«An unforeseen question,» I answered, perplexed in my turn. To tell the truth, it had not entered my head, so much more practical are women than we men in the solution of the problems of daily life!
«Poor dear! how could he have got into such a mess … nothing to amuse him, and in the dark…. How vexing it is that I have no photograph of him…. And so now I am a sort of widow,» she added, with a seductive smile, evidently interested in her new position. «Hm!… I am sorry for him, though.»
It was, in short, the expression of the very natural and intelligible grief of a young and interesting wife for the loss of her husband. I took her home at last, soothed her, and after dining with her and drinking a cup of aromatic coffee, set off at six o’clock to Timofey Semyonitch, calculating that at that hour all married people of settled habits would be sitting or lying down at home.
Having written this first chapter in a style appropriate to the incident recorded, I intend to proceed in a language more natural though less elevated, and I beg to forewarn the reader of the fact.
II
The venerable Timofey Semyonitch met me rather nervously, as though somewhat embarrassed. He led me to his tiny study and shut the door carefully, «that the children may not hinder us,» he added with evident uneasiness. There he made me sit down on a chair by the writing-table, sat down himself in an easy chair, wrapped round him the skirts of his old wadded dressing-gown, and assumed an official and even severe air, in readiness for anything, though he was not my chief nor Ivan Matveitch’s, and had hitherto been reckoned as a colleague and even a friend.
«First of all,» he said, «take note that I am not a person in authority, but just such a subordinate official as you and Ivan Matveitch…. I have nothing to do with it, and do not intend to mix myself up in the affair.»
I was surprised to find that he apparently knew all about it already. In spite of that I told him the whole story over in detail. I spoke with positive excitement, for I was at that moment fulfilling the obligations of a true friend. He listened without special surprise, but with evident signs of suspicion.
«Only fancy,» he said, «I always believed that this would be sure to happen to him.»
«Why, Timofey Semyonitch? It is a very unusual incident in itself….»
«I admit it. But Ivan Matveitch’s whole career in the service was leading up to this end. He was flighty—conceited indeed. It was always ‘progress’ and ideas of all sorts, and this is what progress brings people to!»
«But this is a most unusual incident and cannot possibly serve as a general rule for all progressives.»
«Yes, indeed it can. You see, it’s the effect of over-education, I assure you. For over-education leads people to poke their noses into all sorts of places, especially where they are not invited. Though perhaps you know best,» he added, as though offended. «I am an old man and not of much education. I began as a soldier’s son, and this year has been the jubilee of my service.»
«Oh, no, Timofey Semyonitch, not at all. On the contrary, Ivan Matveitch is eager for your advice; he is eager for your guidance. He implores it, so to say, with tears.»
«So to say, with tears! Hm! Those are crocodile’s tears and one cannot quite believe in them. Tell me, what possessed him to want to go abroad? And how could he afford to go? Why, he has no private means!»
«He had saved the money from his last bonus,» I answered plaintively. «He only wanted to go for three months—to Switzerland … to the land of William Tell.»
«William Tell? Hm!»
«He wanted to meet the spring at Naples, to see the museums, the customs, the animals….»
«Hm! The animals! I think it was simply from pride. What animals? Animals, indeed! Haven’t we animals enough? We have museums, menageries, camels. There are bears quite close to Petersburg! And here he’s got inside a crocodile himself….»
«Oh, come, Timofey Semyonitch! The man is in trouble, the man appeals to you as to a friend, as to an older relation, craves for advice—and you reproach him. Have pity at least on the unfortunate Elena Ivanovna!»
«You are speaking of his wife? A charming little lady,» said Timofey Semyonitch, visibly softening and taking a pinch of snuff with relish. «Particularly prepossessing. And so plump, and always putting her pretty little head on one side…. Very agreeable. Andrey Osipitch was speaking of her only the other day.»
«Speaking of her?»
