THE COMPLETE NOVELLAS & SHORT STORIES OF FYODOR DOSTOYEVSKY. Fyodor Dostoyevsky

will come to know us and appreciate us. Major-General Vassili Vassilitch Pervoyedov, at your service.”

      “Oh, no, no! Certainly not! I was at Schultz’s; I had a complication, you know, at first it was my chest and a cough, and then I caught a cold: my lungs and influenza … and all of a sudden, quite unexpectedly … the worst of all was its being so unexpected.”

      “You say it began with the chest,” the government clerk put in suavely, as though he wished to reassure the new arrival.

      “Yes, my chest and catarrh and then no catarrh, but still the chest, and I couldn’t breathe … and you know….”

      “I know, I know. But if it was the chest you ought to have gone to Ecke and not to Schultz.”

      “You know, I kept meaning to go to Botkin’s, and all at once….”

      “Botkin is quite prohibitive,” observed the general.

      “Oh, no, he is not forbidding at all; I’ve heard he is so attentive and foretells everything beforehand.”

      “His Excellency was referring to his fees,” the government clerk corrected him.

      “Oh, not at all, he only asks three roubles, and he makes such an examination, and gives you a prescription … and I was very anxious to see him, for I have been told…. Well, gentlemen, had I better go to Ecke or to Botkin?”

      “What? To whom?” The general’s corpse shook with agreeable laughter. The government clerk echoed it in falsetto.

      “Dear boy, dear, delightful boy, how I love you!” Avdotya Ignatyevna squealed ecstatically. “I wish they had put some one like you next to me.”

      No, that was too much! And these were the dead of our times! Still, I ought to listen to more and not be in too great a hurry to draw conclusions. That snivelling new arrival — I remember him just now in his coffin — had the expression of a frightened chicken, the most revolting expression in the world! However, let us wait and see.

       But what happened next was such a Bedlam that I could not keep it all in my memory. For a great many woke up at once; an official — a civil councillor — woke up, and began discussing at once the project of a new sub-committee in a government department and of the probable transfer of various functionaries in connection with the sub-committee — which very greatly interested the general. I must confess I learnt a great deal that was new myself, so much so that I marvelled at the channels by which one may sometimes in the metropolis learn government news. Then an engineer half woke up, but for a long time muttered absolute nonsense, so that our friends left off worrying him and let him lie till he was ready. At last the distinguished lady who had been buried in the morning under the catafalque showed symptoms of the reanimation of the tomb. Lebeziatnikov (for the obsequious lower court councillor whom I detested and who lay beside General Pervoyedov was called, it appears, Lebeziatnikov) became much excited, and surprised that they were all waking up so soon this time. I must own I was surprised too; though some of those who woke had been buried for three days, as, for instance, a very young girl of sixteen who kept giggling … giggling in a horrible and predatory way.

      “Your Excellency, privy councillor Tarasevitch is waking!” Lebeziatnikov announced with extreme fussiness.

      “Eh? What?” the privy councillor, waking up suddenly, mumbled, with a lisp of disgust. There was a note of ill-humoured peremptoriness in the sound of his voice.

      I listened with curiosity — for during the last few days I had heard something about Tarasevitch — shocking and upsetting in the extreme.

      “It’s I, your Excellency, so far only I.”

      “What is your petition? What do you want?”

      “Merely to inquire after your Excellency’s health; in these unaccustomed surroundings every one feels at first, as it were, oppressed…. General Pervoyedov wishes to have the honour of making your Excellency’s acquaintance, and hopes….”

      “I’ve never heard of him.”

      “Surely, your Excellency! General Pervoyedov, Vassili Vassilitch….”

      “Are you General Pervoyedov?”

      “No, your Excellency, I am only the lower court councillor Lebeziatnikov, at your service, but General Pervoyedov….”

      “Nonsense! And I beg you to leave me alone.”

      “Let him be.” General Pervoyedov at last himself checked with dignity the disgusting officiousness of his sycophant in the grave.

      “He is not fully awake, your Excellency, you must consider that; it’s the novelty of it all. When he is fully awake he will take it differently.”

      “Let him be,” repeated the general.

       “Vassili Vassilitch! Hey, your Excellency!” a perfectly new voice shouted loudly and aggressively from close beside Avdotya Ignatyevna. It was a voice of gentlemanly insolence, with the languid pronunciation now fashionable and an arrogant drawl. “I’ve been watching you all for the last two hours. Do you remember me, Vassili Vassilitch? My name is Klinevitch, we met at the Volokonskys’ where you, too, were received as a guest, I am sure I don’t know why.”

      “What, Count Pyotr Petrovitch?… Can it be really you … and at such an early age? How sorry I am to hear it.”

      “Oh, I am sorry myself, though I really don’t mind, and I want to amuse myself as far as I can everywhere. And I am not a count but a baron, only a baron. We are only a set of scurvy barons, risen from being flunkeys, but why I don’t know and I don’t care. I am only a scoundrel of the pseudo-aristocratic society, and I am regarded as ‘a charming polis-son.’ My father is a wretched little general, and my mother was at one time received en haut lieu. With the help of the Jew Zifel I forged fifty thousand rouble notes last year and then I informed against him, while Julie Charpentier de Lusignan carried off the money to Bordeaux. And only fancy, I was engaged to be married — to a girl still at school, three months under sixteen, with a dowry of ninety thousand. Avdotya Ignatyevna, do you remember how you seduced me fifteen years ago when I was a boy of fourteen in the Corps des Pages?”

      “Ah, that’s you, you rascal! Well, you are a godsend, anyway, for here….”

      “You were mistaken in suspecting your neighbour, the business gentleman, of unpleasant fragrance…. I said nothing, but I laughed. The stench came from me: they had to bury me in a nailed-up coffin.”

      “Ugh, you horrid creature! Still, I am glad you are here; you can’t imagine the lack of life and wit here.”

      “Quite so, quite so, and I intend to start here something original. Your Excellency — I don’t mean you, Pervoyedov — your Excellency the other one, Tarasevitch, the privy councillor! Answer! I am Klinevitch, who took you to Mlle. Furie in Lent, do you hear?”

      “I do, Klinevitch, and I am delighted, and trust me….”

      “I wouldn’t trust you with a halfpenny, and I don’t care. I simply want to kiss you, dear old man, but luckily I can’t. Do you know, gentlemen, what this grand-père’s little game was? He died three or four days ago, and would you believe it, he left a deficit of four hundred thousand government money from the fund for widows and orphans. He was the sole person in control of it for some reason, so that his accounts were not audited for the last eight years. I can fancy what long faces they all have now, and what they call him. It’s a delectable thought, isn’t it? I have been wondering for the last year how a wretched old man of seventy, gouty and rheumatic, succeeded in preserving the physical energy for his debaucheries — and now the riddle is solved! Those widows and orphans — the very thought of them must have egged him on! I knew about it long ago, I was the only one who did know; it was Julie told me, and as soon as I discovered it, I attacked him in a friendly way at once in Easter week: ‘Give me twenty-five thousand, if you don’t they’ll look into your accounts tomorrow.’ And just fancy, he had only thirteen thousand left then, so it seems it was very