' Let him ! I don't depend on him. Can I be thinking now of contemptible money—now, when '
' Contemptible money, indeed! You had better build yourself a hut upon the mountains, live on bread and water, and sing—
0 • A cottage poor with thee,
Is Paradise to me,'
only when you've no more contemptible money, don't come to me, I won't give you '
' I don't think I have often troubled you.'
' So far, I'm thankful to say you haven't, only it may come to that if you neglect work; love too costs money; you want to be extra smart and lots of different expenses. Oh, love at twenty! Come that's contemptible, contemptible if you like ! There's no sense in it.'
' What love has sense in it, uncle ? Love at forty ? '
' I don't know what love is like at forty, but love at thirty-seven '
' Like yours ? '
' Yes, if you like, like mine.'
' That is, no love at all.'
' How do you know ? '
' Do you mean to say you can love ? '
' Why not ? Am I not a man, or am I seventy ? Only if I love, I love reasonably, I reflect on myself, I don't smash or upset things.'
' Reasonable love! a fine kind of love that reflects on itself!' remarked Alexandr scoffingly, 'that never forgets itself for an instant.'
' When it is savage, instinctive,' put in Piotr Ivanitch, ' it does not reflect, but reasonable feeling must reflect; if it does not, it is not love.'
' What is it then ? '
' Oh, vileness, as you would call it.'
'You—love!' said Alexandr, looking incredulously at his uncle, ' ha ! ha! ha ! '
Piotr Ivanitch went on writing in silence.
' Who is it, uncle ? ' asked Alexandr.
' Do you want to know ? '
' Yes.'
' The lady I'm about to marry ? '
'You—to marry!' Alexandr could scarcely utter the words; he leaped up from his place and went up to his uncle.
' No closer, no closer, Alexandr, shut off the steam I ' said Piotr Ivanitch, seeing his nephew's round eyes of astonishment and quickly collecting round him the various small objects on the table—b usts, figures, clocks, a nd inkstands.
] tr Shd you are so calm ! you write letters to Moscow, and talk of outside matters, go to your factory and still talk with such hellish coldness about love!'
' Hellish coldness—that's something new, they say it's hot in hell. But why are you looking at me so strangely ? '
' You get married !'
'What is there astonishing in that?' asked Piotr Ivanitch laying down his pen.
'What indeed? you get married and never a word to me!'
' Why I have just told you.'
'You mentioned it because it happened to be apropos of something.'
' I try as far as I can to do everything a propos.'
' No, you should have communicated your happiness to me first; you know how I love you and how I should participate ... .'
' I dislike participation in everything and especially in marriage.'
'Do you know, uncle?' said Alexandr with animation 'it may be . . . • no, I cannot conceal it from you. I am not like that, I must tell all.'
' Oh, Alexandr, I've no time to spare; if there's another rigmarole, won't it do to-morrow ? '
' I want only to tell you that perhaps .... I too am soon to be as happy '
' What ?' asked Piotr Ivanitch, pricking up his ears a little, 'that's something curious.'
'Ah! curious? then I will torment you: I won't tell you.'
Piotr Ivanitch took up an envelope with an air of indifference, put his letter in it and began to seal it up. *J l ' And I too am going to be married perhaps!' said ^Alexandr in his uncle's ear.
Piotr Ivanitch did not finish sealing the letter up but looked at him very seriously.
' Shut off your steam, Alexandr !' he said.
A
A COMMON STORY 75
' You may joke, uncle, you may joke, I am speaking in earnest. I shall ask mamma's consent.'
' You get married!'
' And why not ? '
'At your age?'
' I am twenty-three.'
' It's high time indeed ! Why at your age no one marries except peasants, who want some one to do the work in their house.'
' But if I am in love with a girl, and there is a possibility of marrying her, then, according to you, ought I not '
' I d on't advi se you at any time to marry a woman with w hom y ou are in Iove7
' what7uncle? fliafs a new idea; I never heard of it before.'
' I should fancy there are things you haven't heard of.'
' I always thought that there ought not to be marriage without love, r
^Marriage is one thing, love is another,' said PiQtt
IvanitcnT ** n What are you marrying for then ? For your advantage ? '
' To my advantage, certainly, though not for my advantage. Even you will think of advantages when you marry, you will look out, will choose among women.'
' Look out, choose!' cried Alexandr wonderingly.
'Yes, choose. For this rpflsnn^j^dnn^ fid vi se y ou. SL
marry when vou are M JWB.... Epve, you k^w^ js.fleeting^— th&t is a truth that has become a commonplace.'
' It is the grossest lie and calumny.'
'Well, there is no convincing you now, you will see for yourself in time, but now only mark my words; love is fleeting^ I repeat, and then the woman who has perhaps seemed to you the ideal of perfection shows herself to be very imperfect, and there's no help for it then. Love screens the absence of qualities needed in a wife. But when in choosing you consider in cool blood whether such or such a woman has the qualities which you would like to see in your wife, you get the greatest advantage. And if you find such a woman she is certain to continue to please you, because she answers to what you wanted. And so closer ties spring up between her and you, which afterwards go to make you '
i ' Love one another ? ' said Alexandr. ^ 'Yes, and suit one another. Marrying f or money —that i s lowj but to marry witho ut any advantage—tfiafTs' stupid T . . but it is not suiTaBTeTor^ybii** to* iri fiVTSt'?tt now.'' ~ 'When should I marry? When I am growing old? Why should I follow such foolish precedents ? ' ' You reckon my marriage one ? Thanks!' ' I did not mean any reflection on you, uncle, I mean it generally. You hear of a wedding; you go to see it and what do you see? a lovely tender creature who has only been awaiting the magic touch of love to break into a splendid flower, and suddenly they tear her away from her dolls, her nurse, her childish games and dances, and it's well if it's only from all that; but often they don't look into her heart, which very likely is no longer her own. They dress her up in gauze, in blonde, they deck her in flowers, and in spite of her tears, her paleness, they drag her like a victim to the altar and set her beside—whom ? Beside an elderly man, generally unattractive,
