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N. [;. TCHERNYCHEWSKY,

WHAT'S TO BE DONE?

A ROMANCE.

BY

N. a. TCIIHUXYCIIKWSKV

'I'UANSLAIKJJ llY

B.ENJ. U. Tl^rKKJl.

ISOSroN :

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

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TRANSLATOR'S PREFACE.

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

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

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

Trandalor's Preface.

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

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

B. R. T.

WHAT'S TO BE DONE?

An Imbecile.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

e What 's To Be Done ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" He was drunk," said some.

" He had dissipated his fortune," thought others.

" Simply an imbecile I " observed somebody.

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

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

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

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

An Imbecile. 7

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

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

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

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

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

Now the mystification was complete. Imbecile and prudent !

8 ]Vhat\s To Be Bone?

i

First Consequence of the Imbecile Act.

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

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

Et qui de notre ignorance

Souflfre done ? N'cst-cc pas uuus ?

Qu'ellc viennc, la sncnce

Qui nous affranchira tous ! ,

Nous plions sous la douleur ;

Maiti, par la fraternity.

Nous hatcrons le bonheur

De toutc rhinnariit6.

Ah ! ^a ira ! &c.

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

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

First Consequence of the Imbecile Act* 9

Oui, pour vaincre la misfire,

Instruisons-nous, travaillons ;

Un paiadis de la terre,

En nous ainiant, nous ferons.

Travaillons, aimons, chantons,

Tons les vrais biens nous aurons ;

Un jour vicnt ou nous serbns

Tons heuieux, instruits, et bons.

Ah! gaira! oaira! gaira!

Le peuple en cc jour r*5p6tc :

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

Qui vivra verra !

Done vivons !

Qa bicn vitc ira !

Qa vicndra !

Nous tons le verrons !

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

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

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

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

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

"I have iirought you a letter, V6ra Pavlovna "

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

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

• Marhii in the <Hmlnullvc of Marin.

10 WJial's To Be Done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"V6rotchka!" . . .

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

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

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

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

And her sobs redoubled.

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

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

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

• Verotchka is the diminutive of V6ra.

First Consequence of the Imbecile Act. 11

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" EnoufTJi ! Go ! Adieu ! "

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

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

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

arms and said, embracing him with ardor:

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

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

Nljnl Nr.vKoni'l.

12 What's To Be Done?

PREFACE.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Preface. 13

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

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

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

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

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

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

14 Wluit's To Be Done?

CHAPTER FIRST.

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents.

I.

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

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

House of Ivan Zakharovitch Storechnikoff, present Councillor of State.

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

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

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

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

TJie Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents. 15

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

16 What's To Be Done?

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

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

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

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

That is what V6rotchka saw at the age of eight.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tlie Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents, 17

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

her.

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

18 What's To Be Bone?

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

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

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

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

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

"No, mamma."

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

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

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

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

And at the same time V6rotchka rose.

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

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

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

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

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents. 19

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

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

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

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

Verotchka said nothing.

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

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

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

" I will try tomorrow."

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

After a silence often minutes:

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

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

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

" Yes."

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

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

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

20 Wliat 's To Be Done ?

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

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

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

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

On stepping from the carriage Verotchka said to her mother:

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

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

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

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

The young girl obej'ed.

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

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

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

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

"Go! Rest yourself!"

Verotchka spent much time in undressing.

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

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

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

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

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents. 21

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

22 What's To Be Bone?

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

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

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

11.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents, 23

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

" You are laughing at me."

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

" It is impossible."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

24 What's To Be Done?

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

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

And Julie burst into tears, crying :

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

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

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

Storechnikoff held back no longer:

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

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

" Xo, truly ! " *•

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

" What proof can I give you ? "

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

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

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

The Life of Vera Pavlovna loith her Parents. 25

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

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

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

And falling on her knees :

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

She rose suddenly and ran to the oflBcer :

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

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

" Is this not abominable? "

"Abominable! Julie."

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

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

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

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

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

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

" Perfectly well."

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

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

26 What's To Be Done?

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

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

III.

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

Verotchka made a gesture of impatience.

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

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

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

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

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

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

I

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents. 27

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

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

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

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

This is what Verotchka said to Storechnikoff:

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

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

Sho resumed :

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

He shook her hand without knowing what he did.

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

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

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

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

•A Kong by NettroMiiotr.

t Vurlca Ik uti lll-imlurcd diminutive of Vuro.

28 Whal 's To Be Done ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

IV.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Life of Vera Pavlovna loiih her Parents. 29

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

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

And his wife!

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

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

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

" Verotchka, can you come, my dear?"

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

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

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

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

30 What's To Be Bone?

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

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

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

" Yes, I may tell you all ! "

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

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

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

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

Julie went back to the parlor.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Verotchka opened her eyes wide.

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents. 31

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

" At noon."

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

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

The note which she wrote read as follows :

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

" Now, adieu.

"J. Letfjxier."

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

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

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

• The PoIqIs Iloyal of 81. rclorsburif.

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

32 What's To Be Done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" Perfectly."

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

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

" First, you shall stop persecuting this young person.

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

" Is that all ? "

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents. 33

« Yes."

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

But Julie continued with the same solemnity and deliberation :

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

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

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

But Julie has not yet done.

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

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

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

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

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

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

34 What's To Be Done?

VI.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Life of Vera Pavlovna icith her Parents. 35

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

vir.

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

36 What 's To Be Bone 9

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

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

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

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

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents. 37

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

y

38 What's To Be Done?

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

*TS^b," safd T6rotchka.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" Do not rise, or I go "

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

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

Then Maria Alexevna said something in Matroena's ear.

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

Again Maria Alexevna yielded.

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

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

The Life of Vera Paulovna wUh her Parents. 39

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

Matroena trembl';d like a leaf.

Why?

VIII.

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

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

See what a fuss Matroena had caused.

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

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

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

He camt'.

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

"What have you heard, Mamma?"

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

to that to the daughter of our .steward."

" It is true. Mamma."

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

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

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

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

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

40 W/uii's To Be Bone?

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

should give their consent ! "

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

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

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

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

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

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

" Monster ! Assassin of your mother ! "

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

" Be silent, monster ! Leave me ! "

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

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

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

" Go, assassin ! "

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

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

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents. 41

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

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

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

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

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

'■ What do you mean by that ? "

" She will never dare to thwart your will."

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

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

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

" How did all this happen?"

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

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

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

" III three days, your excellency."

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

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

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

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

42 What's To Be Done?

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

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

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

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

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

She took a seat and said :

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents. 43

" What ? What do you say ? Finish ! "

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

" Mamma, you deceive rae."

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

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

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

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

IX.

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

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

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

" Maria Alexevna " . . . .

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

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

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

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

44 What's To Be Done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

He seized her hand and kissed it rapturously.

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

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

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

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

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Parents. 45

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

46 What '.s To Be Done ?

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

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

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

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

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 47

CHAPTER SECOND.
The First Love and Legal Marriage.

I.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

* All iiM Kiixaiaii oaylni;.

48 W/mi's To Be Domf

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The First Love and Legal Man'iage. 49

Or like this other :

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

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

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

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

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

II.

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

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

50 W/iat's To Be Done?

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

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

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

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

If he suffered still, it was his own fault.

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

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

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

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

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

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

* A Bonp peculiar to UusBia.

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 51

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

52 What's To Be Done?

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

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

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

" Such was the Count's order."

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

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

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

" Twice."

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

" To see you."

"Exactly; and what then?"

" I don't know."

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

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

A fortnight later she said to him :

" Now are you going ? "

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

" Well, then, we part friends? "

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

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

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

HL

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

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

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

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 53

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" Yes, I serve in that regiment."

" How long since? "

" Nine years."

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

" The same."

" Have you a company ? "

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Very well."

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

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

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

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

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

The First Love and Legal Marriage, 55

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

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

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

" Perfect ! " answered Lopoukhoff.

" Are you versed in music? "

" Hm ! Well enough."

" Are you a musician yourself ? "

" In a small way."

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

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

" I play the piano."

" Might we ask you to favor us ? "

" Certainly."

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

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

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

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

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

IV.

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

56 What's To Be Done?

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

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

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

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

" Of how many points ? "

" As you prefer."

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

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

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

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

" Monsieur Lopoukhoff, are you going to dance ? "

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

" What is it ? "

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

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

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

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

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

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 57

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

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

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

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

" Why is it difficult for me ? " /

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

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

" You have a sweetheart ? "

" Yes."

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

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

" Is she a brunette or a blonde ? "

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"T<-llit, tellit!"

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

man

1 1 "

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

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

58 What's To Be Done?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" The last."

" Good."

Maria Alexevna strolled around them several times daring this quadrille.

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

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 59

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

Finally came the last quadrille.

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

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

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

"Never!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

" And applause."

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

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

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

fiO What's To Be Done?

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

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

look at you in that way? "

Verotchka blushed and said nothing.

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

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

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

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

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

V6rotchka smiled. " Of course not."

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

" I would die first."

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

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

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

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

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 61

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

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

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

" \VTiere did I find it ? In books ?

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

62 Whars To Be Done?

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

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

vr.

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

TJie First Love and Legal Marriage. 63

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

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

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

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

" Yes, I have one," answered Lojjoukhoff.

"And you are already engaged?"

" Yes."

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

" Formally.'"

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

Ixipoukhoff replied ehsarly, and, as usual, briefly.

64 What's To Be Done?

" Is your sweetheart beautiful ? "

" Of extraordinary beauty."

" Has she a dowry ? "

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

" A large inheritance? "

" Very large."

" How much ? "

" Very much."

" A hundred thousand ? "

" Much more."

" Well, how much, then ? "

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

" In money ? "

" In money also."

" In lands perhaps, as well ? " .

" And in lands as well."

" Soon ? "

" Soon."

" And when will the nuptials take place ? "

" Soon."

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

" You are perfectly right."

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

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

" And you are aware of it? "

" Yes."

" But how ? "

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

" Yourself? "

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

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

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

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

The First Love and Legfd Marriage. 65

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

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

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

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

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

66 What's^ To Be Done?

VII.

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

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 67

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

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

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

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

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

(\8 What '.s To Be Done 9

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 69

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

"That's it."

" And this one in German ? "

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

" Then it is a pious book."

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

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

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

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

" He was a Catholic, naturally.''

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

70 Whars To Be Done?

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

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

VHI.

TEST A LA HAMLET.

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

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

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

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

And this is what she saw :

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

* Two and one-third feet.

The First Love ami Legal Marriage. 71

And this is what she heard :

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

" Yes, Vera Pavlovua, precisely thus."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

" For senseless and mischievous fancies."

" It is very prosaic."

"The poetic form is not siuted to science,"

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

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

72 What's To Be Bone?

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

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

" They are indeed ridiculous, Vera Pavlovna."

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

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

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

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

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

" So be it."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 73

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

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

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

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

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

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

" I should be stupid to blame you."

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

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

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

" Correctly enough "

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

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

74 W/iat's To Be Bone?

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

Here Maria Alexevna stopped listening.

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

" As it is I cannot do it.

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

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

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

IX.

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

* A Uuasian i)roverb.

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 75

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

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

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

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

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

76 What's To Be Done?

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

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

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

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

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 77

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

X.

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

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

78 What 's To Be Done f

e

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

Nevertheless one day Lopoukhoft' said to V6rotchka :

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

" Why ? "

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

Two days later she said to him :

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

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

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

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

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

Lopoukhoff smiled too.

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

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

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

They shook bands.

Such were their first two interviews after the famous soiree.

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

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

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 79

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

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

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

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

" Wiiat, then, is the businos?"

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

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

" ( )h ! yes ! "

80 What's To Be Done 9

" 'Tis well, then. Search."

And the conversation ended there.

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

XI.

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

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

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

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

Such conversations as this occurred at intervals for a week.

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 81

Tuesday.

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

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

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

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

" But why should 1 take offence? What have you done? "

Lopoukhoff iK'carae >till more confused and appeared distressed.

" What is the matter, rny friend ? "

" Ah ! you did not notice it ? " lie said this in a very sad tone, and then burst
out lauj^hing. " Ah ! how stupid 1 must be ! Pardon me, my friend ! "

" But what is the trouble? "

" Nothing. You have already repaid me.

" Oh, that ! What a queer man you are ! Well, so be it, call me so."

The following Thursday witnessed the test a la Eamlel according to Saxon, the
Grammarian, after which Maria Alexevna relaxed her supervision a little.

Satnnlay, alter tea, Maria Alexevna went to count the linen which the laundress
had just inoiight.

" It looks, my triend, as if the affair was about to be arranged."

"Yes? Oh! so much the better ! .\nd let it be quickly. 1 believe that 1 should
die if this should last longer. But when and how? "

" All will be dcciilf'd to-morrow. 1 am almost certain of it."

" Tell me about it, then."

"Be calm, my friend, you may b(! noticed. There you are, leaping with joy,
and your mother liable to comt; in at any nmnienf ! "

" l>ut you came in yourself so radiant with joy tiiat Mamma looked at you fur
a long time."

"Therefore I told her why I was gay ; for I thought it woiilil be better to tell
her, and so I did say to her: ' I have found an excellent idaee.'"

" Insuff(!rai)le that you are ! you give me all sorts of m(I\ ire. .nid not a word
have you told me yet. Speak, then ! "

"This morning Kir.sanoff— that, you know, my I'riend, is my comrade's
name—"

" I know, I know ; speak, speak <pii(;kly."

" You prevent me yourself, my friend."

"Indeed ! Still reprimands instead of reasonable speech. I do not know what

•PcrhnpB Ihf Knifllsli render will be- nt n lo»« to iindrrKtnn'l Lop'mktiofT'ii ronfimlnn ntiltmn Informed
that the words rendered licro and on a prevloun piiKc nii " my friend " hnve In iho orl|{lniil n Bignlticance
more tender which no Kn^Hiib word exactly convey*.

82 What's To Be Done?

I shall do with you ; I would put you on your knees, if it were not impossible
here ; I order vou to kneel when you get home, and Kirsanoff shall write me
whether you have done proper penance."

" So be it, and I will keep silence until I have done my penance and been
pardoned."

" I pardon, but speak quickly, insulierable ! "

" I thank you. You pardon me, Vera Pavlovna, when you are the guilty one
3"oursel£ You are constantly interrupting."

" V6ra Pavlovna ? What do you mean by that ? Why do you no longer say
my friend ^ "

" It is a punishment, my friend, that I desired to inflict upon you ; I am an
irritable and severe man."

" A punishment ? You dare to inflict punishments on me ! I will not listen
to you "

"You will not?"

" No, I will not. What more is there to hear ? You have told me almost all, —
that the aflair is nearlj' finished, and that tomorrow it will be decided ; j'ou know
no more than that yourself today. What could I hear ? Au revoir, my friend ! "

" But listen a little, my friend ; my friend, I beg of you."

" I do not listen, and am going away." She came back nevertheless. " Speak
quickly, and I will interrupt you no more. Ah, if you know what joy you have
caused me ! Give me your hand. See how heartily I shake it."

" And tears in your eyes why ? "

" Thank you, thank you ! "

" This morning Kirsanoff' gave me the address of the lady who expects me to
call tomorrow. I am not personally acquainted with her ; but I have often heard
her spoken of by the functionary, our mutual friend, and again be has been the
intermediary. The lady's husband I know personally, having met him several
times at the house of the functionary in question. Judging from appearances, I
am satisfied that the family is a good one. The lady said, when giving her ad-
dress, that she was satisfied that we could agree upon terms. Therefore we may
consider the business almost finished."

"Oh! what happiness ! " repeated Verotchka. " But I wish to know immedi-
ately, as quickly as possible. You will come here straightway ? "

" No, my friend, that would awaken suspicion. I must come here only at
lesson-time. This is what we will do. 1 will send a letter by city po.st to Maria
Alcxevna announcing that I cannot come on Tuesday to give the usual lesson,
and will come on Wednesday instead. If I say Wednesday morning, that will
mean that the aff"air has terminated successfully ; if Wednesday evening, that it
has fallen through. But it is almost certain to be Wednesday morning. Maria
Alexevna will tell Fedia, as well as yourself and Pavel Koustantinytch."

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 83

" When will the letter get here ? "

" Tomorrow evening."

" So late ! No, patience will fail me. And what am I going to learn from the
letter ? A simple ' yes,' and then to wait till Wednesday ! It is actual torture !
My friend, I am going to this lady's house. 1 wish to know the whole at once.
But how shall we fix that ? Oh, I know ; I will wait for you in the street, until
you come away from her house."

" But, my friend, that would be still more imprudent than for me to come back
here It is better, then, that I should come."

" No, perhaps we could not talk together here. And in any case Mamma would
be suspicious. It is better to follow my suggestion. I have a veil so thick that
no one will recognize me."

" Perhaps indeed, it is possible. Let me think a little."

" There is no time to lose in long reflections. Mamma may enter at any
moment. Where does this lady live ? "

" Rue Galernaia, near the bridge."

" When will you be there?"

" At noon ; that is the hour she fixed."

" From noon onwaid 1 will be seated on the Boulevard Konno-nvardeisky, on
the last i)fiicli on the side near the bridge. I told you that I would wear a very
thick veil. But here is a signal for you : I will have a music roll in my hand.
If I am not there, it will be because I have been detained. No matter, sit down
on the bench and wail. I niav Ijc late, but I will not fail to come. How "-ood I
feel ! How gralcliil I am lo you ! How happy I shall be! What is your sweet-
heart doing, Dmitry Scrguritch ? You have fallen from the title of friend to that
of Dmitry Sergueitch. How contented I am ! How happy I am ! "

Vi'-rotchka ran to her ])iano, and began to play. " What a degradation of art,
my friend I What has become of ynur tasteP You al)MM(lon o|i(>ras lor
galops."

" AbaiidoiM'd, utterly abandoned!"

A few minutes later Maria Al(!xcvna entered. Dmitry Sergui'itcli piiyeil a
game of cards with her ; he ItcLTan i>y wirun'iig ; then lu! allowiMl her to recover
her losses, and linally ho lo.st thirty-five copecks; it was llie lirsl, lime he had bt
her win, ami when he went away, he hjft her well contented, ii-it wiih I he inoiiey,
but with th(! triumph. There arcs joys purely ideal, oven in hearts completely sind<
in m:iteri:ili-itn, and thi.s it is that proves the materialistic explanation of life un-
salLsfactory.

84 What's To Be Done?

XII.
verotchka's first dream.

V6rotchka dreamed that she was shut up in a dark and damp cellar. Suddenly
the door opened, and she found herself at liberty in the country ; she began to
run about joyfully, saying to herself: '■ How did I keep from dying in the cellar?"
And again she ran about and gamboled. But suddenly she felt a stroke of
paralysis. " IIow is it that paralysis has fallen upon me ? " thought she ; " only
old people are subject to that, old people and not young girls."

" Young girls also are subject to it," cried a voice. " As for you, you will be
well, if I but touch you with my hand. You see, there you are, cured; arise."

" Who speaks thus to me ? And how well I feel ! The illness has quite gone."

Verotchka arose ; again she began to run about and play, saying to herself:
" IIow was I able to endure the paralytic shock ? Undoubtedly because I was
born a paralytic, and did not know how to walk and run ; if I had known how, I
never could have endured to be without the power."

But she sees a young girl coming. How strange she is ! her expression and
manner are constantly changing; by turns she is English and French, then she
becomes German, Polish, and finally Russian, then English again, German again,
Russian again, — and yet why do her features always remain the same ? An
English girl does not resemble a French girl, nor a German a Russian. She is
by turns imperious, docile, joyful, sad, gentle, angry, and her expression always
indicate:9 the feeling of the moment. But she is always good, even when she is
angiy. That is not all ; she suddenly begins to improve ; her face takes on new
charms with every moment, and, approaching V6rotchka, she says to her : " Who
are you? "

'' Formerly he called me V6ra Pavlovna ; now he calls me ' my friend.' "

" Ah ! it is you, the V6rotchka who has formed an affection for me."

" Yes, I love you much. But who are you ? "

" I am the sweetheart of your sweetheart."

" Of which sweetheart ? "

" I do not know. I am not acquainted with my sweethearts. They know me,
but I cannot know them, for I have many. Choose one of them ; never take one
elsewhere."

" I have chosen " . . . .

" I have no need of his name ; I do not know them. But I say to you again,
choose only among them. I wish my sisters and my sweethearts to choose
each other exclusively. Were you not shut up in a cell;ir ? Were you not para-
lyzed ? "

" Yes."

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 85

" Are you not free now ? "

" Yes."

" It is I who delivered you, who cured you. Remember that there are many
who are not yet delivered, who are not yet cured. Go, deliver them and cure
them ! Will you do it ? ''

" I will do it. But what is your name ? I wish to know it."

" I have many names. I tell to each the name by which he is to know me.
As for you, call me Love of Mankind. That is my real name ; but there are not
many people who know it ; you, at least, shall call me so."

Then V6rotehka found herself in the city ; she saw a cellar where young girls
were shut up. She touched the lock, the lock fell ; she said to the young girls :
" Go out!" and they went out. She saw then a chamber where lay young girls
who had been paralyzed ; she said to tiiem : "Arise!" They arose, and all ran
into the country, lighted-hearted and laughing: V6rotchka followed them, and in
her happiness cried out :

" How pleasant it is to be with them! How sad it was to l)c alone! How
pleasant it is to be with the free young girls who run in the fields, agile and
joyous ! "

XUI.

Lopoukhoff, overburdened with cares, had no longer any time to see his friends
at the Academy. Kirsanofl", who had not ceased to associate with them, was
obliged to answer a hundred questions about Lopoukhoff: he revealeil the nature of
the affair that occupied his friend, and thus it was that one of their mutual friends
gave the address of the lady on whom IvopdiikliolV is about to cill at this stage
of our story. " How fortunate it will ite, if this succeeds!" tliouglit lie, as he
walked along; " in two years, two and a half :it most, I shall be a professor.
Then we can live together. In the meantime she will live quietly with Madame
B., provided Madame I?, proves really to bo a good person whom one cannot
mistrust."

I-opoukhoff found in Madame !'>. an intelligent and good woman, without
pretentions, although the position (»r her husband would have warranted her
in having many. The conditions were good, Verotc^lika would lie well situated
there; all was going on famously, then, and Lopoukhofl'^s hopes had not been
groundless.

Madame B., on her side, being satisfied with f^opoukhoff's replies regarding
Vi^rotohka's character, the jifrair was arrangcMl, and nftcsr a half hour's talk,
Madame W. said : " If my conditions suit your young aunt, 1 b('g her to take up
her quarters here, ami I should be plea.sod to see her as soon as possible."

'• She will he satisfied ; she has authorized me to act for her. But now that we
have come to an agreement, I must tell you (what it was needless to tell you

8(> What'fi To Be Bone?

before) that this young girl is not ray relative. Slie is the daughter of the func-
tionary in whose family I give lessons. She had no one but me whom she could
trust in this affair. But 1 am almost a stranger to her."

" I knew it, Monsieur Lopoukhoff. Yon, Professor N. (the nauje of the friend
who had given the address), and your comrade esteem yourselves so highly that
one of you can form a friendship for a young girl without compromising her in
the eyes of the two others. Now N. and I think the same, and, knowing that I
waslookins: for a groveruess, he felt justified in tolling me that this young "jirl is
not related to you. Do not blame him for being indiscreet ; he knows me very well.
I believe myself also wortliy of esteem, Monsieur Lopoukhoff, and be sure that I
well know who is worthy of being esteemed. I trust N. as I trust myself, and
N. trusts you as he trusts himself. Let us say no more on that point, then. But
N. did not know her name, and it will be necessary for me to know it, since she
is to come into our famil}."

" Her name is V6ra Pavlovna Rosalsky."

" Now, I have an explanation to make to yon. It may seem strange to you
that, careful as 1 am of my childi-en, I have decided upon a governess for them
whom I have not seen. But I made the bargain with j^ou because 1 know well,
very well indeed, the men who compose your circle, and I am convinced that, it
one of you feels so keen an interest in a young person, this young person must
be a veritable treasure to a mother wlio desires to see her daughter become
worthy of the esteem of all. Consequently to make inquiries about her seemed
to me a superfluous indelicacy. In saying this I compliment, not you, but
myself."

" I am very glad for Mademoiselle Rosalsky. Life in her family was so pain-
ful to her that she would have been contented in any family at all endurable.
But 1 never should have hoped to find her a home like yours."

" Yes, N. told me that her family life was very bad."

" V(!ry bad indeed ! " And Lopoukhoff told Madame B. such facts as she would
need to know in order to avoid, in her conversations with Verotchka, touching on
subjects which would give her pain by reminding her of her former troubles.

Madame B. listened with much interest, and finally, grasping his hand, she
said to him :

" Enough, Monsieur Lopoukhoff ; I shall have a nervous attack; and at my
age of forty years it would be ridiculous to show that I cannot yet listen in
cold blood to a story of family tyranny, from which I suffered so much when
young."

" Permit me to say another word ; it is of so liltle importance that perhaps it
is not necessary to speak of it. Nevertheless it is better that you should be in-
formed. She is fleeing from a suitor whom her mother wishes to force upon
her."

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 87

Madame B. became iboughtful, and Lopoukhoff, looking at her, in his turn be-
came thoughttul too.

" This circumstance, if I mistake not, seems of more importance to you than to
me?"

Madame B. seemed utterly disconcerted.

" Pardon me," he continued, seeing that she did not know what to say, —
" pardon me, but I perceive that you regard this as an obstacle."

" Yes, it is a vei'y serious matter, Monsieur Lopoukliolf. To leave the house of
her parents against their will would alone be certain to cause a grave quarrel.
But, as 1 have already told you, tliat might be overlooked. If she only ran away
from their coarseness and tyranny, that could be settled with them in one way
or another ; in the last extremity a little money would set ever\ thing riglit. But
when such a mother forces a marriage, it is evident that the suitor is rich, very
rich in fact."

" Evidently," said Lopoukhoff in a very sad tone.

" Evidently ! Monsieur l^opoukhoff, be is rii-h, evidently ; that is what has
disconcerted me. Under such circumstances the mother could not ho salislied in
any way whatever. Now, you know the rights of parents. They would halt at
nothing; they would begin an action which they would push to the end."

Lopoukhoff rose.

" There is nothing further to say except to ask you to forget all that I have
said to you."

" No, no, stay. I wish first to justify myself in your eyes. I must seem to you
very bad. That which siiould attract my sympathy and protection i.s just wiiat
holds me back. Believe me, I am much to be pitied. Oh, I am much to l)e
pitied ! "

She wa8 not .shamming. She was really much to be pitied. She felt keenly ;
for some time her speech wa.s incoherent, so troubled and confu.sed was shc^
(Iradually, ncveitheless, order was restored in her tiioughts, l)ut even then she
had nothing new to say, and it was r.,o[)()uklioll''s turn to l)c disconcerted. Con-
sequently, after allowing Matlamc I». to fiinsh, though not listening very clo.sely
to her explanations, he said :

" Wl;at you have just said in your jusliliciitiou was nr-cdless. I reniaineci in
onh-r that I uiight not seem inipulite and that you might not think that 1 blame
you or am offended. Oh ! if I did not know that you are right ! ilow I wish
you were not right! Then I couhl tell her that we failed to come to an agree-
ment, that viu did not suit inc. That wouhl l)e nothing, .-ind we should still re-
tain tlie hope of llnding another place and reaching the deliverance .so long
awaited. But now what shall I say to her?"

.Madame !'>. wept.

" VViiat shall I say to her? " repeated Lopoukhoff, as he went down the stairs.

88 WJiat's To Be Done?

" What will she do ? What will she do ? ' thought he, as he turned from the
Rue Galernaia into the street leading to the Boulevard Konno-Gvardeisky.

It goes without saying that Madame B. wiis not as entirely right as the man
•who refuses the moon to a child. In view of her position in society and her hus-
band's powerful connections, it was very likely, and even certain, that if she had
really wished Verotchka to live with her, Maria Alexevna would have been un-
able to prevent it or even to cause any serious trouble either to herself or to
her husband, who would have been ofllcially responsible in the matter and for
whom Madame B was afraid. Madame B. would simply have been put to a
little inconvenience, perhaps even to a disagreeable interview or two ; it would
have been necessary to demand such i^rotections as people generally prefer to
utilize in their own behalf. What prudent man would have taken any other
course than Madame B.'s. And who is obliged to do more ? We have no right
to blame her. Nor, on the other hand, was Lopoukholf wrong in despairing of
V6rotchka's deliverance.

XIV.

For a long time, a very long time, had Verotchka been sitting on the bench at
the place agreed upon, and many times had her heart begun to beat faster as she
saw in the distance a military cap.

" At last ! There he is ! It is he ! My friend ! " She rose suddenly and ran
to meet him. Perhaps he would have regained his courage by the time he
reached the bench, but, being taken unawares, he could show only a gloomy
countenance.

" Unsuccessful ? "

" Yes, my friend."

" And it was so sure ? How did it happen ? For what reasons ? Speak, my
friend.-'

" Let us go to your house ; I will escort you, and we will talk as we walk ;
presently I will tell you the whole story, but first let me collect my thoughts ; it
is necessary to devise some new plan and not lose courage."

Having said this, he seemed calmer.

" Tell me directly. I cannot bear to wait. Do I understand that it is neces-
sary to devise some new plan and that your first plan is not at all feasible ? Is
it, then, impossible for me to be a governess ? Oh ! unfortunate that I am ! "

'• You arc not to be deceived ? Yes, then, it is impossible. That is what I in-
tended to tell you, but patience, ixitience, my friend ! Be firm. Whoever is firm
alwav s succeeds at last."

" Yes, my friend, I am firm ; but it is hard ! "

The Firtit Love and Leyal Marriage. 89

They walked for some time without saying a word.

Lupoukhoff saw that she had a bundle under her cloak.

" I beg you," said he, " my friend, allow me to carry that."

" No, no, it does not trouble me ; it is not at all heavy."

Again silence was resumed, and thus they walked for a long time.

" If you knew, my friend, that I have not slept for joy since two o'clock this
morning. And when I slept, I had a marvellous dream. I dreamed that I had
been delivered from a damp cellar, that I was paralyzed, that I was cured ; thou,
that I ran gaily in the country with a multitude of young girls, who like me had
come from dark cellars and been cured of paralysis, and we were so happy
at being able to run freely in the fields ! Alas ! my dream is not realized. And
I, who thought to go back to the house no more ! "

" My friend, let me carry your bundle; you cannot keep its contents secret
from me."

And once more they walked in silence.

"All was so arranged," said LopoukhofF, at last; "you cannot leave your

parents against their will. It is impossilde, impossible But give mo

your arm."

" No, do not be troubled ; this veil stifles me, that is all."

She raised her veil.

" Ah ! I am better now."

" How pale she is I My friend, do not look at things in the worst light ; that is
not what I meant to say to you ; we shall find some means of accomplish-
ing all."

"What! acconiplisbing all ! You say that, my friend, to console me. There
is nothing in it."

He did not answer.

" How pale she is ! How i)ale she is ! There is a way, my IVieiiil."

"\Vhat way?"

" I will tell you, when yon are a little calmer. You will have to think it over
coolly."

" Tell nw directly. I shall not In; calm until I know."

" No, you arc getting I'xcitf'd again ; now vou arc in no condition to come; to

a serious decision. Some time hcnct; Soon Hire are the

steps. Au revoir, ray friend. Ah soon as I find you in a condition to give nio a
cool answer, I will tell you the rest."

" When, then :' "

" Day after to-inorrow, at Die Ins.son."

" That ig too long."

" I will corac! to-morrow fX|)re8Hly."

" No, sooner."

iK) W/iat\s To Be Done?

" This evening."

" No, I will not let you. Come in with me. You say I am not calm cnougli,
that I cannot form a well considered judgment. So be it; but dine with us, and
you shall see that I am calm. After dinner mamma is going out, and we can talk."

" But how can I go in ? If \ve enter together, your mother's suspicions will
be aroused again.''

"Suspicions! What matters it? No, my friend, that is still another reason
why you should go in. My veil is raised, and perhaps I have been seen."

" You are right.""

XV.

Maria Alexevna was much astonished at seeing her daughter and Lopoukhoff
come in together. She fixed her piercing eye? upon them.

" I have come, Maria Alexevna, to tell you that I shall be busy day after to-
morrow, and will give my lesson to-morrow. Allow me to take a seat. I am
very tired and weary. T should like to rest a little."

" Indeed ! What is the trouble, Dmitry Sergueitch ? You are very sad. Have
they come from a lovers' meeting," she continued to herself, '■ or did they simply
meet by chance ? If they had come from a lovers' meeting, they would be gay.
Nevertheless, if the difference in their characters had led them into any disagree-
ment, they would have reason to be sad ; but in that case they would have
quarreled, and he would not have accompanied her home. On the other hand,

she went straight to her room without so much as looking at him, and

yet they did not seem to be at variance. Yes, they must have met by chance.
Nevertheless, he must be watched."

" Do not trouble yourself on my account, Maria Alexevna," said Lopoukhoff.
" Don't you think that Vera Pavlovna looks a little pale ? "

" V6rotchka ? She sometimes does."

" Perhaps it was only my imagination. My head whirls, I must confess, under
so much anxiety.'

" But what is the trouV)le, then, Dmitry Sergu6itch ? Have you quarreled
with your sweetheart ? "

" No, Maria Alexevna, I am well satisfied with my sweetheart. It is with her
parents that I wish to quarrel."

" Is it possible ? Dmitry Sergueitch, how can you quarrel with her parents?
I had a better opinion of you."

" One can do nothing with such a family. They demand unheard-of impossi-
bilities."

" That is another thing, Dmitry Sergueitch. One cannot be generous with
everybody; it is necessary to keep within bounds. If that is the case, and if it is
a question of money, I cannot blame you."

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 91

" Pardon my importunity, Maria Alexevna, but I am turued so completely up-
side down that I need rest in pleasant and agreeable society. Such society 1 find
only here. Permit me to invite myself to dinner with you, and permit me also
to send your Matroena on a few errands. I believe Dencher's cellar is in this
nei^hboi'hood, and that he keeps some very fair wines."

A scowl came over Maria Alexevna's countenance at the first word about din-
ner, but her face relaxed when she heard Matroena's name and assumed an
inquirino: expression which seemed to ask: "Are you going to pay for your
share of the dinner ? At Dencher's ! It must be something nice, then ! "
Lopoukhoff, without even raising his eyes, drew from his pocket a cigar case,
and, taking from it a piece of paper which it happened to contain, began to write
upon it with a pencil.

" May I ask you what wine you prefer, Maria Alexevna?"

" To tell the truth, Dmitry Sergu6itch, I do not know much al)OUt wine, and
seldom drink it : it is not becoming in women." (One readily sees from a glance
at your face that you do not generally take it. )

" You are quite right, Maria Alexevna, but a little mainschino does no one
anv harm : it is a vouug ladies' wine. Permit me to order some."

" What sort of wine i*? that Dmitry Sergueitch ? "

" Oh ! it is not exactly wine, it is more of a syrup." Drawing a bill from his
pocket, he continued: " I think that will be enough," ami after having looked at
the order, he added : '• IJut, to make sure, here are live roubles more."

It was three weeks' income and a month's support. No matter, there was
nothing el.se to be done; Maria Alexevna must be generously dealt with.

Maria Alexcvn.a's eyes ;:lisfened with excitement, and the gentlest of smiles
unconsciously lighted up her face.

" Is there al.so a confectioner's near here? I do not know whether they keep
walnut cake ready made, — in my opinion, th:it is the best kind of cake, Maria
Alexevna.— bnt. if tlu-y do not keep it, we will take what tiiey have. It will iiol
do to be too particular."

He went into tin; kitchen, and .sent Matrojna to make the purchases.

" We are going to feast to-day, Maria Alexevna. I desire to drown in wine
my quarrel with her jj.arenl.M. Why should we nnt feast? My sweetheart and F
are getting on swimnii;igly together. Siim(;time we shall no longer live in this
way; we shall live gaily; am I not right, .Maria Alexevna? "

" Yon are quite right, little father, Dmitry Sergueiteh. That is why you scatter
mnney, — .something I never expected of you, as I thdught you a selfish man.
Perhaps you have received some cariie-t money (nim your sweetheart?"

" No, I have received noearn«'st money, Maria Alexevna, but if one has some
money perchance, why should In- not amuse himself? Karnest money ! There
is no need of any earnest money. The affair must be as clear as dav ; otherwise

92 What's To Be Done?

suspicions would be excited. And, moreover, such things are degrading, Maria
Alexevna."

" Such things are degrading, Dmitry Sergu6itch; you are right; such things
are degrading. In my opinion one ought always to be above such things."

" You are quite right, Maria Alexevna."

They passed the three-quarters of an hour which they had to wait for dinner
in agreeable conversation on lofty matters only. Among other things Dmitry
Sergueitch.in an outburst of frankness, said that the preparations for his marriage
had been progressing finely of late. And when will Vera Pavlovna's marriage
take place ?

On that point Maria Alexevna can say nothing, for she is far from desiring to
coerce her daughter.

" That is right; but, if my observations are correct slie will soon make up her
mind to marry ; she has said nothing to me about it, but I have eyes in my head.
We are a pair of old foxes, Maria Alexevna, not easily to be entrapped. Al-
though I am still young, I am an old fox just the same ; am I not an old fox,
Maria Alexevna ? "

" Truly you are, my little father ; you are a cunning rogue."

This agreeable and effusive interview with Maria Alexevna tlioroughly revived
Lopoukhoff. What had become of his sorrow ? Maria Alexevna had never seen
him in such a mood. Making a pretence of going to her room to get a pocket-
handkerchief, she saw line wines and liquors that had cost twelve roubles and
fifty copecks. " We shall not drink more than a third of that at dinner," thought
she. " And a rouble and a half for that cake ? Truly, it is throwing money out
of the window to buy such a cake as that ! But it will keep ; we can use it
instead of confectionery to regale the gossips with."

XVI.

All this time V6rotchka remained in her chamber.

" Did T do right in making him come in ? Mamma looked at him so steadily !

" In what a difficult position I have put him ! How can he stay to dinner?

" O my God, what is to become of me?

" There is a waj-, he told me ; alas ! no, dear friend, there is none.

"Yes! there is one: the window.

"If life should become too burdensome, I will throw myself out.

" That is a singular thing for me to say: if life should become too burden-
some, — and is my life now such a joy ?

" To throw one's self out of the window ! One falls so quickly ! Yes, the fall
is as rapid as flight ; and to fall on the sidewalk, how hard and painful it must be !

" Perhaps there is only the shock, a second after which all is over, and before

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 93

the fatal moment you are going through the air which opens softlj' beneath you
like the finest down. Yes, it is a good way.

" But then ? Everybody will rush to look at the broken head, the crushed
face, bleeding and soiled. If, before leaping, you could only sprinkle the spot
whei'c you are to fall with the whitest and purest sand, all would be well.

" The face would not be crushed or soiled, nor would it wear a frightful
aspect.

" Oh, I know ; in Paris unfortunate young girls suffocate themselves with char-
coal gas. That is good, very good. To throw yourself out of the window, —
no, that is not fittin":. But suffocation, — that's the thin^, that's the thins:.

" How they do talk ! What are they saying ? What a pity that I cannot tell
what they say !

" 1 will leave a note telling all.

" How sweet the memory of my birthday when I danced with liim ! I did not
know what true life was.

" After all, the youug girls of Paris are intelligent. Wh>^ should I not be as
intelligent as they are.'* It will be comical: they will enter tlie chai^ber, tiiey
will be unable to see anything, the room will be full of charcoal gas, the air will
be heavy ; they will be frightened : ' What has happened ? Where is Verotchka ? '
Mamma will scold Papa: 'What are you waiting for, imbecile? Break the
windows!' They will break the windows, and they will see; I shall l)e seated
ne;ir my dressing-table, ray face buried in ray hands. ' Verotchka! Verotchka!'
I shall not reply.

"'Verotchka, why do you not answer? Oh, flod, she is suffocated.' And
they will begin to cry, to weep. <^)h. yes, that will be very comical, to see f Irem
weep, and Mamma will tell everyliody how miicli she loved me.

" But he, he will pity me. Well, I will leave him a note.

" I will see, yes, I will see, and I shall die after the fashion of the poor girls
of Paris. Yes, I will certainly do it, and I am not afiaid.

" And what is thcrre t(,i be so afraid of i* I will only wait until he tells rae the
way of which iie speaks. Ways! There are none. lie said that simply to
calm rae.

" What is tlu! u.s(! of calming pi^opln when (ln-re is nothing t<» lie done:' It is
a great mistake ; in spite of all his wi.sdoni, in; has acted as any other would.
Why ? He was not oi)liged to.

" What is he saying? He siieaks in a gay lone, and as if \w. was joyful.

" (^'an he, indeed, have foimd a way of salvatioQp

" It docs not scctn possible.

" But if ho had nothing in view, would ho bo so gay ?

" What can he have thought of? "'

94 What 's 'To Be Done 9

XYII.

" V6rotchka, come to dinner ! " cried Maria Alexevna.

Pavel Konstantiiijtch had Just come in, and the cike had been on the table for
some time, — not the confectioner's but one of Matnena's, a cake stufted with
meat, left over from the day before.

" Maria Alexevna, you have never tried taking a drop of brandy before din-
ner ? It is very good, especially this brandy made from bitter orange. As a
doctor, I advise you to take some. Taste of it, I beg of you."

" No, no, thank you."

" But if, as a doctor, I prescribe it for you ? "

•' The doctor must be obeyed, but only a small half-glass."

" A half-glass ! It would not be worth while."

" And yourself, Dmitry Sergu6itch ? "

' I? Old as I am ? I have made oath" ....

" But it is very good ! And how warming it is ! "

" What did I tell you? Yes, indeed, it is warming."

(" But he is very gay. Can there really be a way ? How well he acts toward
her, while he has not a glance for me ! But it is all strategy just the
same.")

They seated themselves at the table.

" Here, Pavel Konstantinytch and I are going to drink this ale, are we not ?
Ale is something like beer. Taste, Maria Alexevna."

" If you say that it is beer, why not taste of it ? "

(" What a lot of bottles ! Oh, I see now ! How fertile friendship is in
methods! ")

(•' He does not drink, the cunning rogue. He only carries the glass to his lips.
This ale, however, is very good ; it has a taste of krass, only it is too strong.
After I have united Michka and Verka, I will abandon brandy, and drink only
this ale. He will not get drunk ; he does not even taste of it. So much the
better for me ! There will be the more left ; for, had he wanted to, he could
have emptied all the bottles.")

" But yourself why do you not drink, Dmitry Sergueitch? "

" Oh, I have drank a great deal in my time, Maria Alexevna. And what 1
have drank will last me a good while. When labor and mnncy failed me, I
drank; now that I have labor and money, I need wine no longer, and am gay
without it."

The confectioner's cake was brought in.

" Dear Matroena Stt-panovna, what is there to go with this? "

" Directly, Dmitry Sergu6itch, directly," and Matroena returned with a bottle
of champagne.

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 95

" V6ra Pavlovna, you have not drank, nor have I. Now then let us drink too.
To the health of your sweetheart and mine ! "

" What is that ? What can he mean ? " thought V6rotchka.

" May they both be happy, your sweetheart and V6rotchka'3 ! " said Maria
Alexevna : " and, as we are growing old, may we witness Verotchka's marriage
as soon as possible ! "

" You shall witness it soon, Maria Alexevna. Shall she not, Vera Pavlovna? "

" What does he really mean ? " thought Verotchka.

" Come, then ! Is it yes, Vera Pavlovna ? Say yes, then."

" Yes," said Verotchka.

"Bravo ! Vera Pavlovna, your mother was doubtful ; you have said yes, and
all is settled. Another toast. To the earliest possible consummation of Vera
Pavlovna's marriage! Drink, Vera Pavlovna! lie not afraid. Let us touch
glasses. To your speedy marriage ! "

They touched glasses.

'• Please God ! Please God ! I thank you, V6rotchka. You console me, my
daughter, in my old age!" said Maria Alexevna, wipin^r away the tears. The
English ale and the niardxchinr) had quickened her emotions.

" PlBiise God ! Please (iod ! " repeated Pavel Konstantinytch.

" How pleased we are with you, Dmitry Scrgu6itch ! " continued Maria
Alexevna, getting up from the table; "yes, we are well pleased with you! You
have come to our house and y(ni have regaled us; in fact, we might say that you
have given us a feast! " So spoke Maria Ale.vevna, and her moist and hazy eyes
<lid not testify in favor of her sobriety.

Things alwavs seem more nticessary than they really are. L(>[)()uklii)ll did
not expect to succeed so well ; his object was simply to cajole Maria Alexevna
that he might not lo.se iier good will.

Maria Alexevna could not resist tlio l)randy and other li(iuor.s with which she
was familiar, and lh«! ale, th»? iiiarnsrhiTi'), and i\w (-lianipagne Iiaving deceived
her inexperience, she gradually gnnv Weaker and weaker. For so sumptuous a
repa.st she; had ordered .Matro^na to bring the sniruu^ar when dinner was over,
lint it wa.s brought only for her and Lopoukhnfl'.

VZ-roti-hka, pretending that .she wanted no te.i, had retired to her ror)m. Pavel
KonHtantinyt<'h, liki- an ill-bred pers.)n, had gone to lie down as soon as he had
linished eating. Dmitry Sergueit<;h drank slowly; he was at his second glass
when Maria Alexevna, coniplet«'ly u.sc(| u|». ple.ided nti indisposition which she
h.id telt since morning, and witlnlrew to go to sleep. I>opoukhofl' told her not
to trrinble herself about him, and lu! remained alon<! and weut to sleep in his
arm-chair after drinking his third glass.

" lie, loo, like my treasure, li:is entered into the fjord's vineyard," ob.^erved
Matra'na. Neverthehtss her treasure .snored loudly, and this snoring undoubtedly

96 WuU's To Be Done?

awakened Lopoukhoflf, for he arose as soon as Matroena, after clearing the table,
had betaken herself to the kitchen.

XVIII.

" Pardon me, V6ra Pavlovna," said Lopoukhoflf, on e^iterinp: the young girl's
room, — and his voice, which at dinner had been so loud, was soft and timid, and
he no longer said " My friend," but " Vera Pavlovna," — " pardon my boldness.
You remember our toasts ; now, as husband and wife cannot be separated, you
will be free."

" My dear friend, it was for joy that I wept when you entered."

He took her hand and covered it with kisses.

" You, then, are my deliverer from the cellar of ray dream ? Your goodness
equals your intelligence. When did this thought occur to you ? "

"When we danced together."

" And it was at the same moment that I too felt your goodness. You make
me free. Now I am ready to suffer; hope has come back to me. I shall no
longer stifle in the heavy atmosphere that has oppressed me ; for I know that 1
am to leave it. But what shall we do? "

"It is already the end of April. At the beginning of July I shall have fin-
ished my studies ; I must finish them in order that we may live. Then you shall
leave your cellar. Be patient for only three months more, and oar life shall
change. I will obtain employment in my art, though it will not pay me much;
but there will be time left to attend to patients, and, taking all things together,
we shall be able to live."

" Yes, dear friend, we shall need so little ; only I do not wish to live by your
labor. I have lessons, which I shall lose, for Mamma will go about telling
everybody that I am a wretch. But I shall find others, and I too will live by
my labor; is not that just? I should not live at your expense."

" Who told you that, dear V6rotchka ? "

"Oh! he asks who told me! Have not you yourself always entertained me
with such ideas, you and your hooks? For your books are full of such thoughts.
A whole half of your books contains nothing but that."

"In my books? At any rate I never said such a thing to you. When, then,
did I say so ? "

" When ? Have you not always told me that everything rests on money ? "

" Well ? "

" And do you really think me, then, so stupid that I cannot understand books
and draw conclusions from premises ? "

" But again I ask you what conclusion. Really, my dear V»)rotchka, I do not
understand you."

" Oh ! the strategist ! He too wants to be a despot and make me dependent

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 97

upou him ! No, that shall not be, Dmitry Sergueitch ; do you understand me
now ? "

" Speak, and I will ivy to understand."

" Everything rests on money, you say, Dmitry Sergu6itch ; consequently, who-
ever has money has power and freedom, say your books ; then, as long as woman
lives at man's expense, she will be dependent on him, will she not ? You thought
that I could not understand that, and would be your slave? No, Dmitry
Sergueitch, I will not suffer your despotism ; I know that you intend to be a good
and benevolent despot^ but I do not intend that you shall be a despot at all. And
now tbis is what we will do. You shall cut off arms and legs and administer
drugs ; I, on the (jthor hand, will give lessons on the piano. What farther plans
shall we form about our lile ? "

" Perfect, Verotchka ! Let every woman maintain with all her strength her
independence of every man, however great her love for and confidence in him.
Will you succeed ? I know not, but it matters little : whoever arrives at such a
decision is already almost secure against servitude; for, at the worst, he can
always dispense with another. But how ridiculous we are, V6rotchka ! You
say : ' I will not live at your expense,' and I praise you for it. How can we talk-
in this way ? "

" Ridiculous or not, that matters little, dear friend. We are going to live in
our own way and as we deem most fitting. What further plans shall we form
about our life? "

"I gave you my ideas. Vera Pavlovna, about one side of our life; you have
seen fit to completely overturn them and sul)stilute your own ; you have called
me tyrant, dispot; be good < ikju^zU therefore to make, your own plans. It seems
hardly worth while for me to provide you with a pestle with wiiieh to thus grind
to powder those that I propose. What plans, then, would i)e your choice, my
frifiid? I am sun; that I shall have only congratulations to oiler."

"What! Now you pay me <M)inprmu'nts ! You wish to be agreeable? You
rtatteryourself that you are going to rule, while app'arin<;;^to sul)mit? I know
that trick, and I l)eg you to speak more plainly here .fter. You give me too
much praise. I am confused. Do nothing of the Uiml; f shall grow too proud "

" Very well, V'er.'i I'avloviia. 1 will ijc rude, if you prefer. Your nature jms so
little of the feminine element that ymi are undoul)tedly about lo put forth utterly
niasculitK! ideas."

" Will you tell nit!, dear liieml, wh.it the reniiniii*; naturi! is :' i'.eeause \vniii:in'H
voice is generally clearer tli:in man's is it necessary to discuss the respective
merits of the contralto and the barytone? Wo are always told to ren)ain
women. Ls not that stupidity P "

" Wor.se than that, Verolchka."

"Then I am "-oinf to throw off this femininity and put fortli iiM.rlv maacurun!

v^

98 Wiat's To Be Done?

ideas as to the way in which we shall live. We will be friends. Only I wish to
be your first friend. Oh ! I have not yet told you how I detest your dear
Ivirsanoff."

" Beware of detesting him ; he is an excellent man."

" I detest him, and I shall forbid you to see him."

" A fine beginning ! She is so afraid of despotism that she desires to make a
doll of her husband. How am I to see no more of Kirsanoflf when we live
together ? "

" Are you always in each other's arms ? "

" We are together at breakfast and dinner, but our arms are otherwise
occupied."

" Then you are not together all day ? "

'• Very near together. He in his room, I in mine."

•' Well, if that is the case, why not entirely cease to see each other? "

" But we are good friends ; sometimes we feel a desire to talk, and we talk as
long as we can with each other."

" They are always together ! They embrace and quarrel, embrace and quarrel
again. I detest him ! "

" But who tells you that we quarrel ? That has never happened once. We
live well-nigh separately ; we are friends, it is true ; but how can that concern
you ?"

" How nicely I have trapped him ! You did not intend to tell me how we shall
live, and yet you have told me all ! Listen, then ; we will act upon your own
words. First, we will have two rooms, one for you and one for me, and a little
parlor where we will take breakfast, dine, and receive our visitors, — those avIio
come to see us both, not you or me alone. Second, I shall not dare to enter your
room lest I might disturb you. Kirsanoflf does not dare to, and that is why you
do not quarrel. No more shall you dare to enter mine. So much for the second
place. In the third — ah! my dear friend, I forgot to ask you whether Kirsanoff
meddles with your aflfairs and you with his. Have you a right to call one another
to account for anything?"

" I see now why you ask this question. I will not answer."

" But really I detest him ! You do not answer me ; it is needless. I know
how it is: you have no right to question each other about your personal aflfairs.
Consequently 1 shall have no right to demand anything whatever of you. If 3'ou,
dear friend, deem it useful to speak to me of your afiUirs, you will do so of your
own accord, vice verna. There are three points settled. Are there any others?"

" The second rule requires some explanation, Verotchka. We see each other
in the little parlor. We have breakfasted ; I stay in my room, and do not dare
to show myself in yours ; then I shall not see you until dinner-time? "

" No."

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 99

" Precisely. But suppose a friend comes to see me, and tells me that another
friend is coming at two o'clock. I must go out at one o'clock to attend to my
affairs ; shall I be allowed to ask you to give this friend who is to come at two
o'clock the answer that he seeks, — can I ask you to do that, provided you intend
to remain at home ? "

" You can always ask that. Whether I will consent or not is another question.
If I do not consent, you will not ask the reason. But to ask whether I will con-
sent to do you a service, that you can always do."

" Very well. But when we are at breakfast, I may not know that I need a
service; now, I cannot enter your room. How shall I make my want known? "'

'■(Jh, God! how simple he is ! A veritable infant! You go into the neutral
room and say: 'Vera Pavlovna!' I answer from my room: 'What do you
wi.sh, Dmitry Sergueitch?' You say: ' I must go out; iMonsieur A. (giving the
nann! of your friend) is coming. I have some information foi' him. Can I ask
you. Vera Pavlovna, to deliver it to him ? ' If I say ' no,' our conversation is at
an end. If I say ' yes,' I go into the neutral room, and you tell me what reply I
am to make to your friend. Now do you know, my little child, how we must
conduct ourselves?"

•■ But, seriously, my dear Verotchka, that is the best way of living together.
Only where have you found such ideas? I know them, for my part, and I know
wlif-re I liave road them, l)Ut the Ijooks in wliii-li I have read them you have not
soen. In those that 1 gave you there; wer(! no such particulars. From whom can
you have heard them, f(jr I Ijclievt; I am the first new man * that you have
met ? "

" i'>ut is it, then, .so hard to think in lliis \v;iy ? I have seen the inner lift* of
families; 1 do not refer to my own, ihut being too i.solated a ca^e ; but I have
friends, and I have been in their families; you cannot iiaagino how many quar-
rels there are between husi^ands and wives."

" Oh ! I very ea.sily imai,Mnc it."

" Do you know the conclusion that 1 have come to? That pe(jplc should not
live a.s they do now, — always tf)gother, always together. They should see each
other only wh('jj they need or desiro to. How many limes I have asked myself
this question : Why are we so careful with strangers? Why do w<' try In appear
better in their presence than in our families? And really we are ix-tter in the
presence of strangers. Why is this? Why are wo worse with our own,
although we love them better? Do you know the request I have to make of
you ? Treat me always as you hav(^ done heretofore. .\llli(»ugh you have never
given me a rude reply or passed any cfsiisure upon me, that has not preventcul
you from loving me. People say : How can one bo rude to a woman or young

• By " new miin " the author meniix n mini of a<tvi»ncp<l tlioui()it.

100 WJiat's To Be Do7ie?

girl whom he does not know, or how pass censure upon her ? Well, here 1 am
your sweetheart and about to become your wife; treat me always as it is_cu>-
tomary to treat strangers ; that seems to me the best way of preserving harmony
and love between us. Am I not right ? "

" Truly, I don't know what to think of you, V6rotchka; you are always aston-
ishing me."

" Too much praise, my friend ; it is not so difficult to understand things. I am
not alone in entertaining such thoughts : many young girls and women, quite as
simple as myself, think as I do. Only they do not dare to say so to their suitors
or their husbands; they know very well what would be thought of them : im-
moral woman ! 1 have formed an affection for you precisely because you do not
think as others do in this matter. I fell in love with you when, speaking to me
for the first time on my birthday, you expressedpity for woman's lot and
l)ictured for her a better future."

"And I, — when did I fall in love with you? On the same day, as I have
already told you, but exactly at what moment ? "

" But you have almost told me yourself, so that one cannot help guessing, and,
if I guess, you will begin praising me again."

" Guess, nevertheless."

" At what moment ? When I asked you if it were true that we could so act as
to make all men happy."

" For that I must kiss your hand again, Verotchka."

" But, dear friend, this kissing of women's hands is not exactly what I like."

" And why ? "

"Oh! you know yourself; why ask me? Do not, then, ask me these ques-
tions, dear friend."

" Yes, you are right; one should not ask such questions. It is a bad habit;
hereafter I will question you only when I really do not know what you mean.
Do you mean that we should kiss no person's hand V "

Verotchka began to laugh. " There, now, I pardon you, since I too have
succeeded in catching you napping. You meant to put me through an examina-
tion, and you do not even know the reason of my repugnance. It i.s true that we
should not kiss any person's hand, but I was not speaking from so general a
standpoint; 1 meant simply that men should not kiss women's hands, since that
ouglit to be offensive to women, for it means that men do not consider them as
.human being.s like themselves, but believe that they can in no waj' lower their
dignity before a woman, so inferior to them is she, and that no marks of affected
respect for her can lessen their superiority. But such not being your view, my
dear friend, why should you kiss my hand ? Moreover, people would say, to see
us, that we were betrothed."

" It does look a little that way, indeed, V6rotchka; but what are we then ? "

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 101

" I do not know exactly, or rather it is as if we had already been married a

long time."
" And tliat is the truth. We were friends ; nothins: is changed."
" Nothing changed but this, my dear friend, — that now I know I am to leave

my cellar for liberty."

XIX.

Such was their first talk, — a strange one, it will be admitted, for lovers mak-
ing a declaration. When they had again clasped hands, Lopoukhoff started for
his home, and Verotchka had to lock the outside door herself, for Matroeua,
thinking that her treasure was still snoring, had not yet begun to think of re-
turning from the cabaret. And indeed " her treasure " did sleep a number of
hours.

Reaching homo at six o'clock, Lopoukhoff tried to go to work, but did not suc-
ceed. His mind was occupied, and with the same thought that had absorbed
him when going from the Scmenovskj' Bridge to the district of Wyborg. Were
they dreams of love ? Yes, in one sense. But the life of a man who has no sui'c
means of existence has its prosaic interests ; it was ot his interests that Lopouk-
hoff was thinking. What could you expect? Can a materialist think of any-
thing but his interests ? Our hero, then, thought of interests solely ; instead of
cherishing lofty and poetic dreams, he was absorbed by such dreams of love as
arc ill harmony with the gross nature of materialism.

'• Sacrifice ! Tliat is the word that 1 shiill never get out of her head, and there
is the difficulty ; for, when one imagines himself under serious obligations to any
one, relations are strained.

' She will know all ; my comrades will tell hor that for her sake 1 renounced
a brilliant career, and if they do not tell her, she will easily see it herself. ' See,
tli(;n, what you have reu(juuced iy)V ray sake,' she will say to mo. I'ecuniary sac-
rifices it is pretty sure that neither she nor my comrades can impute to me. It
i.s fortiniate that at least she will not say : ' For my sake he remained in poverty,
while witlinut me he would havi; been rich.' But she will know that 1 aspired
to sciciitilic celebrity, and that that aspiration 1 have given up. Thence will
com(! her sorrow : ' Ah ! what a sacrifino ho has made for me ! ' That is some-
thing I have never dreamful »)f'. liilhertf) I have not been foolish enough to
make sacrifices, and I hopo that I never shall l)e. My interest, clearly under-
stood, is the motive of my acts. I am not a man to make sacrifices. For that
matter, no one makes them ; one may really believe that ho does, and that is al-
ways the most agreealde way of viewing one's conduct. But how explain that
to her? In theory it is comprehensible; l)ut when we see a fact before us, we
are moved. ' You are my benefactor,' wo say. The germ of this coming revolt
has already made its appearance : ' You deliver me from my cellar.' ' How good

102 What's To Be Done?

YOU are to rue ! ' she said to me. Hut are you under any obligations to me for
tLat? If in so doing I labored for my own happiness, 1 delivered myself. And
do you believe that I would do it if I did not prefer to ? Yes, I have delivered
myself; I wish to live, I wish to love, do you understand ? It is in my own in-
terest that I always act.

" AVhat shall 1 do to extinguish in her this detrimental feeling of gratitude
which will be a burden upon her? In whatever way I can I will do it; she is
intelligent, she will understand that these are sentimental illusions.

'• Things have not gone as I expected. If she had been able to get a place for
two years, 1 could during that time have become a professor and earned some
money. This postponement is no longer possible. Well, what great disadvan-
tage shall 1 experience ? Have I ever thought much of my pecuniary position ?
To a man that is of little consequence. The need of money is felt principally
by woman. Boots, an overcoat not out at the elbows, stcki on the table, my
room warmed, — what else do I need ? Now all that I shall have. But for a
young and pretty woman that is not enough. She needs pleasure and social
position. For that she will have no money. To be sure, she will not dwell upon
this want ; she is intelligent and honest ; she will say : ' These are trifles, which
1 despise,' and indeed she will despise them. But because you do not feel what
you lack, do you really lack nothing? The illusion does not last. Nature
stifled by the will, by circumstances, by pride, is silent at first, but a silent life is
torture. No, such is not the way for a young woman, a beauty, to live ; it is not
right that she should not be dressed as well as others and should not shine lor
want of means. I pity you, my poor V6rotchka; it would have been better
could I have arranged my affairs first.

"For my part, I gain by this haste: would she accept me two years hence?
Now she accepts me."

" Dmitry, come to tea," said Kirsanoff.

Lopoukhoff started for Kirsauoff's room, and on his way his thoughts contin-
ued thus : " But as it is just that the ego should always be the first consideration,
it is with myself that I have finished. And with what did I begin ? Sacrifice.
What irony ! Do I indeed renounce celebrity, a chair in the academy ? What
change will there be in my life? I shall work in the same way, I shall obtain
the chair in the same way, and, finally, I shall serve medical science in the same
way. From the objective standpoint it is curious to watch how selfishness mocks
at our thoughts in practice."

I forewarn my reader of everything ; consequently I will tell him that he
must not suppose that Lopoukhoff 's monologue contains any allusion to the
nature of his future relations with Vera Pavlovna; the life of Vera Pavlovna
will not be tormented hy the impossibility of shining in society and dressing

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 103

richly, and her relations with Lopoukhoff will not be spoiled by the " detrimental
feeling " of gratitude.

I do not belong to that school of novelists which beneath every word hides
some motive or other ; I report what people think and do, and that is all ; if any
action whatever, or any conversation, or any monologue passing through the
brain is indispensable in showing the character of a person or a situation, I re-
late it, although it may have no influence at all on the further course of my
story.

" Henceforth, Alexander, you will have no reason to complain that I neglect
my work ; I am going to recover the lost time."

." Then you have finished your aflfair with this young girl ? "

" Yes, I have finished."

" Is she jjoinff to be a jjoverness at Madame B.'s ? "

" No. she will not be a governess. The afl'air is arranged otherwise. Mean-
time she will lead an endurable life in her family."

" Very good. The life of a governess is really a very hard one. You know I
have got through with the optic nerve; I am going to begin another subject.
And where did you leave oft"? "

"I have still to finish my work upon " . . . . and anatomical and physiological
terras followed each other in profusion.

XX.

" It is now the twenty-eighth of April. lie said that his affairs will be
arranged by the beginning of July. Say the tenth : that is surely the beginning.
To be surer still, say the fifteenth: no, the tenth is better. How many days,
thi'ti, are then; left ? 'Today <loes not count; there are but five hours left. Two
days in April; tiiirty-one iti May, added to two, make thirty-three; June has
thirty, which, added to thirty-three, make sixty-three ; ten days in July,— a total
of seveiity-threo days. That is not so long a time, seventy-three days! And
then F shall Ijo free! I shall go out of this stifling cellar. OIj ! how hapjjv I
ami Oh! my d(;ar lover, how well lie has solved the problem! How happy 1
am ! "

That was Sunday evening. .Monday came the lesson, changed from Tuesday.

" My friend, my darling, how happy I am to see you again even for so short a
timr' ! Do you know how much tinu' \ have }'et to live in my cellar P Will your
aflairs be arranged by the tenLli of .Inly P "

" Certainly,"

" Then there are but seventy-two days and this evening left. I have already
scratched off" one day, for I have prepared a table, as the young boarding-.scholars

104 What's To Be Done?

and pupils do, and I scratch off the dajs. How it deliglits me to scratch them
off!"

" My darliug V6rotchka, you have not long to suffer. Two months and a hall
will pass quickly by, and then you will be free."

" Oh, what happiness ! But, my darling, do not speak to me any more, and do
not look at me ; we must not play and sing together so frequentl)' hereafter, nor
must I leave my room every evening. But I cannot help it! I will come out
every day, just for a moment, and look at you with a cold eye. And now I am
going straight back to my room. Till I see you again, ray dear friend. When will
it be ? "

" On Thursday."

" Three days ! How long that is! And then there will be but sixtj'-eight days
left.-'

" Less than that : you shall leave here about the seventh of July."

" The seventh. Then there are but sixty-eight days left now ? How you fill
me with joy ! Au revoir, my well-beloved ! "

Thursday.

" Dear friend, only sixty-six days now."

" Yes, Verotchka, time goes quickly."

"Quickly? Oh, my dear friend, the days have grown so long! It seem 5 to
me that formerly an entire month would have gone by in these three days. Au
reyozr, my darling, we must not talk too long with each other; we must be
strategic, must we not ? Au revoir ! Ah! sixty -six days more ! "

('• Hum, hum ! I do not do so much counting ; when one is at work, the lime
passes quickly. But then, I am not in ' the cellar.' Hum, hum ! ")

Saturday.

"Ah! my darling, still sixty-four days! How wearisome it is here! These
two days have lasted longer than the three that preceded them. Ah ! what
anguish! What infamies surround me ! If you knew, my friend! Au revoir,
my darling, n)y angel, — till Tuesday. The following three days will be longer
than the five just past. Ati revoir ! Au revoir ! "

(" Hum, hum ! yes ! hum ! Red eyes. She does not like to weep. It is not
well. Hum!")

Tuesday.

" Ah. my love, I have already stopped counting the days. They do not pass,
they do not pass at all."
" Verotchka, my good friend ; I have a request to make of you We must talk

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 105

freely together. Your servitude is becoming too burdensome to you. We must
talk together."

" Yes, we must, my well-beloved."

" Well, what hour to-morrow will suit 3-0U best? You have but to name it.
On the same bench in the Boulevard Konno-Gvardeisky. Will you be there ? "

" I will be there, I will be there surely. At eleven o'clock. Does that suit
you ? "

" Very well, thank you, my good friend."'

" Au revoir ! Oh, how glad I am that you have decided upon that ! Why did
1 not think of it myself, foolish girl that I am! Au revoir! We are going to
talk with each other; tiiat will refresh me a little. Aa revoir, dear friend. At
eleven o'clock precisely."

Friday.

" V6rotcbka, where are you going ? "

" 1, Mamma ? " Verotchka I>lu3hed. " To the Perspective Nevsky."

" Well, I am going with you ; I have got to go to the Gastino'i Dvor. But how
is this ? You say that you are going to the Nevsky, and have put on such a
dress ! Put on a liner one ; there are many fashionable p'-?ople on the Nevsky."

" This dress suits me. Wait a moment, ^lamnja, I must get something from
my room."

They go out. They have reached the Gastinoi Dvor. They lollow the row of
stores along the Sa<lov;iTa near the corner of the Nevsky. Now they are at
Itousaiiolf \s pi^rfumery ,

" Mamma, 1 have a word to say to you."

" What, Viirotchka ? "

"Till I see you again, I know not wln^n; il' you are not olVended, till to-
morrow."'

" What, V6rotehka? I do not luiderstand "

" Au revoir. Mamma, I am going now to ray husband's. Day befon; yesterday
took place my marriage to Dmitry Sergu^itch. Rue Karavannaia, coachman ! "
miid she, jumping into a cab.

" A TehcrvtM-iatehok,* n)y good young lady."

" Yes, provided you go quickly."

" He will call on you this evening, .Mamma. Do not lic" angry. Mamma."

Maria Ahjxtnti.i had scarcely had time to hear tho.'?o words.

" Coachman, ymi are not to go to the Rue Karavannaia ; 1 told you that in order
that you might lost; no time in d»;libi'ration, as I de.sircd to get away from that
woman. Turn to the left, along the Nevsky. W(! will go much farther than the

• A Tchorvcrt 1» a coin worth twonty.five copecks. ' A Tohervcrlntchok Is It* diminutive.

106 What 's To Be Done ?

Karavanaaia, to the island of Vassilievsky,* fifth line, f beyond the Perspective
Moyenne. (io quickly, and I will pay you more."

" Ah, my good young lady, how you have tried to deceive me. For that I must
have a Poltinnitchek." J

" You shall have it, if j'ou go fast enough."

XXI.

The marriage had been effected without very many difficulties, and yet not
without some. During the first days that followed the betrothal, Verotchka re-
joiced at her approaching deliverance ; the third day " the cellar," as she called
it, seemed to her twice as intolerable as before ; the fourth day she cried a little ;
the fii'th she cried a little more than the fourth ; the sixth she was already past
crying, but she could not sleep, so deep and unintcrmittent was her anguish.

Then it was that Lopoukhoff, seeing her red eyes, gave utterance to the mono-
logue, " Hum, hum ! " After seeing her again, he gave utterance to the other
monologue, " Hum, hum ! Yes ! hum ! " From the first monologue he had in-
ferred something, though exactly what he did not know himself; but in the
second monologue he explained to himself his inference from the first. " We
ought not to leave in slavery one to whom we have shown liberty."

After that he reflected for two hours, — an hour and a half while going from
the Semeuovsky Bridge to the district of Wyborg and half an hour lying on his
bed. The first quarter of an hour he reflected without knitting his brows ; but
the remaining seven quarters he rellected with brows knit. Then, the two hours
having expired, he struck bis forehead, saying: •' I am worse than Gogol's post-
master, § calf that 1 am ! (Looking at his watch). Ten o'clock. There is yet
time." And he went out.

The first quarter of an hour he said to himself: " All that is of little conse-
quence; what great need is there that I should finish my studies? I shall not be
ruined for having no diploma. By lessons an<l translations I siiall earn as much
as, and probably even more than, I should have earned as a doctor."

He had no reason, therefore, to knit his brows; the problem had shown itself
so easy to solve, at least partially, that since the last lesson he had felt a presen-
timent of a solution of this sort. lie understood this now. And if any one could
have reminded him of the reflections beginning with the word "sacrifice" and
ending with the thoughts about the poor, he would have had to admit that at that
time he foresaw such an arrangement, because otherwise the thought, "I re-

* The island of VaeBilievsky is a part of the city of St. Petereburg.

t In this island each side of almost every street is called a line, so that, if one Hide of the street,
for Instance, is called the fifth line, the other is called the fourth line.

X A Poltlnnik is a coin worth tifty copecks. A Poltinnitchek is its diminutive.
§ See Gogol's " Dead Bouls."

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 107

nounce a career of learning," would have had no basis. It seemed to him then
that he did not renounce, and yet instinct said to him : " This is not a simple
postponement ; it is a renunciation/' But, if Lopoukhoff would thus have been
convicted, as a practical thinker, of violating logic, he would have triumphed as
a theorist and would have said : " Here is a new instance of the sway of selfish-
ness over our thoughts ; I ought to have seen clearly, but I saw dimly because I
did not wish to see things as they were. I have left the young girl to suffer a
week longer, when I should have foreseen and arranged everything on the
spot."

But none of these thoughts came into his head, because, knitting his brows, he
said to himself lor seven quarters of an hour : " Who will marry us ? " And the
only reply that presented itself to his mind was this: "No one will marry us."
But suddenly, instead of no one, his mind answered " Mertzaloff." Tlien it was
that be struck his forehead and justly i-eproached him^olf for not having thought
of Mertzaloff at first ; it is true that his fault was palliated by the circumstance
that he was not accustomed to consider Mertzaloff as one who marries.

In the Academy of Medicine there are all sorts of people, — among others,
seminarists. Tliest; have acquaintances in the Spiritual Academy, and through
these Lopoukhoff" bad some there also.

A student in the Spiritual Academy, with whom he had no intimate acquaintance
but was on friendly terms, had finished his studies the previous year, and was a
priest in a certain edifice with endless corridors situated on the island of Vassil-
icvsky. To his house LopouUhofi' repaired, and, in vi<!W of the extraordinary cir-
cumstances and the advanced hour, he even took a cab.

Mertzaloff, whom he Ibund at home alone, was reading some new work, I know
not what, — perhaps that of Louis XIV, perhaps one by some other member of
the same dynasty.

"That is the business that brings me here, Alexey Petrovitch! I know very
well that it involves a great risk on your pari. It will amount to nothing if the
l)arent3 are reconciled ; but, if they bring a suit, you perhaps will be ruined, nay,
you siln-ly will be, hnt "'

Lopoukhoff coiilil think of nothing with which to follow this " but.' How, in-
deed, present reasons to an individual to influence him to put his head upon the
block for our sake?

Mertzaloff rcflcclcd for a long tinn- ; lie loo was trying to find a "hnt" that
would antlioriz(! him to run such a risk, lint he loo could find none.

" What's to be done ? I should very much like. . . . What you ask me to do
now I did a year ago; but now I am not free to do all that I would like to do. It
is a case of conscience: it would be in accordance; with my inclinations to aid you.
Rut when one has a wife, one fears to take a step without looking to sec whither
it will lead him,"'

108 What's To Be Done?

" Good evening, Alocha.* My relatives send their regards to you. Good even-
ing, LopoukhofF; we have not seen each other for a long j.ime. What were you
saying about wives? You men are always grumbling about your wives," said a
pretty and vivaeious blonde of seventeen years, just returning from a call upon
her parents.

Mertzaloff stated the situation to her. The young woman's eyes sparkled.

" But, Alocha, they will not eat you ! "

"There is danger, Natacha." f

" Yes, very great danger," added Lopoukhoflf.

" But what's to be done ? Risk it, Alocha, I beg of you."

" If you will not blame me, Natacha, lor forgetting you in braving such a dan-
ger, our conversation is over. When do you wish to marry, Dmitry Serguuitch ? "

Then there was no further obstacle. Monday morning Lopoukhoif had said to
Kirsanoff:

" Alexander, I am going to make you a present of my half of our labor. Take
my papers and preparations, I abandon them all. I am to leave the Academy ;
here is the petition. I am going to marry." And Lopoukhoff told the story
briefly.

" If you were not intelligent, or even if I were a booby, I should tell you,
Dmitry, that none but fools act in this wax. But I do nothing of the sort. You
have probably thought more carefully than I upon all that could be said. And
even though you had not thought upon it, what difference would it make?
Whether \o\i are acting foolishly or wisely I do not know ; but I shall not be
thoughtless enough to try to change your resolution, for I know that that would
be vain. Can I be useful to you in any way ? "

" I must-find some rooms in some quarter at a low price ; I need three. I must
make my application to the Academy to obtain my papers as soon as possible,
tomorrow in fact. To you, then, I must look to find me rooms."

Tuesday Lopoukhoflf received his papers, went to Mertzaloff", and told him that
the marriage would take place the next day.

" What hour will suit you best, Alexey Petrovitch ? "

'•It is all one to me; tomorrow I shall be at home all day."

" I expect, moreover, to have time to send Kirsanoflf to warn you."

Wednesday at eleven o\lock Lopoukhoflf waited for Vorotchk a on the boulevard
for some time, and was beginning to grow anxious, when he saw her running in
all haste.

"Dear Verotchka, has anything happened to you?"

" No, my dear friend, I am late only because I slept too long."

♦ Alocha is the diminutive of Alexey.
t Nat":ba ia the diminutive of Natalia.

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 109

" What time did 3011 go to sleep theu ? "

" I do not like to tell you. At seven o'clociv ; no, at six ; up to that time I was
continually agitated by unpleasant dreams."

" I have a request to make of you, dear Vferotchka ; we must come to an under-
standing as quickly as jiossible in order that both of us may be tranquil."

" That is true, dear friend."

" So, in four days, or in three " . .

" Ah, how good that will be ! "

" In three days I probably shall have found some rooms ; I shall have pur-
chased everything needful for our household ; can we then begin to live together ? "

" Certainly."

'• But first we must marry."

" Ah, I forgot; yes, we must first mai-ry."

" But we can marr}" at once."

" Well, let us do so. But how have you managed to arrange everything so
soon? How well you know how to do things! "

" I will tell you on the way ; come, let us go."

