooting of a flute playing a very gay quadril tune. Under the windows stood an audience, mainly of women in wadded peluses with kerchiefs on their heads. They were straining every effort to see something through a crack in the shutters. Evidently, there was a gay party within. The sound of the thud of dancing feet reached the other side of the street. Ivan Ilyich saw a policeman standing not far off and went up to him. Whose house is that, brother? he asked, flinging his expensive fur coat open, just far enough to allow the policeman to see the imposing decoration on his breast. It belongs to the registration clerk, Seldominov. Answered the policeman, drawing himself up instantly, discerning the decoration. Seldominov? Ha! Seldominov? What is he up to? Getting married? Yes, Your Honor. To a daughter of a titular counselor, Mleko Pityev, a titular counselor, he used to serve in the municipal department. That house goes with the bride. So that now the house is Seldominov's and not Mleko Pityev's? Yes, Seldominov's, Your Honor. It was Mleko Pityev's, but now it is Seldominov's. Ha! I am asking you, my man, because I am his chief. I am a general in the same office in which Seldominov serves. Just so, Your Excellency. The policeman drew himself up more stiffly than ever, while Ivan Ilyich seemed to ponder. He stood still and meditated. Yes, Seldominov really was in his department and in his own office. He remembered that. He was a little clerk with a salary of ten rubles a month. As Mr. Purlinski had received his department very lately, he might not have remembered precisely all his subordinates, but, Seldominov, he remembered just because of his surname. He had caught his eye from the very first, so that at the time he had had the curiosity to look with special attention at the possessor of such a surname. He remembered now a very young man with a long-hooked nose, with tough seflaxen hair, lean and ill-nourished, in an impossible uniform, and with unmentionables so impossible as to be actually unseemly. He remembered how the thought had flashed through his mind at the time. Shouldn't he give the poor fellow ten rubles for Christmas to spend on his wardrobe? But as the poor fellow's face was too austere, and his expression extremely unprepossessioned, even exciting repulsion, the good-natured idea somehow faded away of itself, so Seldominov did not get his tit. He had been the more surprised when this name, Seldominov, had not more than a week before asked for leave to be married. Ivan Ilyich remembered that he had somehow not had time to go into the matter, so that the matter of the marriage had been settled off-hand in haste. But yet he did remember exactly that Seldominov was receiving a wooden house and four hundred rubles in cash, as dowry with his bride. The circumstance had surprised him at the time. He remembered that he had made a slight jest over the juxtaposition of the names Seldominov and Mleko-Pityev. He remembered all that clearly. He recalled it and grew more and more pensive. It is well known that whole trains of thoughts sometimes pass through our brains instantaneously as though they were sensations without being translated into human speech, still less into literary language. But we will try to translate these sensations of our heroes and present to the reader at least the kernel of them, so to say, what was most essential and nearest to reality in them. For many of our sensations when translated into ordinary language seem absolutely unreal. That is why they never find expression, though everyone has them. Of course, Ivan Ilyich's sensations and thoughts were a little incoherent, but you know the reason. Why? flashed through his mind. Here we all talk and talk. But when it comes to action, it all ends in nothing. Here, for instance, take this Seldominov. He has just come from his wedding full of hope and excitement, looking forward to his wedding feast. This is one of the most blissful days of his life. Now he is busy with his guests, is giving a banquet, a modest one, poor, but gay and full of genuine gladness. What if he knew that at this very moment, I, I, his superior, his chief, am standing by his house and listening to the music? Yes, really, how would he feel? No, what would he feel if I suddenly walked in? Of course, at first he would be frightened, he would be dumb with embarrassment. I should be in his way, and perhaps should upset everything. Yes, that would be so if any other general went in, but not I. That's a fact. Anyone else, but not I. Yes, Stepan Enicky Fortovich, you did not understand me just now, but here is an example ready for you. Yes, we all make an outcry about acting humanely, but we are not capable of heroism, of fine actions. What sort of heroism? This sort. Consider, in the existing relations of the various members of society for me, for me, after midnight to go into the wedding of my subordinate, a registration clerk, ten roubles a month. Why, it would mean embarrassment, a revolution, the last days of Pompeii, a nonsensical folly. No one would understand it. Stepan Enicky Fortovich would die before he understood it. Why, he said we should break down. Yes, but that's you, old people, inert, paralytic people. But I shan't break down. I will transform the last day of Pompeii to a day of the utmost sweetness for my subordinate, and a wild action to an action normal, patriarchal, lofty, and moral. How? Like this. Kindly listen. Here, I go in, suppose they are amazed, leave off dancing, look wildly at me, draw back. Quite so. But at once I speak out, I go straight up to the frightened South Donimov, and with a most cordial affable smile, in the simplest words I say, this is how it is. I have been at his excellency Stepan Enicky Fortovich's, I expect you know, close here in the neighbourhood. Well, then, lightly in a laughing way, I shall tell him of my adventure with trifan. From trifan I shall pass on to saying how I walked here on foot. Well, I heard music, I inquired of a policeman and learned, brother, that it was your wedding. Let me go in, I thought, to my subordinates. Let me see how my clerks enjoy themselves and celebrate their wedding. I suppose you won't turn me out. It hurt me out. What a word for a subordinate! How the devil could he dream of turning me out? I fancy that he would be half crazy, and that he would rush headlong to seat me in an arm chair. Would be trembling with delight. Would hardly know what he was doing for the first minute. Why, what can be simpler, more elegant than such an action? Why did I go in? That's another question. That is, so to say, the moral aspect of the question. That's the pith. What was I thinking about? Yes. Well, of course, they will make me sit down with the most important guest, some titular counselor or a relation who's a retired captain with a red nose. Gogol describes these eccentric so capitally. Well, I shall make acquaintance, of course, with the bride. I shall compliment her. I shall encourage the guests. I shall beg them not to stand on ceremony, to enjoy themselves, to go on dancing. I shall make jokes. I shall laugh. In fact, I shall be affable and charming. I am always affable and charming when I am pleased with myself. Hmm. The point is that I believe I am still a little, well, not drunk exactly, but, of course, as a gentleman I shall be quite on inequality with them and shall not expect any special marks of... But morally, morally, it is a different matter. They will understand and appreciate it. My actions will evoke their nobler feelings. Well, I shall stay for half an hour, even for an hour. I shall leave, of course, before supper, but they will be bustling about baking and roasting. They will be making low bowels. But I will only drink a glass, congratulate them, and refuse supper. I shall say business. And as soon as I pronounce the word business, all of them will at once have sternly respectful faces. By that I shall delicately remind them that there is a difference between them and me, the earth and the sky. It is not that I want to impress that on them, but it must be done. It is even essential in a moral sense, when all is said and done. I shall smile at once, however. I shall even laugh, and then they will all pluck up courage again. I shall just a little again with the bride. I may even hint that I shall come again in just nine months to stand Godfather. And she will be sure to be brought to bed by then. They multiply, you know, like rabbits. And they will