A common story

by Ivan Goncharov

  He did not break open the note nor show it to his wife, as she did not ask to see it. That same evening before going to the club he himself started to his nephew.

  The door was not closed. He went in; Yevsay was snoring, stretched diagonally across the entry on the floor. The candle wanted snuffing badly and hung down out of the

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  candlestick. He looked into the inner room—it was dark.

  " Oh, the provinces !" muttered Piotr Ivanitch.

  He roused Yevsay, showed him the door and the candle, and threatened him with a stick. In the third room Alex-andr was sitting, his arms on the table and his head on his arms; he too was asleep. Some papers were lying before him. Piotr Ivanitch looked—verses.

  He took a sheet and read as follows :

  " My springtide fair is over now, Love s burning moment's gone for ever; Love in my heart is deeply slumbering, Nor stirs with fiery breath my blood. Upon her altar-shrine deserted Another deity I've raised, To whom I pray.'*

  " He is deeply slumbering himself too ! Go on praying, my dear boy, don't be lazy!" said Piotr Ivanitch aloud. " Your own verses, but how they have exhausted you! What need of any other opinion ? You have spoken for yourself! "

  " Ah !" said Alexandr, stretching, " you are always hostile to my compositions ! Tell me candidly, uncle, what makes you so persistently persecute talent when you cannot help confessing "

  " Envy, to be sure, Alexandr. I have lived my life quietly, obscurely, have only fulfilled my duty, and was even proud and happy in it. When I am dead, that is when I shall feel and know nothing, the harps of minstrel seers shall not tell of me. How different with you? do you know that your future fame, your immortality is in my pocket ?— what glory !"

  " The answer to your note. Ah, for Heaven's sake, give it me directly; what does he write ?"

  " I haven't read it; read it yourself aloud."

  Alexandr began to read aloud, while Piotr Ivanitch tapped his boot with his finger. This is what was in the letter:

  "What mystification is this, my dear Piotr Ivanitch? You writing novels! And you thought you could catch an old bird like me? But if you had really produced the novel lying before me, then I should tell you that the

  most fragile products of your factory have far more solidity than this creation."

  Alexandras voice suddenly dropped.

  " But I repudiate anything so insulting to you," he went on in timid and subdued tone.

  "I don't hear, Alexandr, a litde louder!" said Piotr Ivanitch.

  Alexandr continued in a low voice.

  " Since you take an interest in the author of the novel, you no doubt wish to know my opinion of it. Here it is. The author must be young. He is not stupid; but is not very happily at feud with the whole world. He is truly disillusioned. Oh, Lord, when will the race be extinct? What a pity that through a false view of life so much ability among us is wasted in empty, profitless dreams, in vain efforts after what they are not fitted for."

  Alexandr paused and took breath. Piotr Ivanitch began to smoke a cigar and blew a ring of smoke. His face, as usual, expressed perfect calm. Alexandr continued to read in a low, hardly audible voice.

  "Vanity, sentimentality, premature emotionalism with their inevitable consequence—indolence—these are the causes of this evil. Discipline, work, practical business— that's what our sickly and indolent young people want to sober them."

  " The whole matter might have been made clear in three lines," said Piotr Ivanitch looking at his watch, " but he is writing a complete essay in a letter to a friend ! isn't he a pedant ? Are you going to read any more, Alexandr? throw it away; it's a bore. There is something I want to say to you."

  " No, uncle, let me drink the cup to the dregs; I will read to the end."

  " Well, I hope it will do you good!"

  "This lamentable bent of mind," Alexandr read, "is apparent in every line of the novel you have sent me. Tell your protigk that an author only writes successfully, in the first place, when he is not under the sway of his personal feelings and passions. He must survey with calm untroubled gaze the world and life generally; otherwise, he will express only his Ego, with whom no one else has any concern. This defect is glaringly apparent in the novel. The second and

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  principal condition—which, pray, do not tell the author, out of compassion for his youth and vanity of authorship—talent, is essential, and he has no trace of it. The language, however, is throughout correct and good; the author even shows a sense of style."

  With difficulty could Alexandr read to the end.