On leaving the cub, they went through'long corridors leading to the church ;
there they I'ound the doorkeeper, whom they sent to Mertzaloll"'s, who lived in
this same building with the interminable corridors.

" Now, V6rotchka, I have another request to make of you. You know that in
church they bid tlie TKiwiy-niarried to kiss each other."

" I know it, but how embarrassing it must be ! "

"That we may be less confu.sed when the time comes, let us kiss each other
now."

" Very well, let us kiss each other, l)ut can it not be dispensed with there ? "

" At the church it is impossiljle to avoid it; tiiereforo we had better prepare
for it."

They kissed each other.

" Dear friend, how fortunate we are in having had time to prepare; there is
the dor)rke('|tcr coniing back already."

It was not ihf iloorkeeper eoining back, — lie had gone to look for the sexton ;
it was Kirsanoff whf) entered; he had been waiting lor tin 111 at MertzalofV's.

" Verotolika, I introduce to you that Alexand<;r Matveilch KirsanotV, wlioni
you detest and wi.sli to foibid nn- to see."

'• Vera i'avlovua, wliy \v<iuld you .separate two such tender hearts? "

" Becau.se they are fender," said V/irotchka, extending her hand to Kirsanofl".
She became thouglitrul, though continuing to smile. "Shall I love liiiii as well
as you do? For you Iov<! him much, do ynu not? " she added.

" 1 ? I love no one but niyxlf, \''' 1:1 r.ivlovna."

"And him also? "

no Wiat's To Be Bone?

" We have lived without quarreling, that is enough."

" And he loves you no more than that ? "

" At least I have not remarked it. For that matter, let us ask him : do you
love me, Dmitry ? "

" I have no particular hatred for you."

" Well, if that is the case, Alexander Matv6itch, I will not forbid him to see
you, and 1 will love you myself."

" That is much the better way. Vera Pavlovna."

Alexey Petrovitch came.

" Hei'c I am ; let us go to the church." Alexey P6trovitch was gay and even
in a joking mood; but when he bei^an the service, his voice became a little trem-
ulous. '• And if they should bring suit.P Go to your father, Natacha, your hus-
band can no longer support you ; now, it is not a happy existence to live at your
father's expense while your husband is still living." But after having .said a few
words, he completely regained his self-possession.

During the ceremony Natalia Andrevna, or Natacha, as Alexey Petrovitch
called her, came. When all was over, she invited the newly-married couple to
go home with her; she had prepared a little breakfast; they went, they laughed,
they danced a couple of quadrilles, they even waltzed. Alexey Petrovitch, who
did not know how to dance, played the violin. Two short hours passed quickly
by. It was a joyous wedding.

" 1 believe that they are already waiting dinner for me at home," said Ve-
rotchka: " it is time to go. Now, my darling, I will be patient three, four days
in my ' cellar' without fretting too much. I could even live there longer Why
should I be sorrowful .P What have I to fear now ? No, do not escort me ; I will
go alone ; we might be seen."

" Oh, the devil ! they will not eat me; do not be so anxious on my account,"
said Alexey Petrovitch, in escorting Lopoukhoff and Kirsanoff, who had remained
a moment longer to give V6rotchka time to go ; "I am now very glad that
Natacha encouraged me."

On the morrow, after four days' search, they found satisfactorj' rooms at the
end of the fifth lino on the island of Vassilievsky.

His savings amounting in all to one hundred and sixty roubles, Lopoukhoflf
and his comrade had decided that it would be Impossible for them to furnish
rooms themselves; so they rented three furnished rooms with board o{ a petit
bourgeois * couple.

The petit bourgeois was an old man, passing his days peacefully beside a
basket filled with buttons, ribbons, pins, etc., and placed against the wall of the

* A French translation of the RnRslan word met8chanine, elgnifylng a separate social class above the
peasants aad below the merchnnta.

The First Love and Legal Marriage. Ill

little garden situated on the Perspective Moyenne between the first and second
lines, or in conversation with his wife, who passed her days in repairing all sorts
of old clothes brought to her by the armful from the second-hand stores. The
service was performed by the proprietors themselves.

The Lopoukhoffs paid thirty roubles a month. ,

At that time — that is, ten years ago* — life in St. Petersburg was still
comparatively inexpensive. Under these circumstances the Lopoukhoffs with
their resources could live for three or even four months ; ten roubles a month
would pay for their food. Lopoukhoff counted, in the course of these four
months, on obtaining pupils, literary work, or occupation in some commercial
house.

On Thursday, the day when the rooms were found (and excellent rooms they
were, that had not been easily found), Lopoukhoff, coming to give his lesson,
said to Verotchka :

" Come tomorrow ; here is the address. I will say no more now, lest they
may observe something."

" Dear friend, you have saved me ! "

But how to get away from her parents? Should she tell thorn all? So
ViTotchka thou<iht for a moment; but her mother might shower blows upon her
with her fists and lock her up. Verotchka decided to leave a letter in her room.
Hut when Maria Alexevna manifested an intention of following her daughter to
llu; I'f.TSpective Nevsky, the latter went back to her room and took the letter
again ; for it seemed to her that it would be better and more honest to tell her
to her face what had been done. Would her mother como to blows with her in
th(; street? It would be necessary only to keep a certain distance from her,
tln-n speak to her, jump into a cal), and start off before she could seize her by the

sle(!Ve.

And thus it was that the separation was effected near llousanoff's perfumery.

XXII.

I'.ut we have witnessed only half of this scene.

Kor a minute Maria Alexevna, who was suspecting notliing of the sort, stood
as if thunderstruck, trying to understand and yet not at all com[)roheiiding what
her daughter said. What did all fhat mean!' i'.ut her liesitaiion histed only a
minute, and even le>s. She 8iid<l(!iily began to huil insults, but her daughter
had already entered the Nevsky ; Maria Alexevna hurried a few steps in that
direction ; it was necessary to take a cab.

" Coachman ! "

• Now thirty yenrs ago.

112 WJtat's To Be Done?

" WTiere do you wish me to take you, Madame? "

Which way should she go? She thought she heard her daughter say Rue
Karavannaia ; but she had tui-ned to the left along the Nevsky. What course
should she take ?

" Overtake that wretch ! " ,

'•Overtake, Madame? But tell me where I am to go? What course shall I
take? The price, in short."

Maria Alexevna, utterly beside herself, insulted the coachman.

" I see that you are drunk. Mistress," said he, and he drove off,

Maria Alexevna followed him with her insults, called other coachmen, and ran
now one wa}-, now another, brandishing her arms ; at last she started under the
colonnade, stamjjing with rage. A half-dozen young people, venders of all sorts
of eatables and knick-knacks, gathered around her, near the columns of the
Gastinoi Dvor. They admii-ed her much ; they exchanged remarks more or less
spicy, and bestowed upon her praises, not without wit, and advice that testified to
their good intentions. " Ah ! what an excellent lady ! So early, and drunk
already ! Excellent lady ! "

" Mistress, do jou hear? Mistress, buy a half-dozen lemons of me; they are
good things t) eat after drinking, and I will sell them to you cheap."

"Do not listen to him, Mistress; lemons will not help you any; you
would do better to take a drink of something strong."

" Mistress, Mistress, what a powerful tongue you have ! Are you willing to
match it against mine on a wager ? "

Maria Alexevna, now no longer knowing what she was about, slapped the face
of one of her tormentors, a boy of about seventeen, who put his tongue out, not
without some grace ; the little merchant's cap rolled off into the dirt, and Maria
Alexevna, thus enabled to get her hand into his hair, did not fail to grasp it by
handfuls. The other scamps, seeing which, were seized with an indescribable
enthusiasm :

" That's it ! Hit him ! Now then ! Bravo, the mistress ! "

" Lick him, lick him, Mistress ! "

Others said : " Fedka,* defend yourself, hit her back ! "

But the majority were on Maria Alexevna's side.

" What can Fedka do against this jolly old girl ? Lick him, lick him, Mis-
tress ; the scamp is getting no more than he deserves."

In addition to the speakers many spectators had already gathered : coachmen,
warehouse-men, and passers-by were approaching in crowds; Maria Alexevna
seemed to come to her senses, and, after having by a la.st mechanical movement
pushed away the head of the unfortunate Fedka, she cros.sed the street. Enthu-

* Fedka, a diminutive of Foedor in popular usage.

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 113

siastic tributes of praise followed her. She became conscious that she was going
home when she had passed the carriage-way of the Corps des Pages ; she took a
cab, and reached the house in safety. On arriving she administered a few blows
to Fedia, who opened the door ; ruslied to the brandy closet ; administered a few
blows to Matroena, who had been attracted by the noise ; made for the closet
again; ran into V^rotchka's room, and came back to the closet a third time;
ran again into Verotchka's room, and stayed there a long time; and then began
to walk up and down the rooms scolding and reviling: but whom .should she
hit? Fedia had fled to the kitchen stairs; Matroena, peeping tluough a crack
into Vi'-rotchka's room and seeing Maria Alexevna start in In r direction, iiad
precipitately fled toward the kitchen, but, not being able to reach it, had rushed
into M;iria Alexevna's bed-rootii and hidden under the bed, where she remained
in .safety awaiting a more pe;iceal>le summons.

How long did Maria Alexevna scold and vociferate, walking up and down the
empty rof»ms ? It is impo.ssible to say <!xactly, but for a long time apparently,
since I'avel Konstantinyfch on his arrival was received also with blows and in-,
suits. Nevertheless, :is every lliing must end, Maria Alexevna cried at last:
" MatroMia, get the dinner ready!" And Matroena, seeing liial the slorm was
over, cam(* out Ironi under the bed and set the table.

During dinner .Maria Alexevna left olf scolding and contented hersell' with
n)Uttering, but without oflcnsive intentions and simply foi- her own satislaction ;
tiien, instead of going to lie down, she took a seat and n-mained alone, now
saying nothing, now muttering; then she stojjped unit Iciiiii:-, and at last cried out:

" .Matro-na, w.ike your master, and tell him lo eonu! l(t nic.'"

.Matnena, who, exp(;cting orders, ii;ul not dared to go away, eillicr to tin!
rtibartl or anywiiere el.st? «iutside rtf tin? hou.se, has(ene(| to ol)ey,

I'avel Konstantinytch made his appearance.

"(Jo to the proprietor and tell her that yoiu* ilaughler, thanks to you, has
ni:irried this lihickgn.inl. Say: 'I was oppo.sed to my wile.' S:iy : 'I <lid it to
j(lea.Me you, for I saw your <-onHent was hxiking.'' S.iy : ' Tlu! fault was my wife's
alone: I carrnd onl \oiii- will.' Say: 'It was I who arr:inge(l this marri.age.'
Do you under>laiid me-'"

"I understand, .Maria Alexevna ; you ri'ason very wi-sely."

'• Well, start then ! Ifsheisat dinner, let that m:ike no diflerenee; have her
r:il|pd from tlu' table. Make haste, while whe is still in ignorance."

Tlu! plausiiiilify of the words nf I'avel Konsfantioytch was so evident that the
proprietor would have believed the worthy steward, even if he had not been en-
dowed with the faculty of presenting his ideas with humility, veneration, and in
a persuasive and respectful manner; but this pow<!r of p(;rsuasion was so great
lint the proprietor woidd have p.ardoned I'avel Konstantinytch, even if she had
not had palpable proofs f)f his misunderstanding with his wife.

114 What's To Be Done?

Was it not evident that he had put his daughter in relations witli LopoukholF
in ortler to avoid a marriage embarrassing to Mikhail Ivanytch?

'• What wore the terms ol the marriage? "

I'avel Konstantinytch had spared nothing in order to give his daughter her
marriage portion ; he had given five thousand roubles to Lopoukhoft", had paid
the expenses of the wedding, and established the eouple in housekeeping. It
was he who had carried the notes I'rom one to the other. At the house of his
colleague, Filatieff, chief of the bureau and a married man, added Pavel Kon-
stantinytch,— yes, it was at his house, your excellency, for although I am
an huml)le man, your excellency, the virgin honor of my daughter is dear to me,
— it was at his house, I say, that the meetings took place, in my presence; we
were not rich enough to emjiloy a teacher for an urchin like Fedia; no, that was
only a pretext, your excellency, etc.

Then Pavci Konstantinytch painted in the l)lackest colors the character of his
wife. IIow could one helj) believing and jjardoning Pavel Konstiinfinyteh ? Tt
was, moreover, a gre.it and unexpected joy. Joy softens the heart. The pn)-
prietor began her notice of discharge by a long condemnation of Maria Alex-
evna's abominable plaus and guilty conduct, and at first called on l*avel
Konstantinytch to turn his wife out of doors. He begged her not to be so
severe.

She spoke thus only for the sake of saying something. Finally they agreed on
the following terms :

Pavel Konstantinytch held his stewardship; the apartments fronting on the
street were taken away from him ; the steward was to live in the rooms farthest
in the rear; his wife was not to show her.self about ihe front of the establishment
where the proprietor's eye might fall upon her, and .^lie was to go into the street
only through the carriage-way, which was far from the proprietor's windows.

(3f the twenty roubles a month formerly added to his pay fifteen were taken
l)ack and five left as a reward for the zeal .shown by Pavel Konstantinytch in
carrying out the proprietor's will and to make good the expenses occasioned by
his daughter's marriage.

XXIII.

Maria Alexevna had thought of several plans as to the way in which to deal
with Lopoukhoft' when he should come in the evening. That nearest her heart
consisted in hiding two man-servants in the kitchen who, at a given signal,
should throw themselves upon and beat him unmercilully. The most pathetic
consisted in hurling from her own lips and those of Pavel Konstantinytch the
paternal and maternal curse on their rebellious daughter and the ruffian, her
husband, insisting at the same time on the import of this curse, the earth itself
rejecting, as is well known, the ashes of those whom their pai-ents have cur.sed.

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 115

But these were dreams, like those of the proprietor ia wishing to separate Pavel
Konstantinytch from his wife ; such projects, like poetry in general, are destined
less to be realized than to relieve the heart by serving as a basis for solitary re-
flections leading to no results and for explanations in future interviews : that is
how I might have developed affairs, that is how I desired to develop them, but
through goodness of heart I allowed myself to relent. The idea of beating
Lopoukhoff and cursing her daughter was the ideal side of Maria Alexevna's
thoughts and feelings. The real side of her mind and soul had a tendenc}' much
less elevated and much more practical, — an inevitabU; difference, given the
weakness of every human being. When Maria Alexevna came to her senses-
near the carriage-way of the Corps des Pages, and comprehended that her
daughter had actually disappeared, married, and esca])eil, this fact presented
itself to her mind in the firm of the following mental exclamation: "She has
robbed rae ! '' All the way home she did not cease to repeat to herself, and
sometimes aloud : " She has robbed me ! " (consequently, after delaying a few
minutes through human weakness to tell her chagrin to Feclia and IMatrtena, —
every individual allows himself to be dragged i)y the expression of his feelings
into forgetting in his fever the real interests of the moment, — Maria Alexevna
ran into V^rotchka's room. She rushed to the dressing-table and the wardrobe,
which .she reviewed with a hasty glance. " No," said she, " everything seems to
be here." 'J'lien she proceeded to verify this first tran(|uillizing impression by a
detailed examination. Everything, indeed, was really there, except a pair of
very simjde gold ear-rings, the old muslin (h'c.ss, and the old sack that Verotchka
iiad on when she went out. |{eg;inling this real sidi- of the afl'iiir. Maria Ah^xevna
expected that Verotchka had given I^opoukliolV a list of th«^ things belonging to
her which Ik; would claim ; she was fully determined to give up no article ot
gold or anything in that line, hut only the four plainest dresses and the most
worn linen: to give nothing was impossible; nnhlfsse. obli<i\ — an adage of
wliicli .M.irii Alexevna was a rigid observer.

Another (piestion of re;tl lift? was tin; relations with the ]»roprietor; we havti
already Hoen that Maria Alexevna h:id Huccocded in settling it satisfictorily .

'I'here rcMi.iiiicd tin; third (|imsllnii : what was to be done with the guilty, that
i>j, with her d;ni;rht<'r :ind the son-in-Liw that h;id been thrust upon her l* Cin'.se
Ihcni? Nothing easier, only such a curse must serve as a dessert to something
more substantial. Now, this substantial .something could take but one ])ractical
shape, that of presenting a petition, bringing a suit, and nrr.aigiiiitg before a
court of iissizes. At first , in her fever, Maria Alexevna viewed this solution of
the (|uestion from her ideal side, and from this point of view it ser-mcd Ttsry
.reductive to her. I'.ut, in proportion as her mind became calmer, the affair grad-
ually assiuT)ed another aspect. No one knew better than Maria Alexevna that
all lawsuits require money, much mone}*, especially lawsuits like this which

IK) What's To Be Done 9

pleased her l)y its ideal beauty, aud tliat, after dragtjing for a long time and
devourin g much money, they end absolutely in nothing.

What, tlien, was to be done? She linally concluded that there were but two
tilings to do,— give herself the satisfaction of abusing Lopoukhoff as much as
possil)le, and save Verotchka's things from his claims, to which end llic j)rescnta-
tioa of a petition would serve as a means. But at any rate she must roundly
abuse him. and thus derive all the satisfaction she could.

Even this last part of the plan was not to be realized.

Lopoukhoti' arrived, and began in this tone : " We beg you, my wife and I, to
l)e kind enough, Mai'ia Alexevna and Pavel Konstantinytch, to excuse us for
having without your consent " . . . .

At this point Maria Alexevna cried out:

" I will curse her, the good — . . . ! " She could not finish the epithet ijond-jhr-
nolhiug. At the first syllable Lopoukhotf raised his voice:

" I have not come to listen to your insults, but to talk business. And since
you are angry and cannot talk calmly, I will explain myself in a ])rivatc inter-
view with Pavel Konstantinytch ; and you, Miria Alexevna, will send Kedia oi'
Matrcena to call us when you have become calmer."

As he .spoke, he led Pavel Konstantinytch from the parlor into the small rnoni
adjoining, and his voice was so strong and positive that there was no way to
overmaster it. So she had to reserve her remarks.

Having reached the parlor door with Pavel Konstantinytch, Lopoukhoff stopped,
turned back, and said : " I would like nothing better than to make my explana-
tion to you also, Maria Alexevna, if you desire, but on one condition, — that I may
ilo so undisturbed." '

Again she began her abuse, but he interrupted her: " Well, since you cannot
converse calmly, we leave you."

" And you, imbecile, why do you go with him ? "

" Wh}', he drags me after him."

"If Pavel Konstantinytch were not ilisposed to give me a quiet hearing, 1
would go away, and that would be perhaps the better course: what matters it to
me, indeed ! I>ut why, Pavel Konstantinytch, do you consent tf) be called such
names? Maria Alexevna knows nothing of affairs ; she thinks jierhaps that they
can do God knows what with us; l)ut you, an officeholder, must know how things
go on. Tell her, therefore, that things having reached this point, she can do
nothing vnth. Verotchka and still less with me."

" He knows, the rascal, that nothing can be done with him," thouglit Maria
Alexevna, and then she said to Lopoukhoff that, thouj^h at first her moth(!r\s feelings
had carried her away, .she was now in a condition to talk calmly.

Lopoukhoff and Pavel Konstantinytch retraced their steps. They sat down,
and Loponkhofl" begged her to listen patiently until he had finished all that he

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 1 1 7

had to say, arter which she might have the floor. Then he began, taking care t(j
raise his voice every time that Maria Alexevna tried to interrupt him, whicli en-
abled him to carry his story to its conclusion. He explained that it was im-
possible to unmarry them, that there was no chance therefore for StorechnikolV,
and that it would be useless trouble, as they knew themselves, to begin u suit.
That for the rest they could do as they pleased, and tiiat, if they had an abund-
ance ot money, he would even advise them to try the cuurts; but that, all tilings
considered, there was no occasion for them to plunge into the depths of despair,
since Verotchka had always rejected Storechnikoff's proposals and the match
therefore had always been chimerical, as Maria Alexevna had seen for hersell ;
that a vouns: g;irl nevertheless must marry some time, which means as a general
thing a series of expenses for the pai'ents, — that is, the dowry first, the wedding
next, but especially the dowry

^\'h(•nc(' l.opoukhofr concluded that Maria Alexevna and Pavel Konstantinytch
ought to thank their daughter for having got married without occasiom'iig them
any cxfjense.

Thus he spoke for a full half-hour.

When he had finished, Maria Alexevna saw that to such a rascal there was
nothing io say. and she placed herself first on the ground of sentiment, (wplain-
ing that what had wounded her was precisely the fact that Verotchka hail mar-
ried without asking the consent of her parents, thus lacerating the nialcinal
heart : the conversation, transferred thus to the suVijeet of maternal feelings and
wounds, natin-ally had for cither party no more than a purely dialectical inter-
est: they could not help going into it. the proprieties rcMjuired it; so they satis-
fied the proprieties. They spoke, Maria Alexevna of how, as an affectionate
mother, she had been W(junded, Lopoukhoff o!' how, as an all'ectionate mother,
she need not have Ix-'-n woniKJed: when, iinally, tliey had filled the measure of
the proprieties ity digri'ssions of a proper length upon sentimi-ntal grounils, they
ajiprfiached another sui)jeet eipially demmded by thti proprieties, — that, on the
one side, she had always desired her daughter's happiness, while he answered,
on the other, that that was clearly indispntaide ; when tlu! conversation on this
point had lik(rwis(! atlaineil the proper length, they i-nlered aw the snbjectt of
liuewcills, "iving that also the aiiioimt of attention recpiireil by th(! demands
at'orfts.iid, and reached the following result : Lopoukhoff, comprehending the
eoidusion into which the maternal heart had l)een thrown, did not lieg Maria
.Vhrxevna Cor the present to give her daughter permission to .sise her, because
that perhaps woidd aihi to the; strain on tlu! maternal heart, but Maria Alexevna
would not be .slow in liuding out tliat Verotchka was happy, wiiieh of course
was always Maria Aiex(!vna\s first de.sire, and then, the niaternai lu^art having
recovered its eipiaMiniity, shi' wouhl l)e in a position to see her daiigiiter without
having to sufler therei»y. This agreed upon, they separated amicaldy.

118 What's To Be Done'?

" Oil, the rascal ! " said Maria Alexevna, after having shown her son-in-law to
the door.

That same night she had the following dream :

She was seated near a window, and she saw a carriage, a splendid carriage,
passing in the street ; this carriage stopped, and out of it got a beautiful lady
followed by a gentleman, and they entered her room, and the lady said to her:
" See, Mamma, how richly ray husband dresses me ! " This lady was Vorotchka.
Maria Alexevna looked at her: the material of V6rotchka's dress was really of
the most expensive sort. Verotchka said : " The material alone cost five hun-
dred roubles, and that is a mere bagatelle, Mamma, for us; of such dx-esses I
have a dozen; and here is something that cost still more, see my fingers!"
And Maria Alexevna looked at V6rotchka's fingers, and saw rings set with huge
diamonds! " This ring, M;imma, cost two thousand roubles, and that one four
thousand more ; and just glance at ray breast, Mamma ; the price of this brooch
was still greater ; it cost ten thousand roubles ! " And the gentleman added, the
gentleman being Dmitry Sergueitch : " All these things ai*e just nothing at all
for us, my dear Mamma, Maria Alexevna! The really precious stuff is in my
pocket; here, dear Mamma, see this pocket-book, how it is swollen ! It is full of
hundred-rouble notes. Well, this pocket-book is yours. Mamma, for it is a small
matter to us ! Here is another more swollen still, dear Mamma, which I will
not give you; it does not contain small currency, but large bank-bills and bills
of excliange, and each of these bank-bills, each of these bills of exchange, is
worth more than the whole pocket-book which I have given you, dear Mamma."

" You knew well, my dear son, Dmitry Sergueitch, how to make ray daughter
and our whole family- hajipy ; but where do you get so much wealth ? "

" I have bought the liquor-selling monopoly. Mamma ! "

And, on waking, Maria Alexevna said to herself: "Truly, he must go into the
bu.sines3 of liquor-selling."

XXIV.

EULOGY OF MARIA ALEXEVNA.

You now cease to be an important personage in Vcrotchka's life, Maria Alex-
evna, and in taking leave of you the author of this story begs you not to com-
plain if he makes you quit the scene with a denoument not wholly to your advan-
tage. Do not think yourself diminished in our eyes. You are a dupe, but that
can in no degree change for the worse our opinion of your judgment, Maria
Alexevna: your error does not testify against you. You have fallen in with
individuals such as previously you had not been in the habit of meeting, and it
is not your fault if you have made a mistake in judging things according to your
experience. Your whole past life had led you to the conclusion that men are
divided into two classes, — fools and knaves ; whoever is not a tool is a knave,

The First Love and Legal Marriage. 119

an absolute knave, you have supposed ; not to be a knave is uece-:sarily to be a
fool. This way of lool<ing at things was very just, Maria Alcxevna, was per-
fectly just until these latter days. You have met very well-spoken peojjle, and
you have observed that all of them, without exception, were either rascals,
deceiving men with fine words, or big, stupid children, unacquainted with life
and not knowing how to manage their affairs. Consequently, Maria Alexcvna,
you have placed no faith in fine words ; 3'ou have regarded them either as non-
sense or as falsehoods, and you were right, Maria Alexevna. Your way of look-
ing at men had already been completely formed when you for the first time met
a woman who was neither a fool nor a rascal ; therefoi'e it is not at all astonish-
ing that you were disconcerted by her, not knowing what course to take, what
to think of her, or how to treat her. Your way of looking at things had already
been completely formed when j'ou for the first time met a man of heart who was
not an artless child, but who knew life quite as well as you, judged it quite as
justly, and knew how to conduct his atlairs quite as well; therefore, again, it is
not at :ill astonishing that you were deceived and took liim for a sharper of your
own sort. These errors, Maria Alexevna, in no wise diminish my esteem for j'ou
as a prudent and reasonable woman. You have lifted your husband from his '^
obscurity, you have provide*! for your old age, — good things not easily accom-
plisln-d. Your niclliods were b;;d, but \ our surroundings offered you no others.
Your methods belong to your surroundings, but not to \ our person ; therefore
the dishonor is not yours, l)ut the honor is to your judgment and strength of
character.

Are you (;ontent, Maria Alexevna, to see your good qualities tiius recognized ?
Certainly, you ought to be, since you never pretended to be agreeable or good.
In a moment of invDlunt iry sincerity you even confessed your wickedness and
r'uhmess, and you never eonsidcM-ed wickedness and rudeness as <|ualitios that
dishonored you, understanding that you eouhl not iiav(! l)ei;n otiierwise, given the
conditions of yoiu- life. Tiierefore you should be but littb^ disturbed because
these tributes to your intelligence and strength of cliara<t('r are not followed by
triljutes to virtues which you admit that you dn not possess, and wliich you
woidd consifh'r ralin-r as follies than as good qualities. You would have asked
no other tril»ut(! than thai which I have accorded you. l?ut I ciin say in your
honor one word mon; : of ail the pcu'.sons whom 1 <io not like ;ind wilh whom 1
shoidd wish to have no d<'alings, you are of thosi! whom 1 should like the best.
To be sure, you an; pitiless when your intiirest is at stake, liut if you have no
interest in doing *!vil tf> any one, you will nctt do it, having nothing in vi(!W but
the satisfaction of your [»etty and stupid passions. You reason lli;it it is not
worth while to lose one's time, labor, and money for nothing. It is needless to
say that yrni wouhl havi; taken pbiasure in roasting your daughter and her hus-
band over a slow lire, hut you sucetjeded in repressing the spirit ol revenge that

120 What's To Be Done?

had taken possession of you and in reflecting coldly upon the matter, and you
recognized that roasting was out of the question; now it is a great quality,
Maria Alexevna, to be able to recognize the impossible. After recognizing this
impossibility, you did not allow yourself to begin an action which would not
have ruined the individuals who have offended you; you perceived that all the
little annoyances which you might have caused them by such an action would
have cost you many greater embarrassments and sacrifices, and so you did not
bring an action. If one cannot conquer his enemy, if for the insignificant loss
that one can inflict on him one must suffer a greater loss, there is no reason for
liegiiining the struggle. Understanding that, you had good sense and valor
enough to submit to the impossible without uselessly injuring yourself and
others, — another great quality. Yes, Maria Alexevna, one may still have deal-
ings with }ou, for your rule is not evil for evil even to your own injury, and that
is an extremely rare quality, a very great quality ! Millions of men are more
dangerous than you, both to themselves and to other.-', although they may not
have your surl}' countenance. You are among the best of those who are not
good, because you are not unreasonable, because you are not stupid. I should
have liked very well to reduce you to dust, but I esteem you; you interfere with
nothing. Now you are engaged in bad business in accordance with the exigen-
cies of your surroundings ; but if other surroundings were given you, you would
willingly cease to be dangerous, you would even become useful, because, when
your interest is not at stake, you do not do evil, and arc capable of doing an}-
thing that seems advantageous to you, even of acting decently and nobly. Yes,
you are capable, Maria Alexevna, and it is not your fault if this capacity of yours
is in a state of inertia, and if in its stead capacities of an opposite nature are at
work; you none the less possess it, which cannot be said of everybody. Base
people arc capable of nothing good, Init you, you are only bad, not base. Con-
sequently you are above many men in point of morality !

" Are you cont(;nt, Maria Alexevna ? "
* " Have 1 any reason to be content, my good sir, when my affairs are in such a
bad way ? "

" It is for the best, Maria Alexevna."

Life of Vera with her Husband^ and the Second Love. 121

CHAPTER THIRD.

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Husband, and the Second Love.

I.

Three inontlis luul passed since the marriaj^e. LopoiikhofTs aflfairs were ijoiiiji'
on well. He had found some pupils, work at a l)ook-pul)lishers, and, more than
ull, the task of translating a geographical treatise. Vera Pavlovna, too, had
found two pupils; who, though t^ey did not pay her very largely, were better
than none. Together the}' were now earning eighty roul)les a month. With this
sum they could live only in a very moderate way, but they Jiad at least the
necessaries. Their means continuing to increase, they counted on being able in
four montiis more to furnish their rooms (and later that is what they did).

'fiicir lite was not arranged quite as Vera Pavlovna had planned it on the day
1)1" tlifir betrothal, half in sport, half in earnest, but nevertheless it ditl not lack
much (it it.

I'heir aged landlady and her husband had a great deal to say about the strange
way in wiiich the newly-married couple live<l, — as if they were not hiisliand and
wife at all, as if they were one knows not what.

" Therelbre, according to what I se(! and what you say, riJtro\ na, they live —
how shall I say — as if they were brother and sister."

.Vonsense ! Wiiat a comparison! Hetween brother and sister there is no
( II einoriy ; is then; non<; lictsvcen them i' lit; ris(!s, puts on his coal, sits down,
and waits until I bring tin- .<.a7«oyar. .\ft(;r having made the tea, he calls her;
.she too comes in all dressed. Is that th(! way brother and sister do? This would
be a better comparisf)n : it sometimes happens that among peoj)lc in nimleiMie
(•ireumstanees two lamilies live for economy's sake in one and I lie sunie suite.
They resemble two such families."

" How is it, Petrovna, that the linsbaml cannot enter his wife's room 1' She is
not dressed. Do you .see P How <loes that seem to you? "

" And what is better y«!t, when they separate' at night, she says: ' Good night,
my darling; sleep well ! ' Then they go, Ik; to his room, she to lu'.rs, ami there
lliey read old Ixioks, and sometimes he writes. Do you know what hai)it»!ne(l one
ni^ht? She had gone to bed and was reading an old book; I suddenly heard
through the partition — I was not asleep — I heard her rise. VVhatilo you think
she did ? I heard her place herself i)efor(! her mirror to arrange- her hair, do you
understand? Just as if she were going to make a visit. Then I heard her start.

122 What's To Be Done?

I went out into the coiTidoi-, got up on a chair, and looked through the transom
into her husband's rt)om. On reaching the door she said :

" ' Can I come in, my darling ? '

" And he answered : ' Presently, Verotchka ; wait a moment.' He was in bed
also ; he made haste to dress. I thought he was going to put on his cravat next,
but he did not. After he had arranged everything, he said :

" ' Now you can come in, Verotchka.'

" ' I do not understand this book,' she said to him ; ' explain this to mc.'

" He gave her the explanation.

" ' Pardon me, ray darling, for having disturbed you '

" • Wherefore, Verotchka ? I was not busy ; you did not disturb me.'

" And out she went."

" She simply went out ? " •

" She simply went out."

" And he did nothing P "

" And he did nothing. But that is not the most astonishing part of it; the
most astonishing thing is that she should have dressed to go to his room and that
he should have dressed to receive her. What does that mean ? "

"I think, Petrovna, that this must be a sect; there are all sorts of sects, you
know, in that line."

" So there are. Very likely you are right."

Another conversation.

" Danilytch, I have asked thera about their ways.

" ' Do not be offended,' I said, ' at what I am going to ask you, but of what
faith are you ? '

" ' Of the Russian faith. What a question ! '

" ' And you belong to no sect ? '

" ' To none ; but what put that id(;a into your head ? '

" ' This, Mistress (I do not know whether I am to call you Madame or
Mademoiselle), — do you live with Monsieur your husband ? '

" She smiled : ' Certainly,' said she."

"She smiled?"

" She smiled, and answered : ' Certainly.'

" ' Why, then, this habit of never seeing him half dressed, as if you were not
united ? '

" ' In order,' she answered, ' not to exhibit ourselves in unbecoming garb. As
for sect, there is none.'

" ' What, then, does this signify ? '

" ' We act in this way in order that there may be moi-e love and fewer quarrels.' "

" But that seems to be correct, Petrovna ; they are very reserved toward each
other."

Life of Vera with her Husband ^ and the Second Love. 12

o

"She further said to me: 'I do not wish others to see me too carelessly
dressed ; now, I love my husband more than I love others ; therefore it is not
fitting that I should ajipear I)efore him without first washing myself "

" And that, too, has an air of truth, Prtrovna ; why do we covet our neighbors'
wives? Because we always see them dressed up. while we see our own in care-
less array. So it is said in the proverbs of Solomon. He was a very wise king."

II.

All went well, then, at the LopoukhoftV. Vera Pavlovna was always gay.
But one day — about five months after their marriage — Dmitry Serguoiteh, on
returning from one of his pupils, found his wile in a somewhat inexplicable
humor; her eyes shone with pride as well as joy. Then Dmitry Sergu^itch
remembered that for some days past she had shown signs of an agreeable rest-
lessness, a smiling thoughtfulness, a gentle pride.

" Something pleasant seems to have come to you, my friend ; why do you not
let me share it? "

" Indeed, I believe I have reason to be joyful, dear friend, but wait a little
while: I will tell you about it as soon as I feel sure of it. It will be a great joy
for us l)oth, and will also please Kirsanoft" and the Mertzalotts."

" Hut what is it, then ? "

" Have you forgotten our agreement, my darling? Do not question. As soon
a.s it is a sure thing, I will tell you."

A week [lassed.

" My darling, I am ;:uiiig t(j tell you my joy. I ne('<l only your advice: you
are an expert in these things. For a long time I have wanted to do something
useful, and I have conceived the plan of establishing a dressmaker's sho[) ; is
that a good idi-a? "

'• it is agn-etl that 1 ;tni not to kiss your iiand, but that rcfcrrcil only (o gcnciai
>ituation.s; under sucii circum.stances as the present no agreement holds. Your
haufl, V6ra Pavlovna."

" Later, my darling, when I liave succeeded."

" Whi-n you h:ive sucrccedrd, not tu nn-. alone will you give your hand to kiss;
KiiHiinon", Ale.xey Pi'-trovitch, and everybody will demand tlie privilege. Now I
am alone, and your intention of itself is worth the kiss."

" If you do m«! violence, I will cry out."

"Well, cry out."
Vou make me ashamed <>! myself, and I will have nothing more to say to
you."

" Is it, then, very im])ortant ? "

" Indeed it is, and that is why wi- talk all the time and do nothing."

124 Whal's To Be Done?

" And you, who commenced later than any of us, are the first to bcgiu action."
Vcrotchka had hidden her face in her husband's breast.
" Too much praise, my dear friend."

" No, you have a wise mind."
Iler husband kissed lier.

" Oh, stop ! No one can say a word to you."

•' Very well ; say on, n)y good Verotchka."
" Do not call me that."

" Then I will say my wicked Veiotchka."

" Listen, Mr. Impertinence! The most ini[)urtant tliinj^ now, in my opinion, is
first to make a prudent choice of honest workinj^-girls, industi-ious servants of
proven steadiness of character, dreading quarrels and capable of choosing
others."

'• Exactly so."

" 1 have found three young girls satisfying these conditions ; but how I have
had to search for the last three months, how I have been through the stores,
making acquaintances, until at last I have found what I wanted and am sure of
my choice ! "

" They must also understand business management; the house must be self-
sustain inj;' and the business must be successful in a commercial sense."

" Not otherwise, it is needless to say."'

" What else is there upon which advice is needed ? "

"The details."

" What are the details? You probably have thought of everything already, -
and will govern yourself by circumstances. The important thing now is the
principle, character, and skill. Details settle themselves, in accordance with the
conditions of each special case."

" I know it; nevertheless. I shall feel more confident having your approval.''

They talked for a long time. Loupoukhoff found nothing to correct in liis
wife's plan, but to herself the plan developed itself more clearly as she told it.

The next day LopoukhoH" carried to the "Journal of Police" an advertise-
ment announcing: Vera Fdvlovna Lopoukhoff does sticiny and laundrij-work at
a moderate price.

The same morning Vera Pavlovua called upon Juli(;. '• She does not know my
present name; .say Mademoiselle Rosalsky," said siie U) the servant.

•* You come to see me without a veil, your face exposed ; you give your name
to the domestic ; why, this is madness ! You will ruin yoursell, dear child ! "

" Oh, now I am married, and 1 can go everywhere and do as I like."

" And if your husband .should find it out? "

"In an hour he will be here."

Julie plied her with questions about iier marriage. Slic was enchanted, she

Life of Vera with her Husband^ and the Second Love. 125

kissed her, weeping all the while. When her enthusiasm had at last quieted
down, Vera Pavlovna spoke of the object of her visit.

" You know that we rememi)er old friends only when we need them. I have
a great favor to ask of you. I am about to establish a dressmaker's shop, (iive
me your orders and recommend me to your friends. I sew well, and my
assistants are tHpially good seamstresses; you know one of them."'

Indeed, Julie did know one of them as an excellent needle-woman.

" Here are some samples of my work. I made this dress myself. Sec; how
well it fits!"

Julie examined very carefully the cut of the dress and its seams, and the
examination satisfied her.

" You ought to be very successful ; you have talent and taste. But to that fiid
you need a Tine store on the Nevsky."

" In time I shall have one, be sure ; meantime I take orders at my house."

These thin:{s arranged, they returned to lh(^ subject of Verotchka's marriaL!:<".

" St(jn'chnikolf led a vtn'y dissipated life lor a fortnight, lint afterward beeanie
re(ronciled to Adelc. I am very glad for Adide: he is a good fellow; only it is
a pity that AdeUi has no character."

Starti'd in this direction. Jnli(! launched into gossip about Adele's adventures
and those of olheis.

Now that Madeniois(!lle Rosalsky was no longer ji young girl, .Julie did not
deem it ncce.ssary to restrain her.self. \\. fii'st she talked reasonablv ; llieii, as
her excit<!ment increased, she ))ainted orgies glowingly and in cohns more and
mon; licentious. Vera I'avlovna became conlii.sed, but Jidic did not notice it;
then, reoovcM-ing from In r lirst impression. Vera I'avlovna listeni'tl with that
pilifnl interest with which one examines a dear f.ice disligurcd by tlisease.
Lopoukhort'came, and Julie for a moment tr.aiisformed herself into a woman of
xocietv, serious .and fnll of tact. l>ut sin^ could not, play (hat rule hmg. After
con^^ratnlafing LopnukholV on having so ijeautiful a wife, sin; again l)ecame
excitttd.

" We must celebrate your marriage."

She onlered an impromptu breakfast, to be wa^bi'd down with c!iamp;igm'.
Verotclik.i had to ilrink half a glass in honor of her marriage, half a gla-;-^ in
honor of her work.thop, and half a glass to ilir licailh of Julie her.self l!<r
head bi-gan to (urn, ami she and Juli(! became Imilily noisy; .hilie pinched
Verotchka, and began tf) run; Veroti-hka slai-li'd alter her: lliey ran llirongli the
apartments, leajjing nwv chairs; L(»poukliotl' sat in hi-< arm-chair, laughing;
Julie presumed to boast of her .ttrength, which brought .ill this tuinidt to an
en<l :

" I will lift yon with one hand."

"Von will not lift me."

126 What's To Be Done?

Beginning to struggle, l)oth of them fell on the sofa, and, not wishing to rise,
began to shout and laugh ; linallj they went to sleep.

It was a long time since Lopoukhoff had found himself in a situation where
he did not know what to do. Should he waken them ? He feared lest he might
bring the joyous interview to a disagreeable ending. He ro.se carefull}, and
took a lew steps about the room in search of some book. He fell upon the
" Chronicles of the (Eil de Boeuf," a book beside which that of Faublas is
insipid. Lopoukhoff" extended himself comfortably upon the sofa at the other
end of tlie room, began to read, and in less than a quarter of an hour was asleep
himself.

Two hours later Pauline came to waken Julie ; it was dinner-time. They sat
down to the table alone, without Serge, who had been invited to some public
dinner ; Julie and Verotchka again began to shout and laugh. Then they be-
came calm and resumed a serious attitude. Suddenly Julie asked Vd-rotchka
(the idea had not occurred to i)er before) why she established a workshop. It
she desired to get money, it would be much better to become an actress or even
a singer; her voice was a very fine one. Upon that they seated themselves
anew. Verotchka told her jjlans, and Julie's enthusiasm revived; congratula-
tions followed fast upon each otlier, uiiiiglcd with eulogistic exclamations. She,
Julie Letellier, was a lost woman, but she could appreciate virtue; finally she
began to weep and embi'ace Verotchka, whom once more she overwhelmed witli
praises and good wishes.

Four days later Julie cari'ied Vera Pavlovna a large number of orders of her
own and the addresses of some of her friends from whom she might also receive
orders. She took Serge with her, saying to him : " We cannot do otherwise ;
Lopoukhoff" came to see me, 3'ou must return his visit."

Julie acted like a jwsitive woman, and her enthusiasm did not cease, so that
she stayed at the Lopoukhoff's' a long time.

There were no walls there, but thin partitions; everything could be heard, and
she was on the lookout. She was not enraptured, but she was moved. After
having examined all the details of the Lopoukhoff"?' somewhat meagre life, she
saw that that was precisely the way to live, that there is no true life otherwise,
that real happiness is possible only where there is no luxury ; she even announced
to Serge that they would go to Switzerland and live in a little cottage amid the
fields and mountains on the shore of a lake, there to love each other, fish, and
cultivate their littlt; garden. Serge replied that he was of her mind, but that he
would like to wait to see what she would think of the matter a few hours later.

The noise of Julie's elegant carriage and fine horses made a great impression
upon the dwellers in the fifth line between the Moyenne and the Petite Persi^ec-
tive, where nothing like it had been seen since the days of Peter the Great, if not
since a period still more remote. Many watched the surprising phenomenon,

Life of Vera loith her Husband, and the Second Love. 127

and saw it stop near the ean-iage gate (which was closed) of a one-story wooden
house with seven windows ; they saw get out a ijheuomenon more wonderful
still, a young woman splendid and brilliant, an officer whose bearing was of the
most dignified. The}' were greatl\' disappointed when the carriage gate opened
and the vehicle entered the court ; public curiosity was thus deprived of a sight
of the stately officer and the still more stately lady on their departure.

When Danilytch came home after his day's work, he had the following inter-
view with his wife :

" Danilytch, it appears that our tenants belong to high society. A general
and his wife have been to see them. The general's wife was dressed so richly
that her toilet is indescribable. The general wore two stars!"

How could Petrovna have seen stars on Serge, who as yet had none, and who,
if he had any, would not have worn them on his excursions with Julie ? That is
very astoni.shing. Hut she did really see them, she was not mistaken, she was
not lying. It is not only .she that says it; I, too, answer for its truth ; she saw
them. We know that there were none there; but Serge's a.spect was such that,
from IV-trovna's standpoint, it was impossible not to see two stars on him. i'e-
troviia saw them. I affirm it .seriously.

" And what a livery their footman luul, Danilj^tch ! Of Engli.sh cloth at live
roubles an archinc. And this footman, though grave, was nevertheless polite;
he answere<l when cjuestioned ; lie even allowed you to feel of t lie clotli of his
"-leevc. Wliat goorl cloth I It is plain that tlicy liavc ])l('nty of money to tiirow
out of the window. They stayed about two hours, and our tenants talked with
them very simply, just as I do witli you for instance, and did not salute them,
and laughed willi thcni : mir ti-iiant .iml tlie general simply .sat h.ick in their
arm-chairs and sniokt-d. Once, our tenant's cig.irettc having gone out, In' took
the giuieral's to relight it. And with what n^spijct the general kissed the hantl
of our tenant's beautiful wife I It is pa.st description. What <lo you think of all
this, Danilytch?"

'• Kvervthing comes from (iod, that is what I think ; acquaintances ol all sorts
and relatives, all come from tJod."

" It is true, Danilytch. Hverything cinnes t'ltun (iod, llicn- is nothing else to
Say. Kor my part this is what I think,— that our tenant, or his wife, is the
brother, or sister, of the general, or of the general's wif<;. -And, to tell tlw truth,
I am nearly convinced th.at she is the general's sister."'

"Are you very sure, IVtrovini? I ilo not l)eli(!ve it. If sucli were llit case,
they would have money."

" That can be explainetl, Danilytch. Either the mother or the father may have
had her outside of marriage. Tln' face isf|uit<' different ; there is no resendilance
there."

" That may be it, I'etrovna, — outside of marriage. .Such things liapj)en."

128 What's To Be Bone?

Thanks to this adventure, Petrovna aoquiretl for fonr whole days a great im-
portance at thi^ j^roeerv which shv, was accustomed to tVecjuent. For tlu-ee whole
(lays this gi'ocery drew a portion of tiie trade of the neighboring grocery. Pe-
ti'ovna, devoting herself to the interest of public instruction, even neglected
h«'r mending a little during this time in order to satisfy those wiio liad a lliirs)
for iinowledge.

All this had results. A week later Pavel Konstantinytch appeared at his son-
in-law's. Maria Alexevna obtained information ai)out th(^ life of her daughter
and her rascal of a son-in-law, not in a constant and careful way, Ijut from time
to time and out of pure curiosity. One of her friends, a gossip of tlie lowest,
rank, who lived in the island of Vassilievsky, was charged with inquiring about
Vera Pavlovna, whenever she happened to pass that way. The gossip brought
her information sometimes once a month, sometimes oftener^ according to cir-
cumstances. The Lopoukhoffs live on good terms. Tliey do nothing extraordi-
nary, the only thing remarkaljle l)eing that they are visited by a great many
young people, all of tluMU men and modestly dressed. It cannot be said tiiat
they live richly ; nevertheless they have money. Very far from selling anytliing,
they buy. She lias made two silk dress(!S for herself. They have bought a sofa,
a table, and a half-dozen second-hand arm-chairs for forty roubles, which were
worth perhaps a hundred. They have given their projirietors notice to look for
new tenants in a month, for then they intend to move into their furnished apart-
ments, — " thougli remaining grateful to you for your civility," they added. The
proprietors of course said that on their side the feiiling was the same.

Maria Alexevna was happy to hear this news. She was a very brutal and
very bad woman ; she tortured her daughter, she would have killed her if she
had found it to her advantage, she cursed her as she thought of the ruin of her
plan for adding to her riches; all that was true, l)ut did it follow tlnit she had no
love for her daughter ? Not at all. The affair over and her daughter ii'revocal>ly
escaped from her hands, what had she to do? Whatever falls into the trench is
for the soldier. Verotchka was none the less her daughter; and now, in case of
need, Vera Pavlovna might readily be useful to Maria Alexevna. The mother
therefore sincerely wished her daughter well. There was nothing peculiar about
this affection ; Maria Alexevna did not watch her carefully ; what she did was
.simply for form's sake, to satisfy the what-will-people-say consideration, and to
show that V6ra was really her daughter. Why not become reconciled ? Espe-
cially since the brigand son-in-law, according to all accounts, is a positive man,
with whom one may in time do something. So Maria Alexevna gradually came
to the conclusion that it would be better to renew her relations with her daugh-
ter. It would have taken six months longer and perhaps even a whole year to
reach this result; for there was notliing pressing, and time enough ahead. But
tlie news about the general and his wife suddenly advanced matters at least one-

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 129

half. The brigand had indeed shown himself shrewd enough. He, a poor devil
of a student who had left college without a degree, with two sous in his pocket,
had formed a friendship with a young general ; he had also made his wife a
friend of the general's wife ; such a man will go far. Or else Vera has formed a
friendship with the general's wife, and has made her husband a frienil of the gen-
eral. What is the difference? That would simply show that Vera may go far.

So, as soon as the visit was known, the father was sent to tell his daughter
that her mother had pardoned her, and that she was invited to the house.

Vt!'ra Tavlovna and her husljand went back wilh Pavel Koustantinytch and re-
mained a portion of the evening. The interview was cold and formal. Fedia
was the principal subject of conversation, because the least thorny subject. He
was at .school, Maria Alexevna having been persuaded to place hira at boarding-
school ; Dmitry Sergueitch promised to go to see him, and holidays he Avas to
spend at Vera Pavlovna's. Thus they managed to kill time until the tea-hour;
then they hastened to separate, the Lopoukhoffs pretending that they were ex-
pecting visitors that evening.

For six months Vtn"a Pavlovna had been oreathing a vivifying air. Her lungs
had already become completely unaccustomed to the atmosi)here of strategy, in
which every word was uttered with a pecuniary end in view; her ear was no
longer used to the di.scussion of swindling schemes and vile conspiracies. As a
result this return to the cellar made a horrible imi)r('ssi()n on her. This corrup-
tion, this triviality, this cynicism struck her like a new thing.

"How did I help succumbing in sucli snrrouiidings? How was 1 aide to
breathe in that cellar? And not only did I live there, but I kept my health !
Inconipn.'hcnsiblt; thing! How coidd I have l)een l)rougiit up there, and still ac-
quire a love of the good ? It is incredible! " thought Vera I'avhivna, on return-
ing to her apartments, with that sense of eomlort which one feels on breathing
freely after having been stifled.

Shortly after their arrival their aecustonied visitois eanie, — nanieiy, .\lexey
P/^trovitch with Natalia Andrevna, and Kirsanolf ; tiuiy passed the evening as
usual. What a new pleasure V/fra Pavlovna felt after this interview in living
amid pure ideas and in the society of pure people ! '{"lie conversation was, as
usual, now gay ami mingled with souv(!nirs. now serious and upon all imagin-
able subjects, including the hi>tfnical events of that day, such as the civil war in
the Caucasus (the prologue of the great war now going on between the South
and the North in the United States, which in its turn is the j)roIogue of events
still greater and of which the .scene will tiot be Americii only). Now ev<!ry])ody
talks j)olitic3, but at tliat time thr)s(! interesttMJ in them were few in number; of
this small number were Loponkholf. KirsanofT. and their friends. They even en-
tered into the discussions then jjrevailing of IJebig's theory of agricidtnral chem-
istn', as well as the laws of historical progress, a subject never forgotten in such

130 What's To Be Done?

circles. They concerned themselves also with the importance of distinguishing
real desires which seek and find satisfaction from whimsical desires which it is
impossible and unnecessary to satisfy. For oxarai)le, when one has a hot fever,
he is always thirsty, but the only trul}' desirable satisfaction is not in drink but
in cure. The unhealthy condition of th(; sj'stem ijrovokes artificial desires while
changing normal desires. Besides this fundamental distinction then put forward
by anthropological philosophy, they went into other analogous subjects, or, if
difl'erent, subjects leading back to the same point. The ladies also from time to
time took part in these scientific discussions conducted in a simple fashion ; they
sometimes asked questions ; but as a general thing they did not listen, and had
even been known to sprinkle Lopoukhoff and Alexey Petrovitch with clean water
when they seemed too much impressed with the great importance of mineral
manure. But Alexey Petrovitch and Lopoukhoif discussed tiieir favorite subjects
with an invincible tenacity ; Kirsanoflf did not aid them much ; he generally took
the ladies' side, and all three played and sang and laughed until a late hour,
when, fatigued, they would at last succeed in separating the indefatigable zealots
of serious conversation.

m.

VERA PAVLOVNA'S SECOND DREAM.

V6ra Pavlovna, sleeping, saw a field in a dream; her husband — that is, her
darling — said: "You wish to know, Alexey Petrovitch, why one sort of soil
produces the good, the pure, the delicate wheat, and why another sort does not
produce it ? You shall account for this ditference yourself. See the root of this
fine ear; around the root there is soil, but fresh soil, pure soil, you might say;
smell of it ; the odor is damp and disagreeable, but there is no mouldy or sour
smell. You know that in the language of our philosophy that is real soil. It is
dirty, to be sure; but look at it clo.^ely, and you will see ihat all the elements of
which it is composed are healthy. This is the soil that they constitute in this
combination ; but let the disposition of the atoms be a little changed, and some-
thing difl'erent will result; and this something will be equally healthy, since the
fundamental elements are hcilthy. What is the I'c.isou of that? Look closely
at this portion of the field; you .see that there is an outh-t for the water, so that
there can be no putridity.''

" Yes, motion is reality," said Alexey Petrovitch, " because motion is life.
Now, the principal element of life is laljor, and consequently the principal cle-
ment of reality is labor, and the characteristic by which it can be most surely
recognized is activity."

"Thus, Alexey Petrovitch, if the sun should wai-ra this soil and the heat should
displace the elements and form them into more complex chemical combinations.

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 131

— that is, combiiiatious of a higher degree, — then the ear which would grow out
ofthis tiuil would be u healthy ear ? "

" Yes, because this is real soil," said Alexey P6trovitch.

" Now, let us pass to this part of the lield. Here take likewise a plant, and
examine in the same way its root. This t)o is diity. Look well at this soil. It
is not difficult to see that this is putrescent soil."

" That is, abnormal soil," said Alexey Petrovitch.

'• I mean, the elements of this soil being unheal thj', it is natural tiiat, whatever
their combination and whatever the resulting product, this product must be in a
state of corruption."

"Evidently, since the elements themselves are unhealthy," said Alexey Petro-
vitch.

" It is not difficult for us to discover the cause of this corruption."

*' That is, this aiinorraal putridity," said Alexey Petrovitch.

"That's it; examine tins part of the lield again. You see that the water,
having no outlet, stagnates and rots."

" Yes, absence of motion is absence of labor," said Alexey Petrovitch, " for
labor appears in anthropological analysis as the fundimeiital form of motion,
the form which is the basis of all the other forms, — dlst raction, rest, games,
amusements ; without labor preceding them these forms would not be real.
Now, without motion there i.s no lift'. — that is, no reality ; conseciuentiy this soil
is aiinonnal, — that is, rotten. Not until modern times was it known how to
make such parts of the earth healthy ; now the way has i)cen found in ilrainage:
the HUpernuous water flows away, and there remains only Just wiiat is lU'ces.sary ;
tliis moves, and thus makes the iields lujalthy. But, as long as this mean.s is not
eniploycfl, the soil remains .ilniormal, — that is, rotten ; uinler these conditions
it cannot proiluce good vegi'tali(jn, while it is very natural tiiat null soil should
prrjduce gooil jilants, since it is healthy. VVhicih was to be demonstrated ;
n-e-a-a-dum, as th<!y say in Latin."

How do they say in Ivatiti : " Which was to be demonstrated." V< la I'avlovna
could not cl<;arly underslatid thi.'-.

" You .s(!em to like kitchen Latin and the syllogism, Alexey Petrovitch," said
her " <larling," — that is, her husband.

Vera Pavlovna apprr)a(;Iied them and saiil :

"Enough of your analysi-s, i<l<'ntilies, and :inlhropologisms. Vary >our c<tn-
versation a little, geiitliincn, I l»rg of you, in order that I may join in it; or,
rather, let us play."

•' Let us play," .said Alexey Petrovitch : " lot us confess."

"Let us confess, that will lie amusing," said Vi'rn. I'.ivlovna: " but, as you
started the idea, it is for you to set the example."

132 What's To Be Do7ie9

" With pleasure, my sistiir," said Alexey Petrovitch : " but how old are you ?
Eighteen, are you not ? "

" Nearly nineteen."

" But not quite; we will say eighteen, theu, and confess, all of us, up to that
age, for we must have equality of couditions. 1 will confess for mysulf and for
my wife. My father was the sexton in the chief town of a government where
he followed the trade of bookbinder, and my mother rented rooms to theological
students. From mornins; till niglit they did nothing but talk and worry about
our daily bread. My father was inclined to drink, but only when poverty bore
too heavily and painfully upon him or when the income was more than suffi-
cient : in the latter case he would bring my mother all the money and say to her :
' Now, my little mother, we have, thank God, all we shall need for two months ;
and I have kept a Poltiunitchek with which to drink a little drop in honor ol
this joyful occasion.' To him it was a real happiness. My mother got angry
very often, and sometimes beat me, but this was at times when, as she said, she
had lamed her back by lifting too many iron pots, or by doing the washing for
us five and the five students, or by scrubbing the iloor soiled by our twenty feet
without galoches, or by taking care of the cow; in short, it was because of
excessive nervous fatigue occasioned by wearing and ceaseless labor. And when,
with all that, ' the two ends did not meet,' as she expressed it, — that is, when
there was no money with which to buy boots for her sons and shoes for her
daughters, — then it was that she beat us. She caressed us also when, though
children, we offered to aid her in her laboi% or when we did something intelligent,
or when she got a rare moment of rest and her back became limber, as she said.
To us those were real joys." . . .

" To the devil with your real sorrows and joys ! " said V6ra Pavlovna.

" Well, then, in that case, condescend to listen to my confession for Natacha."

" I do not wish to listen ; she has similar real joys and sorrows, I am sure."

" You are perfectly- right."

" But you will be pleased, perhaps, to hear ray confession," said Serge, myste-
riously making his appearance.

" Let us see," said Vera Pavlovna.

" My parents, although they were rich, did nothing but worry and talk about
money ; rich people are no more exempt from such anxieties " . . .

" You do not know how to confess, .Serge," said Alexey Petrovitch, in an
amiable tone : " tell us why they worried about money, what the expenses were
that tormented them, what were the needs that it embarrassed them to satisfy."

" I well understand why you ask me that," said Serge, " but let us lay that
subject aside and view their thoughts from another standpoint. They, too, were
anxious about their children."

" Were their children sure of their daily Iircad ?" asked Alexey Petrovitch.

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 133

" Certainly, but it was necessarj- to look out that "...

" Do not confess, Serge ! " said Alexey P6trovitch : " we know your history ;
care of the superfluous, preoccupation with the useless, — that is the soil out of
which you have grown ; it is an abnormal soil. Just look at yourself; you are
by birth a tairly intelligent and very polite man ; perhaps you are no woi'se or
more stupid than we are ; but what are you good for, for what are jou useful ? "

" I am good to escort Julie wherever she wishes to go, I am useful to Julie in
helping her to lead a dissipated life," answered Serge.

" Thereby we see," said Alexey P6trovitch, " that the abnormal unhealthy
soil" . . .

"Ah. how you weary me with your realism and your abnormalism ! They
know that it is incomprehensible, and yet they never stop talking about it!"
said Vera Pavlovna.

'• Then you do not wish to talk a little with me?" said Maria Alexevna. also
appearing mysteriously : " you, gcntlemi-n, withdraw, for mother wishes to speak
with daughter."

Everybody disappeared, and Verotchka found herself face to face with Maria
Alexevna. Maria Alexevna's countenance assumed a scornful expression.

" Vt'-ra Pavlovna, you are an educated person ; you are so pure, so noble," said
Maria Alexevna in a tone of irony ; " you arc so good ; am I, a gross and wicked
drunkard, the person to be talking to youP You, V6ra Pavlovna, have a bud
mother; but tell me, if you please, Madame, about what this mother has been
troubled? About ilaily bread; that is what, in your learned lan'_niage, is called
the re:il, the veritaljle human anxifty, is it not? You have heard bad words;
you have seen wicked and corrupt conduct; hut tell me, if you please, what the
object was. Was it a futile, a senseless object? No, Madame. No, whatever
the life of your family, it was not a futile, wliimsie.ii life. Sec, Vera Pavlovna, I
liave acquired your learned style, lint you are asliamed and distressed at having
HO bad a woman for a mother ? You would like it if I were good and hone.st?
Well, I am a sorcerer, V6ra Pavlovna, 1 know how to u.so magic; therefore I (in
realize your <le.sire. ('ondcscend to look; your desire is fuKilled; your wicked
mother has disappeared; then; i.s a good mother with her dauirhter; look !"

.\ ro(jm. Near the door snores a dirty drunken man. What is this, — ho is
unrecognizaiilc, his face being covered half by his hand and half by bruLses. A
bed. On the bed lies a woman, — yes, it is .she, it is Maria Alexevna, but the
good Maria Alexevna! Further, she is pale, decrepit at the age of forty-live,
worn out! Near the bed is a young girl of alxmt eighteen; yes, it is you, Ve-
rotchka, yourself, but in what rags ! What docs this mean ? You are so yellow
and your features so gross, and the room itself is so poor! Of furniture there
is almost none.

• Verotchka, my friend, my angel," says Maria Alexevna: " lie down a little

i;U What's To Be Done?

while; rest yi)urself. uiy treasure; why do you look at me? It is wholly uunec-
essary. This is the third night that you have not slept,"

" That is nothing, Mamma ; I am not tired," says V6rotchka.

"And 1 feel very sick, Verotehka ; what will become of you when left without
me? Your Other's earnings are small, and he is a poor support for you. You
are pretty ; there are many wicked people in the world. There will be nobody
to put you on your guard. How I fear for you ! "

Verotehka weeps.

" My dear child, do not take offence ; I do not mean to reproach you, but sim-
ply to put you on your guard : why did you go out Friday, the day before I fell
so seriously ill ? "

Verotehka weeps.

" He will deceive you, Verotehka ; abandon his company."

"No, Mamma."

Two months later. How two months have slipped away in a single moment !
On a chair is seated an officer. On the table in front of the officer a bottle, and
it is she, Verotehka, upon the officer's knees !

Two months more slip by in a moment.

On a sofa is seated a lady. Before the lady stands Verotehka.

" And do you know how to iron, Verotehka? "

" Yes, I know how."

" What are you, my dear, a serf or free ? "

" My father is an office-holder."

" Then you are of gentle birth, my dear ? I cannot take you. What kind of
a servant would you make ? Go, my dear, I cannot take you."

Verotehka is in the street.

" Mamzelle, mamzelle! " says some drunken youth, " where are you going?
I will escort you."

Verotehka runs to throw her.«elf into the Neva.

•' Well, my dear child, how do yon like having such a mother? " said the old,
the veal Maria Alexevna: " am I not clever in the use of magic? Why are you
silent ? Have you no tongue ? But I will make you speak just the same. Have
you been in the stores much? "

" Yes," said Verotehka, all of a tremble.

" Have you seen, have you heard ? "

" Yes."

"Is their life honorable? Are they educated ? Do they read old books, do
they dream of your new order of things, of the way in which men may be made
happy ? Do they dream of it ? Speak out ! "

Verotehka, trembling, said not a word.

Life of 'Vera loith her Hushandy and the Second Love. 135

" You have lost your power of speech, it seems to me. Is their life honorable,
I ask von ? "

Verotchka maintained her silence and felt a shudder.

" You have then really lost your power of speech ? Is their life honorable?
Are th«'y virtuous young girls, I ask you again ? Would you like to be as they
are.^ l''ou are silent! Do not turn away your face! Listen, then, Verka, to
what I am going to say to you. You are learned ; thanks to the money that I
have stolen, you are educated. You dream of the good, but, if I had not been
wicked, you would never have known what the good is. Do you understand?
It all c(jmes I'lom me; you are my daughter, mine. I am your mother."

Verotchka weeps and shudders.

" What do you wish of me, Mamma ? I canuot love you."

" Do 1 ask you to love me ? "

'• I should like at least to esteem you, but I cannot do that either."

" Do 1 need your esteem ? "

" What do you want, then ? Why have you come to talk to me in so dreadful
a way '-^ What do you wish of me ? "

•• i'.i- ^rratoful, without loving or esteeming me, ingrate that you arc. I am
wicked; is there any chance for love? I am dishonest; is there any ciiance lor
esteem ? But you should understand, Verka, that, if I were not what I am, you
too would not be what you are. You are honest because I have been dishonest;
you an- good for the reason that I have been wicked. Understand it, VcTotchka,
and be ;.'ratcl'ul."

" Withdraw, Maria Alexevna; it is now ray turn to speak to my sister."

.Maria .Mexevna disappeared.

The «w('(!tlieart of so many lovers, the sister of so many sisters took Verotchka
by the hand.

" I have always waiitfil to ha good with you, Vi'-rotchka, for you are good
yourself Now, I am whatever the person is to whom 1 :iiii talking. At pres-
ent you are sad ; so am 1. Look ! Though sad, miii I still good? "

" .Mways the Itcst in tin; worlil."

•Kiss me, Vi'-rotclika; w<! an; both in distress. Your mother told you tiu!
exact trutli. I <lo not like your mother, but I need her."

" Can you not do without her? "

' Laler I HJiall be al)le to, when it sli;ill l)i'. useless for men to bi- wickt-d.
lint at pri-scnt I cannot. Tlie good, you see, cannot g«'t a foolhold of (hi-niselveS,
forlhe wicked are strong and cunning, lint the wicked arc not all of the same sort.
To some of tin-ra it is necessary that the world should grow worse and worse, to
others k is essential th.it it sliciuld improve, eHseiitial in (heir own interest. It
was a ;;o()d thing for your niotlKM- tiial you should bi* etjucated ; and wliy ? In
order that you might give lessons and thus earn money; in order that you

136 What 's To Be Done 9

luight catch a rich husband. Her intentions were bad, but did you profit by them
any the less ? With the other class of wicked people this is not the case. For
instance, if you had had Anna P6trovna for a mother, could you have had an
education? Would you have known the good? Would you have loved it?
No. Either you would not have been allowed to learn, or you would have
been made a puppet of. The daughter of such a mother must be a puppet, tor
the mother herself is nothing else, and liv'^es only to play to puppets with puppets.
Now, your mother is bad, but she has been of the more value to you, for it was
essential to her that you should not be a i^uppet. You see, then, that the wicked
are not all of the same sort. Some prevent the existence of men worthy of the
name, and would have them only i^uppets. But wicked people of the other sort
come unconsciously to my aid bj^ giving men the possibility of development and
gathering the means that permit this development. That is exactly what I
need. Yes, Verotchka, I cannot do without this kind of wicked people to oppose
the other wicked people. My wicked people are wicked, but good grows under
their wicked hand. Therefore be grateful to your mother. Do not love her, since
she is wicked, but do not forget that you owe everything to her, that without her
you would not exist."

" Will this always be the case ? It will not, will it ? "

" Later, when the good shall be strong, it will be otherwise. The time is ap-
proaching when the wicked will see that it is against their interest to be wicl'ed,
and most of them will become good: they were wicked simply because it was
disadvantageous to them to be good, but they know, however, that good is better
than evil, and they will prefer the good as soon as they can love it without injury
to their own intci'ests."

"And the wicked who were puppets, what will become of them? I pity them
too."

" They will play to puppets without injuring any one whomsoever. Their
children will not resemi)le them, for of all members of the human family I shall
make good, strong, intelligent human beings."

" Oh, how good that will be ! "

" But those who prepare the war for this future are among the good from now
on. When you aid the cook in getting your dinner, do you not feel good, though
the air of the kitchen was stifling? Every one feels good at the table, Imt who-
ever has aided in getting the dinner feels better than the others: the dishes seem
much better to her. You like sweets, if I mistake not ? "

"Yes," said Verotchka, smiling to see herself thus convicted of a fondness for
pastry and of having aided in making it in the kitchen.

" What reason have you to mourn? Pshaw ! all that is passed."

" How gfiod you are ! "

" And joyous, Verotchka, joyous always, even when sad. Am I not ? "

Life of Vera with her Husband^ and Uie Second Love. 137

'• Yes, when I am sad, you come appearing sad also, but every time you drive
away my sorrow ; it is very pleasant to be with you."
" You have not forgotten my song : Done vivons ? "
" Oh, no."
'• Let us sing it."
■• Let us sing."

" Verotchka I Why, I seem to have awakened you ! But, at any rate, tea is
all ready. You really frightened me : I heard you groan; I come in, and find
you singing."

"No, my darling, you did not awaken me; I should have awakened without
you ' What a dream I have just had ! I will toll jou about it while we are tak-
ing tea. Leave me; I am going to dress. But how did you dare to enter my
room without jiermission, Dmitry Sergu6itch ? You forget 3"ourself. You were
Irightoned about me, my darling P Come here and let me kiss you. And now
leave me quickly, for 1 must dress."

" You are so late .that 1 had better act as your dressing-maid to-day ; shall 1? "

" Very good, my darling, but how abashed 1 am ! "

TV.

Vera Pavlovna's shop was quickly established. At first the organization was
s(i simple that nothing nood bo saiil about it. Vera I'avlovna hud told her fu'st
tlirce seamstresses that she wnuld give them a little iiighcr wages than tiio cur-
rent rate paid to seamstresses. The three working girls, appreciating the char-
acter of V6ra Pavlovna, had willingly consented to work for her. They were not
at all disturbed at a poor woman's desiring to establish a dressmaker's shop.

These three young girls found four more, (ihoosing tlu'iii with all (he cirt-uni-
Hpection that Vera I'avlovna had recommended to them: these conditions of
choice had nothing in (Inni tn excite suspicion, nothing of an extraordinary
ehar:ict«'r: what is then; r-xtrauniinary in the fact that a young woman slmuld
desire her shop-girls to l)e of good ami open character':' She w.mts no (juarrels,
that is all ; it i.s only prudence on her part.

V6ra I'avlovna also formed a sonjewh.it intimate acquaintance with the girls
newly selected before telling them that she accepted them; this was very natu-
ral ; she still acted like a prmlent woman.

They worked a month for the wages agreed upon. V/jra Pavlovna was always
at the .sht)|),.so that the seamstrcs.ses had plenty of time to know her more closely
and see that she was economical, circimispect, reasonable, anil at the same lime
good; therefore she obtained iheir conlideiicc very ipiickly. Than this there was

138 mutt's To Be Done?

but one thiiijz; I'lirther to say, — that she was a good employer, who knew how to
manaf^e her aflairs.

When the month was over, V6ra Pavlovna came to the shop with an account
book, and asked her seamstresses to suspend their work and listen. Then she
said to them in simple language things such as the seamstresses had never heard
before :

" Now we know each other. For my part, I can say of you that you are good
workers and good characters. And I do not believe that you Will speak very ill
of me. I am going to talk to you without reserve, and if what I say seems
strange, you will reflect before deciding upon it ; you will not regard my words
as futile, for you know me for a serious woman.

" This is what I have to say :

" People of heart say that dressmakers' shops can be estatjlished in which the
seamstresses shall work \vith greater profit than in the shops generally known.
It has been my wish to make the attempt. Judging from the first month, we
must conclude that these people are right. Your wages you have had. 1 am
now going to tell you how much profit remains to me after deducting your wages
and the running expenses."

Vera Pavlovna read them the account of the expenses and receipts for the
month just over. Under the head of expenses were placed, besides the wages
paid, all the other costs, — the rent of the room, lights, and even Vera Pavlovna's
carriage-hire in conducting the business of the shop.

■' I have so much left," she continued; " whaf s to be done with this money?
I have established a workshop in order that the profits resulting from the work
may go to the workers ; that is why I come, for this first time, to distribute it
among you equally. Then we shall see if that is the best way, or if it would be
better to employ this money otherwise."

Having said this, she made the distribution. For some minutes the seam-
stresses could not recover from their astonishment ; then they began to thank
her. V6ra Pavlovna let them go on, fearing that she would ofl'end them if she
refused to listen, which would have seemed in their eyes indiS^erence and disdain.

" Now," she continued, ' I have to tell you the most difficult tiling that I shall
ever have to say to you, and I do not know whether I shall succeed in making it
clear. Nevertheless I must try. Why have I not kept this money ? And of
what u.se is it to establish a workshop if not to make a profit from it? I and
my husband have, as you know, the necessaries: althouiih we are not rich, we
have everything that we need and enough of it. Now, if I needed anything, I
should only have to say so to m}' husband ; or, rather, even that would be need-
less, for if I wanted anything, he would perceive it himself and give it to me. His
business is not of the most Incrative sort, but it is what he best likes. But as we
love each other much, it is infinitely agreeable to him to do that which pleases

Life of Vera ivith her Husband, and the Second Love. 139

me; on my side, I love to do that which pleases him. Thoivfore, if I needed
money, he would engage in more lucrative business than that which now
occupies him. And he would find it quickly, for he is intelligent and skilful, —
but you are somewhat acquainted with him. Now, if he does not do it,
that means that the money which we have is enough for me. I have no
passion for money ; every one has his passion, which is not always the passion
for money. Some have a passion for dancing, others for di'css, others for cards,
and all are ready to ruin themselves to satisfy their ruling passion ; many
actually do it, and nobody is astonished at it. Now, 1 have a passion for the
things in which I am engaged with you, and, far from ruining myself for my
passion, I spend scarcely any money upon it, and 1 am happy to indulge myself
in it without making any profit thereby. Well, there is nothing strange in that,
it seems to me: who thinks of making a profit out of his passion? Every one
even sacx-ifices money for it. I do not even do that; I spend nothing on it.
Therefore I have an advantage over others in that my passion, though agrceal)le
to me, costs me nothing, while others pay for their pleasure. Why have I this
pa.ssion? This is why : Good and intelligent people have written many books
concerning tlie wa\' in which we should live in order that all may bo happy; and
the principal means that they recommend is the organization of workshops on a
new basis.

• 1, wishing to see if we can establish a workshop of this sort, act just as any
one does wii > desires ti) build a beautiful house or lay out a fine garden or orange-
grove in order to contemplate them; I wish to establish a gooil dressmaker's
shop in order that I may have the pleasure of contemplating it. C'ertainly it
would be something gaineil already, if I confined myself to distributing the
profits among you monthly, as 1 do now. lUit good people say that we can
mana'_'e in a much belter and more prolitable vvuy. I will tell you little i»y little
all that we can d(j besides, if we taki; the advice of intelligent people. More-
over, } ou your.selvcs, by watching things closely, will make your own observa-
tions, and when it shall sei-m to you possible fr)r us to do somtjihing good, we
will try to do it, but gradually and in proper .season. J must only add that
without your consent I shall estai)lish nothing new. Nothing will be changed
until you ilesiro it. Intelligent peopN- say that nothing succeeds unless it is done
voluntarily. F am of their c)|)inion, atui shall do nothing without your consent.

" lleie is my last order: You .see that it is necessary to keep books, and look
out that there may Ik! no useless expenditiu'es. During this first month 1 have
done this alone, Imt I do not care to do 8o any more. Choost; two ol your number
to join me in this work; without their aclvict! I shall do nf)thing TIk! money is
yours and not mine ; therefore! it is for you to w;iteh its eniploynii'Mt. We are
hardly well jnougli acqu.iinted with each other yet to know wIikIi of you is best
titted for such work ; we must make a trial and choose oidy for a limited time;

140 What's To Be Done?

in a week you will know whether to appoint other delegates or let the old ones
continue.'"

These extraordinary words gave rise to long discussions. But V6ra Pavlovna
had gained the confidence of the working girls. She had talked to them in a very
simple way, without going too far or unfolding attractive prospects before them
which, after a temporary enthusiasm, give birth to distrust ; consequently the
young girls wei'e far from taking her for a crank, and that was the principal
point. The business went on very satisfactorily.

