Short Stories by Fyodor Dostoyevsky - 2/15. A Novel in Nine Letters

CHAPTER II. A NOVEL IN NINE LETTERS. I. FROM PEOTRA EVANICH TO IVAN PETROVICH Dear Sir and most precious friend, Ivan Petrovich, For the last two days I have been, I may say, in pursuit of you, my friend, having to talk over most urgent business with you, and I cannot come across you anywhere. Yesterday, while we were at Semion Alexievich's, my wife made a very good joke about you, saying that Tatyana Petrovna and you were a pair of birds always on the wing. You've not been married three months, and you already neglect your domestic half. We all laughed heartily, from our genuine kindly feeling for you, of course, but, joking apart, my precious friend, you've given me a lot of trouble. Semion Alexievich said to me that you might be going to the ball at the Social Unions Club. Leaving my wife with Semion Alexievich's good lady, I flew off to the Social Union. It was funny and tragic. Fancy my position, me at the ball and alone, without my wife. Ivan Andreevich, meeting me in the porter's luggage and seeing me alone, at once concluded, the rascal, that I had a passion for dances, and taking me by the arm, wanted to drag me off by force to a dancing class, saying that it was too crowded at the Social Union, that an ardent spirit had not room to turn, and that his head ached from the Petulian Minionette. I found neither you nor Tatyana Petrovna. Ivan Andreevich vowed and declared that you would be at woe from wit at the Alexandrinsky Theatre. I flew off to the Alexandrinsky Theatre. You were not there either. This morning I expected to find you at Chistogonov's. No sign of you there. Chistogonov sent to the Peripalkins the same thing there. In fact, I am quite worn out. You can judge how much trouble I have taken. Now I am writing to you. There is nothing else I can do. My business is by no means a literary one. You understand me? It would be better to meet face to face. It is extremely necessary to discuss something with you, and as quickly as possible, and so I beg you to come to us to-day, with Tatyana Petrovna to tea, and for a chat in the evening. My enemy, Helovna, will be extremely pleased to see you. You will, truly, as they say, oblige me to my dying day. By the way, my precious friend, since I have taken up my pen, I will go into all I have against you. I have a slight complaint I must make. In fact, I must reproach you, my worthy friend, for an apparently very innocent little trick, which you have played at my expense. You are a rascal, a man without conscience. About the middle of last month, you brought into my house an acquaintance of yours, Yevgeny Nikolayevich. You vouched for him by your friendly and, for me, of course, sacred recommendation. I rejoiced at the opportunity of receiving the young man with open arms, and when I did so, I put my head in a noose. A noose it hardly is, but it has turned out a pretty business. I have not time now to explain, and indeed it is a very awkward thing to do in writing, only a very humble request to you, my malicious friend. Could you not somehow, very delicately, in passing, drop a hint into the young man's ear that there are a great many houses in the metropolis besides ours? It's more than I can stand, my dear fellow. We fall at your feet, as our friend Semyonovich says. I will tell you all about it when we meet. I don't mean to say that the young man has sinned against good manners, or is lacking in spiritual qualities, or is not up to the mark in some other way. On the contrary, he is an amiable and pleasant fellow. But wait, we shall meet. Meanwhile, if you see him, for goodness' sake, whisper a hint to him, my good friend. I would do it myself, but you know what I am. I simply can't, and that's all about it. You introduced him, but I will explain myself more fully this evening, anyway. Now, good-bye. I remain, etc. P.S.—My little boy has been ailing for the last week, and gets worse and worse every day. He is cutting his poor little teeth. My wife is nursing him all the time, and is depressed, poor thing. Be sure to come. You will give us real pleasure, my precious friend. 2. From Ivan Petrovich to Piotr Ivanich Dear Sir Piotr Ivanich, I got your letter yesterday. I read it, and was perplexed. You looked for me, goodness those were, and I was simply at home. Till ten o'clock I was expecting Ivan Ivanich Tolokonov. At once on getting your letter, I set out with my wife. I went to the expense of taking a cab, and reached your house about half-past six. You were not at home, but we were met by your wife. I waited to see you till half-past ten, and I could not stay later. I set off with my wife, went to the expense of a cab again, saw her home, and went on myself to the Peripalkins, thinking I might meet you there, but again I was out in my reckoning. When I get home, I did not sleep all night. I felt uneasy. In the morning I drove round to you three times, at nine, at ten, and at eleven. Three times I went to the expense of a cab, and again you left me in the lurch. I read your letter, and was amazed. You write about Yevgeny Nikolaich, beg me to whisper some hint, and do not tell me what about. I commend your caution, but all letters are not alike, and