all roar with laughter, and the bride will blush. I shall kiss her feelingly on the forehead, even give her my blessing. And next day my exploit will be known at the office. Next day I shall be stern again. Next day I shall be exacting again, even implacable. But they will all know what I am like. They will all know my heart. They will know my essential nature. He is stern as chief, but as a man he is an angel. And I shall have conquered them. I shall have captured them by one little act which would never have entered your head. They would be mine. I should be their father. They would be my children. Come now, your Excellency, Stepan Nikiforovitch. Go and do likewise. But do you know? Do you understand that Saldanimov will tell his children how the general himself feasted and even drank at his wedding? Why, you know those children would tell their children, and those would tell their grandchildren as a most sacred story that a grand gentleman, a statesman, and I shall be all that by then, did them the honor and so on and so on. Why, I am morally elevating the humiliated. I restore him to himself. Why, he gets a salary of ten rubles a month. If I repeat this five or ten times or something of the sort, I shall gain popularity all over the place. My name will be printed on the hearts of all, and the devil only knows what will come of that popularity. These or something like these were Ivan Ilyich's reflections. A man says all sorts of things sometimes to himself, gentlemen, especially when he is in rather an eccentric condition. All these meditations pass through his mind in something like half a minute, and of course he might have confined himself to these dreams, and after mentally putting Stepan Nikiforovich to shame have gone very peacefully home and to bed, and he would have done well, but the trouble of it was that the moment was an eccentric one. As ill luck would have it, at that very instant the self-satisfied faces of Stepan Nikiforovich and Semyon Ivanovich suddenly rose before his heated imagination. We shall break down. Repeated Stepan Nikiforovich smiling disdainfully. Semyon Ivanovich seconded him with his nastiest smile. Well, we'll see whether we do break down. Ivan Ilyich said resolutely with a rush of heat to his face. He stepped down from the pavement, and with resolute steps went straight across the street toward the house of his registration clerk Seldonimov. End of part one of An Unpleasant Predicament, Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia. Section four of Short Stories by Fyodor Dostoevsky, this Librovax recording is in the public domain. In Unpleasant Predicament, part two. His star carried him away. He walked confidently in at the open gate, and contemptuously thrust aside with his foot the shaggy, husky, little sheep-dog, who flew at his legs with a horse-bark, more as a matter of form than with any real intention. Along a wooden plank he went to the covered porch, which led like a century box to the yard, and by three decaying wooden steps he went up to the tiny entry. Here, though a tallow candle or something in the way of a nightlight was burning somewhere in a corner, it did not prevent Ivan Ilyich from putting his left foot just as it was, in its galash, into a gallantine which had been stood out there to cool. Ivan Ilyich bent down and looking with curiosity, he saw that there were two other dishes of some sort of jelly, and also two shapes apparently of Blanc-Mange. The squashed gallantine embarrassed him, and for one brief instant he thought flashed through his mind whether he should not slink away at once. But he considered this too low, reflecting that no one would have seen him and that they would never think he had done it. He hurriedly wiped his galash to conceal all traces, fumbled for the felt-covered door, opened it, and found himself in a very little anti-room. Half of it was literally piled up with great coats, wadded jackets, cloaks, capes, scarves, and galashes. In the other half the musicians had been installed, two violins, a flute and a double bass, a band of four, picked up of course in the street. They were sitting at an unpainted wooden table, lighted by a single tallow candle, and with the utmost vigor were sawing out the last figure of the quadrille. From the open door into the drawing-room one could see the dancers in the midst of dust, tobacco smoke, and fumes. There was a frenzy of gaiety. There were sounds of laughter, shouts and shrieks from the ladies. The gentlemen stamped like a squadron of horses. Above all the bedlam there rang out words of command from the leader of the dance, probably an extremely free and easy and even unbuttoned gentleman. Gentlemen advance! Ladies, chain set to partners! And so on and so on. Ivan Ilyich in some excitement cast off his coat and galashes, and with his cap in his hand went into the room. He was no longer reflecting, however. For the first minute nobody noticed him. All were absorbed in dancing the quadrille to the end. Ivan Ilyich stood as though entranced and could make out nothing definite in the chaos. He caught glimpses of ladies' dresses, of gentlemen with cigarettes between their teeth. He caught a glimpse of a lady's pale blue scarf which flicked him in the nose. After the wearer, a medical student, with his hair blown in all directions on his head, pranced by in wild delight and jostled violently against him on the way. He caught a glimpse, too, of an officer of some description who looked half a mile high. Someone, in an unnaturally shrill voice, shouted, as the speaker flew by stamping. It was sticky under Ivan Ilyich's feet. Evidently the floor had been waxed. In the room, which was a very small one, there were about thirty people. But a minute later the quadrille was over, and almost at once the very thing Ivan Ilyich had pictured when he was dreaming on the pavement took place. A stifled murmur, a strange whisper passed over the whole company, including the dancers, who had not yet had time to take a breath and wipe their perspiring faces. All eyes, all faces, began quickly turning toward the newly arrived guest. Then they all seemed to draw back a little and beat a retreat. Those who had not noticed him were pulled by their coats or dresses and informed. They looked round and at once beat a retreat with the others. Ivan Ilyich was still standing at the door without moving a step forward, and between him and the company there stretched an ever-widening empty space of floor, strewn with countless sweet-meat wrappings, bits of paper, and cigarette ends. All at once a young man in a uniform, with a shock of flaxen hair and a hooked nose, stepped timidly out into that empty space. He moved forward, hunched up, and looked at the unexpected visitor exactly with the expression with which a dog looks at its master, when the latter has called him up and is going to kick him. Good evening, Saldonimov! Do you know me? said Ivan Ilyich, and felt at the same minute that he had said this very awkwardly. He felt too that he was perhaps doing something horribly stupid at that moment. You, our excellency, muttered Saldonimov, to be sure, I have called in to see you quite by chance, my friend, as you can probably imagine. But evidently Saldonimov could imagine nothing. He stood with staring eyes in the utmost perplexity. You won't turn me out, I suppose. Pleased or not, you must make a visitor welcome. Ivan Ilyich went on, feeling that he was confused to a point of unseemly feebleness, that he was trying to smile and was utterly unable, that the humorous reference to Stepan Nikiforovich and Trifon was becoming more and more impossible. But as ill luck would have it, Saldonimov did not recover from his stupefaction and still gazed at him with a perfectly idiotic air. Ivan Ilyich winced. He felt that in another minute something incredibly foolish would happen. Ivan I am not in the way, am I? I'll go away. He faintly articulated, and there was a tremor at the right corner of his mouth. But Saldonimov had recovered himself. Good heavens, your excellency, the honor! he muttered, bowing hurriedly. Graciously, sit down, your excellency. And recovering himself still further, he motioned him with both hands to a sofa, before which a table had been moved away to make room for the dancing. Ivan Ilyich felt relieved and sank on the sofa. At once someone flew to move the table up to him. He took a cursory look round and saw that he was the only person sitting down. All the