Here, for the rest, in an abridged form, is the history of the shop during the three
years that this shop constituted the principal feature in the history of V6ra Pav-
lovna herself

The founders were directl}^ interested in the success of the business, and nat-
urally it went on very well. The shop never lost customers. It had to undergo
the jealousies of a few other shops and stores, but this proved no serious obstacle.
All that Vera Pavlovna had to do was to obtain the right to put a sign over the
shop-door. They soon had more orders than the working girls originally em-
ployed could execute, and the force went on steadily growing. When the busi-
ness had been in operation eighteen months, it kept twenty young girls at work ;
afterwards, more still. One of the first measures of the collective administration
was a decision that Vera Pavlovna no more than the others should work without
reward. When this was announced to her, she told the working girls that they
were perfectly right. They wished to give her a third of the profits. She laitl
this aside for a certain time until she was able to convince the young girls that
this was contrary to the fundamental idea of their institution. For a long time
they did not understand ; at last they were convinced that it was not from pride
that Vera Pavlovna did not wish to accept a larger share of the profits than the
others had, but because it was contrar}- to the spirit of the association. The
business was already so large that Vera Pavlovna could not do all the cutting ;
they gave her another cutter to aid her. Both received the same wages, and
V6ra Pavlovna succeeded at last in inducing the society to receive into its treas-
ury the sum of the profits that it had obliged her to accept, first deducting that
to which she was entitled as a cutter. They used this money to open a bank.

For a year V6ra Pavlovna spent a great portion of the day at the shop, where
she worked as many hours as any of the seamstresses, perhaps more than any of
them. When it became needless for her to work all day at the shop, she caused
her wages to be decreased in proportion to the decrease of her hours of labor.

How should the profits be divided? V6ra Pavlovna de.sired to arrive at an
equal division. Not until the middle of the third year did she succeed in this.
Prior to that, they passed through several stages, beginning by dividing in pro-
portion to the wages. First they saw that, if a working. girl was keptfrom work
for several days by sickness or some other cause deserving of consideration, it

Life of Vera, vntk her Husband, and the Second Love. 141

was not ri^ht to diminish her share of the profits, which she acquired not exactly
by her own day's works, but rather by the progress of the work as a whole and
the genex-al condition of the shop. Later they decided tliat the cutters, and such
of the other workers as received separate pay for delivering the work at houses
or fulfilling other functions, were sufficiently compensated by their individual
wages, and that it was not just that they should receive more of the profits than
the others. The simple seamstresses wei'c so delicate about the matter that they
did not ask for this change, even when they saw the injustice of the old method
of distribution established by themselves. For the rest, it must be added that
there was nothing heroic in this temporally delicacy, inasuiuch as th^aftairsof all
were improving con-tantly. The most difficult thing of all was to make the
simple working girls understand that one ought to receive just as much of the
profits as another, although some earned more than others, and that those who
labored most skilfully were already sufficiently rewarded by their larger wages.
This was th(! last, cliange to be made in the division of the profits, and it was not
reached, as has already been said, nntil towards the middle of the third year,
when the associates had come tf) understand that the piofits were not a reward
for the talent of one or another, but rather a I'csult of the general character of
thi; workshop, a result of its organization and its object. Now, this object was
the greatest possible equality in the distribution of the fruits of collective labor
among all the working girls, regardless of the personal peculiarities of each.
Upon this character of the workshop depended the participation of the laborers in
the profits. But a^ the cliaiacter of the workshop, its spirit, and its order were
l)ro<luccd by the mutual uiidei-standing of all, the tacit consent of the most timid
or the least capable was not useless in maintaining and d.vilopiiig this under-
standing.*

I pass by many details, because it is not the workshop that I am describing; I
spi'ak of it only so far as is necessary to exhibjt the activity <>f Vera I'avlovna.
If I mention some of its peculiarities, it is solely with a view of showing how
Vera I'avlovna acted in this afl'air, and how sho guided it gradually, with an in-
defiitiiralile j)atienei! and a remarkable steadfastness of pur|»os('. She never eoin-
inanded, confining herself to advisin;:, explaining, proposing her cooperation, and
aiding in the execution of whatever the collectivity had resolved upon.

The j)rofits were divided everv inotilh. At first each working girl took her
entire share and spent it separately : eaeh h;id urgent needs, an<l they were not
accustomed to acting in concert. When, through constuiil p iili(i|i iiion in tiie

* It 1« linnlly th" proper thing for n Ininnlnlnr »o Int"rri)|>MJn> i)r(igri'«(i (if 11 iiMiiiti'c |..r ).iii|">-ih >•(
ROntrover-y, l>iit, I rrwnint rcfniiii from •iiififr-llng lo Vi'rn niul lii-r iiHuoritlrn tliiil, iiflcr llwy liiil rr.
rclvpfl ifjulln>ili' wniti'x for llnir work, nil prolliH rctiinlivliiif Ix'lntiynil In ii|iiily tn Hi" CDiiHUini'iK of llu-lr
prorlnrtH, nnd xlionl'l luivi' hern nntoi'i'il III tli>'nr) liy II i;<'"''r'>l r''<lu'tliin In tin- cciilii <>( pi Inn 'I'hru'
'■•innumerH hcing jnborirx ihimeflvin In tiUxr Mi'l'lniitid ndoptlng oinillrir mctlio'lK of procedure, the Pr'"-
ripio of nntvcr"»l pnrtlripHtlon In tlic ndvnntiiKPii of aHaoctntcd over lnolated labor would thus navo
been rcall/i'd in the wIdcKt sefisc. — Translator.

142 Wfial's To Be Done 9

business, they had acquired the habit of combining their efforts in the sliop. Vera
Pavlovna lixed their attention upon the circumstance that in their trade the
amount of patronage is very uneven, depending upon the months of the year,
and that'it would not be a bad plan to lay aside during the most profitable
mouths a portion of the income in order to make up for the decrease of profits
in the other months.

The accounts were kept very exactly, and the young girls knew well that, if
any one of them should leave the shop, she would receive without any delay the
share belonging to her. Consequently they consented to this proposition. A
small reserve capital was formed ; it went on growing steadily; they began to
seek various uses for it. Everybody understood, in the first place, that loans
would be made to those of the participants who should chance to have a great
need of money, and no one desired to lead at interest: poor people believe that
pecuniary aid should be extended without interest. The establishment of this
bank was followed by the foundation of a purchasing agency : the young girls
found that it would be advantageous to buy their tea, coffee, sugar, shoes, and in
short many other things, through the agency of the association, whiih bought
merchandise in large quantities and consequently at lower rates. Some time
later they went further still : they saw that it would be advantageous to organize
in the same way for the purchase of bread and other provisions which Ihey
bought every day at the bake-shops and groceries ; but they perceived at the
same time that to do that it would be necessary for the associates to live not far
apart. They began to draw together, several living in one house, or taking
rooms near the shop. After which the association established an agency for its
dealings with the bakers and grocers. About eighteen months later almost all
the working girls were living in one large house, had a common table, and
bought their provisions as they do in large establishments.

Half of these young girls were without family. Some had aged relatives,
mothers or aunts ; two of them supported their old father; several had little
brothers and sisters. Because of these family relations three of them were un-
able to live in the house with the others: one had a mother diflficult to get alonir
with; another had a mother in government employ who objected to living with
girls from the country ; the third had a drunken father. These profited only by
the purchasing agency ; it was the same with the married seamstresses. But
with these exceptions all those who had relatives to support lived in the common
house. They lived two and three in a room ; their relatives arranged themselves
each in his or her own fashion ; two old women had each a separate chamber,
but the others roomed together. The little I toys had a room of their own; for
the little girls there were two.

It was agreed that the boys could not remain there after the age of eight ; those
who were older were sent to learn a trade as apprentices.

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 143

The accounts were kept in the most exact manner in order that no one in the
association might injure anj- other or profit by another's injury.

It would be too long and tedious to enter into fuller details, but there is one
point more that must be explained.

V6ra Pavlovna, from the very first, took books to the shop. After having giv-
en her directions, she began to read aloud, continuing half an hour if not inter-
rupted sooner by the necessity of distributing more work. Then the young girls
rested from the attention which they had given to the reading; afterwards they
resumed it, and then rested again. It is needless to say that the young girls
from the first acquire d a passion for reading ; some had already acquired it before
they came to the shop. Three weeks later, reading during work had become a
regular thing. When three or four mouths had passed, some of the more skil-
ful seamstresses offered to do the reading; it was agreed that tliey .should re-
place V6ra Pavlovna, that each should read half an hour, and that this half-hour
should be counted as a part of their labor.

As long as Vera Pavlovna was obliged to do the reading, she sometimes re-
placed it by stories ; when relieved of the reading, she multiplied the stories,
which soon became a sort of course of lessons. Then — and this was a jrreat
step — Vira Pavlovna succeeded in establishing a regular system of instruction :
the young girls became so desirous of learning and their labor went on so
successfully that they decided to interrupt their labor to listen to the lessons in
the middle of the day's work and before dinner.

" Alexey P6trovitch,"' said Vera Pavlovna, when calling on (he MertzalolTs one
day, " I have a request to make of you : Natacha is already with me in the idea.
My shop is becoming a college of all sorts of learning. Be one of our pro-
fessors."

" What then shall I teaeli them i' Latin or (ireck perhaps, or even logic and
rhetoric?'" saiii Alexey IV-lrovilcii, laughing: "my .specialty is not very interest-
ing in your opinion and in the (Opinion of some one vvhoni I well know."

" No, you are needed precisely as a specialist; yon will servo us as a nicual
buckler and a i)roof of the good tendency of our teaching.''

"You are right. I see clearly fiiat withnut me this wonbl be immoral. Wh.iL
shall I teach ? "^

"Russian history, for instance, or an outline of universal history."

" Kxactly. That is what I will teach, anci il shall be supposed that I am a
specialist. Deligliiriil I Two fiiiielions, — a professor and a biK^kler."

Natalia Andrevna, i^oponkliotl', three students, anil Vera i'avlovna herself were
the other professors, as they jokingly called themselves.*

Thoy mingled instruction with amu.semcnts. They had evening parties,

* The imp of profo«ior, In'RamlA, In givfn only lo Unlvcrnlty profeMort.

144 What's To Be Done?

suburban walks, at first seldom, and then, when money was plentier, more fre-
quently ; thev also went to the theatre. The third winter they subscribed regu-
larly to gallery seats at the Italian opera.

What joy ! What happiness for Vera Pavlovna ! But how much labor also,
and anxiety, and even sorrow ! The most painful impression of this sort, not
only to V6ra Pavlovna, but to all her little circle, was caused by the misfor-
tune of one of the best of the working girls, Alexandrine Pribytkoff. She was
pretty, and was engaged to an officeholder. One evening, when walking in the
street a little later than usual, a man ran after her and took her by the hand.
Wishing to release herself, she pulled her arm away quickly, thus causing the
man's watch to fall. " Thief, thief! " he cried. The police came and the young
girl was arrested. The lover, on hearing this news, began a search for the in-
dividual, found him, and challenged him to a duel; he refused; then the lover
struck his adversary ; the latter took a stick to strike back, but, before he could
do so, received a blow in the breast and fell stone dead. Then the lover was
imprisoned in his turn, and endless court proceedings began. And then ? Then
nothing, except that after that it was jjitiful to look at Alexandrine Pribytkoff.

Connected with the shop were many other histories, less dramatic but equally
sorrowful. These adventures, inevitable amid the prevailing ideas and surround-
ings, certainly caused V6ra Pavlovna much sorrow and still more embarrass-
ment.

But much greater — oh, much greater ! — were the joys. All was joy except
the sorrows, for the general progress of the association was gay and prosperous.
Therefore, though distressing accidents sometimes happened, much more fre-
quent on the other hand were the happy occurrences. Vera Pavlovna succeeded
in finding good situations for the little brothers or sisters of such or such a
working girl. In the course of the third year two of the working girls passed an
examination for a governess's situation, — to them a great piece of good fortune !
Cases of this sort abounded; but most joyous of all were the marriages. There
were many of them and all were happy.

V6ra Pavlovna was twice invited to stand godmother and twice refused.
This role was almost always taken by Madame Mertzaloff, or by her mother, who
was also a very good lady. The first time that she refused it was thought that
she was displeased at something, and refused for that reason ; but no: Vera
Pavlovna was very happy to be invited, and it was simply out of modesty that she
did not accept, not wishing to appear officially as the patron of the bride. She
always avoided the appearance of influence; she tried to put others forward and
succeeded in it, so that a number of ladies, on coming to the shop to give orders,
did not distinguish her from the two other cutters. Her greatest pleasure was

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 145

to (lenT'iistrute that the association l)acl been establishtil and was maintained by
the working girls themselves. She wished to persuade herself of the possibility
of her desire that the shop might be able to go on without her and others of the
same sort spring up (juite unexpectedly. " And why not? IIow good that
would l)e! What better thing could happen?" — than that they should spring
up witliout the guidance of some one not a dressmaker, guided solely by the in-
telligence and tact of the working girls themselves.
Such was V«"ra Pavlovna's fondest, dearest dream.

Tims had rolled away nearly three years since the establishment of the work-
shop, and more than three years since Vera Pavlovna's marriage. l\v what
smoothness and activity had these years been marked! With what tr:in(|uillity,
joys, and contentment of all sorts had they not been filled !

V<''ra Pavlovna, waking in llic morning, dozes a long time in bed : she loves to
do7,<' ; whilf ai)|)('aring to sleep, she thinks of what there i-; to do ; alter wliicli
her thought wanders, ami she says to herself: " How w.irm this Ix^d is! How
nice it is thus to doze in the morning!" an<l so slie dozes tmtil from the neutral
room (now we u)ust .say from one ot the neutral rooms, for (lierc an- two in this
fourth ye.ir of their marriage) — until from om; of the neutral rooms her hus-
bind— that is, " her darling" — calls out : " V«'-rotclika, are you awake?"

" Yes, my darling."

'I'his"yes" means that the husband may l)egin to make tlir tea : tor lir makes
the tea in the morning, whih; Vera I'avlovna — no, in her room she is not V^''r.•l
I'avlovna, i)Ut Vi'-rotchka — is dressing. Slii' is very long in ch-essing! Not at
all! She dri'sscs (juickly, imt she likes lo Id the water strt-am over her a long
time; then she is :i httig time in (•oud)ing In-r hair, o|-. ratlifr, not cxacllx lliat ;
hHc combs Jier li.air cpiickly, only sIk? likes lo pl.ay with her tresses, ol which she
is very fond ; somflimes t(»o, it must l»e .added, shi' pays particular atdntion to
one feature rjf licr toilet, — her boots: Vt'-i-otchka dresses with mucli simplicity,
but she has be;iutiful Imots; to have Iteantifiil boots is her passion.

Now she goes out to ili ink Ini- tea; she ki.sses her husband.

" Did you sleep well, my darling?"

While •Irinking tin? lea, she t:dks :ii)oul various subjecis, trivial or serious.
Kurlhernion! V^'-ra Tavlovn.-i — no, Verolehk.-i ((hiring the morning meal she is
still Verotc}ik:i) — does not take .as mueli tea as cream : f,he tea is only a pn'text
for taking tin; (M'eam, and slie puts in much mon- cre;im than tea; cream .also is
her passion. It is very dillicult to gi t gooil cream in St. I'eterslnirg, Iml shi'
' knows where to find real cream, excellent cream. She drejinis o( owning a cow;
if :ill'airH go on lor :ino|lier year as they Inive already gone on, perhaps she nniy

14(; What's To Be Done?

have our. But it is nine o'clock. Iler darling goes oflf to give his lessons or
attend to his other business: he is also employed in a manufacturer's counting-
room. V6i-a Pavlovna now becomes Vera Pavlovna until the next morning.
She attends to her household duties; she has but one servant, a very young girl,
who has to be shown everything; and as soon as she has become familiar with
aflfairs, a new one has to be shown, for servants do not stay long with V6ra
Pavlovna. They are always marrying. After six months or a little more V6ra
Pavlovna makes a pelerine or some ruffles as a preparation for standing god-
mother. On this occasion she cannot refuse. " But then. Vera Pavlovna, you
have arranged everything; no one but you can be godmother," they would say,
with reason.

Yes, she has many household cares. Then she has to go to give her lessons,
numerous enough to occupy her ten hours a week : to have more would be
fatiguing to her, and furthermore she has no time. Before the lessons she has
to go to the shop and spend some time there ; on returning from the lessons she
has to call in again and take a glance at affairs. Then it is time to dine with
her " darling." Often there are one or two persons to dine with them. Not more
than two; they cannot have more; and even two cause considerable trouble.
If Vera Pavlovna comes home tired, then the dinner is simpler ; she goes to her
room to rest, and the dinner begun under her direction is finished without her.
But if on coming home she is not tired, she runs to the kitchen and goes actively
to work; in that case the dinner is ornamented with some bit of pastry, gen-
erally something to be eaten with cream, — that is, something that may serve as
a pretext for eating cream. During the meal she talks and asks questions,
but generally talks ; and why should she not talk ? How many new things slie
has to communicate concerning the shoj) alone ! After the meal she remains a
quarter of an hour longer with her " darling ; " then they say " au revoir,^'' and
retire to their respective rooms. Now Vera Pavlovna again lies down upon her
bed, wht;re she reads and dozes ; very often she sleeps ; perhaps that is the case
half of the time. It is her weakness, a vulgar weakness perhaps; but Vera
Pavlovna sleeps after dinner. And she even loves to sleep ; she is neither
ashamed nor repentant of this vulgar weakness. She rises after having slept or
simply dozed for an hour and a half or two hours; she dresses and goes once
more to the shoj), where she stays until tea-time. Then, if they have no guests
to take tea with them, she talks again with her " darling," and they spend about
half an hour in the neutral room. After which, " Till tomorrow, my darling; "
they kiss each other and separate until the following morning.

Then for some time, occasionally until two o'clock in the morning, she works,
reads, finds recreation at the piano (which is in her room). This grand piann
has Ju.st been bought ; previously she had hired one. It was a great pleasure to
her when this piano was bought; in the first place it was a saving. The piano,

Life of Vera with her Husband^ and the Second Love. 147

which was a small second-hand one, cost one hundred roubles ; it only had to be
repaired at a cost of seventy roubles, and then she had a piano of excellent tone.
Sometimes her darling comes in to hear her sing, but only rarely : he has so
much to do! So the evening passes: working, reading, playinir, singing; but
especially reading and singing. This when nobody is there. But very often
they receive visitors, generally young people not as old as V^'ra Pavlovna her-
self, among the number the workshop professors. All hold LopoukhofF in high
esteem, consider him one of the best minds of St. Petersburg, and perhaps they
are not wrong. This is the motive of their intimacy with the Lopoukhoffs : they
And I^raitry Sergueitch's conversations useful to them. For Vera Pavlovna they
have a Ijoundless veneration; she even permits them to kiss her hand without
feelinjr herself humiliated, and conducts herself toward them as if she were
fifteen years their elder ; that is, she so conducts herself when nut indulging in
gayeties ; but, to tell the truth, the most of the time she does indulge in gayeties :
she runs, she plays with them and they are enchanted, and all dance, and waltz,
and run, and chatter and laugh, and make music, and, above all, sing. So much
gayety does not at all prevent these young people from profoundly venerating
Vera Pavlovna, and from esteeming her as one rarely esteems an elder sister and
as one does not always esteem a good mother. Moreover, the song is not always
a gay one; in fact, V('*ra Pavlovna ofteuest sings serious things; sumctimes she
stops singing and plays serious airs on her piano ; her hearers listen in silence.
They receive also older visitors, their equals, — fur (lu! most part LopoukhoflTs
old C(jmrades, acquaintaniis of his old comrades, and two or three young pro-
fessors, almost all liachulors: the only married people are the MertzalolVs.

The Lopoukhoffs visit more rarely, scarcely ever going to .see any one but tlic
Mertzaloffs and Madame MertzalolVs parents: these good and simple old people
have a larire number of sons fdliiig positions of consideral)le importance in :ill
thf different ministries; at the houses of these, who live in a cerl,ain degrei- o{
luxury, W.-ra I'avlovna meets a society of all (-(dorsand shades. This free, active
life, not without a tfjuch of syi)arilism, — dozing in In-r soil, warm b.<l, tMking
rream, eating pastry with cream, — this life is viM-y pb-asant to Vi'-ra l'.tvlo\ n:i.

Does the world afford a better life;' 'I'o her as yet it seems nf)t.

Yes, atid for tin- beginning of youth perhaps she is right.

But the years roll on, and with IIk; lapse of time life grows better, provided it
comes to be what it already i« for some and what it one day will i)e for all.

VF.

One day — the end of tlie summer was alre:idy near at hand — the young girls
were getting ready to take their customary Sunday walk in the subiirli.s. On

148 Wiat's To Be Do7ie9

aliiKvst every holiday during the summer they went in boats to the islands.*
Ordinarily Vei-a Pavlovna alone went with thetn, but on this occasion Dmitry
Sergueitoh was going too, which was very extraordinary ; it was the second time
that year that he had done so. This news caused much joy in the shop : V6ra
Pavlovna, thought the girls, will be gayer than usual, and the walk will be a
very lively one. Consequently some of the girls, who had intended to pass this
Sunday otherwise, changed their plans and joined the promenaders. They had to
engage five yawls instead of four, and found that even five would not be enough ;
they had to take a sixth. There were more than fifty persons, over twenty
of whom were seamstresses. Only six were absent. There were three women
a<lvanced in years ; a dozen children ; mothers, sisters, and brothers of the seam-
.stresses ; three young men who had sweethearts among them, one being a clock-
maker's foreman, another a small merchant, and both scarcely yielding in point of
manners to the third, who was a schoolteacher in the district ; and finally five other
young men of various pursuits, of whom two were officers, and eight students
from the University and Medical Academ}-.

They took four great samovars filled with bits of all sorts of provisions, bread,
cold veal, etc. For the young people were very active, and in the open air could
be relied on to have good appetites : they did not forget half a dozen bottles of
wine: for fifty people, fifteen of whom were children, this was certainly none too
much.

The trip was a very joyous one ; nothing was wanting. They danced quadrilles
with sixteen and even twenty couples. In the races twenty-two couples took
])art ; they hung three swings between the trees ; in the intervals they drank tea
or ate. For half an hour a part of the joyous company listened to a discussion
between Dmitry Sergueitch and two students, the most intimate of his younger
friends ; they mutually charged each other with erroneous reasoning, moderantism,
and bouryeoisisme. These were general charges, but in each individual some
special fault was pointed out. In one of the students it was romanticism, in
Dmitry Sergueitch schematism, and in the other student rigorism ; it is needless
to say that it was very difficult for a simple listener to give attention to such a
discussion for more than five minutes.

One of the disputants was not able to keep it up over an hour and a half, after
which he fled to join the dancers, but his flight* was not altogether inglorious,
lie had become indignant against some moderate or other. Undonbtedly this
moderate was myself, though I was not present, and knowing that the object
of his wrath was already well along in years, he cried out : " What are
you talking about? Let me quote you some words that I heard uttered lately by

* That J8, the Islands situated in the suburbs of St. Petersburg and formed by the various arms of the
Neva.

Life of Vera with her llasband, and the Second Love. 149

a very estimable and very intelligent lady : ' Man is incapable of useful thought
after the age of twenty-five years.' "

" But I know the lady to whom you refer," said the oflicer, approaching, un-
fortunately for the romanticist ; " she is Madame N., and she said that in my
presence; she is indeed an excellent lady, only she was convicted on the spot
of having boasted half an hour before of being twenty-six years old, and you re-
member, do you not, how she joined all the others in laughing at herself"

And now all four laughed, and the romanticist, whih; laughing, took advan-
tage of the opportunity to run away. But the officer took his place in the dis-
cussion, which grew still more animated and lasted until tea was ready. The
officer answered the rigorist and the schematist more rudely than the roman-
ticist had done, but showed himself a thorouo:h-":oing: follower of Au<ruste
C'omte.

After tea the officer declared that, inasmuch as he was still at that age when
one can think correctly, he was ready to join the other individuals of the same
age; Dmitry Sergueitch and even the rigorist followed his example in spite of
them.selves ; it is true that tliey diil not dance, but they jt/med in llu- races. Wlien
the contests in running and leaping the brook began, the three thinkers showed
themselves among the most enthusiastic. The officer proved himself the supe-
rior when it came to leaping the brook. Dmitry Scrgu/iteh, who was endowed
with great strength, became greatly excited on being thrown by the officer; he
counted on being the first in this sort of exercise after the rigorist, whr) very
easily lifted into the air and threw to the ground Dmitry and tiie officer together.
That did not clash with tin' ambition of the officer or of Dmitry Sergueiteli, ibr
the rigorist was a recognized athlete; but Dmitry Sergueitch did not like to
pocket the disgrace of being concpiered l)y the oflicer, and .so he returned to the
struggle five times, and live times the officer, thougli not withoutdinieulty, threw
him. The sixth time he acknowledged him-i-lf eon<|Uered. Both could do no
more. The three thinkers, stretching themselves upon th<' gras>, resumed their
di.scussion ; this time Dmitry Sergueitch took the ("omtean view and the oflicer
was the schematist, but the rigorist remained a rig(»rist. At eleven oVdock they
started honifrward. The <»Id women and ehildren slept in Ww boats; fortunately
they had t.iketi many warm wra|)S along ; the others on th(« eontr.ary talked in-
cessantly, an<l the games anti laughter in the six yawls did not stop until their
arrival.

VII.

Two days afterward, at the Ijreak fast table. Vera Tavlovna told her husband
that he had a bad color, lie answered that that night Ins had not fliept very well,
and hail been feeling Ijadly since the previouH evening; but that it w:is nothing;
he had taken a little eold on the excursion, especially while lying on the ground

150 What's To Be Done?

after the racing and wrestling; he acknowledged that he had been a little im-
prudent, bnt eonvinced Vera Pavlovna that it was nothing at all.

Then he went about his usual business, and at tea-time said that his indisposi-
tion had left liini. l>ut the next morning he was obliged to eonl'ess that he must
remain a while in the house. Vera Pavlovna, very anxious, became seriously
frightened, and urged Dmitry Sergueitch to send for a doctor

'• But I am a doctor myself, and can care for myself if need be ; at present it is
Dot necessaiy."

But Vera Pavlovna insisted, and he wrote a note to Kirsanoft", in which he told
him that his sickness was insignificant aud that he called him only to please his
wife.

Consequently Ivirsanoff made no ha.ste about coming. He remained at the
hospital until dinner-time, and, when he reached the Lopoukhoffs, it was already
after five o'clock.

"I did well, Alexander, in calling you," said Lopoukhoff: " although there is
no danger, and probably will be none, I have an inflammation of the lungs. I
should certainly have cured myself witliout 30U, but care for me just the same.
It is necessary to ease my conscience : T am not a bachelor like you."

Thej' sounded each other's chests for a long time, and both came to the con-
clusion that Lopoukhoffs lungs were really inflamed. There was no danger, and
probably would be none, but this disease is always grave. The patient must
keep his bed a dozen days.

KirsanoflF had to talk a long time to Vera Pavlovna to case her mind. She
finally was persuaded that they were not deceiving her; that the disea.se, in all
probability, was not only not dangerous, but even quite light; only it was "in
all probability," and how many things happen against all probability ! Kirsanoff
came twice a day to see his patient: they both saw that the disease was not
dangerous. On the morning of the fourth day Kirsanoft' said to Vera Pavlovna :

" Dmitrj- is getting on well : for the next three or four days he will be a little
worse, after which his recovery will begin. But I wish to speak seriously to you
of yourself; why do you not sleep nights? You are doing wrong. lie has no
need of a nurse, or of me. In acting in this way you are injuring yourself, and
quite uselessly. At this very moment your nerves are agitated."'

To all these arguments V6ra Pavlovna answered :

" Never ! " " Impossible ! " Or else, " I should like to, but I cannot," — that is,
sleep nights and leave LopoukhoflF without a nurse.

At last she said : " But all that you are saying to me now he has already told
me many times over, as you well know. Certainly I would have yielded to him
rather than to you ; therefore I cannot."

Against such an argument there was nothing to be said. Kirsanoflf shook his
head and went awav.

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the iSecond Love. 151

Coming back to his patient after nine in the eveniog, he remained by his side
in company with Vera Pavlovna about half an hour; then he said:

'• Now, Vera Pavlovna, go and rest. We both beg you to. I will spend the
night here."

Vera Pavlovna was much confused : she was half convinced that her presence
all night by the bedside was not absolutely necessary. But then why does Kir-
sannff, a busy man, remain? Who knows? No, her " darling" cannot be left
alone; no one knows what might happen. He will want to drink, perhaps he
will want some tea; but he is so considerate that he will refrain from asking for
it; therefore it is necessary to remain by his side. IJut that KirsanolY shouUl
speml the night there is out of the que.stion ; she will not allow i(. Thi'rei'ore
she refused to go away, pretending that she was not very tired and that she had
rested a great deal during the day.

" I beg you to go ; I ask your pardon, but I absolutely pray you to."

And KirsanofT took her by the hand, and led her almost by foreo to her room.

" You really confu.sc me, AlexauiUu-," said the sick man; " what a ridiculous
role you pla}- in remaining all night with a patient who doe.s not need you ! and
yet I am much ol)liged to you, for I have never been able to induce her to get a
nurse, since she fears to leave me alone; she cannf>t trust me to any one else '"

" It I did not see that she could not rest easy in trusting you to any other, you
may be sure tiiat I wf)uld not di.sturb my comfort, lint now I hope that she is
going to sleep, f >r i atii :i dn' tor and your Irieiid Iiesides."

In fact, Vera Pavlovna iiad no sooner reached her bed than she threw lier.self
upon it and went to slecj). Three sleepless nigiits alone would \w. nothing, and
the hurry and worry alone wouhi b«; nothing. Hut the hurry and worry and
the three sleepless nights together, without any rest in the daytime, were really
dangerous; forty-eight hoiu's more of it, and .she would have been more .seriously
.•tiek tlian her husb.-ind.

Kirsanofl' spent three nights with liis patient ; it tired liim .scarcely any, loi' he
-lept very tranquilly, only taking the precanlion to jock the door thiit N'era I'av-
lovna might not ol)serve his negligence. She strongly suspccteil lli.ii he slept,
but was nia<le n«it at all nne;isy llierebv. He is a doctor; what, then, is there to
fear? lie knf)ws when to sleep and when to go without it. She was asliMund
at not having iteen able to calm lu'rHeH' .sooner in order to no I'mllier di-tiirli
Kirsanofl". I'.ut in vain di<l she asHure iiini that she would shiep even if he were
not there ; he did not believe luir, and answerc«l :

" It is VOtir fault Ver;i Pixloviei 'hhI vmi iiiil-"! l.■d^l• the eoiisei|lieiiees. 1 ll.'ive

no confidence in yon."

Four <l:iys afterward .she saw clearly that the sick in.iii was almost cured ; the,
most decisive proofs eftTU|Mered ln-r doubts. That evening they played cards,
three-handed. LopnukhofT was no longer completely on his back. I)iit in a h.alf-

152 What's To Be Done?

sitting posture, and liad roijained the voice of a mau iu liealth. It was safe for
Kirsanofl" to suspend his attentions, and he told them so.

'• Alexander Matveitch, why have jou so completely forgotten me? With
Dmitry you are on a good footing; he sees you often enough; but, as for you,
you have not been to see us, it seems to me, for more than six months; and it
has hecn so for years. Do you remember that at the beginning we were intimate
Iriends? "

" Men change. Vera Pavlovna. And I do an enormous amount of work ; I can
boast of it. I visit nobod}', for lack of time and will. I tire myself so from nine
till tive in the hospital th:it, when I go home, I can put on nothing but my dress-
ing-gown. Friendship is good, but — do not be offended at what I am going to
say — to lie in one's dressing-gown, with a cigar between one's lips, is better
still."

In fact, KirsanofT, for more than two years, had not been a visitor at the
Lo2)oukhotts\ The reader has not noticed his name among their ordinary vis-
itors, or even among their rare visitors ; for a long time he had been the rarest
of all.

viir.

The reader vvith the penetrating eye (I make this explanation only to the mas-
culine reader: the feminine reader is intelligent enough to annoy an author with
her ijenetration ; therefore, let me say once for all, I do not exj^lain myself to
her; among masculine readers also there are some intelligent people; no more
do I explain myself to these; but most masculine readers, among them nearly
all men of letters and men who wield a j)en, have the penetrating eye; with
them it is always well to have an understanding), — well, the reader with
the penetrating eye says : " I see where this is going to end ; in Vera Pavlovna's
life a new romance is Ijeginning, in which Kirsanoffis to play the principal rule.
I see even farther. Kirsanoif has long been in love with Vera I'avlovna, and
that is why he has ceased to visit the Lopoukhofts." How facile your conception,
O reader with the penetrating eye! As soon as something is told you, you note
it on the instant and glory in your jjenetration. Accept my admiration, reader
with the penetrating eye !

Thus in the history of Vera Pavlovna appears a new personage, and I should
have to introduce him, had this not already been done. Whenever I spoke of
Lopouklioff, I set my wits to work to distinguish him from his intimate friend,
and yet I could say almost nothing of him that 1 should not have to repeat in
speaking of KirsanofT. Yes, all that the reader with the penetrating eye will be
able to divine of Kirsanoff' s character will be a repetition of what has been said
about LopoukhoIT. Lopoukhoff was the son of a petit bourgeois, tolerably well-
to-do for his station, — that is, generally having meat in his stchi ; Kirsanoff was

Life of Vera witJi her Husband, ami the Second Lore. 153

the sou of a law copyist, —that is, of a man who often had no meat in his slcki.
Lopoukhort', from liis earliest yptirs, had earned his own living; Kirsanoff, at the
age of twelve, began to aid his fatiier in copying As soon a-^ he reached the
fourth form at school he began to give lessons. Both paved their own way,
without aids or acquaintances.

What kind nf a man was Lopoukhotf? At school French had not i)een taught
hiiu. As for (Jermau, he had l)een taught just enough to enable him to decline
dtr. die. das almost fault lessl}^ After entering the Academy he soon saw tiiat
with Russian alone one cannot make much progress in science; he took a
French-Russian dictionary and a few French books ready to his hand, — Telcmaq/ie,
Mada;ne de Genlis's novels, a few nnrat)er.s of our wise Revue Eirangh-c, not very
attractive works, — he took these, and, though a great lover of reading, said to
himself: " I will not open a single Russian book until I am al)le to read French
easily : " and he succeeded. With German he managed another way ; he hired a
bed in a room occupied l)y many German Wf)rkingmen. The lodging was Iright-
ful, the Gernjaus tiresome, the Academy a long way oil", but nevertheless he slept
there long enough to learn German.

With Kir.sanofi" it had been otherwise. lie liml learned (ierman with l)Ook.s
and a dictionary, as Lopoukhort" had learned French, and his French he acquired
in si ill another way, — l)y means o\ a single book and no dictionary. The (ios{)el
is a well-known liook : he procured a copy of a Geneva translation of the New
Testami'iit; he read it eight times; the ninth time he understood it all, — he
knew French.

What kinil of a man was Lopoukhort'? This will show. One day in his much-
worn uniform he was going airing th'- Perspective Kanieiuio-Ostrovsky to give a
lesHon for fifty copecks two miles away from tlie Lyceinn. He saw appro:jching
him .somt! one with an imposing air, evidently out for e.\erei.xe, who marched
.-Iraight upon him without turning aside; now, at that time Lopoukhort' hid
made this rule: " I turn aside first for iioltody exee|)t women." Their shonhleis
touched. The individual, li.ilf tuining back, s:iid : 'Hog! IteasI tlnit you
are!'' and was aliout to continue in this tone, when Lopoukhort", <|uickly turning
around, seizerj the individual .aroinid tin' w.iisi .and threw him into the giiKer
with great dexterity ; then, standing ovi-r his adversary, he .s.iid to liini : "Do
not .Htir; el"*e I will drag you into a nnuhlier phure yet" Two peasants pas-ing
Haw and applauded ; ;in olVieehohler pa.ssing hhw, did not appl.iud, ami ('oiilined
himself to .1 h.ilf -mile. ( '.•irri:itr''S passeil, but their oeenpints eoiHd not see
wli(t was in the ;,'ntter Alter remaining somi- time in this allitiid<\ {..ojtoiikliort
again took hi.s man, not aroinid the wai.st, but by the hand, aided him to rise, led
hitn into the road, and said to him: " Ah, sir, what .i misstep \ou made! I
hope you have not hurt yourself? Allow me to wipe yf»n ort'. ' .\ peasruit pass-

154 What'.s To Be Dona?

ing helped to wipe him, as did tWo petits bourgeois also passing: after the man
was clean, each went iiis way.

To Kirsanoff a similar but somewhat different thing once happened. A certain
lady had formed an idea of cataloguing the library which her husband, an ad-
mirer of Voltaire, had left her at his death twenty years l)efore. Exactly why a
catalogue became necessary after twenty years is not known. It was Kirsanoff
who chanced to jnit himself at the disposition of the lady for her i)urpose, and
they agreed on eighty roubles as the price; Kirsanoff worked for six weeks.
Suddenly the lady changed her fancy and decided that the catalogue was useless ;
so she went into the library, and said :

" You have done enough ; 1 have changcjd my mind : here is the pay for your
work," and she handi-d him ten roubles.

" I have already done, your (he gave the lady her title), more than half

of the work : of the seventeen cases I have copied ten."

"Do you consider yourself badly paid ? Nicolas, come here and talk to this
gentleman." Nicolas hurried to the scene.

" How dare you be rude to my mother ? "

" But, my l)eardless boy (an expression without foundation on Kirsanoft''s
part, Nicolas being about five years his elder), you would do Avell to understand
the matter before expressing yourself."

" IIo ! there ! my servants ! " shouted Nicolas.

"Ah! your servants ! I will teach you." The lady gave a .shrill scream and
fainted, and Nicolas saw clearly that it was impossible for him to make any
movement with his arms fastened against his sides by Kirsanoff's right hand as
if by a band of iron. Kirsanoff, after pulling his hair with his left hand, placed
it at his throat and said :

" Do you see how easy it is for me to strangle you ? "

He gave his throat a grip, and Nicolas saw that it was indeed very easy to
strangle him. The grasp was loosened. Nicolas found that he could breathe,
but was still at the mercy of his conqueror. To the Goliaths who made their
appearance Kirsanoff said :

" Stop there, or I will strangle him. Keep your distance, or I will strangle him."

Nicolas, at once comprehending the situation, made signals which meant:

" His reasoning is good."

"Now, will you escort me, my dear, to the stairs?' said Kirsanoff, again
addressing Nicolas though continuing to hold his arm around him. He went out
into the hall and descended the stairs, the Goliaths looking at him in astonisli-
ment ; on the last step, letting go his hold of Nicolas's throat, he hurled him from
him, and started for a hat store to buy a cap in place of that which he had left
upon the battle-ground.

Well, then, are not these two men alike in character? All the prominent

Life of Vera loilh Iter Ilaxband, and the Second Love. 155

traits liy which they are marked are traits, not of individuals, hut of a tyjie, so
(iifleri'iit from those yon are accustomed to see, reader with the pciietratinj; eye,
that these general peculiarities liide from you their personal differences. These
people are like a few Europeans scattered among the Chinese, whom the Chinese
cannot distinguish from each other, seeing hut one and the same nature, " bar-
barians with red hair and without manners."' In their eyes the French have " red
hair" as well as the English. Now, the Chinese are right: compared to them all
Kuropeans are as a single individual; not individuals, but representatives of a
type and nothing more. None of them eat cockroaches or wood-lice; none of
them cut men up into little pieces ; all alike drink brandy and wine made of
grapes instead of rice; and even the common drink, tea, is prepared by the
Kuroj)eaiis with sugar, auil not without as the Chinese prejiare it. It is the same
with people of the type to which LopoukhoflFand Kirsanoff belonged: they seem
identical to men who do not belong to this type. Each is bold and resolute,
knowing what to do under till circumstances, and doing it with a strong arm
when necessary. That is one sid(! of tiieir character. On the other side each is
of irrei)roachable honesty, of honesty .such that one cannot even ask concerning
either : ' Can this man be relied on fully and absolutely? " It is as clear as the
air that they breathe; as long as those breasts lieave, they will be warm :ind un-
shakeable; lay \our head upon them Ifoldly, it will rest there srifcly. These gen-
eral traits are .so prominent that they eclipse all individual peculiarities.

It is not long since this lyp(! was established in Russi.i. Formerly fmtn lime
to time a fr-w iiidiviflii.ils shadowed it forth; but they were exct'plions, and as
su<"h felt Ihr-ir isolation .ind weakness; heni-e their inertia, Iheir rniim\ their ex-
ultation, Ihi'ir romanticism, their whimsi(!ality ; they could not po.s.sess the
principal traits of this tyi>e, — tact, coolness, :»ctivity, all well balanced, tlie
reali/atioti of eoniinon s(uise in action. They W(!ie really people of the .same
nature, but this nature had not yet developed itself into the condition of ;i type.
This type, I repeat, has been established l)nt ;i little while; 1 can remember
when it did not exist, althouirh I ani iioi \ii nl mature age I li.ive not suc-
ceeded in becoming oru' of them, for I was n«)t iirought up in their time; conse-
'piently I carj without scruple expn-ss my esteem for these new ?nen. for inifortu-
nately | do not <;Iorify myself in s:iying of them: " I'liese are exet-IIent men."
Recently this type has been multiplying rapi«lly. It is ii')ni of nn epoch; it is :i
»ign of the times, and — must I say it? — it will disa|)p(>ar with the fast-flying
epoch which produced it. It,s life, new as it is, is fated to last but a short time.

We did not see the.se men six years ago; three years ago we despiscti them :
and now — but it matters little what we think of them now ; in a few years, in a
very few years, we shall apjMal to them : we «hall say to them : '' Save us ! " and
whati'ver they sav then will be done by ;ill. \ few ye.-irs nioie, perlcips even ;i few
month '^.nnd we «b;ill curse them ; they will bi driven from I lie scene amid his.sesand

156 WJiiU's To Be Done?

insults. What matters it? Yon may drive them away, you may curse them, but
they will be useful to you, and that will satisfy them. They will (juit the scene, proud
and modest, austere and gooil, as they ever were. Not one will remain upon the
scene? Not one! How shall we live without them ? None too well. Hut after
them things will go on better than before. Many years will pass, and then men
will say : " Since their day tilings have been l)etter, but still they are bad." And
wiien they shall speak thus, that will mean that it is time for this type to be born
again : it will reappear in a greater number of individuals under better torm.s,
because goodness will then l)e plentier, and all that is now good will then be
better. And so history will begin again in a new phase. And that will last
until men say : " Now we are good," and then there will be no longer any
special type, for all men will be of this type, and it will be difficult for any one to
understand that there ever was a time when it was regarded as special and not
as the common nature of all mankind.

IX.

But just as Europeans seem to the Chinese to have the same faces and the same;
customs when contrasted with those of the Chinese, while in reality there is a
much greater difterence between Europeans than between Chinese, so it is
with these modern men who seem to constitute but a single type. Individual
diversity develops itself in more numerous diiferences, and they are more sharply
distinguished from each other than are individuals of any other type. They
include all sorts of people, — sybarites and stoics, the stern and the tender, in
short, all varieties. But as the most savage European is very gentle, the most
cowardly very courageous, the most epicurean very moral compared with the
Chinese, so it is with the new men ; the most austere believe that man needs
more comfort than others dream of for him ; the most sensual are more rigid in
their morality than the moralists found in the common run of men. But they
have conceptions of their own in all these things ; they view in a way wholly
j)eculiar to themselves both morality and comfort, sensuality and virtue.

But they all vievv these things in the same way and as if they were one and
the same thing, so that to them comfort, sensuality, virtue, morality seem identi-
cal. But all this is true only from the Chinese standpoint; they themselves, on
the contrary, find very great differences in their views corresponding to the
diversity of their natures. How grasp all these differences ?

When Europeans talk over their affairs with each other, but only with each
other and not with the Chinese, the diversity of their natures is visible. So is it
with our new men ; we see in them a great diversity when the relations between
themselves and not with others are before us. We have seen two individuals of
this type. Vera Pavlovna and Lopoukholf, and we have seen what their relations
were. A third individual now appears upon the scene. Let us see what differ-

Life of Vera loith her Husband, and the Second Love. 157

ences will grow out of the possibility now open to one of the three of making a
comparison between the two others. Vera Pavlovna now has before her
Lopoukhoff and Kirsanoff. Formerly she had no choice to make; now she may
make one.

X.

Nevertheless two or three words must be said of Kirsanofif's outer man.

He too, like Lopoukhoff, had regular and beautiful features. Some thought
the latter more beautiful, others the former. Lopoukhotf, who was darker, had
hair of a deep chestnut color, sparkling brown eyes that seemed almost black, an
aipiiline nose, thick lips, and a somewhat oval face.

Kirs.inoff had moderately thick light hair, blue eyes, a Grecian nose, a small
mouth, and an oblong face of rare whiteness.

Kirsanofl's position was a fairly good one. He already had a chair. The
electors were against him l)y an enormous majority, and he not only wouM not
have ol)tained a chair, but would not even liave been made a doctor at the linal
examination at the Academy, had it not been impossible to avoid it. Two or
three young ppO|)le and one of his old professors, a man already advanced in age,
all his friends, had long since reported to the others tiiat there existi'd in the
world a man named V'irchow and that this Virchow lived in Berlin, and a man
named Claude Bernard and that this Claude Bernai'd lived in Paris, and 1 know
not how man}- more names of men of this sort, which my memory does not re-
tain and who also liv<'d in different cities; thi^y had also said thai, these
Virchows, Claude iiern.irds, and others were scientific luminaries.

.\1I that was improl)al)le in the last degree, for wo well know the luminaries
of science, — Bfcrhoave, llufeland ; Harvey was also a great savant, btung the
discoverer of the eireulation of the iiiood ; likewise Jeiiner, who taught us vacci-
nation; these we know, l)Ut, .IS for these Virchows, and these (Jlaiide llernards,
we do not know them. What sort (»f linninaries art; they, then? Tlie <h'vil
knows. This same Claude Bernard showed appreciation of Kirsanolf's work
br-fore he had finished his last year as a student; of course, then, it was ini|)ossi-
•>le to :ivf»id electing liim. So they gave Kirsanoff a physician's diploma and
altout eitxhteen moutlis afterward a chair. The students said tliat he was a
valuable a<lilition to the nuin'ier of i.'oo(I jtrofessors. Of jiraetiee he li.id nom'
and said tli.at lie had ai)andoned tln^ pra(;tice of meilicine. Itut h(> spent many
hours .it the hospital ; he often dined ihr-ro and sometimes slept there. What
did he <lo there? He sai«l that he worked there for science and nf)t for the sick :
" I do not treat patients, I only observe .and experiment." The students su.-
t.iined this opinion and a<Med Miat none l)Ut imbeciles treat the siek now, for no
one yet knows how to treat them. The hospital attendants thought otherwise :
"See, Kirs.anotf lakes this patient into his ward; the case must be a s(!rious one,"

158 What's To Be Donef

?:ii(i they to each other ; and then they said to the patient : " Be tranqnil ; no
disease can stand against this doctor; he is a master, and a father besides."

XI.

For the first few months after Vera Pavlovna's marriage Kirsanoft" visited the
Lopoukhotls very often, almost every other day, I might say almost every day
and be nearer the truth. lie became soon, if not from the very first, as intimate
a friend of Vera Pavlovna as of Lopoukhoff himself. That lasted about six
months. One day, when they were talking freely, as was their custom, Kirsanoft",
who had had the most to sa}', suddenly became silent.

" What is the matter with you, Alexander?"

" Why do you stop, Alexander Matv6itch ? "

" Oh, it is nothing ; I am seized with a fit of melancholy."

" That is something that rarely happens to you, Alexander Matveitch," said
Vera Pavlovna.

" It never happens to me without cause," said Kirsanoff, in a tone whi(!]i
seemed strained.

A little later, rather sooner than usual, he rose and went away, taking his leave,
as he always did, unceremoniously.

Two days afterward Lopoukhoff told V6ra Pavlovna that he had been to see
Kirsanoff, and he had been received by him in a rather singular fashion, as if
Kirsanoff were trying to be agreeable to hiin, which was quitt; unnecessary,
considering their relations. Lopoukhoff", after watching him a while, had said to
him frankly : " It seems to me that you are out of sorts towards us, Alexander;
with whom are you offended P Perhaps with me ? "

" No."

" With V6rotchka?"

" No."

" But what is the matter, then ? "

" Nothing ; you take notions, I don't know why."

"You do not feel right toward me today ; something is the matter wit!) you."

Kirsanoff" was profuse with his assurances: nothing was the matter; in what
way had he shown himself put out? Then, as if ashamed, he again threw off
ceremony and became very cordial. Lopoukhoff, seizing the opportunity, said
to him :

" Now, Alexander, tell me, why are you out of sorts?"

"I never dreamed of such a thing," — and again he became mawkish and
affected.

What an enigma! Lopoukhoff recalled nothing that could have offended him ;
indeed, such a thing was not possible, considering their reciprocal esteem and
profound friendship. V6ra Pavlovna, too, asked herself if she had not offended

Life of Vera toith her Husband, and the Second Love. 159

him, but was as unable to find anything, knowing perfectly well that she, no
more than her husband, could have offended hira.

Two days uaore passed. Not to come to the Lopoukhoffs' for four days
together was an extraordinary thing for Kirsanoff. Vera Pavlovna even won-
dered if he were not unwell. LopoukhofF went to see if he were not really
sick. Sick ? No, not at all : but still he was out of sorts. To Lopoukhoflf's
urgent incpiiries and after several times saying " No " and several times •■ It is
your imagination," he began to talk all sorts of nonsense about his teelings
toward LopoukhoflF and Vera Pavlovna: he loved them and esteemed them
highly. From all that it was to be inferred that they had wronged him, and the
worst of it was that in his remarks there was no allusion to anything of the kind.
It was evident that they had offended him. It seemed so strange to Lopoukhoff
to see this in a man like Kirsanoff that he said : " Listen, we are friends ; all this
ought really to make you blush." Kirsanoff answered with an affected sorrow
that perhaps he was too sensitive, but that on several occasions he had felt hurt.

"But at what?"

lie began to enumerate a great number of things that had happened lately, all
of them things of this sort:

•' You said that the lighter the color of a man's hair, the weaker he is. Vera
I'avlovna said that tea had risen in price. One was an ill-natured jest on the
color of my hair. The other was an allu.sion to the fact that I was your guest."

Lnpoukhiiff stood stupefied: " Pride governs all his thoughts, or, rather, lu^
has become simply a fool, a fool in four letters."

LopftukholV went houn- a little saddened; it was painful li» him to see such
failings in a man whom he so much loved. To V^ra Pavlovna's cpiestions on tlu-
siibji'ct he replied sadly that it was better not to talk about it, that Kirsanoff
said disagrei'able things, and tli:it probably h(! was sick.

Tliree or four days later KirsiinolV came back to him.self, recognized the imlie-
cility of his words, and called on tlie Lopoukhoffs, behaving himself as he had
iteen wont to do. Then hf; began to tdl how stupid Ik; had been. From Vera
I'avlovna's words he saw that his convcrsjif ion had not been reported; he
sine«'rely th:inked Lopoukhoff for his discretion. :ind to |)unish him.self fold all to
Vera Pavlovna; he feelingly excu.sed himself, saying that he was sick and had
lieen in thewronir- Vera I'avlovna bade him altamloii the sul)jeet, dccliiriiig that
these were stupidities ; h(! caught at the wonl ' stu|)idities," and began to talk
all .sorts of tw;iddle no less sensfiless than the things he had said to l>oponkliolV:
he .said with much reserve \m([ finesse that certainly these things were " stupidi-
ties," for he fully realizefl his inferiority tf) the Lopoukhoffs, but that lie deserved
nothing else, et(!., the whohj iieing said with veiled albnions and a(>companied by
the most amial)le assurances of esUietu and devotion.

Vera I'avlovn:i, at hearing him gf) on in this way, stood a.s Mtupelied as her

IfiO What's To Be Done 9

liusbaml had heforo her. After Kirsanoff's departure they remembered tliat
some days before their friend had shown signs of very singuhir stupidity. At
t lie time they had neither remarked upon nor understood it; now his remarks
lu(;inu' clear to tliom ; they were of iho same sort, only h'ss pronounced.

Kirsanotl again began to visit the Lopoukhotts frequently ; but the continua-
tion of the former simple relations was no longer possible. From under the
mask of a good and intelligent man had proti'uded for several days asses' ears of
such length that the Lopoiikhoffs would have lost a large share of their esteem
for tlieir former friend even if the ears had not reappeared ; but they continued
to show themselves from time to time, and, although they did not seem so long
as before and were each time withdrawn precipitately, there was always some-
thing pitiable, vile, and stupid about them.

Soon the Lopoukhotfs grew cold toward him. Findin;^ in this an (ixcu.se, he
stopi^ed his visits. But he saw Lopoukhott' at the house of one of their friends.
Some time after, his conduct improving, LopoukhofT's aversion to him began to
weaken, and he began to visit him again. Within a year Kirsanoft" resumed his
visits at the Lopoukhofis' ; he again became the excellent Kirsanofl of former
days, unaffected and loyal. But he came rarely: it was plain that lu; was not at
his ease, remembering the foolish part that he had played. Lopoukhoff" and Vera
Pavlovna had almost forgotten it. But relations once broken off are never quite
reestablished. Judging from appearances, he and Lopoukhoff had become
friends again, antl LopouklioiV really esteemed him now almost as much as before
and visited him often ; Vera Pavlovna, too, had restored to him a portion of her
good graces, but she saw him only rarely.

XII.

LopoukhoflF's sickness, or, better, V6ra Pavlovna's extreme attachment to her
husband, having forced Kirsanoff to maintain intimate dail}' relations with the
Lopoukhoffs for more than a week, he clearly saw that he was entering upon a
perilous path in deciding to pass his nights near Lopoukhoff in order to prevent
Vera Pavlovna from ijeing her husband's sick-nurse. lie was vei-y happy and
proud at having succeeded so well in doing all that he had deemed necessary to
arrest the development of his passion when he had perceived its symptoms three
years before. Two or three weeks afterward he had bei'n unabh; to avoid
returning to the Lopoukhoffs'. But even at those times he had felt more pleasure
over his firmness in the .struggle than suffering at his privation, and a month
later he did not suffer at all ; the only feeling left being that of satisfaction with
his upright conduct. So tranquil and pure was his soul.

But now the danger was greater than then : in these three years V6ra Pavlovna
had certainly greatly developed morally; then she was half a child, now it was
quite a different thing: the feeling that she inspired could no longer be the light

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. l6l

attachment that one feels for a little girl whom one loves and at the same time
admires in her innocence. And not only had she developed morally ; with us
here in the North, when a woman is really beautiful, she grows more and more
so every year. Yes, at that age three years of life do a great deal to dvelope
the good and the beautiful in the soul, in the eyes, in the features, and in the en-
tire person, if the person be moral and good.

The danger was great, but for him only ; as for Vera Pavlovna, what risk had
she to run ? She loved her husband, and Kirsanoff' was not thc^ughtless and
foolish enough to lielieve himself a dangerous rival of Lojjoukhotf. It was from
no false modesty that he thought so : all who knew them looked on them as
equals. Now, Lopoukhoff had on his side this enormous advantage, that he had
already deserved love, that he had already completely won Vera Pavlovna's
heart. The choice was made; she was very contented and happy; could she
dream of anything better? Was she not happy? It was even ridiculous to
think of such a thing. To her and to LopoukhoflF such an apprehension would
have been but an absurd vanity on Kirsanoff's part.

Well, for such a little thing, to save himself a niontli or two of weariness,
ought Kirsanoff to let this woman fatigue herself and run the risk of contracting
a serious disease by watching nights at a sick man's bedside? To avoid dis-
turbing the tranquillity of his own life for a little while, ought he to allow another
individual no less worthy to incur a serious danger? 'I'hat would not have been
hont'St. Now, a dishonest action would iiave been nuicli more disagreeabh; to
him than the slightly painful struggle with himself througli which he had to
pas.s, and of the result of wliich he felt as sure as of his lirraness. '

These were Kirsanoff's llioughts, on (hicidiiig to take Vc'sra Pavlovna's place
at her husband's bedside.

The necessity f(jr walcliing pa.ssed. To save appearances and not make the
change in their relations so abrupt as to call attention to it, it was necessary for
Kirsanoff to visit his friiMids at Jirst two or three times a week, then Irom month
to month, and then fivery six months, lie could re.idily explain his absence by
his occiipatioMS.

XIII.

What Kir.san(jff foresaw was njalized; his atlachnu-nt was renewed, and be-
came more intense than beft)re ; but to struggle against it gave him no dilliculty,
no serious torment. Visiting the Lo|)()ukliulVsfor the second time during the week
following the ctrssation of his Ire.ilnient of Dmitry Serguritch, he stays till nine
o'clock in the evening. 'I'his was enough, appearances were .saved ; he need not
come again for a fortnight, and it would ije over. Hut this time Ik; must stay an
hour longer. The week was not yet over, Mud his p.ission was already half
stifled; in n month it would entirely disappear. TluM-efore he was well eon-

162 What's To Be Bone?

tented. He took an active part in the conversation and with so much ease that
he rejoiced at his success, and this contentment added still fui'ther to his self-
possession.

But Lopoukhoff was arranging to go out for the first time since his sickness.
At this Vera Pavlovna was much pleased, her joy perhaps being greater than that
of the convalescent himself.

The conversation turning upon the sickness, they made fun of V6ra, and iron-
ically extolled her conjugal self-denial. Barely had she escaped falling sick
herself in her exaggerated alarm at that which did not call for it.

" Lau2:h, laugh,'' said she, " but I am sure that in my place you would not have
done differently."

" What an influence the cares of others have upon a man ! " said Lopoukhoff;
"he is so affected by them that he finally comes to believe that all the precau-
tions of which he is the object are useful. For instance, I might as well have
been out for the last three days, and yet I stay in the house. This very morning
I desired to go out, but still I said : ' To be on the safe side I will wait till to-
morrow.' "

" Yes, you might have gone out long ago," added Kirsanoff.

" That is what I call heroism, for really it is a great bore to me, and I should
much like to rim away at once."

" My dear friend, it is to pacify me that you are playing the hero. Get ready
on the instant if you are so desirous of ending your quai-antine forthwith. I
must now go to the shop for half an hour. Let us all three go there ; it will be
a very nice thing on your part to make our shop the object of your first visit.
The working-girls will notice it and be much pleased at the attention."

" Good ! Let us go together," said Lopoukhoff, visibly delighted at the pros-
pect of breathing the fresh air that very afternoon.

" Here is a friend full of tact," said V6ra Pavlovna : " it did not even occur to
her that you might not have any desire to come with us, Alexander Matveitch."

" On the contrary, I am much interested ; I have long wanted to see the shop.
Your idea is a very happy one."

In truth, V6ra Pavlovna's idea was a happy one. The young girls were much
pleased at receiving Lopoukhoff^s first visit. Kirsanoff was much interested in
the shop ; given his way of thinking, he could not have helped it. If a special
reason had not withheld him, he would have been from the first one of the most
zealous professors. In short, an hour passed before they knew it. Vera Pav-
lovna went with Kirsanoff through the different rooms, showing him everything.
They were going from the dining-room to the work-rooms, when V6ra Pavlovna
was approached by a young frirl who originally was not there. The working
girl and Kirsanoff gave one glance at each other :

" Nastennka ! "

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 163

"Sacha!" *

And they kissed each other.

" Sachennka,t my friend, how happy I am at having met you ! "

The young girl, laughing and crying, covered him with kisses. When she had
recovered from her joy, she said :

" V6ra Pavlovna, I cannot talk business today. I cannot leave him. Come,
Sachennka, to my room."

Kirsanoff was no less happy than she. But V6ra Pavlovna noticed also much
sorrow in his first look after that of recognition. And it was not at all astonish-
ing : the young girl was in the last stage of consumption.

Nastennka Krukoff had entered the shop a year before, being even then very
sick. If she had remained in the store where up to that time she had worked,
over-work would have killed her long before. But in the shop a way was found
of prolongin<j her life a little. The working girls excused her from sewing alto-
gether, finding her a task less tiresome and less injurious to the hoaltli ; .she per-
formed different functions in the shop, took part in the general administration,
and received the orders for work, so that no one could say that she was less use-
ful in the shop than the others.

The Lopoukhofl's went away without awaiting the end of Nastennka's inter-
view with Kirsanoff.

XIV.

NASTENNKA. KUUKOFF's STORY.

The next morning Nastennka Knikoff came to set; V6ra Pavlovna.

" 1 wi.sh to talk witli you abocit what you saw yesterday, V/Ta Pavlovna,"
said she, — and for some minutes she did not know how to continue, — " I should
not like you to think unfavorably of him, V6ra Pavlovna."

•'Think unfavorably (jf him ! as you yourself think inifavorably of nu-, Xas-
tassia Borissovna."

"Another would not have thought as I do; but you know I am not like
others."

" Na.stassia Borissovna, you have no right to treat yourself (luis. Wc; have
known you for a year, and several raemljors of our little society have kuowu you
from a still earlier date."

" Ah ! I see that you know nothing of me."

" On the eontrar}, I know much about yoii. Latterly you were the waiting-
maid of the actress N. ; when she married, you left her to avoid hcu" husijand's

* I^Mtennka anr) Bacha are the (limlniitivcH of NastaHglB and Alezaiider.
t A more afTf ctlunato diminutive lli.'ui Sodiii.

164 WTiat's To Be Done?

father; you were employed ia the store of , whence you came to us; I

know all that and many details besides."

" Of course I was sure that Maximoff and Cheine, who knew what I used to
1)0, would not run to you with the story. But I thought that you or the others
might have heard of it in some otheji- way. Ah ! how hapj^y I am that they do
not know. But to you I will tell all in order that you may know how good he
is. I was a very wicked girl, Vera Pavlovna."

" You, Nastassia Borissovna ? "

" Yes, Vera Pavlovna, I. And I was very insolent ; 1 had no shame, and was
always drunk; that was the origin of my sickness: I drank too much for my
weak chest."

Vera Pavlovna had seen three or four similar cases. Young girls whose con-
duct had been irreproachable ever since she knew them had told her that for-
merly they led a bad life. The first time she was astonished at such a confes-
sion ; but after reflecting upon it a little, she said to herself: " And iTiy own life?
The mud in which I grew up was also very bad ; nevertheless it did not soil me,
and thousands of women, brought up in fiimilies like mine, remain pure just the
same. AVh}' is it, then, at all extraordinary that from this humiliation should
come out unstained those whom a favorable opportunity has aided to escape ? "
The second time she was not astonished to learn that the young penitent had
preserved truly human qualities, — disinterestedness, "fidelity in friendship, deep
feelings, and even some degree of innocence.

" Nastassia BorLssovna, I have before had interviews similar to that which you
desire to begin. Such interviews are painful both to the speaker and the listener ;
my esteem for you will not dimmish, but will rather increase, since I know now
that you have suffered much ; but I understand it all without hearing it. Let us
talk no more about it: to me exiWanations are superfluous. I, too, have passed
many years amid great sorrows ; I try not to think of them, and I do not like to
speak of them, for it is very painful to me."

"No, Vera Pavlovna, I have another motive: T wish to tell you how good he
is; I should like some one to knovv how much I owe to him, and whom .shall I
tell if not you? It will be a relief to me. As to the life that I led, of course
there is no occasion to speak of it ; it is always the same with poor women of
that sort. I only wish to tell you how I made his acquaintance. It is so agree-
able to me to talk about him. I am going to live with him ; so you ought to
know why I leave the shop."

" If it will please you to tell this story, Nastassia Borissovna, I am very happy
to listen to you. Only let me get my work."

" My work ! Alas, I cannot .say that. How good were these young girls to
find me an occupation suited to my health ! I wish to thank them one and all.
Tell them. Vera Pavlovna, that I begged you to thank them forme. I was walk-

Life of Vera loitli her Husband, and the Second Love. 165

ing aloDg the Perspective Nevsky : I had just gone out, and it was still early ; I
saw a student coming, and directed my steps toward him. He did not say a
word, but simply crossed to the otlier side of the street. I followed him, and
grasped him by the arrn. ' No,' I said to him, ' I will not leave you, you are so
fine looking.'

" ' But I beg you to leave me,' said he.

" ' Oh, no ; come witli me.'

" ' 1 have no reason to.'

" ' Well, I wilLgo with you. Where are you going ? For nothing in the world '^
will I leave you.' I was impudent, as impudent as any and more so."

" Perhaj)S that was because you were really timid and were making an effort
to be bold."

"Ye.?, that may lie. At least I have noticed it in others, — not at that time,
mind you ; it was afterwards that I understood the reason. So, when I told him
that I ab.solutoly must go witii him, he smilcid and said:

" ' ('on)e, if you must; only it will be in vain.'

" He wanted to rebuke me, as he afterwards told me; he was impatient at my
persistence So I went, talking all sorts of nonsense to him: but he said not a
word. We arrive I. For a student he lived very comfortably; his h^ssons
brought him al)out twenty roubles a niniith, and h(! lived alone. I stretched ^^"^
myself upon the divaii and said :

"'15ome wine!'

"'No,' said he,'! shall not give you :iny wine; only tea, provided you
want it.'

" ' With pimcli,' .said I.

" ' No, without punch.'

" I l)egan to act riotously ; he remained calm, and looked at me without paying
th(! .slighte.st atteiilinn to my conduct : that oU'emli'd me much. In these days
»ve meet suili young iteoplc, Vria I'avlovna, — yuiig people W.wv grown inmh
better .since then, — but then ii was very exceptional, 'riieredire I felt oflendeil
and began to insult liiiii.

'" Ityou {lu) arc mi.mIc nl wood,' — and I .kIiIcmI ;iii insult, — ' then I am going
away.'

"' But why go now?' saiil he; 'have .some tea first; the landlord will i)ring
the .samovar j)resently. <)iil> no insults.'

" And he invariably addresaud me as 'you ' (yons). *

* Thero In no wny of cxprfwilii^ In EiikIIhIi tbt- (limlnrllon mndc by the ConllncntBl peoples bi-twccii
the Bfcond ppfHon nlngiilnr iiii'l Hcconil piTfion i)liirol of the pcmotiiil protioiin. Thi- KiriKiilar In UBcd l)y
Ihom in conviTHntion hetwi-un pi-^plc wbo art; on very rnmlll.ir liTm«. Hi^noc In tll« iit)ovo inlL-rvli'W
NiiHtnHsin, wl«liln« to agntinii' n totic of fnmllliirlly, tricil Ui une llu- nlnxtilnr, while Klrsanoft' maintained
hi8 reserve by lii^iglinK on Ibc plural. — TninKtutor.

1G6 What's To Be Bojie?

" ' Tell me rather who you are and how you have reached this condition.'

"I began to tell him a story of my own invention: we invent all sorts of
stories, and that is why nobody believes us ; sometimes, nevertheless, these
stories are not invented : there are noble and educated i^ersons among us. He
listened a little while and then said :

" ' No, it is not a clever story ; I should much like to believe it, but I cannot.'

" We were already taking tea. Then he said :

" 'Do you know, I see by your complexion that it injures you to drink ; your
chest is in bad condition in consequence of an excessive use of wine. Permit me
to examine you.'

" Well, Vera Pavlovna, you will not believe me, but I suddenly felt a sense of
shame; and yet in what did my life consist? and .but a moment before I had
been behaving ver}- boldly ! He noticed it.

" ' Why, no,' said he, ' I only want to sound your chest.'

" He began to listen at my chest.

" ' Yes,' he said, ' you must not drink at all ; your chest is not in good condi-
tion.'

" ' That is impossible,' said I.

" And indeed it was impossible, Vera Pavlovna.

" ' Then abandon this life.'

" ' And why ? it is so joyous ! '

" ' Not so very,' said he ; ' now leave me ; I am going to attend to my affairs.'

" And I went away, jn-ovoked at having lost my evening, to say nothing of the
fact that his indltlercnce had offended me. We girls have our pride in these
matters. A month later I happened to be passing that way.

"'Shall I call,' thought I, ' upon my wooden gentleman, and amuse myself a
little with him?'

" It was not yet dinner-time; the night before I had slept well, and I had not
been drinking, lie was readincj a book.

" ' How do 3"ou do, my wooden sir ? '

" ' How do you do ? Is there anything new with you ? '

" Again I began my improprieties.

" ' I will show you the door,' said he, ' if you do not stop ; I have already told
you that this does not please me. Now you are not drunk and can understand
me. Think rather of this: your face is still more sickly than before; you must
abandon wine. Arrange your clothing, and let us talk seriously '

" In fact, I had already begun to feel pains in my chest. Again he sounded it,
told me that the disease was growing worse, and said a great deal ; my chest
pained me so badly that, seized with a sudden access of feeling, I began to weep ;
I did not want to die, and he filled me with fears of consumption.

" ' But,' I said to him, ' how shall I abandon this life? My mistress will not
let me go away, for I owe her seventeen roubles.'

Life of Vera with her Husband ^ and tlie Second Love. 167

" They always keep us in debt so that we may be patient.

" ' Seventeen roubles? I cannot give them to you now, for I haven't them ; bat
come day after to-morrow.'

" That seemed to me very strange, for it was not with this in view that I had
spoken as I did ; besides, how could I have expected such an offer ? I could not
believe my ears, and I began to cry still harder, believing that he was making
sport of me.

" ' It is not good in you to make sport of a poor girl, when you see that I am
crying.'

" For some minutes longer I refused to believe it. Finally he assured me that
he was not joking. Would you believe it ? lie got the money and gave it to me
two days afterwards. I could scarcely believe it then.

" ' But how is this ? ' said I ; ' but why do you do this, since you have wanted
nothing in return.'

" I freed myself from my mistress and hired a little room. But there was
nothing that I could do : in freeing us they give us a special kind of certificate;
where could I turn with such a document? And I had no money. Conse-
quently I lived as before, though not exactly as before. I received only my best
acquaintances, those not offensive to me; wine I left alone. What was the dif-
ference, then, you ask ? My life was already much loss distressing than it had
been. But it was still distressing; and let me tell you something: you will
think that it was distressing because I had many friends, five perhaps ; no, for 1
felt an affection for all of them ; hence it was not that. Pardon me if I speak
thus to you, liut it is because 1 am sincere with you: today I am still of the srime
mind. You know me; am I not modest? Who has heard anything l)ut good of
me ? How much time I spend in playing with the children in the shop, and they
all love me, and tiie old latlies will not say that I teach them anything but the
best. It is only with you, Vora Pavlovna, that I am sincere; today 1 am still of
the same mind : if you frel affection, there is no harm, proviiicd i\w\\\ is no deceit;
if there is deceit, that is another thing. And in that way I lived. Three months
went by, and in that time, so tranquil w.is my life, I ol)tained considerable rest,
and although I had to tliiis gc-t tlw money fliat I iier>il('d. I no longer considered
that I was leading a wicked life.

" Sachennka often visited \w in those days. I too went sometimes to see him.
And now I have got back to my subject, from which I should not have wandered.
But his purpose in visiting me was not the same as that ol the others; lie
watched over me to sec that my old weakness did not regain posses.sion of me
and that I drank no wine. During the first few days, in fact, he sustained me; so
great was my <lpsire to take it that nothing but my great deference for hiui
withheld me: if he should come in and see me, thought [. Otherwise I .should
not have kept my word, for my I'rieiMls — generous young lellows — said : ' I will

168 W/iat\s To Be Done?

send out lor some wine.' But wishing lo heed Sachennka's advice, I answei-ed
them : ' No, that cannot be.'

" lu throe weeks' lime my will was already much stronger: the desire for
drink had gone, and 1 had already thrown off the manners peculiar to victims of
intoxication. During that time I saved in order to repay him, and in two
mouths I did repay him the whole. He was so glad to see me repay him ! The
next day he brought me muslin lor a dress and other articles bought with the
same money. After that he still kept up his visits, always as a doctor caring for
a patient. One day when at my room, about a mouth after I had paid my debt,
he said to me : ' Nastennka, you please me.'

" Drunkenness spoils the face ; in consequence of ray sobriety my complexion
had grown softer and my eyes clearer; further, having thrown off my old man-
ners, I had acquired modesty of speech; I was no longer shameless since I had
stopped drinking ; it is true that in my words I sometimes fox'got myself, but a
seemly behavior had become habitual with me.

" On hearing these words I was so happy that 1 wanted to throw myself on
his neck, but I did not dare to and so stopped. He said to me :

'• ' You see, Nastennka, that I am not without feeling.'

" He told me also that I had grown pretty and modest, and he covered me
with caresses. He took my hand, placed it in his own, and caressed it with his
other hand while looking at it. My hands in those days were white and plump.
These caresses made me blush. After such a life, too ! I felt a sort of maiden
b:ishfulness; it is strange, but it is true. In spite of my shame, — yes, my
shame, although the word seems ridiculous when uttered by me, — 1 said to
him :

" ' What gave you the idea to caress me, Alexander Matveitch ? '

" He answered :

"' Because, Nastennka, you are now a virtuous girl.'

" The.se words made me so happy that I burst into tear.s.

'" What is the matter with you, Nastennka?' said he, embracing me. This
kiss turned my head, and I lost consciousness. Would you believe. Vera Pav-
lovna, that such a thing could have happened to me after such a life?

"The next morning I wept, saying to myself: What shall I do now, poor
girl ? How .shall I live ? There is nothing left for me but to throw myself into
the Neva. I felt that I could no longer remain in the pursuit by which 1 lived ;
I would rather be dead ; I had loved him a long time, but as he had shown no
.seniimeut toward me and as I had no hope of pleasing him, this love had become
torpid in me, and I did not even realize it. Now all was clear. When one feels
such a love, how can one even look at another man ? Therefore it was that I
was weeping and .saying to niy.self : What shall I do now, without any means of
existence? I had already eonceivfd this idea: T will go to him, see him once

Life of Vera loith her Husband, and the Second Love. 169

more, and then drown myself. I wept thus all the morning. Suddenly he
entered, kissed me, and said :

" ' Nastennka, will you live with me ? '

" 1 told him what I thoufflit. And we be^an to live together.

" Those were happy days. Vera Pavlovna, and I believe that few persons have
ever enjoyed such happiness. But I can say no more to you today, Vera
Pavlovna. I only wanted to tell you how good Sachennka is."

XV.

Subsequently Nastennka Krukoff finished telling her story to Vera Pavlovna.
She lived with Kirsanofi" more than two years. The symptoms of incipient
disease seemed to have disappeared. But toward the end of the second year,
with the opening of spring, consumption showed itself in a considerably advanced
stage. To live with Kirsanoll" would have been to condemn herself to speedy
death ; by renouncing this tie she could count on again staving off her disease
for a long time. They resolved to separate. To give herself to constant labor
wou'd have been equally lUtal ; therefore slie had to fmd employnient as a house-
keeper, maid-servant, nurse, or something of the sort, and that too in a house
where the work was not too heavy and where — a no less important considera-
tion— there would be nothing tlisagreeable, conditions i-are enough. Neverthe-
Ifss such a place was found. Kirsanoff hud acquaintances among the rising
artists; thanks to them, Nastennka Krukoli" became the maid of a Russian
actress, an excellent woman. They were a long time in effecting the separation.
"Tomorrow I will go," said Nastennka, and tomorrow came with other to-
morrows to liiid her still there. They wept and could not tear themselves from
each other's arras. Finally the actress, who knew all, came herself to find
Nastennka, and, cutting everything short, took her away iu order that the hour
of separation might not be further protracted to the injury of her future
servant.

As long as the actress remained upon the stage Nastennka was very well
Hituated; the actress was full of delicacy, :ind the young Krukoff" set a high
value upf)n her |»lace ; to find anoth<'r like it woidd have Ik-cu dillicult ; so she
(hivoted herself to her nii.stress, who, seeing this, siiowed her the more kindness.
The .servant therefore lived very trancjiuilly, and tlicrc was little or no develo[)-
ment of her disease. But the actress married, abandoned the stage, and went to
live in her busljand's lamily. There, as V6ra Pavlovna already knew, the
actress's father-in-law made advances tf) her servant. The latter was in no
danger of seduction, but a family quarrel broke out. The whilom actress began
to blame the old man, and ho began to get angry. Nastennka, not wishing to
be the cause of a family quarrel and living besides a less peaceful life than
before, threw up her situation.

170 What's To Be Bone?

That occurred about two years after her separation from KirsanoflF. During
all that time they had not seen each other. At first he visited her again ; but
the joy of the interview had such an injurious effect upon her that he obtained
her permission, in consideration of her own interest, to stay away thereafter.