  "At last he comes to the point," said Piotr Ivanitch, "and what a rigmarole first! Let us discuss the rest without him."

  Alexandr let his hands hang limp. In silence, like a man stunned by an unexpected blow, he gazed with hazy eyes at the opposite well.

  "Come, Alexandr, how do you feel now?" asked Piotr Ivanitch.

  Alexandr did not hear this observation.

  " Can it, too, be a dream ? has this, too, cheated me ? " he muttered. " A bitter loss I What, can't one get used to being deceived! But why, I can't understand, was this overmastering impulse to creative art entrusted to me ? "

  " Come, come, the impulse was entrusted to you, but the creative art itself they forgot to entrust to you," said Piotr Ivanitch. " Fve explained it! "

  Alexander answered by a sigh, and sank into thought Then suddenly he rushed vehemently to open all the drawers, took out several manuscript books, sheets of paper, and scraps, and began in exasperation to throw them into the stove.

  " Here, don't forget this!" said Piotr Ivanitch, passing him the sheet of unfinished verses that lay on the table.

  " That too may go !" said Alexander in despair, throwing the verses into the stove.

  " Is there nothing more ? Look round thoroughly," said Piotr Ivanitch, glajicing round him; " for once you will be doing a sensible thing. There, what's that in the cupboard in a bundle ? "

  " In with it," said Alexandr, taking it; " it's my articles on agriculture."

  " Don't burn that! give it to me!" said Piotr Ivanitch, holding out his hand, "that's not rubbish."

  But Alexandr did not heed him. No!" he said bitterly, "since the great power of J

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  creation has failed me in the sphere of art, I don't want it

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  166 A COMMON STORY

  in the sphere of industry. Fate shall not subdue me to that!"

  And the bundle flew into the hearth.

  "That's a pity !" observed Piotr Ivanitch, while he rummaged with a finger under the table, to see whether there was not something more to throw in the fire.

  " But what shall we do with the novel, Alexandr ? It's at home."

  " Don't you want it to paste on screens ? "

  " No, not now. Shouldn't we send Yevsay for it ? He has gone to sleep again; look out or they will steal my greatcoat under your very nose! Go to my rooms, ask Vassily there for the thick manuscript-book which is lying in the study on the bureau, and bring it here ? "

  Alexandr sat, leaning on his elbows, and gazed into the stove. The manuscript was brought. Alexandr looked at the fruit of his six months' labours and grew thoughtful. Piotr Ivanitch noticed it.

  " Come, make an end, Alexandr," he said " and then let us talk of something else."

  " In with it then, too;" shrieked Alexandr flinging the book into the grate.

  Both began to look at it burning, Piotr Ivanitch apparently with satisfaction, Alexandr with grief, almost with tears. Now the uppermost page quivered and started up, as though an unseen hand had turned it back; its edges scorched, it grew black, then contracted and suddenly caught fire; quickly after it a second and a third caught, and then suddenly a few sprang up and burnt in a mass, while those following after them were still white, and two seconds later they, too, began to blacken at the edges.

  Alexandr, however, had time to read: " Chapter III."
He remembered what was in that chapter, and was smitten with compunction. He rose from his chair and clutched the snuffers to save the fragments of his work. " Perhaps, still " hope murmured to him.

  " Stop, I will do it better with my stick," said Piotr Ivanitch. " You will burn your fingers."

  He moved the book into the furthest recesses of the stove, right into the corner. Alexandr stopped in hesitation. The book was thick and not readily subdued by the action of the fire. A thick smoke began to appear

  from under it; the flame sometimes would snatch it from below, lick it at the edge, leave a black stain and sink down again. It was still possible to save it. Alexandr stretched out his hand, but at that very second the flames threw a bright glare upon the chair and Piotr Ivanitch's face and the table; the whole book was alight and in a minute was burnt up, leaving a heap of black ash amongst which in parts crept little snakes of fire. Alexandr threw down the snuffers.

  " All is over I" he siid.

  " It is over!" repeated Piotr Ivauitch.

  " Ah !" ejaculated Alexandr, " I am free !"

  " Now I have helped you a second time to clear your rooms," said Piotr Ivanitch, " I hope that this time "

  " It is irrevocable, uncle."