others were standing, even the ladies. A bad sign. But it was not yet time to reassure and encourage them. The company still held back, while before him, bending double, stood Saldonimov, utterly alone, still completely at a loss and very far from smiling. It was horrid. In short, our hero endured such misery at that moment that his Harun al-Rashid-like dissent upon his subordinates for the sake of principle might well have been reckoned an heroic action. But suddenly a little figure made its appearance beside Saldonimov and began bowing. To his inexpressible pleasure and even happiness, Ivan Ilyich had once recognized him as the head clerk of his office, Akim Petrovich Zubikov. And though, of course, he was not acquainted with him, he knew him to be a business-like and exemplary clerk. He got up at once and held out his hand to Akim Petrovich, his whole hand, not two fingers. The latter took in it both of his with the deepest respect. The general was triumphant. The situation was saved. And now, indeed, Saldonimov was no longer, so to say, the second person, but the third. It was possible to address his remarks to the head clerk and his necessity, taking him for an acquaintance and even an intimate one. And Saldonimov, meanwhile, could only be silent and be in a tremor of reverence. So that the proprieties were observed, and some explanation was essential, Ivan Ilyich felt that. He saw that all the guests were expecting something, that the whole household was gathered together in the doorway, almost creeping, climbing over one another in their anxiety to see and hear him. What was horrid was that the head clerk in his foolishness remained standing. Why are you standing? said Ivan Ilyich, awkwardly motioning him to a seat on the sofa beside him. Oh, don't trouble. I'll sit here. And Akim Petrovich hurriedly sat down on a chair, almost as it was being put for him by Saldonimov, who remained obscenely standing. Can you imagine what happened? Addressing himself exclusively to Akim Petrovich in a rather quavering voice, though free and easy, he even drawled out his words with special emphasis on some syllables, pronouncing the vowel ah like eh. In short, felt and was conscious that he was being affected, but could not control himself. Some external force was at work. He was painfully conscious of many things at that moment. Can you imagine? I have only just come from Stepan Nikiforovich's Nikiforovovs. You have heard of him, perhaps, the privy counselor. You know, on that special committee. Akim Petrovich bent his whole person forward respectfully, as much as to say, of course, we have heard of him. He is your neighbor now. Ivan Ilyich went on, for one instant for the sake of ease and good manners addressing Saldonimov. But he quickly turned away again on seeing from the latter's eyes that it made absolutely no difference to him. The odd fellow, as you know, has been dreaming all his life of buying himself a house. Well, and he has bought it. And a very pretty house, too. Yes, and today was his birthday, and he had never celebrated it before. He used even to keep it secret from us. He was too stingy to keep it. But now he is so delighted over his new house that he invited Samyan Ivanovich, Shepulenko, and me, you know. Akim Petrovich bent forward again. He bent forward zealously. Ivan Ilyich felt somewhat comforted, and had struck him indeed that the head clerk possibly was guessing that he was an indispensable point-up-wee for his excellency at that moment. That would have been more horrid than anything. So we sat together, the three of us. He gave us champagne. We talked about problems. Even disputed. Akim Petrovich raised his eyebrows respectfully. Only, that is not the point. When I take leave of him at last, he is a punctual old fellow, goes to bed early, you know, in his old age. I go out. My trifin is nowhere to be seen. I am anxious. I make inquiries. What has trifin done with the carriage? It comes out that hoping I should stay on, he had gone off to the wedding of some friend of his, or sister, maybe. Goodness only knows, somewhere here on the Petersburg side, and took the carriage with him while he was about it. Again, for the sake of good manners, the general glanced in the direction of Seldonimov. The latter promptly gave a wriggle, but not at all the sort of wriggle the general would have liked. He has no sympathy, no heart, flashed through his brain. You don't say so, said Akim Petrovich, greatly impressed. A fate murmur of surprise ran through all the crowd. Can you fancy my position? I, vanilla, glanced at them all. There was nothing for it. I set off on foot. I thought I would trudge to the great prospect, and there find some cabbie. Akim Petrovich echoed. Again a murmur, but this time on a more cheerful note passed through the crowd. At that moment the chimney of a lamp on the wall broke with a crash. Someone rushed zealously to see to it. Seldonimov started, and looked sternly at the lamp, but the general took no notice of it, and all was serene again. I walked. And the night was so lovely, so still. All at once I heard a band stamping, dancing. I inquired of a policeman. It is Seldonimov's wedding. Why, you are giving a ball to all Petersburg's side, my friend. Ha, ha, ha! He turned to Seldonimov again. He, he, he, to be sure. Akim Petrovich responded. There was a stir among the guests again, but what was most foolish was that Seldonimov, though he bowed, did not even now smile, but seemed as though he were made of wood. Is he a fool or what? thought Ivan Ilyich. He ought to have smiled at that point to the ass, and everything would have run easily. There was a fury of impatience in his heart. I thought I would go in to see my clerk. He won't turn me out, I expect. Pleased or not, one must welcome a guest. You must please excuse me, my dear fellow. If I am in the way, I will go. I only came in to have a look. But little by little, a general stir was beginning. Akim Petrovich looked at him with a malchishly sweet expression as though to say, how could your excellency be in the way? All the guests stirred and began to display the first symptoms of being at their ease. Almost all the ladies sat down. A good sign and a reassuring one. The boldest spirits among them fanned themselves with their handkerchiefs. One of them in a shabby velvet dress said something with intentional loudness. The officer addressed by her would have liked to answer her as loudly, but seeing that they were the only ones speaking aloud, he subsided. The men for the most part, government clerks, with two or three students among them, looked at one another as though egging each other on to unbend, cleared their throats and began to move a few steps in different directions. No one, however, was particularly timid, but they were all restive, and almost all of them looked with a hostile expression at the personage who had burst in upon them to destroy their gaiety. The officer, ashamed of his cowardice, began to edge up to the table. But I say, my friend, allow me to ask you your name, Ivan Ilyich asked Seldonimov. Porfirri Petrovich, your excellency, answered the latter with staring eyes as though on parade. Introduce me, Porfirri Petrovich, to your bride. Take me to her, I— And he showed signs of a desire to get up. But Seldonimov ran full speed to the drawing room. The bride, however, was standing close by at the door. But as soon as she heard herself mentioned, she hid. A minute later, Seldonimov led her up by the hand. The guests all moved aside to make way for them. Ivan Ilyich got up solemnly and addressed himself to her with a most affable smile. Very, very much pleased to make your acquaintance, he pronounced with a most aristocratic half-bowl. Especially on such a day! He gave a meaning smile. There was an agreeable flutter among the ladies. The lady in the velvet dress pronounced almost aloud. The bride was a match for Seldonimov. She was a thin little lady, not more than seventeen, pale with a very small face and a sharp little nose. Her quick active little eyes were not at all embarrassed. On the contrary, they looked at him steadily and even with a shade of resentment. Evidently Seldonimov was marrying her for her beauty. She was dressed in a white muslin dress over a pink slip. Her neck was thin and she had a figure like a chicken's with the bones all sticking out. She was not equal to making any response to the general's affability. But she is very pretty. He went on and in