She tried to live as a servant in two or three other families, but everywhere
she found so many incompatibilities that it was preferable to become a seam-
stress ; it was as well to condemn herself to the rapid development of the disease
which was bound to develop in any case as a result of her too stirring life ; it
was better to submit herself to the same destiny as a result of lal)()r alone,
unaccompanied by any disagreeable features. A year of sewing tiaished the
young Krukoff. When she entered V6ra Pavlovna's shop, Lopoukhofi, who was
the doctor, did his best to slacken the progress of the consumption. He did
much, — that is, much considering the difficulty of the case, his success being
I'eally insignificant, — but the end approached.

Up to the last moment the young girl remained under the influence of the
delusion common to all consumptives, believing that her disease had not yet
made very much progress ; therefore she forced herself to avoid Kirsanoff that
she might not aggravate her situation. Nevertheless for two months she had
been pressing Lopoukhoff" with questions ; how much time had she yet to live ?

Why she desired to know this she did not say, and Lopoukhoff did not believe
he had a right to tell her that the crisis was approaching, seeing in her questions
nothing more than the ordinary attachment to life. He often tried to calm her,
but in vain. She merely restrained her desire to realize that which could make
her end a happy one; she saw herself that she had not long to live, and her feel-
ings were in harmony with this thought; but, the doctor assuring her that she
ought still to take care of herself, and she knowing that she ought to place more
confidence in him than in herself, she obeyed him and did not seek to see Kir-
sanoff again.

This doubt could not have lasted long ; in proportion as the end grew nearer,
the more questions the young consumptive would have asked, and either she
would have confessed the motive that led her to seek the truth, or else either
Lopoukhoff or \'6ra Pavlovna would have divined it, and the termination pre-
cipitated by Kirsanoff's visit to the shop would* have been reached two or three
weeks later.

" How happy I am I how happy I am ! I was getting ready to go to see you,
Sachennka ! " said the young Krukoff enthusiastically, when she had ushered him
into her room.

'• I am no less happy, Nast(;nnka; this time we shall not separate; come home
with me," said Kirsanoff", influenced by a feeling of compassionate love.

After the.se words he said to himself: "How could I have said that? Tt is
probable that she does not yet suspect the proximity of the crisis."

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 171

As for the young girl, either she did not at first understand the real meaning
ot Kirsanoff 's words, or she understood them, but, her thoughts being elsewhere,
paid no attention to their significance, her joy at finding her lover again drowning
her sorrow at her approaching end. However that may be, she rejoiced and
said : " How good you are ! You still love me as in the old days."'

But when he went away she wept a little ; then only did she comprehend or
realize that she comprehended : " It would be useless to take care of yourself
now ; you are incurable ; at least, then, let your end be happy."

And indeed she was happy ; he did not leave her a moment except in the
hours th;it he was obliged to spend at the hospital and the Academy. Thus she
lived about a month longer, and all this time they were together; and how
many accounts there were to give, accounts of all that each had felt after the
separation, and still more memories of their former life together, and how many
amusements they enjoyed in common ! He hired a barouche, and every evening
they went into the suburbs of St. Petersburg and contemplated them. Nature is
so dear to man that even this pitiful, contemptible, artificial nature in the sub-
urljs of St. Petersburg, which cost tens of millions of roubles, is admired. They
read, jjlayed cards and loto, and she even began to learn to play chess, as if there
were no lack of time.

V6ra Pavlovna went many times to spend the evening with them, oven late at
night after their return from their drive, and still oftener she went in the morning
to amust; Nastennka when she was left alone. During their long fSlc-a-ieks the
latter could only say over and over again : " How good Sachennka is, how tender
he is, and how lie loves me! "

XVI.

Four months have passed. The care that he had had to bestow upon Nastennka
and the memnry of the poor girl had absorbed Kirsanoff. It seemed to him now
that liis love for V6ra Pavlovna wa.** tlioroughly conciucred ; he did ii«it avoid her
when during her visits to tin- young KnikoU" she met him and talked with him,
nor afterwards when she tried to ilistract him. Indeed, as long as he felt any
fear of his feelings toward Vrra Pavlovii.i, ht- clii-eked them, but now he felt no
more than a friendly gratitude toward iier proportional to the service she had
done him.

l$ut— the reader know.') already in advance the meaning of this " but," as he
always will know in advance what is going to happen in the course; of the story —
but it is needless to say that the feeling of Kir.sanofl' toward the young Knikofl", .it
tho time of thoir soeond coming together, was nf)t analogous to that of lier toward
him. He no longer loved her; he was only well dispo.scd toward her, as one is
toward a woman whom he has loved. His old love for her had Ix'en no more than a
youth's desire to love some one, no matter whom. 1 1 is needless to say that

172 What's To Be Done?

Nastennka was never fitted for him, for they were not equals in intellectual
development. When he grew to be more than a youth, he could do no more than
pity her ; he could be kind to her for memory's and compassion's sake, and that
was all. His sorrow at having lost her disappeared very quickly, after all. But
after this sorrow had really disappeared, he believed that he; still felt it. When
he finally realized that he felt it no longer, and that it was only a memory, he
saw that his relations with Vera Pavlovna had assumed a fatal character.

Vera Pavlovna tried to divert him from his thoughts, and he allowed her to do
so, believing himself incapable of succumbing, or, rather, not even believing that he
felt a lover's passion for her. During the two or three months that followed he
passed almost every evening at the Lopoukhofts', or else accompanied Vera Pav-
lovna in her walks ; olteu Lopoukhoff was with them, but oftener they went alone.
That was all, but that was too much, not only for him, but for her also.

How now did Vera Pavlovna pass her days ? Until evening just as before. But
at six o'clock P Formerly at that hour she went alone to the shop, or else remained
alone in her room and worked ; now, if she needed to be at the shoj) in the evening,
Kirsanoff was told the night before, and he appeared to escort her. During
the walk, not a long one by the way, they usually talked about the shop, for
Kirsanoff was her most active co-worker. While she was busy in distributing
the work, he also had much to do. Is it not something to answer the questions
and fulfil the commissions of thirty young girls? No one better than he knew
how to get through it. Besides, he remained to talk with the children, some
of the young girls also participating in the conversations, which were very
instructive and very diversified. They talked, for example, of the beauty of the
Arabian tales, "The Thousand and One Nights," — he related several of them, —
and of white elephants, which are esteemed so much in India, just as there
are many men among us who love white cats; half of his hearers regarded this
preference as stupid : white elephants, white cats, and white horses are only
albinos, a sickly species which it was easy to see that they regarded as weaker
than those of darker color. The other half of his hearers defended white cats.
"Do you know nothing of the life of Mrs. Beecher Stowe, of whose novel y6u
have told us?" asked one of the larger questioners. Kirsanoff knows nothing
now, but he will find out about her, for that interests him also ; at jiresent
he can tell them something about Howard, a person of the same stamp as Mrs.
Beecher Stowe. The time was taken up now by Kirsanoft's stories, now by dis-
cussions, and however the make-up of his audience might vary so far as the
young girls were concerned, so far as the children were concerned it was always
the same. But Vera Pavlovna has finished her business, and she returns to the
house with him to take tea.

In these days Vera Pavlovna and Dmitry Sergueitch are together much more
than formerly. All three while away an hour or two every evening with music:

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 173

Dmitry Sergueitch plays, V6ra Pavlovna sings, Kirsanoff listens ; sometimes
Kirsanoflf plays, and then Dmitry ScvgiKiitch and his wife sing. Sometimes Vera
Pavlovna hurries back from the shop in order to have time to dress for the opera,
which they now attend, half the time all three together and the rest of the time
only Kirsanoif and V6ra Pavlovna. Moreover, the Lopoukhotfs now have more
visitors than they did. Formerly, leaving out the very young people (are these
visitors? they are only 7iei(veiix), the Mertzalofts were almost the only ones that
came, while now the Lopoukhoffs have ties of friendship with two or three good
families of their own stamp. The Mertzaloffs and two other families decided to
take turns in giving, weekly, little evening parties to the members of their circle,
at which they danced. They numbered as many as eight couples. Lopoukhoff
without Kirsanoflf scai'cely ever went to the opera or to visit the families of their
acquaintance, but Kirsanoflf often took V6ra Pavlovna alone. Lopoukhoflf said
that he preferred to wrap himself in his great coat and stretch out upon his
divan. So the three spent only half of the evenings together, and even when the
Lopoukhnflfs had no caller except Kirsanoff, the divan often attracted LopoukhotT
from the parlor, where the piano was now kept. But this retreat did not save
Dmitry Si-rgueitch ; a quarter of an hour later, or at mo.st a half an hour, Kirsa-
nofl" and Vera Pavlovna left the piano and came to the divan; and before long
Vera Pavlovna would even half lie down upon the ilivan without crowding
Lopoukhoflf too much, the divan l)eing large, and then for greater comfort the
young woman would evcm throw her arm about her husband.

Three months passed away.

Idyls are not in fashion now, and I even do not like them, — that is, personally,
as I do not like walking or asparagus; there are many things that I do not like;
a man cannot like all di.slies or all sorts of amusements ; but yet T know that these
things an* very fine tilings judging not by my personal taste, but by the taste of
another; that they are tr) tin; taste or would b(! tn the taste of a inuili greater
number of men than those who, like myself, prefer chess to promenades and sour
c.'ibl)age with henip.seeil oil* to a'^paragus ; I even know that the majority, who
do not share my taste for chess an<l sour cabbage with ht-mpseed oil, have no
worse tastes than mine; so I say: Let there be as much proniena<ling as pos-
sible in the world, and let sour cabbage with hempseed oil disappear almost
entirely, remaining only as an antiijue rarity for the few originals like myself!

I know likewise that (o the iinincnse majority of men, who are no worst; than
L happiness must have an idyllic charactnr, ami con.sequently I say: Li't the
idyl prrdominate over all other modes of life. For the few orininals, who are
not amateurs, there shall be otiier methods of enjoyment. But thii majority ot
men have no desire for idyllic life, which does not mean that they shun it: they

An ordinary dl*h umoiig KuMian peaaauU.

174 W/mrs To Be Done?

shun it as the fox In the fablo shuns the grapes. It seems to them that the idyl
is inaccessible, so they have invented the excuse that it should not be in fashion.
But it is utterly absurd that the idyl should be inaccessible : the idyl is not only a
good thing for almost all men, but also a possible, very possible thing, as I could
easily show. Not possible, however, for one or for ten individuals exclusively, but
for everybody through the practice of solidarity.

Italian opera also was an impossible thing for five or six persons, but for the
whole of St. Petersburg nothing is easier, as everybody sees and clearly under-
stands. The " Complete Works of X. V. Gogol," published in Moscow in 18G1,*
were no less impossible for eight or ten persons, but for the entire public nothing
is easier and cheaper, as every one knows. But until Italian opera existed for
the whole city, the most passionate lovers of music had to put up with the most
ordinar3- concerts; and until the second part of the " Dead Souls" was printed
tor the entire public, the few Gogol enthusiasts were obliged to expend much
effort in taking a manuscript copy. Manuscript is incomparably inferior to a
printed book, an ordinary concert is a very poor thing in comparison with Italian
opera, but the manuscript and the ordinary concert have nevertheless their
value.

XVII.

If any one had come to ask Kirsanoff's advice about such a situation as that in
which he found himself when he came to himself, and he had been an utter
stranger to all the persons involved, he would have answered :

" It is too late to remedy the evil by flight ; I do not know how events will
shape themselves, but to you the same danger presents itself whether you go or
stay. As for those about whose tranquillity you are disturbed, perhaps the
greater danger to them would result from your departure."

It is needless to say that Kirsanoff would have thus advised a man like himself
or like Lopoukhotf, a man of firm character and invincible integrity. With any
other men it is useless to discuss such matters, because other men in such cases
always act basely and dishonestly: they would have dishonored tlie woman and
themselves, and then would have gone to all their acquaintances to whine or to
boast, seeking always their own enjoyment, either by posing as virtuous or by
indulging in the jjleasures of love. Of such people neither Lopoukhoff" nor Kir-
.sanoff cared to ask how really noble natures ought to act. But in saying to a
man of the same stamp as himself that to fly was perhaps even worse than to
remain Kirsanoff would have been right. There would have been implied in
this advice: "I know how you would conduct yourself if you remained. The
thing to be done is not to betray your feeling, since it is only on that condition

* The first complete edition of Oogol's works.

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 175

that you can remain without becoming a dishonest man. The point is to disturb
as little as possible the tranquillity of the woman whose life is calm. That she
should not be troubled at all has already become impossible. The feeling in
opposition to her present relations probably — but why probably ? it would be
more accurate to say undoubtedly — has already arisen in her, only she has not
yet perceived it. Whether or not it will manifest itself .'ioon without any provo-
cation on your part no one can tell, whereas your departure would be a provo-
cation. Consequently your departure would only accelerate the thing you wish
to avoid."

Only KirsanoflF viewed the question not as if it concerned a stran<::er, but as
personal to himself. He imagined that to go was more difficult than to stay ;
sentiment urged him to the latter course ; therefore in staying would he not be
yielding to sentiment, surrendering himself to the seduction of his inspirations ?
What security could he have that neither by word or look would he manifest his
feelings and arouse in her a consciousness of her situation ? Therefore the safer
way would be to go. In one's own affairs it is extremely difficult to realize how
far the mind is seduced by the sophistries of passion, honesty telling you to act
contrary to your inclination and thereby stand a greater chance of acting in a
manly fashion. That is the translation of the language of theory into every-day
language; now, the theory to which Kirsanoff held considers the great words
" honesty," " nobility," etc., as equivocal and obscure, and Kirsanoff, using his
own terminologv, would have expressed himself thus: " Every man is an egoist,
and I am no exception to the rule ; the question now is to find out which would
be better for me, to go or to stay. By going I stifle in myself a special senti-
ment; by staying I run the risk of revolting the sentiment of my own dignity by
a stupid word or look inspired l)y tiiis special sentiment. .\ special sentiment
can be stilleil, and in the course of time; ray tranquillity will be reestablished, and I
.shall once mf>re bo contenti'il with my life, iiut if 1 once act agaiu.st my human
iinture, I shall lo.se forever the possibility of tranquillity, the po.ssibility of being
contented with myself, and poi.son my whole life. This, in a word, is the situa-
tion in wliicli I find my.self : I like wine, and I see before me a cup of very
good wine, but. I have a suspicion lliat this wine is poisoned. Whether or not
there is any groun<l for my suspicion it ifJ impossible for me to know. Shall 1
drink this cup, or overturn it that it may not tempt me? 1 should not charac-
terize my decision as noble or honest even ; those are too highsounding words;
it is at most a matter of rea.sou, of enlightened self-interest; I overturn the eup.
Thereby I deprive myself of a certain pleasure, I cause myself a certain pain ;
but on the other hand I assure myself health, — that is, the possibility of drink-
ing for many years and in sufficient quantities wine which,! feel sure, is not
poisoned. I do not act stupidly : that is my only merit."

176 What's To Be Done?

XVIIT.

But how to retire ? To play the old comedy over again, to feign offence, to
show a base side to his character in order to explain his course, — that would
not do ; one cannot mislead twice in the same way ; a second affair of the same
sort would only have explained the real meaning of the first, and set Kirsanoff
up as a hero not only of the new occasion, but of the old as well. In general
any abrupt suspension of relations should be avoided ; not that such a separation
would not have been easier, but it would have excited attention, — that is, would
have been a low and base thing (according to the egoistic theory of Kirsanoff).
Therefore there was but one way left, the most difficult and painful, — to beat a
retreat in a slow, imperceptible way, so that his departure should not be noticed.
It was a delicate and sufficiently trying task ; to go away without attracting the
attention of one whose eyes are ever upon you is difficult. But, whethoi- he
would or no, this was what he had to do. However, according to Kirsanoff's
theory, this course was not only not painful, but really agreeable; the more
difficult an affair is, the more one rejoices (through pride) in his power and
skill, if he executes it well.

And indeed be did execute it well : neither by a word, nor by ill-timed silence,
nor by a look did he betray himself; he still maintained his ease of manner, and
jested as before with V6ra Pavlovna ; it was evident that as before he found pleas-
ure in her society ; but obstacles were always arising to pi'event him from coming
to see the Lopoukhoffs as often as he used to, and from staying all the evening,
so that Lopoukhoff had occasion oftener than before to seize him by the hand or
else by the lappel of his coat and say to him :

" No, dear friend, I will not let you leave this discussion in that way." And so
it was that while at the Lopoukhoffs' he always sat nearer his comrade's divan.
All this was arranged so methodically that the change was not even perceptible.

Kirsanoff had obstacles, but he did not put them forward ; on the contrary, he
expressed regrets (rarely, for to express them too often would not have been
proper) that these obstacles should present themselves. And these oljstaeles
were so natural, so inevitable, that very often the Lopoukhoffs themselves drove
him away by reminding him that he had forgotten his promise to be at home that
evening, that such or such a one was waiting for him there, or that he forgot that
if he did not go that day to see such a person that person would be offended, or
that he forgot that he had at least four hours' work to do before the next morning ;
had he no desire to sleep at night ? It was already ten o'clock ; a truce to Ijab-
bling! it was time to go to work. Thus they refreshed Kirsanoff's memory, but
he did not always listen. He did not go to see this or that acquaintance ; he
might take offence if he liked. The work could wait; there was time enough,
and he desired to stay the evening through. But the obstacles continually multi-

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. Ill

t

J)lied, and scientific pursuits pressed ever faster upon him and took away his even-
ings one after another. " May the devil take the scientific pursuits ! " sometimes
he would cry. He met a steadily increasing number of individuals who threw
tlieir acquaintance at liis head. The ease with which these individuals made his
acquaintance was really astonishing, he would sometimes remark incidentally.
It seemed so to him, but the Lopoukhoffs saw clearly tliat he was making a repu-
tation and that for that reason an ever growing number of men needed him. He
must not neglec t them, and it was wrong to let himself go on like that. What
was to be done ? He had grown very lazy during the last few months, and coulil
not set himself to work. " But you must, my dear Alexander ; "' " It is time, Alex-
ander Matvcitch," they often said to him. It was a difficult manoeuvre. Through
long weeks he had to drag this deception and execute it with tlie slowness and
precision of a clock-hand, which you cannot see move howevei* attentively you
look at it, but which nevertheless does its work, stealthily, and moves farther and
farther from its piimitive position. What pleasure, therefore, Kirsanoft" the theo-
rist Ibund in the contemplation of his practical skill ! The egoists and material-
ists do nothing except for their own pleasure. KirsanofF too could say, with his
liand upon his conscience, that he was acting lor his own pleasure, and rejoiced
at his skill and decision.

A month passed in this way, and if any one had examined things, he would
have found thatinthe course of this month Kirsanofi's intimacy vvitii the Lopouk-
hofls iiad grown no less, but that thi' lime he spent with them had beconn! four
linii's less, and the part of the tinii! spent witii Vera Pavlovna had diminished
on<vhalf. A month more and, wliiht tjn! friendship will remain the .same, the in-
lervi«nvs will Ik; few and far betwium an<l the movement will l>e finished.

Does the clear-sigiited Lopoukiioff notice nothing?

No, nothing at all.

And Vera I'avlovna? Does she iioticcMiothing either i' Not wlicn lierself. lint
here slie has a dream.

XIX.

VklCA I'AVI.OVNA'S rillKK nUKAM.

This was V/ti Pavlovna's dream .

After having taken lea and talked with her " darling," .sh(! went to lior room
and lay down all ilressed for .i moment, not to sh^ep, — it was too early, being
only half-past eight, — but only to read. Tli(!r<! she is, on her bed, reading. Ibit
the book falls from her hands. She niflecLs and says to herscslf : Why <loes ennui
Homelimes eonn; over m»^ of late, or rather, not annni, but .something like itP It
Biniply occurred to me that I wanted to go to tlu; opera (his (ivening. I'lit (his
Kirsanoft' is so ina(tentive ! He went too late to «ret the tickets. He otiirlil to

178 What's To Be Done?

kiiuw, however, that, when Bosio sings, tickets are not to l»e had at eleven oV'h)ck
lor two nmbles each. Can Kirsanotl" be bhuued ? If he had had to work until
five o'clock, I am sure he would not have admitted it. But it is his fault just the
same. No, in future I will rather ask my " darling" to get the tickets, and I will
go with him to the opera: rny " darling" will not leave me without tickets, and,
as for accompanying me, he will be always very happy to ; he is so agreeable,
my " darling." Now, thanks to this Kirsanoflf, I have missed " La Traviata ;" it's
horrid! I would have gone to the opera every evening, if there had been an
opera ever\- evening, however bad the piece, provided Bosio filled the principal
role. If I had a voice like Bosio's, I would sing all day. If I could make her ac-
quaintance? How can I do it? That artillery officer knows Tamberlik well,
cannot he be secured as a mediator? It is not possible. But what a queer idea !
Of what use to make Bosio's acquaintance? Would she sing for me? Must she
not look out for her voice?

But when did Bosio get time to learn Russian? And to pronounce it so well?
Where did she unearth those verses that are so licentious ? She probably studied
Russian with the same grammar that I used : those verses are quoted in it as an
example of punctuation, which is very stupid. If only those verses were not .so
licentious; ijut there is no time to think of the words, for one has to listen to her

voice.

Consacre a I'amour
Ton heu reuse jeunesse,
Et cherche nuit et jour
L'heure (lej'ivresse.*

How queer these words are ! But what a voice and what sentiment! Yes, her
voice is much improved; it is admirai)le now. How did Bosio succeed in reach-
ing such a point? I did not know how to make her ucquaintaniie, and here she
is, come to make me a visit. How did she learn of my desire ?

" You have been summoning me a long time," said Bosio, in Russian.

" T ? How could I have done .so, when T am unknown to you ? No matter, I
am glad, very glad, to see you."

Vera Pavlovna opens her curtains to extend her hand to Bosio, but the singer
Ijcgins to laugh ; it is not Bosio, but rather De-Merick playing the Bohemian in
" Rigoletto." But if the gay laugh is De-Merick's, the voice is really Bosio's ; she
•Iraws back abruptly and hides ijehind the curtain. What a pity!

" Do you know why I have come?" said the apparition, laughing as though
she were De-Merick instead of Bosio.

" But who are you ? You are not De-Merick ? "

" No."

• Renflercd in Engli«h proae: OonsecraU; U> love your happy youUi, ami seek night and day the hour
of intoxication.

Life of Vera nyitli her llat<band, and the ^Second Love. 179

" Then you are Bosio ? "

Fresh laus^hter. " You recognize quickly, but we must now attcud to the busi-
ness on which I have come. I wisli to read your tiiary with you."

" I have no diary ; I never kepi any."

" But look ! what is that on the little table ? "

V6ra Pavlovna looks: on the little table near the Ijed lies a writinjr-book
inscribed: Diary of V. L. Where did this writing-book come from? Vera
Pavlovna takes it, oiJens it, — it is written in her hand : but when ?

" Read the last page," says Bosio.

V^ra Pavlovna reads : " Again it happens that I remain alone entire evenings.
But that is nothing : 1 am used to it."

" Is that all ? " .says Bosio.

" All."

" No, you do not I'ead all. You cannot deceiv(! me. And what is this here ?"

V6ra Pavlovna sees a hand stretch Ibrth. How beautiful this hand is ! No, this
marvellous hand is not Bosio\s. And how did it pierce the curtains without
opening them? Tiie hand touches the page ; at its contact new lines stand out
which were not there before.

•' Read."

V6ra Pavlovna feels a pn^ssure on her heart ; she has not yet looked at tiiese
lines; she does not kn<»w wlial th(!y (iontain, and nevertheless her heart is
oppressed. She does not wish to read.

" Read," repeats the app.irition.

Vera Pavlovna n-ads: '^ No, now I grow wear}' in my solitude. Formerly!
did not grow weary. Why did I not grow weary before, and why do I grow
weary now ? "

"Turn one page l);ick.'"

Vera l';ivlovna turns the leal': ".Sutnmerof this year" (who is it that writes
iicr diary in this way ? .says V/jra Pavlovna; it should have said 1855, June or
July, with th<! dati'). " SiitntncM- of this year. We are going, as usu.il, out of
the city to the islands. This time my d.irlintr accomp.inii's us; how eoiUenteil I
:im!" (Ah! it i.s August. What day of the month, — tln^ (iflcenth or the
twelfth ? Yes, yes, about the fifteenth ; it was alter this excursion that my poor
darling fell sick, thinks V6ra Pavlovna.)

"Is that all?"

" AH "

" No, you do not rr;id all. And what is this hen!?" (And the marvellous
hand again .stretches forth, and nmre now lines appear.)

V6ra Pavlovna reads without wishing to: " Why iloes not my darling accom-
pany us oftener?"

"Turn another leaf."

180 What's To Be Done?

" Mv darlinj; i-; so busy, and it is ahvaj's Cor iiu;, always for mc that he works,
my darling." (Tiiat is really the answer, thinks Vera I'avlovua with Joy.)

"Turn one page more."

" How honest and noble these students are, and how they esteem my darling!
And I am gay in their company ; with them 1 leol as if I were with brothers,
quite at my ease."

"Is that all?"

" All."

" No, read farther" (and for the third time the hand stretches forth causing
new lines to appear).

Vera Pavlovna reads unconsciously: "August 16" (that is, the day after the
excursion to the islands ; it did occur then on the fifteenth, thinks .she). " On the
excursion my darling talked the whole time with that Rakhmetoff, the rigorist,
as they jokingly call him, and with his other comrades. lie stayed with me
scarcely a quarter of an hour." (That is not true; it was over half an hour;
over half an hour, I am .sure, thinks she, without counting the time when we sat
side by side in the boat.) "August 17. Yesterday we had the students here all
the evening; " (yes, it was the night before my darling fell sick). " My darling
talked with them all the evening. Why does he devote so much time to them
and so little to me ? He does not work all the time. For that matter he says
himself that without rest labor is impossible, that he rests a great deal, and that
he reflects upon some special idea in order to rest himself; but why does lie
meditate alone, without me?"

'•Turn another leaf"

" In July of this year we have had the students twice, as usual ; I have played
with them a great deal, I was so gay. Tomorrow or day after tomorrow they
will come again, and again I shall be gay."

"Is that all?"

" All."

" No, read farther" (the hand reappears, and new lines respond to its contact).
Again V6ra Pavlovna reads unconsciously :

" From the Ijeginning of the year to the end of .spring. Yes, formerly I was
gay with these students, but I was gay and that was all. Now I often .say to
myself: These are children's games; they will probably seem amusing to me for
a long time to come, and even when I .shall Ik; old. When I shall be no longer
of an age to tak(^ part in them, I shall contemplate thi; games of youth and thus
recall ray childhood. But even now I look upon these students as younger
brothers, and I should not like to transform my.self forever into playful V6rotchka,
since I desire to rest myself with serious thoughts and labor. I am already V6ra
Pavlovna; to amuse myself as Verotchka is pleasant from time to time, l)ut not

Life of Vera tuith her Husband, and (lie Second Love. 181

;il\v;iys. Vera Pavlovna would like distractions which would permit her to
remain Vera Pavlovna. Distractions with her equals in development."

" Turn a few pages farther back."

" I went to Julie's to get her orders. She did not let us go away without
Itreakfast; she ordered champagne, and made me take two glasses. We began
to sing, run, shout, and wrestle. I was so gay! My darling looked at us and
laughed."

'• Is that quite all .3" .says the apparition, again stretching forth the hand, which
always produces the same result, — the appearance of new lines.

Vera Pavlovna reads:

'• M}' darling only looked and laughed. Why did he not play with us? It
would have been even merrier. Would he have acted clumsily ? Not at all.
Iiut it is his character. He confines himself to the avoidance of interference, he
approves, rejoices, and that is all."

" Turn a i)age forward."

" This evening we went, my darling and I, for the first time since our marriage,
to .sec my parents. It was so painful to me to see again this interior which
opprcssc'd anil stilled me l)efore my marriage. Oh, my darling ! From what a
hideous lifi- Ik; has delivered me! At night I ha<I a horrilde dream: I saw
Mamma, wild reproached ww with being ungrateful; it seemed to me tliat that
was the truth, and this conviction made me groan. My darling, hearing my
groans, ran to my side ; when In; <!ntered my room, I was singing (though still
jislcep) ; the i)resence of the; fair one, wlmni I love so nnieli, h;id soothed ww.
My darling wished to drtrss me I was much abashed. But he is si> reserved ;
he only ki.ssed my shoulder."

"T.sthat really all that is written there? You cannot deceive me. Ki-ad."
Again under the I'atal h.iml otlur charaelcrs ari.sc, and Vera Pavlovna reads them,
slill uncon.scionsly :

"And as if that Wf-re ofTiinsive!"

" 'I'lnti a few j)ageH l)ack."

"Today I wailed for my friend I), on the boult-vanl near tin; Pont Ntuif: then-
lives the lady by whom I wished to be employed as a governess. Hut she would
not give her consent. D. and I returned to tiii- house very much worried, doing
to my room bcifore dinner, I li:i<l amph- tinu! to consider that it would Ik; better
to die ihati to live as I had lived. Suddenly at dinner 1). said to me: 'Vera
I'avlovna, let us drink to the health of my sweetheart and yours.' I eoidd
scarcely keep tinrn wrejiing tears of joy before everybody for this unexpected
deliverance. After dinner I talked a long timt^ with D. as to the way we should
live. How T lov<> him : he enaiih's me to leave my cellar."

"Read, read the whol«v"

" There is nf) more there."

182 What's To Be JJone?

" Look." (The liaiul strekhcs lortli.)

" I do not wish to read," says Vera Paviovna, seized witii fright; she has not
yet seen clearly what these new lines say, but she is already afraid.

" I command you : read ! "

V6ra Paviovna reads :

" Do I really love him because he delivered me from my cellar? No, I love
not him, but my deliverance."

" Turn farther back ; read the first page."

" Today, the anniversary of my birth, I for llie first time talked with D., and
formed an affection for him. I jiave never lieard any one sjwak such noble and
strengthening words. How he sympathizes with everything that is worthy, how
he longs to aid all that calls for aid ! How sure he is that the happiness of man-
kind is possiijle and must come some day; tliat wickedness and pain are not
perpetual, and that a new and peaceful life is approaching with ever hastening
steps! How my heart beat with joy when I heard these things from a learned
and serious man ! They confirmed my own thoughts. How good he was when
he spoke of us, poor women ! Any woman would love such a man. How wise,
noble, and good he is! "

" Exactly ; turn again to the last page.

" But I have already read that page."

" No, that was not quite the last. Turn one leaf more."

"Read, read! Do 3-011 not see ? So much is written there." And the contact
of the hand calls forth lines which were not there at first.

Vera Paviovna trembles :

" I do not wish to read ; I cannot."

"I commanrl you. You must."

"I am neither willing nor able."

" Well, I will read what you have written there. So listen : ' He has a noble
soul, he is my liberator. But a noble character inspires esteem, confidence, a
disposition to act in concert, friendship ; the liberator is rewarded by gratitude,
devotion, and that is all. His nature, perhaps, is more ardent than mine. His
caresses are passionate. But he has another need ; he needs a soft and slow ca-
ress; he needs to slumber peacefully in tender sentiment. Does he know all
that ? Are our natures- our needs, analogous ? He is readv to die for me, and 1
for him. But is that enousrh? Does he live in the thounrht of me? \)u I live; in
the thought of him ? Do I love him as much as I need to love ? In the first
place, I do not feel this need of a soft and tender sentiment ; no, my feeling to-
wards him is not ' " . . .

"I will hear no more," and Vera Paviovna indignantly threw away th(! diary.
" Wicked woman, why are you here ? I did not call you ; go away ! "
The apparition laughs, but with a gentle and good laugh.

Life of Vera with Jier Husband, and the Second Love. 183

" No, you do not love him ; these words are written with 3-our own hand."

" Be accursed ! " Vera Tavlovna awoke with this exclamation, and had no
sooner regained possession of herself than she rose and ran.

" My darling, embrace ine, protect me ! I have had a frightful dream ! " She
presses herself agaiust her husband. '-My darling, caress me, be affectionate
with me, protect me ! "

'•What is the matter, Verotchka? You are trembling all over," .said Lopou-
khoflf. as he embraced her. '• Your cheeks are moist with tears, and your brow
is covered with a cold sweat. You have walked in l)are feet over the floor; let
me kiss your feet to warm them."

'•Yes, caress me, save me! I have had a horrible dream; I dreamed that I
did not love you."

" But, dear frienrl, whom do you love, then, if not me? That is a very strange
dream ! "

" Yes, I love you; l)ut caress me, embrace me! I love you, and you I wish to
love."

.She emljraced him with intensity, she pressed her whole form against liim,
and, soothed by his caresses, she gently fell asleep in his eml)race.

XX.

That morning Dmitry SerguiMtch ilid not liave to call his wife to l:ike tea;
sin- was lli<'ri\ pn^ssing herself against him; she .still slept; Ik; looked at her and
thought: "What is the matter witli h(;r? Wli.it li.is i'riglitcn<'(l her':* Wlnit
dots this dn;ani m(;an ? "

" Stay here, Verotchka, I :iiu going to bring the tea ; do not rise; my darling,
F :iin going to bring the water for your toilet that yon iii:iy in't liave to disturb
your.sell'in order to wa.sh."

" Yes, I will not rise, I will reniiiin in l)ed a wliile longer, 1 am so comfortable.
here: how good you are, my darling, and how I love ytm ! There! I have
wiished ; now bring the tea; no, enil)r.iee nie first."

And Vera I'avlovna held Inr iiiisb.ind a long lime in her arms. " Ah. my
darling, how strange I am I Howl ran to your side! W^lial. will .Maeha think
now? We will hide lliis from her. Ib-ing m<« my elollies. C.iress me, my dar-
ling, caress me ; I wish to love yon, I neid lo love I i wish to |ii\ e yon as I h.ive
n«»t yet loved you ! "

V/tra P.avlovna'.s room rem.ains (^niply. Veni I'avlovna conceals nothing morn
from M.ieha, .'ind is completely e>it:ililislied in her hnsbmid's nioni. " \\n\\ lender
he is! How alleeijonatt; he is, my darling! And I imagim-ij tiial I did not |o\(i
you ! How strange I am ! "

184 What's To Be Done 9

•'• Now that you are calm, tell me your dream of day before yesterday."

'Oh, that uoDseusel 1 only saw, as 1 have already told you, that you were
not very demonstrative. Now I am well contented. Why have we not lived in
this way always? I should not have had the dream, whieh I do not like to re-
call."

'• But had it not been for this dream, we should not be living as we are now
living."'

"True; I am very grateful to her, this bad woman: she is not bad, she is
good."

"Who is 'she'? Besides the beauty of former days, have you still a new
friend."'

'• Yes, still a new one. I saw a woman come to me with an enchanting voice,
more so than Bosio's, and what hands! Oh, what admiral)ie beauty! I only
saw her hand; she hid herself behind the curtains; I dreamed that my bed (I
have abandoned it because I had this dream there) had curtains and that the
woman hid herself behind them ; but what an admirable hand, my darling ! and
she sang of love and told me what love is; now I understand it. How stujjid I
was ; I did not understand ; I was only a little girl, a stupid little girl ! "

"Everything in its time, my angel. As we lived before, it was love; as we
live now, it is love: some need one, others the other; at first the former was
sufficient for you ; now you need the latter. You have become a woman, my
dear friend, and that which you did not need at first has now i)ecome necessary
to vou."

Two weeks pass. V6ra Pavlovna takes her ease. Now she stays in her room
only when her husband is not at home or when he is at work ; but no, even when
he is at work, she stays in his study, except when Dmitry Sergu6itch's task de-
mands all his attention. But such tasks are rare, and very often scientific tasks are
purely mechanical ; so three-quarters of the time Lopoukhoff s.aw his wife by his
side. They lacrked but one thing; it was necessar}' to buy another divan, a litlic
smaller than her husband's. This was done, and Vera Pavlovna took iier ease
after dinner on her little divan, contemplating her husband sitting bijfore her.

" My dear friend, why do you kiss my hands ? I do not like that."

" Truly ? I had quite forgotten that I offend you ; and besides, what does it
matter, for I shall do it just the same."

'■ You deliver me for the second time, my darling : you iiave saved me from
wicked people, you have saved me from myself! (Jaress me, ray dear friend
caress me ! "

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 185

A month passes. V6ra Pavlovna still willingly takes her ease. He sits down
beside her on the divan ; she throws herself into his arras, but becomes pensive;
he embraces her; she is still pensive, and her tears are ready to flow.

" V6rotchka, dear V6rotchka, why are you so pensive ? "

V6ra Pavlovna weeps and does not say a word. No, she weeps no more, she
wipes away her tears.

'• No, do not embrace me, my dear friend ! That is enough. I thank you."

And she gives him a glance so soft and so sincere.

" I thank you ; you are so good to me."

" ' Ciood,' V6rotc]ika ? Wluit do you mean ? "

" (rood, yes, my dear friend, you are good ! "

Two days passed. After dinner V6ra Pavlovna, pensive, lay stretched upon her
bed Ilcr husband was near her, iield h(!r in his arms, and seemed e(iually
pensive.

" No, that is not it; that is lacking."

" How good ht! is, and how ungrateful I am !" tliought Vera Pavlovna.

Such w<!n; their thoughts.

She .said in a simple lone and witiiout sadness:

" (»o to your room, my dear friend ; to work or to rest."

" Why do you <lrive me away, V6rot(;hka P Am I not all right here ?"

II(! was able to say these words, as he; wIsIkmI, in a simple and gay tone.

" No, gr) away, my dear frimid. You do so much for nie. (Jo and rest."

He embraced her, and siio forgot her thoughts and brciathetl again quite Irecdy
and a.s if nothing saddened her.

" [ I hank you, my <lear friend," she said.

And Kirsanoff is thoroughly happy. The strugghr had been a little diflicult to
sustain ; the gn-atcr Ihi-reforc the int<'ri)al lontciitminil l)roui,dit hiu) by the
triumph, a contrntmcnt whii-h will last and warm liis breast lor a long time,
throughout his life. He is honest. He has Ijrought them nearer to each other.
Yes, in fact, he has brought th(!m together. Kirsanotf on his divan smoked and
thought: "He honest, — that is, calculating; make no mistake in the c;ilcula-
tion ; remember that the whole is gniater than any of its parts, — that is, tliatyour
human nature is stronger and of more importance to you than any of your aspi-
rations taken .separately ; place its interests, therefore, before the interests of any
of your special aspirations, if th<'y h:ip|)cn to be in contrailiction ; to i)ut the
whole in a simple definition : i'>c lionrst and all will go wcill. A single ruh; of
great simplicity, ))Ut (containing all the pn-acriptions of science, tiie whole code of

18G What's To Be Done?

liuppy life. Yes, hiippv tlinse who liave the power to understand this simple
rule. For my part, I am happy enough in tliis respect. I undoubtedly owe
much moi-e to intellectual development than to nature. But in time this will be-
come a general rule, inspired by education and surroundings. Yes, everybody
will then live comfortably, as I do now, for instance. Yes, I am content. Never-
theless, I must go to see them ; I have not l)een there for three weeks. It is time
to go even though it were not agreeable. But would it not be better to postpone
it a month? That is it. The retreat is executed; they will not notice now
whether it has been three weeks or three months since I went to see them. It is
very agreeable to think at a distance of men towards whom one has acted honestly.
I rest on my laurels."

Three days later LopoukhofiF went into his wife's room after dinner, took his
Verotchka in his arms, and, carrying her to his room, placed her upon the little
divan.

" Rest here, my friend," and he began to contemplate her. She went off into a
doze, smiling; he sat down and began to read. She half opened her eyes and
thought:

" How modestly his room is furnished ! He has only the necessaries. No, he
too has his whims. There is an enormous box of cigars, which I gave him last
year; it is not yet exhausted. The cigar is his only whim, his only article of
luxury. No, there is another article of luxury, — the pliotograph of that old man.
What a noble face that old man has, what a mixture of goodness and perspicacity
in those eyes, in the whole expression of the face! How much trouble Dmitry
had in getting that photograph ! Portraits of Owen are exceedingly rare. He
wrote three letters; two of liiose who took these letters did not find the old man ;
the third found him and had to torment the old man a great deal in order to get a
good photograpli. And how happy Dmitry was when he received it with a letter
from 'the sainted old man,' as he calls him, in which Owen praises me on the
strength of wliat Dmitry has written him. And there is anotlier article of
luxury, — my portrait. For six months he economized in order to be al)le to
employ a good painter. How they tormented me with that young painter! Two
portraits, and that is all. To buy engravings and photograj>lis like mine would
not be so dear. He has no flowers either, and I have .so many in my room. Why
does he not want flowers, since I want them? Is it because I am a woman ?
What nonsense ! Or is it because he is a serious and learned man ? But there is
Kirsanofi"; he has engravings and flowers, although he too is a serious and
learned man.

"And why does it weary him to devote much time to me?

Life of Vera with her Ilashand^ and the /Second Love. 187

"I know well that it costs him great effort. Is it because he is a serious and
learned man ?

" But there is Kirsanoff . . . No, no, he is good, very good, he has tlone every-
thing, he is ready to do everything for me. Who can love me as much as he
does? And I too love him, and am ready to do everything for him "...

" YoD are no longer asleep, then, dear Verotchka ? "

" My darling, why do you not have llowers in your room? "

" Very well, my friend, I will have some tomorrow ; they are indeed very plea-
sant."

" What else do you want ? Ah ! !)uy yourself some photographs, or rather I
will buy l)oth flowers and photographs."

"Then they will be doubly agreeable to me. But, Verotchka, you were pen-
sive, you were thinking of your dream. Permit me to beg you to relate to me in
greater detail this dream which so frightened you."

" I think no more about it: it is too painful to me to recall it."

" But perhajjs, Verotchka, it would be useful for me to know it."

" Very well, my dear friend."

And V6rotchka told her dream.

"Pardon me, my friend, if I ask you one more question : is thai all you saw P '

" If it were not all, should i not have told you .so, and l)esides did I not tell you
so that very night.'' "

This was said so sincerely and simply that Loj)oukhoff felt an inefl"al)ly sweet
•imotion, one of those intoxicating moments of liappimvss never to be forgotten.

What a pity that so lew husijanils can know tjiis feeling! All the joys of happy
love are a.s nothing comp.'ired with it; it fdls the heart of man forever with the
purest contentment and tint lioliest pride.

In V6ra Pavlovna's words, spoken with a certain .sadness, were conveyeil a
reproach, Ijut liie meaning of the rtiproach was: My friend, do you not know liiat
you have deservi'd all my conlich'nce? In the present state of their mutual re-
lationH a wife must conceal liom licr husband tlu! secret moveuK'nls ol licr heart,
but from you, my «I<'ar friend, I have nolliing to conceal ; my heart is as op»Mi
before you as Ijclore myself

That is a very gn^at reward for a husband, a reward purchased only by a higii
moral dignity ; ancl whoever earns it has (he right to considin- liimself an irre-
proachai)Ie man, to be sure that his conliilenee is pure and always will l)e, that
valor and tranriuillily will never desert him whatever the situation in which h<!
may find himself, and that destiny has almost no hold on the pciaco of his soul.
We are well enough acrpiainted with Lf)poukhoff to know that he is not senti-
mental, but lie was .so touched l)y these words of his wife that his face grew pur-
ple with emotion.

188 What\^ To Be Done?

"Vdrotchka, my friend, you have reproached nic," — his voice trcmhled for the
second and last time in his life; the first time it Ircmbled with doubt, now it trem-
bled with joy, — "you have reproached me, but tliis reproach is dearer to me than
any words of love. I have offended you by a question, but I am happy to have drawn
such a reproach upon myself. See ! there are tears in my eyes, the first tears that I
have shed since my childhood! "

Throughout the evening his eyes were fixed upon her. She did not once say to
herself dm-ing that evening that he was trying to be affectionate, and that evening
was one of the happiest that she ever passed. In a few years she will have days,
weeks, years like it; this will be the case when her children have grown up and she
sees them happy men worthy of happiness. This joy is above all other personal joys ;
that which in every other personal joy is a I'are and fleeting intensity is here the ordi-
nary level of every day without distinction. But this is still in the future for V^ra
Pavlovna.

XXI.

When she had gone to sleep upon his knees and he had placed her on her little
divan, Lopoukhoff concentrated his thoughts upon this dream. It was not for hun
to consider whether she loved him or not ; that was her affair, and in this she was
no more mistress than he was master. This was a point that must clear itself up,
to be thought of only leisurely ; now time was pressing, and his business was to an-
alyze the causes of this presentiment.

At first it was a long time before he could discover anything. He had seen clear-
ly for some days that he could not keep her love. Painful loss, but what was to be
done? If he could change his character, acquire this inclination for gentle affection
which the nature of his wife demanded, that would be another matter, certainly.
But he saw that this would be a vain attempt. If this inclination is not given by
nature or developed by life independently of the intentions of the man himself, it
cannot be created by the effort of his will ; now, without the inclination nothing is
as it should be. Hence for him the question was solved. So this w^as the problem
of his first reflections. Now, after having meditated on his own situation (as an
egoist thinking first of himself and of others only secondarily), he could approach
the affair of another, — that is, of his wife. "What can be done for her? She does
not yet understand what is going on within her, she is not yet as well versed as he in
affairs of the heart, and very naturally, being four years younger, which at that early
age is a gi'eat deal. Could he not, as the more experienced, trace this dream back
to its cau.se V

Immediately came into Loponkhoff's mind this supposition: the cause of her
thoughts must be sought in the circumstance which gave rise to her dream. Some
connection must be found between the cause of her dream and its substance. She
said that she was vexed because she did not go to the opera. Let us see.

Life of Vera with Jier Ilvshand, and the Second Love. 189

I>opoukhofE begau to examine his way of living and thf^t of his wife, and the light
(hiwned <>ii liis mind. Most of the time when Ihey had nothing to do she had re-
mained in solitude, as he did. Then had come a change : she had had distractions.
Now the more sober life had returned. She had not been able to accept it with in-
difference, for it was no more in her nature to do so than in that of the enormous
majority of mankind. So far there is nothing extraordinary. Now, it is no farther
to suppose the solution of the enigma to lie in her association with Kirsanoft', an
a.ssociation followed V)y the latter's separation. But why did Kirsanoff go away?
The cause seems only too natural, — lack of time, pressure of duties. But one can-
not deceive, thougli he use all possible stratagems, an honest, intelligent man, ex-
perienced in life, and above all utilizing the tlioory to which Lopoukhoff held. He
may deceive himself through lack of attention; he may neglect to notice what is
going on: thus it was that Lopoukhoff came to mistake the motives of Kirsanoff's
original separation, because then, to tell the truth, he had no interest and conse-
quently no desire to look closely into the causes of this separation; the only thing
important for him to know was this: Who was to blame for the rupture of friend-
ship ? Was it not himself? Evidently not. Then there was no occasion to think;
about it further. He was neither Kirsanoff's favorite nor a pedagogue charged with
guiding men in tlie straight road. Kirsanolf understood things as well as he did.
How did his (-(^iMhict concern him? In his relations with Kirsanoff was there any-
thing so important? As long as you are on good terms with me and wish me to
love you, T am well content; if ndt, more's the pity, but l'i>r (iuit matter go where
you please, it's all one to me. If makes no great dilTerence wiuither ihorc is one
imbecile more or less in the wurld. I took an imbecile for an honest man; I am
very .sorry for it, and that is all. If our interests are not bound nj) with the acts of
an individual, his acts hfnilili' us little provided we arc S(5ri(ius nnsii.

Two cases aloiii- excepted, wliicli, liow(!V((r, seem excejitions only to men accus-
tomed to consider the word "iiderest" in the not too strict sense of ordinary calcu-
lation. The first case is wlmn actions interest us on their tiieoretieal side, as
iwychical phenomena explaining tlie natini- of man, — that is. when we feel ;in
intellectual interest; the other case is when the, destiny of the person is so depend-
ent upon ourselves that we should be guilty in our own eyes if we shotdd be careless
of his conduct, — that is, when wr- fed ;i conscientious interest. But in tiie silly
departure which Kirsanoff h.id fdimerly tak<'n there was nothing not. known to Lo-
poukhoff as a vr-rj' ordinary charact^sristic of actual morals, for it is not rare to see
a man of hfmest ideas gfjvernr-d by current trivialities. But that. Loimnkhoff could
play an important i),art in Kirsanoff's destiny was something that l.,opoukiiotT could
never have imagined: of what use, therefore, to trouble himself about Kirsanoff?
So go, my dear friend, where it seems good to you; why should 1 trouble myself
about you? But now lln- situation was no longer the snine: K irs.inoff's acts ap-
peared in connection witli tlir' interests of the wonijin whom Lopoukhoff loved. He

11>0 What's To Be Done?

roiiiti iiolhfl[> ,i;iviii!4- (liciii closi! Uiuiii^'Iit. Now, to ^ivt; ;i Uiiiig (-Iosb tlioiiglil^ and
to iiiKltTstanil its causes arc almost one and the same thing lo a man of LopoukhotFs
habits of thought. Lopoukhoff believed that his theory furnished the surest means
of analyzing luiman emotions, and T confess that I am of his opinion. During a
long scries of years this theory that I profess has not once led me into error, and
has always put me in a position to easily discover the truth, whatever the depths in
wliich it lie hidden.

It is none the less true that this theory is not accessible to all ; it requires experi-
ence and habits of thought to be able to imderstand it.

After a half-hour's meditation all was clear to Lopoukhoff in Kirsanoff's relat ifins
with Vera Pavlovna. It was clear, indeed, but nevertheless Lopoukhoff did not
cease to ponder over it, and this reverie ended in a decisive and complete discovery,
which so impressed him that he could not sleep. But why wear out one's nerves
through insomnia? Tt is three o'clock. If one cannot sleep, he must take morphine.
He took two pills; "I will take just one look at Verotchka." But instead of going
and looking, he drew his armchair up to the divan upon which his wife lay asleep,
and sat down there ; then he took her hand and kissed it.

"Yoii still work, my darling, and always for me; how good you are, and how I
love you ! " she murmured in her sleep. Against morphine in sufficient quantities no
laceration of the heart can endure; on this occasion two pills were enough. There-
fore sleep took possession of him. This laceration of the heart was approximately
equal in intensity (according to Lopoukhoff's materialism) to four cups of strong-
coffee, to counteract whicii one pill would not have been enough while three pills
would have been too many. lie went to sleep, laughing at the comparison.

XXIL

A XnEORETICAL CONVERSATION.

Scarcely had Kirsanoff stretched himself out the next day like a v(!ritable sybarite,
a cigar between his lips, to read and to rest after his dinner which had been delayed
Ijy his duties at the hospital, when Lopoukhoff entered.

"I am as much in the way here as a dog in a iiinejun alley," said Lopoukhoff in
a jocose though not at all trifling tone; "I disturb you, Alexander. It is absolutely
necessary that T should talk seriously with you. It is pressing; this morning I over-
slept and should not have found you."

Lopoukhoff did not seem to be trifling.

"What does this mean? Can he have noticed anything?" thought Kirsanoff.

"Therefore let us talk a little," continued Lopoukhoff, sitting down; "look me
in the face."

"Yes, he speaks of that; there Is no doubt about it," said Kirsanoff to himself.

L\fe of Vera with her Husband., and the Second Love. 191

Theu aloud and in a still more serious tone : "Listen, Dmitry; we are friends. But
there are things that even friends must not permit themselves. I beg you to drop this
conversation. I am not disposed to talk today. And on this subject T am never
disposed to talk."

Kirsanolf' s eyes had a steady look of animosity, as if there were a man before
him whom he suspected of an intention to commit some piece of rascality.

"To be silent, — that cannot be, Alexander," continued Lopoukhoft', in a calm
though somewhat hollow voice ; " I have seen through your manoeuvres."

"Be silent! I forbid you to speak unless you wish me for an eternal enemy, un-
less you wish to forfeit my esteem."

"Formerly j^ou did not fear to lose my esteem, — do you recollect? Now, there-
fore, all is clear. Then I did not pay sufficient attention."

" Dmitry, T beg you to go away, or I shall have to go myself."

"You cannot. Is it with your interests that T am concerned?"

Kirsanolf did not say a word.

" My position is advantageous. Yours in conversation with me is not. I seem to
be performing an act of heroism, liut such notions are silly. I cannot act other-
wise; common scnst; Forces mo 1o it. I beg you, Alexander, to put an end to your
manoMivres. Jliey ac(;omplisli nothing."

"What? Was it too late already? rinddii me," said Kirsanoff quickly, unable
to tell whether it wa« joy or chagrin that moved him wlieii lie lieaid tlie words:
"They accomplish nothing."

••No, you do not riglil ly understand me. It was not too late. Molhing has \\-d\>-
pened 80 far. Wliat will iia|>pen we shall see. For the rest, Alexander, I do not
under.stan<l of what you speak; M<ir do you imderstaiid of wlml I s|ie;ik; we do nof^
understand ea<li other. Aim F rigid V And we do not need to understand each other.
Enigmas that you do not iniderstaml are. disagreeable to you. But (here is no enig-
ma here. I have said luithing. I have jiothing to say to you. CJivi^ me a cigar;
I liave carolcHsIy forgotten mine. I will liglil it. and we will discuss scientific ques-
tions; it was not for that that I came, buttospiMui the tim(^ in chat ting about science.
What «lr) yon tliiid< r)f these strange r-xperiments in tln' iirtitieial ]>rodiiction ot" allm-
mi'U?"

LopoukhofT rjrew aufither chair up to his own to |inl his feet on it, seated liimself
comfortably, lighted Ids cigar, and coutiinusd his remarks:

"In my opiidon it is u groat discovery, if it be not eont radieted. Iluve yon rejiro-
duced the exjiiTimeuts?"

"No, but I mu.st do bo."

" How forturijite you are in having a good laboratory at your disposition ! Repro-
duce them, reproduce them. \ In-g of you, but with great, care. It is a complete, revo-
lution in the entire alimentary economy, in the whole life of humanity, — the
manufacture of the principal nutritive Kulisfance directly from inorganic matt<M".

192 What's To Be Donef

That is an extremely important discovery, equal to Newton's. Do you not think so ?'

"Certainly. Only I very much doubt the accui-acy of the experiments. Sooner
or later we shall reach that point, indisputably ; science clearly tends in that direc-
tion. But now it is scarcely probable that we have already got there."

"That is your opinion? Well, it is mine, too. So our conversation is over. An
revoir, Alexander ; but, in taking leave of you, I beg you to come to see us often, as
in the past. Au revoir."

Kirsanoft's eyes, fixed on LopoukliofE, shone with indignation.

" So, you wish, Dmitry, to leave with me the opinion that you have of low
thoughts?"

" Not at all. But you ought to see us. What is there extraordinary iu that?
Are we not friends? My invitation is a very natural one."
. " I cannot. You began upon a senseless and therefore dangerous matter."

" I do not understand of what aff au- you speak, and I must say that this conver-
sation pleases me no more than it pleased you two minutes ago."

" I demand an explanation of you, Dmitry."

" There is nothing to explain or to understand. You are getting angry for no-
thing, and that is all."

" No, I cannot let you go away like that." Kirsanoff seized Lopoukhoff by the
hand as he was on the point of starting. " Be seated. You began to speak without
any necessity of doing so. You demand of me — I know not what. You must listen
to me."

Lopoukhoff sat down.

"What right have you," began KirsanofE in a voice still more indignant than be-
fore,— "what right have you to demand of me that which is painful to me? Am I
imder obligation to you in anything? And what's the use? It is an absurdity.
Throw aside this nonsense of romanticism. What we both recognize as normal life
will prevail when society's ideas and customs shall be changed. Society must ac-
qtdre new ideas, it is true. And it is acquiring them with the development of life.
That he who has acquired them should aid others is also true. But imtil this rad-
ical change has taken place, you have no right to engage the destiny of another. It
is a terrible thing. Do you understand? Or have you gone mad ? "

" No, I understand nothing. I do not know what you are talking about. It
pleases you to attriViute an uidieard-of significance to the invitation of your friend
who asks you not to forget him, it being agreeable to him to see you at his house.
I do not understand what reason you have to get angi-y."

" No, Dmitry, you cannot throw me off this conversation by trifling. You are
mad; a base idea has taken possession of you. We utterly reject prejudices, for
instance. We do not admit that there is anything dishonoring in a hlow perse (that
idea is a silly, harmful prejudice, and nothing more). But have you a right at the
present moment to strike any one a blow? That would be rascality on your part;

Life of Vera with her Husband^ and the Second Love. 198

you would take away from such a man the tranquillity of his life. How stupid you
are not to understand that, if I love this man and you demand that I shall strike
him, I hold you for a base man and will kill either you or myself, but will not strike
the blow ? Besides men, there are women in the world, who are also human beings ;
besides blows, there are other insults, — stupidities according to our theories, and in
reality, but which take away from men the tranquillity of life. Do you understand
that to submit any human being whomsoever — let alone a woman — to one of these
stupidities now regarded as insults is a despicable thing? Yes, you have offensive
thoughts."

" You tell the truth, my friend, touching things proper and things offensive ; only
I do not know why you speak of them, or why you take me to task in the matter.
I have not said a single word to you ; I have no designs upon the tranquillity of any
one whomsoever. You construct chimeras, that is aU. I beg you not to forget me,
it being agreeable to me to spend my time with you, — nothing more. Will you
comply with your friend's request?"

" It is offensive, and I do not commit offences."

" Not to commit them is laudable. But some whim or other has irritated you,
and you launch out into full theory. So be it; I too would like to theorize, and
quite aimlessly ; I am going to ask you a question, simply to throw light on an ab-
stract truth, without reference to any one whomsoever. If any one, without doing
anything disagreeable to himself, can give pleasure to another, in my opinion he
should do HO, because in so doing he himself will find pleasure. Is not that true?"

"That's all liuinbug, Dmitry; you have no right to say that."

"But I say nothing, Alexander; I am only dealing with theoretical questions.
And here is another. If any desire whatever is awakened in any one, Jo our efforts
to stifle this desire lead to any good? Are you not of a contrary opinion, and do
you not thiidv tliat sui)j)n'ssit)n sinqily ovcroxcites tlii.s desire, a Inntl'ul thing, or
gives it a false direction, a hurtful and dangerous thing, or stifles life in stilling this
special desire, which is a calamity?"

"That is not the point, Dmitry. I will state lliis theoretical question in another
form : has any one a right to submit, a liuman iM'ing to a risk, if this human br-ing
is in a toh'rably comfortabli! condition witiiout any need of running a risi<? Therc^
will come a time, we botli know, when all desires will receive conipkito satisfaction,
but wc also know that that time li.'us not yet arrived. Now, the reasonable man is
content if liis life is comfortable, even though such a life should not permit the de-
velopment of all his faculties, the satisfacl ion of (ill his desires. I will suj>pose, as an
abstract hypothesis, that this reasonable human being exists and is a woman; that
the situation in which she finds it convenient to live is the marriage state ; that she is
content in this situation: and T ask, given tliese conditions, who has the right to
submit this person to the danger of losing the life which satisfies her simply to see
if she miglit not attain a better, more complete life with which she can easily dis-

194 What's To Be Done?

peuse. The golden age ^vill come, Dmitry, as we well know, but it is yet to come.
The iron age is almost gone, but the golden age is not yet here. I pursue my ab-
stract hj-pothesis: if an intense desire on the part of the person in question — sup-
pose it, for instance, to be the desire of love — were receiving little or no satisfaction,
I should have nothing to say against any danger incurred by herself, but I still
protest against the risk that another might lead her to run. Now, if the person
finds in her life a partial satisfaction of her new desire, she ought not to risk losing
everj-thing ; and if she does not wish to run this risk, I say that he would be acting
in a censurable and senseless manner who should try to make her run it. What
objection have you to offer to this hypothetical deduction? None. Admit, then,
that you are not right."

" In your place, Alexander, I should have spoken as you do ; I do not say that you
are interested in the matter; I know that it scarcely touches us; we speak only as
savants, on an interesting subject, in accordance with general scientific ideas which
seem to us to be just. According to these ideas, each one judges evei-ything from
his own standpoint, determined by his personal relations to the thing in question; it
is only in this sense that I say that in your place I should speak absolutely as you
do. You in my place would speak absolutely as I do. From the general scientific
standpoint, this is an indisputable truth. A in B's place is B ; if, in B's place, A
were not B, that would mean that he was not exactly in B's place. Am I right? If
so, you have nothing to say against that, just as I have nothing to say in answer to
your words. But, following your example, I will construct an abstract hypothesis,
likewise having no reference to any one whomsoever. Suppose that, given three
persons, one of them has a secret which he desires to hide from the second and espe-
cially from the third, and that the second discovers the secret of the first and says to
him: Do what I ask of you, or I will reveal your secret to the third. What do you
think of such a case?"

Kirsanoff turned a little pale, and, twisting his moustache obstinately, said :

" Dmitry, you are not acting rightly toward me."

"Do I need to act rightly toward you? Is it you that T am interested in? And,
moreover, I do not know what you are talking about. We have spoken of science;
we have mutually proposed to each other various learned and abstract problems ; I
have succeeded in proposing one to you which embarrasses you, and my ambition as
a savant is satisfied. So I break off this theoretical conversation. I have much to
do, — no less than you; so, au revoir. But, by the way, — I forgot, — you will yield
to my desire, then, and no longer disdain your good friends who would be so happy
to see you as often as before."

Lopoukhoff rose.

Kirsanoff looked steadily at his fingers, as if each of them were an abstract
hypothesis.

"You are not acting rightly toward me, Dmiti-y. I cannot satisfy your request.

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 195

But, in my turn, I impose one condition upon you. I will visit you, but unless I go
away from your house alone, you must accompany me everj^vhere without waiting
for me to say a word. Do you imderstand? Without you I will not take a step
either to the opera or anywhere else."

"This condition is offensive to me. Must I look upon you as a robber?"

" That is not what I meant ; I could not so far outrage you as to believe that you
could regard me as a robber. I would put my head in your hands without hesita-
tion. I hope that I may expect equal confidence from you. But it is for me to know
what is in my thought. As for you, do as I tell you, — that is all."

"I know all that you have done in this direction, and you wisli to do still more;
in that case you are right to lay this necessity upon me. But, however grateful I
may be to you, my friend, I know that such a course will result in nothing. I too
tried to force mj'self. I have a will as well as j'ou; my manneuvrcs were no worse
than yours. But that which is done from calculation, from a sentiment of duty, by
an effort of the will instead of by natural inclination, is destitute of life. One can
only kill by such means. Life cannot result from suffocation."

Lopoukhoff was so moved by Kirsanoff's words, "It is for me to know what is in
my thought," that he said to liiin: "I thank you, my friend. We have never em-
braced each other; shall we do so now?"

If Lopoukhoff had been able to exaniiuf liis course in tliis conversation as a theo-
rist, he would have remarked with pleasure : " How true the theory is, to be sure !
Egoism always governs a man. That is precisely tlie main point, wliich T liave
hiddf-n. 'Siipposf that tliis person is contented witli lier situation,' — it was there
that I should have said : ' Alexander, your supjiosit ion is not correct ; ' and yet T said
nothing, for it would not have been to my advantage to say it. It is agreeable to a
man to oV)ser\'e as a theorist what tricks hia egoism plays liim in practice. One re-
nounces tliat which is lost, and egoism so shapes things that one sets himself up as
a man fierfomiing an heroic act."

If KirsanofT had fxamined iiis course in this conversation as a theorist, he would
have remarked with plejisurc : "How true the theory isl I desire In jncserve my
tranfiuillity, to rest on my laurels, and I jireaeh that one has no right to coinpromiso
a woman's tranquillity; now that, you will unrlerstnnd, means: I will act lieroieally,
I will restrain Tnysr-lf, for the tranquillity of a certiiin person and my own. Bow,
then, before my greatness of soul. It is agreeable to a man to observe as a theorist
what tricks his egoism plays him in practice. I abandoned this alTair that T might
not be a coward, and I gave myself up to the joy of triumph as if I had performed
an heroic and generous art. I refuse to yield to the first, word of invitation that I
may not be again embarrassed in my conduct and that I may not be deprived of the
sweet joy which my noble way of acting causes me, and egoism so arranges things
that I have the air of a man who persists in a course of noble heroism."

196 What's To Be Done?

But noithor LopoulchofT nor Kirsanoff had time to take a theoretical standpoint
for the purpose of making tliese agreeable observations : for botli of them practice
was very difficult.

XXIIT.

The temporary al)sence of Kirsanoff esplamed itself very naturally. For five
months he had sadly neglected his duties and consequently had had to apply him-
self to his work assiduously for nearly six weeks ; now he had caught up and could
therefore dispose more freely of his time. This was so clear that any explanation
was almost useless. It was, in fact, so plausible that no doubt on the subject sug-
gested itself to Vera Pavlo\nia.

Kirsanoff sustained his role in the same artistic, irreproachable manner as before.
He feared that his tact might fail him on his first visit to the Lopoukhoffs after the
scientific conversation with his friend; he feared lest he should blush with emotion
on takmg his first look at Vera Pavlo\aia, or should make it too plain that he avoided
looking at her, or should make some similar mistake ; but no, he was contented with
himself and had a right to be ; the first meeting passed off very well. The agree-
able and friendly smile of a man happy to see his old friends again, from whom he
had had to tear himself away for a time ; the calm look, the vivacious and careless
language of a man who has at the bottom of his soul no other thoughts than those
which he expresses so lightly, — the shrewdest gossip might have looked at him with
the greatest desire to discover something suspicious and seen only a man happy at
being able to pass an evening in the society of his friends.

The first test met so successfully, was it difficult to maintain his self-possession
during the rest of the evening? And everything going so well on the first evening,
was it difficult to produce the same result on the subsequent evenings? Not a word
which was not free and easy, not a look wliicli was not simple and good, sincere and
friendly, — that was all.

But though Kirsanoff conducted himself as well as before, the eyes that looked at
him were ready, on the contrary, to notice many things that other eyes, no matter
whose, would have been imable to see. Lopoukhoff himself, in whom Maria Alex-
evna had discerned a man born for the management of the liquor jjusiness, was as'-
tonLshed at the ease of Kirsanoff, who did not betray himself for a second, and as a
theorist he took great pleasure in his observations, in which he was unconsciously
interested on account of their psychological and scientific bearings.

But cot for nothing had the apparition sung and compelled the reading of the
diary. Certain eyes were very clear-sighted when the apparition of the dream spoke
in the ear of a certain person. These eyes themselves could see nothing, but the
apparition said: "Watch closely, although you cannot see what I see;" and the
aforesaid eyes examined, and, although they saw nothing, it was enough for them
to examine in order to notice. For instance, Vera Pavlovna goes with her husband

Life of Vera loith her Husband, and the Second Love. 197

and Kii-sanoff to an evening party at the INIertzaloffs'. Why does not Kirsanoff
waltz at this little party of intimate friends, Avliere Lopoukhoff himself waltzes, it
being the general rule : a scptviagenarian happening to find himself there would have
committed the same follies as the rest; no one looks at you, each has one and the
same thought of the steadily increasmg noise and movement, — that is, the more joy
for each, the more for all ; why, then, does Kirsanoff not waltz ? Finally he throws
hunself into it, but why does he hesitate a few minutes before beginning ? Is it
worth while to expend so much reflection on the question whether or no he shall
begin an affair so serious? Not to waltz was to half betray his secret. To waltz,
but not with Vera Pavlovna, was to betray it quite. But he was a very skiKul artist
in his rule; he would have preferred not to waltz with Vera Pavlovna, but he saw
at once that that would be noticed. Hence his hesitation. All this, in spite of the
whisperings of the apparition, would not have been noticed if this same apparition
had not begun to ask a multitude of other questions quite as insignificant. Whj^
for instance, when, on returning from the Mertzaloffs', they had agreed to go to the
opera the following evening to see "II Puritani," and when Vera Pavlovna had said
to her husband: "You do not like this opera; it will tire you; I will go with Alex-
ander Matveitcli ; every opera pleases hun ; were you or I to write an opera, he would
listen to it just the same," why did not Kirsanoff sustain the opinion of Vera Pav-
lovna? AVhy did he not say: "That's so, Dmitry; I will get no ticket for you"?
Why was this? That l»er darling should go in spite of all was not strange, for he
accompanied his wife everywhere. Suice the time when she had said to him : " Devote
more time to mo," he had never forgotten it, and Ihat could mean but one thing, —
tliat he was good and shoiiltl be loved. But Kirsanoff knew nothing of this; why,
then, did he not sustain the opinion of Vdra Pavlovna? To be sure, these were in-
significant tilings scarcely noticed by Vdra Pavlovna and which she seldom remem-
bered beyond the moment, but tlwise imperceptible grains of sand fell and fell
continually.

Here, for instance, is a conversation which is not a grain of sand, but a little
peV>I)le.

The following evening, wliile going to tlni njiera in a single, cab (for economy's
sake), they talked of IIk; JSbrrtzalolTs, praised their harmonious life, and remarked
upon its rarity: so said they all, Kirsanoff for his part adding: "Yes, and a very
good thing too about iVIertzalolT is that liis wife can freely opiii In r heart to him."
That was all that Kirsanoff sai<l. Kacii of the tliree might have said tlu! same thing,
but Kirsanoff happened to be the one to say it. But why did he say it? What did
it mean? Looked at from a certain point of view, it might be a eulogy of Lopouk-
hoff, a glorification of Vdra Pavlovna's happiness with him ; it might also have been
said with no thought of anyone but the Mertzaloffs; l)ut supposing him to have
been thinking of the Mf-rtzaloffs and the Lo])oukhoffs, it was evident that it was
said expressly for Vera Pavlovna. With what object?

198 What's To Be Bone?

So it always is : whoever sets himself to look in a certain direction always finds
what lie is looking for. Where another would see nothing, he very clearly distin-
guishes a trace. Where another does not see a shadow, he sees the shadow and
even the object which throws it, whose features become more distinct with each new
look, with each new thought.

Now, in this case there was, besides, a very palpable fact, in which lay hidden
the entu-e solution of the enigma: it was evident that KirsanoJf esteemed the Lo-
poukhoffs; why, then, had he avoided them for more than two years?

It was evident that he was an honest and intelligent man ; how could he have
shown himself so stupid and commonplace? As long as Vera Pavlo\nia had no need
to think this over, she had not done so, any more than Lopoidihoff had a^. that time,
but now her thoughts took this du-ection im consciously.

XXIV.

Slowly and imperceptibly to herself this discoveiy ripened within her. Produced
by Kirsanoff's words or acts, even insignificant impressions which no one else would
have felt accumulated within her, without any ability on her part, on such trifles
did they rest, to analyze them. She supposed, suspected, and gradually became in-
terested in the question why he had avoided her for nearly three years.

She became more and more firndy established in this idea : such a man would
not have taken himself away out of paltry ambition, for he has no ambition. All
these things chased each other in confusion through her head, and to add to the
confusion there came into her consciousness from the silent depths of life this
thought: "What am I to him? What is he to me?"

One day after dinner Vera Pavlovna was sitting in her chamber sewing and
thinking, very tranquilly, not at first of this, but of all sorts of things, in the house,
at the shop, about her lessons, when very (]uietly, very quietly these thoughts directed
themselves towards the subject which for some unknown reason occupied them more
and more. Memories, questions arose slowly ; not very niunerous at first, they then
increased, multiplied, and swarmed })y thousands through her head; they grew
thicker and thicker, and gradually merged themselves in a single question taking
more and more definite shape. " What is the matter with me? Of what am I tliink-
ing? What is it that I feel?" And Vera Pavlovna's fingers forgot to stitch, and
her sewing fell from her hands, and she gi-ew a little pale, then blushed, turned pale
again, and then her cheeks inflamed and passed in a twinkling of an eye from a
fiery redness to a snowy whiteness. With almost haggard eyes she ran into her
husband's room, threw herself upon his knees, embraced him con\Tilsively, and laid
her head upon his shoulder that he might sustain it and hide her face.

"My dear friend, I love you," said she in a stifled voice, bursting into tears.

"Well, my dear friend? Is there any reason in that for so much grief?"

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 199

"I do not want to offend you; it is you I ^Yish to love."

"You will try, you will see. If you can. In the meantime, be calm; time will
tell what you can and what you cannot do. You have a great affection for me ;
then how could you offend me ? "

He caressed her hair, kissed her head, pressed her hand. She sobbed a long time,
but gradually grew calm. As for him, he had been prepared for a long time to hear
this confession, and consequently he received it imperturbably ; moreover, she did
not see his face.

"I will see him no more; I will tell him that he must stop visiting us," said Vera
Pavlovna.

"Think it over yourself, my dear friend; you shall do what seems best to you.
And when you are cahn, we will talk it over together."

"Whatever happens, we cannot fail to be friends. Give me your hand; clasp
mine ; see how warmly you press it."

Each of those words was said after a long interval, — intervals which he spent in
lavishing upon her the caresses of a brother for a grieved sister.

"Remember, my friend, what you said to me on the day of our betrothal: 'You
give me liberty.' "

Silence and new caresses.

"How did we define love the first time that we spoke of it? To rejoice in what-
ever is good for the loved one ; to take pleasure in doing everythmg necessary to
make the loved one haiipier, — was that not what we said?"

Silence and new caresses.

"Wliatcver is best for you rejoices me. Seek this best. Why be sorrowful? If
no misfortune lias come to you, wliat misfortune can have come to me?"

The.sc words, often repeated after ind-rruptions and each time with sliglit varia-
tions, took up consid(!rablu time, wliich was alike painful to Lopoukhoif and to
Vera ravhn'na. JJut on becoming calmer Vera I'avlovna liegaii at last (o breathe
more easily. She embraced her hnsbaiul willi warmlh, and uilli warnidi kept on
rejx;atiiig to iiim: "It is you I wish to love, you alone; I wish to love only you."

He did not tell her tliat she was no longer mistress of hcirsi'lf in that matter: it
was necessary to let tlie time slip by in order that her strength might bo reestab-
lished by the ([uicting influence of some thought or other, no matter what. But
LopoukliolT seized a favorable moment to write and place in Macha'a hands a note
for Kirsanoff, wliich n-ad as follows. " Alexander, do not come in now, and do
not visit us for some time; there is nothing the matter and there will be nothing
in particular the matter ; only rest is necessary." Ilest necessary, and nothing in
particular the matter, — a fine conjunction of word.sI Kirsanoff came, read the
note, and told Madia that hr; had come on pur]>ose to get the note, but had not
time to come in now, as he had some distance yet to go, and would stop to reply
on his way back.

200 What's To Be Done?

The evening passed quietly, at least quietly to all appearance. Half the time
Vera Pavlovna roniainod alone in her cliamher after having sent her hushand
away, and half the time he was seated near her, (luieting her continually by a few
kind words, and not so much by words either, but by his gentle and soothing
voice; not gay, of course, but not sad on the other hand, — simply a little melan-
choly like his face. Vera Pavlovna, hearing this voice and looking at this face,
began gradually tx) think that the matter was of no significance, and that she had
mistaken for a strong passion a dream which would not be slow in vanishing.

Her feeling told her that this was not the case.

Yes, it is the case, thought she with greater firmness, and the thought prevailed.
How could it have been otherwise within the hearing of this gentle voice which
said that the matter was of no significance?

Vera Pavlovna went to sleep to the soft whisperings of this voice, did not see the
apparition, slept quietly, and woke late and thoroughly rested.

•

XXV.

" The best relief from sad thoughts is to be found in labor," thought Vera Pav-
lovna (and she was quite right); "I will stay in the shop from morning till night
until I am cured. That will cure me."

And so she did. The first day she really found considerable to divert her
thoughts; the second resulted in fatigue without much diversion; on the third she
found no diversion at all. Thus passed a week.

The struggle was a painful one. Vera Pavlovna grew pale. But outwardly she
was quite calm ; she even tried to seem gay, and in this she almost always suc-
ceeded; but, though no one noticed anything and though the paleness was attri-
buted to a slight indisposition, Lopoukhoff was not at all deceived ; he did not
even need to look at her; he knew the whole without.

"VcTotchka," said he a week afterwards, "in our life we are realizing the old
and popular belief that the shoemaker always goes barefooted and that the tailor's
clothes never fit him. We are teaching others to live according to our economic
principles, and we scarcely dream of governing our own life in accordance with
these same principles. One large household is much more advantageous than
several small ones. I should like very much to apply this rule to our home. If
we associate some one with us, we can save a great deal; I could al^andon these
cursed lessons, which are repugnant to me; my salary at the commercial house
would be enough, and, having less work to do, I could resume my studies and
make a career for myself. It is only necessary to select persons with whom we
can agree. What do you think about it?"

All this time Vdra Pavlovna had been looking at her hasband with as much
distrust and indignation as Kirsanoff had shown on the day of the theoretical
conversation. When he had finished, she was red with anger.