I don't give documents of importance to my wife for curl-papers. I am puzzled, in fact, to know with what motive you wrote all this to me. However, if it comes to that, why should I meddle in the matter? I don't poke my nose into other people's business. You can be not at home to him. I only see that I must have a brief and decisive explanation with you, and moreover time is passing, and I am in straits and don't know what to do if you are going to neglect the terms of our agreement. A journey for nothing. A journey costs something, too, and my wife's whining for me to get her a velvet mantle of the latest fashion. About Yevgeny Nikolaich, I hasten to mention that when I was at Pavel Semyonovich Perchpalkin's yesterday, I made inquiries without loss of time. He has five hundred serfs in the province of Yaroslav, and he has expectations from his grandmother of an estate of three hundred serfs near Moscow. How much money he has, I cannot tell. I think you ought to know that better. I beg you once for all to appoint a place where I can meet you. You met Ivan Andreich yesterday, and you write that he told you that I was at the Alexandrinsky theatre with my wife. I write that he is a liar, and it shows how little he is to be trusted in such cases, but only the day before yesterday he did his grandmother out of eight hundred roubles. I have the honour to remain, etc. P.S. My wife is going to have a baby. She is nervous about it and feels depressed at times. At the theatre they sometimes have firearms going off and sham thunderstorms, and so for fear of a shock to my wife's nerves, I do not take her to the theatre. I have no great partiality for the theatre myself. 3. From Piotr Ivanich to Ivan Petrovich My precious friend Ivan Petrovich, I am to blame, to blame, a thousand times to blame, but I hasten to defend myself. Between five and six yesterday, just as we were talking of you with the warmest affection, a messenger from Uncle Stepan Alexievich galloped up with the news that my aunt was very bad. Being afraid of alarming my wife, I did not say a word of this to her, but on the pretext of another urgent business I drove off to my aunt's house. I found her almost dying. Just at five o'clock she had had a stroke, the third she has had in the last two years. Karl Fyodorich, their family doctor, told us that she might not live through the night. You can judge of my position, dearest friend. We were on our legs all night in grief and anxiety. It was not till morning that, utterly exhausted and overcome by moral and physical weakness, I lay down on the sofa. I forgot to tell them to wake me, and only woke at half-past eleven. My aunt was better. I drove home to my wife. She, poor thing, was quite worn out expecting me. I snatched a bite of something, embraced my little boy, reassured my wife, and set off to call on you. You were not at home. At your flat I found Yevgeny Nikolaich. When I got home I took up a pen, and here I am writing to you. Don't grumble and be cross to me, my true friend. Beat me, chop my guilty head off my shoulders, but don't deprive me of your affection. From your wife I learned that you will be at the Slavyanov's this evening. I will certainly be there. I look forward with the greatest impatience to seeing you. I remain, etc. P.S. We are in perfect despair about our little boy. Karl Fyodorich prescribes rhubarb. He moans. Yesterday he did not know anyone. This morning he did know us, and began lisping papa, mama, boo. My wife was in tears the whole morning. 4. From Ivan Petrovich to Piotr Ivanich My dear sir Piotr Ivanich, I am writing to you in your room at your bureau, and before taking up my pen I have been waiting for more than two and a half hours for you. Now allow me to tell you straight out, Piotr Ivanich, my frank opinion about this shabby incident. From your last letter I gathered that you were expected at the Slavyanov's, and that you were inviting me to go there. I turned up. I stayed for five hours, and there was no sign of you. Why am I to be made a laughing-stock to people, do you suppose? Excuse me, my dear sir. I came to you this morning. I hoped to find you, not imitating certain deceitful persons, who look for people God knows where, when they can be found at home at any suitably chosen time. There is no sign of you at home. I don't know what restrains me from telling you now the whole harsh truth. I will only say that I see you seem to be going back on your bargain regarding our agreement, and only now, reflecting on the whole affair, I cannot but confess that I am absolutely astounded at the artful workings of your mind. I see clearly now that you have been cherishing your unfriendly design for a long time. This supposition of mine is confirmed by the fact that last week, in an almost unpardonable way, you took possession of that letter of yours addressed to me, in which you laid down yourself—though rather vaguely and incoherently—the terms of our agreement in regard to a circumstance of which I need not remind you. You are afraid of documents, you destroy them, and you try to make a fool of me. But I won't allow myself to be made a fool of, for no one has ever considered me one hitherto, and every one has thought well of me in