Thus they came to this wise conclusion, and separated peacefully.
“Well, he’s a keen one,”29 said Marya Alekséyevna to herself, as she escorted her son-in-law to the door.
That night she dreamed a dream of this nature: she was sitting at the window, and saw on the street an elegant carriage passing along the street, and the carriage stopped, and from the carriage stepped a handsomely dressed lady and a man, and they came into her room, and the lady said, “Look, mamasha, how well my husband dresses me!” and this lady was Viérotchka. And Marya Alekséyevna seemed to see that the stuff of which the dress was made was of the very best, and Viérotchka said: “The material alone cost five hundred silver rubles, and that is a trifle for us, mamasha; and I have a whole dozen of dresses like this! and this, mamasha, cost more—here, look at my fingers!” Marya Alekséyevna looked at Viérotchka’s fingers; and on her fingers were rings with large diamonds. “This ring, mamasha, is worth two thousand rubles; and this one here, mamasha, cost more—four thousand rubles—and look at my breast, mamasha! this brooch cost still more; it is worth ten thousand rubles!” And then the gentleman spoke—and the gentleman was Dmitri Sergéitch: “All these are mere trifles for us, dear mámenka Marya Alekséyevna; but the thing of the most importance is here in my pocket. Look, dear mámenka, at my pocketbook! How fat it is! there are nothing but hundred-ruble notes in it, and I am going to make you a present, mamasha, of this pocketbook, because it is a trifle to us. But this other pocketbook is still fatter, dear mámenka; I do not give it to you, because it has no paper money, but only bonds and mercantile notes, and every bond and note is worth more than the whole pocketbook which I just gave you, dear mámenka Marya Alekséyevna.”
“You have succeeded, dear son Dmitri Sergéitch, in making my daughter and all our family happy; but where in the world, my dear son, did you get so much wealth?”
“I, dear mamasha, became a monopolist!”
And while she was awaking from her dream, Marya Alekséyevna thinks to herself, “Indeed, it would be a good thing if he became a monopolist!”
XXIV
A Word of Praise for Marya Alekséyevna
You have ceased to be a person of any importance in Viérotchka’s life, Marya Alekséyevna, and now that we are going to part from you, the author of this narrative begs you not to complain, that you are dismissed from the stage with an epilogue which is somewhat unfavorable to you. Do not think that we will treat you without due respect. You were fooled, but that does not in the least lessen our respect for your good sense, Marya Alekséyevna; your mistake does not testify against you. You were thrown in contact with people such as had never before crossed your path, and therefore it was no crime that you were mistaken in them when you judged them by your former experience. All your former life brought you to the conclusion that people were divided into two classes—fools and rascals: “Whoever is not a fool must be a rascal,” you used to think; “and he who is not a rascal can only be a fool.”
This view was very true, Marya Alekséyevna, until within a very short time, Marya Alekséyevna. You have met with people, Marya Alekséyevna, who spoke very glibly, and you saw that all these people, without a single exception, were either foxy, throwing dust in the eyes of others, or full-grown stupids, not knowing life and not having the wit to accommodate themselves to circumstances. And therefore, Marya Alekséyevna, you considered them as evincing stupidity and fair game for deceit, and you were right, Marya Alekséyevna. Your opinion of men was already entirely formed when you met the first woman who was neither stupid nor villainous; it was excusable that you got confused and did not know what to think of her or how to treat her. Your views of people were already entirely formed when you met the first noble-minded man, who was not a simple, pitiable child, who knew life as thoroughly as you did, whose judgments of it were not less correct than your own, who could transact business with no less skill than you; it was excusable that you were mistaken in him and looked upon him as a scoundrel like yourself. These mistakes, Marya Alekséyevna, do not lessen my regard for you as a clever and active woman. You brought your husband up from nothingness; you have gained for yourself a competency against your declining years—these are good things, and they were hard for you to accomplish. Your method was bad, but your environment gave you no other method. Your methods belong to your environment, and not to you personally, and hence it is not to your dishonor, but it is a credit to your intellect and strength of character.
Are you satisfied, Marya Alekséyevna, with this acknowledgment of your good qualities? Of course you must be satisfied with this, because you never thought of claiming to be lovely or gentle. In a moment of involuntary frankness, you yourself confessed that you were a bad and dishonorable woman, and you did not look upon your wickedness and dishonesty as disgraceful to you, because you proved that your environment would not allow you to be otherwise. Consequently, you will not care, because