L\fe, of Vera with her Ilushand, and the Second Love. 201

"I beg you," said she, "to suspend this conversation. It is out of place."

"Why is it out of place, Verotchka? I speak only of pecuniary interests ; poor
people like ourselves cannot neglect them. My work is hard and some of it
disagreeable."

"I am not to be talked to thus." Vera Pavlovna rose. "I will permit no one
to approach me with equivocations. Explaui what you mean, if you dare."

"I mean, Verotchka, that, having taken our interests into consideration, we
could profit "...

" Again ! Be silent ! Who gave you the right to set yourself up as my guardian?
I shall begin to hate you ! " She ran hurriedly to her room and shut herself up.

It was their first and last quarrel.

Vera Pavlovna remained shut up in her room until late in the evening. Then
she went to her husband's room :

"]My dear friend, I spoke too severely to you. But do not be offended. You
see, I am struggling. Instead of sustaining me you ]Mit within my reach that
which I am pushing away with the hope, — yes, with the hope of triumph."

"Forgive mo, my friend, for having approached the question so rudely. Are
we, then, reconciled? Let us talk a little."

"Oh, yes, we are reconciled, my friend, (^)nly do not work against me. I have
already enough to do to struggle against myself."

"And it is in vain, Verotchka. You have taken iimo to examine your feeling,
and you see that it is more serious than you were willing to believe at first. What
is the use of tormenting yourself?"

" No, my friend, it is you wliom I wish to love, and I do not wish, I do not wish
in any way to offtmd you."

"My fri(Mid, yf)U wish me well. Do you think, tlicn, MiaL I find it agreeable or
UBcful that you sliouM continue to torment yourself?"

"jNIy dear friend, but you love me so much!"

"Much, Verolfjika, Imt what is love? Docs it not consist in tliis, — to rejoice in
the joy and suffer in the su(T. •riu'^'^ of the person loved? In tormenting yourself you
will torment me also."

"That is true, my dear friend, but yon will suffer also if I yield Id (his sentiment,

which All! I do not understand why tliis feeling \v:is born in nit;! A

curse upon it."

" How and why it was born, it makes no difference; nothing ran be changed now.
There is nothing left but to choose one of these two tilings, — either that you suffer
and myself with you, or that you coaso to suffer and myself likewise."

"But, my dear friend, I shall not suffer; this will pass away. You will see that
it will pass away."

" I thank you for your efforts. I appreciate them because they show that you
have the will to do what you deem necessary. But know this, Verotchka: Ihe^*

202 What's To Be Done?

seem necessary only to you, not to me. As a looker-on I see your situation more
clearly than you do. I know that this will be useless. You may struggle while
you have strength ; but do not think of me, do not fear to offend me. You know
my way of looking at these things ; you know that my opinion is fixed and
really judicious; you know all that. Do you expect to deceive me? Will you
cease to esteem me? I might ask further: will your good feelings towards me, in
clianging their character, grow weaker? Will they not, on the contrary, be
strengthened by this fact, — that you have not found an enemy in me? Do not
pity me: my fate will be iu no way deserving of pity because, thanks to me, you
have not been deprived of happiness. But enough. It is painful to talk too long
about these things, and still more so for you to listen to them. Adieu, Vcrotchka. .^
Go to yom- room, reflect, or, rather, sleep. Do not think of me, but think of your-
self. Only by thinking of yom-self can you prevent me from feeling useless
sorrows."

XXVL

Two weeks later, while Lopoukhoff was busy with his factory accounts. Vera
Pavlovua spent the morning in a state of extreme agitation. She threw herself
uix»n her bed, hid her face in her hands, and a quarter of an hour afterwards rose
abruptly, walked up and down her room, fell into an armchair, began again to walk
with an unsteady and-jerky movement, threw herself again upon her bed, and then
resumed her walk. Several times she approached her writh)g table, remained there
a few moments, and went away rapidly. At last she sat down, wrote a few words,
and sealed them; but lialf an hour afterwards she took the letter, tore it up, and
burned the pieces. And her agitation began again. She wrote another letter,
which she tore up and burned in turn. Finally, after renewed agitation, she wrote
for the third time, and iireci[>itately, as soon as she had sealed it and without taking
time to address it, ran into her husband's room, threw the letter on the table, fled
into her room, and fell into an armchair, where she remained without stining and
hiding her face in her hands for half an hour, or perhaps an hour. A ring ! It is
he! She runs into his room to get the letter, tear it uj), and burn it, — but where
is it? It is not there. She looks for it hastily. But where is it, then? Already
Wacba is opening the door. Lopoukhoff, on entering, sees Vera Bavlovna gliding,
with pale face and disordered hair, from lier husband's room to her own. lie
does not follow her, but enters his room directly. Coolly and slowly he examines
his table and the thmgs around it. To tell the tnith, he has been expecting for
some days an explanation by conversation or by letter. At last here is a letter, un-
addressed, but bearing Ydra Pavlo\Tia'8 seal. It is evident that she was looking
for it to destroy it; she could not have come in that condition to bring it; she was
looking for it to destroy it; his papers are all in disorder; but could the poor wo-

Life, of Vera icith her Husband, and the Second Love. 203

man have found it in her present state of agitation and mental distm-bance? She
has thi-own it as one would throw a piece of coal which bui-ned his fingers, and the
letter has fallen on the casement behind the table. It is almost useless to read it :
the contents are kno^\'n. Let us read it nevertheless.

"My dear friend, I was never so strongly attached to you as at this moment. If
I could only die for you! Oh! how happy I should be to die if it would make you
happy ! But I cannot live without him. I offend you, I kill you, my dear friend,
and I do not wish to. I act in spite of myself. Forgive me ! Forgive me ! "

For more than a quarter of an hour Lopoukhoff remained before his table, his
eyes lowered and fixed. Although the blow was expected, it was none the less ter-
rible; although everything necessary to be done after such a confession had been
reflected upon and decided in advance, he was at first very much agitated internally.
At last he collected himself, and went to the kitchen to speak to INIacha:

"Macha, wait a little, please, before setting the table. I feel a little indisposed,
and I am gomg to take some medicine before dinner. As for you, do not wait for
us; eat, and take your time. When I am ready to sit down to dinner, I will tell

you."

From the kitchen he went to his wife's room. She was lying down with her face
hid in the pillows; on his entrance she trembled.

" You liave found it, you have read it! IIow mad I am! What T liavo written is
not true; this letter is the result of a moment of fever and delirium."

"Certainly, my friend. There is no need of paying any attention to this letter,
since you liave written it in so agitated a mood. Things of tliis importance cannot
Tk; dcciiiccl ill .such a fasliion. We have still nuich time to think the matter over,
and to talk al)out it calmly several times, considering its importance to us. ^lean-
while I wish to talk to you of my business. I have succeeded in making several
changes which are very satisfactory to me. Are you listening to me?"

It is iicfdlcss to say that she did not know herself whether she was listenuig or
not. Sh»! could only have said that, listfning or not, she heard somftliing, but that,
her thouglits ln-ing clsewliere, she did not really understand what sln' heard. Lo
pouklif»ff, liowever, ])ecame more and more explicit, and slie ])egan In ]ierceive that
something else was in (jufistion, something having no relation to the listter. Gra-
dually she began to listen, feeling herself coinpellr-d to do so. It was her desire,
moreover, to think of soinetiiing other than the letter, and, all hough she had nnt at
first comprehended, she nevertheless had l)een gradually soothed by hrr husband's
dispassionate and almost jovial tone. At last she really comprehended what he
was saying.

"lUit listen, then; these arc very important matters to me," con(iiiui(l the hus-
band; yes, much-desired changes, which he described in all their details. It is true
that she knew three-fourths of these things; she even knew them all ; but what differ-
ence did it make? it was so good to listen. Lopoukhoff complained again of the

204 WInit's To Be Done?

lessons •which for a long time had been disagreeable to him ; he told why, and named
the families to which he felt the greatest aversion. He added that liis work of
keeping the factory books was not unpleasant. It was important and permitted
him to exert an influence over the workmen in the factory, with whom he might
succeed iu doing something : he had given elementary instruction to a few ardent
friends, and shown them the necessity of teaching reading and writing; he had
succeeded in obtaining for these teachers payment from the owners of the factory,
having been able to show the latter that educated workmen injured the machinery
less, worked better, and got drunk less frequently: he told how he had snatched
workmen from lives of drunkenness, with which object he often frequented their
taverns, — and I know not what besides. But the most important thing was that
his employers esteemed liim as an active and skilful man, who had gradually taken
the affairs of the house into his own hands, so that the conclusion of the story, and
the part that Lopoukhoff had most at heart, was this : he had been given the posi-
tion of assistant superintendent of the factory; the superintendent, a member of
the firm, was to have only the title and the usual salary, and he was to be the real
superintendent ; it was only on this condition that the member of the firm had
accepted the position of supermtendent.

"I cannot accept it," the latter had said; "it would not become me."

"But you need only accept the title so that it may be attributed to a man of
standing ; you need not take a hand in anything ; I will do all."

" In that case I can accept."

But it was not the power conferred that concerned Lopoukhoff; the essential
thing with him was that he would receive a salary of thirty-five hundred roubles,
ahnost a thousand roubles more than before, thus enabling him to abandon all his
other employments, much to his delight. This story lasted more than half an liour,
and towards the end Vera Pavlovna was already able to say that she really felt very
well and, after arranging her hair, would go to dinner.

After dinner Macha was given eighty kopecks to get a cab with which to carry
in all directions a note from Lopoukhoff, saying: "I am at leisure, gentlemen, and
shall be very glad to see you." Shortly after appeared the horrible llakhmetoff,
followed soon by a number of young people, and a learned discussion began between
these confident and obstinate debaters. They accused each otlier of all imaginable
violations of logic ; a few traitors to this elevated discussion aided Vera Pavlovna
to pass a tolerable evening. Already she had divined the object of Macha's errands ;
"how good he is I" thought she. This time Vera Pavlovna was glad to see her
young friends, and, though entering into no frolics with them, she looked at them
with joy, and was ready to cover Rakhmetoff himself with kisses.

They did not separate tiU three o'clock in the morning. Vera Pavlovna, tired,
was no sooner in bed than her husband entered.

"In speaking to you of the factory, I forgot, my dear Vdrotchka, to say one thing,

Life, of Vera with her Ilushand, and the Secojid Love. 205

which, however, is not of great importance. Passing over the details, — for we are
both in need of sleep, — I will tell you in two words. In accepting the j)lace of as-
sistant superintendent, I have reserved the privilege of taking a month, or even two
if I like, before entering upon my duties. I wish to make good use of this time.
It is five years since I went to see my parents at Riazan ; hence I will go to embrace
them. Till tomorrow, Verotchka. Do not disturb yourself. Tomorrow you will
have time. Sleep well."

XXYIL

When the morrow came and Vera Pavlovna left her room, her husband and
Macha were filling two valises with his things. INIacha was very busy. Lopoukhoff
had given her so many things to pack that she could not manage them.

"Help us, Verotchka."

All three drank their tea together while the packing was going on. Scarcely
had Vdra Pavlo^^la begun to come to herself when her husband said :

" Half past ten ! It is time to go to the station."

" I am going with you, my dear friend."

"Dear Verotchka, I shall have two valises; there will be no room for you. Sit
with Macha in another cab."

" That is not what I said. To Riazan."

"Well, in that case ISIacha shall take the valises, and wc will go together."

In tlie street the conversation could not bo very intimate, the noise of the pave-
ments was so deafening!

Many things Lopoukhoff did not hear; to many others he replied in such a way
as not to be heard himself, or else did not reply at all.

"I am going with you to Riazan," repeated Vera Pavlovna.

"And your tilings? Ifow can you go without your tilings? Get ready, if you
wish to: you shall do as you think best. I will ask only this of you: wait for my
letter. It sliall reach you tomorrow; I will send it by some one coming this way."

How she kissed him at the station I Wliat names she called him when he was
boanling the train! Rut ho did not Ktoji talking of the factory alTairs, of what a
good state they were in, and how glad his parents would be to see liim. Nothing
in the worhl is so precious as health; she must take care of licrself. At the very
moment of jiarting he said to her through the railing:

"You VTote me yesterday that you were never so attaclicd to me as now; it is
true, dear Vdrotchka. I am no less attached to you. Good feelings toward those
whom we love implies a great desire for their happiness, as both of us know.
Now, there is no happiness without liberty. You would not wish to stand in my
way; no more do I wish to stand in yours. If you should stand in your own way
for my sake, you would offend mc. Therefore do nothing of the kind. And act

206 What's To Be Done?

for your greatest good. Then we will see. You will inforin me by letter when I
am to return. ylw7-ero/r, my friend! The bell is ringing the second time; it is
time to go. Au revoir!"

XXVITI.

This happened towards the end of April. In the middle of June Lopouklioff
retm-ned to live at St. Petersburg for three weeks; then he went to Moscow, — on
factory business, as he said. He started on the ninth of July, and on the morning
of the eleventh occurred the adventure at the hotel situated near the ^loscow rail-
way station, and two hours later the scene which was enacted in a country-house
on the island of Kamennoy. Now the reader with the penetrating eye can no
longer miss his stroke and will guess who it was that blew his brains oiit. "I saw
long ago that it was Lopoukhoff," says the reader with the penetrating eye, en-
chanted by his talent for divination. What has become of Lopouklioff, and how
does it happen that his cap is pierced by a ball? "I do not know, but it was surely
he who played this rascally bad trick," repeats the reader with the penetrating eye.
So be it, obstinate reader; judge in your own way; it is impossible to make you
understand anything.

XXIX.

AN UXCOMMOX MAN.

About three hours after Kirsanoff 's departure Vera Pavlovna came back to her-
self, and one of her first thoughts was this : the shop cannot be abandoned. Much
as Vera Pavlovna might like to demonstrate that the shop would go on of itself,
she really knew very well that this was only a seductive idea, and that, to tell the
truth, the shop required some such management as her own to keep it from falling
to pieces. For the rest, the business was now well under way, and the management
caused her but little trouble. Madame Mertzaloff had two children ; but she could
give half an hour to it two or three times a day. She certainly would not refuse,
especially as she had already accepted opportunities to do many things in the shop.
Vera Pavlovna began to unpack her things for a sale, and at the same time sent
Macha first to Madame MertzalofE to ask her to come, and then to a Imckster named
Rachel, one of the shrewdest of Jewesses, but an old and good acquaintance of Vera
Pavlovna, toward whom Rachel practised the same absolute honesty that charac-
terizes almost all the small Jewish merchants in their dealings with honest people.
Rachel and Macha were to enter the apartments in the city, get all the clothes that
had been left at the fur-dealer's, where Vera Pavlovna's cloaks had been deposited
for the summer, and then, with all this baggage, come to the country-house, in
order that Rachel, after estimating the value of the goods, might buy them all at
once.

Life of Vera idth her Ilushand, and the Second Love. 207

As Macha stepped through the carriage entrance, she met Raldimetoff, who had
been rambling about in the vicinity for half an hour.

"You are going away, Macha? For a long time?"

"I do not expect to get back before night. I have so much to do."

"Is Vera Pavlovna alone?"

"Yes."

"Then I will go in and see her. Perhaps I will stay in your place, in case I can
be useful."

"Oh, yes, do so; I am afraid on her account. I have forgotten to notify any of
the neighboi's; there are, however, a cook and a child's nurse, two of my friends,
to seiwe her at dinner, for she has not yet dined."

"That is nothing; no more have I; I have not dined; we can serve oui'selves
alone. But you, — have you dined?"

" Yes, Vera Pavlovna would not let me go away without."

"Well again! I should have supposed that it would have been forgotten."

Except Macha and those who equalled or surpassed her in simplicity of soul and
garb, everybody was a little afraid of Rakhmetoff. Lopoukhoff, Kirsanoff, and all
those who wore afraid of nothing sometimes felt in his presence a sort of fear.
Vera Pavlovna did not regard him as a friend: she found hhn too much of a bore,
and he never frequented her society. I>iit he was Madia's favorite, although less
amiable and talkative with her than were Lopoukhoff's other visitors.

"I have como without an invitation. Vera Pavlovna," lie began: "but I have
seen Alexander Matvuitch, and I know all. ILmicc I thought that I might be useful
to you in some way; so I will stay with you all the evening."

Offers of service were not to be disdained at such a monuuit.

Any one else in PakliirK-tnff'H place would have be(!n invited, and would have
proposed liimself, to uiqiack tlie tilings; Ijut ho did not do it and was not asked to;
Vera Pavlovna pressed his liaiid and said to him with sincere feeling that she was
verj' grateful to him for liis attentions to her.

" I will stay in the study," Xa: answered : " if you need anything, you will call me;
and, if aiiy one comes, T will open the door; do not disturb yourself."

Having said this, he went very quietly into the study, took from liis pocket a
large piece of liam and a slice of black bread, weighing in all about four pounds,
sat down in an armchair, ate the whole, and in trying to masticate it well drank
half a dfranter of water; then he went ii]> to tlic l>ookshelves and l)egan to look for
something to read.

"Familiar Imitation Imitation Imitation " This

word Imitation referred to the works of Macaulay, Guizot, Thiers, llanke, and
Gervinus.

"Ah! here is something which falls opportunely to my hand," said he, reading
on the backs of several large volumes "Newton's Complete Works"; he turned
over the leaves, found what he was looking for, and with a gentle smile exclaimed :

208 What's To Be Do?ie?

" Here it is 1 Here it is I ' Observations on tlie Prophecies of Daniel and the
Apocah"j>se of St. John.'

" Yes, I know little of such things as these. Newton wrote these commentaries
in his extreme old age when he was half mad. Thoy constitute a classic source for
one studying the question of the mingling of intellect with insanity. This is a
universally historical question; this mixture is found in ail events without excep-
tion; in almost all books, in almost all heads. But here must necessarily be a
tji^ical form of it. In the first place, it concerns the greatest genius known. Then,
the insanity mingled with this intellect is a recognized, indisputable insanity.
Therefore this is a capital book of its kind. The most delicate indications of the
general phenomenon must appear here in a more striking manner than in the case
of any other individual, no matter who he may be, and no one can doubt that these
are really the indications observable in phenomena concerning the mingling of in-
sanity with intellect. In short, a book worth studying ! "

So he began to read the book and with pleasm'e, — this book which no one had
read for a century, except, perhaps, those who corrected the proofs. To any other
than Rakhmetoff to read this book would have been like eating sand or sawdust.
But he had a keen taste for it.

Of people like Rakhmetoff there are but few : I have met but eight (of whom two
were women) ; they resembled each other in nothing, save one point. There were
among them the amiable and the stern, the melancholy and the joyous, the fiery
and the phlegmatic, the impressionable (one with a stern countenance, satirical
even to insolence, and another with an apathetic face, have sobbed several times in
my presence like hysterical women, and that not because of their own affairs, but in
connection with a conversation on general topics; I am sure that they wept often
when alone) and the imperturbably cahu. They resemble each other in only one
point, I have said; but that is enough to make a special type of them and distinguish
them from all other men. I laughed at those whom I knew, when I was with them ;
they got angiy or not, but they could not help doing as much themselves. And
indeed there were many ridiculous things about them, and it was in that respect
that they resembled each other. I like to laugh at such people.

The one whom I met in the circle of Lopoukhoff and Kirsanoff, and whom I am
about to describe, serves to prove that the opinions of Lopoukhoff and Alcxoy T6-
trovitch on the qualities of the soil, in Vera Pavlo\Tia's second dream, allow one
exception, — namely, that, whatever the quality of the soil, one may always find
little patches of ground capable of producing healthy ears.

The genealogy of the principal personages of my story — Vdra Pavlovna, Kirsa-
noff, and Lopoukhoff — has not been traced beyond their grandfathers and grand-
mothers. "What would be the use of saying anything about the great-grandfather
when the great-grandfather is already wrapped in the shades of oblivion ? It is
only kno'wn that he was the husband of the great-gi'andmother and that his nam,e
was Kuril, the grandfather's name having been Gueracime Kirilytch.

Life of Vtra with her ITushand, and the Second Love. 209

Rakhmetoff belonged to a family known since the thirteenth centmy, — that is,
to one of the oldest families not only in Russia, but in all Europe. Among the
chiefs of the Tartar regiments massacred at Tver with their army, for having tried
to convert the people to jNIohanmiedanism, according to the reports (an intention
which they certamly did not have), but in reality simply for having exercised ty-
ranny,— among these chiefs was one named Rakhmdt, who had had a child bj* a
Russian whom he had abducted, a niece of the principal court official at Tver, — that
is, the high court marshal and field marshal. The child was spared on account of
the mother and rebaptized as Latyfe-]\Iikhail. It is from Latyfe-Mikha'il Rakhmd-
tovitch that the Raklimetoffs descend. At Tver they were boyars, at Moscow they
were only gi-and officers of the crown, and at St. Petersburg in the last century they
were generals-in-chief, — not all of tliem, of course; the family having become vei-y
numerous, certahdy all its members could not be generals-in-chief. The father of
the great-grandfather of our Rakhmctoif was a, friend of Ivan Ivanytch ChouvalolT,
who got liim out of the disgrace into which he had fallen in consequence of his
friendship for Munich. His great-grandfather was the colleague of Roumiantsoff,
had attained the rank of general-in-chief, and was killed at the battle of Xovi.
His grandfather accompanied Alexander to Tilsitt, and would have gone farther
than any of tl»e otlicrs, but his friendship with Speransky put an early end to his
career. At last his father served the government without success or disgrace. At
the age of forty he resigned, and went to live as a retired lieutenant-general on one
of his estates scattered along the banks of the Medveditza and near its source.
The estates, however, were not very large, containing in all a1)out twenty-five liuudnsl
souls. But lie had many children, — eight, we believe. Of these ciglit cliildrrii
Rakhiiidloff was llie next to the last, there being one sister younger than liiiiisell';
consequently his inheritance was rallier small: ho received about four hundred
souls and seven thousand acres of land. What he did with these souls and fifty-
live hundred acres of the land no one knew; so also no one knew that Ik; kept fif-
teen Iniudrfd acres, liiat he was a scltjniur, and that he derived an inconie of tlirce
thousand roubles from tlie leases of that part of the land wliicli Ik- kept; no one
knew tliat whil<! he lived among us. We did not learn it till later, but wo sup-
posed of course that lie belonged to tin* family of Hakhmdloffs containing so many
rich neif/ncurM, whoso aggregate wealth was eslimali'd at Hevenly-five llioiisand
souls. These sciyncurs live near the sources of the Medvdditza, the Khoner do la
Soura, and the Tziia; they have always been marslials of the nobility of their dis-
trict. The marshal of the nobility for the govcniiiifiit in one or another of the
three governments through which flow llie tributary sources of the aforesaid riv-
ers is always a member of this family. We knew also that our friend Rakhindtoff
spent four hundred a year; for a student that was much in those days, but for a
Seigneur Rakhmdtoff it was very little. But it was difficult to get informal ion,
and we simply said to ourselves that our Rakhmdtoff belonged to some branch of

210 What's To Be Bone?

the family that had fallen into poverty, — that perhaps he was a son of the coun-
sellor of some financial board who had left his children a small capital. But of
course all these things interested us but little.

Now he was twenty-two years old ; he had been a student since the age of six-
teen, but he had spent almost three years away from the University. At the end
of his second year he went to his estate, arranged his affairs, and, after having
overcome the resistance of his tutor, won the curses of his brothers, and behaved
himself in such a way that the Imsbands of his sisters had forbidden them to pro-
nounce his name, he began to travel through Russia by land and water in ordi-
nary and extraordinary ways, — on foot, for instance, and in decked boats, and in
boats of not much speed. He met with many adventures ; he took two individuals
to the University of Kazan and five to that of Moscow, — they were his bursars, —
but to St. Petersburg, where he intended to come himself, he brought none ; this
accounts for the fact that no one knew that his income was not four hundred rou-
bles but three thousand. That was not ascertained till later. Then we only saw
that he had disappeared for a long time, that two years before he had entered the
philological faculty, that still earlier he had been in that of the natural sciences,
and that was all.

But though none of his St. Petersburg acquaintances knew anything of his rela-
tives or his fortune, all, on the other hand, knew him by two sui'names ; one of
these, " the rigorist," the reader knows already ; this name he accepted with his
light smile of half-content. But when they called him Nikitouchka,* or Lomoff,
or by his full surname, Nikitouchka Lomoff, a broad smile lit up his face, which
was justifiable, since it was not by birth but by the firmness of his will that he
had acquired the right to bear this illustrious name among millions of men. But
this name is glorious only in a strip of land one hundred versts f wide crossing
eight governments; to readers living in other parts of Russia this name requires
explanation. Nikitouchka Lomoff, a boat-hauler who went up the Volga fifteen or
twenty years ago, was a giant of Herculean strength; two archines and fifteen
verchoks X in height, his chest and shoulders were so large that he weighed fifteen
poudes, § although he was not fleshy, but simply solid. As for his strength it is
enough to say that he received on account of it four times the usual wages. When
the vessel reached a town and our man went to the market, or, as they say on the
Volga, to the bazaar, the young viUagers in the neighboring alleys were heard to
shout: " There's Nikitouchka Lomoff ! There's Nikitouchka Lomoff 1 " and eveiy-
body ran into the street leading from the wharf to the bazaar, and the people fol-
lowed in crowds their hero-athlete.

•A diminntive of Xikita.

t A verst is equivalent to a little more than half a mile.

t Nearly seven feet.

§ More than five hundred and forty pounds.

L^fe of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 211

"Wlien Eakhmotoff, at the age of sixteen, came to St. Petersburg, he was an ordi-
nary youth of somewliat above the average height and strength, but very far fi'om
being remarkable for his muscular force : of ten of his equals in age taken at ran-
dom two surely cotild have thrown him. But in the middle of his seventeenth
year he formed the idea of acquiring physical strength and acted accordingly. At
first he practised gymnastics; it was a good plan, but gymnastics only perfects the
original material ; it was necessary, therefore, to equip himself with the material,
and during twice as long a period as he had spent in gymnastics he became for
several hours every day a laborer in search of work requiring strength ; he carried
water, delivered fire-wood, chopped it up, cut stone, dug in the earth, sawed wood,
and forged iron ; he tried many dili'ei-ent kinds of work, changing very often, for
with each new task, with each change, new muscles were developed. He adopted
the diet of pugilists : he ate food known exclusively as strengthening, especially
almost raw beef-steak, and from that time on he always lived so. A year later he
took his journey, and found in it still more favorable opportunities for developing
his physical strength : he had been an agricultural laborer, a carpenter, a boat-
man, and a worker at all sorts of healthy trades ; once he even went along the
Volga from Doubovka to Rybinsk as a boat-hauler. To say that he wanted to be
a boat-hauler would have scemod in the last degree absurd both to the master of
the ]»oat and to the boat-haulers, and they would not have accepted him ; but he took
the bank simply as a traveller. After liaving put himself on friendly terms with
the boat-haulers, he began to aid them in pulling the rope, and a week later be-
came a veritable boat-hauler; they soon saw how he pulled, and they measured
strength with him; he vanquished four of the strongest boat-haulers; he was then
twenty years old, and his fellow-workmen christened him Nikitouchka Lomoff, in
meniorj- of the hero who was then already dead. The following summer he tra-
velled by steamboat; one of the men with whom he iiad worked at boat-hauling
happened to Ik; in the crowd on deck, and it was in this way that some students,
his fellow-travellers, learned that he had been called Nikitouchka Lomoff. In fact,
by devoting his time to it, he had acquired and learned how to use extraordinary
strength. "I must do it," he had said; "it will make ni(^ loved and esteemed by
the common people. And it is u.'<eful ; sonif day it may prove good for some-
thing." And thus it was that lie acquired this extraordinary strength. At tlie
age of sixteen he came to St. Petersburg as an ordinary scliool-graduate, who had
worthily compli'tod liis early studies. He passed his first months of study after
the manner of beginners. Soon lie saw that among his comrades there were some
especially intelligent who did not think as the others did, and having learned the
names of five or six of them (they were few in number), he interested himself in
them and eultivated the acquaintance of one of them, who was no other than
Kirsanoff, and his transformation into the rigorist, into Nikitouchka Lomoff, into
an uncommon man, began. lie listened to Kirsanoff with passionate eagerness.

212 WJiat's To Be Done?

The first evening tliat they spent together ho wept; he interrupted Kirsanoff with
exclamations of hatred against that which mast die and enthusiastic panegyrics of
that wliicli must endure.

"With what books should'I begin?" said he.

Kirsanoff informed him on this point. The next morning at eight o'clock he
walked up and down the Nevsky between the Place de IWrniraute and the Pont de
Police, awaitmg the opening of a French and German book-store where he could buy
what he wanted. He read three days and nights continuously, from Thursday at
eleven in the morning till Sunday at nine in the evening, — eighty-two hours in a^L
To keep him awake the first two nights his will alone sufficed ; to keep awake the
third night he drank eight cups of very strong coffee; the fourth night his streng h
failed him, the coffee had no effect, he fell on the floor, and slept there about fifteen
hours. A week later he came to Kirsanoff to ask him for the titles of some new
books and explanations concerning the books ho had just read; he became united
with him ui bonds of friendship, and through him with Lopoukhoff.

Six months later, although but seventeen years old, while they were already
twenty-one, he was treated by them as an equal, and became thenceforth an un-
common man.

What circumstances had helped him to become an uncommon man?

His father was very intelligent, very well-informed, and ultra-conservative, — in
this like ]Maria Alexevna, only more respectable. So far as his father went, then,
the son's life was certainly a painful one. If this were all, however, it would ba
nothing. But his mother, a rather delicate woman, suffered from the trying cha-
racter of her husband; besides, he was a witness of the life of the peasantry. And
even this would be nothing. But, when about fifteen years old, he became amorous
of one of his father's mistresses. Connected with this there was a story, relating
principally, be it understood, to the mistress. He greatly pitied the woman, who,
thanks to him, had suffered so much. Ideas soon began to travel vaguely through
his head, and to him Kirsanoff was v/hat Lopoukhoff had been to Vera Pavlovna.
His past life may have counted for something, it is true, in the formation of his
character; but he could not have become what he was going fo be if he had not
been specially endowed by nature. Some time before he left the University to go
first to his estate and then on his journey through Russia he had already adopted
special rules for the government of his physical, moral, and intellectual life; and
on his return these rules had been transformed into a complete system, to which
he always lield unchangeaVjly. He had said to himself: "I will not drink a single
drop of wine. I will not touch a woman." Why this resolution ? So extreme a
course was not at all necessary. "It must be," said he; "we demand that men
may have a complete enjoyment of their lives, and we must show by our example
that we demand it, not to satisfy our personal passions, but for mankind in general ;
that what we say we say from principle and not from passion, from conviction and
not from personal desire."

L\fe of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 213

For the same reason he forced himself to lead a veiy austere life. To become
and to remain Nikitouchka Lomoff he had been obliged to eat meat, much meat,
and he ate it in large quantities. But he looked long at a kopeck spent for any
other food than meat; consequently he ordered his landlady to get the best of meat,
the best pieces for him, -while all the other food that he ate at home was of the
cheapest. He gave up white bread, and ate only black bread at his table. For
whole weeks he did not taste sugar, for months together he did not touch fruit or
veal or poultry, nor did he buy anytliing of the kind: "I have no right to spend
money on a whim which I need not gratify." Yet he had been brought up on a
luxmious diet and had a keen taste, as could be seen from his remarks about food
when dining out: he ate with relish many dishes which he denied himself at his
own table, while there were others which he ate nowhere, and this for a well-founded
reason: "Whatever the people eat, though only at intervals, I may eat also, when
occasion offers. I must not eat that which is entirely out of the reach of the com-
mon people. This is necessaiy in order that I may feel, though but in a very slight
degree, how much harder is the life of the common people than my own." So,
when fruits were served, he always ate apples, but never apricots : at St. Petersburg
lie ate oranges, but refused them in the provinces. Because at St. Petersburg the
common people eat them, which is not the case in the provinces. He ate sweets
because a good cake is no worse than pie, and pie made of puff-jiaste is known to
the common i)eople ; but lie did not eat sardines. He was always poorly clad, though
fond of elegance, and in all other things lived a Spartan's life; for instance, he
allowed himself no mattress and slept on felt without so niucii as doul)ling it up.

P»ut he had one thing to troul)le his conscience; he did not leave off smoking.
" Williout my cigar I cannot think ; if tliat is a fact, it is not my fault; but pcrliaps
it is due to tlie weakness of my will." He could not smoke bad cigars, having been
brought up amid aristocratic surroundings, and he spent money for cigars at the
rate of tlirce hundifd and sevfiily-five roubles a tliousand. "Abominable weak-
ness," a.s li<: express<Ml it. But it was only this weakness that made it possible; for
him to repel \v\» assailants. An adversary, cornered, would say to him : "Perfection
is impossible; even you smoke." Then Kakhinetoff redduMcil his attacks. Iml.
aimed most of liis re]iroaclie.s at himself, his opjionent receiving less yet widmiit
being (juite forgotten. He succeeded in doing a great deal, since in the employ-
ment of liis time he imposed equally strict rules upon himself. Ho did not lose a
quarter of an hour, and lia<l no need of rest.

"My occupations arc varied; change of occupation is a rest."

The circle of friends which had its centre in KirsanolT and Lopoukhoff he visited
only just often enough to enable him to keep on an intimate footing with its
members.

So much was necessarj'; daily experience proves the usefulness of intimate rela-
tions with some circle or other of men ; one must always have under his hand open

214 What's To Be Done?

sources for all sorts of information. Aside from the meetings of this circle, he
never visited any one except on business, and nowhere did he stay five minutes
longer than his business required; likewise, at home, he neither received any one
nor allowed any one to stay except on th(ise conditions. He said plainly to his
visitor: "Our conversation is finished. Now let me occupy myself with something
else, for my time is precious."

During the first months of his new birth he spent almost all his time in reading;
but that lasted only a little more than half a year ; when he saw that he had ac-
quired a systematic method of thinking in the line of the principles which he had
found to be true, he instantly said to himself : "Henceforth reading is a secondary
thing ; so far as that is concerned I am ready for life," and he began the habit of
devoting to books only such time as he had left after attending to his other busi-
ness,— that is, very little time. In spite of that the range of his knowledge ex-
tended with an astonishing rapidity ; at the age of twenty-two he was already a
learned man. In this matter, too, he imposed rules upon himself.

"Xo luxury, no caprices; nothing but the necessary. Now, what is necessary?
Upon each subject there are only a very few first-class works ; in all the others
there are nothing but repetitions, rarefactions, modifications of that which is more
fully and more clearly expressed in these few. There is no need of reading any
but these ; all other reading is but a useless expenditure of time. Take, for exam-
ple, Russian helles letlres. I say to myself : ' First I will read all of Gogol's
works.' In the thousands of other novels I have only to read five lines on five dif-
ferent pages to see that I shall find nothing in them but Gogol spoiled. Then
what Is the use of reading them?"

It was the same in economic science; there the line of demarkation was even
more sharjjly drawn.

" If I have read Adam Smith, Malthus, Ricardo, and Mill, I know the alpha and
omega of this school : I do not need to read a single one of the hundreds of econo-
mists, however great their celebrity : from five lines taken from five pages I see
that I shall not find in them a single new thought that belongs to them. All that
they say is borrowed and distorted. I read only that which is original, and I read
it only so far as is necessary in order to know this originality."

Consequently there was no way of inducing him to read INIacaulay ; after spend-
ing a quarter of an hour in reading several pages, he said to himself : "I know the
quality of these rags." He read, and with pleasure, Thackeray's "Vanity Fair,"
and began to read "Pendennis," but closed the book at tlie twentieth page.

"It is all in 'Vanity Fair;' he has nothing more to say; hence to read him fur-
ther is useless. Each of the books that I have read is of such a character as to
relieve me of the necessity of reading hundreds of others," said he.

Gymnastics, labor for the development of his strength, and reading were Rakh-
metoff's personal occupations, but after his return to St. Petersburg they took but

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 215

a quarter of his time ; the I'est of the time he occupied in the affairs of some one
else or in matters not relating especially to his own person, always holding to the
rule by which he governed his reading, — not to spend time on secondary matters
and with second-rate men, but to attend only to important matters and important
men. For instance, outside of his circle, he made the acquaintance of no men save
those that had an influence over others. A man who was not an authority for
several others could by no means enter into conversation with him. lie said,
" Excuse me, I have no time," and went his way. Likewise, if he wished to make
the acquaintance of any one, there was no way of getting rid of him. He came
directly to you and said what he had to say with this introduction : " I wish to
make your acquaintance ; it is necessary. If you have no time now, fix some other
time." To your minor affairs he lent no attention even though you were his most
intimate friend and had begged him to take an interest in your concerns: "I have
no time," he would say, turning away. But he concerned hiniself about i:nport-
ant matters when in his opinion it was necessaiy, even though no one asked hun
to do so : " It is my duty," he would say. In all that he said and did he gave no
heed to ceremony.

This, for instance, is the way in which I made his acquaintance. I was aheady
past my youlli and living very comfortably; so from time to time five or six young
people of ray locality were wont to meet at my house. This made me a precious
man for liini : these young people were well-disposed toward me, and they found in
me a similar dispositi(jn towanl thcni.

It was on such an occasion tiiat he heard my name spoken. AVhcn I saw him
for the first time at Kirsanoft's, I had never heard of him: it was shortly after his
return from his travels. lie came in after I did; I was the only nicinbci- of the
company whom he did not know. Scarcely liad ho (Miten^d when he. took Kirsa-
noff aside and, pointing to me with liis eyes, said a few words to liini. Kirsanoff,
too, said a few words in reply, and left iiim. A moment later Eakhmetoff sat
down directly opposite me at a distance no greater llian the width of a little table
near tlie divan, jx-rhaps an ardiin*! and a half; he l)ogan to look me in tlie face
with all ids iiii;;i»t. 1 was irritated: he look<'d at mi; without the sliglitcst cere-
mony, as if I were a jxirtrait, and I frowned. That ilid not tlisturb him the least
in the world. AftiT having lookcil at me two or time minutes, he said to nic:
"M. N., I wi.-h to make your acquaintance. I know you, but you do not know me.
Go to Kirsaii- 11 and those present in whom you have tin; most confidencf, and ask
them about me." This said, he rose and went into another room.

"Who is this original?"

"It is I'akhmdtoff. He wishes you to inform yourself concerning him, —
whetlier he deserves confidence unconditionally and wliether he deserves consider-
ation. He is worth more than all of us put together," said Kirsanoff, and the
others bore him out.

21G What's To Be Bone?

Five minutes later he came back into the room where we all were. He did not
try to talk with me, and talked but very little W'ith the others; the conversation
was not a learned one nor one of much importance. " Ah, ten o'clock already ! "
said he a little while later; "at ten o'clock I have business elsewhere. M. N. [he
addressed liimself to me], I must say a few words to you. "When I took Kirsanoff
aside to ask hun who you were, I pointed you out with my eyes; even if I had not
done so, you would have noticed that I was inquiring about you. Why should
we not make the gestures that are natural in asking a question of this sort? When
will you be at home to receive me?"

At that time I did not like to make new acquaintances, and, besides, this impor-
tunity did not please me at all.

"I only sleep in the house; I am not at home through the day."

"But you do sleep at home? What time do you enter to go to bed?"

"Very late."

"For instance?"

" Toward two or three o'clock."

"Very well, fix the hour."

"If you absolutely wish it, day after tomorrow, at half past three in the
morning."

" Surely I ought to look upon your words as rude and insulting ; however, it is
possible that you have good reasons. In any case, I wUI be at your house day
after tomorrow at half past three in the morning."

"If }'ou are so bent upon it, come a little later instead; I shall be at home all
the morning until noon."

"Good! I will call at ten o'clock. Will you be alone?"

"Yes."

"Good!"

He came, and with the same directness went straight to the matter concerning
which he had felt the necessity of making my acquaintance. We talked about
half an hour. The subject of our conversation is of little consequence; it is
enough to remember that he said, "It is necessary," and I answered, "No;" that
he added, "You ought to," and I replied, "Not at all." At the end of the half-
hour he said : " It is clear that it would be useless to continue. Are you convinced
that I am a man worthy of absolute confidence?"

" Yes ; all have told me so, and now I see it for myself."

"And in spite of all you persist in your opinion?"

" I persist."

"Do you know what follows from that? That you are either a liar or a man of
little value!"

What do you say to that? AVhat should one do to another who uses such lan-
guage toward him? Provoke him to a duel? But he spoke so calmly, without any

Life of Vera with her Ilushand, and the Second Love. 217

trace of personality, like a historian who judges things coldly, not with an intent
to offend any one, but to sers'e the truth, that it would have been ridiculous to take
offence, and I could only laugh.

'• But these amount to the same thing," said I.

" In the present case they do not amount to the same thuig."

" Then perhaps I am both at once."

"In the present case to be both at once is impossible. But one or the other, —
certainly. Either you do not think and act as you speak, and in that case you are
a liar; or you do thmk and act as you speak, and in that case you are a man of
little value. One of the two, — certainly. The first, I suppose."

"Think as you please," said I, continuing to laugh.

" Good day. In any case remember that I keep my confidence in you, and am
ready to resume our conversation whenever you see fit."

However queer this was, Raklnnetoff was perfectly right, both in having begun
as he did, since he had inquux'd about me before approaching the matter, and in
having ended the conversation in this way. In fact, I did not say what I thought,
and he had the right to call me a liar; and "in the present case," as he expressed
it, I could not take offence at or even exception to his words, the case being such
that lie could really keep his confidence in and even his esteem for me. Yes, how-
ever odd his manner, every man he dealt with was convinced that Ralchmeloff
acted in precisely the most reasonaljle and most simple way, and liis terrible
i:isults, his terrible rcproaclies were so given that no sensible man could bo
offended at them; and, with all his phenomenal rudeness, lie was at bottom very
gentle. Conscquenljy his prefaces were in this tone. He began every difficult
explanation in this way :

"You know that I arn going to .ipeak without any personal feeling. If you find
the words I am about to say to you disagreeable, I will ask you to forgive them.
I Himjily think that one sliould not take offence at what is saitl conscientiously and
with no intention of offending. For the rest, whenever it may seem to you useless
to listen to my words, I will stop; it is my rule to propose my opinion wherever I
ought to, and imvcr to impose it."

And, in fact, he did not impose it: h<; could not be prevented from giving his
opinion when he deemed it useful; but ho did it in two or three words, and added:
"Now you know what the end of our conv(!rsat ion would be; <lo yon think it
would be useful to discuss further?" If you said "No," he bowed and went his
way.

That is how he talked and acted. He always had a great deal of Imsiness not
relating to liimsclf jiersonally; personal matters he liad none; that every V)ody knew;
but what the matters were to which he gave his attention the members of liis circle
did not know. They simply saw that he had a multitude of concerns. He was
rarely at liomc, and was always on the go, cither on foot or in a cab, but generally

218 What's To Be Done?

on foot. At the same time he received many people, and for this purpose had made
it a rule to be always at liome from two o'clock till tliree. During this time he
talked business and dined. But very often, for several days together, he did not
go home, and then one of his friends, devoted to him body and soul and silent as a
tomb, received his visitors for him. About two years after his entrance into Kirsa-
nofE's study, where we now see him reading Newton's commentaries on the Apoca-
lypse, he left St. Petersburg, after telling Kirsanoff and two or three of his most
intimate friends that he had nothing more to do iu the city, that he had done all
that he could, that nothing more could be done for two or three years, and that
consequently he was free for that length of time and wished to use it for the benefit
of his futm'e activity. AVe have learned since that he went to his old estate, sold
the land remaining to him, received about thirty-five thousand roubles, went to
Riazan and ^Moscow, and distributed about five thousand roubles among his seven
bursars that they might finish their studies. And here ended las authentic history.
"\Miat became of him after his departure from Moscow is not known. Several
months went by, and no news came from him. Those who knew most about him
no longer kept silence regarding several matters which, at his request, they had
concealed during his stay among us. Then it was that the meml)ers of our circle
learned that he had bursars, and the various other details about him which I have
just given. "We heard also a multitude of stories which, instead of making him
better known to us, only rendered his character more problematical, — stories as-
tonishing from their singularity, stories some of which flatly contradicted the opinion
we had formed of him, as a man w-holly without feeling, having, if I may so express
myself, no heart beating with personal emotions. To relate all these stories would
be out of place. I will give but two here, — one of each class, — one queer and the
other upsetting the theory of his pretended hardness of heart. I choose them from
those told me by Kirsanoff.

A year before he disappeared for the second and probably the last time from St.
Petersburg Rakhm^toff said to Kirsanoff: "Give me a large quantity of salve good
for healing wounds inflicted by sharp tools." Kirsanoff filled an enormous jar for
him, thinking that Kakhindtoff intended to take it to a carpenters' shop or that of
some other workmen liable to cuts. The next morning Rakhmetoff's landlady ran
to Kirsanoff in great fright :

" Father * doctor, I do not know what has got into my tenant : he is late, he has
not left his room, the door is locked; I looked through the crack of the door and
saw him covered with Ijlood ; when I began to cry out, he said to me through the
door: 'It is nothing, Agrafcna Antonovna.' j;IIow can it be nothing! Save him,
father doctor! Oh, how I fear lest he may die! He is so utterly without pity for
himself."

• A formula of respect in Russia among the people.

Life of Vera with her JIushand, and the Second Love. 219

Kirsanoff ran in all haste; Rakhmetoff opened his door, abroad and dismal smile
on his lips. Kirsanoff saw a sight at which Agrafena Antonovna might well have
been startled ; others would have been. The back and sides of Rakhnietoff's shirt
(he was in his shirt) were covered with blood ; there was blood under the bed ; the
felt on which he slept was covered with blood ; in the felt were hundreds of little
nails, sticking up about an inch ; Rakhmetoff had lain all night on this bed of his
invention.

" Pray, what does this mean, Rakhmetoff? " cried Kirsanoff, thoroughly frightened.

" A trial. It was necessary to make it. Improbable, certainly, but at all events
it was necessary to make it. I know now what I can do."

Besides what Kirsanoff saw, the landlady evidently could have told many curious
things about Rakhmetoff, but in her innocence and simplicity the old woman doted
on him, and it is needless to say that nothing could be learned from her. On this
occasion she ran to Kirsanoff only liecause Rakhmetoff himself allowed her to do so
for her own peace of mind, so bitterly did she weep, thinking that he intended to
commit suicide.

Two months after this affair, at the end of the month of May, Rakhmetoff disap-
peared for a week or more, but no one remarked ui^on it, as it very oftcMi happened
that he disappeared for several days. Later Kirsanoff' told us the following story
of the way in which Rakhmetoff' spent his time while absent. It was the erotic
epi.sode of his life. His love grew out of an event worthy of Nikitouchka Lomoff.
Rakhmetoff was going from Premier Pargolovo* to the city, in a thoughtful mood
and with eyes lowered, as usual; when passing by the Institut Forestier, he was
startled from liis dreams by tiie harrowing cry of a woman. Raising his eves, lie
saw that a liorse, attached to a jaunting-car in which a lady sat, had taken the bits
in his teeth and was running as fast as he could; the lady had droi>i)ed the reins,
which were dragging along the ground; the horse was not more than two steps from
RakliuK-toff; he thn-w himsolf into the mitldlc of tlm road, but the liorsti passed
rapidly by him before lie could seize thi- I'liiUe; he could only grasp tln! rear axle
of the jaunting-car, wliich he stopped, though Ik; fell himself. Tlu^ passers-by ran to
the spf)t, holpod th<' lady out of the jaunting-car, and jiieked uj* HakhnielolT. His
chest was slightly bruised, but liis most sf-rious injury was the loss of a good-sized
piece of flesh which the whe<l lijul torn from his leg. When the lady had recovered
herself, she orderefl him to V>o taken to her coimtry-house, about half a verst distant.
Ilf ef)iiH<'iiled, for h^ fi'lt vory w<rak, but In- insistccl that Kirsanoff be sen! for, as
he would have no otlwr rloctor. Kirsanoff dfcidi-d that the bruises on his chest
•were not of serious consequence, V)ut lie foutid Rakhmetoff himself very weak from
tlie loss of blood which he had suffered. He remained in bed ten days. Naturally,
the lady whom he had saved cared for Iiini Iwrsi-lf. Tu view of his weakness he

*A Tillage In the luburbs of St. Petci-sburg.

220 What's To Be Done?

could only talk wilh her, — the time would have been lost at any rate, — so he spoke
and for once without reserve. The lady was a young widow nineteen years old,
moderately rich, independent, intelligent, and fine-looking, llakhmetotf's ardent
words (not of love, be it understood) charmed her.

"I see him in my dreams surrounded with a halo," said she to Kirsanoff. He
also conceived a passion for her. From his exterior she thought him poor ; conse-
quently she was the first to propose marriage when on the eleventh day he rose and
said thatTie could go home.

" With you I have been more outspoken than with others ; you can see that men
like me have not the right to bind their destiny to that of any one whomsoever."

"Yes, you are right," said she, "you cannot marry. But imtil you have to leave
me, love me."

"Xo, I cannot accept that offer either; I am no longer free, and must not love."

What has become of this lady since? This adventure must have changed her
life, and undoubtedly she became herself a person like llakhiuetoff. I should like
to know it. But Kirsanoff did not wish to tell me her name, and he knew no more
than I what she had become. Rakhmetoff had asked him not to inquire about her.
"If I supposed that j^ou knew anything about her," said he, "I could not help ask-
ing you for the facts, and that must not be." "\Mien the story was known, every-
body remembered that at that time and for some two months afterwards Rakhmetoff
was more sober than usual. With no matter what fury any one might throw in
his face his abominable weakness, cigars, he did not pour out wrath upon himself,
and no broad and gentle smile illuminated his countenance when any one flattered
him with the name of Xikitouchka Lomoff. I have other memories. Three or four
times that .simmier he happened to make answer to my ridicule (for I laughed at
him when we were together, and that is why he took me into his affection) :

"Yes, pity me; you are right, pity me. I, too, like the others, am not an abstract
idea, but a man who wishes to live. However, it will pass away."

And in fact it did pass away. Once only, several months later, I so excited him
by my railleiy that he happened to say the same words over again.

The reader with the penetrating eye sees, perhaps, that I know more about
Rakhmdtoff than I say. It may be so. I dare not contradict him, for his eye is
penetrating. If I only knew ! I know many things that you, reader with the pene-
trating eye, can never learn. But what I really do not know is this, — where
Rakhmdtoff is now, what has become of him, and whether I shall ever see him
again. About these matters I know no more than his other friends. Three or four
months after his disappearance from ^Moscow we supposed, though we had heard
nothing from him, that he was travelling in Europe. This conjecture seems to
have been correct. At least it is confirmed by this evidence. A year after
Rakhmt'toff's disappearance one of Ku'sanoff's acquaintances met in a railway car-
mge between Vieima and Munich a young Russian, who said that he had trav-

XZ/b of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 221

elled through all the Slavonic countries, meeting all classes of society aud staying
in each country only as long as it was necessary in order to form a true conception
of its ideas, its customs, its manner of life, its local institutions, its material condi-
tion, and the various branches of its population ; that with this view he lived in
cities and villages, going on foot from one village to another ; that he had studied
in the same way the Roumanians aud the Hungarians; that he had travelled, now
on foot and now by rail, through Northern Germany ; that then he had visited in
detail Southern Germany and the German provinces of Austria ; that now he was
going to Bavaria, and thence to Switzerland by way of Wiirtemberg and Baden;
that afterwards he would go through France and England in the same way, which
he counted on doing in a year ; if there were enough of the year left, he wotild see
also Spain and Italy; if not, he would not go there. Why? Because in a year it
was absolutely necessary that he should be in the United States, a country which
he must study more than any other. There he would remain a long time, perhaps
more than a year, and perhaps for ever should he find occupation there ; but it was
more likely that in three years he would return to Russia, gis it seemed to him that
at that time it would be necessary to be tlicre. All this is much like Rakhmctoff,
including the " it is necessarj's" impressed upon the meiuor}'' of the narrator. The
age, tlie voice, the features of the traveller were also confirmatory indices ; but the
narrator had not paid much attention to his fellow-traveller, who, moreover, had
left liiin two hours later, descending from the train at a little village. Conse-
quently tlie narrator gave only a vague description of his external appearance, so
that the authenticity is not complete. It is also said that a young Russian, an
ex-seigneur, once presented himself to one of the greatest European thinkers of our
century, flu; father of tlio now German i)hilosophy, and said to him: "I have thirty
tliousaud thali;rs; I need but five thousand; the remainder I beg you to accept."
The pliiloHopher was living in great poverty.

"Wliatfor?"

"For the juildication of your works."

The pliilosophcr did not accept; but the Russian nevertheless deposited the
money in liis name at a banker's, an<l wrote him a ncile which road as follows:
"Do with this money as you will; throw it in the water if you like ; but you can-
not send it back to me, for you will not find nie." The money is said to be still at
the banker's. If lliis report Ix- true, it was Rakliinc'toff and none other tliat calleil
on the philosopher. Such, then, is tiio gentleman whom we now see seated in
KirsanofF's study. lie i.s truly an uncounnon man, an individual of a very rare
sort. And I liave not spoken to you of him at this length, reader witli the pene-
trating eye, to teach you the ]iroi>er method of beliavior (unknown to you) toward
people of his sort. You cannot sec a single man of his type; your eyes are not
made to see such phenomena; to you these men are invisible; none but honest
and fearless eyes can see tbcm. But it wa.s good that you should know, were it

222 What's To Be Done?

ouly by hearsay, that such men exist; as for feminhio readers and simple-minded
masculine readers, they know the value of this description.

Yes, people like RakhmetofE are very droll, very amusing. I tell them that they
are very droll; I tell them so because I pity them; I say to the noble hearts who
are charmed by them : " Do not imitate them. The way in which they lead you is
poor in personal joys." But, instead of listening to me, they say: "The way is
not poor at all ; on the contrary, it is very rich ; though it should be poor in some
particular spot, it can never long continue so, and we shall have strength enough
to scale the diificult points in order to enter into the immense prairies fertile in all
sorts of joys." You see, then, reader with the penetrating eye, that it is not for
you, but for another portion of the public, that I have said that men like Rakhme-
toff are droll. I will tell you, however, that they are not wicked; otherwise, per-
haps you would not understand ; no, they are not wicked. They are few in
number, but through them the life of all mankind expands ; without them it would
have been stifled. They are few in number, but they put others in a position to
breathe, who without them would have been suffocated. Great is the mass of good
and honest men, but Rakhmetoffs are rare ; they are like the theine in the tea, the
bouquet in fine wine, — strength and aroma. They are the best among the best,
they are the movers of the movers, they are the salt of the salt of the earth.

XXX.

"Ah, then!" thinks the reader with the penetrating eye, "so Rakhmetoff is to
be the principal personage and master of all, Vdra Pavlovna is to fall in love with
him, and we are to see the story of Lopoukhoff begun over again with Kirsanoff as
the hero."

Nothing of the sort, reader with the penetrating eye. Rakhmetoff will pass the
evening in conversation with Vdra Pavlovna, and I will not keep from you a sin-
gle word of what they say. You shall soon see that, if I had not chosen to commu-
ni«ate this conversation to you, I could very easily have kept from doing so, and
the course of events in my story would not have been changed in the least. I ,
also tell you in advance that, when Rakhmdtoff, after talking with Vdra Pavlovna,
shall go away, he will go away for ever from my story, that he will be neither a
principal nor a secondary character, and that he will not figure further in my ro-
mance. Why have I introduced him into the romance and described him in such
detail? There is an enigma for you, reader with the penetrating eye. Can you
guess it? It will be solved for you in the following pages. But guess now what
will be said farther on. It should not be difTicult, if you had the slightest idea of
art, about which you are so fond of chattering; but it is Greek to you. Stop, I
will whisper in your ear half of the solution of the enigma. I have shown Rakh-
mdtoff in order to satisfy the most essential condition of art, and simply for that.

Life of Vera with Iter Husband^ and the Second Love. 223

"Well, now, find out if you can what this artistic condition is. Look, guess 1 The
feminine reader and the simple-minded masculine reader, who do not chatter about
art, know, but to you it is an enigma. Take your time. I draw a long, broad
stroke between the lines: (see how careful I am with you). Pause over this stroke,
and reflect upon it ; still, perhaps you will not guess.

Madame ^lertzaloff came. After having regretted and consoled, she said that
she would take charge of the shop with pleasure, but that she feared she might
not succeed, and again she began to regret and console while helping to sort out
the effects. After having asked the neighbors' servants to go to the bake-shop,
Rakhmetoff prepared the samovar, brought it in, and they began to take tea;
Ilakhmt'toif spent half an hour with the ladies, drank five cups of tea, half emptied
at the same time an enormous pot of cream, and ate a frightful quantity of rolls,
and two plain loaves which served as a foundation.

" I am entitled to this extra indulgence, for I am sacrificing an entire half of my
day."

AVhile enjoying his meal and listening to the ladies as they exhausted them-
selves in grief, he expressed three times his opinion: "It is senseless," — not that
the ladies should exhaust themselves in grief, but that any one should kill himself
for any reason whatever except to get rid of an intolerably painful and incurable
disease or to avoid a painful and inevitable death, — such, for instance, as torture
on the wheel; each time he (expressed this opinion couciselj', as was liis liabit. He
poured out the sixth cup of tea, at the same time emptying the pot of cream com-
pletely, and took all the rolls that were left, and, the ladies having long ago fin-
ished their meal, he made a bow and wont off with these things to finish his ]ihysical
delectation in the study, where h(> passed some time as a sybarite, extended on the
divan, which was used by everybody, but which to him was Capuan luxury.

"I am entitled to this feast, for I am sacrificing twelve or fourteen hours of my
time," said he. Aftf-r having finished his physical delectation, he began once
more his mental delectation, — the reading of the commentaries on the Apocalypse.
About ten o'clock the police official came to communicate the particulars of the
affair to the wife of the suicide ; Kakhmdtoff told him that the wife knew all about
it already, and that there was nothing to be said to her; the official was A'ery glad
to be relieved from participation in a harrowing scene. Then came iNIacha and
Rachel and l)egan to sort out the clothing and goods; Rachel advised the sale of
everj'thing except the nice cloak, for, if that were sold, it would be necessary in
three months to have a new one made. To this Vdra Pavlovna consented, and the
price was fixed at four hundred and fifty roubles, — all that the things were worth,
according to Madame Mertzaloff. So at ten o'clock the commercial transaction
was concluded. Rachel paid two hundred roubles; she had no more about her,

2-24 What's To Be Done?

but vrould send the balance in two or three days by Madame Mertzaloff; she took
the things and went away. ISfadame Mertzaloff remained an hour longer, but it
was time to nurse lior child, and she went away, saying that she would come the
next day to accompany Vera Pavlovna to the station.

When Madame Mertzaloff had gone, Rakhmetoff closed Newton's commenta-
ries on the Apocal}*pse, put them carefully back in their place, and sent Macha to
ask Vera Pavlovna if he could go into her room. lie obtained permission. He
entered, as usual, slowly and coolly.

" Vera Pavlovna, I am now able to console you to a certain extent. It is permis-
sible to do so now; it was not necessary to do so sooner. First warning you that
the general result of my visit will be of a consoling nature, — you know, I never
say vain words, and you must calm yourself in advance, — I am going to explain
the affau" to you at length. I told you that I had seen Alexander ISIatvditch and
that I knew all. That was strictly true. But I did not tell you that I knew all
from him, and I could not have told you so, since in reality I knew all, not from
him, but from Dmitry Sergueitch, who came to see me about two o'clock; I was
notified in advance of his coming, and consequently was at home; so he came to
see me about two o'clock, after writing the note which has caused you so much
grief. And he it was who asked me " . . . .

"You knew what he intended to do and did not stop him?"

"I asked you to be calm, as the result of my visit was to be consoling. No, I did
not stop him, for his mind was thoroughly made up, as you shall see for j^ourself.
As I began to say, he it was who asked me to spend this evening with you, and,
knowing that you would be in sorrow, he entrusted me with a commission for you.
He chose me as his agent because he knew me to be a man who carries out with
perfect exactness the instructions that are given him, and cannot be turned aside
by any sentiment or any prayer. He foresaw that you would beg me to violate his
will, and he hoped that I would carry it out without being moved by your prayers.
So I shall, and I beg you to ask no concession of me. This commission is as follows.
In going away to ' quit the scene ' "

"^ly God, what has he done ! Why did you not restrain him?"

"Examine this expression, 'quit the scene,' and do not blame me prematurely.
He used this expression in the note that you received, did he not? Well, we will
adopt the same expression, for it is very happily chosen and expresses the idea
exactly."

Vera Pavlovna became more and more perplexed; she said to herself: "What
does it mean? "What must I think?"

Rakhmetoff, with all the apparent absurdity of his circumstantial method of ex-
planation, managed the affair in a masterly way. He was a great psychologist, and
knew how to proceed gradually.

" So, in going away, with a view to quitting the scene, to use his accurate expres-
sion, he left with me a note for you"

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 225

Vera Pavlovna rose abruptly.

" AVhere is it? Give it to me ! And you could stay here all day without deliver-
ing it to me?"

" I could because it was necessary. You will soon understand my reasons. They
are well-founded. But first I must explain to you the expression that I employed
just now: 'the result will be consoling.' By the consoling nature of the result I
did not mean the receipt of this note, and that for two reasons, the first of which is
this: in the fact of the receipt of this note there would not have been sufficient re-
lief, you see, to deserve the name of consolation; to give consolation something
more is necessary. So the consolation must be found in the contents of the note."

Vera Pavlovna rose again.

"Calm yourself; I do not say that you are mistaken. Having ]3repossessed you
concerning the contents of the note, let me tell you the second reason why I could
not mean by the 'consoling nature of the result' the fact of the receipt of the note,
but its contents rather. These contents, on the character of which we have settled,
are so important that I cannot give them to you, but can only sliow them to you."

" Wlmt I You will not give them to me? "

"No. That is precisely why he chose me, for anybody else in my place would
have given them to you. The note cannot remain in your hands because, consider-
ing tlie extreme importance of its contents, on the character of wliich we have set-
tled, it must not remain in the liands of any one. Now, if I should give it to you,
you would wish to keep it. So, not to be obliged to take it away from you again
by force, I shall not give it to you, but shall only show it to you. But I shall not
show it to you until you liave sat down, placed your hands upon your knees, and
given me your wonl not to raise llu^m."

If any stranger liad l)een there, iiowcver susceptible his heart, he could not have
helped laughing at the solemnity of this procedure and especially at the quasi-
religious ccremonios of tliis clim.ix. It is comical, T confess, 1)ut it would b(> very
good fur our nerves if, in communicating ni;\vs calculatetl to jiruduci' a strong im-
pression, wo knew how to observe toward eivch other oven a tenth part of llakhme-
toff's processes.

But Vera Pavlovna, not l)eing a slninger, rould feel <}\\]y the opjtressive side of
this delay; she even assumr-d an expression no less lauglial)le when, being seated
and having precipitately and submissively placed her hands upon her knees, she
cried, in the plea,sant.e8t voice, — tliat is, a voice of painful impatience : "I swear it I "

Rakhmr'toff placed on the tabic a sheet of letter-paper, on which were written ten
or twelve lines.

Scarcely had Vera Pavlovna cast a glance at it when, forgetting her oath, she rose
impetuously to seize the note, which was already far off in Rakhmetoff's lifted hand.

"I foresaw that, and for that reason, as you would have noticed liad you been in
a condition to notice anything, my hand did not leave the note. Therefore I will

226 What's To Be Done?

continue to hold this sheet by tlie corner as long as it remains on the table. This
will nuiko all your attempts useless."

Vera Pavlovna sat down again and replaced her hands. Rakhmdtoff again placed
the note under her eyes. She read it over twenty times with emotion, llakhmdtoff
stood with much patience beside her chair, holding the corner of the sheet with his
hand. A quarter of an hour passed thus. Finally Vera Pavlovna raised her hand
slowly, evidently without bad intentions, and hid her eyes.

"How good he is! how good he is ! " said she.

"I am not quite of your opinion, and you shall know why. This will be no part
of his commission, but only the expression of my opinion, which I gave to him too
at our last interview. My comiuission consisted only in this, — to show you this
note and then burn it. Have you looked at it enough?"

'•Again, again!"

She folded her hands anew, he replaced the note, and with the same patience
stood in the position already described a good quarter of an hour longer. Again
she hid her face in her hands and repeated : " Oh 1 how good he is, how good he is ! "

"You have studied this note as closely as you could. If you were in a calmer
frame of mind, not only would you know it by heart, but the very form of each
letter would be stamped for ever in your memory, so long and attentively have you
looked at it. But in your present state of agitation the laws of memory do not
exist, and memory may prove false to you. In view of this possibility I have made
a copy of the note ; this copy you can always see at my house whenever you like
Sometime I may even find it possible to give it to you. Now I think it is time to
burn the original, and then my commission will be completed."

" Show it to me once more."

He again placed the note on the table. This time Vera Pavlovna repeatedly
raised her eyes from the paper: it was plain that she had learned tlie note by heart
and was verifying her remembrance of it. A few minutes afterwards she gave a
deep sigh, and stopped lifting her eyes from the note.

"Now, that is enough, it seems to me. It is time. It is midnight already, and I
have yet to give you my thoughts about this matter, for I deem it useful that you
should know my ojjinion. Do you consent?"

"Yes."

On the instant the note was ablaze in the flame of the candle.

"Ah!" cried Vera Pavlovna, "that is not what I said. Why"

"Yes, you only said that you consented to listen to me. But sooner or later I
should have had to burn it."

Saying these words, Piakhmotoif sat down.

"Besides, the copy of the note remains. Now, Vera Pavlovna, I am going to
give you my opinion of the affair. I will begin with you. You are going away.
Why?"

Life, of Vera with her Hushand^ and the Second Love. 227

"It would be very painful for me to stay here. The sight of places which would
recall the past would make me very unhappy."

" Yes, that is a very disagreeable feeling. But do you believe that life would be
much less painful to you anywhere else? Very little less, in any case. And yet
wliat do you do? To secure yourself a slight relief, you hazard the destiny of
fifty individuals dependent upon you. Is it well to do that?"

What has become of the tiresome solemnity of RakhmetofE's tone ? He speaks
in a spirited, natural, simple, brief, and animated way.

"That is true, but I have asked ^ladaine MertzalofE " . . . .

"You do not know whether she will be in a position to replace you in the shop;
her capacity i-j not yet proven. Now, this is a matter which calls for a person of
more than ordinary capacity. The chances are ten against one that no one would
be found to replace you and that your departure would ruin the shop. Is that
well? You expose fifty persons to ahuost certain, almost inevitable ruin. And
for what reason? To secure a little comfort for yourself. Is that well? What
an eager tenderness for one's own trivial relief, and wliat an insensibility to the
fate of others 1 How does this view of your course please you ? "

"Why did you not restrain me?"

"You would not have listened to me. Ami, besides, I knew that you would
come l)ack soon ; consequently the matter was not important. You see that you
arc in the wrong."

"C,'oiiii)lctely," said Vera Pavlovna, partly in jest ;iiid parlly in earnest, — almost
wholly in earnest, in fact.

"No, that i« but one side of your crime. 'C'oiujiletely ' involves much more.
But for your nqHMitance you shall receive a reward : I am going to aid you to re-
pair anotlier crime, which it is not yet too late to correct. Are you calm now,
Vera TavLnnu?"

"Yes, almost calm."

"(ifiod I Do you need ^laclia for anything?"

"Certainly not."

"And yet you are aln;ady calm; you ought, then, to have remembered that it
was time to tell her to go to Ixfd, — it is already ]»ast midnight, — ('specially as sIk^
has to rise early. Who sliould have thouglit of tliis, you or I? I will tell her lluit
she may sle<!p. And at the same time for this fresii repentance — for you do re-
jient — here is a new reward; I will see what there is for su])])er. You hnvc not
eaten today, and you must liave an appetite."

"It is true, and a keen one; I felt it as soon as you reminded me of it," said
Vera Pavlovna, laugliing tliis time.

llakhmetoff lirouglit the remains of the dinner. Macha had shown him the
cheese and a pot of nmshrooms, which made them a good supper enough ; lio
brought two knives and forks, and, in short, did everything himself.

228 W/iat's To Be Done?

"See, Rakhmc'toff, how eagerly I eat; that means that I was hungry; and yet T
did not feel it; it was not Macha alone that I forgot; I am not, you see, so mali-
cious a criminal."

"Nor am I so very attentive to others ; I reminded you of your appetite because
I too wanted to eat, for I did not dine very well, though I ate more than another
would have needed for a dinner and a half ; but, as you well know, I eat as much
as any two peasants."

" Ah, Rakhmetoff , you are my good angel, and not for my appetite alone. But
why did you stay here all day without showing me the note ? Why did you keep
me so long in torture?"

"The reason is a very serious one. It was necessaiy that others should witness
your sorrow, so that the news of your extreme grief might spread and thus confirm
the authenticity of the event which caused it. You would not have wanted to
feign sorrow, and, in fact, it is impossible to completely replace nature by any-
thing whatever; nature in all cases acts in a much more convincing way. Now
there are three sources from which the event may be authenticated, — Macha,
Madame Mertzaloff, and Rachel. Madame Mertzaloff is an especially important
source, as she knows all your acquaintances. I was very glad that you conceived
the idea of sending for her."

" But how shrewd you are, Rakhmdtoff ! "

"Yes, it was not a bad idea to wait until night, but the credit of it belongs to
Dmitry Sergueitch himself."

" IIow good he is 1 " and Vera Pavlovna heaved a profound sigh, not of sorrow,
but of gratitude.

"Well, Ydra Pavlovna, we will analyze him further. Indeed, of late, his
thoughts have been very wise and his conduct perfect. Yet we shall convict him
of some pretty serious sins."

" Rakhmotoff, do not speak of him in that way, or I shall get angry."

"You rebel! That calls for another punishment. The list of your crimes is
only just begun."

" Execute, execute, Rakhmdtoff."

" For this submission a reward. Sul amission is always rewarded. If you have
any wine, it would not be a bad idea for you to drink some. Where is it ? In the
sideboard or in the closet?"

" In the sideboard."

In the sideboard he found a bottle of sherry.

Rakhmetoff obliged Vera Pavlovna to drink two small glasses of it, and lit a
cigar himself.

"It is a pity that I cannot drink three or four small glasses with you. I desire jt
so much."

"Is it possible, Rakhmdtoff?"

Life of Vera with Tier Husband^ and the Second Love. 229

"It is tempting, Vera Pavlovna, it is very tempting," said he, laughing; "man
is weak."

" You, too, weak ! "\^^ly, Rakhmetoff, you astonish me I You are not at all
what I have been in the habit of thinking you. Why are you always so sober?
Tonight you are a gay and charming man."

"Vera Pavlovna, I am now fulfilling a gay duty; why should I not be gay? But
this is an exceptional case, a rarity. Generally the things that I see are not gay
at all; how could I help bemg sober? But, Vera Pavlovna, since you have
chanced on this occasion to see me as I should very much like to be always, and
since we have come to talk so freely to each other, know this, — but let it be a
secret, — that it is not to my liking to be sober. It is easier for me to do my duty
when it is not noticed that I too sliould like to enjoy life. In that case no one
tries to entertain me, and I am not forced to W'aste my time in refusing invitations.
But that it may be easier for you to think of me only as a sober man, I continue
my inquest concerning your crimes."

"But what more do you want, then? You have already convicted me of two, —
insensibility toward IMacha and insensibility regarding the shop. I am repentant."

"The insensiltility toward ]Macha is only an offence, not a crime : IMacha would
not die from rubbing her hr-avy eyes an hour longer; on the contrary, she would
have done it with a pleasant feeling, knowing that she was doing her duty. But
as reganis the sliop I want to devour you."

"Have you not devoun-tl me enough already?"

"Not entirely yet, and I want to devour you entirely. IIuw rould you abandon
thin hIio[) to its ruin?"

"But I have repentc<l, and, besides, I did Jiot abandon it: Madame Mertzaloff
had ronsented to take my place."

"We have alrcaily spoken of that; your int('nti(jn of furnishing her as a substi-
tute Is not a Hudicicnt excuse. But by this excuse you have succeeded only in
convicting your.stdf of a new crime."

Ilakhnirtoff grailually resutned Iiis serious, though not solemn, tone.

"Von say that she is gf)ing to t;ike your jilare. Is that, decided upon?"

"Yes," s.ii.l V.'i:i F':nl..\na, seriously, foreseeing that something bad was to
foll*»w.

" I>ook at it. The aflair is decided, l>ut by whom? By you and by her, without
taking any further counsel. Whether these fifty i)ersons would consent to such a
change, whether they wished it, aiul wh('ther they might not have found some bet-
ter way, — what is that to you? That is despotism, Vera Pavlovna. So you are
already guilty of two great crimes, — lack of pity and despotism. But tiio third is
a heinous crime. The institution which more or less closely corresponded to
healthy ideas of social organization, whicli to a greater or leas extent demon-
strated their practicability (a precious thing, proofs of this kind being very rare),

V

230 What's To Be Done?

— this institution, I say, you submitted to the risk of destruction and of transior-
niation from a proof of the practicability into evidence of the impracticability and
absurdity of your convictions, into a means of refuting your ideas, so beneficial to
hunumity: you furnished an argument against your holy iirinciples to the cham-
pions of darkness and of evil. Now, I say no more of the fact that you destroyed
the prosperity of fifty individuals, — that is a matter of fifty individuals, — but
you harmed humanity, you betrayed progress. That, Vera Pavlovna, is what is
called, in ecclesiastical language, the sin against the Holy Ghost, the only unpar-
donable sin. Isn't that true, madam criminal? Fortunately everything has hap-
pened as it has, and you have sinned only in intention. Ah! you blush in earnest,
Vera Pavlovna. It is well; now I will console you. If you had not suffered so
much, you would not have committed such crimes even in your imagination.
Therefore the real criminal is he who has occasioned you so much torment. And
you repeat continually: 'How good he is! how good he is!'"

"What! Do you tliink that, if I have suffered, it is through his fault?"

" Whose fault is it, then ? He has managed this affair well, I admit, but why
all this hubbub? Nothing of the kind should have happened."

" Yes, I should not have had this feeling. But I did not invite it ; on the con-
trary, I tried to suppress it."

"'I should not have had' — that is good! You do not see wherein you are
guilty, and you reproach yourself when there is no occasion to. This feeling ne-
cessarily had to arise in one way or another, given your character and that of
Dmitry Sergueitch, and it would have developed itself under any circumstances.
The essential point in the matter is not that you are in love with anoth(!r, which
is only a result; it is the dissatisfaction with your former relations. What form
was this dissatisfaction obliged to take? If both, or even one of you, had been
deficient in intellectual development and refinement, or if you had been bad peo-
ple, your dissatisfaction would have taken the ordinary form, — hostility between
husband and wife; you would have devoured each other, if you had both been bad;
or one of you would have tormented the other, and the other would have been piti-
lessly tormented. It would have been in any case one of those domestic hells that
we find in most families. That evidently would not have prevented the appear-
ance of love for another, but in addition there would have been hell, mutual tor-
ment, I know not what. With you dissatisfaction could not take this form,
because both of you are honest; so it took only its lightest, mildest, most inoffensive
form, — love of another. Of this love there is no occasion to speak: it is not, I
repeat, the essential point. The essential point is the dissatisfaction with your
former situation, and the cause of your dissatisfaction is the difference in your
characters. Both of you are good, but when your character, Vdra Pavlovna, ma-
tured, when it lost its childish ambiguity and acquired definite traits, it became
evident that you and Dmitry Sergueitch were not well suited to each other. What

Life of Vera with her Ilushand, and the Second Love. 231

is there in that that is against either of you ? I, for instance, am not a bad man.
Could you live a long time with uie? You would die of ennui In how many days,
do you think?"

" In a very few days," said Vera Pavlovna, laughing.

"He is not as sober as I am, but nevertheless there is altogether too much differ-
ence between you. Who should have noticed it first? Who is the older? Whose
character was formed the earlier? Who has had the greater experience in life?
He should have foreseen all and prepared you, in order that you might not be
frightened and eaten up with sorrow. He did not realize this until the feeling
that he should have anticipated was not only developed, but had produced its re-
sults. Why did he foresee nothing, notice nothing? Was it stupidity? He does
not lack wit. No, it was inattention, negligence, rather; he neglected his rela-
tions with you. Vera Pavlovna. That was the real trouble. And still you repeat:
'He is good; he loved me.'"