that respect. I am opening my eyes. You try and put me off, confuse me with talk of Yevgeny Nikolaich, and when with your letter of the seventh of this month, which I am still at a loss to understand, I seek a personal explanation from you, you make humbugging appointments, while you keep out of the way. Surely you do not suppose, sir, that I am equal to noticing this. You promised to reward me for my services, of which you are very well aware, in the way of introducing various persons, and at the same time, and I don't know how you do it, you contrive to borrow money from me in considerable sums, without giving a receipt, as happened no longer ago than last week. Now having got the money, you keep out of the way, and what's more, you repudiate the service I have done you in regard to Yevgeny Nikolaich. You are probably reckoning on my speedy departure for Simbersk, and hoping I may not have time to settle your business, but I assure you solemnly, and testify on my word of honour, that if it comes to that, I am prepared to spend two more months in Petersburg, expressly to carry through my business, to attain my objects, and to get a hold of you, for I too, on occasion, know how to get the better of people. In conclusion, I beg to inform you, that if you do not give me a satisfactory explanation to-day, first in writing, and then personally, face to face, and do not make a fresh statement in your letter, of the chief points of the agreement existing between us, and do not explain fully your views in regard to Yevgeny Nikolaich, I shall be compelled to have recourse to measures that will be highly unpleasant to you, and indeed repugnant to me also. Allow me to remain, etc. 5. From Pyotr Ivanovich to Ivan Petrovich. November 11. My dear and honoured friend, Ivan Petrovich, I was cut to the heart by your letter. I wonder you were not ashamed, my dear but unjust friend, to behave like this to one of your most devoted friends. Why be in such a hurry, and without explaining things fully, wound me with such insulting suspicions! But I hasten to reply to your charges. You did not find me yesterday, Ivan Petrovich, because I was suddenly, and quite unexpectedly, called away to a death-bed. My aunt, Yefima Nikolaevna, passed away yesterday evening, at eleven o'clock in the night, by the general consent of the relatives. I was selected to make arrangements for the sad and sorrowful ceremony. I had so much to do, that I had not time to see you this morning, nor even to send you a line. I am grieved to the heart at the misunderstanding which has arisen between us. My words about Yevgeny Nikolayevich, uttered casually and in jest, you have taken in quite a wrong sense, and have ascribed them to a meaning deeply offensive to me. You refer to money and express your anxiety about it. But without wasting words, I am ready to satisfy all your claims and demands, though I must remind you that the three hundred and fifty roubles I had from you last week were in accordance with a certain agreement, and not by way of a loan. In the latter case, there would certainly have been a receipt. I will not condescend to discuss the other points mentioned in your letter. I see that it is a misunderstanding. I see that it is your habitual hastiness, hot temper, and obstinacy. I know that your good-heartedness and open character will not allow doubts to persist in your heart, and that you will be, in fact, the first to hold out your hand to me. You are mistaken, Yevgen Petrovich, you are greatly mistaken. Although your letter has deeply wounded me, I should be prepared even to-day to come to you and apologize, but I have been since yesterday in such a rush and flurry that I am utterly exhausted, and can scarcely stand on my feet. To complete my troubles, my wife is laid up. I am afraid she is seriously ill. Our little boy, thank God, is better. But I must lay down my pen. I have a mass of things to do, and they are urgent. Allow me and my dear friend to remain. Etc. From Ivan Petrovich to Piotr Ivanich. November 14. Dear Sir. Piotr Ivanich. I have been waiting for three days. I tried to make a profitable use of them. Meanwhile, I feel that politeness and good manners are the greatest ornaments for everyone. Since my last letter of the tenth of this month, I have neither by word nor deed reminded you of my existence, partly in order to allow you undisturbed to perform the duty of a Christian in regard to your aunt, partly because I needed the time for certain considerations and investigations in regard to a business you know of. Now, I hasten to explain myself to you in the most thoroughgoing and decisive manner. I frankly confess that on reading your first two letters I seriously supposed that you did not understand what I wanted. That was how it was that I rather sought an interview with you and explanations face to face. I was afraid of writing, and blamed myself for lack of clearness in the expression of my thoughts on paper. You are aware that I have not the advantages of education and good manners, and that I shun a hollow show of gentility, because I have learned from bitter experience how misleading appearances often are, and that a snake sometimes lies hidden under flowers. But you understood