undertone, as though addressing Seldonimov only, though intentionally speaking so that the bride could hear. But on this occasion too, Seldonimov again answered absolutely nothing and did not even wriggle. Ivan Ilyich fancied that there was something cold suppressed in his eyes, as though he had something peculiarly malignant in his mind, and yet he had at all cost the ring some sensibility out of him. Why, that was the object of his coming. They are a couple, though, he thought, and he turned again to the bride who had seated herself beside him on the sofa. But in answer to his two or three questions, he had got nothing but yes or no and hardly that. If only she had been overcome with confusion, he thought to himself, then I should have begun to banter her. But as it is, my position is impossible. And as ill luck would have it, Akim Petrovich too was mute, although this was only due to his foolishness. It was still unpardonable. My friends, haven't I perhaps interfered with your enjoyment? He said addressing the whole company, he felt that the very palms of his hands were perspiring. No, don't trouble your excellency. We are beginning directly, but now we are getting cool. Answered the officer. The bride looked at him with pleasure. The officer was not old and wore the uniform of some branch of the service. Seldonimov was still standing in the same place, bending forward, and it seemed as though his hooked nose stood out further than ever. He looked and listened like a footman standing with the great coat on his arm, waiting for the end of his master's farewell conversation. Ivan Ilyich made this comparison himself. He was losing his head. He felt that he was in an awkward position, that the ground was giving way under his feet, that he had got in somewhere, and could not find his way out as though he were in the dark. Suddenly the guests all moved aside, and a short, thick-set middle-aged woman made her appearance, dressed plainly though she was in her best, with a big shawl on her shoulders, pinned at her throat, and on her head a cap to which she was evidently unaccustomed. In her hands she carried a small round tray, on which stood a fool but uncorked bottle of champagne and two glasses, neither more nor less. Evidently the bottle was intended for only two guests. The middle-aged lady approached the general. Don't look down on us, your Excellency, she said, bowing. Since you have dain to do my son the honor of coming to his wedding, we beg you graciously to drink to the health of the young people. Do not disdain us. Do us the honor. Ivan Ilyich clutched at her as though she were his salvation. She was by no means an old woman, forty-five or forty-six not more, but she had such a good-natured, rosy cheeked, such a round and candid Russian face. She smiled so good humoredly, bowed so simply that Ivan Ilyich was almost comforted and began to hope. So you are the other of your son? he said, getting up from the sofa. Yes, my mother, your Excellency. Mumbled sell Donnie Moff, craning his long neck and thrusting forward his long nose. Ah, I am delighted, delighted to make your acquaintance. Do not refuse us, your Excellency. With the greatest pleasure. The tray was put down, so Donnie Moff dashed forward to pour out the wine. Ivan Ilyich, still standing, took the glass. I am particularly, particularly glad on this occasion, that I can, he began, that I can testify before all of you, in short, as your chief. I wish you, madam, he turned to the bride, and you, friend Porphyry, I wish you the fullest, completest happiness for many long years. And he positively drained the glass with feeling, the seventh he had drunk that evening. So Donnie Moff looked at him gravely and even sullenly. The general was beginning to feel an agonizing hatred of him. And that scarecrow, he looked at the officer, keeps obtruding himself. He might at least have shouted hurrah, and it would have gone off, it would have gone off. And you too, Akim Petrovich, drink a glass to their health. Added the mother, addressing the head clerk, You are his superior, he is under you. Look after my boy, I beg you as a mother, and don't forget us in the future, our good kind, friend, Akim Petrovich. How nice these old Russian women are, thought Ivan Ilyich. She has livened us all up. I have always loved the democracy. At that moment another tray was brought to the table. It was brought in by a maid wearing a crackling cotton dress that had never been washed, and a quinoline. She could hardly grasp the tray in both hands, it was so big. On it there were numbers of plates of apples, sweets, fruit, meringues, and fruit cheeses, walnuts, and so on, and so on. The tray had been till then in the drawing room for the delectation of all the guests, and especially the ladies. But now it was brought to the general alone. Do not disdain our humble fare, your Excellency. What we have we are pleased to offer. The old lady repeated bowing. Delighted, said Ivan Ilyich, and with real pleasure took a walnut and cracked it between his fingers. He had made up his mind to win popularity at all costs. Meantime the bride suddenly giggled. What is it? asked Ivan Ilyich with a smile, encouraged by this sign of life. Ivan cost in kinnich here makes me laugh. She answered looking down. The general distinguished indeed a flax-inheaded young man, exceedingly good-looking, who was sitting on a chair at the other end of the sofa, whispering something to Madame Seldonimov. The young man stood up. He was apparently very young and very shy. I was telling the lady about a dream-book, your Excellency. He muttered as though apologizing. About what sort of dream-book? asked Ivan Ilyich condescendingly. There is a new dream-book, a literary one. I was telling the lady that to dream of Mr. Panayev means spilling coffee on one's shirt front. What innocence! thought Ivan Ilyich with positive annoyance. Though the young man flushed very red as he said it, he was incredibly delighted that he had said this about Mr. Panayev. To be sure I have heard of it, responded his Excellency. No, there is something better than that, said a voice quite close to Ivan Ilyich. There is a new encyclopedia being published, and they say Mr. Kravsky will write articles and satirical literature. This was said by a young man who was by no means embarrassed, but rather free and easy. He was wearing gloves and a white waistcoat and carried a hat in his hand. He did not dance and looked condescending, for he was on the staff of a satirical paper called the Firebrand, and gave himself airs accordingly. He had come casually to the wedding, invited as an honoured guest of the Saldarimovs, with whom he was on intimate terms, and with whom only a year before he had lived in very poor lodgings kept by a German woman. He drank vodka, however, and for that purpose had more than once withdrawn to a snug little back room, to which all the guests knew their way. The General disliked him extremely. And the reason? That's funny. Broke in joyfully the flaxen-headed young man who had talked of the shirt front, and at whom the young man on the comic paper looked with hatred and consequence. It's funny, your Excellency, because it is supposed by the writer that Mr. Krafsky does not know how to spell, and thinks that satirical ought to be written with a why instead of an I. But the poor young man scarcely finished his sentence. He could see from his eyes that the General knew all this long ago, for the General himself looked embarrassed, and evidently because he knew it. The young man seemed inconceivably ashamed. He succeeded in effacing himself completely, and remained very melancholy all the rest of the evening. But to make up for that the young man on the staff of the fire-brand came up nearer, and seemed to be intending to sit down somewhere close by. Such free and easy manners struck Ivan Ilyich as rather shocking. Tell me, please, porphyry. He began in order to say something. Why? I have always wanted to ask you about it in person. Why are you called Seldonimov instead of Soudonimov? Your name surely must be Soudonimov. I cannot inform you exactly, Your Excellency, said Seldonimov. It must have been that when his father went into the service, they made a mistake in his papers, so that he has remained now Seldonimov. Put in Akim Petrovich. That does happen. Undoubtedly, the General said with warmth, undoubtedly, for only think, Soudonimov comes from the literary word pseudonym, while Seldonimov