Rakhmetoff was gradually becoming animated, and already spoke with warmth.
But Vdra Pavlovna stopped him.

" I must not listen to you, Rakhmetoff," said she in a bitter and discontented
tone; "yon hcajt n-proaclics upon the man to whom T am under infiiiile obligations."

"Vera Pavlovna, if you ought not to listen to this, I would not say it to you. Do
you imagine that I now notice this for the first time? You know that no one can
avoid a conversation with jn<! if it seems to me indispciusable. Therefore I could
have saiil this to you before, and yet I said nothing. Therefore the fact that I
have now begun to si)cak means tiiat it is necessary. I never speak sooner tlian is
necessary. You saw me keep tlie note in my pocket nine whole hours, jillhough
it fil](!d me with pity to see you. Pint it was necessary to keep silenl, ihhI I lu>pt
silent. So, if I now say what I long ago thought about the ways <>! Dmitry
Sergu<5itcli towards you, that means that it is necessary to speak about it."

"Hut 1 will not listen to you," said Vera Pavlovna with extniine velii'iiieiice : "I
beg you to be HJicnt, Rakhmetoff. I beg you to go away. I itm inurh (tMi;;cd Ut
you for liaving sacrificed an evening on my account. Rut I beg you to go'avvay."

"Absolutely?"

"Absolutely."

"Good," said he, laughing. "No, Vera Pavlovna, you cannot get rid of me so
easily. I foresaw this contingency, ami took my precautions. The note whicii I
burned was written of his own accord. And here is one which he wrote because I
asked him to. Tliis I can leavi? with you, liecause it, is not an important document.
Here it i.s."

Raklitn(^tofr iianded the note to Vera Pavlovna.

My dear Vcrnlchha :

Listen to all that Rakhmetoff has to say to you. I do not know what he in-
tends to say to you, 1 have not charged him to say anything to you, and he has

232 What's To Be Done?

not made the slightest aUusion to what he intends to say. But I know that he
never says anything unnecessary. Yours, I>. L.

July 11, 2 o'clock in the morning.

God knows how many times Vera Pavlovna kissed this note.

"Why did you not give it to me sooner? Perhaps you have something else
from him."

"No, I have nothing more, because nothing more was necessary. Why did I
not give it to you? There was no reason for giving it to you until it became
necessary."

"But to give me the pleasure of receiving a few lines from him after our sepa-
ration."

" If that is all, that is not so important," and he smiled.

"Ah, IvakhmetolT, you will put me in a rage!"

"So this note is the cause of a new quarrel between us?" said he, smiling again:
"if that is the case, I will take it away from you and burn it; you know well what
they say of such people as we are, — that to them nothing is sacred. Hence we
are capable of all sorts of violence and rascality. ISIay I continue?"

They both became calm, — she, thanks to the note, he, because he remained si-
lent while she kissed the note.

"Yes, I must listen to you."

"He did not notice what he should have noticed," began Rakhmetoff calmly:
"that has produced bad results. Though we cannot call it a crime in him, neither
can we excuse it. Suppose that he did not know that the rupture was inevitable;
still, given your character and his own, be should nevertheless have prepared you
at all events against anything like it, just as one would against any accident which
is not to be desired and which there is no reason to expect, but which is to be pro-
vided for : for one cannot answer for the future and the changes that it may bring.
With this axiom — that we are exposed to all sorts of accidents — he was familiar,
we may be sure. Why did he leave you in ignorance to such an extent that, when
the present circumstances arose, you were not at all prepared for them? His lack
of foresight came from negligence, injurious to you, but in itself an indilfereiit
thing, neither good nor bad; but, in failing to prepare you against any contin-
gency, he acted from an absolutely bad motive. To be sure, he had no data to act
upon, but it is precisely in those matters where one acts without data that nature
best manifests itself. It would have been contrary to his interests to prepare you,
for thereby your resistance to the feeling not in harmony with his interests would
have been weakened. Your feeling proved so strong that your resistance could
not overcome it; but it was not at all unlikely that this feeling would manifest it-
self with less force. If it had been inspired by a man less exceptionally worthy, it
would have been weaker. Feelings against which it is useless to struggle are an

Life of Vera with her Husband, and the Second Love. 233

exception. There are many more chances that this feeling will manifest itself in
such a way that it may be stifled, if the power of i-esistance is not wholly destroyed.
It was precisely in view of these, the most probable chances, that he did not wish
to lessen your power of resistance. Those were his motives for leaving you unpre-
pared and subjecting you to so much suffering. "What do you say to this?"

"It is not true, llakhmetoif. He did not liide his ways of thinking from me.
Ills convictions were as well known to me as to you."

"To hide them would have been difficult. To oppose in your presence convic-
tions corresponding to his own and to pretend for such a purpose to think other-
wise than he did would have been simply dishonesty. You would never have
loved sucli a man. Have I pronounced him bad? He is very good; I could say
nothing else; I will praise him as highly as you like. I only say this: at the time
of your rupture his conduct was very good, but before that his conduct towards
you was bad. ^\'hy did you distress yourself? He said (was it worth while to say
so, it being clear without it?) that it was because you did not wish to grieve liim.
Why was this thought that you could thereby greatly grieve him able to find a
place in your mind ? It should not have found a place there. What grief? It is
stupid. Jealousy?"

"You do not admit jealousy, Kakhmetoff?"

"A man with a d(!velof>ed miml shoulil not have it. It is a distorted feeling, a
false feeling, an a))ominable feeling; it is a phenomenon of our existing order of
things, based upon the same idea that prevents me from permitting any one to
wear my linen or smoke my pipe: it is a result of the fashion of considej'ing one's
companion as an oi)joct that one has appropriated."

"But, UaklimetolT', not to admit jealousy leads to iiorrible consequences."

"To tliose who are jealous they are Iiorrible, but to those who are not there is
not only nothing lK)nibl(! about Micm, but notjiing even of importance."

"You preach utter immorality, itakhmetoli!"

"Docs it seem so to you after living with him for four years? That is precisely
where he has done wrong. How many times a day do you dine? Only once.
Would auy one TiikI fault with you if you dined twice? Probably not. Why do
you not do so? Do you fear that you may grieve some one? rrobably because
you do not feel the necessity of it. Yet dinner is a very agreeable thing. But the
niin<l and (more important still) the stomach say that one dimier i.i agri;eable and
that a second would be disagreeable. I'.ut if th(! fancy seized you or you ha<l an
unhealthy desire to dine twice, would you bo preventtvl by the f(!ar of grieving
some one? No, if any one felt grieved f)r prohibited you, you wouM hide and cat
your food in bad condition, you would soil your hands in taking it hastily, you
would soil your clothes l)y hiding bits in your pockets, and that would be all. The
question here is not one of morality or immorality, but only this: is smuggling a
gooil thing? Who is restrained by the idea that jealousy is a feeling worthy of

234 W/mt's To Be Bone?

esteem and respect ? ^^^lo says to himself : " Ah ! if I do this, T shall cause him
grief"? Who is tormented by these useless struggles? Few people, the best, just
those whose nature would not lead them into immorality. The mass are not re-
strained by these stupidities ; they only resort to further strategy. They fill their
lives with deceit and become really bad. That is all. Are you not well aware of
this?"

" Why, certainly."

"Where, then, do you find the moral utility of jealousy?"

" ^Miy, we have always talked in this vein ourselves."

"Not exactly in this vem, probably, or perhaps you talked so without believing
your own words, not believuig them because on this as on other questions you
heard continually the opposite view's. If that was not the case, why did you tor-
ment yourself? Why all this confusion about such trivial matters? Wliat an
embarrassment to all three of you, and especially to you. Vera Pavlovna I Whereas
you might all three live as in the past, as you lived a year ago, or take apartments
together, or arrange your life in any other way, according to your choice, but with-
out any upturning, and all three take tea or go to the opera together as in the past.
Why these anxieties? "Why these catastrophes? Always because, owing to his
wrong policy of keeping you in ignorance on this matter, he has thus caused you
much useless sorrow."

" Xo, Rakhmetoff, you say horrible things."

" 'Ilon-ible things' again! Groundless anxieties and needless catastrophes are
the things that seem horrible to me."

"Then, in your eyes, our whole story is only a stupid melodrama?"

"Yes, an utterly useless melodrama coupled with a dramatist no less useless.
And instead of a simple and peaceful conversation there has been a harrowing
melodrama; the guilty party is Dmitry Sergueitch. His honest conduct at the last
hardly suffices to cancel his original fault. Yes, he is very guilty. But, then, he
has paid dearly enough for it. Take another glass of sherry and go to bed. I
have accomplished the oljject of my visit; it is already three o'clock, and, if not
waked, you will sleep a long time. Now, I told Macha not to call you till half past
ten, so that tomorrow you will hardly have time to take breakfast, but will have to
hurry to the depot ; even though you should not have time to pack all your things,
you will corne back soon, or else they will be sent to you. Do you wish Alexander
Matvditch to go directly after you, or do you prefer to come back yourself? But
it would be painful for you to be in Macha's presence, for she must not notice that
you are entirely calm. She will not notice this during half an hour of hurried pre-
parations. With Madame !Mertzaloft' it is another thing. I will go to her tomor-
row morning, and tell her not to come because you went to bed late and must not
be waked ; that she must go directly to the depot instead."

" IIow attentive you are to me ! " said Vera Pavlovna.

Life of Vera with her Husband^ and the Second Love. 235

"This .attention, at least, you need not attribute to him; it comes from me.
Except that I rebuke him for the past (to his face I said much more) on account
of his responsibility for this useless anxiety, I find that, as soon as you actually
began to suffer, he acted very commendably."

XXXT.

AX INTERVIEW WITH THE READER WITH THE PEXETRATIXG EYE, AND HIS

EXPULSION.

Tell me, then, reader with the penetrating eye, why T have shown you Eakhme-
tofF, who has just gone away to appear no more in my story. I have already told
you that he would take no part in the action.

"It is not true," interrupts the reader wifh the penetrating eye. "Kakhmetoff
is a personage, for he brought the note, which" ....

Why, how weak you are, my good sir, in the a?sthetic discussions of which you
are so fond 1 In that case Macha too is, in your eyes, a personage? She also, at
the l)eginniiig of the story, brought a letter, which horrified Vera Pavlovna. And
pr-rhaps I'achel is a personage? For it was she Avho bought Wra ra\lovna's
things, without which tlie latter could not have gone away. And Professor N. is
a personage, because he recommended Vdra Pavlovna to Madame B. as a governess,
without which tlie scene of tlie return from the Boulevard Konno-Gvardeisky
would not have oecurn-d. Perhaps tin' Boulevard Konno-flvardeisky is also a per-
sonage? Tor without this boulevard the scene of tlie rendezvous and the return
wouM not have occurre<l either. Ami the Rue Gorokhovaia nuist be the most
essential p<!r8onage, because without it tin- houses there situated would not have
existed, including tlie Storechnikon' house, and as a consecpience there would have
been no steward of this liouse and no stewanl's daughter, and tlicii tlicn^ would
woulil have been no 8tf)ry at all.

Aflmitting with you tliat the Boulevanl Konno-Gvardcisky and IMadia, Baehel
and the Biie (iorokhovaia are personages, why is it that only five words or even
less are said (if fach f)f fhein? It is because their aetion is wortli no Tuore. On
the other haml, hnw many pages are devoted to ISaklimetolT?

"Ah! now I know," says the reader with the penetrating eye. "IJiikhmetoff
appeared to prouoimco judgment on Vera Pavlovna and Loitoukholl"; he was
neeiled for tlie conversation with Vera Pavlovna."

Your weakness is really deplorable, my worthy friend. You construe the mat-
ter in just the wrong way. Was it necessary to bring a man in simply that he
mii;ht j>ronounce his opinion of the other personages? Your great artists do it,
]>eihapH. As for me, though a feelde writer, I iniderstand the ootiditions of art a
little better than that. No, my good sir, Kakhmetoff wan not at all necessary for

230 What's To Be Done?

that. IIow many times has Vera Pavlovna herself, how many times have Lopouk-
hoff and Kirsanoff tlieniselves, expressed their own opinion concerning their own
actions and relations! They are intelligent enough to judge what is good and
what is bad; they need no prompter for that. Do you believe that Vera Pavlovna
herself, recalling at her leisure a few days later the tumult ^ust passed through,
would not have blamed herself for having forgotten the shop in the same way that
Rakhmetoff blamed her? Do you believe that Lopoukhoff himself did not think
of his relations with Vera Pavlovna quite as Rakhmetoff spoke of them to Vera
Pavlovna? Honest people think of themselves all the evil that can be said of
them, and that is the reason, my good sir, why they are honest people ; do you not
know it? IIow weak you are when it comes to analyzing the thoughts of honest
people ! I will say more : did you not think that llakhmetofE in his conversa-
tion with Vera Pavlovna acted independently of Lopoukhoff? Well, he was only
Lopoukhoff's agent; he understood it so himself, and Vera Pavlovna saw it a day
or two later; and she would have seen it as soon as Rakhmetoff' opened liis mouth,
if she had not been so much agitated. So that is how things happened as they
did; Ls it possible that you did not understand even this much? Certainly Lo-
poukhoff told the truth in his second note; he had said nothing to Rakhmetoff
and the latter had said nothing to him about the conversation which was to take
place ; but Lopoukhoff was acquainted with Rakhmetoff" and knew what the latter
thought of such or such things and what he would say under such or such circum-
stances. Honest people understand each other without explaining themselves.
Lopouklioff could liave written in advance, almost word for word, all that Rakhme-
toff would say to Vera Pavlovna, and that is exactly why he asked Rakhmetoff to
be his agent. !Must I instruct you further in psychology? Lopoukhoff knew per-
fectly well that all he thought about himself, Rakhmetoff, Mertzaloff and his wife,
and the officer Avho had wrestled with him on the islands thought also, and that
Vera Pavlovna was sure to think so within a short time even though no one should
say it to her. She would see it as soon as the first flush of gratitude passed:
therefore, calculated Lopoukhoff, I really lose nothing by sending Rakhmetoff to
her, although he will rebuke me, for she would reach the same opinion herself; on
the contrary, I gain in her esteem : she will see that I foresaw the substance of the
conversation, and that I arranged it, and she will think: "IIow noble he is! He
knew that during these first days of agitation my exalted gratitude would domi-
nate everything, and he took care to plant in my mind as early as possible tlioughts
which would lessen this burden. Although I am angry with Rakhmetoff for ac-
cusing him, I see that really Rakhmetoff was right. In a week I should have
seen it myself, but then it would not have been of any importance to me, and I
should have had to recover from my agitation without it, whereas by hearing
these thoughts the same day I have escaped a painful emotion which otherwise
would have lasted a whole week. At that time these thoughts were very useful to
me ; yes, he has a very noble heart."

Life of Vera with her Ilushand, and the Second Love. 237

That was the plan wliich Lopoulchoff devised, and Rakhmetoff was only his
agent. You see, my good reader with the penetrating eye, what sly dogs honest
people are and how their egoism works; their egoism is different from yours, be-
cause they do not find their pleasiire in the same direction that you do. They find
their greatest pleasure, you see, in having people whom they esteem think well of
tliem, and that is why they trouble themselves to devise all sorts of plans with no
less zeal than you show in other matters. But your objects are different, and the
plans that you devise are different. You concoct evil plans, injurious to others,
wliile they concoct honest plans, useful to others.

"Why! how dare you say such insulting things to me?" cries the reader with
the penetrating eye; "I will bring a complaint against you; I will proclaim every-
where that you are a man of evil disposition."

Pardon, my good sir, how could I dare to say insulting things to you when I
esteem your character as highly as your mind? I simply take the liberty to en-
lighten you concerning art, which you love so well. In this respect you were in
error in thinking that Rakhmetoff appeared to pronounce sentence on Vera Pav-
lovna and Lopoukhoff. No sucli thing was necessary. He has said nothing that I
might not liave given you as thoughts which, without Rakhmetoft's intervention,
would liave come to Vera Pavlovna in time.

Now, my good sir, a question : why, then, do I give you Rakhmetoff's conversar
lion with Vera Pavlovna? Do you uiulerstand now that when I give you, not the
thoughts of Lopoukhoff aiid Vera Pavlovna, but Rakhmetoff's conversation with
the latter, I thereby signify the necessity of giving you, not alone the thoughts
which constitute the essence of the conversation, but the actual conversation
itself?

Wliy is it necessary to give you tlie precise conversation? Because it is Rakli-
m(;totrs ccnivorsation with V('Ta Pavlovna. Do you understand now? No, not
yet? What a thick head I How weak-minded you are I I am going to make you
understanil.

Wlii'U two men talk, one sees inorf or Ifss tlie rliaractrr of these nwii ; do you
see whither this tends? Was Vera I'avlovna's character suHiciently well known to
you l)efore tlii.s conversation? It was; you have learned nothing about lier: you
already know that she flares up, tliat slio jests, that she likes good things to eat
and a glass of sherry to drink; therefore the conversation was necessary to show
the cliaracter, not of Vera I'avlovna, but of wliom then? There were but two in
the conversation, she and Rakhmetoff. To show the character, not of Vdra Pav-
lovna, but — well, guess I

"Raklundtoff," shouts the reader with the penetrating eye.

Bravo! You have liit it; I like you for that. Well, you see, it is just the con-
trary of what you first thought. Rakhmetoff is not shown for the sake of the
conversation, but the conversation is given to make you better acquainted with

238 What's To Be Done?

Kaklinictoff and solely for that purpose. Through this conversation you have
learned that Rakhmetoff had a desire for sherry, although he never drank wine ;
that Rakhinetoff was not absolutely solemn and morose; that on the contrary,
when engaged in agreeable business, he forgot his sorrowful thoughts, his bitter
sadness, and gaily jested and made merry: only, as he explained it, "that is rarely
the case with me, and I am sorry that it is so rarely the case; I do not like to be
solemn, but circumstances are such that a man with my ardent love of good can-
not help being solemn ; if it wei'e not for that, I should jest, I should laugh ; per-
haps I should sing and dance all day long." Do you understand now, reader with
the penetrating eye, why, though many pages were used in directly describing
Rakhmetoff, I have devoted additional pages to the accomplishment of the same
purpose indirectly? Tell me, now, why I have shown and described this figure in
such detail. Remember what I have already told you, — "solely to satisfy the
most essential condition of art." What is this condition, and how is it satisfied
by the fact that I have put Rakhmetoff 's figure before you ? Do you understand ?
No, you cannot see. Well, listen. Or rather do not listen ; you will never under-
stand ; go away ; I have laughed at you enough. I speak to you no longer, but to
the public, and I speak seriously. The first demand of art consists in this, — to
so represent objects that the reader may conceive them as they really are. For
instance, if I wish to represent a house, I must see to it that the reader will con-
ceive it as a house, and not as a hovel or a palace. If I wish to represent an ordi-
nary man, I must see to it that the reader will not conceive him as a dwarf or as
a giant.

It has been my purpose to represent ordinarily upright people of the new gene-
ration, people whom I meet by hundreds. I have taken three of them : Vdra Pav-
lovna, Lopoukhoff, and Kirsanoff. I consider them ordinary people, they consider
themselves such, and are considered such by all their acquaintances (who resemble
them). Have I spoken in any other vein ? Have I told extraordinary things? I
have represented them with affection and esteem, it is true, but that is because
every upright man is worthy of such affection and esteem.

But wlien have I bowed before them? Where have you seen in me the slightest
tendency to adoration, or hint that nothing superior to them can be imagined and y
that they are ideal characters? As I conceive them, so they act, — like simple, u])-
right people of the new generation. 'NMiat do they do that is remarkably elevated?
They do not do cowardly things, they are not poltroons, they have honest but ordi-
nary convictions, they try to act accordingly, and that is all. Where is their he-
roism? Yes, it has been my purpose to show human beings acting just as all
ordinary' men of this type act, and I hope I have succeeded. Those of my readers
who are intimately acquainted with living men of this type have seen from the be-
ginning and up to the present moment that my principal characters ai'e not at all
ideal and not above the general level of people of their type, and that these men

Life of Vera loith her Husband, and the Second Love. 239

do not act in real life in any other way than that in ^vivich I picture them as acting.
Suppose that other upright people had been confronted with a slightly different
situation : it is not a matteu of absolute necessity or fatality that all husbands and
all wives should separate; all upright wives do not strongly feel a passionate love
for their husband's friend, all upright men do not have to struggle against their
passion for a married woman during three whole years; nor is one always foi'ced
to blow his brains out on a bridge or (to use the words of the reader with the pene-
trating eye) to disappear from a hotel to go no one knows where. But no upright
man in the place of the people pictured by me would have considered it lieroic to
do as they have done; he would do likewise under similar circumstances. Many
times he has acted thus in many situations no less difficult, if not still more so, and
yet he does not consider himself a man to be admired, but simply an ordinary,
moderately upright man, nothing more. And the friends of such a man, resem-
bling him (for these [>eople form friendships only with those who act and think as
they do), consider him an estimable man, but never dream for a moment of drop-
ping on their knees before him; they say to themselves: We, too, are like him.

I hope, T say, that I have succeeded in making every upriglit man of the new
generation recognize the type of his friends in my throe cliaractcrs. r>ut those
who from the beginning of tlic story have been able to tliink of Vdra Pavlovna,
Kirsanoff, and Lopouklioff as "our friends, people like ourselves simply," — these
are yot but a minority of the public. Tho majority are still nnich l)elow this type.
A man who has never seen anytliiiig Imt dirty huts miglit take an engraving of a
very ordinary hou.se for the picture of a palace. How sluill the house be made to
Beem to sudi a man a liouse and not ai palace? Oidy by .showing in the same pic-
ture even a liftli'. wing of a I'alaci'; lie will then sec from this wing that tin' palace
must be fpiitf' a (liffercnt thing from the building represented in the jiieture, and
that tlie latter is really but a Hiiiiplc liouse no better than every one ought to have,
perhaps not a,s good. If I had not shown I In- figure of KaklniK'toff, the iii.i joril y
of readfTH wfnild liavr; had a falsr- iilca of tlm jirincipal cliaractcrs of my story. I
will wag'T that up to tlin roncluding jiaragrajihs of this chapter Vera I'avlovnii,
KirsanolT, and Lopouklioff have secuH'd to llu; majority of the public to be heroes,
individuals of a Hupf*rior nature, if not ideal persons, if not even persons iinpo.ssi-
ble in n-al life (»y reason of their vei-y noble conduct. No, my poor frit'uds, you
have lifen wrong in this thought: they are not too high, you are loo low. You .see
now that they simply »tan«l on the surfaces of the earth; ami, if they have seemed
to you to be soaring in the clouds, it is because you are in the infernal de))ths.
The height where they stand all men should and can reach.

Elevated natures, such as neither you nor I, my jioor friends, can equal, — elevated
natures are not like these. T have shown you a faint outline of the jimfile of one
of them ; the features are different, as you clearly see. Now, it is possible for you
to become entirely the equals of the men whom I represent provided you will work

240 WTiat's To Be Done?

for your intellectual and moral development. Whoever is beneath them is very

Come up from yonr caves, my friends, ascend ! It is not so difficult. Come to
the surface of this earth where one is so well situated and the road is easy and at-
tractive ! Try it : development ! development I Observe, think, read those who tell
you of the pure enjoyment of life, of the possible goodness and happiness of man.

Read them, their books delight the heart; observe life, — it is interesting; think,
— it is a pleasant occupation. And that is all. Sacrifices are unnecessary, priva-
tions are unnecessary, unnecessary. Desire to be happy: this desire, this desire
alone, is indispensable. With this end in view you will work with pleasure for
your development,for there lies happiness.

Oh! how great the pleasure enjoyed by a man of developed mind! That which
would make another suffer he feels to be a satisfaction, a pleasure, so many are
the joys to which his heart is open.

Try it, and you wiU see how good it is.

jTZe Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Husband. 241

CHAPTER FOURTH.

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Husband.

I.

Berlin, July 20, 1856.
Madame and hlgJdy esteemed Vera Pavlovna :

My intimacy with Dmitry Sergueitch Lopoukhoff, who has just perished, and
my profound esteem for you lead me to hope that you will kindly athiiit me
among the number of your acquaintances, although I am entirely unknown to you.
However that may be, I make bold to believe that you will not accuse me of im-
portunity. I l)ut execute effectively the will of this poor Dmitry Sergueitch ; and
you may consider the information which I have to communicate to you on his ac-
count as perfectly authentic, for the good reason that I am going to give you his
own thouglits in his own words, as if he were speaking himsell".

These are his words upon the matter which it is the object of my letter to
clear u\>:

•'The ideas which liave resulted in pushing me to the act that has so nnich
alarmed my intimate friends [I give you the very words of Dmitry Sergueitch, as
I have already told you] ripened in me gradually, and changed several times before
taking their definitive form. It was quite unexpectedly that I was struck by the
event which threw me into th(!se thouglits, and only when she [Dmitry Sergui'itch
refers to you] told me with fright a dream that had horrified her. This dream
made a great impression on me, and as a man who analyzed the feelings which
caused it I understood from that moment that new horizons were about to dawn
upon Ikm- life, and that for a longfu- or sliorter time the natun; of our n-lations
would comi)letely change. One always tries to maintain to tiio last extremity the
position which one lias made for liimself. At the l<ottom of our nature lies that
conservative element which we abandon only when forced to do so. Th(ne, in my
opinion, is to be found the explanation of my first supposition. I wished to be-
lieve, and I did really believe, that this changfj wouhl not be of long duration, that
our old relations would bo reestablished. She even tried to escape this change by
holding herself to me a,s closely as possible. That had its influence upon me, and
for some days I believed it possible to realize her hope. But I soon saw, neverthe-
less, that this hope was vain.

"The reason lies in my character, which, in so speaking of it, I in no wise
blame. I simply so understand things.

"lie who euijUoys his time well divides it into three parts, — work, pleasure, rest

242 Uliat's To Be Bone?

or distraction. Pleasure demands rest as much as work does. In work and in
pleasure the human element predominates over individual peculiarities. We are
driven to labor by the preponderant motive of external rational needs. To plea-
sm-e by the preponderant motive of other needs of liuman nature, — needs quite as
general. Bj' rest and distraction the individual seeks to reestablish his forces after
the excitement which has exhausted them. In this the individual decides freely
for himself in accordance with his personal tastes and proclivities. In work and
in pleasure men are drawn to each other by a powerful general force above their
personal peculiarities, — in work by a clearly understood self-interest, and in plea-
sure by the identical needs of the organism. In rest it is not the same. Here
there is no general force acting to dominate individual peculiarities : leisure is of
all things the most personal, the thing in which nature demands most liberty;
here man most individualizes hunself, each seeking the satisfaction most agree-
able to him.

"In this respect men are divided into two principal categories. For those of one
category leisure or distraction is most agreeable in the society of others. Solitude
is indispensable to every one. But to them it is indispensable that it should be an
exception, their rule being life with others. This class is much more numerous
than the other, which needs the opposite. Those of the latter class are more at
ease in solitude than in society. This divergence has been remarked by general
opinion, which has signified it by the expressions 'sociable men' and 'unsociable
men.' I belong to the category of the unsociables, she to that of the sociables.
That is the whole secret of our history. It is clear that neither of us is to blame
for this, any more than either of us is to blame for not having strength enough to
remove this cause : man can do nothing against his own nature.

'•It is very difficult for us to understand the peculiarities of other natures; every
man pictures all other men to himself from the standpoint of his own character.
That which I do not need others need no more than I : so our individuality man-
ifests itself. I need more than evidence to recall me to the opposite feeling. The
.situation which suits me ought, in my opinion, to suit others. This tendency of
thought l>eing natural, in it I find my excuse for having remarked too late the
difference between her nature and my own. This is important. When we began
to live together, she placed me on too high a pedestal: so at that time we did not
stand on an equality. She had too much esteem for me; my way of living seemed
to her exemplary; she considered my individual peculiarity as a characteristic be-
fitting all men, and for a time she was under its influence. There was, besides, a
reason that controlled her in a different way.

" The inviolability of the inner life is very lightly esteemed among people of but
little intellectual development. Every member of the family — especially the old-
est members — unceremoniously thrusts his nose into your private life. Not that
our secrets are thereby violated : secrets are things more or less precious, which

TIlc Life of Vera Pavloinia with her Second Ilushand. 243

one dofis not forget to conceal and guard. Moreover, every man does not have
them, so nmnerous are those who have nothing to hide from their relatives. But
eveiy one wishes to keep a little corner of his inner life into which no one may
penetrate, just as every one wishes to have a room of his own. People of but little
intellectual development pay small respect either to the one or the other: even if
you have a room of your own, everybody walks into it, not exactly to watch you
or intrude upon you, but because they do not dream that they may disturb you;
they imagine that you can object to unexpected visits from none but those whom
you dislike; they do not understand that, even with the best intentions, one may
be intrusive. The threshold, which no one has a right to cross against the will of
the interested party, is respected only in one case, that of the head of the family,
who may put out by the shoulders whoever intrudes upon him. All the rest must
submit to any and every intrusion and on the most idle pretexts, or even without
any pretext at all. A young girl has two every-day dresses, one white and the
other red; she puts on the red dress; that is enough to start the babble.

" 'You have put on yom- red dress, Anuta; why did you do so?'

"Anuta herself does not know wliy; she had to put on one, and, after all, if she
had put on lier white dress, it would have been just the same.

'"I do not know, mamma,' (or, 'my sister').

"'You would do better to put on your white dress.'

"Why wouM slie do better? Anuta's questioner does not know, herself; only
she must say something.

" ' You are not gay today, Anuta.'

"Anuta is nrtitlior gay nor sad.

"'I did not know it; it seems to me that T am just as usual.'

"'No, you are not gay.'

"Two miimtes later:

'"If yi)U would play a little on the jiiano, Anuta.'

"Wliy, no one knows; and so it goes all day. As if your soul were a street and
every one stationed liimself at the windoNy to look into it, not expecting to see any-
thing,— knowing, in fact, tliat lie will see notliing useful or interesting, — but
looking because he has ufMliing (rlsn to do. Why should not one look into the
street? Ami, indefd, to tiie street it is a matter of indifference; but man does not
like to be intruded upon.

"It is natural that these intrusions, without puqiose or intention, should pro-
voke a reaction; and as soon as the individual finds himself in a position to live
alone, he takes pleasure for some time in solitude, though natnr.-iily inclined to
society.

"To come back to the p<'rson in qu/^stion. Keforo marrying she was in a very
peculiar situation ; she was intruded upon, her thoughts were scrutinized, not
simply to kill time, or even through indelicacy, but systematically, shamelessly,

244 WhcrL'!^ To Be Done?

grossly, and with bad intentions. Consequently the reaction was very strong in
her.

'•That is why my fault must not be judged too severely. For some months,
perliaps a year, I was not mistaken : she did, indeed, need solitude, and took plea-
sure in it. And during that time I formed my idea of her character. Her intense
temporary need of solitude was identical with my constant need ; why is it aston-
ishing, then, that I should have taken a temporary phenomenon for a constant
trait of lier character? Every one is led to judge others by himself!

"This is a fault and a pretty serious one. I do not accuse myself, but I am
moved, nevertheless, to justify myself; that is, I foresee that others will not be as
indulgent for me as I am for myself. That is why, in order to soften the blame
and help to an understanding, I must enter into some details about my character
relatively to the subject which we are considering.

"I have no idea of rest eacept in solitude. To be in society means to me to
busy one's self with something, or to work, or to delight one's self.

" I feel completely at my ease only when I am alone. What shall we call this
feeling? "What is its origin? In some it comes from dissimulation; in others,
from timidity; in a third class, from a tendency to melancholy; in a fourth, from a
lack of sympathy for others. It seems to me that I have none of these things. I
am straightforward and sincere ; I am always ready to be gay, and am never sad.
Company pleases me : only it is all combined for me either with work or with
pleasm-e. But these occupations must be relieved by rest, — that is, by solitude.
As far as I can understand myself, I am moved by a desire of independence, of
liberty.

"So the force of the reaction against her old family life led her to accept for a
time away of life not in conformity with her steady inclinations; her esteem for
me maintained these temporary dispositions in her longer than they would other-
wise have lasted. Then I said to myself that I had formed a false idea of her
character: I had taken her inclinations of the moment for steady inclinations;
and I rested on this thought. That is \the whole story. On my side there is a
fault desen'ing of not much blame; on hers there is no fault at all. How much
suffering all this has cost her, and by what a catastrophe am I forced to put an
end to it !

"When the fright occasioned by her horrible dream had ojwned my eyes to the
state of her feelings, it was already too late to repair my fault. But if we had
seen .sooner what she lacked, it is possible that, by making steady efforts over
ourselves, she and I would have succeeded in achieving a sort of contentment with
each other. But I do not believe that, had we succeeded, anything good would
have resulted from it. Suppose we had reconstinicted our characters sufficiently
to render them harmonious; conversions, nevertheless, are good only when brought
into action against some evil proclivities ; now, the proclivities that we should

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Hushand. 245

have had to change are in no way blamevvorthj^ In what respect is sociability
worse or better than the desire for solitude, and vice versa? Now, conversion,
after all, is violence, dispersion; in dispersion many things are lost, and the effect
of violence is to stupefy.

"The result that we perhaps (perhaps!) should have attained would not have
been a compensation. We should have become insignificant and should have
withered more or less the freshness of our life. And why? To keep certain
places in certain rooms? If we had had children, tliat would have been another
matter; then we should have had to consider carefully the possibly bad inlluence
that our separation would have had upon tlieir fortunes. In that case it would
have been necessary to make every possible effort to avoid this denoument, and the
result — -tlie joy of having done all that was necessary to make those dear to us
happier — would have rewarded adequately all our efforts. But in the actual
state of things what rational object could our efforts have had?

"Consequently, the present situation being given, all is arranged for the best.
We have not had to violate our natures. We have had mucli sorrow, but, had we
acted any oth(;rwise, we should have had nuich more, and the result would not
have been as satisfactory."

Such are the words of Dmitry Sergueitch. You can easily see with what per-
sistence lie has dwelt in this matter upon what he calls his wrongs. He added:
"I feel sure that those who analyze my conduct without sympathy for mo will
find that I have not been entirely right. IJiit I am sure of their synq)athy for her.
She will judge me even better than I judge myself. Now, for my part, I believe
that I have done perfectly right. Such is my opinion of my conduct up to the
time of lh(j dream."

Now I am going to comnnmicate to you his feelings concerning the subsequent
events :

"I have said [Dmitry Sergueitch's words] that from tlie first words that she
uttf'rerl al>oul/ lnM" dream I und(Mst.oo(l thai, a ciiaiigi! in oin' relations was inevit-
able. I e.\p<!<:ted that this change would 1m; a pretty radical one, tor it was impos-
sible tliat it should be otherwise, considering the energy of her nalun; and the
intensity of her discontent at that time ; and her disconUiut was all the greater
from having Ixien long suppressed. Nevertlieless, I looked only for an external
change and on(5 rpiiUj to my .advantage. I said to myself : 'For a time she will Ito
under the influence of a p.'issionate love for some one; then, a year or two having
gone by, she will come back. I am an estimable man ; the cliances of finding
another man like me are very rare (I say what. T think, and have not Iiyjiocrisy
enough to underrate my merits) ; iier feeling will lose a portion of its intensity by
satisfaction ; and she will see that, although one side of her nature is less satisfied
in living with me, on the whole she is happier and freer with me than with any
one else. Then things will again shape tliemselves as in the past. Having

246 What's To Be Done?

learned by experience, I shall bestow more attentions upon her, she will have a
greater and keener attachment for me, and we shall live more harmoniously than
in the past.'

'■But (this is a thing which it is a very delicate matter for me to explain, and
yet it must be done), — but what effect did the prospect of this reestablishment of
our relations have upon me? Did it rejoice me? Evidently. But was that all?
No, I looked forward to it as a bm-den, a very agreeable burden, to be sure, but
still a Ijurden. I loved her much, and would have violated my nature to put
myself in greater harmony with her ; that would have given me pleasure, but my
life would have been under restraint. That was the way in which I looked at
things after the first impression had passed away, and I have seen that I was not
mistaken. She put me to the proof of that, when she w^ished me to force myself
to keep her love. The month of complaisance which I devoted to her was the most
painful month of my life. There was no suffering in it, — that expression would
be out of place and even absurd, for I felt only joy in trying to please her, — but
it wearied me. That is the secret of the failure of her attempt to preserve her
love for me.

" At first blush that may seem strange. Why did I not get weary of devoting
so many evenings to students, for whom I certainly would not have seriously dis-
turbed myself, and why did I feel so much fatigue from devoting only a few eve-
nings to a woman whom I loved more than myself and for whom I was ready to
die, and not only to die, but to suffer all sorts of torments? It is strange, I admit,
but only to one who has not fathomed the nature of my relations with the young,
to whom I devoted so much time. In the first place, I had no personal relations
with these young people ; when I was with them, I did not seem to have men
before me, but abstract types exchanging ideas ; my conversations with them were
hardly to be distinguished from my solitary dreams ; but one side of the man was
occupied, that which demands the least rest, — thought. All the rest slept. And
furthermore the conversation had a practical, a useful object, — cooperation for
the development of the intellectual life and the perfecting of my young friends.
This wa.s so easy a task that it rather reestablished my strength, exhausted by
other work, — a task which did not tire me, but, on the contrary, refreshed me;
nevertheless, it was a task, and it was not rest that I was after, but a useful ob-
ject. In short, I let my whole l^eing go to sleep, thought excepted, and that acted
without being troubled hj any personal prepossession regarding the men with
whom I was talking; consequently, I felt as much at my ease as if I had been
alone. These conversations did not take me out of my solitude, so to speak.
There was nothing in them similar to the relations in which the enth-e man
participates.

"I know what a delicate matter it is to utter the word ^ ennui'; but sincerity will
not permit me to withhold it. Yes, with all my love for her, I felt a sense of

The, Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Husband. 247

relief when later I became convinced that our I'elatious were forever broken. I
became convinced of it about the time when she perceived that to comply with
her desires was a burden to me. Tlien my future seemed to assume a more agree-
able shape ; seeing that it was impossible to maintain our old relations, I began to
consider by what method we could soonest — I must again use a delicate expres-
sion— consummate the separation. That is why those who judge only by appear-
ances have been able to believe in my generosity. Nevertheless I do not wish to
be hypocritical and deny the good that is in me ; therefore I must add that one of
my motives was the desire to see her happy. But this was only a secondary mo-
tive, a strong one enough, to be sure, but far inferior in intensity to the first and
principal motive, — the desire to escape ennui: that was the princijial motive. It
was under tliis influence that I began to analyze attentively her manner of life,
and I easily discovered that the person in question was dominated in her feelings
and acts by the presence and absence of Alexander IMatveitch. That obliged me
to consider him also. Tlien I understood the cause of her strange actions, to
which I had at first paid no attention. That made me see things in a still more
agreeable light. Wiien I saw in her not only the desire for a passionate love, but
also the love itself, an unconscious love for a man entirely worthy of her and able
to completely replace me at her side; when I saw that this man too had a great
passion for her, — I was thorouglily rejoiced. It is true, however, tliat the first
impression was a painful one : no grave cliange takes place without some sorrow.
I saw now tliat I could no longer conscientiously consider myself indispensable to
her, as I had been accustomed to do and with deliglit; tliis new cliango, tlicrofore,
ha<l a painful side. But not long. Now I was sure of her happiness and felt no
anxiety about her. That was a source of great joy. But it would be an error to
believe that that was my chief pleasun;; no, personal feeling was dominant even
here: I saw that I was to bo free I do not mean tiiat single life seemcMl to nic
freer llian family life: no, if liusband and wife make each otlier mutually li'ippy
without effort and without thougiit, the mon; intimate their relations the liapi>ier
they arc. But our relations were not of tliat character. Consequently to hk; sepa-
ration meant freedom.

"It will be, seen thai I aeled in my own inleresl, wlien T d<!oided not fo stand in
the way of their liappiness; there w;»s a nobh- ,si(l(; to my conduct, but tin; motive
power v/iiH the desire of my own nature for a more comfortable situation. And
that is why I liiid the strength to act well, to ilo without liesitation ami wilhout
pain what I believed to bo my duty: one docs his duty easily when inqu-lled by
his own nature.

"I started for Riazan. Some time afterwards she called mo back, saying that
my presence would not trouble lior. I took the contrary view, — for two reasons,
as I l)elieve. It was painful to her to see the nian to whom ("in her ojiinion) she
owed 80 nmch. She was mistaken; she was under no obligation to me, because I

248 What's To Be Done?

had always acted much more in my own interest than in hers. But she saw it
differently, and moreover she felt a very profound attachment for me, which was a
source of pain. This attachment had also its agreeable side, but this could not
have become dominant unless it had been less intense, for, when intense, it is very
painful. The second motive (another delicate explanation, but I must say what I
think) arose from the fact that her rather abnormal situation in the matter of so-
cial conditions was disagreeable to her. Thus I came to sec that the proximity of
my existence to hers was painful to her. I will not deny that to this new discov-
ery there was a side incomparably more painful to me than all the feelings that I
had experienced in the preceding stages of the affair. I retained very good dispo-
sitions toward her : I wished to remain her friend. I hoped that such would be
the case. And when I saw that it could not be, I was much grieved. And niy
chagrin was compensated by no personal interest. I may say, then, that my final
resolution was taken only through attachment to her, through a desire to see her
happy. Consequently, my conduct toward her even in our happiest days never
gave me so much inner satisfaction as this resolution. Then at last I acted under
the influence of what I may call nobility, or, to speak more accurately, noble de-
sign, in which the general law of human nature acts wholly by itself without the
aid of individual peculiarities ; and T learned to know the high enjoyment of see-
ing one's self act nobly, — that is, in the way in wliich all men without exception
ought to act. This high enjoyment of feeling one's self simply a man, and not
Ivan or Peter, is too intense ; ordinary natures like mine cannot stand it too
often. But happy the man who has sometimes felt it !

"I do not need to explain this side of my conduct, which would have been sense-
less to the last degree in dealing with other men; it is, however, only too well jus-
tified by the character of the person to whom I yielded. When I was at lliazan,
not a word passed between her and Alexander Matveitch. Later, at the time
when I took my final resolution, not a word passed between him and me or be-
tween her and me. But to know their thoughts I did not need to hear them."

I have transmitted literally the words of Dmitry Sergucitch, as I have already
said.

I am an entire stranger to you, but the correspondence upon which T enter with
you, in carrying out the will of poor Dmitry Sorgueitch, is of so intimate a nature
that you will be curious perhaps to know who this unknown correspondent is, who
is so familiar with Dmitry's inner life. I am a medical student who has renounced
liis profession; I can tell you nothing more aljout myself. Of late years I have
lived in St. Petersburg. A few days ago I conceived the idea of travelling and
seeking a new career in foreign lands. I left St. Petersburg the day after you
learned of Dmitry's loss. By the merest chance I did not have my passport, but I
succeeded in getting that of another, which one of our common acrjuaintances had
the kindness to furnish me. lie gave them to me on condition that I would do

TliQ Life of Vera Pavlovna loith her Second Husband. 249

some errands for him on the way. If you happen to see M. Rakhmetoff, be kind
enough to tell him that all his cormnissions have been attended to. Now I am
going to wander about for a while, — probably in Germany observing the customs
of the people. I have a few hundred roubles, and I wish to live at my ease and
without doing anything. When I grow weary of idleness, I shall look for work.
Of what sort ? It is of no consequence. Where ? It matters not. I am as free
as a bird, and I can be as careless as a bird. Such a situation enchants me.

Probably you will wish to reply, but I do not know where I shall be a week
hence, — perhaps in Italy, perhaps in England, perhaps at Prague. Now I can
live according to my caprice, and where it will lake me I know not. Conse-
quently, upon your letters place only this address: ^^ Berlin, Fricdric/istraxse 20,
Ayentur von II. Sclimeidler" ; within this envelope place another containing your
letter, and upon the inner envelope, instead of any address, write the figures
12345; to tlie Schmeidler agency that will mean that the letter is to be sent to
me. Accept, Madame, the assiu'ance of the high esteem of a man unknown to
you, but profoundly devoted to you, who signs himself

A QUONDAM MEDICAL STUDENT.

il/y much exteemed Monsieur Alexander Matve'itck:

In conformity with the wishes of poor Dmitry Sergueitch, T must tell you that
he considered the obligation to yield his plac ; to you the best conclusion possible.
The circumstances which liave induced this change have gradually come about
within tlie last three years, in wliich you had almost aban^loned his society, and
without, consequently, any sliare in thini on your pari. 'I'liis change results
solely from (he acts of two individuals whom you have tried in vain (o bring
together, and the conclusion was inevitable. It is needless to say that Dmitry Ser-
gueitch couM in no way attribute it to you. Of coiu'so this ex)>lanatinn is snper-
tiuouH, and it is only for form's sake tliat lie has chargcid me willi making it. lie
was not fitted for the situation which ho occupied, and in his opinion it is better
for all that he has yielded his place to you.

I shake your hand.

A QUONDAM MKDICAL STUDENT.

"And, for my part, I know" ....

What's (hat? The voice is familiar to me. I look behind me; it is he, it is
really he, the reader with the penetrating eye; lately expelled for kiu)wing neither
A nor I> on a question of art, here he is again, and with his usual penetration
again he knows sometiiing.

"All! I know who wrote that"

I seize precipitately the first object that comes to my hand, — it is a jiapkin, in-

250 What's To Be Done?

asnnich as, after copying the letter of the quondam student, I sat down to break-
fast,— I seize the napkin and I close his mouth. "AVell! know then! but why
cry out like a madman ? "

II.

St. Petersbm-g, August 25, I80G.
Afonsieur:

You cannot imagine how happy I was to receive your letter. I thank you w ith
all my heart. Your intimacy with Dmitry Sergueitch, who has just perished, en-
titles me to consider you a friend, and permit me to call you so.

In each of tlie words which you have communicated to me I have recognized the
character of Dmitry Sergueitch. He was always searching for the most hidden
causes of his acts, and it pleased him to apply thereto the theory of egoism. For
that matter it is a habit common to all our circle. My Alexander also is fond of
analyzing himself in this fashion. If you could hear how he explains his conduct
towards me and Dmitry Sergueitch for the last three years ! To hear him, he did
everything from selfish design, for his own pleasure. I, too, long since acquired
this habit. Only it occupies us — Alexander and me — a little less than Dmitry
Sergueitch; we have the same inclination, only his was stronger. Yes, to hear us,
we are all three the greatest egoists that the world has yet seen. And perhaps it
is the truth. It is possible, after all.

But, besides this trait, common to all three of us, the words of Dmitry Sergueitch
contain something peculiar to himself : the object of his explanations is evident, —
to quiet me. Xot that his words are not wholly sincere, — he never said what he
did not thmk, — but he makes too prominent that side of the truth calculated to
quiet me. I am very grateful to you, my friend, but I too am an egoist, and I will
say that liis anxiety on my account was useless. We justify ourselves much more
easily than others justify us. I too do not consider myself at all guilty towards
him ; I will say more : I do not even feel under any obligation to have an attach-
ment for him. I appreciate highly his noble conduct, but I know that he acted
noVjly, not for me, but for himself; and I, in not deceiving him, acted, not for him,
but for myself, — not because, in deceiving him, I sliould have been unjust to him,
but because to do so was repugnant to me. I say, like him, that I do not accuse
myself. But like him also I am moved to justify myself; to use his expression (a
very correct one), that means that I foresee that others will not be as indulgent as
myself regarding some phases of my conduct. I have no desire to justify myself
regarding that part of the matter upon which he touches; but, on the other hand,
I have a desire to justify myself regarding the part upon which he does }iot need
to justify himself. No one will call me guilty on account of what took place be-
fore my dream. But, then, is it not my fault that the affair took so melodramatic

The Life of Vera Pavlovna loith Aer Second Ilushand. 251

an aspect and led to a theatrical conclusion ? Ought I not to have taken a much
simpler view of a change of relations already inevitable, when my dream for the
first time opened the eyes of Dmitry Sergueitch and myself to my situation? In
the evening of the day when Dmitry Sergueitch died, I had a long conversation
with that ferocious Eakhmetolf; what a good and tender man, that Kakhmetoff!
He said I know not how many horrible things about Dmitry Sergueitch. But, if
one should repeat them in a friendly tone, they would be almost just.

I believed that Dmitry Sergueitch knew perfectly well what Rakhmotoff was
going to say to me, and that he had calculated upon it. In my state of mind I
needed to hear him, and his remarks did much to quiet me. Whoever planned
that conversation, I thank you much, my friend. But the ferocious llalilimetoff
himself had to confess that in the last half of the affair the conduct of Dmitry Ser-
gueitch was perfect. llakhmetoIT blamed hini only for the first half, concerning
which it pleased Dmitry Sergueitch to justify himself.

But I am going to justify myself concerning the second half, although no one
has told me that I was guilty. But every one of us — I speak of ourselves and our
friends, of our whole circle — has a severer censor than Rakhmetoif himself, — his
or her own mind. Yes, I understand, my friend, that it would have been much
easier for all if I had taken a simpler view of the affair and had not given it so
tragic a bearing. And, if we leave it to the opinion of Dmitry Sergueitch, I shall
liavc! to say further that he would then have had no need to resort to a sensational
climax very painful to him: he had to act as he did only because pushed by my
impetuou-s way of looking at things.

I suppose that lie must have thought so too, although he did not charge you to
tell me so. I set the higher value on his good feelings towards me from the fact
that, in spite of all that liai>[K'ned, tlicy did not weaken. Rut listen, my friend;
this opinion h not ju.st; it was not from any fault t,( mine, it was not from my
unnecessary exaggeration of feeling, that the necessity presented itself to Dmitry
SergiK^iteh of an experif-nen wliieli lie himself calls very painful. It is true that,
if I had not altache<l a great importance to the change of relations, the jonrney to
Ria/an might have been dispensed witli, l)ut he says that that was not painful to
him; in this respect, tlien, my excitement caused no great unhajipiness. It was
only the necessity <>f living that was painful to him. He explains by two rea.sons
why he was forc(;d to adopt that resolution.

In the first place, I sufftsrcd from my extreme attachment for him ; in tho second,
I suffered liecause I could not give my relations witii Alexander the character de-
manded by public opinion. In fact, T was not altogether tramiuil; my situation
was burdensome, but he did not divine the real cause. He believed that his pres-
chce was painfid to me on account of the depth of my gratitude; this was not
quite the case. We are very nnich disposed to look for consoling thouglits, and
when Dmitry Sergueitch saw the necessity of dyhig, that necessity had long ceased

252 What's To Be Done?

to exist : my gi-atitiuie had decreased to that moderate degree which constitutes an
agi'eeable feeling. Now, deep gratitude was the sole cause of my painful exagger-
ation of feeling. The other cause mentioned by Dmitry Sergueitch — the desire
to give my relations with Alexander the character demanded by society — did not
depend at all upon my way of viewing the aifair. It was the result of society's
ideas. That cause I could not have controlled; but Dmitry Sergueitch was abso-
lutely mistaken if he supposed that his presence was painful to me for that reason.
If a husband lives with his wife, that is enough to prevent scandal, whatever the
relations of his wife with another. That is a great step already. We see many
examples where, thanks to the noble character of the husband, affairs are thus ar-
ranged, and in that case society lets the W'oman alone. Now, I consider that the
best and easiest way of arranging affairs of this sort. Dmitry Sergueitch at first
proposed this plan to me. I then refused on account of my exaggeration of feel-
ing. I do not know what would have happened if I had accepted; but, if I had
been able to content myself with being left alone and the avoidance of scandal re-
garding my relations with Alexander, it is evident that the plan proposed by Dmi-
try Sergueitch would have been sufficient, and that, if I had adopted it, there would
have been no need of his decision to die. In that case evidently I should have had
no reason to desire to formally determine my relations with Alexander. But it
seems to me that such an arrangement, satisfactory in most cases similar to ours,
in ours would not have been so. Our situation had one peculiar feature, — the
three individuals whom it concerned were of equal force. If Dmitry Sergueitch
had felt an intellectual and moral superiority in Alexander; if, in yielding his
place to him, he had yielded to moral superiority ; if his withdrawal, instead of
being voluntary, had been only the withdrawal of the weak before the strong, —
why, then certainly nothing would have weighed upon me. Likewise, if I had
been superior in mind and character to Dmitry Sergueitch; if he himself, before
the birth of my passion, had been one of the two heroes of a certain anecdote which
once made us laugh so heartily, — all would have been arranged, he would have
submitted. The anecdote was of two gentlemen who, after having conversed some
tune and being pleased with each other, desired to make each other's acquaintance:

"I am Lieutenant So-and-So," said one, with an air of dignity.

"And I am the liu.sband of Madame Tedesco," said the other.

If Dmitry Sergueitch had been the husband of Madame Tedesco, why, then he
would have had no need to resort to extremities, he would have submitted to his
fate, he would have seen nothing offensive to him in his submission, and every-
thing would have been delightful. But his relations with me and with Alexander
were not at all of such a character. In no respect was he either our inferior or our
superior; this was evident to all. My liberty could depend only on his good will
and not at all on his weakness. You cannot deny it, my friend.

What, then, was my situation? I saw myself dependent on his good will. That

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Ilushand. 253

■was why my situation was painful to me, that was why he deemed it useful to
adopt his noble resolution. Yes, my friend, the cause of my feeling, which forced
him to this step, was much more deeply hidden than he explains in your letter.
The overwhelming degree of gratitude no longer existed. To satisfy the require-
ments of society would have been easy in the way proposed by Dmitry Sergueitch
himself, and, after all, these requirements did not affect me, living in my little cir-
cle, entirely beyond the reach of gossip. But I remained dependent upon Dmitry
Sergueitch. That was the painful part of it. What had my view of the change
of our relations to do with this V Dmitry Sergueitch remained the master. Now,
you know and approve my feeling : I do not wish to be dependent upon the good
will of any one, tliougli he were the most devoted of men, tlie man whom I most
esteemed, in wliom I believed as in another self, and iu whom I had full confidence.
I do not wish it, and I know that you approve this. But why so many words?
Why this analysis of our inmost feelings, which no one would have gone into?
Like Dmitry Sorgu('itch, T liave a mania for undressing my feelings in order that I
may say: It is not my fault, but the result of a circumstance beyond my control?
I make this remark because Dmitry Sergueitch liked remarks of tliis character. I
wish to insinuate myself into your mind, my friend. But enough of this! You
have had so nmch sympathy for me that you have thought nothing of tlie few
hours required to write your long and precious letter. From it I see (whether
from Dmitry Serguditcirs style or yours), — yes, I see tliat you will be curious to
know what became of me after Dmitry Sergueitch left me to go to Moscow and
then to come l)ack and die. On his return from Kiazan he saw that I was embar-
rassed. This w.'is manifest in me only in his presence; as long as he was at Ilia-
/an, I (lid not think so mndi iiliuiit liiiii. But, whiMi he started for l\Ioscow, T saw
that he was meditating sometliing grave. He settled up his affairs at St. Peters-
burg. He had been waiting for a week only to get everything arranged for his
departure, and why sIinuM I not hav(! fon^snen this? During tlm last days T
HonietimcH saw sadness on his face, on that face which knew so well how to hide
secrets. I foresaw that something decisive was to be expected. And when he
boarded the train, I was so sad*! The next day and the day after my sorrow in-
creased. Sudflenly Macha bronglit me a Idler. What a painful inomentl What
a painful day! You know it. How nnM;h lictter I know now the strength of my
attachment for Dmitry Sergueitch I I had no idea myself that it was so deep.
You know the strength of our nuttual attachment. Yon certainly know that I
ha<l then decided fo see Alexander no more; all day I felt that my life; was broken
forever, and you know of my childish enthusiasm when I saw the note of my good,
my verj' gootl, friend, the note that changed completely all my thoughts (notice
the prudence of my expressions; you must be contented with them, my friend).
You know all this, because Bakhnietoff, after escorting me to the train, went to
accompany you to the station ; Dmitry Sergueitch and he were right in saying

254 Mliat's To Be Bone?

that I ought nevertheless to leave St. Petersburg in order to produce the effect so
much desired by Dmitry Serguditch that he inflicted upon me to achieve it such
liorrible torments for an entire day. How grateful I am to him for having had so
little pity on me ! lie and Rakhmetoff were also right in advising Alexander not
to appear before me or escort me to the station. But, as I no longer needed to
go as far as ^Moscow, it being necessary only to leave St. Petersburg, I stopped at
Novgorod. A few days later Alexander came there with the documents establish-
ing the loss of Dmitry Sergueitch. We were married a week after this loss, and
have lived almost a month at Tchoudovo,* near the railroad, in order that it may
be easy for Alexander to go three or four times a week to his hospital. Yesterday
we returned to St. Petersburg, and that is why I am so late in answering your let-
ter. It has remained in Macha's box, who had almost forgotten it. And you have
probably framed all sorts of ideas in consequence of receiving no reply.
I clasp you in my arms, my friend.

Yours,

VjSra Kirsanoff.

I grasp your hand, my dear ; only I beg you not to send compliments, at least to
me ; else I will let my heart flow out before you in a torrent of adoration, wliich
would certainly be disagreeable to you in the highest degree. But do you know
that for us to write so briefly to each other shows considerable stupidity in me as
well as in you ? It seems that we are somewhat embarrassed in each other's pre-
sence. Supposing that this were pardonable in me, why should you feel any em-
barrassment? Next time I hope to talk freely with you, and I shall forthwith
write you a heap of St. Petersburg news.

Yours,

Alexander Kirsanoff.

m.

These letters, while perfectly sincere, were indeed a little exclusive, as Vdra
Pavlovna herself remarked. The two correspondents evidently tried to make the
painful shocks which they had felt seem less intense to each other. They are very
shrewd people. I have very often heard them — them and those like them — say
things which made me laugh heartily in the midst of their pathetic assertions that
such and such a thing was nothing and could easily be endured.

I laughed at such assertions when made privately to me, a stranger. And when
I heard them said before a man who could not help listening, T corroborated them,

• A railway station and large village situated about sixty-five miles from St. Petersburg.

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Husband. 255

and said that such and such a thing was indeed nothing. An honest man is very
queer; I have always laughed at them when I have met them.

They are sometimes even absurd. Take, for example, these letters. I am a little
accustomed to such things, being on terms of friendship with them, but on an en-
tire stranger what an impression they must make, — on the reader with the pene-
trating eye, for instance !

The reader with the penetrating eye, v.-ho has already had time to get clear of
his napkin, pronounces sentence, shaking his head:

"Immoral!"

" Bravo ! Do me the favor of saying one word more."

''The author also is an immoral man to approve such things," says the reader
with the penetrating eye, adding to the sentence.

"No, my dear, you arc mistaken. There are many things in this that I do not
approve, and, to tell the truth, I do not even approve any of it. It is all much too
ingenious, much too far-fetched ; life is much simpler."

"Then you are still more immoral?" asks the reader with tlie penetrating eye,
opening his eyes wide, astonished at the inconceivable immorality into which hu-
manity has fallen in my person.

"Much more inunoral," I say, and no one knows whether I am telling the truth
or laugliing at the reader with the penetrating eye.

Tlie corn-spotidencc lasted three or four months longer, — actively on the part of
the KirsanofFs, negligently and inadequately on the part of their correspondent.
The latter soon ceased to answer their letters; they saw that his sole intention
was to comnninicate to Wra I'avlovna and her husband the thoughts of Lopouk-
hoff, and tliat, after having fuKilled tliis duly, he de<MMt'd furtlicr correspondence
useless. Having obtained no reply to two or three letters, the Kirsanoffs under-
stood liim and stopped writing.

IV.

Vdra Pavlovna is resting on her soft couch, waiting for her husband to come
V)ack from the hosiiital to diniK-r. 'F'oday she docs not care to make pastry for
dinner; she prefers to rest, for she lia.s worked hard all the morning. It has been
so for'a long time, and it will be so for a very long time to come : she is starting
another workshop for seamstresses at the other extremity of the city. Vera Pav-
lovna LripDiikhoff lived on the island of Vassilicvsky, Vera Pavlovna Kirsanoff
lives on the Hue Serguicvskaia, lier husband requiring rooms in the neigiiborhood
of the Wyborg district.

Madame MertzalolT proved equal to the management of the shop on the island
of Vassilievsky, which was quite natural, she and the shop being old acqiuiint-
ances. On her return to St. Petersburg Vera Pavlovna saw that she did not need

256 What's To Be Done?

to visit the shop often to see that things went well, and, though she continued to
visit it almost daily, it was solely because she was drawn by her sympathy. It
must be added, however, tliat her visits were not quite useless, for Madame Mert-
zaloff often needed her advice ; but that took very little time, besides being needed
less and less frequentlj'. Madame MertzalofE will soon have as much experience
as hei-self, and will be able to conduct things herself. After her return to St.
Petersburg Vera Pavlovna visited the island of Vassilievsky more as a dear friend
than as an indispensable person ; what, then, was to be done ? Establish a new
workshop for seamstresses, in her own neighborhood, at the other end of the city.

So, in fact, a new shop was established in one of the smaller streets between
the Rue Basseinaia and the Rue Serguievskaia. Here there is much less work
than in the first shop : the first five of the working-girls are from the old shoji,
where their places have been filled by others ; the rest of the force is made up of
acquaintances of the seamstresses in the old shop. So, everything is half done,
to start with. All the comrades are perfectly familiar with the purpose and or-
ganization of the shop; the young girls came filled with a desire to establish
promptly in the new shop the organization which had been effected so slowly in
the old. Oh ! now the organization went ahead ten times faster than then, and
with three times less embarrassment. But none the less there was a great deal of
work to be done, and Vera Pavlovna was tired, as she had been yesterday, and
day before yesterday, and as she had been for about two months. Two months
only, although six months had elapsed since her second marriage ; after all, it was
very necessary that she should allow herself a honeymoon ; now she bad resumed
work.

Yes, she had worked a great deal; now she was resting and thinking of many
things, especially of the present; it is so beautiful and so full 1 So full of life that
but little time is left for memories; memories will come later. Oh! much later!
Not in ten years, nor even in twenty, but later still. Nevertheless, they do come
even now, though rarely. At this moment, for example, she is recalling what has
most impressed her. Here is what her memory brings back to her.

V.

''My darling, I am going with you."
" But you have not your things."

" I will go tomorrow, since you will not take me with you today."
" Reflect, meditate. And await my letter. It will reach you tomorrow."
There she is on her way back from the station to the house ; what does she feel
and what does she think as she comes back with Macha? She hardly knows, her-
self, so shaken has she been by the rapid shaping of events. It is but twenty-two
hours since he found in his room the letter which she had written, and already he

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Husband. 251

is gone I How quickly, how suddenly ! At two o'clock in the morning she fore-
saw nothing of this. lie waited till, conquered and exhausted by fatigue, she was
overcome by sleep; then he entered her room and said a few not over-sensible
words as a scarcely comprehensible preface to this bit of information :

"I have not seen my old parents in a long time; I am going to see them; they
will be very glad."

Only that, and then he went out. She ran after him, although he had made
her promise not to do So.

"Where is he, then? Macha, where is he, where is he?"

Macha, who was still engaged in clearing the tea-table just left by visitors,
answered :

"Dmitry Serguditch went out; he said, as he passed by, 'I am going to walk.' "

She had to go back to bed. How could she sleep? She did not know that liis
departure was to take place in a few hours. He had said that they still had time
to talk over all these things together. And when she awoke, it was time to go to
the station.

All this passes before her eyes like a flash, as if it had not happened to hvv, ])ut
had been tlie experience of some one else, which had been told to her hastily.
Only on reaching the house does she regain possession of herself, and begin to
think : What is she now? what is to become of her?

Yes, she will go to lliazan. She will go. To <lo otherwise is impossible. But
the letter? Wliat will it say? Wliy wait for it Ijcfon; dt'cidiug? She kiiDWs the
contents in advance. No, it is necessary to wait until the letter comes. But what
is the use of waiting? She will go. Yes, slie will go. She repeats it to lierself
for one, two, three, four Iiours. But I\Iacha, getting hungry, is already calling her
to dinner for thi- lliird tiuii-, and lliis time site orders r.iliirr tlian (tails; well, it is
at lea«t a distraction.

"Poor Maclia, slie must be very hungry on my account. Wl)y did you wait for
me, Madia? You would liave done better to dine without waiting for me."

"That cannot be. Vera I'avlovna."

And again the young woman njflects for two hours :

"I will go. Tomorrow. Only I will wait for the letter, for ho begged me to.
But, wiialever its contcntH, — I know what it will contain, — I will go."

That is what she thinks; l)nt is that really all? No, her tliought si ill runs
upon five little words: lie t/nes not uuuli it, and tliest; five little words dominate her
thought more and more. The setting sun finds her still absorbed. And Just at
the moment when the importunate Marha comes to demand that she shall take
tea, six words adrl themsidves to tiie five : Nor do I wish it either. Macha has en-
tered; she has driven away these six new l)ad little words. But not for long. At
first they do not dare to make their appearance, and give place to their own refu-
tation : But I must (/>t ; but they yield only to come back escorted by this refuta-

258 What's To Be Done?

tion. In a t\\inkling they return to Vdra Pavlovna's thought : He does not wish
it — Nor do I wish it either. For half an hour they dance a saraband in her brain ;
then against these words so often uttered, I will go, rush these three, Shall I go f
But here comes Macha again.

" I gave a rouble to the bearer, Vdra Pavlovna, for it was written on the envelope
that, if he brought the letter before nine o'clock, he should be given a rouble; if
after that, only half as much. Now, he brought it before nine o'clock. To go
faster he took a cab ; ' I did as I promised,' he said to me."

A letter from him I She knows what it contains : " Do not come." But she will
go just the same; she does not wish to listen to this letter. The letter contains
something else, — something which cannot be disregarded :

"I am going to Riazan, but not directly. I have many business matters to
attend to on the way. Besides Moscow, where press of business will oblige me to
spend a week, I must stop at two cities this side of Moscow and three places the
other side, before reaching Riazan. How much time I shall have to sacrifice in
this way I cannot tell. For instance, I have to collect some money from our com-
mercial representatives, and you know, my dear friend [these words, dear friend^
were repeated in the letter that I might see that he was still well-disposed towards
me; how I kissed these words!], — you know, my dear friend, that, when one has
to collect money, he often has to wait several days where he expected to stay but
a few hours. So I absolutely cannot fix the day of my arrival at Riazan, but it
surely will not be immediately."

Vdra Pavlovna still remembers word for word the contents of this letter. What,
then, is to be done? He deprives her of all dependence upon him by which she
may remain attached to him. And the words, / must go to him, change into these :
Nevertheless I must not see him, and in the latter sentence the word him refers to
another person. She repeats these words for an hour or two : / must not see him.
Of this thought is born another: Is it possible that I wish to see him? No. When
she goes to sleep, this last thought gives way to another : Will it he possible for me
to see him ? No answer, but a new transformation : Is it possible that I may not see
him f And she sleeps till morning in this last thought : Is it possible that I may not
see him f

And when she awakes very late in the morning, all the thoughts of the evening
before and of the night give way to these two, which clash against each other : 1
will see him ! I will not see him ! That lasts all the morning. / will see him ! No 1
nol no I But what is she doing? She has taken her hat, she looks in the glass
instinctively to see if her hair is in order, and in the glass she sees her hat; every-
thing vanishes then before these three words : " No going back 1 No going back I
No going back I "

"Macha, do not wait for me to come to dinner. I shall not dine at home."

"Alexander Matvditch has not yet returned from the hospital," says Stepane to

The Life of Vera Pavlovna witJi Tier Second Husband. 259

her, calmly. Indeed, there is no reason for Stepane to be astonished at the pre-
sence of Vera Pavlovna, who had come very often lately.

"I suspected as much, but it makes no difference; I will wait. Do not tell him
that I am here."

She takes up a literary review, — yes, she can read, she sees that she can read;
yes, now that there is no going back, now that her resolution is taken, she feels
very calm. Evidently she reads but little, or perhaps not at all; she looks the
room over and begins to arrange things, as if she were at home; evidently she
does not do much arranging, but she is calm : and she can read and occupy herself
with matters in general ; she notices that the ash-pan is not empty, that the table-
clotli needs straightening, and that this chair is not in its place. She sits down
and thinks : No going back, no choice, a new life is about to berjin. That lasts an
hour or two.

A new life is about to begin. How astonished and happy he will be I A new
life is about to begin. IIow happy we are ! A ring ; she blushes slightly and
smiles ; the door opens.

"Vera Pavlovna!"

lie staggers; yes, he staggers; he has to support himself against the door, but
Bhe runs to him, and, kissing him, says :

''My dear, dear frien<ll IIow noble he is I IIow I love you I I could not live
without you ! "

"Wliat look place then, how they crossed the room, she does not remember ; she
only remomlicTH running to him and kissing him; for that matter, he remembers
no more than she. They only remember that they passed by arm-chairs and by

tlie tab]*', but liow did tlu'V Ifuv*- {\\(\ door? Yes, for a few seconds their

heads wfru tiirncfl, tlicir sight disturlicd liy this kiss

"Vdrotclika, my angel I"

"My friend, I could not live without you. IIow long you have loved mc withoixt
telling me sol IIf>\v nol)l<^ you arc, and liow nobic! Ik; is, tool"

"Tell me, then, Vrrotclika, how tliis has iiaiipened."

"I told liim that I could not live without you; the next day — that is, yester-
day— li'- went away; T desired to follow hini; all day yesterday I thought that I
should go to him; yet lien? I have lieou Wiiiliiig a long timt'."

"I5ut how thin you have grown in the last two weeks, Verotchkal IIow deli-
cate your hands are 1 "

He kisses her hands.

"Yes, my friend, it was a painful strugglfl Nf)w I can approciate how you
hiave fiuffered to avoid disturliing my i>i'ace. IIf>w did you succeed in maintaining
such self-possession that I noticed notiiingV IIow you must have suffered I"

"Yes, Verotchka, it was not easy."

And he still covers her hands with kisses. Suddenly she begins to laugh :

260 What's To Be Done?

" All ! how inattentive I am to you ! You are tired, Saclia, you are hungry ! "

She escapes and runs away.

"Where are you going, Verotchka?"

But xhe does not answer; akeady she is in the kitchen, talking to Stdpane in
gay and urgent tones.

" Get dinner for two ! Quick, quick I Where are the plates, and knives and
forks? I will set the table. Bring in something to eat; Alexander is so tired
from his hospital duties that his dinner must he served in a hurry."

She returns with the plates, on which rattle knives, forks, and spoons.

"You know, my darling, that the first thought of lovers at the first interview is
to dine as quickly as possible," says she, laughing.

He laughs also, and helps her set the table ; he helps her much, but delays her
still more, for he is constantly kissing her hands.

" Ah ! how delicate your hands are ! " And he kisses them again.

"Come to the table, Sacha, and be quiet!"

Stepane brings the soup. During dinner she tells him how this all happened.

"Ah! my darlmg, how we eat for lovers! It is true, though, that yestei'day I
ate nothing."

Stepane enters with the last dish.

" Stepane, I have eaten your dinner."

"Yes, Vera Pavlovna, I shall liave to buy something at the shop."

"Do so, and now you must know that in future you will always have to prepare
for two, not counting yourself. Sacha, where is your cigar-case? Give it to me."

She cuts a cigar herself, lights it, and says to him :

"Smoke, my darling; meantime I will prepare the coffee; or perhaps you prefer
tea? Do you know, my darling, our dinner ought to be better; you are too easy
with Stepane."

Five minutes later she returns; Stepane follows her with the tea-service, and, as
she comes in, she sees that Alexander's cigar lias gone out.

" Ha ! ha ! my darling, how dreamy you have become in my absence I "

He laughs too.

"Smoke, then," and again she lights his cigar.

In recalling all this now. Vera Pavlovna laughs over again : "How prosaic our
romance is! The first interview and the soup; our heads turned at the first kiss,
then a good appetite, — what a strange love-scene! It is very queer. And how
his eyes shone ! But indeed they shine still in the same way. How many of his
tears have fallen on my hands, which were then so delicate, but which certainly
are not so now. But really my hands are beautiful; he tells the truth." She
looks at her hands and says: "Yes, he is right. But what has that to do with
our first interview and its accompaniments? I sit down at the table to pour the
tea.

Tlic Life of Vera Pavlovna with Iter Second Hushand. 261

"'Stepane, have you any cream? Could you get some that is good? But no,
■we have not time, and surely you would not find any. So be it, but tomorrow we
will arrange all that. Smoke away, my darling; you are all the time forgetting to
smoke.' "

The tea is not yet finished when a terrible ring is heard ; two students enter the
room in all haste, and in their hurry do not even see her.

"Alexander Matveitch, an interesting subject!" they say, all out of breath; "an
extremely rare and very curious subject [here they give the Latin name of the dis-
ease] has just been brought in, Alexander Alatveitch, and aid is needed immedi-
ately ; every half -hour is precious. We even took a cab."

" Quick, quick, my friend, make haste ! " says she. Not till then do the students
notice her and l)0w, and in a twinkling they drag away their professor, who was
not long in getting ready, having kept on his military overcoat. Again she hur-
ries him.

" From there you will come to me ? " says she, as she takes leave of him.

"Yes."

In the evening he makes her wait a long time. It is ten o'clock, and he does not
come; eleven, — it is useless to exp^^ct him. What does it mean? Certainly she is
not at all anxious; nothing can have happened to him; but why is he obliged to
stay with the interesting subject ? Is he still alive, this poor interesting .subject?
Has Sacha succeeded in saving him? Yes, Sacha was, indeed, detained a long
time. He does not come till the next morning at nine o'clock; till four he had
remained at the hospital.

"The ca.se was very difHcult and interesting, Vdrotchka."

"Saved?"

" YOH."

" But why did you rise so early?"

"I have not been in l)ed."

"You have not been in bed! To avoiil delaying your arrival you ilid not sloop
la.st night! Impious man! Go to yoin- room and sleep till dinner-linn!; be sure
that I find you still asleep."

In two minut«>H he was driven away.

Such were their first two interviews. l»ul tlio seeoufl dinner went off better;
they tfild each other of tiieir affairs in a reasonal)le manner. The night before, on
the contrary, they did not know what they were saying. They laughed, and then
were gloomy. It .seemetl to each of them that the other had suffered the more.

Ten days later they hired a little country-house on the island of Kamennoy.

vr.

It is not very often that Vera Pavlovna recalls the past of hor new love : the
present is so full of life that but little time is left for memories. Nevertheless

262 What's To Be Bone?

these memories come back oftener and oftener, and gradually she feels the growth
withiu her of a certain discontent, faint, slight, vague, at first, — a discontent with
whom, with what? Ah! there it is; at last she sees that it is with herself that
she is discontented, but why? She was too proud for that. Is it only with the
past that she is discontented? That was the case at first, but she notices that this
discontent refers also to the present. And of how strange a character this feeling
is I As if it were not her. Vera Pavlovna Kirsanoff, who felt this discontent, but
as if it were the discontent of thousands and millions of liuiiian beings reflected in
her. For what reason are these thousands and millions of human beings discon-
tented with themselves? If she had lived and thought as she used to when she
was alone, it is probable that this feeling would not have shown itself so soon ; but
now she was constantly with her husband, they always thouglit together, she thinks
of liim in the midst of these other thoughts. That aids her much in determining
the character of her feeling. lie has been unable to find the solution of the enig-
ma : this feeling, obscure to her, is still more so to him ; it is even difficult for him
to understand how one can feel discontent without this discontent referring to
something personal. This is a singularity a hundred times more obscure to him
than to her. Nevertheless she feels much aided by the fact that she thinks always
of her husband, that she is always with him, observes him, and thinks with him.
She has noticed that, when the feeling of discontent comes, it is always followed
by a comparison (it is even contained in this comparison) between herself and her
husband, and her thought is illuminated by the right word: "A difference, an
offensive difference." Now all is clear to her.

VII.

"How agreeable N". N. is, Sacha! [The name spoken by Vera Pavlovna was
that of the officer through whom she had desired to make the acquaintance of
Tamberlik in her horrible dream.] He has brought me a new poem, which is not
to be printed for a long time yet," said Vera Pavlovna, at dinner. " When we
have dined, we will read this poem, if you like. I have waited for you, though I
had a great desire to read it."

"What, then, is this poem?"

"You shall judge. We shall see if he has succeeded. N. N. says that he him-
self— I mean the author — is almost satisfied with it."

They sat down in Vera Pavlovna's room, and she began to read :

Oh ! comme la corbeille est pleine !
J'ai de la perse et du brocart.
Ayez pitic, 6 mon amour,
De I'epaule du gar^on.

