“This is the way, Viérotchka. It is now the end of April. At the beginning of July my work at the medical school will be over. I must graduate, so that we can have the means to live, and then you shall leave your cellar. Endure it only three months, or even less; you shall get out. I shall have the position of surgeon. The salary is not over large; but no matter, I shall have some practice; as much as will be necessary, and we shall get along.”
“Akh! my dearest, we shall need but very little. But I do not want it to be so; I do not want to live at your expense. You see I am earning something now by giving lessons; but I shall lose them then, for mámenka will tell everybody that I am an abomination. But I shall find other pupils. I shall begin to live. Now isn’t that the right way? Don’t you see that I mustn’t live at your expense?”
“Who gave you that idea, my dearest friend, Viérotchka?”
“Akh! and now he is asking me who gave me that idea. Why, weren’t you yourself always saying this very thing? And in your books—fully half of them say so!”
“In the books? Did I say so? When was it, Viérotchka?”
“Akh! when was it indeed! and who told me that money lay at the root of all things? Who told me that, Dmitri Sergéitch?”
“Well, what of that?”
“And you think that I am such a foolish young girl that I cannot draw a conclusion from premises, to use the words of your books?”
“Well, what conclusions? My dearest friend, Viérotchka, you are talking God-knows-what nonsense.”
“Akh! smarty! he wants to be a despot; he wants me to become his slave! no indeed, this cannot be. Dmitri Sergéitch, do you understand?”
“Then you tell me, and I shall understand.”
“Money lies at the root of all things, you say, Dmitri Sergéitch; whoever has the money has the might and the right, say your books; consequently, so long as a woman lives at her husband’s expense, she will be dependent upon him; isn’t that so, Dmitri Sergéitch? You supposed that I did not understand it; that I was going to be your slave. No, Dmitri Sergéitch, I am not going to allow you to be a despot over me! You want to be a benevolent, kind despot, but I will not allow it; but I do not want it to be so, Dmitri Sergéitch! Now, my mílenki [darling], how else can we live? You will cut off people’s hands and legs, you will make them drink miserable mixtures, and I will give piano-lessons. And how else should we live?”
“That’s right, that’s right. Let everyone preserve his independence from everybody with all his might, no matter how he loves him, how he trusts him! Whether you will carry out what you propose or not, I do not know; but it makes very little difference: whoever makes up his mind to do a thing of this sort has already built his fort; he already feels that he can get along by himself; that he can refuse the help of others, if necessary, and this feeling is almost enough of itself. What queer people we are, Viérotchka! You say, ‘I do not want to live at your expense,’ and I am praising you for it! Who else says such things, Viérotchka?”
“No matter if we are queer, my mílenki; what do we care? We shall live according to our own style; it is better for us. How else should we live, mílenki?”
“Viéra Pavlovna, I have proposed to you my ideas about one side of our life; you have condescended to overthrow them altogether with your plan. You have called me a tyrant and a slaveholder; now be kind enough to think yourself how the other parts of our relations shall be arranged. I count it idle to give you the benefit of my thoughts, lest they should be destroyed by you in the same way. My friend, Viérotchka, tell me yourself how we ought to live; in all probability, there will be nothing left for me to say but this, ‘My dear [moya milia], how very wise your ideas are!’ ”
“What is that? Do you mean to give me a compliment? You want to be very polite; but I know too well how people flatter so as to reign under a mask of humility. I beg of you to speak more simply hereafter. My dear [milui moï], you are praising me to death. I am ashamed, my dear; don’t praise me, lest I become too proud.”
“Very good, Viéra Pavlovna; I will begin to say rough things to you if you like that better. There is so little femininity in your nature, Viéra Pavlovna, that most likely you have nothing but men’s thoughts.”
“Akh! my dearest, what does that word ‘femininity’ mean? I understand that a woman speaks in a contralto voice—a man, in a baritone; but what of that? Is it worth while to bother about our contralto voices? Is it worth while to ask us about such things? Why do people keep telling us that it is our duty to remain feminine? Isn’t it a piece of nonsense, dear?”
“It is nonsense, Viérotchka, and a very great piece of triviality.”
“So, then, my dear, I shall not bother myself about femininity; now listen, Dmitri Sergéitch, I am going to express in absolutely masculine fashion the way that I think we ought to live. We shall be friends; only I wish to be your principal friend. Akh! I have never told you how
