LITMIR.BIZ

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midst of these roseate anticipations, Ivan Ilyitch suddenly discovered in himself another unexpected propensity, that was to spit. Anyway saliva began running from his mouth apart from any will of his own. He observed this on Akim Petrovitch, whose cheek he spluttered upon and who sat not daring to wipe it off from respectfulness. Ivan Ilyitch took his dinner napkin and wiped it himself, but this immediately struck him himself as so incongruous, so opposed to all common sense, that he sank into silence and began wondering. Though Akim Petrovitch emptied his glass, yet he sat as though he were scalded. Ivan Ilyitch reflected now that he had for almost a quarter of an hour been talking to him about some most interesting subject, but that Akim Petrovitch had not only seemed embarrassed as he listened, but positively frightened. Pseldonimov, who was sitting one chair away from him, also craned his neck towards him, and bending his head sideways, listened to him with the most unpleasant air. He actually seemed to be keeping a watch on him. Turning his eyes upon the rest of the company, he saw that many were looking straight at him and laughing. But what was strangest of all was, that he was not in the least embarrassed by it; on the contrary, he sipped his glass again and suddenly began speaking so that all could hear:

      “I was saying just now,” he began as loudly as possible, “I was saying just now, ladies and gentlemen, to Akim Petrovitch, that Russia … yes, Russia … in short, you understand, that I mean to s-s-say … Russia is living, it is my profound conviction, through a period of hu-hu-manity….”

      “Hu-hu-manity ..,” was heard at the other end of the table.

      “Hu-hu….”

      “Tu-tu!”

      Ivan Ilyitch stopped. Pseldonimov got up from his chair and began trying to see who had shouted. Akim Petrovitch stealthily shook his head, as though admonishing the guests. Ivan Ilyitch saw this distinctly, but in his confusion said nothing.

      “Humanity!” he continued obstinately; “and this evening … and only this evening I said to Stepan Niki-ki-forovitch … yes … that … that the regeneration, so to speak, of things….”

      “Your Excellency!” was heard a loud exclamation at the other end of the table.

      “What is your pleasure?” answered Ivan Ilyitch, pulled up short and trying to distinguish who had called to him.

      “Nothing at all, your Excellency. I was carried away, continue! Con-ti-nue!” the voice was heard again.

      Ivan Ilyitch felt upset.

      “The regeneration, so to speak, of those same things.”

      “Your Excellency!” the voice shouted again.

      “What do you want?”

      “How do you do!”

      This time Ivan Ilyitch could not restrain himself. He broke off his speech and turned to the assailant who had disturbed the general harmony. He was a very young lad, still at school, who had taken more than a drop too much, and was an object of great suspicion to the general. He had been shouting for a long time past, and had even broken a glass and two plates, maintaining that this was the proper thing to do at a wedding. At the moment when Ivan Ilyitch turned towards him, the officer was beginning to pitch into the noisy youngster.

      “What are you about? Why are you yelling? We shall turn you out, that’s what we shall do.”

      “I don’t mean you, your Excellency, I don’t mean you. Continue!” cried the hilarious schoolboy, lolling back in his chair. “Continue, I am listening, and am very, ve-ry, ve-ry much pleased with you! Praiseworthy, praiseworthy!”

      “The wretched boy is drunk,” said Pseldonimov in a whisper.

      “I see that he is drunk, but….”

      “I was just telling a very amusing anecdote, your Excellency!” began the officer, “about a lieutenant in our company who was talking just like that to his superior officers; so this young man is imitating him now. To every word of his superior officers he said ‘praiseworthy, praiseworthy!’ He was turned out of the army ten years ago on account of it.”

      “Wha-at lieutenant was that?”

      “In our company, your Excellency, he went out of his mind over the word praiseworthy. At first they tried gentle methods, then they put him under arrest…. His commanding officer admonished him in the most fatherly way, and he answered, ‘praiseworthy, praiseworthy!’ And strange to say, the officer was a fine-looking man, over six feet. They meant to court-martial him, but then they perceived that he was mad.”

      “So … a schoolboy. A schoolboy’s prank need not be taken seriously. For my part I am ready to overlook it….”

      “They held a medical inquiry, your Excellency.”

      “Upon my word, but he was alive, wasn’t he?”

      “What! Did they dissect him?”

      A loud and almost universal roar of laughter resounded among the guests, who had till then behaved with decorum. Ivan Ilyitch was furious.

      “Ladies and gentlemen!” he shouted, at first scarcely stammering, “I am fully capable of apprehending that a man is not dissected alive. I imagined that in his derangement he had ceased to be alive … that is, that he had died … that is, I mean to say … that you don’t like me … and yet I like you all … Yes, I like Por … Porfiry … I am lowering myself by speaking like this….”

      At that moment Ivan Ilyitch spluttered so that a great dab of saliva flew on to the tablecloth in a most conspicuous place. Pseldonimov flew to wipe it off with a table-napkin. This last disaster crushed him completely.

      “My friends, this is too much,” he cried in despair.

      “The man is drunk, your Excellency,” Pseldonimov prompted him again.

      “Porfiry, I see that you … all … yes! I say that I hope … yes, I call upon you all to tell me in what way have I lowered myself?”

      Ivan Ilyitch was almost crying.

      “Your Excellency, good heavens!”

      “Porfiry, I appeal to you…. Tell me, when I came … yes … yes, to your wedding, I had an object. I was aiming at moral elevation…. I wanted it to be felt…. I appeal to all: am I greatly lowered in your eyes or not?”

      A deathlike silence. That was just it, a deathlike silence, and to such a downright question. “They might at least shout at this minute!” flashed through his Excellency’s head. But the guests only looked at one another. Akim Petrovitch sat more dead than alive, while Pseldonimov, numb with terror, was repeating to himself the awful question which had occurred to him more than once already.

      “What shall I have to pay for all this tomorrow?”

      At this point the young man on the comic paper, who was very drunk but who had hitherto sat in morose silence, addressed Ivan Ilyitch directly, and with flashing eyes began answering in the name of the whole company.

      “Yes,” he said in a loud voice, “yes, you have lowered yourself. Yes, you are a reactionary … re-ac-tionary!”

      “Young man, you are forgetting yourself! To whom are you speaking, so to express it?” Ivan Ilyitch cried furiously, jumping up from his seat again.

      “To you; and secondly, I am not a young man…. You’ve come to give yourself airs and try to win popularity.”

      “Pseldonimov, what does this mean?” cried Ivan Ilyitch.

      But Pseldonimov was reduced to such horror that he stood still like a post and was utterly at a loss what to do. The guests, too, sat mute in their seats. All but the artist and the schoolboy, who applauded and shouted, “Bravo, bravo!”

      The young man on the comic paper went on shouting with unrestrained violence:

      “Yes, you came to show off your humanity! You’ve hindered the enjoyment of every one. You’ve been drinking champagne without thinking

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