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Husband. 263

" Xow I see," said Kirsano^, after hearing several dozen lines : " it is a new
style peculiar to the author. But it is easy to see Avho wrote it. Nekrassoff, is it
not V I thauk you very much for having waited for me."

"I believe it is!" said Vera Pavlovna. And they read twice the little poem,
which, thanks to their intimacy with a friend of the author, they thus had the
privilege of seeing three years before its publication.

"But do you know the lines which most impress me?" said Vera Pavlovna,
after they had several times read and re-read several passages of the poem; "these
lines do not belong in the principal passages, but they impress me exceeduigly.
When Katia* was awaiting the return of her lover, she grieved much :

Inconsolable, elle se serait consum^e de douleur
Si elle avait eu le temps de se chagriner ;
Mais Ic temps dcs travaux penibles pressait,
II aurait fallu ai-hever luic dizaiue d'affaires.
Bien qu'il lui ariivi'it souvent
De tomber de fati},'ue, la pauvre enfant,
Sous sa faux vaillante tombail I'lierbe,
Le ble' criait sous sa faucille ;
• C'cst de toules Kcs forces

Qu'elle lialtait le ble tons les matins,

Et jiisfprii la nitit noire elle etendait lo lin

Sur les prairies pleines do rosce.f

These lines arc oidy the preface of the episode where this wortliy Katia dreams
of Vania;J but, I repeat, th<;y are tlie ones whicli most impress \\w,"

" Yi's, tliis picture is one of tlie finest in the poem, but tIi<!S(3 lines do not occupy
a prominent place;. You find them so beautiful because they accord so closely
with the thouglits that fill your own mind. What, then, are these thoughts?"

"These, Saeha. We have often said that it is probalile that woman's organiza-
tion is HU[ieiior lo man's, and that it is probable, therefore, that intellectually man
will lie thrown back by woman to a second place when the reign of brute force is
over. We have reached tliis supposition by watching real life and especially by
noting the fact that thr; numlier ((f women born iiitellig<'nt is greater than that of
men. Moreover, you rest this opinion on various anatouiical and physiological
details."

•Katia Is thn (timiiiutivo of Knt/Tiiiti.

t Trcmn trHMKliitioii: IiirfiiiMiliiMf, f\\*' woiilil Ii.'ivp lipon roiiRuniPil Iiy non'ow If hIip li;icl li:iil liiiip to
grlnvo; Imt tlin fmip for nnluonn InnUH wan prisfinc, iiml llicn- wcrr ii ilozi'ii tliiii|.'i« to li" liiiiHlKMl.
Although Iho poor fliild oft< n ffU from fiiticiu', umlrr lur f'lU'i'it wyllH' fill tin- pi: kh. (1h! corn
riiMtlnl iindrr lifT i<ickle; with nil licr otrrngtli Mic tliresiicd tin' I'oni i-vcry iiioriiiiit;, miil until dark
nlplit ulip sprrnU the fl.ax ovor tlio dewy field*.

\ Vaiiia is the diinhintivo uf Ivan.

2G4 Wliat's To Be Do7ie?

" How well you treat men, Verotchka ! Fortunately, the time that you foresee
is still far off. Otherwise I should quickly change my opiiiiou to avoid being rele-
gated to a second place. For that matter, it is only probability; science has not
yet observed facts enough to solve this grave question properly."

"But, dear friend, have we not also asked ourselves why the facts of history
have been hitherto so contradictory of the deduction which may be drawn, with
almost entire certainty, from observations of private life and the constitution of
the organism? Hitherto woman has played but a minor part in intellectual life,
because the reign of violence deprived her of the means of development and stifled
her aspirations. That is a sufficient explanation in itself; but here is another. So
far as physical force is concerned, woman's organism is the weaker, but it has at
the same time the greater power of resistance, has it not?"

"This is surer than the difference in native intellectual powers. Yes, woman's
organism is more effective in its resistance to the destructive forces, — climate, in-
clement weather, insufficient food. ]\Iedicine and physiology have paid but little
attention to this question as yet, but statistics has already given an eloquent re-
ply : the average life of women is longer than that of men. We may infer from
this tliat the feminine organism is the more vigorous."

" The fact that woman's manner of life is generally even less healthy than man's
makes this all the truer."

"There is another convincing consideration given us by physiology. Woman's
growth may be said to end at the age of twenty, and man's at tlie age of twenty-
five ; these figures are approximately correct in our climate and of our race. Ad-
mitting that out of a given number there are as many women who live to the age-
of seventy as men who attain the age of sixty-five, if we take into consideration
the difference in the periods of development, the preponderance of vigor in the
feminine organism becomes even more evident than the statisticians sujipose, as
they have never taken into account the difference in the ages of maturity. Sev-
enty years is twenty times three and five-tenths; sixty-five years is twenty-five
times two and six-tenths. Therefore woman's life is three and one-half times as
long as the f)eriod of her development, while man's is but little more than two and
one-half times as long as the period of his development, which is a little slower.
Now, the respective strength of the two organisms should be measured by this
standard."

"The difference is greater than my readings had led me to believe."

"You have read only the statistical summaries bearing on Iho average length of
life. But if to these statistical facts we add physiological facts, the difference will
appear verj' much greater yet."

"That is so, Sacha; I thought — and the thought now strikes me still more forci-
bly— that, if the feminine organism is better fitted to resist destructive forces, it
is probable that woman could endure moral shocks with the greater ease and firm-
ness. But in reality the opposite seems to be the truth."

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Hushand. 265

"Yes, it is probable. But it is only a supposition. It is true, nevertheless, that
your conclusion is derived from indisputable facts. The vigor of the organism is
very intimately connected with the vigor of the nerves. "Woman's nerves are
probably more elastic and of more solid texture, and, if that is the case, they
ought to endure painful shocks and sensations with the greater ease and firmness.
In actual life we have far too many examples of the contrary. "Woman is very
often tormented by things that man endures easily. Not much effort lias been
made as yet to analyze the causes which, given our historical situation, show us
phenomena the opposite of what we are justified in expecting from the very con-
stitution of the organism. But one of these causes is plain ; it governs all histori-
cal phenomena and all the phases of our present condition. It is the force of
bias, a bad habit, a false expectation, a false fear. If a person says to himself, 'I
can do nothing,' Ik; finds himself unable to do anything. Xow,(^vomon have al-
ways been tol<l that they are weak, and so they feel weak and to all intents and
purposes are weak. - You know instances where men really in good health have
been seen to waste away and die from the single tliought that they were going to
weaken and die But tlu're are also instances of tliis in the ronduct of great
masses of i>eopIe, entire humanity. One of the most remarkable is furnished by
niilitar}' liistorj*. In the Middle Ages infantry imagined that it could not hold its
own against cavalry, and actually it could not. Knlire annies of foot soldiers were
scatt/Ted like flocks of sheep by a f<*\v hundred horsemen; and that lasted until
the Knglisli foot-soldiers, small proprictol-s, proud and independent, appeared on
the Continent. Th(;se did not share this fear, and were not accustomed to sur-
render without a struggle. They concpiered every time tliey met the innumerable
and formidable rreneli cavalry. Do you remember those famous defeats of French
hors<'nien by small armies of Knglish foot-soldiers at Crecy, roitier.s, and Agin-
court? The sanir; fact was repi-ated when the Swiss foot-soldiers oneti got the
idea that tlu?y liad no reason to think themselves weaker than (he feudal cavaliy.
The Austrian lu»rsemen, and afterwards tliosr; of Burgundy, still more ininierous,
were bpaten l>y Wvxw in every fight. The other horsemen wanteil to meet them
also, an<l v.ere always routed. Kverybody saw then that infantry was a more solid
body than cavalry: but entire oenturies had gone l.y in wliirli iiif:nitry was very
weak in comparison with cavalry, simply because it thought itself so."

"True, Sacha. We are weak lieeause we consider oiirselves so. But it seems to
me that there is still amither canse. I have us fwd in mind. Does it not seem to
you that T changed a great deal iluring the two weeks when you diil not see meV"

"Yes, yoti grew very thin and pale."

"It is precisely iJiat whicli is revollini; to my pride when I reininilier thai no
one noticed you grow tliin f)r ]>.'ile, (hon'^h yon siifTered an<l slni;;gle(l as nuuih as
I. How did you -do it?"

"This is the rea.son, then, why tliese lines about Katia, who cscaiies sorrow

2GG Wliat's To Be Done?

through labor, have made such an impression on you ! I endured struggle and
suffering with reasonable ease, because I had not much time to think about them.
During the time that I devoted to them I suffered horribly, but my urgent daily
duties forced me to forget them the greater part of the time. I had to prepare
my lessons and attend to my patients. In spite of myself I rested during that
time from my bitter thoughts. On the rare days when I had leisure, I felt my
strength leaving me. It seems to me that, if I had abandoned myself for a week
to my thoughts, I should have gone mad."

"That's it, exactly. Of late I have seen that the origin of the difference between
us was there. One must liave work that cannot be neglected or postponed, and
then one is incomparably securer against sorrow."

"But you had a great deal of work too."

"My household duties, to be sure, but I was not obliged to attend to them, and
often, when my sadness was too strong, I neglected them to abandon myself to my
thoughts ; one always abandons that which is least important. As soon as one's
feelings get firm possession of them, these drive all petty cares out of the mind. I
have lessons; these are more important; but I can neglect them when I like, and
the work is not absorbing. I give it only such attention as I choose ; if my mmd
wanders during the lesson, no great harm is done. And again : do I live by my
lessons? Is my position dependent on therii? No, my main support then came
from Dmitry's work as it now comes from yours. The lessons allow me to flatter
myself that I am independent, and are by no means useless. But then I could get
along without them.

"Then I tried, in order to drive away the thoughts which were tormenting me,
to basy myself in the shop more than usual. But I did it only by an effort of the
will. I understood well enough that my presence in the shop was necessary only
for an hour or an hour and a half, and that, if I stayed longer, I was tying myself
down to a fatigue which, though certainly useful, was not at all indispensable.
And then, can such altruistic occupation sustain persons as ordinary as T am? The
Eakhmetoffs are another sort of people: they are so nmch concerned about the
common welfare that to work for public ends is a necessity to them, so much so
that to them altruistic life takes the place of jirivate life. But we do' not scale
these high summits, we are not Rakhmetoffs, and our private life is the only thing,
properly speaking, that is indispensable to us. The shop was not my matter, after
all; I was concerned in it only for others and for my ideas; but I am one of those
who take little interest in the affairs of others, though they are suffering them-
selves. What we need in such cases is a personal, urgent occupation, upon which
our life depends; such an occupation, considering my feelings and condition, would
weigh more with me than all the impulses of jiassion ; it alone could serve to sup-
port me in a struggle against an omnipotent passion; it alone gives strength and
rest. I want such an occupation."

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Husband. 267

" You are right, my friend," said Kirsanoff, warmly, kissing his wife, whose eyes
sparkled with animation. " To think that it has not occmTed to me before, when
it wonld have been so simple; I did not even notice it! Yes, Verotchka, no one
can think for another. If you wish to be comfoxtable, think for yourself of your-
self; no one can take your place. To love as I love, and not to have understood
all this before you explained it to me ! But," he continued, laughing, and still kiss-
ing his wife, "why do you think this occupation necessary now? Are you becom-
ing amorously inclined towards any one?"

Vera Pavlovna began to laugh heartily, and for some minutes mad laughter pre-
vented them from speaking.

"Yes, we can laugh at that now," she said, at last : "both of us can now be sure
that nothing of the kind will ever happeiv to either of us. But seriously, do you
know what I am thinking about now? v. Though my love for Dmitry was not the
love of a completely developed woman, neither did he love me in the way in which
we understand love. His feeling for me was a mixture of strong friendship with
the fire of amorous passion. He had a great friendship for me, but his amorous
transports needed l»ut a woman for llieir satisfaction, not me personally. No, that
was not love. Did lie canj much about my thoughts? No, no more than I did
about his. There was no real love between us."

"You are unjust to him, Verotchka."

"No, Sacha, it is really so. I5etween us it is useless to praise him. We both
know very well in what high esteem we hold him; it is vain for him to say that it
would have Ijeen easy to separate me from him ; it is not so; you said in the same
way that it was ea.sy for you to struggle against your passion. Y(!t, however sin-
cere Ills words and youis, they uiust not be unilerstood or construed literally.

"f)li! my friend, I understand how much you sulTered. And tins is Imw I under-
stand it."

" Vdrotchka, you stifle me. Confess that, besides the force of sentiment, you also
wanted to show ww your nmscular force. How strong you are, indeed! But liow
could you be otherwise with such a chest?"

"My dear Sacha I"

"But you did not let nie talk business, Sacha," began Vdra Pavlovna, when, two
hours later, they sat down to Unx.

" T did not let you talk? Wa.s it my fault?"

"Certainly."

" Who began the indidgencc?"

"Are you not ashamed to say that?"

"What?"

268 What's To Be Bone?

" That 1 began the indulgence. Fie I the idea of thus compromising a modest
woman on the plea of coldness!"

"Indeed! Do you not preach equality? Why not equality of initiative as well?'.'

" Ha, ha, ha I a fine argument ! But would you dare to accuse me of being il-
logical? Do I not try to maintain equality in initiative also? I take now the
initiative of continuing our serious conversation, which we have too thoroughly
forgotten."

"Take it, if you will, but I refuse to follow you, and I take the initiative of con-
tinuing to forget it. Give me your hand."

" But we must finish our talk, Sacha."

"We shall have time enough tomorrow. Now, you see, I am absorbed in an
analysis of tliis hand."

IX.

" Sacha, let us finish our conversation of yesterday. We must do so, because I
am getting ready to go with you, and you must know why," said Vera Pavlovna
the next morning.

" You are coming with me ? "

" Certainly. You asked me, Sacha, why I wanted an occupation upon which my
life should depend, which I should look upon as seriously as you on yours, which
should be as engaging as yours, and which should require as much attention as
yours requires. I want this occupation, my dear friend, because I am very jiroud.
When I think that during my days of trial my feelings became so visible in my
person that others could analyze them, I am thoroughly ashamed. I do not speak
of my sufferings. You had to struggle and suffer no less than I, and you triumphed
where I was conquered. I wish to be as strong as you, your equal in everything.
And I have found the way ; I have thought a great deal since we left each other
yesterday, and I have found it all alone ; you were unwilling to aid me with your
advice ; so much the worse for you. It is too late now. Yes, Sacha, you may be
very anxious about me, my dear friend, but how happy we shall be if I prove cap-
able of success in what I wish to undertake ! "

Vera Pavlovna liad just thought of an occupation which, under Kirsanoff's guid-
ance and her liand in his, she could engage in successfully.

LopoukhofT, to be sure, had not hindered her at all; on the contrary, she was
sure of finding support from him in all serious matters. But it was only under se-
rious circumstances that he was as devoted and firm as Kirsanoff would have been.
This he had shown when, in order to marry her and deliver her from her oppressive
situatioUj he had sacrificed all his scientific dreams and exposed himself to the suf-
ferings of hunger. Yes, when the matter was serious, his hand was held out to her,
but usually it was wanting. Vera Pavlo^ma, for instance, organized her shop: if.

The Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Husband. 2G9

in any way whatever, his aid had been indispensable, Lopoukhoff would have given
it with pleasure. But why did he actually give almost no aid at all? He stood in
the way of nothing; he approved what was done and rejoiced at it. But he had
his own life as she had hers. , Xow it is not the same. Kirsanoff does not wait for
his wife to ask him to participate in all that she does. He is as interested m every-
thing that is dear to her as she is in everything that relates to him.

From this new life Vera Pavlovna derives new strength, and what formerly
seemed to her as if it would never leave the realms of the ideal now appears en-
tirely within reach.

As for her thoughts, this is the order in which they came to her :

X.

" Almost all the paths of civil life are formally closed to us, and those which are
not closed by formal ol)stacles are by practical diliicultios. Only the family is left
us. 'What occupation can we engage in, outside of tlu- family? That of a govern-
ess is almost the only one; perhaps we liave one other resource, — that of giving
lessons (such lessons as are left after the men liave chosen). But we all rush into
this single patli anrl stifle there. We are too numerous to find independence in it.
Tlierc are so many to clioose from that no one needs us. "Who would care to be a
governess? "When any one wants one, lie is besieged by ten, a hundred, or even
more applicant.s, each trying to get tlie place to the detriment of tiie others.

*'\(), until women launch out into a greater number of careers, they will not en-
joy iiid(|)endence. It is diflicult, to be sure, to open a new road. But I o(cu]>y an
espfrially favoralde position for dcjing it. I should be asliamed not to profit by it.
We are not prei)ared for serious <liities. For my part, I do not know Imw far a
guide is indisjK'nsabh! to me in order fo confront them. Bui I do know that every
time I need him I slirdl titid him, and that In- will always take great pleasure in
Iwlping me.

'•I'nblic prejudice lias closed to us such paths of indejwndent activity as tiie law
has not forbidden us to ent^-r. But I can enter whichever of these paths I choose,
provided I am willing tf) bravi* tlu- usual gossip. Which shall T choosi-? My hus-
band is 11 dfK:tor; In* ili-votcs all his leisure lime to m<!. Willi such a man it would
be ea.sy for me to attempt to follow the medical profession.

"Indeed, it is very important that there should b»f womcn-iihysicians. They
would be vi-ry useful to [MTsons of I heir own sex. It is much (•asi<'r for a woman
to talk to another woman than to a man. How much distress, suffering, and death
would thus be averted I The experiment must be tried."

W.

Vera Pavlovna fini-'ln'd the conversation with her husband by putting on her
hat to follow him to the hospital, where she wished to try her nerves and see if she

270 Wmt's To Be Done'?

could stand the siglit of blood and whether she would be capable of pursuing the
study of anatomy. In view of Kirsanoff 's position in the hospital, there certainly
would be no obstacles in the way of this attempt.

I have already unconsciously compromised Vera Pavlovna several times from
the poetical standpoint; I have not concealed the fact, for instance, that she dined
everj' day, and generally with a good appetite, and that furtlier she took tea twice
a day. But I have now reached a point where, in spite of the depravity of my
tastes, I am seized with scruples, and timidly I ask myself : Would it not be better
to conceal this circumstance? What will be thought of a woman capable of study-
ing medicine?

What coarse nerves, what a hard heart, she must have ! She is not a woman,
she is a butcher. Nevertheless, remembering that I do not set up my characters as
ideal tj'pes, I calm myself: let them judge as they will of the coarseness of Vera
Pavlovna's nature, how can that concern me? She is coarse? Well! be it so.

Consequently I say in the most cold-blooded way that she found it one thing to
look at others do and quite another to do herself. And indeed whoever is at work
has no time to be frightened and feel repugnance or disgust. So Vera Pavlovna
studies medicine, and I number among my acquaintances one of those who intro-
duced this novelty among us. She felt transformed by the study, and she said to
herself : In a few years I shall get a foothold.

That is a great thought. There is no complete happiness without complete in-
dependence. Poor women that you are, how few of you enjoy this happiness!

XII.

One year, two years pass ; yet another year will pass from the time of her mar-
riage with Kirsanoff, and Vera Pavlovna's occupation will be the same as now;
many years will pass, and her days will still be the same, unless something special
happens. Who knows what the future will bring? Up to the time when I write
these lines, nothing special has happened, and Vera Pavlovna's occupations have
not changed. Xow that the frank confession of Vera Pavlovna's bad taste in dar-
ing to study medicine and succeed in it has been made, it is easy for me to speak
of anything; nothing else can harm her as much in the estimation of the pu!)Iic.
So I will say that now, in the Rue Serguievskaia, Vdra Pavlovna's day is divided
into three parts, — by her morning cup of tea, her dinner, and her evening tea; yes,
she has kept up the unpoetic habit of dining every day and taking tea twice a day;
she finds it pleasant; in general, she has kept up all her habits of that sort.

Many other things have remained the same as before in this new and peaceful
life.

11 le Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Husband. 271

The rooms are divided into the neutral and the non-neutral; all the rules regard-
ing entrance into the non-neutral rooms are still the same. However, there are a
few notable changes.

For instance, they no longer take tea in the neutral room; they take their eve-
ning tea in KirsanofE's study and their morning tea in Vera Pavlovna's chamber.

On awaking in the morning she dozes and tosses about as of old, now sleeping,
now meditating. She now has two new subjects of reflection, which in the third
year of her marriage were followed by a third, the little Mitia,* so named in honor
of her friend Dmitry; the two others are, first, the sweet thought of the independ-
ence that she is to acquire, and, second, the thought of Sacha; the latter cannot
even be called a special thought, being mingled with all her thoughts, for her dear
husband participates in her wliole life.

After having taken a bath, she takes tea, or rather creSm, with Sacha, after which
she lounges again, not on her bed this time, but on her little divan, until ten or
eleven o'clock, the time when Sacha is to go to the hospital, or the clinifjue, or else
the academical lecture-room. But her mornings were not on that account devoted
to idleness; as soon as Sacha, after drinking his last cup, had lit his cigar, one of
the two said to the other : " Let's go to work," or else : " Enough ! enough ! now for
workl" What work? you ask. The private lesson. Sacha is her private tutor in
medicine; she is aided by liim still further in mathematics, and in Latin, which is
perhaps even more tiresome tlian mathematics, but for that matter tlie Academy of
Medicine requires but very little. I should be very careful al)out asserting thiit
Vdra Pavlovna will ever know enough Latin to translate even Iwn lines of Corne-
lius Nepos, but she already knew enough to decipher the Latin phrases which she
met in medical books, and that was what she needed. 'J'his is the finishing touch;
I see that I am compromising Vera Pavlovna enormously: probably the reader
with the pen "

XTTL

A niOKKSSION rONCEUNlNO ni.l'F.-STOCKIXr.S.

"yl Ijlue-.itnckinf/! The last degree of blue-s/ocLinfj! 1 cannot abide a blue-
stocking. A blue-stocking is utupid and tiresome I" exclaims angrily, but not
without dignity, the reader with the penetrating eye.

The reader with the j)(,Mietrating eyo and myself are considerably attached to
each other. lie has insulted me once, I have put him out doors twice, and, in
Bpite of all, we cannot liclp exchanging cordial words; a mysterious inclination of
hearts, is it not?

•Mitia i8 tbo (llininutiTO of Dmitry.

272 WTiat's To Be Bone?

"O reader with the penetrating eye!" I say to him, "you are quite right: the
blue-stocking is stupid and tiresome, and it is impossible to endure him. That you
have seen correctly; but you have not seen who the blue-stocking is. You shall
sec him, as in a mirror. The blue-stocking is the man who speaks with importance
and stupid affectation of literary and scientific matters, of which he does not know
the a-b-c, and who speaks of them, not because he is interested in them, but to make
a show of brains (of which nature has been very niggardly to him), of his lofty aspi-
rations (of whicli he has as many as the chair on which he sits), and of his learning
(he has as much as a parrot). Do you know this coarse face, this carefully-brushed
head? It is you, my dear sir. Yes, however long you let your beard grow, or how-
ever carefully you shave it off, in any case you are indubitably and incontestably a
blue-stocking of the most authentic stamp. That is why I have twice put you out
doors, sunply because I cannot endure blue-stockings. Among us men there are
ten times as many as among women.

"But any person, of whatever sex, who, with any sensible object in view, engages
in something useful, is simply a human being engaged in business, and nothing
else."

XTV.

The Kirsanoffs were now the intellectual centre of a large number of families
in a condition similar to their own and sharing their ideas ; these associations
took half of their leisure time. But there is one thing of which iinfortunately it
is necessary to speak at too great length to many individuals in order to be under-
stood. "\\Tioever has not felt himself must at least have read that there is a great
difference between a simple evening party and one where the object of your love
is present. That is well known. But what very few have felt is that the charm
which love gives to everything should not be a passing phenomenon in man's life,
that this intense gleam of life should not light simply the period of desire, of
aspiration, the period called courting, or seeking in marriage; no, this i^eriod
should be only the ravishing dawn of a day more ravishing yet. Light and heat
increase during the greater part of the day; so during the course of life ought
love and its delights to increase. Among people of the old society such is not the
case ; the poetry of love does not survive satisfaction. The contrary is the rule
among the people of the new generation whose life I am describing. The longer
they live together, the more they are lighted and warmed by the poetry of love,
until the time when the care of their growing children absorbs them. Then this
care, sweeter than personal enjoyment, becomes uppermost ; but until then love .
grows incessantly. That which the men of former times enjoyed only for a few
short months the new men keep for many years.

And why so? It is a secret which I will unveil to you, if you wish. It is a

Tlie Life of Vera Pavlovna with Tier Second Husband. 273

fiue secret, oue worth having, and it is not difficult. One need have but a pure
heart, an upright soul, and that new and just conception of the human being
which prompts respect for the liberty of one's life companion. Look upon your
wife as you looked upon your sweetheart ; remember that she at any moment has
the right to say to you : " I am dissatisfied with you ; leave me." Do this, and
ten years after your marriage she will inspire iu you the same enthusiasm that she
did when she was your sweetheart, and she will have as much charm for you as
then and even more. Recognize her liberty as openly, as explicitly, and with as
little reserve, as you recognize the liberty of your friends to be your friends or
not, and ten years, twenty years, after marriage you will be as dear to her as when
you were her sweetheart. This is the way in which the people of our new gene-
ration live. Their condition in this respect is very eiwiable. Among them hus-
bands and wives are loyal, sincere, and love each other always more and more.

After ten years of marriage they do not exchange false kisses ck false words.
" A lie was never on his lips ; there was no deception in his heart," was said of
some one in a certain book. In reading these things we say : The author, when
he WTote this book, said to liimself tliat tliis was a man whom all must admire as
one to be celebrated. This author did not foresee that new men would arise, who
would not admit among theii- acquaintances people who liad not attained the
heiglit of his unparalleled hero, and llie readers of the aforesaid bonk \\\\\ have
difficulty in undi!rstan<Iiiig what I have just said, especially if I add that uiy iie-
roos do not consider their numerous friends as exceptions, but {simply as estinuible,
though very ordinary, individuals of the new generation.

What a pity that at tlic present hour there are still more than ten antediluvians
for every new man ! It is very natural, however. An antediluvian world can
have only an antediluvian population.

XV.

"See, we have boon living togetJHT for three years already [forniorly it was one
year, then two, nnxt it will be four, an<l so on], and we am still lil<(! lovers who
see each other rarely and secretly. Where did llif idi-a conic Inini, Sacha, that
love grows weaker when there is nothing to disturl) possession? People who be-
lieve that have not known Xrxw hn-f. Tln-y hiivc kuftwn only self-love or erotic
fancies. True love really begins with life in coiimioii."

"Am I not the inspiration of this remark?"

"You? You will in a few years forget medicine, unlearn to read, and lose all
your intellectual faculties, an<l you will end ])y f-eeing nothing Init me."

Such conversations are neither long nor frequent, but they sometimes occur.

274 WTiat's To Be Bone?

Conversations like these are more frequent.

" Sacha, how your love sustains me I It inspires in me the power of independ-
ence even against you. Does my love give nothing to you ? "

" To me. No less than to you. This continuous, strong, healthy excitement of
the nerves necessarily develops the nervous system [gi-oss materialism, let us note
with the reader with the penetrating eye] ; consequently my intellectual and moral
forces grow in proportion to your love."

" Yes, Sacha, I understand what they say (I should not dare to believe it if I
were the only one to see it, not being a disinterested witness) ; others see, as
I do, that your eyes are becoming clearer and j-our expression more intense and
powerful."

" There is no reason to praise me for that, even in your behalf, Vdrotchka. We
are one and the same being. But it is sure that, my thought having become much
more active, it must be reflected in my eyes. When I come to draw inferences
from my observations, I now do in an hour what formerly required several hours.
I can hold in my mind many more facts than before, and my deductioijs are larger
and more complete. If I had had any germ of genius in me, Verotchka, with this
sentiment I should have become a great genius. If I had been given a little of
the creative power, with the sentiment which dominates me I could have acquired
the strength to revolutionize science. But I was born to be only a drudge, an or-
dinary and obscure laborer able to handle special questions only. That is what I
was without you. Now, you know, I am something else : much more is expected
of me ; it is believed that I will revolutionize an entire branch of science, the whole
theory of the functions of the nervous system. And I feel that I shall meet this
expectation. At the age of twenty-four man has a broader and bolder intellectual
view than at the age of twenty-nine, or thirty, or thirty-two, and so on. I am as
strong as I was at twenty-four. And I feel that T am still growing, which would
not be so were it not for you. I did not grow during the two or three years pre-
ceding our union. You have restored to me the freshness of early youth and the
strength to go much farther than I could have gone without your love."

Conversations like these are very frequent also.

" My dear friend, I am reading Boccaccio now [what immorality ! let us note
with the reader with the penetrating eye. Only we men may read that ; but for
my part I am going to make this remark : a woman will hear the reader with the
penetrating eye give utterance to more conventional filth in five minutes than she
will find in all Boccaccio, and she will not hear from the reader with the pene-
trating eye a single one of those luminous, fresh, and pure words in which Boc-
caccio abounds] : you are right in saying that he has very great talent. Some of
his tales deserve to be placed beside the best dramas of Shakspere for depth and
delicacy of psychological analysis."

The, Life of Vera Pavlovna with her Second Hushand. 275

"How do his humorous stories, where Boccaccio is so broad, please you?"

"Some of them are funny, but generally they are tiresome, like every farce, from
being too coarse."

"But he must be pardoned ; he lived five hundred years before our time. "What
now seems to us too filthy and too much like Billingsgate was not considered im-
proper then."

" It is the same with many of our manners and customs ; they will seem coarse
and unclean in much less than five hundred years. But I pay no attention to the
license of Boccaccio ; I speak of those novels of his in which he describes an ele-
vated and passionate love so well. It is there that his great talent appears. I
come back to what I was going to say : he paints very well and very vividly. But,
judging from his writings, we may say that they did not know in those days that
delicacy of love which we know now; love was not felt so deeply, although it is
said to have been the epoch when they enjoyed it most completely. No, the peo-
ple of that day did not enjoy love so well. Their sentiments were too superficial
and their intoxication too mild and transient."

XVI.

A year had passed ; the new shop, thoroughly organized, was doing well. Tlio
two shops cooperated: when one was overworked, it sent orders to the other.
They kept a running account with each other. Tlieir means were already so
large that tliey were altle to open a store on the Prrspoctive Xevsky : but they
had to coopfTate more closely, which embarrassed Xdwi Pavlovna and Madame
IMortzaloff not a little. Althoiigli the two associations were friendly, met fre-
qtiently, and often took walks together in the suburbs, tlie idea of complete coop-
eration bftw/^cii the two niitorpriscs was now, and a great deal had to be done.
Nevertlicless the advantage of liaving their r)wn store on the l\'rspective Nevsky
was evident, and, after experimenting for some months, Vdra Pavlovna and Mad-
ame MertzalDlT finally succeeded. A new sign appeared on the Perspective Nevsky
in French: An hon Irnrail. Mnr/ajiin tic Nottrraulcs.* With the opening of the
store l)UsincHS began to improve rapidly, and was done to better an<l belter advan-
tage. Madame MertzalofT anrl Vora Pavlovna rherislied the dream of seeing the
number of shops rise from two to five, ten, twenty.

Three months after the opening of the store KirsanofF received a visit from one
of his colleagups witli whom ho was somowhat acquainted. The latter talkr-d to
him a great deal of various medical ajipliratioiis, an<l especially of the astonisliiiig
efficacy of his method, which consisted in j'lacing on the breast and belly two

•Good work. Linen-draper's store.

270 WLaf\s To Be Bone?

small bags, narrow and long, filled with jiounded ice and each wrapped in four
napkins. In conclusion, he said that one of his friends wished to make Kirsanoff's
acquaintance.

KirsanofI complied with this desire. The acquaintaiico was an agreeable one,
and the conversation tuiuied on many things, — among others the store. Kirsanoff
explained that it had been opened for an exclusively commercial purpose. Thoy
talked a long time about the sign ; was it well to have the sign bear the word
travail? Kirsanoff said that Au bon travail meant in Russian a house that filled its
orders well : then they discussed the question whether it would not be better to
substitute for this motto the name of the manager. Kirsanoff objected that his
wife's Russian name would drive away much custom.* At last he said that his
wife's name was Vera, which, translated into French, was/oi, and that it would be
sufficient to put on the sign, instead oi Au bon travail, A la bonne foi. This would
have a most innocent meaning, — simply a house that was conscientious, — and be-
sides the name of the manager would appear. After some discussion they decided
that this was feasible. Kirsanoff led the conversation on such subjects with espe-
cial zeal, and, as a general thing, carried his point, so that he returned home well
satisfied.

^Madame ^Mertzaloff and Vera Pavlovna, however, had to abate their fine hopes,
and think only of preserving what had been already achieved.

The founders of the establishment considered themselves fortunate in the xtatu
quo. Kirsanoff's new acquaintance continued his visits and proved very interest-
ing. Two years went by, and nothing of especial note happened.

XVIL

LETTER OF KAT^RINA VASSILIEVNA POLOSOFF.

St. Petersburg, August 17, 1860.

My dear Polina, T wish to tell you of something new which I have just discov-
ered, which has pleased me greatly, and which I am now zealously concerned in.
I am sure that it will interest you. But the most important point is that you per-
haps will engage in something similar. It is so agreeable, my friend.

It is about a sewing-women's shop, — two shops, to speak more accurately, both
based on the same principle, both founded by. one woman, whose acquaintance I
made only a fortnight ago and whose friend I have already become. I am now
helping her on condition that she will help me to organize a similar shop. This
lady's name is Vera Pavlovna Kirsanoff, still young, kind, gay, quite to my fancy;

•The most famona and welVknown dressraakiiig and millinery establishments in St. Petersburg are
kept by Frenchwomen.

The Life of Vera Pavlovna itnth her Second Hushand. 277

she resembles you, Polina, more than your Katia, who is so quiet. She is an ener-
getic and fearless person. Hearing of her shop by chance, — they told me of but
one, — I came directly to her without recommendation or pretext, and simply told
her that 1 was much interested in her shop. We became friends at our first inter-
view, and the more easily because in her husband, Kirsanoff, I found again that
Doctor Kirsanoff who rendered me so great a service, you remember, five years ago.

After talking with me for half an hour and seeing that I was really in sympathy
with these things, Vera Pavlovna took me to her shop, the one which she person-
ally superintends (the other shop is now in charge of one of her friends, also a very
excellent person). I wish now to give you an account of the impression made
upon me by this first visit. This impression was so vivid and new that 1 hastened
to write it in my journal, long since abandoned, but now resumed in consequence
of a peculiar cii'cumstance which I perhaps will tell you about some time. I am
very glad that I thus fixed my thoughts ; otherwise I should now forget to men-
tion many things which struck me at the time. Today, after two weeks, what
astonished me so much seems ordinary. And, curiously enough, the more ordinary
I find it all, the more I become attached to it.

Having said thus much, dear Polina, T now copy my journal, adding to it some
later observations.

Wo then went to the shop. On entering, I saw a large room, well furnished
and containing a grand piano, as if the room belonged to the residence of a family
spending four or five thousand roubles a year. It was the reception room; the
sewing-women also spent their evenings there. Then we visited the twenty other
rooms occupied by th(! working-woincn. They are all very well furnished, although
the furniture is not alike in all of tliem, liaving lieen l)ought as occasion required.

.\ftcr seeing the rooms where the working-women slept, we went into the rooms
where they worked. Then; I found young girls very well dressed in inexjiensive
silk or muslin. It was eviilent Ironi their gentle and tender faces that they lived
comfortably. You cannot imagine how I was struck by all this. I made the ac-
q\iaintance of several of these young girls on the spot. All iiad not reached iIk-
same degrer? of intellc'ctual dcvclopiiicnt : soin(! aln-ady used the language of edu-
cated jM-ople, had some acijuaintance with literature, like our young ladies, and
knew a little about history and foreign countries; two of them had oven read a
great deal. Others, who liad been in the shop but a short time, were less devel-
oped, but still one rould talk with any of tlu'in as with a young girl who has re-
ceived a certain amount of edueatictn. (ienerally speaking, the disgree of their
development is proportional to the time that they have been in the shop.

We stayed there to dinner. The dinner consists of three dishes ; that day they
had rice soup, l>akefl fish with sauce, and veal ; after dinner tea and coffee were
served. The dinner was so good that I ate with great relish ; I should not consider
it a jnivation to eat so always, and yet you know that my father lias always had a
very good cook.

278 What's To Be Done?

When we returned to Vera Pavlovna's, she and her husband explained to me
that there was nothing astonishing in this. All that I saw, they said, was due to
two causes.

On the one hand a greater profit for the sewing-women, and on the other a
greater economy in their expenses.

Do you understand why they earii more? They work on their own account,
they are their own employers, and consequently they get the part which would
otherwise remain in their employer's pocket. But that is not all ; in working for
their own benefit and at their own cost, they save in provisions and time : their
work goes on faster and with less expense.

It is evident that there is a great saving also in the cost of their maintenance.
They buy everything at wholesale and for cash, and consequently get everything
cheaper than if they bought on credit and at retail-
Besides this, many expenses are much diminished, and some become utterly
useless.

According to the calculation made for me by Kirsanoff, the sewing-women, in-
stead of the hundred roubles a year which they ordinarily earn, receive two hun-
dred, but, by living in cooperation and buying everything at wholesale and in
quantities not exceeding the wants of the association (for instance, the twenty-
five working-women have only five umbrellas), they use these two hundred roubles
twice as advantageously.

Such is the marvel that I have seen, dear Polina, the explanation of which is so
simple. Now I am so accustomed to this marvel that it seems strange to me that
I was ever astonished at it. Why did I not expect to find everything as I did
find it?

Write me whether you can interest yourself in a shop of this sort. I am doing
80, Polina, and find it very pleasant. Youi's,

K. POLOSOFF.

New Characters and the Conclusion. 279

CHAPTER FIFTH.
New Characters and the Conclusion.

^lademoiselle PolosofE said in her letter to her f rieud that she was under obliga-
tions to Vera Pavlovna's husband. To understand this it is necessary to know who
her father was.

Polosoff had been a captain or lieutenant, but had resigned his office. Following
the custom of the good old days, lie had led a dissipated life and devoured a large
inheritance. After having spent all he had, he reformed and sent in his resigna-
tion, in order to make a new fortune. Gathering up the debris of his old fortune,
he had left about ten tliousand roubles in the paper money of that time.* AVith
this sum he started as a small dealer in wheat: he began by taking all sorts of
little contracts, availing himself of every advantageous opportunity when his means
permitted, and in ten years he amassed a considerable capital. With the reputa-
tion of so positive and shrewd a man, and with his rank and name woll known in
the vicinity, he could select a bride from the daugiiters of the nn.'rchants in the two
provinces in which he did business. lie reasonably chose one with a dowry of half
a million (likewise in paper). He was then fifty years old; tliat was twenty years
before the time when his daiighlcr and Vera Pavlovna became friends, as we liave
seen. With this new fortune added to his own, he was able to do business on a
large scale, and ten years later he found himscilf a millionaire in the money then
in circulation. His wife, accustomed to country life, liad kept liim away from the
capital; l)Ut she dii-d, and then he went to St. l'(!tersburg to live. His business
took a still better turn, and in another ten years he was reputed to be worth three
or fotn- millions. Young girls and widows set tlufir c!i])s for him, but he did not
wish to marry again, partly througli fidelity to his wife's memory, and still more
because he did not wish to impose astep-inother upon his daughter Katia, of whom
he was very fond.

Polosoff's operations grew larger and larger; he might already have been the
possessor, not of three or four millions, but of a good ten, liad he taken the liiinor
privilege; but he felt a certain repugnance to that business, which Ik; did not con-
sider as respectable as contracts and supplies. His millionaire colleagues made
great fun of this casuistry, and tlmy were not wrong; but he, though wrong, held
to his opinion. " I am a merchant," said he, "and I do not wish to get rich by ex-

• A silver rouble, In the muncy of today, ia worth three uiiil one-half tunes aa much as a pajicr rouble.

280 What's To Be Done?

tortion." Nevertheless, about a year before his daughter made Vdra Pavlovna's
acquaintance, he was furnished with only too glaring a pi'oof that his business at
bottom was scarcely distinguishable from the licjuor monopoly, although in his
opinion it differed much. He had an enormous contract for a supply of cloth, or
provisions, or shoe leather, or something or other, — I don't know exactly what;
age, his steady success, and the growing esteem in which he was held rendering
him every year more and more haughty and obstinate, he quarreled with a man
who was necessary to him, flew into a passion, insulted him, and his luck turned.

A week afterwards he was told to submit.

"I will not."

" You will be ruined."

"What do I care? I will not."

A month later the same thing was repeated to him, he gave the same reply, and
in fact he did not submit ; but he was utterly ruined. His merchandise lay upon
his hands; further, some evidences of neglect or sharp practice were found; and
his three or four millions vanished. Polosoff, at the age of seventy, became a beg-
gar,— that is, a beggar in comparison with what he had been; but, comparisons
aside, he was comfortably well off. He still had an interest in a stearine factoiy,
and, not in the least humiliated, he became manager of this factory at a very fair
salary. Besides this, some tens of thousands of roubles had been saved by I know
not what chance. With this money, had he been ten or fifteen years younger, he
could have begun again to make his fortune, but at his age this was not to be
thought of. And Polosoff's only plan, after due reflection, was to sell the factory,
which did not pay. This was a good idea, and he succeeded in making the other
stockholders see that a prompt sale was the only way to save the money invested
in the enterprise. He thought also of finding a husband for his daughter. But
his first care was to sell the factory, invest all his capital in five per cent, bonds, —
which were then beginning to be fashionable, — and live quietly out the remainder
of his days, dwelling sometimes on his past grandeur, the loss of which he had
borne bravely, losing with it neither his gayety nor his firnniess.

II.

Polosoff loved Katia and did not let ultra-aristocratic governesses hold his
daughter too severely in check. "These are stupidities," said he of all efforts to
correct her attitudes, manners, and other similar things. When Katia was fifteen,
he agreed with her that she could dispense with the English governess as well as
with the French one. Then Katia, having fully secured her leisure, was at per-
fect liberty in the house. To her liberty then meant liberty to read and dream.
Friends she had but few, being intimate with only two or three; but her suitors
were innumerable: she was the only daughter of Polosoff, possessor — immense! —

New Characters and the Conclusion. 281

of four millions! But Katia read and dreamed, and the suitors despaired. She
was already seventeen, and she read and dreamed and did not fall in love. But
suddenly she began to grow thin and pale, and at last fell seriously ill.

III.

Kirsanoff was not in active practice, but he did not consider that he had a right
to refuse to attend consultations of physicians. And at about that time — a year
after he had become a professor and a year before his marriage with Vera Pavlovna
— the bigwigs of St. Petersburg practice began to invite him to their consultations
often, — even oftener than he liked. These invitations had their motives. The
first was that the existence of a certain Claude Bernard of Paris had been estab-
lished; one of the aforesaid bigAvigs, having — no one knows why — gone to Paris
for a scientific purpose, had seen with liis own eyes a real flesh-and-blood Claude
Bernard ; lie had recommended himself to him by his rank, his profession, his dec-
orations, and the high standing of his patients. After listening to him about half
an lioiir, Claude Bernard had said io him: "It was quite useless for you to come
to Paris to study mr-dieal progress; you did not ne(Hl to leave St. Petersburg for
tliat." The bigwig t(jok that fur an endorsement of his own labors, and, returning
to St. Petersburg, pronounced the name of Claude Bernard at least ten times a day,
adding at least five times, "my learned friend," or, "my illustrious companion in
science." After tliat, then, how could they avoid inviting Kirsanoff to the consulta-
tions? It could not be otiicrwise. 'Jhe other reason was still more important: all
the bigwigs saw tiiat KirsanolT would not try to get away tlieir practice, for he did
not accept patients, even wlicu l)egged to take llicin. It wiis well known (li;it a
great many of the bigwig practitioners followed this line of conduct: when the
patient (in the bigwig's opinion) was ap|>n)acliing an inevitable death and ill-
intentioned destiny had so arranged tilings tliat it was ini])()ssilile to defeat it,
either by sending the patient to the spriiigs or by any nlhcr .sort of cxixirtation
to foi(!ign jtarts, it then became necessary to place liiiii in I he hands of another
doctor, and in such cases the bigwig was even almost icidy lo pay money to liave
the patient taken off liis liands. Kiisanofl" rarely aecejjted oilers of this sort, and
to get rid of them generally recommended liis friends in active jiractice, keeping
for himself only .such ca.ses as were interesting from a scientific slandpoiiil. Why
should they not invite to ronsultaf ions, tlien, a colleague known to Claude Bernard
and not engaged in a race after ]>atronage?

Polosoff, the millionaire, had one of these bigwigs for a dcjctor, and, when Kate-
rina Va-ssilievna fell seriously ill, the medical consultations were always made up
of bigwigs. Finally she became so w<'ak that the liigwigs resolved to call in Kir-
sanoff. In fact, tli(! problem was a very difficult one for them; the; patient had no
disease, and yet she was growing jierceptibly weaker. But some disease must bo

282 yjliat's To Be Done?

found, and the doctor having hei" in charge invented alropJda nervorum, "suspension
of nervous nutrition." Whether there is such a disease I do not know, but, if it
exists, even I can see that it is incurable. But as nothing must be left undone to
save the patient, however hopeless the case, the problem was one for Kirsanoff or
some other bold young man.

So a new council was held, which Kirsanoff attended. They examined the pa-
tient and pressed her with questions ; she answered willingly and very calmly; but
Kirsanoff, after her first words, stood one side, doing nothing but watch the bigwigs
examine and question ; and wlien, after having worn themselves out and harassed
her as much as the proprieties in such cases demand, they appealed to Kirsanoff
with the question: "What do you think, Alexander MatveitchV" he answered: "I
have not examined the patient sufficiently. I will remain here. It is an interest-
ing case. If there is need of another consultation, I will tell Carl Fccdorytch," —
that is, the patient's doctor, whom these words made radiant witli hai)piuess at thus
escaping his alrophia nervorum. When they had gone, Kirsanoff sat down by the
patient's bed. A mocking smile lighted up her face.

" It is a pity that we are not acquainted," he began ; " a doctor needs confidence ;
perhaps I shall succeed in gaining yours. They do not understand your sickness ;
it requires a certain sagacity. To sound your chest and dose you with drugs would
be quite useless. It is necessary to know but one thmg, — your situation, — and
then find some way to get you out of it. You will aid me."

The patient did not say a word.

"You do not wish to speak to me?"

The patient did not say a word.

" Probably you even want me to go away. I ask you only for ten minutes. If
at the end of that time you consider my presence useless, as you do now, I will go
away. You know that sorrow is the only thing that troubles you. You know that,
if this mental state continues, in two or three weeks, perhaps even soonei*, you will
be past saving. Perhaps you have not even two weeks to live. Consumption has
not yei set in, but it is near at hand, and in a person of your age and condition it
would develop with extraordinary rapidity and might carry you off in a few days."

The patient did not say a word.

"You do not answer. You remain indifferent. That means that nothing that
I have said is new to you. By your very silence you answer : ' Yes.' Do you know
what any other doctor would do in my place? lie would speak to your father.
Perhaps, were I to have a talk with him, it would save you, but, if it would dis-
please you to have me do so, I will not. And why? Because I make it a rule to
tmdertake nothing in any one's behalf against his or her will; liberty is abbve
everything, above life itself. Therefore, if you do not wish me to learn the cause
of your very dangerous condition, I will not try- to find it out. If you say that you
•wish to die, I will only ask you to give me your reasons for this desire ; even if they

New Characters and the Conclusion. 283

should seem to me without foundation, I should still have no right to prevent you ;
if, on the contrary, they should seem to me well founded, it would be my duty to
aid you in your purpose, and I am ready to do so. I am ready to give you poison.
Under these circumstances I beg you to tell me the cause of your sickness."

The patient did not say a word.

"You do not deign to answer me? I have no right to question you further, but
I may ask your permission to tell you something of myself, which may establish
greater confidence between us. Yes '' I thank you. You suffer. AVell, I suffer
too. I love a woman passionately, who does not even know that I love her and
who must never find it out. Do you pity me?"

The patient did not say a word, but a sad smile appeared upon her face.

"You are silent, but yet you could not hide from mo the fact that my last words
impressed you more then any that preceded them. That is enough for me; I see
that you suffer from tlie same cause as myself. You wish to die. That I clearly
understand. I>ut to die of consumption is too long, too painful a process. I can
aid you to die, if you will not be aided to live ; I say that I am ready to give you
poison, poison lliat will kill instantly and juiinlessly. On this condition, will you
furnish me with the means of finding out whether your situation is really as des-
perate as you believe it to be?"

"You will not deceive me?" said the patient.

"Look me steadily in the eyes, and yon will see that T will not deceive you."

The patient hesitated a few moments: "Xo, 1 do not know you well enough."

"Anybody else in my place would have already told you that the feeling from
wliicli you suffer is a good one. I will not say so yet. Does your father know
of it? I beg you not to forget that I shall say nothing to him without your per-
mission."

"He knows notliing about it."

"Does lie love you?"

"Yr-s."

"What shall I say t(j you now? Wiiat do you think yoinsclf? You say tliat
he loves you; I liavo hfard that he is a man of good sense. Why, tlicn, do you
think that it would be useless to inform him of youi- fueling, and (hat he would re-
fuse his consent? If the obstacle consisted only in tiio poverty of llie man whom
yon lovo, (hat would not have ])n'ventf'd you from trying to induce your father to
give his consent; at least, that is my opinion. So you bi'lieve that your father
thinks ill of him ; your silence towards your father cannot be otherwise explained.
Am I not right?"

The pati'-tit did not say a word.

"I see that I am not mistaken. Do you know what I (hiiik now? Your father
is an experienced man, who know.s men well; you, on the contrary, are inexpe-
rienced; if any man should seem bad to him and good to you, in all probability

284 Wl^at's To Be Done?

YOU would be wrong, not lie. You see that I am forced to think so. Do you want
to know why I say so disagreeable a thing to you? I will tell you. Perhaps you
will resent it, but nevertheless you will say to yourself: 'He says what ho thinlcs;
he does not dissimulate and does not wish to deceive ine.' I shall gain your confi-
dence. Do I not talk to you like an honest man?"

The patient answered, hesitating :

"You are a very strange man, doctor."

"Kot at all; I am simply not like a hypocrite. I Kave spoken my thought
frankly. But still it is only a supposition. 1 may be mistaken. Give me the
means of finding out. Tell me the name of the man whom you love. Then — al-
ways with your permission — I will go and talk with your father."

" What will you say to him ? "

"Does he know him well?"

"Yes."

" Then I will ask him to consent to your marriage on condition that the wedding
shall take place, not tomorrow, but two or three months hence, in ordei* that you
may have time to reflect coolly and consider whether your father is not right."

" He will not consent."

" In all probability he will. If not, I will aid you, as I have already promised."

Kirsanoff talked a long time in this tone. And at last the patient told him the
name of the man she loved, and gave him permission to speak to her father. Polo-
sofE was greatly astonished to learn that the cause of his daughter's exhaustion was
a desperate passion; he was still more astonished when he heard the name of the
man whom she loved, and said firmly: "Let her die rather. Her death would be
the lesser misfortune for her as well as for me."

The case was the more diflacult from the fact that Kirsanoff, after hearing Polo-
soff's reasons, saw that the old man was right and not his daugliter.

IV.

Suitors by hundreds paid court to the heiress of an immense fortune; but the
society which thronged at Polosoff's dinners and parties was of that very doubtful
sort and tone which ordinarily fills the parlors of the suddenly rich like Polosoff,
who liave neither relatives nor connections in the real aristocracy. Conse(]uently
these people ordinarily become the hosts of sharpers and coxcombs as destitute of
external polLsh as of internal virtues. That is why Katcrina Vassilievna was very
nmch impressed when among her admirers appeared a real gallant of the best
tone: his deportment was much more elegant, and his conversation much wiser
and more interesting, than those of any of the others.

The father was quick to notice that she showed a preference for him, and, being
a positive, resolute, and firm man, he instantly had an explanation with his daugh-

New Cliaracters and the Conclusion. 285

ter: "Dear Katia, Solovtzoff is paying you assiduous attention; look out for him;
he is a very bad man, utterly heartless; you would be so unhappy "svith him that T
would rather see j'ou dead than married to him ; it would not be so painful either
for me or for you."

Katerina Yassilievna loved her father and was accustomed to heed his advice,
for he never laid any restraint upon her, and she knew that he spoke solely from
love of her; and, further, it was her nature to try rather to please those who loved
her than to satisfy her own caprices; she was of those who love to say to their rela-
tives: "You wish it; I will do it." She answered her father: "Solovtzoff pleases
me, but, if you think it better that I should avoid his society, I will follow your
advice." Certainly she would not have acted in this way, and, in conformity with
lier nature, — not to lie, — she would not have spoken in this way, if she had loved
liiin; but at that time she had but a very slight attaclunent for Solovtzoff, almost
none at all : he simply seemed to her a little more interesting than the others. She
became cold towards him, and perhaps everything would have passed off quietly,
had not her father in his ardor gone a little too far, just enough for the cunning
Solovtzoff. He saw that lie must play the rule of a victim, but where should he
find a pretext? One day Polosoff liappened to indulge in a bitter jest at his ex-
pense. Solo\i;zofF, with an air of wounded dignity, took his leave and ceased his
visits. A week later Katerina Yassilievna received from him a passionate, but ex-
tremely Immble, letter. lie had not hoped that slie would love him; the happiness
of sometimes .seeing licr, though even without speaking to her, had been enough
for him. And yet lie sacrificed this happiness to the peace of his divinity. After
all, he was happy in loving her even hopelessly, and so on ; but no prayers or de-
sires. He did not even ask for a reply. Other hitters of the same style arrived
from time to time, and finally had an effect upon the young girl.

Not very quickly, liowever. After SolovtzofC's withdrawal Katerina Yassilievna
was at first neither sad nor pensive, and before his withdrawal she had already be-
come cold towards iiim; and, besides, she iiad accepted her father's counsel with
tli(! utmost calmness. Coiiseciueiitly, when, two months later, she grew sad, how
^ould her father imagine that Solovtzoff, whom he had already forgotten, had any-
thing to do with it?

"You seem sad, Katia."

"I? Xo, there is notiiing IIh; matter with me."

A week or two later the old man said to her :

"But are you not sick, Katia?"

"No, there is nothing the matter with me."

A fortnight later still :

"You must consult the doctor, Katia."

The doctor began to treat Katia, and the old man felt entirely easy again, for
the doctor saw no danger, but only weakness and a little exhaustion. He pointed

286 What's To Be Bone?

out, and correctly enough, that Kate'rina Vassilievna had led a very fatiguing life
that winter, — every evening a party, -which lasted till two, three, and often five
o'clock in the morning. ''This exhaustion will pass away." But, far from pass-
ing away, the exhaustion went on increasing.

Why, then, did not Katerina Vassilievna speak to her father? Because she was
sure that it would have been in vain. lie had signified his ideas in so firm a tone,
and he never spoke lightly ! Never would he consent to the marriage of his daugh-
ter to a man whom he considered wicked.

Katerina Vassilievna continued to dream, reading Solovtzoff's humble and de-
spairing letters, and six months of such reading brought her within a step of con-
sumption. And she did not drop a single woi'd that could lead her father to think
that he was responsible for her sickness. She was as tender with him as ever.

"You are discontented with something?"

"Xo, papa."

"Are you not in sorrow about something?"

"No, papa."

"It is easy to see that you are not; you are simply despondent, but that comes
from weakness, from sickness. The doctor too said that it came from sickness."

But whence came the sickness? As long as the doctor considered the sickness
trivial, he contented himself with attributing it to dancing and tight lacing; when
he saw that it was growing dangerous, he discovered "the suspension of nervous
nutrition," the atrophia nervorum.

But, though the bigwig practitioners had agreed in the opinion that Mademoi-
selle PolosofE had atrophia nervorum, which had been developed by the fatiguing
life that she led in spite of her natural inclinations towards reverie and melan-
choly, it did not take Kirsanoff long to see that the patient's weakness was due to
some moral cause. Before the consultation of physicians the family doctor had
explained to him all the relations of the patient: there were no family sorrows;
the father and daughter were on very good terms. And yet the father did not
know the cause of the sickness, for the family doctor did not know it; what did
that mean? It was evident that the young girl had exercised her independence in
concealing her illness so long even from her father, and in so acting through the
whole of it that he could not divine its cause ; the calmness of her replies at the
medical consultation confirmed this opinion. She endured her lot with firmness
and without any trace of exasperation. Kirsanoff saw that a person of such a char-
acter deserved attention and aid. His intervention seemed indispensable: to be
sure, light some day might be thrown upon the matter in one way or another with-
out him, but would it not then be too late? Consumption was about to set in, and

New Characters and the Conclusion. 287

soon all the care imaginable ■would be powei'less. For two hours he had been striv-
ing to gain the patient's confidence; at last he had succeeded; now he had got
down to the heart of the matter, and had obtained pei'mission to speak to her
father.

The old man was very much astonished when he learned from Kirsanoff that it
was love for Solovtzofi that was at the bottom of his daughter's sickness. How
could that be ? Katia had formerly accepted so coolly his advice to avoid Solovt-
zoff's society, andliad been so indifferent when his visits ceased! ' How could she
have begun to die of love on his account? Does any one ever' die of love? Such
exaltation did not seem at all probable td so calculating and practical a man. But
he was made very anxious by what Kirsanoff said, and kept saying in reply : " It
is a child's fancy and will pass away." Kirsanoff explained again and again, and
at last made him understand that it was precisely because she was a cliild that
Katia would not forget, but would die. Polosoff was convinced, but, instead of
yielding, he struck the table with his fist and said with inflexible resolution : " AVell,
let her die! let her die! better that than be unhappy. For lior as well as for me it
will be less painful ! " Tlio same words that he had said 1o his daughter six months
before. Katerina Vassilievna was right, therefore, in believing that it was useless
to speak to lier father.

"But v.hy are you so tenacious on lliis point? I am willing to admit tliat the
lover is bad, ])ut is lie as bad as death?"

"Yes! He has no heart. She is sweet and delicate; he is a base libertine."

And Polosoff painted Solovtzoff so black that Kirsanoff could say nothing in re-
ply. In fact, how could he help agreeing with Polosoff? Solovtzoff was no other
than the Joan whom wo forniorly saw at sui>p(M- with Storochnikoff, Sorgo, and
.Julie. Iloncc it was evident that an honest young girl hail bottor dio than marry
such a man. lie would stifle and prey upon an honest woman. She hud much
better dio.

Kirsanoff thought for a f(!W minutes in silence, and then said:

"No, j-our argumonts are not valid. There is no danger for the very reason
that the individual is so bad. Slu; will find it out, if you leave her to examine liim
coolly."

And Kirsanoff persisted in explaining his plan to Polosoff in more detail. Had
he not iiimself said to his daughter that, if she should find out that tho object of
her love was unworthy, slic would renounce liim herself? Now he might be quite
sure of such renunciation, the man loved being very unworthy.

"It will not do for me to tell you that marriage is not a thing of extreme impor-
tance if we view it without projudiro, though really, when a wife is indiappy, there
is no reason why she should not separate from lier husband. But you think that
out of the question, and your daughter has been brought up with the same ideas;
to you as well as to her marriage is an irrevocable contract, and, before she could

288 What's To Be Done?

get any other ideas into her head, life with such a man would kill her in much more
painful fashion than consumption. Therefore we must consider the question from
another standpoint. AVhy not rely on your daughter's good sense? She is not in-
sane ; far from it. Always rely on the good sense of any one whom you leave free.
The fault in this matter is yours. You have put chains on your daughter's will;
iincliain her, and you will see her come to your view, if you are right. Passion is
blind when it ijieets obstacles; remove the obstacles, and your daughter will be-
come prudent.' Give her the liberty to love or not to love, and she will see whether
this man is worthy of love. JJ^et him be her sweetheart, and in a short time she
will dismiss him."

Such a wav of viewing things was far too novel for Polosoff. He answered with
some asperity that he did not believe in such twaddle, that he knew life too well,
and that he saw too many instances of human folly to have any faith in humanity's
good sense. Especially ridiculous would it be to trust to the good sense of a little
gii'l of seventeen. In vain did Kirsanoff reply that follies ai'e committed only in
two cases, — either in a moment of impulse, or else when the individual is deprived
of liberty and irritated by resistance. These ideas wei-e Hebrew to Polosoff. " She
is insane ; it would be senseless to trust such a child with her own fate ; rather let
her die." He could not be swerved from his decision. But however firm an obsti-
nate man may be in his ideas, if another man of more developed mind, knowing
and understanding the circumstances better, labors constantly to free him of his
error, the error will be overcome. Still, how long will the logical struggle last be-
tween the old father and the young doctor? Certainly today's conversation will
not fail to have its effect on Polosoff, although it has not yet produced any; the
old man will inevitably reflect upon Kirsanoff's words ; and by renewing such con-
versations he may be recalled to his senses, although, proud of his experience, he
deems himself infallible. In any case his conversion would be a long process, and
delay was dangerous; a long delay would surely be fatal, and such delay was inevi-
table in view of all the circumstances. Therefore radical means must be resorted
to. There was danger in so doing, it is true, but there was only danger, while any
other course meant certain loss. The danger, though real, was not very grave:
there was but one chance of loss against an infinity of chances of salvation. Kir-
sanoff saw in his patient a young girl of calm and silent firmness, and was sure of
her. But had he a right to submit her to this danger? Yes, certainly.

"Very well," said Kirsanoff, "you will not cure her by the means within
your power ; I am going to treat her with my own. Tomorrow I will call another
consultation."

Returning to his patient, he told her that her father was obstinate, more obsti-
nate than he expected, and that it was necessary consequently to proceed energeti-
cally in opposition to him.

" No, nothing can be done," said the patient in a very sad tone.

New Charactei's and the Conclusion. 289

" Are you sm-e ? "

"Yes."

"Are you ready to die?"

"Yes."

"And if I decide to submit you to the risk of death? I have already spoken of
this to you, but only to gain your confidence and sliow you that I woultl consent
to anything in order to be useful to you: now I speak positively. Suppose I were
to give you poison?"

" I have long known that my death is inevitable ; I have but a few days more to
live."

"And suppose it were tomorrow morning?"

" So much the better."

She spoke quite calmly.

When there is but one resource left, — to fall back on the resolve to die, — suc-
cess is almost sure. When any one says to us: "Yield, or I di(>," we almost always
yield ; but such a resort cannot be played with without loss of dignity ; if there is
no yielding, then death must be faced.

He explained liis plan to her, although it really needed no further elucidation.

VI.

Certainly KirsanofT would never have made it a rule in such cases to resort to
such a risk. It would iiavo been nnich simpler to carry the young girl away and
let her mairy any one she might choose; but in this case tlio cpiestion w;us made
very complex by the young girl's ideas and the ciiaractcr of the man wiiom she
lovcrl. With her ideas of tin; indissolubility of marriage she would continue- to
live with this base man, ev(!n though Ikm" life with him should i)rovo a hdl. To
unite her to him was worse than to kill iier. Consefiucntly then; was but oni! way
left, — to cause her death or give licr the opportunity of coming back to her right
mind.

The next day the medical council reasseinM<'i|. ll cousistrd (if half atli>/.rii v<;rv
grave and celebrated personages; els(! iiow could it liave had any elTect on I'oiosorf?
It wa8 necessary that ho should regard xln decree as final. Kirsanolf spoke; tliey
listened gravely to what he said, and endorsed his opinion no Ifss gravely; it could
not be otherwiso, for, as you remember, there w;us in the worlil a certain ("l.nide
Bernard, who lived in I'aris and iiad a higli opinion of Kirsanolf. Ik-sides, Kir-
sanolT said things that — the devil take these urchins! — they did not understand
at all; how, then, could they refuse tiieir approval? Kirsanolf said that he. liad
watched the patient very carefully, and that he entirely agreed with Carl Fa-do-
ryteh that the disease was incurable; now, the agony l>eing very painful, and each
additional hour of the patient's life being but another hour of sullering, he be-

200 What's To Be Done?

lieved it to be the duty of the council to decree, for the sake of humanity, that the
patient's sufferings should be at once terminated by a dose of morphine, from the
effects of which slie would never awaken.

The council looked at the patient, sounded her chest once more to decide whether
it ought to accept or reject this proposition, and, after a long examination, much
blinking of the eyes, and stifled murmurs against Kirsanoff's unintelligible science,
it came back to the room adjoining the sick chamber and pronounced this decree:
The patient's sufferings must be terminated by a fatal dose of morphine. After
this proclamation, Kirsanoff rang for the servant and asked her to call Polosoff
into the council-chamber. Polosoff entered. The gravest of the sages, in a sad
and solemn form and a majestic and sorrowful voice, announced to him the decree
of the council.

Polosoff was thunderstruck. Between expecting an eventual death and hearing
the words: "In half an hour your daughter w^ill be no more," there is a difference.
Kirsanoff looked at Polosoff with sustained attention; he was sure of the effect;
nevertheless it was a matter calculated to excite the nerves; for two minutes the
stupefied old man kept silent.

"It must not be! She is dying of my obstinacy! I consent to anything! Will
she get well?"

"Certainly," said Kirsanoff.

The celebrities would have been seriously offended if they had had time to dart
glances at each other signifying that all understood that this urchin had played
with them as if they were puppets; but Kirsanoff did not leave them time enough
for the development of these observations. He told the servant to take away the
drooping Polosoff, and then congratulated them on the perspicacity with which
they had divined his intention, understanding that the disease was due to moral
suffering, and that it was necessary to frighten the opinionated old man, who else
would really have caused his daughter's death. The celebrities separated each con-
tent at hearing his perspicacity and erudition thus attested before all the others.

After having given them this certificate, Kirsanoff went to tell the patient that
the policy had succeeded. At liis first words she seized his hand and tried to kiss
it; he withdrew it with great difficulty.

"But I shall not let your father visit you immediately to make the same an-
nouncement to you: I have first to give him a lesson concerning the way in which
he must conduct himself."

Ho told her what advice he was going to give her father, saying that he would
not leave him until he should be completely prepared.

Disturbed by all that had happened, the old man was very much cast down ; he
no longer viewed Kirsanoff with the same eyes, but as Maria Alexevna had for-
merly viewed Lopoukhoff when, in a dream, she saw him in possession of the lu-
crative monopoly of the liquor business. But yesterday Polosoff naturally thought

New Characters and the Conclusion. 291

in this vein: "I am older and more experienced than you, and, besides, no one in
the world can surpass me in brains; as for you, a beardless boy and a sans-culotte,
I have the less reason to listen to you from the fact that I have amassed by my
own wits two millions [there were really but two millions, and not four] ; first
amass as much yourself, and (hen we will talk." Xow his thought took this turn:
"What a bear! AVhat a will he has showm in this affair! lie understands how
to make men bend." And the more he talked with Ivirsanoff, the more and more
vividly was painted upon his imagination this additional picture, an old and for-
gotten memory of hussar life: the horseman Zakhartchenko seated on the "Gro-
moboy"* (at that time Joukovsky's ballads were still fashionable among young
ladies, and, through them, among civil and military cavaliers), the Gromoboy gal-
loping fast under Zakhartchenko, with torn and bleeding lips.

PolosofE was seized with fright on hearing, in answer to his first question:
"Would you really have given her a fatal dose?" this reply, given quite coldly by
Kirsanoff : " Why, certainly."

" What a brigand ! " said PolosofE to himself. " He talks like a cook wrhiging a
hen's neck."

" And you would liave had the courage?" continued he, aloud.

"Of course; do you take me for a wet rag?"

"You are a horrible man," said and repeated Polosoff.

"That only means that you have never seen horrible men," answered Kirsanoff,
with an indulgent smile, at tlie same time sayuig to himself: "You ought to see
Pakliinotoff."

"But iiow did you persuade all these physicians?"

"Is it, then, so dillicult to persuade such people?" answered Kirsanoff, witli a
slight grimace.

Then Polosoff rccallfd Zakliartclicnko saying lo Lii'ulcnant Volynoff: "Must I
break in this long-earod jade, your iiiglincss? I am asliann'il to sit upon Iicr."

Afti.T having put a stop to Polosoff's interminable questions, Kirsanoff began liis
instructions.

"I)o not forget tliat buiiian beings reflect coolly only when not thwarted, that
they get heated only wlutn irritated, and that they set no value on their lanlasies
if no attempt is made to deprive them of them nnd they arc left free to inquire
whether they are good or bad. If Solovtzoff is as bad as you say, — and I I'ully
believe you, — your daughter will see it for herself, but only when you slop thwart-
ing her; a single word from you against iiim would set the matter back two weeks,
several words forever; you nmst iiold yourself quite aloof."

The instructions were spiced with arguments of this sort : " It is not easy to
make yourself do what you do not wish to do. Still, I have succeeded in such at-

* The name of a ballad by Joakovsky, a romantic poet of the l>egiuning of this century.

292 JMiat's To Be Done?

tempts, and so I know how to treat these matters; believe me, what I say must be
done. I know what I say; you have only to listen."

"With people like I'olosoff one can act effectively only with a high hand. Polo-
soff was subdued, and promised to do as he was told. But while convinced that
Kirsanoff was right and must be obeyed, he could not understand him at all.

"You are on my side and at the same time on my daughter's side ; you order me
to submit to my daughter and you wish her to change her mind. How are these
two things to be reconciled?"

"It is simple enough; I only wish you not to prevent her from becoming
reasonable."

Tolosoif wrote a note to Solovtzoff, begging him to be good enough to call upon
him concerning an important matter; that evening Solovtzoff appeared, came to
an amicable but very dignified understanding with the old man, and was accepted
as the daughter's intended, on the condition that the marriage should not take
place inside of three months.

VII.

Kirsanoff could not abandon this affair: it was necessary to come to Katcrina
Yassilievna's aid to get her out of her blindness as quickly as possible, and more
necessary still to watch her father and see that he adhered to the policy of non-
interveirtion. Nevertheless, for the first few days after the crisis, he abstained
from visiting tlie Polosoffs: it was certain that Katcrina Vassilievna's state of
exaltation still continued; if he should find (as lie expected) her sweetheart un-
worthy, the very fact of betraying his dislike of him — to say nothing of directly
mentioning it — would be injurious and heighten the exaltation. Ten days later
Kirsanoff came, and came in the morning expressly that he might not seem to be
seeking an opportunity of meeting the sweetheart, for he wished Katerina Vassili-
evna to consent with a good grace. Katerina Vassilievna was already well ad-
vanced on the road to recovei-y; she was still very pale and thin, but felt quite
well, although a great deal of medicine had been given her by her illustrious phy-
sician, into whose hands Kirsanoff had resigned her, saying to the young girl:
"I>et him attend you; all his drugs cannot harm you now." Katdrina Vassili-
evna welcomed Kirsanoff enthusiastically, but she looked at him in amazement
when he told her why he had come.

"You have saved my life, and yet need my permission to visit us?"

"But my visit in his presence might seem to you an attempt at interference in
your relations without your consent. You know my rule, — to do nothing without
the consent of the person in behalf of whom I wish to act."

Coming in the evening two or three days afterwards, Kirsanoff found the sweet-
heart as Polosoff had painted him, and Polosoff himself — behaving satisfactorily:

N&vo Characters and the Conclusion. 293

the well-trained old man was placing no obstacles in his daughter's path. Kirsa-
noff spent the evening there, not showing in any way whatever his opinion of the
sweetheart, and in taking leave of Katerina Vassilievna he made no allusion to
him, one way or another.

This was just enough to excite her curiosity and doubt. The next day she said
to herself repeatedly: "Kirsanoff did not say a word to me about him. If he had
left a good impression on him, Kirsanoff would have told me so. Can it be that
he does not please him? In what respect can he be displeasing' to Kirsanoff V"
When the sweetheart returned the following day, she examined his manners
closely, and weighed his words. She asked herself why she did this : it was to
prove to herself that Kirsanoff should not or could not have found any out about
liim. This was really her motive. But the necessity of proving to one's self that
a person whom one loves has no outs puts one in the way to liud some very soon.

A few days later Kirsanoff came again, and still said nothing of tlie sweetheart.
This time she could not restrain herself, and towards the end of the evening she
said to Kirsanoff":

"Your opinion? Why do you keep silence?"

"I do not know whether it would be agreeable to you to hear my opinion; I do
not know whether you would tliink it impartial."

"He displeases you?"

Kirsanoff made no answer.

"He displeases you?"

" I liave not said so."

" It is easy to see that lie does. Wliy, then, does he displease you?"

" I will wait for others to see tli<^ why."

The next night KaltTJua Vassilievna (examined Solovlzoff more attcnlivcly yet.

"Everything about- him is all right; Kirsanoff is unjust; Imt why can I not see
what it is in him that displeases Kirsanoff?"

Her jtride was excited in a direetion most, dangerous to the sweetheart.

^\'hen Kiri^anolf retiniied a few d;iys afti'rwanls, he saw that he was already in
a jiosition to act more positively. Hitherto lie had avoided conversations with
Solovt/olT in onler not to alarm Katt-rina Viissilievna by I'rcmaturn intervention.
Now h<? made, one of the group surnniiiding (hr; yoimg girl and her sweetln-art,
and began to direct the conversation upon subjects calculated to unveil Solovtzolf's
character by dragging him into the diaUigue. The conversation turned u]iou
wealth, ami it seemeil to Katerina Vassilievna that Solovt/.oiT was far loo imnh
occupied with thoughts about, wealth; the conversation turni'd upon women, and
it seemed to her that Snlovtzfiff si)fike of (hem murh too lightly; the conversation
turned upon family life, and she, trie<l in vain to drive away the impression that
life with such a husband would be perhaps not very inspiring, but rather painful,
to a woman.

294 What's To Be Done?

The crisis had arrived. For a long time Katerina Vassilievna could not go to
sleep ; she wept in vexation with herself at having injured Solovtzott' by such
thoughts regarding him. "No, he is not a heartless man; he does not despise
women ; he loves me, and not my money." If tliese replies had been in answer to
another's words, she would have clung to them obstinately. But she was replying
to herself ; now, against a truth that you have discovered yourself it is impossible
to struggle long ; it is your own ; there is no ground for suspicion of trickery.
The next evening Katerina Vassilievna herself put Solovtzoif to tlie test, as Kirsa-
uoii' had done the evening before. Slie said to lierself that she wished only to con-
vince herself that she had injured him needlessly, ]mt at the same time she felt
that she had less confidence in him than before. And again she could not go to
sleep, and this time it was with him that she was vexed : why had he spoken in
such a way that, instead of quieting her doubts, he liad strengthened them ? She
was vexed with herself too, and in this vexation could be seen clearly enough this
motive : " How could I have been so blind ?"

It is easy to understand that two days later she was completely absorbed by
this thought : "It will soon be too late to rei)air my error, if I am mistaken."

When Kirsanoff returned for the first time after his conversation with Solovt-
zoff, he saw that he might speak to Katerina.

"Formerly you desired to know my opinion about him," said he: "it is not as
important as yours. What do you think of him yourself?"

Xow it was she who kept silent.

"I do not dare to press you for an answer," said he. He spoke of other things,
and soon went away.

But half an hour afterwards she called on him herself.

"Give me your advice; you see that 1 am liesitatiiig."

"Why, then, do you need the advice of another, when you know yourself what
should be done in case of hesitation?"

"Wait till the hesitation is over?"

" You have said it."

" I could postpone the marriage."

"Why not do so, then, if you think it would be better?"

"But how would he take it?"

"When you see in what way he will take it, you can reflect further as to the
better course to follow."

"But it would be jjainful to me to tell him."

" If that be the case, ask your father to do it for you ; he will tell him."

"I do not wish to hide behind another. I will tell him myself."

"If you feel in a condition to tell him yourself, that is certainly much the bet-
ter way."

It is evident that with other persons — with Vera Pavlovna, for instance — it

Hew Characters and the Conclusion. 295

would not have taken so long to bring the affair to a conclusion. But each tem-
perament has its own particular requii-ements : if an ardent natm'e is irritated by
delay, a gentle natui-e on the contrary rebels against abruptness.