means nothing. Due to foolishness, added Akim Petrovich, you mean what is due to foolishness? The Russian common people in their foolishness often alter letters and sometimes pronounce them in their own way. For instance, they say never lead instead of invalid. Oh, yes, never lead. Mumber two, they say, Your Excellency. Boomed out the tall officer who had long been itching to distinguish himself in some way. What do you mean by mumber? Mumber instead of number, Your Excellency. Oh, yes, mumber instead of number, to be sure, to be sure. Ivan Ilyich had to do a chuckle for the benefit of the officer, too. The officer straightened his tie. Another thing they say is nigh-bye. The young man on the comic paper put in, but his Excellency tried not to hear this. His chuckles were not at everybody's disposal. Nigh-bye, instead of near. The young man on the comic paper persisted in evident irritation. Ivan Ilyich looked at him sternly. Come, why persist? Seldanimov whispered to him. Why, I was talking. Maint one speak? The latter protested in a whisper, but he said no more, and with secret fury walked out of the room. He made his way straight to the attractive little back room, where, for the benefit of the dancing gentleman vodka of two sorts, saltfish, caviar into slices, and a bottle of very strong sherry of Russian make, had been set early in the evening on a little table, covered with Yaroslav cloth. With anger in his heart, he was pouring out a glass of vodka, when suddenly the medical student with the disheveled locks, the foremost dancer and cutter of capers at Seldanimov's ball, rushed in. He fell on the decanter with greedy haste. They are just going to begin, he said, rapidly helping himself. Come and look. I am going to dance a solo on my head, after supper I shall risk the fish dance. It is just the thing for the wedding, so to speak, a friendly hint to Seldanimov. She's a jolly creature that Cleopatra Semyonovna, you can venture on anything you'd like with her. He is a reactionary, said the young man on the comic paper gloomily, as he toffed off his vodka. Who is a reactionary? Why, the personage before whom they have set those sweet meats, he's a reactionary, I tell you. What nonsense! muttered the student, and he rushed out of the room, hearing the opening bars of the quadril. Left alone, the young man on the comic paper poured himself out another glass to give himself more assurance and independence. He drank and ate a snack of something, and never had the actual civil-counselor Ivan Ilyich made for himself a bitterer foe, more implacably bent on revenge than was the young man on the staff of the fire-brand whom he had so slighted, especially after the latter had drunk two glasses of vodka. Alas, Ivan Ilyich suspected nothing of the sort. He did not suspect another circumstance of prime importance either, which had an influence on the mutual relations of the guests and his excellency. The fact was that though he had given a proper and even detailed explanation of his presence at the clerk's wedding, this explanation did not really satisfy anyone, and the visitors were still embarrassed. But suddenly, everything was transformed as though by magic, all were reassured and ready to enjoy themselves, to laugh, to shriek, to dance. Exactly as though the unexpected visitor were not in the room. The cause of it was a rumor, a whisper. A report which spread in some way unknown that the visitor was not quite, it seemed, was, in fact, a little top-heavy. And though this seemed at first a horrible calumny, it began by degrees to appear to be justified. Suddenly, everything became clear. What was more, they felt all at once extraordinarily free. And it was just at this moment that the quadril for which the medical student was in such haste, the last before supper began. And just as Ivan Ilyich meant to address the bride again, intending to provoke her with some innuendo, the tall officer suddenly dashed up to her, and with a flourish dropped on one knee before her, she immediately jumped up from the sofa and whisked off with him to take her place in the quadril. The officer did not even apologize, and she did not even glance at the general as she went away. She seemed, in fact, relieved to escape. After all, she has a right to be, thought Ivan Ilyich. And, of course, they don't know how to behave. Don't you stand on ceremony, friend Porphyry? He said, addressing Seldonimov, perhaps you have arrangements to make or something. Please don't put yourself out. Why does he keep guard over me? He thought to himself, Seldonimov with his long neck and his eyes fixed intently upon him began to be insufferable. In fact, all this was not the thing, not the thing at all. But Ivan Ilyich was still far from admitting this. End of part two of an unpleasant predicament by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia. Section five of short stories by Fyodor Dostoevsky. This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. An unpleasant predicament, part three. The quadril began. Will you allow me your excellency? asked Akim Petrovich, holding the bottle respectfully in his hands and preparing to pour from it into his excellency's glass. I—I really don't know whether. But Akim Petrovich, with reverent and radiant face, was already filling the glass. After filling the glass he proceeded writhing and wriggling, as it were stealthily, as it were furtively, to pour himself out some, with this difference, that he did not fill his own glass to within a finger-length of the top. And this seemed somehow more respectful. He was like a woman in travail as he sat beside his chief. What could he talk about, indeed? Yet to entertain his excellency was an absolute duty, since he had the honour of keeping him company. The champagne served as a resource, and his excellency, too, was pleased that he had filled his glass. Not for the sake of the champagne, for it was warm and perfectly abominable, but just morally pleased. The old chap would like to have a drink himself, thought Ivan Ilyich, but he doesn't venture till I do. I mustn't prevent him, and indeed it would be absurd for the bottle to stand between as untouched. He took a sip. Anyway, it seemed better than sitting doing nothing. I am here, he said, with pauses and emphasis. I am here, you know, so to speak, accidentally. And of course it may be that some people would consider it unseemly for me to be at such a gathering. Akeem Petrovitch said nothing but listened with timid curiosity. But I hope you will understand, with what object I have come, I haven't really come simply to drink wine. Akeem Petrovitch tried to chuckle, following the example of his excellency, but again he could not get it out, and again he made absolutely no consolatory answer. I am here, in order, so to speak, to encourage, to show, so to speak, a moral aim. Ivan Ilyich continued, feeling vexed at Akeem Petrovitch's stupidity, but he suddenly subsided into silence himself. He saw that poor Akeem Petrovitch had dropped his eyes as though he were in fault. The general, in some confusion, made haste to take another sip from his glass, and Akeem Petrovitch clutched at the bottle as though it were his only hope of salvation, and filled the glass again. You haven't many resources, thought Ivan Ilyich, looking sternly at poor Akeem Petrovitch, the latter feeling that stern general-like eye upon him made up his mind to remain silent for good, and not to raise his eyes. So they sat beside each other for a couple of minutes, two sickly minutes for Akeem Petrovitch. A couple of words about Akeem Petrovitch. He was a man of the old school, as meek as a hen, reared from infancy to of sequious servility, and at the same time a good-natured and even honorable man. He was a Petersburg Russian, that is, his father and his father's father were born, grew up and served in Petersburg, and had never once left Petersburg. That is quite a special type of Russian. They have hardly any idea of Russia, though that does not trouble them at all. Their whole interest is confined to Petersburg, and chiefly the place in which they serve. All their thoughts are concentrated on preference for farthing-points, on the shop, and their month's salary. They don't know a single Russian custom, a single Russian song except Luchennushka, and that only because it is played on the barrel organs. However, there are two fundamental and invariable signs by which you cannot once distinguish a Petersburg Russian from