A Night in the Cemetery

TASK

The strictest measures are taken to keep the Uskovs’ family secret within the walls of their house. One half of the servants have been sent to the theater and the circus, and the others are sitting in the kitchen and not allowed out. It has been ordered that no visitors be received. The wife of the uncle, the Colonel, her sister, and the governess, although initiated into the secret, pretend they do not know anything; they are sitting in the dining room and do not show up in the drawing room or the hall.

Sasha Uskov, a young man of twenty-five, the cause of the turmoil, arrived long ago and, advised by his defender, his uncle on his mother’s side, Ivan Markovich, a kind man, he is now sitting humbly in the hall next to the study’s door, getting ready for a sincere, open explanation.

Behind the door a family council is taking place. The subject is highly disagreeable and delicate. Sasha Uskov sold a false promissory note to a bank, and three days ago the note became due for payment. At present, his two uncles on his father’s side, and Ivan Markovich, his uncle on his mother’s side, are considering whether they should pay the note and save the family honor, or wash their hands of it and let the case go to court.

To outsiders with no personal interest in the issue, such matters seem simple; meanwhile, for those who have the misfortune to resolve them in a serious way, they turn out to be exceedingly difficult. The uncles have been talking for a long time, but they have not come a single step nearer to the solution.

“Gentlemen!” says the uncle Colonel, his voice sounding tired and bitter. “Gentlemen, who says that family honor is a mere prejudice? I don’t say that at all. All I want is to warn you against a false opinion and reveal the possibility of a fatal mistake. How can you not see it? I am not speaking Chinese, after all, I am speaking Russian!”

“We do understand it, my dear,” Ivan Markovich states gently.

“How do you understand it then, when you say that I deny family honor? I repeat it once again: fa-mi-ly ho-nor is a prejudice when false-ly un-der-stood! Falsely understood! That’s what I say! It is against the law to conceal a swindler and help him get away with it for whatever reasons you may have and whoever he may be. It is unworthy of a gentleman, it is not saving family honor; it’s civic cowardice! Take the army, for example. We value the honor of the army above all else, yet we don’t conceal the army’s guilty members, but send them to trial. And does the honor of the army suffer because of it? Quite the opposite!”

The other paternal uncle, a Treasury official, a taciturn, narrow-minded, and rheumatic man, either keeps silence or has only one subject on his mind: if the case goes to court, the Uskov name will certainly get into the newspapers. In his opinion, the case should be hushed up from the very beginning and not made known to the public. Apart from referring to the newspapers, he has no other arguments to support his position.

The maternal uncle, kind Ivan Markovich, speaks smoothly, softly, and with a tremor in his voice. He starts by saying that youth has its rights and that passion goes hand in hand with it. Is there anyone among us who has not been young, and has not been carried away? Even great men fall prey to temptation and errors in their youth, let alone simple mortals. Take the biographies of great writers, for example.

Was there one among them who, when he was young, did not gamble, drink, or enrage his elders? If Sasha’s mistake borders on crime, then they must take into account that Sasha has received practically no education, as he was expelled from fifth grade in secondary school. As a little boy, he lost his parents, and thus, has known no supervision and good, benevolent influences from a tender age. He is a nervous, easily excitable young man, who has no firm ground underneath his feet and, above all, who has known no happiness in life. Even if he is guilty, he still deserves the indulgence and sympathy of all compassionate souls. He should be punished, of course, but he is already punished by his conscience and the suffering that he is going through now, while waiting for the decision of his relatives.

The comparison with the army made by the Colonel is delightful and proves his elevated intelligence; his appeal to the feeling of civic duty speaks of the nobility of his self, but still, we must not forget that the citizen side in each individual is closely linked with his Christian nature….

“Will we go against our civic duty,” Ivan Markovich exclaims with inspiration, “if instead of punishing a mistaken boy we give him a helping hand?”