The success of Katerina Vassilievua's explauatiou with her sweetheart sur-
passed the hopes of Kirsanoff, who believed that Solovtzoff would have wit enough
to drag the matter along by his submission and soft beseechings. No ; with all
his reserve and tact Solovtzoff could not restrain himself at seeing an enormous
fortune escape him, and lie himself permitted the escape of the few cliauces that
were left him. He launched out in bitter complaints against Polosoff, whom he
called an intriguer, telling Katerma Vassilievna that she allowed her father to
have too nmch power over her, that she feared him, antht^iat in this matter she
was acting in accordance with his orders. Kow, Polosoif as yet knew nothing
about this resolution of his daughter; she felt that she was entirely free. The
reproaches heaped upon her father wounded her by their injustice, and outraged
her in showing her that Solovtzoff considered her a being destitute of will and
character. '"'

"You seem to think me a plaything in the hands of others."

"Yes," he said, thoroughly irritated.

"I was ready to die without thinking of my father, and you do not understand
it. From this moment all is over between us," said sh(,', quickly leaving the room.

Yiir.

For a long time Katorina Yassilievna was sad, but her sadness, whidi grew out
of these events, soon turned to something else.

There are ciiaracters who feel but little interest in a sjx'cial fact in itself and
are only pushed by it in the direction of general ideas, which then act upon liiem
with Ynurh greater intensity. If sudi people possess mimls of rcinarkaliK; vigor,
they become reformers of general ideas, and in ancient times they became great
philoso[)hi;rH : Kant, Ficiite, Ilegi;], did not elaborate any single s])ecial (piestion ;
such tasks they found wearisome. This refer.s only to men, be- it understood;
women, according to generally received opinion, never have strong mimis; nature,
you see, has denied them that, just as it lias denied blacksinitlis soft complexions,
tailors fine figures, and shoemakers a iilcasant odor. Wliat do you expect? Na-
ture is queer, and tliat is why there are so few great min<ls among women.

People of uncommonly small minds, witii svich a tendency of diaracter, are gen-
erally ]ihlegmatic and insuscej>tible ; those having tninds of ordinary calibre are
prone to melancholy and reverie. Wliicli does not mean tliat tliey let their ima-
ginations run riot: many of them are deficient in imagination and very jiositive,
only they love to plunge into quiet reverie.

Katerina Yassilievna's love of SolovtzolT had l)een inspired by his letters; she

29G Wliat's To Be Done?

was dying of a love created by her imagination. It is evident from this that she
had very romantic tendencies, although the noisy life of the commonplace society
which filled the Polosott's' house did not dispose her to exalted idealism. It was
one of her traits, therefore. The stir and noise had long been a burden on her ;
she loved to read and dream. Now not only the stir, but the wealth itself, was a
burden on her. It does not necessarily follow that she was an extraordinary per-
son. This feeling is common to all rich women of gentle and modest natures.
Only in her it had developed sooner than usual, the young girl having received a
harsh lesson at an early age.

"In whom can I believe? In what can I believe?" she asked herself, after her
rupture with Solovtzoff ; and she was forced to conclude that she could believe in
nol)ody and in nothing. Her father's fortune attracted avarice, strateg;y', and de-
ception from all quarters of the city. She was surrounded by greedy, lying, flat-
tering people ; every word spoken to her was dictated by her father's millions.

Her inner thoughts became more and more serious. General questions — con-
cerning wealth, which wearied her so much, and poverty, which tormented so
many others — began to interest her. Her father allowed her a large amount of
pin-monej-; she — in that respect like all charitable women — helped the poor. At
the same time she read and reflected ; she began to see that help of the kind which
she lavished was much less efficacious than might have been expected. She was
unworthily deceived by the base or pretended poor ; and, besides, even those who
were worthy of aid and knew how to profit by the money given them could not
get out of their poverty with the alms which they received. That made her re-
flect. Why so mucli wealth in the hands of some to spoil them, why so much
poverty for others ? And why did she see so many poor people who were as un-
reasonable and wicked as the rich ?

She was dreamy, but her dreams were mild, like her character, and had as little
brilliancy as herself. Iler favorite poet was Georges Sand; but she represented
herself neither as a Lelia, or an Indiana, or a Cavalcanti, or even a Consuelo; in
her dreams she was a Jeanne, antl oftener still a Genevieve, (ienevieve was her
favorite heroine. She saw her walking in the fields and gathering flowers to serve
as models for her work; she saw her meeting Andre, — what sweet rendezvous!
Then they find out that they love each other ; those were dreams, she know. But
she loved also to dream of the enviable lot of Miss Nightingale, that sweet and
modest young girl, of whom no one knows anything, of whom there is nothing to
know, except that she is the beloved of all England. Was she young? Poor or
rich? Was she happy in her private life or not? No one speaks of that, no one
thinks of it, but all bless the consoling angel of the English hospitals of the Cri-
mea and Scutari. Returning to her country after the war was over, she had con-
tinued to care for the sick. Tliis was the dream that Katcrina Vassilievna would
have liked to realize for herself. Iler fancy did not carry her beyond these reve-

I^ew Characters and the Conclusion. 297

ries about Genevieve and Miss Nightingale. Can it be said that she is given to
fantasy ? Can she be called a dreamer ?

Had Genevieve been surrounded by the noisy and commonplace society of the
lowest rank of sharpers aiid coxcombs, had Miss Nightingale been plunged into a
life of idle luxury, might they not have been sad and sorrowful? Therefore Kate-
rina Vassilievna was perhaps more rejoiced than afflicted when her father was ru-
ined. It affected her to see him grow old and weak, he who was once so strong ;
it weigliod upon her also to have less means with which to do good. The sudden
disdain of the crowd which had formerly fawned upon her and lier father offended
her somewhat; but this too had its consoling side, — the being abandoned by the
trivial, wearisome, and vile crowd, the being no more disgusted by its baseness
and treachery, the being no more embarrassed by it. Yes, now she was tranquil.
She recovered hope.

"Now, if any one loves me, it will be for myself, and not for my father's millions."

IX.

Polosoff desired to arrange the sale of the stearine factory of wliitli he was a
stockholder ami director. After six months of assiduous search, he Jinally found
a purchaser. The purdiaser's cards read: Charles Jicnumont, hxi*: then' did not
give tills name the French pronunciation, as persons unaccpiainted witli the indi-
vidual might have done, but the Englisli ; and it was very natural that they should
so pronounce it, for the purchaser was the agent of tlie London liouse of Hodgson,
Lotcr & Co. Tlie factory could not prosper; everything ahout it was in liiid con-
dition,— its finances and its administration; but in more exj)erieneed hands it
probably would yield large returns; an investment of five or six hundred thousand
roubles might give an anini.il profit of a liiiiKlrcd IIkmi^iiihI. The agent was con-
scientious: In; carefully insin-ctted the factory, and exaiuincd its books with the
utmost minuteness before advising his liouso to purchase. 'I'hen began the dis-
cussions as to tl»e condition of the business and how much it was worth ; these
(Iragged along almost intcjrminably, iinui tin- v< ry naliMe of our stock companies,
with wliich tlie [latient (Jreeks llieniselves, who for ten years did not weary of be-
sieging the city of I'roy, would havi; lost patience;. During all this lime I'olosolT,
in accordance with an ol<l custom, was very attentive to the agent and always in-
vited him to dinner. The agent kej)t liimself at a resjjcctful distance from tlu' old
man, and for a long time declined his invitations, but one day, feeling tired and
liungry after an unusually long iliscussion with the ilirectors, he consented to go
to dinner with Polosoff, who lived on the same fioor.

X.

Charles IVanmont, like every Charles, .John, James, or William, was not fond of
personal intimacies and effusions; but, when asked, lie told his story in a few

298 What's To Be Done?

words, but very clearly. His family, he said, was of Canadian origin ; in fact, in
Canada a good half of the population consists of descendants of French colonists ;
to these descendants belonged his family ; hence his French name. lu his features
he certainly resembled a Frenchman more than an Englishman or a Yankee. But,
he continued, his grandfather left the suburbs of Quebec and went to New York
to live; such things happen. Therefore his father went to New York when still
a child and grew up there. ^Vlien he became an adult (exactly at that time), a
rich and progressive proprietor, living in the southern part of the Crimea, con-
ceived the idea of replacing his vineyards with cotton plantations. So he de-
spatched an agent to find an overseer for him in North America. The agent found
James Beaumont, of Canadian origin and a resident of New York, — that is, an
individual who had no more seen a cotton plantation than you or I, reader, liave
seen !Mount Ararat from our St. Petersburg or Kursk ; progressive people are
always having such experiences. It is true that the experiment was in no wise
spoiled by the American overseer's complete ignorance of this branch of produc-
tion, since it would have been quite as wise to try to grow grapes at St. Petersburg
as cotton at the Crin)ea. Nevertheless this impossibility resulted in the overseer's
discharge, and by chance he became a distiller of brandy in the government of
Tambov, where he passed almost all the rest of his life ; there his son Charles was
born, and there, shortly afterwards, he buried his wife. When nearly sixty-five
years old, having laid by a little money for his old age, he began to tliink of re-
turning to America, and finally did return. Charles was then about twenty years
old. After his father's death Charles desired to return to Russia, where he was
born and where, in the fields of the government of Tambov, he had spent his
childhood and youth ; he felt himself a Russian. At New York he was a book-
keeper in a counnercial house; he soon left this situation lor one in the London
house of Hodgson, Loter & Co. : ascertaining that this house did business with St.
Petersburg, he took the first opportunity to express a desire of obtaining a place
in Russia, explaining that he knew Russia as if it were his own country. To have
such an employee in Russia would evidently be of great advantage to the house;
so it sent liira from the London establishment on trial, and here he is in St. Peters-
burg, having been here six months, on a salary of five hundred pounds. It was
not at all astonishing, then, that Beaumont spoke Russian like a Russian and pro-
nounced English with a certain foreign accent.

XL

Beaumont found himself a third at dinner with the old gentleman and his
daughter, a very pretty blonde with a somewhat melancholy cast of countenance.

"Could I ever have thought," said Polosoff at dinner, "that my stock in this
factory would some day be a matter of importance to me? It is very painful at

New Characters and the Conclusion. 299

my age to fall from so high a point. Fortunately Katia has endured with much
indifference the loss of her fortune sacrificed by me. Even during my life this
fortune belonged more to her than to me. Her mother had capital ; as for me, I
brought but little ; it is true that I earned a great deal and that my labor did
more than all the rest ! What shrewdness I have had to show 1 "

The old man talked a long time in this boasting tone; it was by sweat and
blood, and above all by brains, that he had gained his fortune ; and in conclusion
he repeated his preface that it was painful to fall from so high a point, and that,
if Katia had been consumed with sorrow because of it, he probably would have
gone mad, but that Katia, far from complaining, still encouraged and sustained
him.

In accordance with the American habit of seeing nothing extraordinary in
rapid fortune or sudden ruin, and in accordance also with his individual charac-
ter, Beaumont was not inclined either to be delighted at the greatness of mind
which had succeeded in acquiring three or four millions, or to be afflicted at a ruin
which still permitted the employment of a good cook. But, as it was necessary to
say a word of sympathy in answer to this long discourse, he remarked :

"Yes, it is a great relief when one's family bears up so well under reverses."

"But you seem to doubt it, Karl lakovlitch. You think that, because Katia is
melancholy, she mourns the loss of wealth? No, Karl lakovlitch, you wrong her.
We have experienced another misfortune: we have lost confidence in everybody,"
said PolosoiT, in the halt-serious, hall-jocose tone used by experienced old men in
speaking of the good but na'ice thoughts of children.

Katdrina Vassilievna blushed. It was distasteful to lier to have hm- father turn
the conversation upon the sul)j(;ct of her feelings. Besides paternal love there was
aufither circumstance that went far to excuse her father's fault. When one has
nothing to say and is in a room where there is a cat or a dog, ho speaks of it, and,
if there is no cat or dog, lie speaks of children; not until tiiese two subjects are
exhaustcfl drx's he talk about the rain and the fnie wcatlicr.

"No, papa, you are wrong in attiiimting iny melancholy to so lolly a motive. It
is not my nature to be gay, and, besides, I am Kulfering from t'linui."

"One may be gay or not, according to circumstances," said Beaumont; "but to
suffer from fntiul i.-(, in my opinion, un]iardonable. ICimul is the fasliion among
our brolhers, the English, but we Americans know nolliing about it. A\'e have no

time for it: we are too busy. I consider It seems to me," he resumed,

correcting his Americanism, "tliat tlie same should bo true of the Uussian people
also: in my opinion you have too miieh to ilo. But I notice in the IJussians just
the opposite characteristic: they are strongly disposed to spleen. Even the Eng-
lish are not to be compared with tliem in this respect. English society, looked
upon by all Europe, including Russia, as the most tiresome in the world, is more
talkative, lively, and gay tlian Ilussiau society, Just as it yields the palm to French

300 Jnat's To Be Done?

society in this particular. Your travellers talk of English spleen ; I do not know
where their eyes are when they are in their own country."

"And the Russians have reason to feel ejinui," said Katerina Vassilievna ; "what
can they busy themselves about? They have nothing to do. They must sit with
folded arms. >.'ame me an occupation, and my e7inui. probably will vanish."

"You wish to find an occupation ? Oh I that is not so dDhcult ; you see around
you such ignorance, — pardon me for speaking in this way of your country, of your
native country," he hastened to add in correction of his Anglicism; "but I was
born hei-e myself and gTCw up liere, and I consider it as my own, and so I do not
stand on ceremony, — you see here a Turkish ignorance, a Japanese indifference :
1 hate your native country, since I love it as my own country, may I say, in imi-
tation of j-our poet. Why, there are many things to be done."

"Yes, but what can one man do, to say nothing of one woman?"

"Why, you are doing already, Katia," said Polosoif ; " I will unveil her secret for
you, Karl lakovlitch. To drive away ennui she teaches little girls. Every day she
receives her scholars, and she devotes three hours to them and sometimes even
more."

Beaumont looked at the young girl with esteem : " That is American. By
America I mean only the free States of the North ; the Southern States are worse
than all possible Mexicos, are almost as abominable as Brazil [Beaumont was a
furious al)o]itionist] ; it is like us to teach children ; but then, why do you suffer
from ennui?"

" Do you consider that a serious occupation, M. Beaumont ? It is but a distrac-
tion ; at least, so it seems to me ; perhaps I am mistaken, and you will call me
materialistic?"

"Do you expect such a reproach from a man belonging to a nation which every-
body reproaches with having no other thought, no other ideal, than dollars?"

" You jest, but I am seriously afraid ; I fear to state my opinions on this subject
before you ; my views might seem to you like those preached by the obscurantists
concerning the uselessness of instruction."

"Bravo!" said Beaumont to himself: "is it possible that she can have arrived
at this idea? This is getting interesting."

Then he continued aloud: "I am an obscurantist myself; I am for the unlet-
tered Vjlacks against their civilized proprietors in the Southern States. But par-
don me; my American hatred has diverted me. It would be very agreeable to me
to hear your opinion."

" It is veiy prosaic, M. Beaumont, but I have been led to it by life. It seems to
me that the matter with which I occupy myself is l>ut one side of the whole, and,
moreover, not the side upon which the attention of those who wisVi to serve the
people should be first fixed. This is what I think : give people bread, and they
will learn to read themselves. It is necessary to begin with the bread ; otherwise
it will be time wasted."

New CJiaraders and the Conclusion. 301

"Then -why don't you commence at the necessary point?" said Beaumont, akeady
a little animated. " It is possible ; I know examples, with us in America," he added.

"I have already told you why, "What can I undertake alone? I do not know
how to go to work ; and, even if I knew, could I do it? A young girl is so ham-
pered in every direction. I am free in my own room. But what can I do there?
Put a book on the table and teach people to read it. Where can I go? What can
I do alone?"

" Are you trying to make me out a despot, Katia?" said the father: "but it is
not my fault, you having given me so severe a lesson."

"I blush at the thought, papa; I was then a child. No, you are good, you do
not thwart me. It is society that thwarts me. Is it true, M. Beaumont, that in
America a young girl is much less hampered?"

" Yes, we may be proud of it, although we are far from where we ought to be ;
but what a comparison with Europeans ! All that you hear about the liberty of
woman in our counti-y is really the truth."

" Papa, let us go to America, after M. Beaumont has bought the factory," said
Katerina Vassilievna, jokingly: "tliere I will do something. Ahl how happy I
should be!"

"One may find an occupation at St. Petersburg also," said Beaumont.

"How?"

Beaumont hesitated two or three seconds. "But why, then, did I come here?
And who could better inform meV" said he to himself.

"Have you not heard of it? There is an attempt in progress to apply the prin-
ciples lately deduced by economic science: are you familiar with them?"

"Yes, I have read a little aboi-.t thoin; that must Im very interesting and very
useful. And could I take part in it? Where shall 1 find it?"

"The shop was founded by Madame KirsanolT."

"Is she the doctor's wife?"

"You know him? And has he said nolliing to you about tins matter?"

" A long time ago. Then he was not married. I was sick ; he came several times,
and saved me. Ah! what a man! Docs she reseml)le him?"

But how make Madame Kirsanov's acquaintance? Could Beaiunont give Kat<S-
rina Vassilievna a letter of introduction to Madame Kirsanoff ? Wliat was the use?
Tho Kirsanoffs had never even hoard his name; but no introduction was necessary:
Madame Kirsanoff surely would l)e very glad to find so much sympatliy. As for
lier address, it would have to be ascertained at the hospital or the Academy of
Medicine.

XII.

Such was the way in which Mademoiselle Polosoff came to know Vera Pavlovna;
she called upon the latter the following morning; and Beaumont was so interested
in the matter that he came in the evening to inquire about her visit.

302 mat's To Be Done?

Katerina Vassilievna was very animated. There was no trace of her sorrow left;
ecstasy had replaced melancholy. She described to Beaumont, with enthusiasm,
what she had seen and heard; she had already told the story to her fathei', but it
was impossible for her to weary of it; her heart was so full : she had found an at-
tractive occupation. Beaumont listened attentively; but does one listen like that?
And she said to him, almost angrily: "M. Beaumont, I am beginning to be disen-
chanted with you: is it possible that you can be so little impressed? One would
suppose that you felt almost no interest."

"Do not forget, Katerina Vassilievna, that I have seen all this in America; I am
interested in a few of the details; but as a whole I know it only too well. It is
only in the persons who have taken this initiative here that I can be much inter-
ested. For instance, what can you tell me of Madame Kirsanoff?"

" Ah, my God! she certainly pleased me much. She explained everything to me
with so much ardor."

"You have already said so."

"What more do you want? What else could I tell you? Could you expect me,
indeed, to be thinking of her, when I had such a sight before my eyes?"

"I understand that one entirely forgets persons when interested in things; but
nevertheless what else can you tell me of Madame Kirsanoff?"

Katerina Vassilievna called up her recollections of Vera Pavlovna, but found in
them only the- first impression that Vera Pavlovna had made upon her; she de-
scribed very vividly her external appearance, her manner of speech, all that one
sees at a glance when first meeting a stranger; but beyond this there was almost
nothing in her memory relating to Vera Pavlovna: the shop, the shop, the shop, —
and Vera Pavlovna's explanations. These explanations she understood thoroughly,
but Vera Pavlovna herself she understood but very little.

"For this once, then, you have disappointed my hopes; I should have been very
glad to learn something from yDu as to Madame Kirsanoff; nevertheless I do not
release you; in a few days I will question you again on this subject."

"But why not make her acquaintance, if she interests you so much?"

"I should like to do so; perhaps I shall some day. But first I must learn more
about her."

Beaumont was silent for a few moments.

" I am considering whether I should ask a favor of you. Yes, it is better that I
should. This is it: if my name happens to be mentioned in your conversations
with them, do not say that I have questioned you about her, or that it is my inten-
tion to sometime make her acquaintance."

"But this is getting enigmatical, M. Beaumont," said Katdrina Vassilievna, in
a serious tone. "Through me as an intermediary you wish to obtain information
about them, while you remain concealed yourself?"

"Yes, Katerina Vassilievna; how shall I explain it to you? I fear to make their
acquaintance."

New Characters and the Conclusion. 803

" All this is very strange, M. Beaumont."

" True. I will say more : I fear that it may be disagreeable to them. They have
never heard my name. But I have had something to do witli one of their relatives,
and even with them. In short, I must first be sure that it would be agreeable to
them to make my acquaintance."

" All this is strange, M. Beaumont."

"I a A an honest man, Katdrina Vassilievna; I venture to assure you that I shall
never permit myself to compromise you; I see you now only for the second time,
but already I esteem you."

"I see for myself, M. Beaumont, that you are an honest man; but"

"If you think me an honest man, you will permit me to come to see you in order
that, as soon as you shall feel entirely sure about me, I may ask you for details
aliout the Kirsanoffs. Or rather, you shall break the silence yourself, whenever it
may seem to you that you can satisfy the request which I have just made of you
and which I shall not renew. Are you willing?"

"Certainly, M. Beaumont," said Katerina Vassilievna, slightly shrugging her
shoulders. "But confess, then"

This time she did not wisli to finish.

"That I must now inspire you with some mistrust? True. But I will wait til]
that has disappeared."

XIII.

Beaumont visited the Polosoffs very often. "Why not?" thought the old man :
"he is a good match. Certainly he is not such a hnsban<l as Kalia mit;;ht once
have had. But then she was neither concerned nor ambitious. Now one could
not ask a better."

In fact, Beaumont was a good matfli. lie said that hf> llioUL;ht of living,' in
Russia for the rest of his days, as he regarded it as his native country. Here was
a positive man; at thirty years, thougli Imrn poor, he liad a good position in life.
If he had been a Russian, Polosoff would liave liked it liad he been a ii(iI)I(Mnan,
but in the case of foreigners this is not an important consideration, especially when
they arc Frenclimen and still less wlien they arc Americans. In America one may
be today in the employ of a shoemaker or a farmer, loniormw a general, the day
after president, and then again a clerk or a lawyer. They are a peoi)le apart, judg-
ing individuals only by their wealth and their capacities. "And they aro quite
right," reflected PolosofF; "I am such a man myself. I began in commerce and
married a merchant's daughter. Money is the mo«t important thing; brains also,
to be sure, for without brains one caimot get money: he has taken a good road,
lie will buy the factory and be its manager; then he will become a partner in the
house. And their houses are not like ours. He, too, will control millions."

304 Jnat's To Be Bone?

It was very probable that Polosoff "s dreams concerning his future son-in-law wore
no more to be realized than the similar dreams of Maria Alexevna. But, however
tliat may be, Beaumont was a good match for Katc'rina Vassilievna.

Was not PolosofE mistaken, nevertheless, in his prevision of a son-in-law in Beau-
mont? If the old man had had any doubts at first, these doubts would have dis-
appeared when Beaumont, two weeks after he had begun to visit them, said that
it was very probable that the purchase of the factory would be delayed a f%w days;
at anj' rate he wished to defer the drawing-up of the contract, as he was waiting
for Mr. Loter, who would soon arrive at St. Petersbm-g. '-At first, when I was not
personally acquainted with you," added Beaumont, "I wanted to conclude the mat-
ter myself. Now that we are so well acquainted, this would not be proper. And
that later there may be no misunderstandings, I have written to my employers that,
during the negotiations, I have made the acquaintance of the manager and princi-
pal stockholder, who has nearly his entire fortune invested in the factory, and have
asked, in consequence, that the house should send some one to conclude the nego-
tiations in my place; that is the reason, you see, why Mr. Loter is coming."

Prudence and wisdom, — these showed clearly an intention to marry Katia: a
simple acquaintance would not have been enough to prompt such precaution.

XIV.

The next two or three visits of Beaumont were marked at first "by a rather cold
welcome orr the part of Katerina Vassilievna. She began indeed to feel a little dis-
trust of this comparative stranger, who had expressed an enigmatical desire for
information concerning a family to whom, if he were to be believed, he was not
known, and yet feared to make their acquaintance in the absence of knowledge
that his acquaintance would be agreeable. But even during these first visits,
though Katerina Vassilievna viewed him with distrust, she nevertheless was quickly
drawn into lively conversation with him. In her past life, before making the ac-
quaintance of Kirsanoif, she had never met such men. He sympathized so much
with all that interested her, and understood her so well! Even with her dearest
friends (for that matter, properly speaking, she had but a single friend, Polina,
who had long been living at Moscow, after her marriage to a manufacturer of that
city), even with Polina she did not converse so much at her case as with him.

And he at first came, not, of course, to see her, but to inquire about the Kir-
sanofEs; nevertheless from the very first, from the moment when they began to
talk of ennui and the means of escaping it, it was plain that he esteemed her and
was in sjinpathy with her. At their .second interview he was very much drawn to
her by her enthusiasm at having found a useful occupation. Now at each new in-
terview his good feeling toward her became more evident. Straightway a friend-
ship of the simplest and most fervent sort was formed between them, so that a

I^ew Characters and the Conclusion. 305

week later Katerina Yassilievna had already told him all that she knew about the
Kirsanoffs : she was sure that this man was incapable of entertaining an evil design.

It is none the less true that, when she broached the subject of the Ku'sanoffs, he
stopped her.

" Why so soon ? You know me too little."

"No, I know you enough, M. Beaumont; I see that your unwillingness to explain
to me what seemed strange in your desire was probably due to the fact that you
had no right to do so; there are secrets."

To which he answered :

"And, you see, I am no longer so impatient to know what I desired to learn
about tliem."

XV.

Katdrina Vassilievna's animation continued without weakening, but it changed
into a perpetual playfulness full of luminous humor. It was precisely this anima-
tion which most drew Beaumont to her; that was very evident. After liaving lis-
tened two or three times to tlie stories that she told liiTu regarding the Kirsanoffs,
he said to her the fourth time: "Now I know all that I had to find out. I thank
you."

"But what do you know, then? I have only told you so far that they love each
other and are very happy."

"That is all that I liad to find out; besides, I knew it."

And tlie subject of conversation changed.

The first thought of Katerina Vassilicvjia, on hearing Beaumont's first question
about Madame Kirsanoff, had been that ho was enamored of her. But now it was
clear that such was not tlie case.

As well a.s Katerina Yassilievna now knew him, she even believed tli;it Iicaii-
mont was not capable of becoming enamored. "Love he may. But if he loves
anybody now, it is I," thouglit Katerina Yassilievna.

XV I.

But did they really love each other? Did she, for instance, love him? On one
occasion she showed some feeling for Beaumont; but how it ended I Not at all as
the beginning would have led one to exjiect.

Beaumont came to tlie rolosofTs' every day for longer or shorter calls, but every
day; it was precisely on that ffict that PolosofE based his assurance that Beaumont
intended to ask for Katerina Vassilievna's hand; there were no other indications.
One day the evening went by, and Beaumont did not come.

"You do not If now what has become of him, papa?"

306 What's To Be Done?

"I know nothing about it; probably he did not have time."

Another evening passed, and still Beaumont did not come. The next morning
Katerina Vassilievna was getting ready to go out.

"Where are you going, Katia?"

" To attend to some affairs of mine."

She went to see Beaumont. He was sitting down, in an overcoat with large
sleeves, and reading; he raised his eyes from his book when he saw the door open.

"Ah! it is you, Katerina Vassilievna? I am very glad, and I thank you very
much."

This was said in the same tone in which he would have greeted her father, ex-
cept that it was a little more affable.

"What is the matter with you, M. Beaumont? Why have you stayed away so
long? You have made me anxious about you, and, besides, you have made time
hang heavy on my hands."

"Xothing of importance, Katerina Vassilievna; I am well, as you see. Will you
not take some tea? See, I am drinking some."

"Very well, but why is it so long since we have seen you?"

"Peter, bring a cup. You see, I am well; there is nothing the matter, then.
Stop! I have been to the factory with Mr. Loter, and, in explaining it to him, I
was careless and placed my arm on some gearing, which scratched it. And neither
yesterday nor the day before could T put on my undercoat."

"Show me your arm; else I shall be anxious and believe that yon are mutilated."

"Oh! no [Peter entered with a cup for Katerina Vassilievna], I really have my
two hands. But then, if you insist [he pulled his sleeve up to his elbow]. Peter,
empty this ash-receiver and give me my cigar-case; it is on the table in the study.
You see that it is nothing; it needed nothing but some court-plaster."

"Nothing? It is swollen and very red."
• "Yesterday it was much worse, tomorrow it will be well. [After emptying the
ash-receiver and bringing the cigar-case, Peter withdrew.] I did not want to ap-
pear before you as a wounded hero."

"But why did you not write a word?"

"Oh! at first I thought that I should be able to wear my imdercoat the next
day, — that is, day before yesterday, — day before yesterday I thought that I should
be able to wear it yesterday, and yesterday today. I thought it not worth while to
trouble you."

" And you have troubled me much more. Your conduct was not good, M. Beau-
mont. When will this matter of the sale be finished?"

"One of these days, probably, but, you know, this delay is not my fault, or Mr.
Loter's, but that of the corporation itself."

"^Vhat are you reading?"

" Thackeray's new novel. To have such talent and repeat the same thing ever-
lastingly I It is because his stock of ideas is small."

iVezo Characters and the Conclusion. 307

"I have already read it; in fact," etc.
. They lamented the fall of Thackeray, and talked for half an hour about other
similar matters.

" But it is time to go to Vera Pavlovna's ; and, by the way, when will you make
their acquaintance? They are excellent people."

"Some day or other I will ask you to take nxe. there. I thank you very much for
your visit. Is that your horse?"

"Yes, that is mine."

"That is why your father never uses it. It is a fine horse."

" It seems to me so, but I know nothing about it."

"It is a very good horse. Monsieur, worth about three hundred and fifty roubles,
said the coachman. ,

"How old is it?"

"Six years, i\Ionsieur."

"Go on, Zakliar, I am ready. Au revoir, M. Beaumont; will you come today?"

" I doubt it .... no ; tomorrow, surely."

XVII.

Do young girls who are in love make sucli visits as these? In the first place, no
weH-bred young girl would ever permit herself to do anything of the kind; but, if
she should permit herself, evidently something very different would rcsull fn mi it.
If Katerina Vassilievna's act is contrary to moralily, (lie content of tliis iiiiinoral
act, so to speak, is still more contrary to all received ideas. Is it nut clear that
Katc'Tina V.-ussilievna and Beaumont were not liunian beings, l)ut fishes, or, if they
were human beings, that they at le.'ist liad lislies' IiJikkI in lln-ir veins? Ami when
she saw liim at her liomc, she treated him in a niiinnrr (|iiite in e(Miforniit y with
tliis interview.

"I am tired fif talking, M. Beaumont," said she, when he stayed too long; "stay
with papa; I am going to my room."

And she went out. Sometimes ho answered:

"Slay fifteeji minutes longer, Katerina Vassiliovna."

"Very well," slu^ then replied.

But generally he answered :

"An revoir, then, Katdriua Vassiliovna."

What sort of peojile are tliese, I should like to know; and I slmuld like to know
also if they are not simply honest people, whom no one j>revents from set'ing each
other in their own fasliion, whom no one will prevent from marrying whenever the
idea occurs to them, and who, consequently, have no reason to bear up against ob-
stacles. Yet I am embarrassed by tlie coolness of their association, not so much
on their account as on my own. Am I condemned, in my capacity of novelist, to

308 ^nat's To Be Done?

compromise all my heroes and heroines in the eyes of well-bred people ? Some eat
and drink, others do not get excited without reason: what an uninteresting set!

XVIII.

And yet, in the opinion of the aged Polosoff, the affair meant marriage. Con-
siderhig the nature of the relations between the supposed lovers, how could he
imagine such a thing? Had he not lieard their conversations? Not always, it is
true; sometimes they stayed with him, but oftener went to sit or promenade in
other rooms. It is true that this did not change at all the character of their con-
versation. These conversations were such that a connoisseur in matters of the hu-
man heart (a human heart which men really do not have) would have lost all hope
of ever seeing Katerina Vassilievna and Beaumont married. Not that they did
not talk of sentiments to each other; they talked of those as they did of everything
else, but only a little and in what a tone! In a tone that was revolting, so calm
was it and so horri>)le in the eccentricity of the thoughts expressed. Here is an
example. A week after the visit for which Beaumont had " very much thanked "
Katerina Vassilievna, and two months after the beginning of their acquaintance,
the sale of the factory was consummated; I\Ir. Loter was getting ready to start the
next day (and he started; expect no catastrophe from his departure; after having
completed the commercial transaction as a merchant should, he notified Beaumont
that the house appointed him manager of the factory at a salary of a thousand
pounds sterling; that is what need he expected, and that is all; what need he has
of mingling in anything but commerce judge for yourself); the stockholders, in-
cluding Polosoff, were to receive the very next day (and they did receive it; expect
no catastrophe here either: the house of Hodgson, Loter & Co. is very solid) half
of the sum in cash and half in bills of exchange payable in three months. Polo-
soff, perfectly satisfied, was seated at a table in the drawing-room, turning over liis
business papers, and half listening to his daughter's conversation with Beaumont
as they passed through the drawing-room: they were promenading in the four
apartments facing tlie street.

"If a woman, a young girl, is hampered by prejudices," said Beaumont, without
further Anglicisms or Americanisms, "man too — I speak of honest men — suffers
great annoyance thereby. How can one marry a young girl who has had no expe-
rience in the daily relations which will result from her consent to the proposition?
She cannot judge whether daily life with a man of such a character as her sweet-
heart will please her or not."

"But, M. Beaumont, if her relations with this man have been daily, that surely
gives her a certain guarantee of mutual happiness."

"A certain, — yes; nevertheless it would be much surer if the test were more
thorough. The young girl, from the nature of the relations permitted her, do38

^eio Characters and the Conclusion. 309

not know enough about marriage; consequently for her it is an enormous risk. It
is the same with an honest man who marries. Only he can judge in a general way;
he is well acquainted with women of various characters, and knows what character
suits him best. She has no such experience."

"But she has had a chance to observe life and characters iu her family and
among her acquaintances; she has had excellent opportunities for reflection."

"All that is very fine, but it is not sufficient. There is no substitute for per-
sonal experience."

"You would have only widows marry," said Katerina Vassilievna, laughing.

"Your expression is a very happy one. Only widows. I'oung girls should be
forbidden to marry."

" You are right," said Katerina Vassilievna, seriously.

At first it seemed very queer to Polosoff to hear such conversations or parts of
conversations. But now he was souiewhat accustomed to it, and said to himself :
" I too am a man devoid of prejudices. I went into commerce and married a mer-
chant's daughter."

The next day this part of the conversation, — the general conversation was usu-
ally devoted to otiier subjects, — this part of the couversation of the night before
continued as follows:

"You have told me the stoiy of your love for Solovtzoif. But what was this?
It was"

"We will sit down, if it is all the same to you. I am tired of walking."

"Very well. It was, I say, a childish sentiment, about whicii there was no secu-
rity. It is a good subject for jest, when you look back to it, and also for grief, if
you will, for it had a very sad side. You were saved only by a very unusual circum-
stanco, because the matter fell into the hands of a man, like Alexander."

"WhoV"

"Matveitch KirsanofF," he finisluid, as if h(! had not paused after the first name,
Alexander; "but for KirsannlV you woulil have died of (lonsuniplion. You Iiad an
opf>ortunity to df^duce from this exp«ri(Mic(; W(!ll-foundf,d ideas jis to the liarmful
character of the situation whicii you Iiad occupied in society. And you deduced
them. All that is very raasonable, but il by no means gave you the experience
necessary to enable you to ai>i)reciate the character wliidi it would Ik; good for you
to fiiifl in a husband. You df) not want a rascal, but an honest man, — that is all
that you have li-arned. (Jood. But slutuld every honest woman be content, what-
ever the character of the man she may have chosen, provided ho is honest? In such
matters a better knowledge of characters anil relationships is needed, — a wholly
different experience. We decided yesterday that oidy widows should marry, to use
your expression. What sort of a widow are you, then?"

Beaumont said all this with a sort of discontent, and in the last words there was
almost a trace of spite.

310 What's To Be Done?

"It is true," said Katerina Vassilievna, somewhat sadly, "but at any rate I have
not deceived any one."

"And you would not have succeeded in doing so, for one cannot feign experience
when one lias it not."

"You are always talking of the insufficiency of the means afforded us, young
girls, for making a well-grounded choice. As a general thing, that a choice may
be well-grounded, no experience of this sort is necessary. If a young gu'l is not
too young, she may know lier own character very well. I, for instance, know mine,
and it is evident that I shall not change. I am twenty-two years old. I know
what I need in order to be happy : a tranquil life, with no one to disturb my peace,
and that is all."

" Evidently you are right.

"Is it so difficult to tell whether these indispensable traits exist or not in the
character of any given man ? One can find it out from a few conversations."

"You are right. But you have said yourself that this is the exception and not
the rule."

"Certainly it is not the rule, M. Beaumont; given our conditions of life, our
ideas, and our customs, one cannot desire for a young girl this knowledge of every-
day relations, this knowledge of which we say that, if it is lacking, the young girl
nins a great risk of making a bad choice. Under her present conditions there is
no way out of her situation. These conditions once given, whatever relations she
may enter into, she cannot derive the necessary experience from them except in
very rare cases ; it would be useless to wait for it, and the danger is gi-eat. The
young girl might, indeed, easily stoop and learn dissimulation. She would have
to deceive her parents and the world, or hide lierself from them, which is the next
thing to deceit; and this would decidedly lower lier character. It is very probable
also that she would view life far too lightly. And if that did not happen, if she
did not become bad, her heart would be broken. And yet she would gain almost
no experience of actual life, because these relations, eitlier so dangerous to her
character or so painful to her heart, are never more than relations of appearance,
not at all the relations of every-day life. You see that that would not be at all
advisable, considering our present way of living."

"Certainly, Katdrina Vassilievna; but that is just why our present way of living
is bad."

"Surely; we are in accord on that point. What does it mean, in fact? Saying
nothing of the confusion of general ideas, what is its significance in personal rela-
tions? The man says: 'I doubt whether you would make me a good wife.' And
the young girl answers: 'No, I beg of you, make me a proposal.' Unheard-of inso-
lence! Or perhaps that is not the way? Perhaps the man says: 'I have not so
much as to consider whether I should be happy with you ; but be prudent, even in
choosing me. You have chosen me, but, I pray you, reflect, reflect again. It is

I^ew Characters and the Conclusion. 311

much too serious a matter even in relation to me who love you much ; do not give
yourself up without a very rigid and systematic examination.' And perhaps the
young girl answers: 'My friend, I see that you think, not of yourself, but of me.
You are right in saying that we are pitiful beings ; that men deceive us and lead
us into error with bandaged eyes. But have no fear on my account : / am sure that
you are not deceiving me. My haj^piness is sm-e. As tranquil as you are on your
account, so tranquil am I on mine.' "

'•I am astonished only at this," continued Beaumont the next day (they were
again walkhig through the rooms, in one of which was Polosoif): ''I am astonished
only at this, — that under such conditions there are still some happy unions."

"You speak as if you were displeased that there are any," said Katerina Vassi-
lievna, laughing. Now it became very evident that she laughed often, with a gay
and gentle laugh.

"And indeed they may lead you to sad thoughts: if, with such inadequate means
of judging of tlie needs and cliaracteristics of men, young girls still know enougli
to make a tolerably happy clioice, what lucidity and sagacity that argues in the
feminine mind! Witli what clear, strong, and just mental vision woman is en-
dowed by nature I And yet it remains useless to society, which rejects it, crushes
it, stifles it; if this were not the case, if her mind were not compressed, if such a
great quantity of moral power were not destroyed, humanity wouhl progress ten
times more rai)idly."

"You are a panegyrist of women, M. Beaumont; may not all this be explained
more simply by chance?"

"Chancel ex])Iain wljat you will l>y chance; wht-u (-iisl-s are numerous, tliry are
the result of a general cause. No other exi)laaation of this fact can lu; given than
a well-weighed clioice proportional in its wisdom to the mental intensity and per-
spicacity of the young girls."

"You reason on the (puistion of women like .Mrs. Heecher Stowe, M. lieaiiniout.
She denioiistr:iles ihat the negro race ia endowed with greater intellect than the
white race."

"You jest, but 1 am not jesting at all."

"You do not like it because 1 do not liow before woman? But consider at le.-ist
as an extenuating circumstuuce the diliiculty that there is in kneeling liel'ore one's
self."

"You are jesting; it annoys me seriously."

"You are not annoye<l with me, I hoi)e? If women and young girls cannot do
that which, in yom' opinion, is indispensaldc to them, it is not at all my fault.
But I am going to give you my serious opinion, if you wish it, not, liowever, upon
the woman question, — I do not care to be judge in my own cause, — but simply
upon yourself, M. Beaumont. You, by nature, are a man of great self-control,
and you get angry when you talk upon this question. What does this mean?

312 Wiat's To Be Bone?

That you probably have liad some personal experience in connection with it.
Probably you have been the victim of what you consider an inexperienced young
j^irl's erroneous choice."

" Perhaps myself, or perhaps some relative of mine. Nevertheless, think about
this, Katerina Vassilievna. I will tell you, after I have received your reply. In
three days I will ask you to give me a reply."

'•To a question which is not formulated? Do I know you so little that I need
to reflect for three days?"

Katerina Vassilievna stopped, placed her hand upon Beaumont's neck, bent the
young man's head towards her, and kissed him on the forehead.

According to all precedents, and even according to the demands of common po-
liteness, Beaumont ought to have embraced her and kissed her lips; Ijut he did
not; he only pressed the hand which had been thrown around him. "Very well,
Katerina Vassilievna, but think about it, nevertheless." And they began to walk
again.

"But who told you, Charlie, that I have not been thinking about it for much
more than three days?" she answered, still holding his hand.

" Of course I saw it clearly. So Lwill tell you all forthwith ; it is a secret ; let
us go into the other room and sit down, that we may not be overheard."

They said these last words as they passed by the old man: he, seeing them
walking arm in arm, which had never happened before, said to himself: "lie has
asked her hand, and she has given him her word. Good!"

"Tell your secret, Charlie; here papa will not hear us."

"It seems ridiculous, Katerina Vassilievna, to appear to have fears on your ac-
count ; certainly there is nothing to fear. But you will understand \Yhy I \)ut you
on your guard in this matter when I tell you of the experience through which I
have passed. Certainly we might both have lived together. But I pitied her.
How much she suffered, and of how many years of the life that she needed was
she deprived! It is very sad. It matters little where the thing occurred, — say
New York, Boston, Philadelphia, or where you will. She was an excellent person
and looked upon her husband as an excellent man. They were extremely attached
to each other. And yet she must have suffered much. He was ready to give his
head to procure for his wife the slightest additional happiness. And yet she could
not be happy with him. Fortunately it ended as it did. But it was painful to
her. You do not know this, and that is why I have not yet your final answer."

"Can I have heard this story from any one?"

"Maybe."

"From herself, perhaps?"

"Maybe."

"I have not yet given you an answer?"

"No."

Kew Characters and the Conclusion. 813

"You know it."

" I know it," said Beaumont, and the ordinary scene that occurs between lovers
began with ardent embraces.

XIX.

The next day at three o'clock Katcrina Vassilievna "called at Vera Pavlovna's.

"I am to marry day after tomorrow. Vera Pavlovna," said she, as she came in,
"and tonight I will bring my sweetheart to see you."

" Undoubtedly it is Beaumont, over whom you have been mad so long."

"I? Mad? Wlien all has happened so simply?"

"I am willing to believe that you have acted simply with him, l)ut with me
nothing of the sort."

"Really? That is curious. But here is something more curious still: he loves
you much, both of you, but you, Vera Pavlovna, he loves even much more than
Alexander Matveitch."

"What is there curious about that? If you have spoken to liim of me with a
thousandth part of the enthusiasm with which you have spoken to mc of him, it
is needless to say " . . . .

"You think that lie knows you through me? That's just the point; it is not
Ihrongh me, but through himself that he knows you, and much bitter IIkiii I do."

" That "s news! lluw is that?" *

"How? I will tell you at once. Since the first day of his anivul at St. Peters-
burg, he has wanted very much to see you, but it seemed to liini that lie would do
better to postjjone your accpiaintance until lie could come, not alom-, but with his
sweetiieart or his wife. It seemed to him that it would be more agreeable to you
to see liim in tliis way. So you sec that our marriage has arisen out of his desire
to make your ac(juaiutance."

"He marries you to make my aciiuaititance?"

"Afarries iIk.'! Who said that lur marries uw for your sake? Oli, no, it is not
for love of you that wc; an-, to marry. liut wIkmi he came to St. Pelmsliurg, did
either of us know of the other's existence? And if lie had not come, how could
we liave known each other? Now, lio came to St. Petersburg on your account.
Do you begin to see?"

"Hn si)eaks llussian better than English, you say?" asked Vc'ia Pavlovna, with
emotion.

"llussian as well as I do, and Knglish a,s well as I do."

"Katerinka, d<'ar friend, how happy I am!"

Vera Pavlovna began to enil)race licr visitor.

" Siicha, come here I Quick ! Quick ! "

"What is the matter, Verotchka? How do you do, Katerina Vass" ....

o

U What's To Be Done?

He had not time to pronounce her name before the visitor embraced him.
"It is Easter today, Sacha; so say to Katennka: *IIe is risen indeed.' "*
"But what is the matter with you?"

"Sit down, and she will tell us; I myself know almost nothing as yet. It is
enough to embrace you, — and in my presence, too! Say on, Katennka."

XX.

In the evening the excitement was certainly still greater. But, when order was
restored, Beaumont, on the demand of his new acc^uaintances, told them the story
of his life, beginning with his arrival in the United States. " As soon as I arrived,"
said he, "I w-as careful to do everything necessary to enable me to speedily become
a citizen. To that end I had to connect myself with some party. With which
one? The abolitionists, of com'se. I wrote some articles for the 'Tribune' on the
influence of serfdom on the entire social organization of Russia. This was a new
argument, of considerable value to the abolitionists, against slavery in the South-
ern States, and in consequence I became a citizen of Massachusetts. f Soon after
my arrival, still through the influence of the abolitionists, I obtained a place in
one of their few business houses in New York." Then came the story that we al-
ready know. This part of Beaumont's biography, then, is beyond doubt.

XXI.

It was agreed that the two families should look for two suites of rooms next to
each other. Until convenient suites could be found and prepared, the Beaumonts
lived in the factory, in which, in accordance with the orders of the house, a suite
had l)een arranged for the manager. This retreat into the suburbs might be
looked upon as corresponding to the trip which newly-married couples make, in
accordance with an excellent English custom, which is now spreading throughout
Europe.

"When, six weeks later, two convenient suites next to each other had been found,
the Kirsanoffs went to live in one, the Beaumonts in the other, and the old Polo-
sofE preferred to remain in the factory suite, the extent of which reminded him, if
only feebly, of his past grandeur. It was agreeable to him to remain there for the

• During the Easter festivities the Orthodox, when they meet, embrace each other three times, one
of them saying at the same time, " Christ is risen," whereupon the other responds, " He is risen
indeed."

t Tchemychewsky's ideas of the method by which foreipiers acquire citizenship in America are
novel. His error, however, probably will not be considered a vital one except by the reader with the
penetrating eye. — Translator.

New Characters and the Conclusion. 315

additional reason that he was the most important personage for two or three miles
around: innumerable marks of consideration were shown hira, not only by his
own clerks and commissioners, but by those of the neighborhood and by the rest
of the suburban population, some of whom were beneath and some slightly above
the former in social position. And it was with immense i^leasure that he received,
after the manner of a patriarch, these marks of respectful consideration. The
aon-in-law came to the factory every morning, and almost every day Katia witli
him. In summer they went (as they still do) to live entirely in the factory,
which thus serves as a country-house. During the rest of the year the old man,
besides receiving every morning his daughter and his son-in-law (who does not
cease to be a North American), has the pleasure of receiving once a week and
oftener visitors coming to spend the evening with Katerina Vassilievna and her
husband, or the Kirsanoffs with some other young people, or an even more nume-
rous company: the factory is made the objective point of frequent suburban ex-
cursions by the acquaintances of the Kirsanoffs and the Beaumonts. Polosoff is
made very contented by all these visits, and how could it be otherwise? To him
belongs the rvle of host, the jiatriarchal role.

XXII.

Kacli of the two families lives after its own fasliion, according to its own fancy.
On ordinary days in one tliere is more stir, in tlie other more trancpiillity. They
visit eacli other like relatives; one day more than ten times, but for one or two
minutes at a time; another day one of the suites is empty almost all day, its in-
habitants being in the other. Thi're is no rule about tiiis. Nor is tlicre any rule
when a number of visitors happen to come: now tim door between (li(( two suites
remains closed (tlie door bctwi'cu tin; two parlors is generally closed, only tlio door
between Vdra Pavlovna's room iiud Katc-rina Vassilievna'.s being always open) —
now, when the company is not numerous, the door connecting th(' rcci-jition rooms
remains closed; at aiiollicr timo, wlien the numlxM- is greater, this door is open,
and then the visitors do not realize where they are, wlictiier at Vera I'avlovna's or
at Katerina Viissilievna's, and tlie latter hardly know themselves. This might
perhaps be adinned: when tlu; young jteople wish to sit down, it is almost always
at Katc-rina Vassilievna's; when tln-ir inclination is to the contrary, lh"'y are al-
most always at Vera I'avlovna's. l»iit the young pi'ople cannot bn looked upon as
visitors: they are at home, and Vera I'avlovmi drives them away without cere-
mony to Katerina Vassilievna's.

"You tirn me, gentlemen; go and sen Kab'nnka; \<m nevi-r tire her. Ami why
do you behave yourselves more (piietly when with her than when with me? I am
even a little the older."

"Do not worry yourself; we like her better than you."

316 Wiat's To Be Done?

"Katennka, why do they like you better tlian me?"

" Katerina Vassilievna treats us like serious men, and that is why we are serious
with lier."

A device which was very effective was often made use of last winter in their
narrow circle, when the young people and their most intimate friends came to-
gether: they placed the two pianos back to back: the young people, by drawing
lots, divided themselves into two choruses, made their protectresses sit down one
at each piano, opposite each other, and then each chorus placed itself behind its
prima donna, and they sang at the same time. Vera Pavlovna and her forces La
donna e mobile or some song from Beranger's Lisette, and Katerina Vassilievna and
her forces Dcpuis longtemps repousse par toi or La chanson pour lermmouchka.* But
this winter another amusement was in fashion; the two women had reorganized
in common, in conformity with their habits, "the discussion of the Greek philoso-
phers concerning the beautiful"; it begins thus: Katerina Vassilievna, raising
her eyes to heaven, says, with a languishing sigh : " Divine Schiller, intoxication
of my soul!" Vera Pavlovna replies, with dignity: "But the prunella boots from
Koroloff's store are beautiful also," and she advances her foot. Whiclievei of the
young people laughs at this controversy is put in a corner. Towards the end of
the controversy, of the ten or twelve individuals there remain but two or three
who are not doing penance. But the gayety was at its height when they invei-
gled Beaumont into this plaj^ and sent him into a corner.

What else? The worksliops continue to exist and to work in closer concert;
now there are three of them; Katerina Vassilievna organized hers long ago, and
DOW very often acts as a sulistitute for Vera Pavlovna in the latter's shop; soon
she will take her place entirely, for in the course of this year Vera Pavlovna —
forgive her for it — will pass her medical examination, and then she will have no
more time to give to the shop. "It is a pity that the development of these shops
is impossible; how they would grow!" sometimes said Vera Pavlovna. Katerina
Vassilievna made no answer; only her eyes flashed with hatred.

"IIow headlong you are, Katia! You are worse than I am," said Vdra Pav-
lovna. "It is fortunate that your father has something left."

" Yes, Verotchka, one feels easier about her child." (Then she has a child.)

"But you have set me dreaming about I know not what. Our life will go on
gently and tranquilly."

Katdrina Vassilievna made no answer.

"Yes, why don't you say yes to me?"

Katerina Vassilievna smiled as she answered:

"It does not depend on my 'yes' or my 'no'; therefore to please you I will say:
'Yes, our life shall go on tranquilly.' "

• By XekrassofI, the most famous Russian poet.

N'ew Characters and the Conclusion. 317

And indeed they do live tranquilly. They live in harmony and amicably, in a
gentle yet active fashion, in a joyous and reasonable fashion. But it does not at
all follow from this that my story about them is finished; by no means. All four
are still young and active, and, thougli their life is ordered as above described, it
has not ceased on that account to be interesting; far from it. I still have much
to tell you about them, and I guarantee that the sequel to my story will be much
more interesting than anything that I have yet told you.

XXllT.

They live gayly and as friends, working and resting, enjoying life and looking
forward to the future, if not without anxiety, at least witli the firm assurance that
the farther we advance in life, the better it becomes. Thus they have spent the
last two years. Towards the end of last winter Vera Pavlovna said to hei-self :
" Will there be another cold day, so tliat we can have at least one more sleighing-
party?" Xo one could answer her question; but tlie days went by one after
another, and the thaw continued, and every day tlie chances for a sleighing-party
diminished. But it came after they had lost all hope. There was a heavy fall of
snow, followed, not by a thaw, but by slightly freezing weather; tlie sky was clear,
and the evening could not have been more beautiful. "Tiie sleighing-parly I The
sleighing-party!" In their haste they had not time to get many people together,
— a small party collected without formal invitations.*

That night two sledges started. In one they chattered and joked, in the other
all the proiirieties were disregarded. Scarcely were they out of the city before
they began to sing at the tops of their voices. What?

Kill! Hortait la licllo
(Till' liiir oiH' went out)

Do la ])ort(! cocliiTt; iiciivo,
(Of till- new <-!irriiim' (iatf)

Do l;i iK'Uvc ])(irl(! coclirro en liois d'oriiblc,
(Of 111" new ciirriiino Kutc of iiiii|)l<' wooil;

Do la jxirto cocliiTo Ji oarreaux.
(Of tlir Ulril nirrluno Ki***!)

Mnn jKTc oHt Ition hovito;
(My IhIIkt In vnry w.-vnri!)

II inV'st. (lofiivnralilo ;

(llf U iIIbIiioIIiiuiI to favor iiic)

•Tlio few pac* wlilrh follow, In (foixluglon of thl« story, tho tratiRlator (Ioob not protend to undcr-
Btanil. He cannot Identify tlic new cluirnctcm Introduced or connect them wltli the story, nor can ho
fathom the piirpos*; of tln'ir liitrodurlion. Wlirther they ronccal some nrciral i>o revolutionary that
the aulhfir from hl» prison ecll <li<l not dare avow It more openly, or whether the myntery is a deviro
on hlg part to earry over the interent of the rea<hT to tho oeipiel whieh ln' uiidonhtedly intended to
write, or whether the true c;iplanatlon l» »ouiething dirteront from either of thi'»e, the reader muut
determine for himself.— Trantlator.

318 Wiat's To Be Done'?

n no vent pas que je me promene trop tard
(lie iloi-s imt want me to be out too late)

Et que je joue avec los jeunes hommes.
(Ami to'play with the young men)

Mais je n'ecoute pas mon pere ;
(15ut 1 do not listen to my father)

Je veux satisfaire mon bien aime ....
(I wish to please my beloved)

A song! But is that all? Now this sledge goes slowly and lags nearly a quar-
ter of a mile in the rear; suddenly it glides rapidly ahead, its occupants give war-
like shouts, and when they approach the well-behaved party, the snowballs fly
I'uriously. The members of the well-behaved party, after two or three attacks of
this sort, decide to defend themselves and lay in a stock of ammunition, but it is
done so adroitly as to escape the notice of the noisy party. Now the noisy party
goes slowly again, lagging behind, and the well-behaved party continues cun-
ningly on its way. The noisy party again starts off at full speed, the warlike
shouts begin once more, the members of the well-behaved party are prepared to
make unexpected and vigorous resistance, but what? the noisy party turns to the
right across the brook, and passes like a flash at a distance of a dozen yards.

"She saw us and has taken the reins herself," say some in the well-behaved
party.

"Oh, no! oh, no! we will catch them! we will avenge ourselves!"

An infernal gallop. Will they catch them?

"We will catch them!"

No!

" We will catch them ! " with fresh impetuosity.

"They will catch us!"

"They shall not catch us!"

Yes!

No!

In the well-behaved party were the Kirsanoffs and the Beaumonts ; iii the noisy
party four young people and a lady, and the latter was the cause of all the mad
conduct of the noisy party.

" Good evening, ladies and gentlemen, we are very glad to see you again," said
she, from the top of the factory steps: "gentlemen, help the ladies out of the
sledge," she added, addressing her companions.

Quickly, quickly, into the rooms! All of them were red with cold.

"Good evening, old gentleman. But he is not old at all ! Katerina Vassilievna,
why did you slander him by telling me that he was old? He will be courting me
yet. You will court me, dear old man?" said the lady of the noisy party.

"Yes, I will court you," said Polosoil, already charmed by her affable caresses
of his gray whiskers.

"Children, will you permit him to court me?"

Neio Characters and the Conclusion. 319

"We permit him," said one of the young people.

" No, no," said the three others.

But why was the lady of the noisy party in black? For mourning or out of
caprice ? •

"But, after all, I am tired," said she, throwing herself upon a divan, in a cor-
ner of the reception room. "Children, some cushions I but not for me alone; the
other ladies also are tired."

"Yes, you have harassed us," said Katerina Vassilievna.

"How this unbridled race in the ruts has tired me!" said Vera Pavlovna.

"Fortunately we had but a little over half a mile to go," said Katerina Vas-
silievna.

Unable to stand any longer, they fell on the divan stuffed with cushions.

" How unskilled you arel You should have risen up as 1 did, and then the ruts
would not have tired you."

"We are tired ourselves," said Kirsanoff, speaking for himself and Beaumont.
They sat down beside their wives. Kirsanoff embraced Vera Pavlovna ; Beaumont
took the hand of Katerina Vassilievna. An idyllic picture. Tt is pleasant to see
happy unions. But over the face of the lady in black a sudden shadow passed,
which no one noticed except one of her companions ; he withdrew to the window
and began to examine the arabesques which the frost had traced upon the panes.

"Ladies, your histories are very interesting, but I do not know them exactly;
I only know that they are touching and pleasant and end happily; that is what I
like. But where is the old gentleman V "

"He i.s busy about the house, getting us something to eat; he is fond of that
sort of tiling," said Katerina Vassilievna.

"Well, lot him go on. Relate your histories, then, but lot them be brief: I like
short stories."

"I will be ver)' brief," said Vera Pavlovna. "I begin : when the others' turns
come, they will be brief also. But I warn you that at the end of my story there
are secrets."

"Well, then we will drive these gentlemen away. Or, would it not be better to
drive them away nowV"

"Why? Now they may listf-n."

Vera Pavlovna began her story.

"Ha, ha, ha! That dear .Julie ! I like her very much. And she tiirows herself
upon her knees, says insulting tluiigs, and behaves most improperly, the dear
Julie I "

"Bravo, Vdra Pavlovna! 'I will throw myself out of the window!' Bravo,

320 What's To Be Done?

gentlemen!" The lady in black began to applaud. At this command the young
people imitated her in a deafening manner and cried " Bravo 1" and "Hurrah!"

"What's the matter with you? What's the matter with you?" cried Katerina
Vassilievna, in fright, two or three minutes later.

"Xothiug, it's nothing: give me some water, do not be troubled."

Mossoloff is already bringing some.

"Thank you, Mossoloff."

She takes the glass, brought by the young companion who had withdrawn to
the wmdow.

"See how I have taught him! Ho knows everything in advance. Now it has
entirely passed. Keep on, I pray you, I am listening."

"No, I am fatigued," said she, five minutes later, rising calmly from the divan.
I must rest, — sleep an hour or an hour and a half. See, I am going away without
ceremony. Go and find the old gentleman, Mossoloff; let him prepare everything."

"Permit me, why should I not attend to it?" said Katerina Vassilievna.

"Is it worth while to trouble yourself?"

"You abandon us?" said a young man, assuming a tragic posture; "if we had
foreseen that, we would have brought some daggers with us. Now we have noth-
ing with which to stab ourselves."

"They Avill bring something to eat, and then we can stab ourselves with the
forks ! " said another, in a tone of exaltation.

"Oh, no, I do not wish the hope of the country to be cut off in its flower," said
the lady in Vjlack, with like solemnity: "console yourselves, my children. Mosso-
loff, a cushion on the table 1 "

Mossoloff placed a cushion on the table, Tlie lady in black assumed a majestic
pose near the table and let her hand slowly fall upon the cushion.

The young people kissed her hand, and Katerina Vassilievna escorted the tired
vLsitor to the bed.

" Poor woman ! " said with one voice the three persons of the well-behaved party
after they had gone out of the room.

" She is brave ! " exclaimed the three young people.

" I believe you ! " said Mossoloff, with satisfaction.

" Have you known her long ? "

" Almost three years."

"And do you know him well?"

" Very well. Do not be troubled, I beg," he added, addressing the members of
the well-behaved party : " it is only because she is tired."

Vera Pavlovna cast an interrogative glance at her husband and at Beaumont,
and shook her head.

Kew Characters and the Conclusion. 321

" Tired ? You are telling us tales," said Kirsanoff.

" I assure you. She is tired, that's all. She will sleep, and it will all pass over, "
repeated Mossoloff in an indifferent and tranquil tone.

Ten minutes later Katerina Vassilievna returned.

" Well ? " asked six voices. Mossoloff asked no question.

" She went to bed, began at once to doze, and probably is now fast asleep."

" Didn't I tell you so V " observed Mossoloff. " It is nothing."

" She is to be pitied, nevertheless," said Katerma Vassilievna. " Let us keep
separate in her presence. You stay with me, Ve'rotchka, and Charlie with Sacha."

"But we need not trouble ourselves now," said Mossoloff, "we can sing, dance,
shout ; she is sleeping profoundly."

If she was asleep, if it was nothing, why should they trouble themselves ? The
impression made by the lady in black, which liad disturbed their peace for a quar-
ter of an hour, passed away, disappeared, was forgotten, not quite, but nearly.
Tlie evening gradually became wliat former similar evenings had been, and soon
gayety reigned.

Gayety not unmixed, however; five or six times the ladies looked at each other
witli an expression of fear and sadness. Twice, perhaps. Vera Pavlovna said fur-
tively in her liusl)and's ear: "Sacha, if that should happen to nie?" The first
time Kirsanoff made no answer; the second he said: "No, Verotchka, that cannot
happen to you."

"Cannot? Are you sure?"

"Yes."

And Katdrina Vassilievna also furtively said twice in lier husband's ear:

"That cannot hapjien to me, Charlie, can it?"

The first time IJeaumont only smiled in a half-hearted and not very reassur-
ing manner; tli<^ scrDnd lie answered:

"In all probability that cannot happen to you."

But these were only passing echoes, and were heard only at the beginning. Wwl
in general the evening went off joyously, and half an hour later quite gayly. They
chattered and played and sang.

•"She sleeps profoundly," Mossoloff assured them, and he set the example. In
truth they could not trouble her sleep, becau.sc the room where she was lying
down was a long distance from the drawing-room, tliree rooms away at the other
end of the suite.

322 Wtat's To Be Done?

Therefore the evening's revelry was completely restored.

The young i^eopie, as usual, now joined tlie otliers, now separated from them ;
now in a body, now not; twice Beaumont had joined them : twice Vera Pavlovna
had turned them away from Beaumont and from all serious conversation.

They babbled a great deal; a great deal too much; they also discussed things
together, but much less.

All were together.

"Well, what is there of good or evil?" asked the young man who a little while
before liad assumed a tragic attitude.

"More evil than good," said Vera Pavlovna.

""Why so, Verotchka?" said Katerina Vassilievna.

" At any rate life does not go on without it," said Beaumont.

"An inevitable thing," affirmed Kirsanoff.

"Altogether evil, — that is, very good," decided he who had started the question.

His three companions nodded their heads, and said: "Bi'avo, Nikitinel"

The young people were by themselves.

"I never knew him, Nikitine; but you seem to have known him?" said Mosso-
loff, inquiringly.

"I was then a mere boy. I saw him."

"How do your memories seem to you? Do they tell the truth? Do they not
exaggerate through friendship?"

"No."

"Has no one seen him since?"

"No. Beaumont was then in America."

"Indeed! Karl lalcovlitch, I beg your attention for a moment. Did you not
meet in America this Russian of whom they have been talking?"

"No."

"What caprice has entered my head?" said Nikitine : "he and she would make
a good pair."

" Gentlemen, come and sing with me," said Vdra Pavlovna. " Two volunteers I
So much the better."

Mossoloff and Nikitine remained by themselves.

"I can show you a curious thing, Nikitine," said Mossoloff. "Do you think
she is asleep?"

"No."

" Only you must say nothing about it. Afterwards, when you know her better,
you can tell her that you saw her. But no one else. She does not like that."

New Characters and the Conclusion, 323

The windows of the room were raised a little.

" It certainly is the window where the light is."

Mossoloff glanced in that direction.

"Yes, do you see?"

The lady in black was sitting in an easy chair, near the table. With her left
elbow she was leaning on the table; her hand lightly sustained her bowed head,
covering her temple and a part of her hair. Her right hand was placed on the ta-
ble, and her fingers rose and fell mechanically, as if playing some air. The lady's
face wore an iuunovable expression of reverie, sad, but still severe. Iler eyebrows
came together and slightly parted again, and vice versa.

"Always this way, Mossoloff?"

"Do you see? But come; else we shall take cold. We have been here a quarter
of an hour."

"How unfeeling you are!" said Nikitine, looking steadily at his companion,
when they passed by the reflector in the ante-room.

"By constantly feeling one becomes unfeeling, my dear. To you it is a novelty."

The refreshments were brou-^ht in.

"The brandy must be very good," said Xikitine: "but how strong it isl It
takes one's breath away!"

"Wliat a little girl! Your eyes are red ! " said MossoloiT.

Everybody began to make fun of Xikitine.

"Oh! that's only because I am choked up; were it not for that, I could drink,"
said he, in self-justification.

They took note of the time. It was only eleven o'clock; therefore they could
chatter half an hour longer; there was tinu; enough.

Half an hour latur KaUiriiia Vassiliiivna went to awakiMi the lady in black.
The la«ly came to meet her on the threshold, stretching as if she had just been
asleep.

"Did you sleep well?"

"I'.Tlectly."

"How do you feel?"

"Marvellously well. I told you before that it was nothing. I was tired, bf-
cause I liad bct-n acting ho wililly. Now I sliall In- more prudent."

But no, slit! did not succi-ed in being prudent. T'lve minut.ijs later she had
already charmed TolosofF, was giving orders to tiio yoimg i)eople, and drumming
a march or something of the sort with the handles of two forks on the table. At
the same time she was urging a departure, while the* others, whom her sauciness
had already made quite gay, were not in such a hurry.

"An; the horses rea<iy?" she asked, after liaving eaten.

"Not yet; the order to harness them has just been given."

"Unendnralilel But if that is the case, sing us something, Vera Pavlovna: I
have heard that you have a line voice."

324 Mliat's To Be Done?

Vera Pavlovna sang.

" I shall ask you to sing often," said the lady in black.

" It is your turn, it is your turn," they cried on all sides.

The words were no sooner uttered than she was at the piano.

"All right! I do not know how to sing, but to me that is no obstacle! But,
ladies and gentlemen, it is not at all for you that I sing; I sing only for my chil-
dren. Children, do not laugh at your mother!"

She improvised a few strains on tlie piano by way of prelude.

"Children, do not laugh; I shall sing with expression."

And, with a squeaking voice, she began to sing:

Un pigeon moird ....
(A watered ilove)

The young people shouted in surprise and the rest of the company began to
laugh, and the singer herself could not help laughing too; but, after stifling her
laughter, she continued, in a voice that squeaked twice as much as before :

.... Gemissait,

(Wailed)

Gemissait la miit et le jour;
(W'ailed uif^Iit and day)

II appelait son clier a

(He called his dear 1 )

At this word her voice trembled and at once failed her.

"It does not come; so much the better, it ought not to come; something else
will come to me; listen, my children, to the teaching of your mother: do not fall
1:1 love, and be sure that you do not marry."

She began to sing in a full, strong contralto :

II V a bieii des lieautes clans nos aoules ;
(Xfiere are many beauties in our Caucasian villap;e8)

Des astres brillent dans la profondcur do leurs yeux;
(Stars shine in the depths ul their eyes)

II est bien doux de les aimer, oui, c'est un grand bonheur;
(It is very sweet to love them, yes, it is a great happiness)

Mais ....
(liut)

this is a stupid "but," my children, —

Mais la liberty de garcon est pius joyeuse.
(But the bachelor's liberty is more joyous)

this is no reason, — this reason is stupid, — and you shall know why:

Ne te marie pas, jeune homme,
(Do not marry, young man)

Ecoute-moi !
(Listen to me)

New Characters and tJic Conclunion. 825

" Farther on comes a piece of nonsense, my children ; this too is nonsense, i t'
you like : one may, my children, both fall in love and marry, but onlj' by choice,
and without deceit, without deceit, my children. I am going to sing to you of the
way in which I was married ; the romance is an old one, but I also am old. I am
sitting on a balcony in our castle of Dalton ; I am a fair-skinned Scotchwoman ; the
forest and the Bringale River are before me ; some one stealthily approaches the
balcony; it is certainly my sweetheart; he is poor, and T am rich, the daughter of
a baron, a lord; but I love him nmcli, and I sing to him :

La raido cote dc Bringale est belle,
(The steep hill of iJrinpile is heuutilul)

Et verte est la foret aiUour,
(And pjeeii is the I'orest arouiid)

OU moil ami et moi troiivons notrc asile dii jour,
(Where my friend and I fin<l our retreat by day)

for I know that in the daytime he hides and changes his retreat every day,

Asile pins olieri nue la inaison naternclle.
(A retreat dearer tliaii the iialcrijal roof)

For tliat matter, the paternal roof was not indeed very dear. So I sing to Iiini : [
will go with you. How do you tliink he answers me?

Tu veux, viorjje, el re iniciuie,
( Voii winli, vir;;in, to bo mine)

Oublier ta iiaissanco et ta (lij;nit(f ;
(To forget your birth and your <li(^nity)

for I am of high liirtli, —

Main d'abonl dovino
(lint llrHt (;ueKH)

Quel cHl. rnoii sort.
(WImt my lot iw)

"You are a huntnr?" I Hay. "No." "Voii an- a j.oaclier?" "You have almost
gue.ssed it," he say.s.

QnnnrI nons rions rassetuMeronH, enfants des tciitbrcs,
(Wlien we nhall (;uthi'r, ehildren ol ilarkneo«)

for we, ladies and gentlemen, are childn-n of vi-ry liad sulijecls, —

II nons f.'nidra, rrolH-nioi,

(It will be ni'cefwjiry for tin, brllevfi me)

Oublier fjni nous ef ionn il'.'ibord,
(To for>;et who we were lit llrnti

Oublier f|ui nouM Koinnies inaintenant,
(To forget who we un." now)

he sings. "I gues.sed long ago," I say; "you are a brigaml." And it is really

326 WJiat's To Be Donel

the truth, he is a brigand, — yes, he is a brigand. What does he say then, gentle-
men? "You see, I am a bad sweetheart for you."

O vier^e, ie ne suis pas riiomme difcne dc tes vceux ;
(O virj^iii, I am not a man worthy of your vows)

J'habite les forets epaisses;
(I dwell in the thick forests)

that is the absolute truth, — " thick forests " ; so he tells me not to accompany him.

P^rilleuse sera ma. vie,
(Perilous will be my life)

for in the thick forests there are wild beasts, —

Et ma fin sera bien triste.
(And my end will be very sad)

That is not true, my children; it will not be sad; but then I believed it, and he
believed it too; nevertheless I answer him in the same way:

La raide cote de Bringale est belje,
(The steep hill of IJriiigale is beautiful)

Et verte est la foret autour,
(And {jreen is the forest around)

Oil raon ami et moi trouvons notre asile du jour,
(Whet-e my friend and I find our retreat by day)

Asile plus cheri que la maison paternelle.
(A retreat dearer than the paternal roof)

Indeed, so it was. Therefore I could reget nothing : he had told me where T was
to go. Thusi one may marry, one may love, my children, — without deceit and
knowing well how to choose.

La lune se leve
(The moon rises)

Lcnte et tranquille,
(Slowly and peacefully)

Et le jeune fjuerrier
(And the young warrior)

Se prepare an combat.
(Prepares for (he combat)

II charjrc son fusil,
(lie loads his ^n)

Et la vierjce lui dit:
(And the virgin says to him)

" Avec audacc, men amour,
(Boldly, my love)

Confie-toi k ta destinfe."
(Entrust yourself to your destiny)

With such women one may fall in love, and one may marry them."

(" Forget what I said to you, Sacha; listen to her!" whispers one of the women,

Kew Characters and the Conclusion. 327

pressing his hand. — "AVhy did I not say that to you? Now I will speak of it to
you," whispers the other.)

" 1 allow you to love such women, and I bless you, my children :

Avec audace, cber amour,
(BoUUy, dear love)

Confie-toi a ta destinee.
(Entrust yourself to your destiny)

I have grown quite gay with you ; now, wherever there is gayety, there should be
drinking.

He! ma cabaretiere,
(Ho! luy hostess)

Verse-moi de I'hydromel et du vin,
(Pour me some mead and wine)

Mead, because the word cannot be thrown out of the song. Is there any cham-
pagne left? Yes? Perfect! Open it.

He! ma cabareti^re,
(Ho! my hostess;

Verse-moi do I'liydromel et du vin,
(Pour me some mead and wine)

Potir (juc! nia lelo
(That my head)

Soit Kaii;!
(May bo gay)

Who is the hostess ? Me :

Et l;i i-;il)!iri'tiere a dos sourcils noirs
(AiJ<l Mk' hii.Klrs.t has lilack eyelirows;

Kt di's tiiloMH ferres!
(And iron lieels;

She rosf! suddfMily, l>as.sfd hor liand ovor lior (•y<'bro\vs, and staniptMl \s ilh licr IiciIh.

"Toured! li^ady I Ladies and frfiitli'iiuMi, you, old man, and you, my chil-
dren, take it .lU'l drink it, that your lieads may be gay! "

"To th«; liosU.!».s, to tlie hostess 1 "

"TliankHl h^ 7iiy lir-altli I "

She sits down again at the piano and sings :

and it will fly away, ■

Que 1p rliaprin vnlo en •'i'liitsl
(1^-t luirrow lly away In kliouta;

Et dans dfs rrrnrH raieniiis
(Anrl into ri'juvenaled licarts)

Que riiialtcrrablo joio dcsrendel
(Let unalterable Joy descend;

and so it will, probably.

328 What's To Be Done?

La sombre peur fait comme un ombre,
(Dark ti-ar llces like a shadow)

Dcs rayons qui apportent le jour,
(Rjiys that bring the day)

La lumiere, la chaleur, et les parfums printauiers
(Light, warmth, and tlie spring perfumes)

Chassent vite les tenebres ct le frnid ;
((.Quickly drive away tlie darkness and cold)

L'odeur de la pourriture dimiuue,
(The odor of decay diminishes)

L'odeur de la rose croit sans cesse.
(The odor of the rose ever increases)

Change of Scene. 329

CHAPTER SIXTH.
Change of Scene.

"^lu passage!" said the lady in black to the coachman, though now she was no
longer in black : a liglit dress, a pink hat, a white mantilla, and a bouquet in her
hand. She was no longer with Mossoloff alone : Mossolof? and Nikitine were on
the front seat of the l>arouche; on the coachman's seat was a youth; and beside
the lady sat a man of about thirty. IIow old was the lady? Was she twenty-
five, as she said, instead of twenty only? But if she chose to make herself old,
that was a matter for her own conscience.

"Yes, my dear friend, I liave been expecting this day for more than two years.
At tlie time when I made his acquaintance (she indicated Nikitine with her eyes),
I only had a presentiment; it could not then be said that I expected; tlicn there
was only hope, but soon came assurance."

"Permit mel" says the reader, — and not only the reader with the penetrating
eye, but every reader, — l)ecoMiing more stu[u'ficcl (he more he reflects: "more than
two 3'ears after she had made Xikitine's ac(piaintance?"

"Yes."

"Hut she miule Nikitine's acquaintance at the same time that she made that of
the KirsanofFs and the IJeaumonts, at the sleighing-party which took place (i>-
wards the end of last winter."

"You arc perfectly right."

"What does tliis mean, then? You are talking of the beginning of the year

isrw?"

"Yes."

"But how is tliat possible, pray?"
"Wiiy not, if I know it?"
"Nonsense! who will listen to you?"
"You will not?"

"What do you take me for? Certainly not."

"If you will not listen to me now, it is needless to say that I must postpone tlie
eequel of my story until you will deign to listen. I hope to see that day ere long."
April 4 (10), 1803.

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