A common story

by Ivan Goncharov

  Q j Alexandr, not noticing that his uncle was twisting uneasily in his seat and coughing significantly to put a stop to his V5^ y speech; "if you marry for love, love will pass and you will come to live by habit; if you marry not for love, you will come too to the same result; you will get used to your wife. Love is love, and marriage is marriage; these two do not always go together, and it is better when they

  do not go together Isn't that right, uncle ? you used

  to instruct me in that way, you know." "~ ife glanced at Piotr Ivanitch and stopped suddenly, seeing that his uncle was looking at him with a face of fury. He looked open-mouthed in bewilderment at his aunt, then again at his uncle, and said no more. Lizaveta Alexandrovna shook her head mournfully.

  "Well, so you are going to be married?" said Piotr Ivanitch: (t it's a suitable time now, to be sure ! But you were wanting to be married at three-and-twenty." " Youth, uncle, youth !"

  >.»

 

  " Yes, it was youth."

  Alexandr grew grave and then smiled.

  " What is it ? " inquired Piotr Ivanitch.

  •'Oh, I was struck by an incongruity."

  " What incongruity ? "

  "When I was in love," replied Alexandr meditatively, " I was not able to marry."

  " And now you are getting married, and you are not able to love," added his uncle, and both laughed.

  "It follows from that, uncle, that you were»right in your theory that suitability is the principal "

  Piotr Ivanitch again turned a face of intense fury upon him. Alexandr was silent, not knowing what to think.

  " You are going to be married at fiveand-thirty ," said Piotr Ivanitch, " that is quite proper. "^But you remember what a delirium you fell into then, how you vociferated, unequal marriages revolted you, that the bride was dragged, like a victim decked in flowers and diamonds, and thrust into the embraces of an elderly creature, generally unattractive and bald. How about your own head ? "

  "Youth, youth, uncle ! I did not understand the realities of things," said Alexandr, smoothing his hair with his hand.

  " The realities of things," continued Piotr Ivanitch; " but do you remember how desperate you were over that— what was her name ?—Natasha—was it ? Furious jealousy, transports, heavenly bliss. What has become of all that?"

  " Now, now, uncle, stop !" said Alexandr, getting red.

  "Where is the titanic passion, tears?"

  "Uncle!"

  "What? You have done with sincere outpourings, you have done with * gathering yellow flowers.' You are tired of living alone."

  " Oh, if that's it, uncle, I am not the only one who has been in love, raved, been jealous, wept. Wait a minute, I have a written document in my possession."

  He pulled a pocket-book out of his pocket, and after

  fumbling some time among the papers, he drew out an

  , old, almost worn-out and yellow sheet of paper.

  j "Here, ma fanfe" he said, "is the proof that my uncle

  ^was not always such a rational, ironical, and practical man.

  He too knew something of sincere outpourings and gave

  expression to them not on official paper and with special ink. For four years I have carried that scrap about with me and kept waiting for an opportunity to confront my uncle with it* I had all but forgotten it, but you yourself reminded me."

  " What nonsense is this ? I don't understand it a bit," said Piotr Ivanitch, looking at the scrap of paper.

  " Here, then, look at it."

  Alexandr held the paper up before his uncle's eyes. Suddenly Piotr Ivanitch's face darkened.

  " Give it up, give it up, Alexandr!" he cried hurriedly and tried to snatch it. But Alexandr quickly drew back his hand.

  Lizaveta Alexandrovna looked at him with curiosity.

  "No, uncle, I won't give it up," said Alexandr, "until you

  • acknowledge here, before my aunt, that you too were in love

  1 once, like me, and everybody .... or else this document

  4 shall be put into her hands to your eternal reproach."

  i " Brute! " cried Piotr Ivanitch, " what trick are you

  playing on me ? "

  " You don't want me to -".

  " Come, come, I have been in love ; give it up."

  " No, kindly say that you were raving, jealous ? "

  "Well, I was jealous and raving," said Piotr Ivanitch, scowling.

  " You shed tears ? "

  " No, I didn't shed tears."

  " It's not true 1 I was told so by my auntie; own up."

  " I can't bring my Jongue to utter it, Alexandr. Perhaps I will try now "

  " Ma tank) take the document."

  " Show me, what is it ? " she inquired, holding out her hand.

  " I shed tears, I did ! Give it up ! " cried Piotr Ivanitch in desperation.

  "By the lake?"

  " By the lake ? "

  " And you gathered yellow flowers ? "

  " I did. There you have everything. Give it up !"

  " No, not everything; give me your word of honour, that you will consign my follies to eternal oblivion and give up taunting me with them."

  tSo a common story

  " I give you my word of honour."

  Alexandr gave him the paper. Piotr Ivanitch snatched it, lighted a taper and burnt the scrap of paper in it.

  " Tell me at least what it was about ? " inquired Lizaveta Alexandrovna.

  " No, my dear, that I will not tell at the Last Judgment," replied Piotr Ivanitch; " but is it possible I wrote that ? can it be?"

  " You did, uncle !" interposed Alexandr, " I can repeat, if you like, what was written in it; I know it by heart: " Angel, adored by me "

  " Alexandr! we shall be enemies for life 1" cried Piotr Ivanitch angrily.