a real Russian. The first sign is the fact that Petersburg Russians, all without exception, speak of the newspaper as the academic news, and never call it the Petersburg news. The second and equally trustworthy sign is that Petersburg Russians never make use of the word breakfast, but always call it Frustuk, with a special emphasis on the first syllable. By these radical and distinguishing signs you can tell them apart. In short, this is a humble type, which has been formed during the last thirty-five years. Akeem Petrovich, however, was by no means a fool. If the general had asked him a question about anything in his own province, he would have answered and kept up a conversation. As it was, it was unseemly for a subordinate even to answer such questions as these, though Akeem Petrovich was dying from curiosity to know something more detailed about his excellency's real intentions. And meanwhile Ivan Ilyich sank more and more into meditation, and a sort of whirl of ideas. In his absorption he sipped his glass every half-minute. Akeem Petrovich at once zealously filled it up. Both were silent. Ivan Ilyich began looking at the dances and immediately something attracted his attention. One circumstance even surprised him. The dances were certainly lively. Here people danced in the simplicity of their hearts to amuse themselves, and even to romp wildly. Among the dancers few were really skillful, but the unskilled stamped so vigorously that they might have been taken for agile ones. The officer was among the foremost. He particularly liked the figures in which he was left alone, to perform a solo. Then he performed the most marvelous capers. For instance, standing upright as a poet he would suddenly bend over to one side, so that one expected him to fall over. But with the next step he would suddenly bend over in the opposite direction at the same acute angle to the floor. He kept the most serious face, and danced in the full conviction that everyone was watching him. Another gentleman, who had had rather more than he could carry before the quadril, dropped a sleep beside his partner, so that his partner had to dance alone. The young registration clerk who had danced with the lady in the blue scarf through all the figures, and through all the five quadrills which they had danced that evening, played the same prank the whole time. That is, he dropped a little behind his partner, seized the end of her scarf, and as they crossed over succeeded in imprinting some twenty kisses on the scarf. His partner sailed along in front of him, as though she noticed nothing. The medical student really did dance on his head, an excited frantic enthusiasm stamping and shrieks of delight. In short, the absence of constraint was very marked. Ivan Ilyich, whom the wine was beginning to affect, began by smiling. But by degrees a bitter doubt began to steal into his heart. Of course he liked free and easy manners and unconventiality. He desired he had even inwardly prayed for free and easy manners, when they had all held back. But now that unconventionality had gone beyond all limits. One lady, for instance, the one in the shabby dark blue velvet dress, brought fourth hand in the sixth figure pinned her dress so as to turn it into something like trousers. This was the Cleopatra Seminovna, with whom one could venture to do anything, as her partner the medical student had expressed it. The medical student defied description. He was simply a foken. How was it? They had held back and now they were so quickly emancipated. One might think it nothing, but this transformation was somehow strange. It indicated something. It was as though they had forgotten Ivan Ilyich's existence. Of course he was the first to laugh and even ventured to applaud. Akim Petrovich chuckled respectfully in unison, though, indeed with evident pleasure, and no suspicion that his excellence he was beginning to nourish in his heart a gnawing anxiety. You dance capital, the young man. Ivan Ilyich was obliged to say to the medical student as he walked past him. The student turned sharply towards him, made a grimace, and bringing his face close into unseemly proximity to the face of his Excellency, crowed like a cock at the top of his voice. This was too much. Ivan Ilyich got up from the table. In spite of that, a roar of inexpressible laughter followed, for the crow was an extraordinarily good imitation, and the whole performance was utterly unexpected. Ivan Ilyich was still standing in bewilderment, when suddenly Seldominov himself made his appearance and with a bow began begging him to come to supper. His mother followed him. Your Excellency, she said, bowing, do us the honor, do not disdain our humble fare. I—I really don't know. Ivan Ilyich was beginning. I did not come with that idea. I—meant to be going. He was, in fact, holding his hat in his hands. What is more, he had at that very moment taken an inward bow at all costs, to depart at once, and on no account whatever to consent to remain, and he remained. A minute later he led the procession to the table. Seldominov and his mother walked in front clearing the way for him. They made him sit down in the seat of honor, and again a bottle of champagne, opened but not begun, was set beside his plate. By way of hors d'oeuvres there were salt herrings in vodka. He put out his hand, poured out a large glass of vodka, and drank it off. He had never drunk vodka before. He felt as though he were rolling down a hill where, flying, flying, flying, that he must stop himself, catch it something, but there was no possibility of it. His position was certainly becoming more and more eccentric. What is more, it seemed as though fate were mocking at him. God knows what had happened to him in the course of an hour or so. When he went in he had, so to say, opened his arms to embrace all humanity, all his subordinates. And here not more than an hour had passed, and in all his aching heart he felt and knew that he hated Seldominov and was cursing him his wife and his wedding. What was more, he saw from his face, from his eyes alone, that Seldominov himself hated him, that he was looking at him with eyes that almost said, if you would only take yourself off, curse you, foisting yourself on us. All this he had read for some time in his eyes. Of course, as he sat down to table, Ivan Ilyich would sooner have had his hand cut off than have owned, not only allowed, but even to himself, that this was really so. The moment had not fully arrived yet. There was still a moral vacillation. But his heart, his heart, it ached. It was clamoring for freedom, for air, for rest. Ivan Ilyich was really too good-natured. He knew, of course, that he ought long before to have gone away, not merely to have gone away, but to have made his escape. That all this was not the same, but had turned out utterly different from what he had dreamed of on the pavement. Why did I come? Did I come here to eat and drink? He asked himself as he tasted the salt herring. He even had attacks of septicism. There was at moments a faint stir of irony in regard to his own fine action at the bottom of his heart. He actually wondered at times why he had come in. But how could he go away? To go away like this without having finished the business properly was impossible. What would people say? They would say that he was frequencying low company. And to eat it really would amount to that if he did not end it properly. What would Stepan Nikiforovich, Semyon Ivanovich say? For, of course, it would be all over the place by tomorrow. What would be said in the offices? At the shambles? At the chubbances? No. He must take his departure in such a way that all should understand why he had come. He must make clear his moral aim. And meantime the dramatic moment would not present itself. They don't even respect me. He went on thinking. What are they laughing at? They are as free and easy as though they had no feeling. But I have long suspected that all the younger generation are without feeling. I must remain at all costs. They have just been dancing, but now at table they will all be gathered together. I will talk about questions. About reforms. About the greatness of Russia. I can still win their enthusiasm. Yes. Perhaps nothing is yet lost. Perhaps it is always like this in reality. What should I begin upon with them to attract them? What plan can I hit upon? I am lost. Simply lost. And what is it they want? What is it they require? I see they are laughing