' Petersburg and my impressions I will not describe to you.'
' Describe to you,' said Alexandr, writing it down.
'Petersburg has been fully described long ago, and what has not been described you must see for yourself;
D
my impressions will be of no use whatever to you. It is useless to waste time and paper for nothing. I shall do better to describe my uncle, because that is of interest to me personally.'
' To me personally,' said Alexandr.
' Well, you write here, that I am good-hearted and very intelligent—I may be so, or may not; let us rather take a middle course, write : My uncle is not stupid nor unkind, he wishes me well.'
' Uncle! I know how to appreciate and to feel' . . . . said Alexander, and got up to kiss him.
' Although he does not fall upon my neck,' continued Piotr Ivanitch. Alexandr, who had not yet reached him, sat down again rather suddenly.
' But he wishes me well, because he has no reason or motive to wish me ill, and because my mother has interceded with him on my behalf, and she was good to him formerly. He says he does not love me—and very reasonably; it is impossible to love any one in a fortnight, and I do not love him yet, even though I maintain that I do.'
' How is that possible ? ' said Alexandr.
' Write, write. ' But we are beginning to get used to one another. He even says that it is possible to do without love altogether. He does not sit with his arms round me, from morning till evening, because this is quite unnecessary, and he has not the time. * Averse to all outbursts of feeling' —that may stand : that is good. Have you written it ? '
' Yes.'
' Well, what have you next ? ' Prosaic'—write it'
While Alexandr was writing, Piotr Ivanitch took from the table a paper of some sort, twisted it up, thrust it in the fire, and lighted a cigar with it, and threw the paper back into the fire and it burnt up.
' My uncle is neither a demon, nor an angel, but just a man like every one else,' he dictated, ' only not altogether like you and me. He thinks and feels after an earthly fashion, he considers that since we live on the earth, we must not fly off from earth to heaven, where we are not invited for the present, but must busy ourselves with human affairs which are our calling. Therefore he analyses all earthly matters and especially life, as it is, not as we should like it to be. He believes in good and at the same
time in evil, in the noble and in the base. He believes also in love and friendship, only he does not think they have fallen from heaven, but he considers that they came into existence together with men and for men, and that they too ought to be understood, and in fact generally that one ought to look at things steadily, in their actual bearings, and not be carried away God knows where. Among honest men he admits the possibility of a friendliness, which from frequent intercourse and habit turns into friendship. But he considers also that from separation habits lose their strength and people forget one another and that this is by no means a crime. For this reason he is convinced that I shall forget you and you me./ This seems to me—and probably also to you—strange, but he advises us to accustom ourselves to this thought, so that we shall both avo id bein g ^dg?fiixed« As to love this is his view, roughly speaking; he does not believe in eternal and unchanging love, just as he does not believe in ghosts—and he advises us not to believe in it. However, he advises me to think on this subject as little as possible and I advise you the same. It will come, he says, of itself, without any invitation; he says that life does not consist of love only, that like everything else it has its fitting season, but to dream your whole life of one love is absurd. Those who seek it and cannot do without it a minute—live with their hearts at the expense of their heads. My uncle likes to be busy with work, and advises me to do the like and I you; we belong to society, he says, which has need of us; while he is busy, he does not forget his own interests; his work gains money and money brings comfort, which he likes extremely. Moreover, he has perhaps plans in consequence of which I shall not probably be his heir. My uncle is not always thinking of his official I work and of his factory; he knows by heart not only ' Pushkin » —
'You, uncle?' said Alexandr astonished.
' Yes, you will see some day. Write: n
' ?{e read? in tiyn languages whatpvpr flpp^rc w^rfrhy nf
note in all branches af human knowledge, Joves art, has an
excel lent collection of picture s nf the F urnish srhnn— that
i?hls rlOBby—o/ten.goes to the f ^^ fy ^ l hi? f u * ; ° n(j j n_a fuss and fidget, and does not sigh and moan, thinking that this is childish, that one must control oneself, not obtrude
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one's emotions on any one, because nobody cares about them. He does not speak a strange tongue either and he advises me not to, and so do I advise you. Good-bye, write to me rather less often and don't waste time for nothing. Your friend so and so. Now, the day of the month.'
' How can I send such a letter ? ' said Alexandr, '' write rather less often'—write that to the man who came over a hundred and sixty miles on purpose to say a last good-bye to me! 'I advise you so, and so, and so': he is just as clever as I am, he came out second.'
' No matter, send it all the same, perhaps he will learn something from it; it will lead him to several new reflections ; though you have taken your degrees, your education is only just beginning.'
' I cannot make up my mind, uncle, to '
' I never interfere in what doesn't concern me, but you yourself asked me to do something for you; well, as you like; I only give you my opinion.'
'Forgive me, uncle; I will obey you,' said Alexandr, and at once sealed up the letter.
Having sealed up one, he began to look for the other, to Sophia. He looked on the table—not there; under the table—not there either; in the desk—it was not there.
' What are you looking for? ' said his uncle. ' I am looking for another letter—to Sophia.' And his uncle too began to look about. ' Where can it be ? ' said Piotr Ivanitch, ' I hope I did not throw it in the fire.'
' Uncle ! what have you done ? you actually lighted your cigar with it!' said Alexandr in great distress, picking up the charred fragments of the letter.
' Is it possible?' cried his uncle, ' how did I do that? I did not notice it; only imagine my having burnt such a precious thing. However, do you know what? from one point of view it is positively a good thing.'
' Oh, uncle ! good God! not from any point of view can it be a good thing,' said Alexandr in despair.
' I assure you it was a good thing; you will not have time to write to her by this post, and by the next you will certainly be in a different mood, you will be busy with your
new work; you will not be at the same stage and in this way you will commit one folly the less.'
' What will she think of me ? '
' Why what she likes,,' And I think it will be a gain to her. I suppose you are not going to marry her? She will think you have forgotten her. She will forget you herself and will have the less reason to blush before her future husband, when she assures him that she has never loved any one but him.'
' You are a strange man, uncle ! for you there is no such thing as constancy, no sacred vows. Life is so sweet, so full of charm, of subtlety, it is like a smooth, resplendent lake.'
' Where yellow flowers grow, I suppose! M put in his uncle.
'Like a lake,' continued Alexandr, 'it is full of something mysterious, alluring, hiding within it so much.'
' Mud, my dear boy.' j ' W&y do you bring in mud, uncle, why do you destroy and put an end to all pleasure, hope, bliss—why do you look at the dark side ? '
' I look at reality, and I advise you to do the same ;• you will not be taken in then. According to your notions life is sweet in the provinces, where they know nothing about it— there they are not men, but angels: Zayeshaloff for instance —a noble fellow; your auntie—a sublime sensitive spirit, and Sophia, I fancy, is just such a silly creature as your auntie.
' No more, uncle !' said Alexandr driven to fury.
' And still more such idealists as you: they go blindfold through life, groping afteFmicrianging love and friendship. For the hundredth time I say, it was a pity for you to come!'
' Will she assure her husband that she has never loved any one ? ' said Alexandr almost to himself.
' Why ! you are back at the same subject again!'
