The Best Short Stories of Fyodor Dostoevsky

by Dostoevsky, Fyodor

  It was at the gates, and in the presence of Lukerya, that I told her, thunderstruck as she was at having been sent for by me, that I should be happy and honoured if she … Further, I begged her not to be surprised at the manner of my proposal, nor that I was proposing to her in the street. “I’m a blunt man,” I said, “and it’s unnecessary for me to tell you that I know all about your circumstances.” And I was not lying. I am a blunt man. Anyway, what does it matter? I spoke to her not only decently, that is to say, showing that I was a man of education, but also with originality, and that’s what matters. Well, is there any harm in admitting it? I want to judge myself, and I am judging myself. I must speak pro and contra, and I do. I always remembered it with pleasure afterwards, though it may have been silly. I told her frankly at the time, without the slightest embarrassment, that, in the first place, I was not particularly talented or particularly clever and, perhaps, not even particularly good. I told her that I was a pretty cheap egoist (I remember that expression: I had thought of it on the way and was rather pleased with it), and that it was indeed very likely that I possessed a number of other highly unpleasant qualities. I told her all that with a special sort of pride—we all know how one talks of such things. Mind you, I had enough good sense not to speak of my virtues after having so nobly enlarged on my bad qualities. I did not say, “But to make up for that I possess this or that or the other virtue.” I saw that for the time being she was terribly frightened. But I didn’t tone anything down, either. On the contrary, seeing how frightened she was, I deliberately painted everything in blacker colours. I told her bluntly that she would not have to worry about food, but as for fine clothes, theatres and balls, she couldn’t count on that. Not at first, at all events. Later on when I had attained my object—possibly. This stern tone most decidedly appealed to me. I added, though, and that casually too, that if I was engaged in that sort of business, that is, kept my pawnshop, it was because of a certain object I had in mind, because, that is, there was a certain circumstance.… But, surely, I had a right to talk like that, for I really had such an object in mind, there really was such a circumstance. One moment, ladies and gentlemen, one moment, please: I always hated this money-lending business, I hated it all my life, and, as a matter of fact, though I admit it’s absurd to talk about oneself in such mysterious phrases, I was “revenging myself on society.” Indeed, I was! So that her gibe that morning about “revenging myself” was unfair. I mean, if I had told her straight, “Yes, I am revenging myself on society,” and she had burst out laughing as she nearly did that morning, the whole thing would indeed have appeared rather ridiculous. But by the use of an indirect hint, by a mysterious phrase, one can, it seems, bias the imagination in one’s favour. Besides, at that time I was no longer afraid of anything. For I knew very well that the fat shopkeeper at any rate was more hateful to her than I, and that when I made my proposal to her at the gate I would appear as a deliverer to her. I knew that. Oh, a man knows a dirty trick when he sees one! But was it a dirty trick? How is one to pass judgment on a man? Didn’t I really love her even then?

  Wait a bit. At that time of course I never said anything about conferring a favour upon her. On the contrary. Oh, quite on the contrary! “It is you,” I said, “who are conferring a favour on me, and not I on you!” So that, as you see, I even put it into words. I couldn’t restrain myself, and I dare say it must have sounded rather silly, for I noticed a fleeting expression of dismay on her face. But on the whole I most certainly got the better of it. Wait, though. If we must recall all this sordid business, then let me recall that last bit of beastliness too. As I stood there, the thought that was stirring in my mind was, “You are tall, well-built, educated and—and after all, without boasting about it, not bad-looking, either.” That’s what kept recurring to my mind at the time. Well, anyway. She of course said yes to me right away, at the gate. But—but perhaps it is only fair to add that out there, at the gate, she thought a very long time before she said yes. She pondered so long that I could not refrain from asking, “Well, what do you say?” And I even put the question to her with a certain air of gallantry, “Well, what do you say, madam?”

  “Please wait. Let me think.”

  And her sweet little face looked so serious, so serious, that even then I might have read it! But I felt hurt. “Why,” I thought, “is she really choosing between me and that shopkeeper?” Oh, I did not understand then! I did not understand anything. No, I didn’t understand anything then! I didn’t understand till today! I remember Lukerya ran after me as I was going away, stopped me in the street, and said, speaking very fast, “God will reward you, sir, for marrying our dear young lady. Only please don’t tell her that, sir. She’s proud!”

  Proud, is she? “Well,” I thought, “I like them proud.” Proud women are particularly good when—well, when you’re no longer in doubt about your power over them. Eh? Oh, base, blundering man! Oh, how pleased I was! Do you know, while she was standing there by the gate, pondering whether to say yes to me, and I was wondering why she was taking such a long time over it, do you know that she may have even had some such thought as this: “If it means unhappiness for me either way, then why not choose the worst? Why not choose the fat shopkeeper and have done with it? For he would be quite sure to beat me to death in one of his drunken fits!” Eh? What do you think? Might not such a thought have occurred to her at the time?