«Yes, and in very flattering terms. Such a bust, he said, such eyes, such hair…. A sugar-plum, he said, not a lady—and then he laughed. He is still a young man, of course.» Timofey Semyonitch blew his nose with a loud noise. «And yet, young though he is, what a career he is making for himself.»
«That’s quite a different thing, Timofey Semyonitch.»
«Of course, of course.»
«Well, what do you say then, Timofey Semyonitch?»
«Why, what can I do?»
«Give advice, guidance, as a man of experience, a relative! What are we to do? What steps are we to take? Go to the authorities and …»
«To the authorities? Certainly not,» Timofey Semyonitch replied hurriedly. «If you ask my advice, you had better, above all, hush the matter up and act, so to speak, as a private person. It is a suspicious incident, quite unheard of. Unheard of, above all; there is no precedent for it, and it is far from creditable…. And so discretion above all…. Let him lie there a bit. We must wait and see….»
«But how can we wait and see, Timofey Semyonitch? What if he is stifled there?»
«Why should he be? I think you told me that he made himself fairly comfortable there?»
I told him the whole story over again. Timofey Semyonitch pondered.
«Hm!» he said, twisting his snuff-box in his hands. «To my mind it’s really a good thing he should lie there a bit, instead of going abroad. Let him reflect at his leisure. Of course he mustn’t be stifled, and so he must take measures to preserve his health, avoiding a cough, for instance, and so on…. And as for the German, it’s my personal opinion he is within his rights, and even more so than the other side, because it was the other party who got into his crocodile without asking permission, and not he who got into Ivan Matveitch’s crocodile without asking permission, though, so far as I recollect, the latter has no crocodile. And a crocodile is private property, and so it is impossible to slit him open without compensation.»
«For the saving of human life, Timofey Semyonitch.»
«Oh, well, that’s a matter for the police. You must go to them.»
«But Ivan Matveitch may be needed in the department. He may be asked for.»
«Ivan Matveitch needed? Ha-ha! Besides, he is on leave, so that we may ignore him—let him inspect the countries of Europe! It will be a different matter if he doesn’t turn up when his leave is over. Then we shall ask for him and make inquiries.»
«Three months! Timofey Semyonitch, for pity’s sake!»
«It’s his own fault. Nobody thrust him there. At this rate we should have to get a nurse to look after him at government expense, and that is not allowed for in the regulations. But the chief point is that the crocodile is private property, so that the principles of economics apply in this question. And the principles of economics are paramount. Only the other evening, at Luka Andreitch’s, Ignaty Prokofyitch was saying so. Do you know Ignaty Prokofyitch? A capitalist, in a big way of business, and he speaks so fluently. ‘We need industrial development,’ he said; ‘there is very little development among us. We must create it. We must create capital, so we must create a middle-class, the so-called bourgeoisie. And as we haven’t capital we must attract it from abroad. We must, in the first place, give facilities to foreign companies to buy up lands in Russia as is done now abroad.
The communal holding of land is poison, is ruin.’ And, you know, he spoke with such heat; well, that’s all right for him—a wealthy man, and not in the service. ‘With the communal system,’ he said, ‘there will be no improvement in industrial development or agriculture. Foreign companies,’ he said, ‘must as far as possible buy up the whole of our land in big lots, and then split it up, split it up, split it up, in the smallest parts possible’—and do you know he pronounced the words ‘split it up’ with such determination—’and then sell it as private property. Or rather, not sell it, but simply let it. When,’ he said, ‘all the land is in the hands of foreign companies they can fix any rent they like. And so the peasant will work three times as much for his daily bread and he can be turned out at pleasure. So that he will feel it, will be submissive and industrious, and will work three times as much for the same wages. But as it is, with the commune, what does he care? He knows he won’t die of hunger, so he is lazy and drunken.
And meanwhile money will be attracted into Russia, capital will be created and the bourgeoisie will spring up. The English political and literary paper,
