Short Fiction Vsevolod Garshin (best e reader for epub .txt) 📖

“Listen, Kudriasheff⁠ ⁠…”

“It is no use my listening,” replied Kudriasheff with a laugh. “You, too, my friend are a robber, under a mask of virtue. What is your occupation⁠—teaching? Will you really repay with your labour even the pittance which will be paid you? Will you turn out even one respectable man? Three-fourths of your pupils will become such as I am, and one-fourth like yourself⁠—that is, a well-intentioned ‘fainéant.’ Are you not taking money for nothing? Answer me frankly. And are you so far apart from me? Yet you put on airs and preach honour!”

“Kudriasheff, believe me, that this conversation is extremely painful to me.”

“And to me⁠—not in the least.”

“I did not expect to find what I have found in you.”

“That’s stupid. People change, and I have changed, but in what direction⁠—you could not guess. You are not a prophet.”

“It is not necessary to be a prophet to hope that an honourable youth will become an honourable citizen of the State.”

“Bah! drop it! Don’t use such words with me. ‘An honourable citizen!’ Out of what schoolbooks have you dug up this archaism? It is time to finish with sentimentalism; you are not a boy.⁠ ⁠… Do you know what Vasia⁠—” And here Kudriasheff took Vassili Petrovich by the arm. “Let us be friends and drop this infernal subject. Better to drink to our comradeship. Ivan Pavlich, bring another bottle of this.”

Ivan Pavlich slowly appeared with a fresh bottle. Kudriasheff filled the glasses.

“Well, we will drink to prosperity⁠ ⁠… of what? Well, it’s all the same for your and my prosperity.”

“I drink,” said Vassili Petrovich with feeling, “that you may come to your senses. That is my strongest wish.”

“Be a good chap and don’t talk about that.⁠ ⁠… If I come to my senses, it will be impossible to drink; then things will be in a bad way. Do you see what your logic amounts to? Let us drink just simply without any toasts. Let us drop this boring argument. It is all the same, we shall not come to any agreement. You will not put me on the true path, and I shall not convince you. It is not worth it. You will come round to my views.”

“Never!” exclaimed Vassili Petrovich with warmth, banging his glass on the table.

“Well, we’ll see. But why have I told you all about myself, and you have said nothing about yourself? What have you been doing, and what are your plans?”

“I have already told you I have been appointed teacher.”

“Is this your first place?”

“Yes, before this I used to give private lessons.”

“And do you intend to give them here?”

“If I can find any. Why?”

“We will find some, my dear chap; we will find some,” and Kudriasheff slapped Vassili Petrovich on the shoulder. “We will hand over all the local youth to you. How much did you charge an hour in Petersburg?”

“Very little. It was very difficult to get good lessons. About two roubles, not more.”

“And for such pittance a human being wears himself out! Well, here, don’t you dare to ask less than five roubles. It is hard work. I remember how I used to run after extra work during my first and second years. At the University there were times when I was glad to get fifty kopecks an hour. A most thankless and difficult work. I will introduce you to all our friends. There are some very nice families here, and young ladies. If you behave cleverly, I will get you engaged if you like. Eh, Vassili Petrovich?”

“No, thank you.”

“What, engaged already? Really?”

Vassili Petrovich’s face betrayed his confusion.

“Yes, I see it by your eyes. Well, old chap, I congratulate you. How soon? But Vasia! Ivan Pavlich!” shouted Kudriasheff.

Ivan Pavlich appeared at the door with a surly expression on his sleepy face.

“Bring some champagne!”

“There is none⁠—all drunk,” replied the man morosely.

“Don’t bother, Kudriasheff. Why all this?”

“Silence, I am not asking you. Do you want to insult me, or what? Ivan Pavlich, don’t come back without the champagne, do you hear? Be off!”

“But everything is closed, Nicolai Constantinovich.”

“Don’t argue with me. You have the money. Be off and get some.”

The butler went off muttering something to himself.

“The sulky beast is still grumbling. And you, too, with your ‘Don’t bother.’ If we are not to drink on such an occasion as this, what does champagne exist for?⁠ ⁠… Well, who is she?”

“Who?”

“Who, why she, your fiancée.⁠ ⁠… Pauper, heiress, nice?”

“It’s all the same to you⁠—you don’t know her, so why tell you her name? She has no money, and beauty⁠—that is a matter of taste. In my opinion she is beautiful.”

“Have you a photograph?” asked Kudriasheff. “Bring it out. Do you carry it next to your heart? Show it me?”

And he stretched out his hand.

Vassili Petrovich’s face, flushed from the wine, became still redder. Not knowing why, he unbuttoned his coat, took out his pocketbook and the precious photograph. Kudriasheff seized it and began to examine it.

“Not so bad, my dear chap. You know a good thing when you see it.”

“Cannot you talk without using those expressions?” said Vassili Petrovich curtly. “Give it me back. I will put it away.”

“Wait a bit. Let me enjoy it. I wish you all luck and prosperity. Well, take it and put it back against your heart. Oh, you wonder, marvel!” exclaimed Kudriasheff, laughing.

“I don’t understand what you have found laughable in this?”

“Well, my dear chap, it is funny. I can picture to myself what you will be like in ten years’ time: you in a dressing-gown, a wife, seven children, and no money with which to buy them shoes, breeches, hats, etc. Prosaic. Will you, then, carry this photograph about in your breast-pocket? Ha, ha, ha!”

“It would be more to the point if you will inform me what poetry awaits you in the future? Get money and spend it? Eat, drink, and sleep?”

“Not to eat, drink,