  No, I don’t understand it even now. I don’t understand anything even now! I’ve just said that the thought might have occurred to her: why not choose the worst of the two evils, that is, the shopkeeper? But which was worst for her at that moment? The shopkeeper or I? A shopkeeper or a pawnbroker who quotes Goethe? That’s the question. What question? Why, don’t you see even that? The answer is lying on the table, and you say, It’s a question! But—to hell with me! I’m of no consequence.… Besides, what does it matter to me now whether I am or whether I am not of consequence? That, I am afraid, is something I cannot possibly tell. I had better go to bed. My head aches …

  III

  THE NOBLEST OF MEN—

  BUT I DON’T BELIEVE IT MYSELF

  I couldn’t sleep. And how could I with that pulse throbbing in my head? I want to get at the bottom of it. At the bottom of all that filth. Oh, the filth! Oh, what filth I had dragged her out of then! Surely, she ought to have realised that! She ought to have appreciated my action. Other thoughts, too, pleased me at the time. For instance, that I was forty-one and she was only sixteen. That fascinated me—that feeling of inequality. Yes, it’s delightful, very delightful!

  Now, for example, I wanted to have our wedding à l’anglaise, that is a quiet wedding, just the two of us and, of course, the two witnesses, one of whom would be Lukerya, and then straight to the train, say to Moscow (I had, incidentally, some business there), staying at an hotel for a fortnight or so. But she was against it. She would not hear of it. And so I was forced to pay visits to her aunts and to present my respects to them as the relations from whom I was taking her. Yes, I gave in, and the proper respect was paid to the aunts. I even made a present to the creatures of one hundred roubles each, and promised them more, without of course telling her anything about it, so as not to distress her by the meanness of the whole situation. Her aunts at once became as smooth as silk. There was also some argument about her trousseau: she had nothing in the world, literally nothing, but then she didn’t want anything. I succeeded, however, in persuading her that it was not right and proper for a bride not to have anything at all, and I got her the trousseau. For who else was there to do anything for her? Well, anyway, to hell with me! Still, I did convey certain of my ideas to her then, so that she should at all events know. I was perhaps a thought too hasty about it. The important thing was that from the very start, however much she tried to restrain herself, she did her best to show her affection for me. Met me whenever I came to visit them in the evening with protestations of delight. Told me in that chatter of hers (her sweet chatter of innocence) about th
e days of her childhood, her babyhood, her old home, her mother and father. But I never hesitated for a moment and poured cold water upon all her raptures. That was essentially what my idea amounted to. To her transports I replied with silence. Benevolent silence, no doubt, but all the same she soon realised that we were different and that I was an enigma. And it was the enigma that was my trump card! For to create this enigma, for the sake of it, I perpetrated all this folly! Sternness above all! And it was with sternness that I led her into my house. To put the whole thing in a nutshell, though I was eminently pleased at the time, I created a whole system. Oh, it came naturally enough, without the slightest effort on my part. Besides, it couldn’t have been otherwise. I had to create that system owing to one unavoidable circumstance—why indeed should I be slandering myself! The system was perfect. A real system. No, listen! If you want to pass judgment on a man, you must first know all the facts about him. Listen.

  Now, how shall I begin? For the whole thing is very complicated. Whenever you start justifying yourself, things become complicated. You see, young people as a rule despise money, so I at once made a special point of money. I laid particular stress on money. And I did it with such consummate skill that she grew more and more silent. She would open her large eyes, listen to me, look at me, and fall silent. You see, young people are generous. I mean, young people who are good are generous and impulsive. But they have little tolerance. If anything doesn’t turn out the way they like, they immediately begin to despise you. And I liked her to take a broad, a tolerant view of things. I wanted to instill the idea of tolerance into her mind. I wanted her to accept that idea with all her heart and soul. That was my plan, wasn’t it? Let me give you a trivial example. How do you think I should have explained this money-lending business of mine to a girl of such a character? Naturally, I did not speak of it directly, for if I did it would have appeared that I was apologising to her for my pawnshop. Well, in the end I did it as it were through pride. I spoke almost without words. And I am an old hand at speaking without words. I have spent all my life speaking without words. I have lived through whole tragedies without uttering a word. Oh, I too had been unhappy! I was cast out by the whole world, cast out and forgotten, and no one, no one knows it! And all of a sudden this sixteen-year-old girl collected a whole dossier of the most detailed information about me from all sorts of scoundrels, and she thought she knew everything, while the innermost mystery remained buried in the breast of this man! I went on being silent. Yes, I went on being silent especially, especially with her—until yesterday. Why was I silent? Well, because I am a proud man. I meant her to find out for herself, without my help, and not from the tales told by all sorts of scoundrels. I wanted her to discover by herself this man and understand him! When I took her to my house, I expected the fullest possible respect from her. I wanted her to stand in homage before me because of my sufferings. And I deserved it. Oh, I was always proud. I always wanted all or nothing. And it is just because I never compromise where my own happiness is concerned, just because I wanted everything, that I was forced to act as I did that time. “Find out for yourself,” I as much as told her, “and learn to appreciate me!” For you must admit that if I had started explaining everything to her myself, if I had prompted her, if I had humbled myself before her, if I had begged her to respect me, it would have been the same as if I had begged her for charity.… However—however, why am I talking about this?

