Chapter I

Chapter II

Chapter III

Chapter IV

Chapter V

Chapter VI

Chapter VII

Chapter VIII

Chapter IX

Chapter X

Chapter XI

Chapter XII

Chapter XIII

Chapter XIV

Chapter XV

Nothing is so ridiculous as a man who pretends to be younger than he is.

Flattery is the sweetest sound in the world to the ears of a vain person.

A small town is a terrible place for a woman who has a lively intelligence.

The whole plot was built on lies and vanity, and yet everyone played their part with fierce seriousness.

The dream of being young and rich again is the most pathetic illusion of old age.

Chapter I

Mariya Alexandrovna Moskalyova is, of course, the first lady in Mordasov, and there can be no doubt about that. She carries herself as though she needs no one, but, on the contrary, everyone needs her. It is true that almost no one likes her, and a great many genuinely dislike her; but everyone fears her, and that is all she requires. Such a need is already a sign of high politics. Why is it, for example, that Mariya Alexandrovna, who absolutely loves gossip and would not sleep all night if she had not learned something new the day before—why is it that, despite all this, she knows how to conduct herself so that, looking at her, it would never occur to you that this dignified lady is the world’s chief gossip, or at least Mordasov’s? On the contrary, it seems that gossip should vanish in her presence, gossips should blush and tremble like schoolboys before the schoolmaster, and conversation should turn only to the highest of matters. She knows, for instance, such crucial and scandalous things about some of the residents of Mordasov that, if she were to reveal them on a suitable occasion and prove them as only she knows how, there would be a Lisbon earthquake in Mordasov. Yet, she is very discreet about these secrets and reveals them only in the direst necessity, and then only to her closest female friends. She prefers merely to alarm, to hint that she knows, and loves to keep a person or a lady in continuous fear rather than deliver a final blow. That is intellect; that is tactics! Mariya Alexandrovna has always distinguished herself among us by her impeccable comme il faut, which everyone takes as a model. Regarding comme il faut, she has no rivals in Mordasov. She knows, for example, how to kill, tear to shreds, and annihilate a rival with a single word—we have witnessed it—and yet appear not even to have noticed that she uttered that word. And it is well known that such a trait is characteristic of the very highest society. In general, in all such tricks, she outshines Pinetti himself. Her connections are vast. Many who visited Mordasov left delighted by her reception and even maintained correspondence with her afterward. Someone even wrote verses to her, and Mariya Alexandrovna proudly showed them to everyone. An itinerant writer dedicated his novella to her and read it at her evening gathering, which produced a most pleasant effect. A German scholar, who specifically came from Karlsruhe to study a particular kind of horned worm found in our province and wrote four volumes in quarto about this worm, was so charmed by Mariya Alexandrovna’s reception and amiability that he still maintains a respectful and moral correspondence with her from Karlsruhe itself. Mariya Alexandrovna has even been compared, in a certain respect, to Napoleon. This, of course, was done jokingly by her enemies, more for caricature than for truth. But, while fully acknowledging the strangeness of such a comparison, I will venture one innocent question: why, tell me, did Napoleon finally lose his head when he climbed too high? The defenders of the old house attributed this to the fact that Napoleon was not only not of a royal house but was not even a gentilhomme of good lineage, and therefore, naturally, he finally became frightened of his own height and remembered his true place. Despite the obvious wit of this conjecture, reminiscent of the most brilliant times of the ancient French court, I shall venture to add in turn: why will Mariya Alexandrovna never, under any circumstances, lose her head, and why will she always remain the first lady in Mordasov? There were, for instance, occasions when everyone said: “Well, how will Mariya Alexandrovna act now in such difficult circumstances?” But those difficult circumstances arrived, passed, and—nothing! Everything remained fine, as before, and even almost better than before. Everyone remembers, for example, how her husband, Afanasy Matveyich, lost his position due to incompetence and feeble-mindedness, provoking the wrath of the visiting inspector. Everyone thought that Mariya Alexandrovna would lose heart, humble herself, beg, plead—in a word, drop her little wings. Not at all: Mariya Alexandrovna understood that nothing more could be begged for, and she managed her affairs so that she did not lose her influence on society in the slightest, and her home still continues to be considered the first home in Mordasov. The prosecutor’s wife, Anna Nikolaevna Antipova, Mariya Alexandrovna’s sworn enemy, though outwardly a friend, was already trumpeting victory. But when it was seen that Mariya Alexandrovna was hard to confuse, they realized that she had put down deeper roots than they had previously thought.

