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Actual state councillor Ivan Ilyich Pralinsky had been called “Your Excellency” for only four months—in short, he was a young general. He was young in years, too, about forty-three, certainly not more, and in looks he appeared and liked to appear still younger. He was a tall, handsome man, who made a show of his dress and of the refined solidity of his dress, wore an important decoration on his neck4 with great skill, from childhood had managed to adopt a few high-society ways, and, being a bachelor, dreamed of a rich and even high-society bride. He dreamed of many other things as well, though he was far from stupid. At times he was a great talker and even liked to assume parliamentary poses. He came from a good family, was a general’s son and a sybarite, in his tender childhood wore velvet and cambric, was educated in an aristocratic institution, and, though he did not come out of it with much learning, was successful in the service and even got himself as far as a generalship. His superiors considered him a capable man and even placed hopes in him. Stepan Nikiforovich, under whom he began and continued his service almost up to the generalship, never considered him a very practical man and did not place any hopes in him. But he liked that he was from a good family, had a fortune, that is, a big rental property with a manager, was related to some not-insignificant people, and, on top of that, carried himself well. Stepan Nikiforovich inwardly denounced him for surplus imagination and light-mindedness. Ivan Ilyich himself sometimes felt that he was too vain and even ticklish. Strangely, at times he was overcome by fits of some morbid conscientiousness and even a slight repentance for something. With bitterness and a secret sting in his soul, he sometimes admitted that he had not flown at all as high as he thought. In those moments he would even fall into some sort of despondency, especially when his hemorrhoids were acting up, called his life une existence manquée,5 ceased believing (privately, of course) even in his parliamentary abilities, calling himself a parleur, a phraseur,6 and though all this was, of course, very much to his credit, it in no way prevented him from raising his head again half an hour later, and with still greater obstinacy and presumption taking heart and assuring himself that he would still manage to show himself and would become not only a dignitary, but even a statesman whom Russia would long remember. At times he even imagined monuments. From this one can see that Ivan Ilyich aimed high, though he kept his vague hopes and dreams hidden deep in himself, even with a certain fear. In short, he was a kind man, and even a poet in his soul. In recent years, painful moments of disappointment had begun to visit him more often. He became somehow especially irritable, insecure, and was ready to consider any objection an offense. But the reviving Russia suddenly gave him great hopes. The generalship crowned them. He perked up; he raised his head. He suddenly started talking much and eloquently, talking on the newest topics, which he adopted extremely quickly and unexpectedly, to the point of fierceness. He sought occasions for talking, drove around town, and in many places managed to become known as a desperate liberal, which flattered him greatly. That evening, having drunk some four glasses, he got particularly carried away. He wanted to make Stepan Nikiforovich, whom he had not seen for a long time prior to that and till then had always respected and even obeyed, change his mind about everything. For some reason he considered him a retrograde and attacked him with extraordinary heat. Stepan Nikiforovich made almost no objections and only listened slyly, though the topic interested him. Ivan Ilyich was getting excited and in the heat of the imagined dispute sampled from his glass more often than he should have. Then Stepan Nikiforovich would take the bottle and top up his glass at once, which, for no apparent reason, suddenly began to offend Ivan Ilyich, the more so in that Semyon Ivanych Shipulenko, whom he particularly despised and, moreover, even feared on account of his cynicism and malice, was most perfidiously silent just beside him, and smiled more often than he should have. “They seem to take me for a mere boy,” flashed in Ivan Ilyich’s head.
“No, sir, it’s time, it’s long since time,” he went on with passion. “We’re too late, sir, and, in my view, humaneness is the first thing, humaneness with subordinates, remembering that they, too, are people. Humaneness will save everything and keep it afloat…”
“Hee, hee, hee, hee!” came from Semyon Ivanovich’s direction.
“But, anyhow, why are you scolding us so?” Stepan Nikiforovich finally objected, smiling amiably. “I confess, Ivan Ilyich, so far I’m unable to get the sense of what you’re so kindly explaining. You put forward humaneness. That means the love of mankind, doesn’t it?”
“Yes, if you wish, the love of mankind. I…”
“Excuse me, sir. As far as I’m able to judge, the point is not just in that. Love of mankind is always proper. But the reform is not limited to that. Questions have come up about the peasants, the courts, management, tax-farming,7 morality, and… and… and there’s no end to them, these questions, and all together, all at once, they may produce great, so to speak, upheavals. That’s what we’re worried about, not just humaneness…”
“Yes, sir, the thing goes a bit deeper,” Semyon Ivanovich observed.
“I understand very well, sir, and allow me to observe, Semyon Ivanovich, that I shall by no means agree to lag behind you in the depth of my understanding of things,” Ivan Ilyich observed caustically and much too sharply. “However, even so I shall make so bold as to observe that you, Stepan Nikiforovich, also have not quite understood me…”
“No, I haven’t.”
“And yet I precisely hold to and maintain everywhere the idea that humaneness, and precisely humaneness with subordinates, from clerk to scrivener, from scrivener to household servant, from servant to peasant—humaneness, I say, may serve, so to speak, as the cornerstone of the forthcoming reform and generally toward the renewal of things. Why? Because. Take the syllogism: I am humane, consequently they love me. They love me, therefore they feel trust. They feel trust, therefore they believe; they believe, therefore they love… that is, no, I mean to say, if they believe, they will also believe in the reform, understand, so to speak, the very essence of the matter, will, so to speak, embrace each other morally and resolve the whole matter amicably, substantially. Why are you laughing, Semyon Ivanovich? Is it not clear?”
Stepan Nikiforovich silently raised his eyebrows; he was surprised.
“I think I’ve had a bit too much to drink,” Semyon Ivanych observed venomously, “that’s why I’m hard of understanding. A certain darkening of the mind, sir.”
Ivan Ilyich winced.
“We won’t hold out,” Stepan Nikiforovich said suddenly, after slight reflection.
“That is, how is it we won’t hold out?” asked Ivan Ilyich, surprised at Stepan Nikiforovich’s sudden and fragmentary observation.
“Just so, we won’t hold out.” Stepan Nikiforovich obviously did not wish to expand further.
“You don’t mean about new wine in new bottles?”8 Ivan Ilyich objected, not without irony. “Ah, no, sir; I can answer for myself.”
At that moment the clock struck half past eleven.
“They sit and sit, then up and go,” said Semyon Ivanych, preparing to get up from his place. But Ivan Ilyich forestalled him, rising from the table at once and taking his sable hat from the mantelpiece. He looked as if offended.
“Well, then, Semyon Ivanych, you’ll think?” said Stepan Nikiforovich, seeing his guests off.
“About the apartment, you mean? I’ll think, I’ll think, sir.”
“And let me know quickly once you decide.”