  " Amen !" said his uncle, laying his hand on his shoulder. " Come, Alexandr, I advise you not to delay: write at once to Ivan Ivanitch, to send you work on the subject of agriculture. He always says, what is your nephew about ? "

  Alexandr shook his head mournfully. " I cannot," he a said, " no, I cannot; all is over."

  " What are you going to do now ? "

  " What ?" he asked and relapsed into gloom—" now there is nothing to do."

  "But it's only in the provinces people are able to do nothing, but here .... why did you come here ? It's incomprehensible ! Meantime enough about that. I have a request to make to you."

  Alexandr slowly raised his head and looked inquiringly at his uncle.

  a I think you know," began Piotr Ivanitch, moving his armchair up to Alexandr, " my partner Surkoff ? "

  Alexandr nodded assent.

  u He is a good fellow, but rather frivolous. His ruling weakness is women. Unluckily, as you have seen for yourself, he's not bad-looking; that's to say, he is rosy, sleek, tall, always curled and scented, dressed like a fashion-plate; and so he imagines all the women are out of their senses over him—yes, the coxcomb! directly he's smitten by a fresh flame, he begins spending money. Then he is taken up with surprises, presents, polite services; he gives himself up, too, to extravagant smartness, begins to get new

  carriages, horses—it's simply ruin! He even ran after my wife. I used not to trouble to send a servant to get theatre tickets; Surkoff was certain to send them-^-he was invaluable! you couldn't get such a man for any salary; but he bored my wife so I was obliged to get rid of him. Now when he abandons himself to extravagance in this way, his income is not enough for him; he begins to ask me for money—to talk about his capital. " What's your factory to me ?" he says ; " I never have any cash to spend!" It would be all very well if he would fix on some—hm—but no: he always seeks his liaisons in society; he says to me, "I must have an honourable intrigue; I can't live without love !" Isn't he an ass ? Not far off forty, and he can't live without love ! "

  Alexandr thought of himself and smiled gloomily.

  " Meantime, continued Piotr Ivanitch, " the result is that these so-called honourable intrigues—curse them !—are far more expensive than dishonourable ones. It's not worth the cost, the idiot! "

  " What is all this leading up to, uncle ? " asked Alexandr. " I don't see what I can do in the matter."

  "You shall see. The young wi dow, Julia Pavlovna Taphaev, ha s lately returned here from abroad, ane is 'ratner gooa-looking. Surkoff and I were friends of her husband's. Taphaev died abroad. Come, do you guess at last ? "

  " I guess so much; Surkoff has fallen in love with the widow."

  " Yes, he is completely crazy ! but what more ? "

  " More ! I don't know."

  " What a fellow! Come, I will tell you; Surkoff has twice announced to me that he will soon want money. I at once surmised what this meant, only which quarter the wind was in I couldn't conjecture. I tried to find out what he wanted money for. He hesitated and hesitated; at last said he wanted to rent a suite of rooms in Litaynoy Street, and I recollected that Madame Taphaev lived there, and just opposite the place he has fixed on. Trouble is threatening, and no escape unless you aid me. Now do you guess ? "

  "Surkoff is asking for money; "you have none. You want me to " He did not say what.

  A COMMON STORY 169

  Piotr Ivanitch smiled. Alexandr did not finish the sentence, and looked at his uncle in perplexity.

  " No, not at all!" said Piotr Ivanitch. " Am I ever without money ? Try applying, when you want some; you will see! But this is what it is ; Madame Taphaev through him reminded me of my acquaintance with her husband. I went to see her. She asked me to go often; I promised to do so and said I would bring you ^ come, now, I hope you understand ? "

  " Me ?" repeated Alexandr, looking with round eyes at his uncle. " I'll be banged if I understand." " This is the matter in question; y ou are to make Madame 1 Taphaev fall, injove with^ou." "~

  Alexandr raised his eyebrows at once and looked at his uncle.

  "You are joking, uncle? it's absurd! " he said.