Speaking of him since he has been mentioned, let us say a few words about Afanasy Matveyich, Mariya Alexandrovna’s husband. Firstly, he is a very presentable man in appearance and even of very decent principles; but in critical situations, he somehow gets lost and looks like a sheep that has encountered a new gate. He is extraordinarily dignified, especially at name-day dinners, in his white necktie. But all this dignity and presentability lasts only until the moment he speaks. Then, excuse me, you might as well cover your ears. He is decidedly unworthy of belonging to Mariya Alexandrovna; this is the general opinion. He held his position solely through the genius of his wife. To my utmost understanding, it has long been time for him to scare sparrows in the garden. There, and only there, could he bring true, undoubted benefit to his compatriots. And so, Mariya Alexandrovna acted excellently by sending Afanasy Matveyich away to their village outside the town, three versts from Mordasov, where she has one hundred and twenty serfs—which, by the way, constitutes her entire fortune, all the means by which she so worthily maintains the nobility of her house. Everyone understood that she kept Afanasy Matveyich with her solely because he was working and receiving a salary and… other revenues. When he stopped receiving a salary and revenues, he was immediately removed due to unsuitability and complete uselessness. And everyone praised Mariya Alexandrovna for her clarity of judgment and decisive character. Afanasy Matveyich is living quite happily in the village. I visited him and spent a whole hour with him quite pleasantly. He tries on white neckties, cleans his boots with his own hands, not out of necessity but solely out of love for the art, because he likes his boots to shine; he drinks tea three times a day, is extremely fond of going to the bathhouse, and—is content. Do you recall the nasty story that brewed up here about a year and a half ago, concerning Zinaida Afanasyevna, the only daughter of Mariya Alexandrovna and Afanasy Matveyich? Zinaida is unquestionably a beauty, excellently brought up, but she is twenty-three years old and still unmarried. Among the reasons given for why Zina is still unmarried, one of the main ones is considered to be those dark rumors about some strange connections she had, a year and a half ago, with a district schoolmaster—rumors that have not subsided even now. They still talk about some love note written by Zina that supposedly circulated in Mordasov; but tell me: who saw this note? If it circulated, where did it go? Everyone heard about it, but no one saw it. I, at least, have not met anyone who saw this note with their own eyes. If you hint at this to Mariya Alexandrovna, she simply will not understand you. Now, suppose something actually happened and Zina wrote a note (I even think this was definitely the case): what cleverness on Mariya Alexandrovna’s part! How cleverly the awkward, scandalous affair was hushed up, extinguished! No trace, no hint! Mariya Alexandrovna now pays no attention to all this vile slander; and yet, perhaps she worked, God knows how, to save the untouched honor of her only daughter. And as for Zina not being married, that is understandable: what suitors are here? Zina is fit only for a sovereign prince. Have you ever seen such a beauty among beauties? True, she is proud, too proud. They say Mozglyakov is courting her, but it is unlikely there will be a wedding. What is Mozglyakov, anyway? True, he is young, not bad-looking, a dandy, owns one hundred and fifty unmortgaged serfs, from Petersburg. But, firstly, he is not quite right in the head. A scatterbrain, a chatterbox, with some kind of modern ideas! And what are one hundred and fifty serfs, especially with modern ideas? That wedding will not happen!

Everything the kind reader has just read was written by me about five months ago, purely out of sentiment. I confess beforehand, I am somewhat biased towards Mariya Alexandrovna. I wanted to write something in the nature of a panegyric to this magnificent lady and depict all this in the form of a playful letter to a friend, following the example of the letters once published in the old, golden, but, thank God, unreturnable time in “The Northern Bee” and other periodicals. But since I have no friend and, moreover, have a certain innate literary shyness, my composition remained in my desk, as a literary practice run and in memory of a peaceful diversion during hours of leisure and pleasure. Five months passed—and suddenly an amazing event occurred in Mordasov: early in the morning, Prince K. drove into the town and stopped at Mariya Alexandrovna’s house. The consequences of this arrival were incalculable. The Prince spent only three days in Mordasov, but these three days left behind fateful and indelible memories. I will say more: the Prince, in a certain sense, caused a revolution in our town. The story of this revolution, of course, constitutes one of the most significant pages in the Mordasov chronicles. It is this page that I finally decided, after some hesitation, to process in a literary manner and present to the judgment of the much-respected public. My story contains the complete and remarkable history of the rise, glory, and solemn fall of Mariya Alexandrovna and her entire house in Mordasov: a worthy and enticing subject for a writer. Of course, first of all, it is necessary to explain what is so amazing about Prince K. driving into town and staying at Mariya Alexandrovna’s—and for this, of course, one must say a few words about Prince K. himself. So I shall do. Moreover, the biography of this person is absolutely necessary for the entire further course of our narrative. And so, I begin.

1 comme il faut: proper behavior (French).

2 in quarto: in one-quarter of a sheet (Latin).

3 gentilhomme: nobleman (French).