me. You did not answer me as you should have done, because, in the treachery of your heart, you had planned beforehand to be faithless to your word of honour and to the friendly relations existing between us. You have proved this absolutely by your abominable conduct towards me of late, which is fatal to my interests, which I did not expect, and which I refused to believe until the present moment. From the very beginning of our acquaintance you captivated me with your clever manners, by the subtlety of your behaviour, your knowledge of affairs, and the advantages to be gained by an association with you. I imagined that I had found a true friend and well-wisher. Now I recognize clearly that there are many people who under a flattering and brilliant exterior hide venom in their hearts, who use their cleverness to weave snares for their neighbour, and for unpardonable deception, and so are afraid of pen and paper, and at the same time use their fine language not for the benefit of their neighbour and their country, but to drug and bewitch the reason of those who have entered into business relations of any sort with them. Your treachery to me, my dear sir, can be clearly seen from what follows. In the first place, when, in the clear and distinct terms of my letter, I described my position, sir, and at the same time asked you in my first letter what you meant by certain expressions and intentions of yours, principally in regard to Yevgeny Nikolayevich, you tried for the most part to avoid answering, and confounding me by doubts and suspicions, you calmly put the subject aside. Then, after treating me in a way which cannot be described by any seemly word, you began writing that you were wounded. Pray what am I to call that, sir? Then, when every minute was precious to me, and when you had set me running after you all over the town, you wrote, pretending personal friendship, letters which, intentionally avoiding all mention of business, you spoke of utterly irrelevant matters, to wit, of the illnesses of your good lady, for whom I have in any case every respect, and of how your baby has been dosed with rhubarb and was cutting a tooth, all this you alluded to, in every letter, with a disgusting regularity, that was insulting to me. Of course, I am prepared to admit that a father's heart may be torn by the sufferings of his babe, but why make mention of this when something different, far more important, and interesting, was needed? I endured it in silence, but now, when time has elapsed, I think it my duty to explain myself. Finally, treacherously deceiving me several times by making humbugging appointments, you tried, it seems, to make me play the part of a fool and a laughing-stock for you, which I never intend to be. Then, after first inviting me and thoroughly deceiving me, you informed me that you were called away to your suffering aunt who had had a stroke, precisely at five o'clock, as you stated, with shameful exactitude. Luckily for me, sir, in the course of these three days I have succeeded in making inquiries, and have learnt from them, that your aunt had a stroke on the day before the seventh, not long before midnight. From this fact I see that you have made use of sacred family relations in order to deceive persons in no way concerned with them. Finally, in your last letter you mentioned the death of your relative, as though it had taken place precisely at the time I was to have visited you to consult about various business matters, but here the vileness of your arts and calculations exceeds all belief, for from trustworthy information, which I was able by a lucky chance to obtain just in the nick of time, I have found out that your aunt died twenty-four hours later than the time you so impiously fixed for her decease in your letter. I shall never have done if I enumerate all the signs by which I have discovered your treachery in regard to me. It is sufficient, indeed, for any impartial observer, that in every letter you style me your true friend, and call me all sorts of polite names, which you do to the best of my belief, for no other object than to put my conscience to sleep. I have come now to your principal act of deceit and treachery in regard to me. To wit, your continual silence of late in regard to everything concerning our common interests, in regard to your wicked theft of the letter in which you stated, though in language somewhat obscure and not perfectly intelligible to me, our mutual agreements. Your barbarous forcible loan of three hundred and fifty roubles, which you borrowed from me as your partner without giving any receipt. And finally, your abominable slanders of our common acquaintance, Yevgeny Nikolaich. I see clearly now that you meant to show me that he was, if you will allow me to say so, like a billy goat, good for neither milk nor wool, that he was neither one thing nor the other, neither fish nor flesh, which you put down as a vice in him in your letter of the sixth instant. I knew Yevgeny Nikolaich as a modest and well-behaved young man, whereby he may well attract, gain and deserve respect in society. I know also that every evening for the last fortnight you have put into your pocket dozens and sometimes even hundreds of roubles, playing