  " What is there absurd in it ? This is all I want you to do. Lay yourself out to please Madame Taphaev; be attentive, don't let Surkoff be with her tite-d-tete —in fact, to put it simply, make him angry. He is vain to folly. Then he will not want his new apartments; his capital will not be touched; the factory business will go on its usual course ; come, do you understand? This will be the fifth time I have played him a trick; before, when I was unmarried and rather younger, I used to do it myself, but since now I can't, I get one of my friends to."

  " But I am not acquainted with her," said Alexandr.

  "For that reason I will introduce you on Wednesday. On Wednesday some of her old friends meet at her house."

  " But if she responds to SurkofFs love, then you must allow that my civilities and attentions will make her too angry."

  " Oh, that's enough ! She is a good sort of woman ; when she sees he is a fool, she will cease to take any notice of him, especially before others: her vanity would not allow her to. In this case another will be at hand, cleverer and better-looking; she will be persuaded to get rid of him the quicker. That's why I fixed on you."

  Alexandr bowed.

  " Surkoff is not so formidable," continued his uncle; but Madame Taphaev sees very few people, so that he might perhaps in her little circle pass for a great man and a wit.

  Externals produce a great effect upon women. Even clever women fall in love when a man commits follies for their sake, especially expensive follies.' 1

  " But Surkoff, very likely, will not be there on Wednesdays. I might interfere with him a little on Wednesdays; but how about other days ? "

  " Find out all that for yourself! You must flatter her a bit, play the lover a little. The next time she will invite you, not for Wednesday, but for Thursday or Friday; you redouble your civility, and I will prepare her a little. I will drop a hint as if you were really .... she seems—as far as I can observe—so emotional—she must be over-nervous; she too, I fancy, is not averse to sympathy—outpourings."

  " How is it possible ? " said Alexandr, ruminating. " If I could fall in love myself. . . . but since I cannot there can be no success for the scheme."

  " On the contrary, for that very reason it will be successful. If you fell in love, you could not play your part; she would notice it at once and would proceed to make fools of you both. As it is, you have only to make Surkoff angry; as soon as he sees that he won't gain the day, he won't spend his money for nothing, and that's all I want. Let me tell you, Alexandr, this is a very important matter to me; if you do this, you remember those two vases you liked in the factory ? they shall be yours."


  " Really, uncle, can you imagine that I "

  " But why should you take trouble and waste your time for nothing ? That's a fine idea ! No! the vases are very handsome."

  " It's a strange commission!" said Alexandr irresolutely.

  " I hope you won't refuse to carry it out for me. I am ready on my part to do what I can for you ; when you want money, apply to me. So on Wednesday! This business will last a month or two. I will tell you when it will not be necessary to do more, then drop it.

  " Certainly, uncle, I am ready; but it's a queer 1 won't

  answer for the success .... if I could fall in love myself .... then, but since I can't . . . ."

  " Indeed, it's very well you can't, that would spoil the whole thing. I answer for the success of it myself. Goodbye."

  He went away, and Alexandr sat long by the fire over the ashes of his treasures.

  When Piotr Ivanitch returned home, his wife asked him: " How was Alexandr, what of his novel, would he ever be a writer ? "

  " No, I have cured him of that for ever."

  Adouev told her the contents of the letter he had received with the manuscript, and related how they had burnt everything.

  " You have no pity, Piotr Ivanitch !" said Lizaveta Alexandrovna.

  " You did well indeed to set him scribbling! do you mean to tell me he has talent ? "

  " No." ^ .

  Piotr Ivanitch looked at her in surprise.

  " Then why did you ? "

  " Why, didn't you understand, didn't you guess, all this time ? "

  He was silent.

  " He doesn't understand, and yet he's a very clever man ! Why has he been cheerful—well, almost happy all this time ? Because he had something to hope for."

  " So you have been playing a part with him throughout!"

  * I consider it justifiable. But what have you done? You are absolutely pitiless; you have taken away his last hope."

  " Nonsense! what last hope ? He has plenty of absurdities still before him."

  " What is he to do now ? Will he go about again with downcast looks ? "

  " No ! he won't; it won't come to that: I have given him work to do."

  " What ? some translation again about potato-starch ? Do you suppose that can occupy a young man, especially an ardent, enthusiastic one ? With you the head only needs occupation."