  " They are ashamed, as though it were a crime, and of what! " said Lizaveta Alexandrovna; " of first, pure love."

  She shrugged her shoulders and turned away from them.

  " In that love there was so much that was stupid," said Piotr Ivanitch gently, insinuatingly. "Between us now there was no question of sincere outpourings, of flowers, and walks by moonlight .... but you love me, you know."

  "Yes, I am thoroughly .... used to you," replied Lizaveta Alexandrovna vacantly.

  Piotr Ivanitch began to stroke his whiskers despondently.

  "Well, uncle," inquired Alexandr, in an undertone, " isn't that jvhat you want? "

  Piotr Ivanitch made a sign to him to signify, "be silent."

  " It's pardonable in Piotr Ivanitch to think and behave like this," said Lizaveta Alexandrovna, " he has been the same so long, and no one, I imagine, has known him otherwise; but in you, Alexandr, I did not expect such a change."

  She sighed.

  " What do you sigh for, ma tante ? " he asked.

  " For the Alexandr of old days," she replied

  " Is it possible you could have wished me, ma tante, to remain what I was ten years ago ? " said Alexandr. " Uncle is right in calling it foolish sentimentality. ,,

  The countenance of Piotr Ivanitch began to grow wrathful. Alexandr stopped.

  " No, not what you were ten years ago," said Lizaveta Alexandrovna, " but four years ago; do you remember what a letter you wrote me from the country ? How splendid you were then 1"

  "I fancy I was a sentimentalist then, too," said Alexandr.

  " No, you were not sentimental. Then you had interpreted and understood life for yourself; then you were

  splendid, noble, wise Why did you not remain so ? "

  Why was it only in words, on paper, and not in fact ? This brightness peeped out like the sun from behind a cloud— for one instant."

  " You meart to say, ma tante y that now I .... am not wise .... nor noble ? "

  " God forbid, no! But now you are wise and noble .... in some other way, not in my way "

  "What's to be done, ma fante" said Alexandr with a sonorous sigh, " it's the age. I progress with the times; one cannot stay be
hind. You see I follow my uncle, I quote his words."

  " Alexandr !" said Piotr Ivanitch, savagely, " let us go to my study for a minute; I want to have a word with you."

  They went into the study.

  " What possessed you to appeal to me to-day ?" said Piotr Ivanitch. " Do you see w hat a state my wife is in.V.

  " What is it ? " .a^JJBfc&lExandp ia alarm.

  " HSven't ^pu jjQticed anything? Why, its come to my throwing up .my position, my business—everything and

  g oing t oJtal£^witli hpr *"

  ^ What are you saying, uncle 1" cried Alexandr, in bewildeillie ni, " wliy7T hfeyearyou^re"T)ound to be in the privycouncil."

  **Yes, But if the privy councillor's wife is dying I" . He walked despondently three times up and down the room.

  " No," he said, " my career is over! My work is done ; Fate does not permit to advance further—so be it!" He made a gesture of abnegation.

  " We had better talk about you,", he said; " you seem to be following in my footsteps."

  " I couldn't do better, uncle," added Alexandr.

  " Yes," Piotr continued. " At a little over thirty .... a

  T

  councillor, a good official salary, while by unofficial work you are making a large income. And now, in due course, you are to marry a wealthy .... Yes, the Adouevs are making their mark. You are following in my steps except for the back-ache."

  " But I sometimes suffer with it already/' said Alexandr, rubbing his spine.

  " It's all excellent, of course, except the spinal trouble," continued Piotr Ivanitch. " I did not think, I confess, that anything much could be made of you when you came up here. You were always occupying your brain with spiritual questions, flying off to the clouds. But that's all over now, and thank God for it 1 I would say to you: Continue to follow in my footsteps, except "

  " Except in what, uncle ? "

  " Oh, I should have liked to give you some advice in regard to your future wife."

  " What is it ? That's curious."

  " But no," said Piotr Ivanitch, after a short pause. " I am afraid of making things worse. Act as you feel yourself; perhaps you will guess. Let us rather talk of your marriage They say yourjlancie has a dowry of two hundred thousand —really!"

  " Yes; her father gives her two hundred thousand, and she has a hundred left her from her mother."

  " Then that's three hundred!" exclaimed Piotr Ivanitch, almost with awe.

  " And moreover, he said to-day that he would give us his five hundred serfs, now to be at our full disposal, on condition of our allowing him seven thousand a year. He will live with us."

  Piotr jumped up from his chair with an alacrity not like him.

  " Stop, stop !" he said. " You are making me dizzy. What did you tell me ? Say it again. How much ? "

  "Five hundred serfs and three hundred thousand in money," Alexandr repeated.

  "You are not joking !"

  "A likely joke, uncle!"

  " And the property ... is not mortgaged ? " asked Piotr Ivanitch softly, not moving from his place.

  "No."

  FB2 document info

  Document ID: 3fbf6759-bb31-4803-a6f6-00fc14cbd40f

  Document version: 1

  Document creation date: 18.8.2012

  Created using: calibre 0.8.53, FictionBook Editor Release 2.6 software

  Document authors :

  Goncharov, Ivan Aleksandrovich, 1812-1891

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