together there. Can it be at me, merciful heavens? But what is it I want? Why is it I am here? Why don't I go away? Why do I go on persisting? He thought this, and a sort of shame, a deep unbearable shame, rent his heart more and more intensely. But everything went on in the same way. One thing after another. Just two minutes after he had sat down to the table, one terrible thought overwhelmed him completely. He suddenly felt that he was horribly drunk. That is, not as he was before, but hopelessly drunk. The cause of this was the glass of vodka which he had drunk after the champagne, and which had immediately produced an effect. He was conscious. He felt in every fiber of his being that he was growing hopelessly feeble. Of course his assurance was greatly increased, but consciousness had not deserted him, and it kept crying out. It is bad, very bad, and in fact, utterly unseemly. Of course his unstable drunk and reflections could not rest long on one subject. There began to be apparent, and unmistakably so, even to himself, two opposite sides. On one side there was swaggering assurance, a desire to conquer, a disdain of obstacles, and a desperate confidence that he would attain his object. The other side showed itself in the aching of his heart, a sort of gnawing in his soul. What would they say? How would it all end? What would happen tomorrow? Tomorrow, tomorrow! He had felt vaguely before that he had enemies in the company. No doubt that was because I was drunk. He thought with agonizing doubt, what was his horror when he actually, by unmistakable signs, convinced himself now that he really had enemies at the table, and that it was impossible to doubt of it. And why? Why? he wondered. At the table there were all the thirty guests of whom several were quite tipsy. Others were behaving with a careless and sinister independence, shouting and talking at the top of their voices, balling out the toasts before the time and pelting the ladies with pellets of bread. One unprepossessing personage in a greasy coat had fallen off his chair as soon as he sat down, and remained so till the end of supper. Another one made desperate efforts to stand on the table, to propose a toast, and only the officer who seized him by the tails of his coat moderated his premature ardour. The supper was a palmel affair. Although they had hired a cook who had been in the service of a general, there was the gallantine, there was tongue and potatoes, there were rissoles with green peas, there was finally a goose, and last of all Blancmange. Among the drinks were beer, vodka, and sherry. The only bottle of champagne was standing beside the general, which obliged him to pour it out for himself and also for Akim Petrovich, who did not venture at supper to officiate on his own initiative. The other guests had to drink the toasts in Caucasian wine or anything else they could get. The table was made up of several tables put together, among them even a card table. It was covered with many tablecloths, amongst them one-coloured Yaroslav cloth. The gentlemen sat alternately with the ladies. Seldonimov's mother would not sit down to table. She bustled about and supervised, but another sinister female figure, who had not shown herself till then, appeared on the scene wearing a reddish silk dress, with a very high cap on her head and a bandage round her face for toothache. It appeared that this was the bride's mother, who at last consented to emerge from a back room for supper. She had refused to appear till then owing to her implacable hostility to Seldonimov's mother, but to that we will refer later. This lady looked spitefully, even sarcastically at the general, and evidently did not wish to be presented to him. To Ivan Ilyich this figure appeared suspicious in the extreme. But apart from her, several other persons were suspicious and inspired in voluntary apprehension and uneasiness. It even seemed that they were in some sort of plot together against Ivan Ilyich. At any rate, it seemed so to him, and throughout the whole supper he became more and more convinced of it. A gentleman with a beard, some sort of free artist, was particularly sinister. He even looked at Ivan Ilyich several times, and then turning to his neighbour whispered something. Another person present was unmistakably drunk, but yet from certain signs was to be regarded with suspicion. The medical student, too, gave rise to unpleasant expectations. Even the officer himself was not quite to be depended upon. But the young man on the comic paper was blazing with hatred. He lauled in his chair. He looked so haughty and conceited, he snorted so aggressively. And though the rest of the guests took absolutely no notice of the young journalist, who had contributed only four wretched poems to the fire-brand, and had consequently become a liberal and evidently indeed disliked him, yet when a pellet of bread aimed in his direction fell near Ivan Ilyich, he was ready to stake his head that it had been thrown by no other than the young man in question. All this, of course, had a pitiable effect on him. Another observation was particularly unpleasant. Ivan Ilyich became aware that he was beginning to articulate indistinctly and with difficulty, that he was longing to say a great deal, but that his tongue refused to obey him. And then he suddenly seemed to forget himself, and worst of all, he would suddenly burst into a loud guffaw of laughter, a propo of nothing. This inclination quickly passed off after a glass of champagne, which Ivan Ilyich had not meant to drink, though he had poured it out and suddenly drunk it quite by accident. After that glass he felt at once almost inclined to cry. He felt that he was sinking into a most peculiar state of sentimentality. He began to be again filled with love. He loved everyone, even Seldonimov, even the young man on the comic paper. He suddenly longed to embrace all of them, to forget everything and to be reconciled. What is more, to tell them everything openly, all. All. That is, to tell them what a good, nice man he was, with what wonderful talents, what services he would do for his country, how good he was at entertaining the fair sex and above all, how progressive he was, how humanely ready he was to be indulgent to all, to the very lowest. And finally, in conclusion to tell them frankly, all the motives that had impelled him to turn up at Seldonimov's uninvited, to drink two bottles of champagne and to make him happy with his presence. The truth, the holy truth and candor before all things, I will capture them by candor. They will believe me. I see it clearly. They actually look at me with hostility. But when I tell them all, I shall conquer them completely. They will fill their glasses and drink my health with shouts. The officer will break his glass on his spur. Perhaps they will even shout, Ra! Even if they want to toss me after the Hussar fashion, I will not oppose them. And indeed it would be very jolly. I will kiss the bride on her forehead. She is charming. Akim Petrovich is a very nice man, too. Seldonimov will improve, of course, later on. He will acquire, so to speak, a society polish. And although, of course, the younger generation has not that delicacy of feeling yet, yet I will talk to them about the contemporary significance of Russia among the European states. I will refer to the peasant question, too. Yes, and they will all like me, and I shall leave with glory. These dreams were, of course, extremely agreeable. But what was unpleasant was that in the midst of these rosy eight anticipations Ivan Ilyich suddenly discovered in himself another unexpected propensity. That was too spit. Anyway, saliva began running from his mouth apart from any will of his own. He observed this on Akim Petrovich, whose cheek he spluttered upon, and who sat not daring to wipe it off from respectfulness. Ivan Ilyich took his dinner napkin and wiped it himself, but this immediately struck him himself as so incongruous, so opposed to all common sense that he sank into silence and began wondering. Though Akim Petrovich emptied his glass, yet he sat as though he were scalded. Ivan Ilyich reflected now that he had for almost a quarter of an hour been talking to him about some most interesting subject, but that Akim Petrovich had not only seemed embarrassed as he listened, but positively frightened. Seldonimov, who was sitting one chair away from him, also craned his neck toward him, and bending his head sideways listened to