  It’s so silly! Silly, silly, silly! I explained to her in a few words, without beating about the bush, brutally (I stress the brutality of it!), that nothing in the world was more delightful than the generosity of youth, but—it wasn’t worth a farthing. Why not? Because it costs them nothing. Because it is merely the result of their inexperience. Because all that, as it were, is nothing but “the first impressions of life.” But, I said, “let’s see the sort of people you’ll be if you have to work hard for a living. Cheap generosity is always easy, even to give one’s life—yes, even that is easy, because it is merely the result of high spirits, of a superabundance of energy, of a passionate desire for beauty! Oh, no! You try a different kind of generosity, the really heroic kind, the difficult, calm, silent kind, without glitter, with odium, the kind that demands great sacrifices, the kind that doesn’t bring you a scrap of fame or glory, in which you—a man of shining virtue—are exhibited before the whole world as a blackguard, while you are really the most honest man of them all! Well, try that, my dear girl. Just try it. Try and see what sort of a hero you’ll prove yourself to be! But no, ma’am! I can see that you don’t want that sort of heroism, while I—well—I have done nothing in my life but bear that cross!” At first she argued. Good Lord, how she argued! Then she began lapsing into silence. Wouldn’t say a word. Only opened her eyes as she listened to me, opened them wide, those big, big eyes of hers, those observant eyes of hers. And—and, in addition, I suddenly saw a smile on her face, a mistrustful, silent, evil smile. Well, it was with that smile that I brought her into my house. It was true, of course, that she had nowhere else to go …

  IV

  PLANS, PLANS, PLANS.…

  Which of us began it first?

  Why, neither. It all began of itself from the very start. I have said that I brought her to my house with sternness. However, from the very beginning I made things easy for her. I took pains to explain to her while we were still engaged that she would have to help me with taking the pledges and paying out money. Well, at the time she said nothing (mark that, please!). And, moreover, she actually began helping me in my business with great enthusiasm. Mind you, my flat, my furniture, everything in fact, remained as before. My flat consists of two rooms, one large reception room with the pawnshop partitioned off, and the second room, also large, was our own room, our sitting-room and bedroom. My furniture is rather poor; even her aunts had better furniture. My icon case with the lamp is in the reception room where the pawnshop is. In my own room I have a bookcase with a few books and a small trunk. I always keep the keys of the trunk. Then there is, of course, the bed, tables, chairs. I told her before we were married that I’d let her have one rouble a day for our board, that is, for food for herself, me, and Lukerya, whom I had enticed away from her aunt. One rouble a day and no more. “I must have thirty thousand in three years,” I said, “and there is no other way of saving it up.” She raised no objections to that, but I myself increased her daily allowance by thirty copecks. The same thing with the theatre. I told her before our marriage that she needn’t expect to be taken to the theatre. However, I decided to take her to a play once a month. And decently, too. To the stalls. We went together. We went three times, as a matter of fact. Saw The Chase After Happiness and Singing Birds, I think. (Oh, to hell with it!) We went there in silence and we came back in silence. Why, oh why, did we from the very beginning make no attempt to speak to each other? At first there were no quarrels, but just silence. In those days, I remember, she always used to watch me furtively. As soon as I noticed that, I became more silent than ever. It is true, it was I who made a point of keeping silent and not she. On her part there were one or two outbursts of affection when she would rush to embrace me. But as these outbursts were quite obviously morbid and hysterical, and as what I wanted was secure happiness, with respect from her, I received them coldly. And I was quite right: we always had a quarrel the day after such an outburst.

  But perhaps I am being a little unfair: there were no real quarrels, only silence and—and more and more insolent looks from her. “Rebellion and independence”—that’s what it was. Only she wasn’t very good at it. Yes, that gentle face was getting more and more insolent. Believe it or not, I was becoming loathsome to her. Oh yes, I know what I am talking about. I observed it carefully. You see, the fact that those outbursts of hers were the result of strained nerves was quite undeniable. Why else should she, after emerging from that squalor and destitution, after scrubbing floors, begin sniffing at our poverty? As a matter of fact, there was no question of poverty at all. It was jus
t economy. I never stinted myself in what was necessary. In linen, for instance, and cleanliness. I’ve always been of the opinion that cleanliness in husbands attracts a wife. Still, it was not poverty she found fault with so much as with my so-called meanness in economising. “There’s some purpose behind it,” she seemed to say. “Wants to show off his strength of character.” She herself quite suddenly refused to go to the theatre. And that scornful smile of hers was to be seen more and more often on her face. And I grew more and more silent. More and more silent.