Ivan Markovich talks further of family honor. He himself does not have the honor of belonging to the outstanding family of the Uskovs, but he is well aware of the fact that the family’s history goes back to the thirteenth century; he also does not forget for a minute that his cherished, most beloved sister was the wife of one of the representatives of that family. In short, the family is dear to him for many reasons, and he will never believe that, for the sake of a mere fifteen hundred rubles, a shadow should be cast on the priceless heraldic tree. If all the above lines of reasoning do not sound convincing enough, in conclusion he proposes to clarify what the word ‘crime’ actually means. Crime is an immoral act based on evil intentions. But can human intentions be considered free? Science has not yet given a positive answer to this question.

Scientists have different views on the subject. The latest school of Lombroso, for instance, does not believe in free will, and every crime is considered to be a product of the anatomical characteristics of the individual.

“Ivan Markovich,” says the Colonel in a pleading voice, “we are talking seriously about the important matter at hand, and you bring in Lombroso. You are an intelligent man; give it some thought: why are you going into this stuff? Do you really believe that all this empty chatter and your rhetoric can provide us with the answer to the question?”

Sasha Uskov is sitting at the door listening. He is neither afraid, nor ashamed, nor bored, he just feels tired and empty inside. It seems to him that it makes no difference whatsoever whether they forgive him or not; the only reason he has come here to sit and wait for the decision was because the very kind Ivan Markovich talked him into doing so.

He has no fear for the future. It is all the same to him whether he is sitting here in the hall, or in prison, or sent to Siberia.

“If Siberia, then let it be Siberia, to hell with it!”

He has grown sick of life and feels it is all unbearably hard. He is hopelessly weighed down with debts, not a penny in his pocket, he is disgusted with his family, and he understands he will have to part sooner or later from his acquaintances and ladies, as they have started to treat him with contempt in his role as a sponger. The future looks gloomy. Sasha is indifferent; there is only one circumstance that troubles him: that they are calling him a scoundrel and a criminal behind that door. Every minute he is ready to jump to his feet, burst into the study, and shout in reply to the detestable metallic voice of the Colonel: “You are lying!”

“Criminal” is a frightful word. This is how murderers, thieves, robbers, and, on the whole, wicked and immoral people are called. And Sasha has nothing to do with all that…. Well, he is involved in debts and does not pay the money he owes. But debt is not a crime, and very few people can do without debts. The Colonel and Ivan Markovich both have debts….

“Is there anything else I’ve done wrong?” Sasha ponders.

He has cashed a false note. But all the young men he knows do the same. Say, Handrikov and Von Burst always sell the false notes of their parents or acquaintances when they are short of money, and then, after receiving the money from home, they buy the notes back before they are due. Sasha did the same, but could not buy the note back as he had not received the money that Handrikov had promised to lend him. It is not he who is to blame but the circumstances. Well, it is no good to use another person’s signature, but, still, it is not a crime; it is a generally accepted tactic, an unpleasant formality that offended and harmed no one, and in forging the Colonel’s signature Sasha never meant to cause anybody trouble or loss.

“No, it doesn’t mean that I am a criminal …” Sasha thinks. “And one has to have a different character to commit a crime. I am too soft and sensitive … as soon as I have money I help the poor …”

Sasha ponders along these lines while the discussion goes on behind the door.

“Gentlemen, this is endless.” The Colonel flies into passion. “Imagine we have forgiven him and paid the note. But this doesn’t mean that after that he’ll give up that dissipated life he leads, or that he’ll never squander and make debts again, or go to our tailors to order clothes at our expense! Can you vouch that this will be his last fraud? As for me, I do not in the least believe that he’ll mend his ways!”

The Treasury man mutters something in reply, and after him Ivan Markovich starts talking smoothly and softly. The Colonel moves his chair impatiently and drowns out Ivan Markovich’s words with his disgusting metallic voice. Finally, the door opens and Ivan Markovich walks out of the study, red spots visible on his lean shaven face.

“Let’s go,” he says and takes Sasha by the hand. “Come in and explain everything open-heartedly. No pride, my dear boy, humbly and candidly.”