games of chance with Yevgeny Nikolaich. Now you disavow all this, and not only refuse to compensate me for what I have suffered, but have even appropriated money belonging to me, tempting me by suggestions that I should be a partner in the affair, and luring me with various advantages which were to accrue. After having appropriated, in a most illegal way, money of mine and of Yevgeny Nikolaich's, you decline to compensate me, resorting for that object to calumny, with which you have unjustifiably blackened in my eyes a man whom I, by my efforts and exertions, introduced into your house. While on the contrary, from what I hear from your friends, you are still almost slobbering over him, and give out to the whole world that he is your dearest friend, though there is no one in the world such a fool as not to guess at once what your designs are aiming at, and what your friendly relations really mean. I should say that they mean deceit, treachery, forgetfulness of human duties and proprieties, contrary to the law of God, and vicious in every way. I take myself as proof and example. In what way have I offended you, and why have you treated me in this godless fashion? I will end my letter. I have explained myself. Now, in conclusion. If, sir, you do not, in the shortest possible time after receiving this letter, return to me in full, first the three hundred and fifty roubles I gave you, and secondly, all the sums that should come to me according to your promise, I will have recourse to every possible means to compel you to return it, even to open force, secondly to the protection of the laws, and finally, I beg to inform you that I am in possession of facts which, if they remain in the hands of your humble servant, may ruin and disgrace your name in the eyes of all the world. Allow me to remain. Etc. 7. From Piotr Ivanich to Ivan Petrovich November 15. Ivan Petrovich, when I received your vulgar and at the same time queer letter, my impulse for the first minute was to tear it to shreds, but I have preserved it as a curiosity. I do, however, sincerely regret our misunderstandings and unpleasant relations. I did not mean to answer you, but I am compelled by necessity. I must in these lines inform you that it would be very unpleasant for me to see you in my house at any time. My wife feels the same. She is in delicate health, and the smell of tar upsets her. My wife sends your wife the book Don Quixote de la Mancha with her sincere thanks. As for the galoshes you say you left behind here on your last visit, I must regretfully inform you that they are nowhere to be found. They are still being looked for, but if they do not turn up, then I will buy you a new pair. I have the honour to remain your sincere friend. 8. On the 16th of November, Piotr Ivanich, received by post two letters addressed to him. Opening the first envelope, he took out a carefully folded note on pale pink paper. The handwriting was his wife's. It was addressed to Yevgeny Nikolayevich, and dated November 2nd. There was nothing else in the envelope. Piotr Ivanich read, Dear Eugène, Yesterday was utterly impossible. My husband was at home the whole evening. Be sure to come tomorrow punctually at eleven. At half-past ten my husband is going to Tsarko, and not coming back till evening. I was in a rage all night. Thank you for sending me the information in the correspondence. What a lot of paper! Did she really write all that? She has style, though. Many thanks, dear. I see that you love me. Don't be angry, but for goodness' sake come tomorrow. A. Piotr Ivanich tore open the other letter. Piotr Ivanich, I should never have set foot in your house again anyway. You need not have troubled to soil paper about it. Next week I am going to Simbirsk. Yevgeny Nikolayevich remains your precious and beloved friend. I wish you luck, and don't trouble about the galoshes. 9. On the 17th of November, Ivan Petrovich received by post two letters addressed to him. Opening the first letter, he took out a hasty and carelessly written note. The handwriting was his wife's. It was addressed to Yevgeny Nikolayevich, and dated August 4th. There was nothing else in the envelope. Ivan Petrovich read, Good-bye, good-bye, Yevgeny Nikolayevich. The Lord reward you for this too. May you be happy, but my lot is bitter, terribly bitter. It is your choice. If it had not been for my aunt, I should not have put such trust in you. Do not laugh at me, nor at my aunt. Tomorrow is our wedding. Aunt is relieved that a good man has been found, and that he will take me without a dowry. I took a good look at him for the first time to-day. He seems good-natured. They are hurrying me. Farewell, farewell, my darling. Think of me sometimes. I shall never forget you. Farewell. I will sign this like my first letter. Do you remember? Tatiana." The second letter was as follows. Ivan Petrovich, Tomorrow you will receive a new pair of galoshes. It is not my habit to filch from other men's pockets, and I am not fond of picking up all sorts of rubbish in the streets. Yevgeny Nikolayevich is going to Simbersk in a day or two on his grandfather's business, and he has asked me to find a travelling companion for him. Wouldn't you like to take him with you?" End of chapter 2