him with the most unpleasant air. He actually seemed to be keeping a watch on him. Turning his eyes upon the rest of the company, he saw that many were looking straight at him and laughing. But what was strangest of all was that he was not in the least embarrassed by it. On the contrary, he sipped his glass again and suddenly began speaking so that all could hear. I was just saying now. He began as loudly as possible. I was just saying now, ladies and gentlemen, to Akim Petrovich that Russia, yes, Russia, in short, you understand, that I mean to say Russia is living. It is my profound conviction through a period of hue, hue, humanity. Hue, hue, humanity, was heard at the other end of the table, hue, hue, too, too. Ivan Ilyich stopped. Seldonimov got up from his chair and began trying to see who had shouted. Akim Petrovich stealthily shook his head as though admonishing the guests. Ivan Ilyich saw this distinctly, but in his confusion said nothing. Humanity, he continued obstinately, and this evening, and only this evening, I said to step on Niky Kiforovich, yes, that, that the regeneration, so to speak, of things. Your Excellency, was heard a loud exclamation at the other end of the table. What is your pleasure? answered Ivan Ilyich, pulled up short and trying to distinguish who had called him. Nothing at all, Your Excellency. I was carried away, continue, continue. The voice was heard again. Ivan Ilyich felt upset. The regeneration, so to speak, of those same things. Your Excellency, the voice shouted again. What do you want? How do you do? This time Ivan Ilyich could not restrain himself. He broke off his speech and turned to the assailant who had disturbed the general harmony. He was a very young lad, still at school, who had taken more than a drop too much, and was an object of great suspicion to the general. He had been shouting for a long time, passed, and had even broken a glass and two plates, maintaining that this was the proper thing to do at a wedding. At the moment when Ivan Ilyich turned towards him, the officer was beginning to pitch into the noisy youngster. What are you about? What are you yelling? We shall turn you out. That's what we shall do. I don't mean you, Your Excellency. I don't mean you. Continue, cried the hilarious schoolboy, lulling back in his chair. Continue, I am listening, and I am very, very, very much pleased with you. Praise were thee, praise were thee. The wretched boy is drunk, said Seldony Mov in a whisper. I see that he is drunk, but I was just telling a very amusing anecdote, Your Excellency, began the officer, about a lieutenant in our company who was talking just like that to his superior officers. So this young man is imitating him now. To every word of his superior officers, he said, Praise were thee, praise were thee. He was turned out of the army ten years ago on account of it. What lieutenant was that? In our company, Your Excellency, he went out of his mind over the word praise worthy. At first they tried gentle methods, then they put him under arrest. His commanding officer admonished him in the most fatherly way, and he answered, Praise were thee, Praise were thee. And strange to say, the officer was a fine-looking man, over six feet. They meant to court-martial him, but then they perceived that he was mad. So a schoolboy, a schoolboy's prank need not be taken seriously. For my part, I am ready to overlook it. They held a medical inquiry, Your Excellency. Upon my word, but he was alive, wasn't he? What? Did they dissect him? A loud and almost universal roar of laughter resounded among the guests, who had till then behaved with decorum. Ivan Ilyich was furious. Ladies and gentlemen, he shouted at first scarcely stammering, I am fully capable of apprehending that a man is not dissected alive. I imagined that in his derangement he had ceased to be alive. That is, that he had died. That is, I mean to say, that you don't like me, and yet I like you all. Yes, I like poor, poor-free. I am lowering myself by speaking like this. At that moment, Ivan Ilyich spluttered so that a great dab of saliva flew onto the table cloth in a most conspicuous place. Seldonimov flew to wipe it off with a table napkin. This last disaster crushed him completely. My friends, this is too much. He cried in despair. And the man is drunk, Your Excellency. Seldonimov prompted him again. Poor-free, I see that you. Oh, yes, I say that I hope. Yes, I call upon you all to tell me in what way I have lowered myself. Ivan Ilyich was almost crying. Your Excellency, good heavens. Poor-free, I appeal to you. Tell me why I came. Yes, yes, to your wedding. I had an object. I was aiming at moral elevation. I wanted it to be felt. I appeal to all. I am greatly lowered in your eyes, or not. A death-like silence. That was just it. A death-like silence. And to such a downright question. They might at least shout at this minute. Flashed through his Excellency's head, but the guests only looked at one another. Akeem Petrovich sat more dead than alive, while Seldonimov, numb with terror, was repeating to himself the awful question which had occurred to him more than once already. What shall I have to pay for all this tomorrow? At this point the young man on the comic paper, who was very drunk, but who had hitherto sat in morose silence, addressed Ivan Ilyich directly, and with flashing eyes began to answer in the name of the whole company. Yes, he said in a loud voice. Yes, you have lowered yourself. Yes, you are a reactionary. Reactionary! Young man, you are forgetting yourself. Whom are you speaking so to express it? Ivan Ilyich cried furiously, jumping up from his seat again. To you, and secondly, I am not a young man. You've come to give yourself airs, and to try to win popularity. Seldonimov, what does this mean? cried Ivan Ilyich. But Seldonimov was reduced to such horror that he stood still like a post, and was utterly at a loss what to do. The guests, too, sat mute in their seats. All but the artist and the schoolboy who applauded and shouted, Bravo! Bravo! The young man on the comic paper went on shouting with unrestrained violence. Yes, you came to show off your humanity. You've hindered the enjoyment of everyone. You've been drinking champagne without thinking that it is beyond the means of a clerk at ten rubles a month, and I suspect that you are one of those high officials who are a little too fond of the young wives of their clerks. What is more, I am convinced that you support state monopolies. Yes, yes, yes. Seldonimov, Seldonimov. Shouting Ivan Ilyich, holding out his hands to him. He felt that every word uttered by the comic young man was a fresh dagger at his heart. Directly, Your Excellency, please do not disturb yourself. Seldonimov cried energetically, rushing up to the comic young man, seizing him by the collar and dragging him away from the table. Such physical strength could indeed not have been expected from this weekly looking Seldonimov. But the comic young man was very drunk. While Seldonimov was perfectly sober, then he gave him two or three cuffs in the back and thrust him out the door. You are all scoundrels! roared the young man of the comic paper. I will caricature you all tomorrow in the firebrand. They all leapt up from their seats. Your Excellency, Your Excellency, cried Seldonimov, his mother and several others crowding round the general. Your Excellency, do not be disturbed. No, no, cried the general. I am annihilated. I came. I meant to bless you, so to speak. And this is how I am paid for everything, for everything! He sank onto a chair as though unconscious, laid both his arms on the table, and bowed his head over them straight into a plate of blank mulch. There is no need to describe the general horror. A minute later he got up, evidently meaning to go out, gave a lurch, stumbled against the leg of a chair, fell full length on the floor, and snored. This is what is apt to happen to men who don't drink when they accidentally take a glass too much. They preserve their consciousness to the last point, to the last minute, and then fall to the ground as though struck down. Ivan Ilyich lay on the floor absolutely unconscious. Seldonimov clutched at his hair and sat as though petrified in that position. The guests made haste to depart. Commenting each in his own way on the incident, it was about three o'clock in the morning. End of part three of an unpleasant predicament by Fyodor Dostoevsky, recording by John Van Stan, Savannah, Georgia.