Sasha goes into the study. The official of the Treasury is seated; the Colonel, his hands in his pockets, one knee on a chair, is standing in front of the table. It is smoky and stuffy in the study. Sasha looks neither at the official nor at the Colonel. Suddenly, he feels ashamed and terrified. He looks anxiously at Ivan Markovich and mutters:

“I’ll pay it … I’ll give it back….”

“What did you hope for when you cashed the promissory note?” he hears a metallic voice.

“I … Handrikov promised to lend me the money before it is due.”

This is all Sasha can say. He walks out of the room and again sits down on the chair near the door.

He would have been happy to go away altogether, but hatred is choking him and he ardently desires to stay to cut the Colonel short and say something cheeky to him. He is sitting at the door trying to think of something impressive and momentous that he could say to the hateful uncle, and at the same time a woman’s figure, cloaked in the twilight, appears at the door of the drawing room. It is the Colonel’s wife. She beckons Sasha toward her, wringing her hands and weeping:

“Alexander, I know you don’t like me, but … listen to me, listen, I beg you…. My dear, how could it happen? Why, it’s awful, awful! For goodness’ sake, implore them, defend yourself, entreat them.”

Sasha looks at her quivering shoulders, at the big tears rolling down her cheeks, hears the muffled, nervous voices of the tired, exhausted people behind him, and shrugs his shoulders. He had never expected that his aristocratic relatives would make such a fuss over a mere fifteen hundred rubles! He cannot come to terms with the tears or with the quiver of their voices.

An hour later he hears the Colonel take the upper hand: the uncles finally incline to let the case go to court.

“It’s settled now,” says the Colonel with a sigh. “Enough.”

It is clear that after the decision all the uncles, even the insistent Colonel, lose their confidence. Silence follows.

“Oh, goodness!” Ivan Markovich sighs. “My poor sister!”

And he starts to say quietly that it is likely now that his sister, Sasha’s mother, is present invisibly in this study. He feels with his heart how this unhappy, holy woman is weeping, grieving, and begging for her boy. They should forgive Sasha so she can sleep in peace in the other world.

Sobs can be heard. Ivan Markovich is weeping and muttering something that one cannot make out through the door. The Colonel gets up and paces from corner to corner. The long conversation starts over again.

At last, the clock in the drawing room strikes two. The family council is over. The Colonel walks out of the study and goes not to the hall but to the entrance to avoid seeing the man who has occasioned him so much trouble. Ivan Markovich comes out into the hall. He is agitated, he rubs his hands and looks contented. His tearful eyes are cheerful and his mouth twists into a smile.

“Excellent,” he says to Sasha. “Thank God! My dear friend, you can go home and sleep tight. We’ve decided to pay the note, but on condition that you repent and tomorrow you’ll go with me to the village and get work.”

A minute later Ivan Markovich and Sasha, wearing their coats and caps, are going downstairs. The uncle is muttering didactically. Sasha ignores him as he feels something heavy and frightful dropping gradually off his shoulders. He is forgiven, he is free! Like a fresh wind, happiness bursts into his chest and splashes his heart with a sweet chill. He is willing to breathe, to move, to live! Glancing at the street lamps and the black sky, he remembers that today, in the “Bear” restaurant, Mr. Von Burst is giving a birthday party, and again happiness fills his heart. “I’m going!” he decides.

But then he remembers that he does not have a penny and that the friends he wanted to see despise him for his lack of money. He must get some money, whatever it may cost him!

“Uncle, lend me a hundred rubles,” he says to Ivan Markovich.

His uncle looks into his face with surprise and backs toward a lamppost.

“Give it to me,” says Sasha, shifting impatiently from one foot to the other and starting to lose his breath. “Uncle, I beg you, I need a hundred rubles.”

His face has distorted, he is trembling and advancing menacingly towards his uncle….

“Won’t you?” he asks, seeing that his uncle is still surprised and does not understand what is happening. “Listen, if you don’t give me the money, tomorrow I’ll denounce myself! I won’t let you pay the note! I’ll cash another false note tomorrow!”

Stupefied by terror, muttering incoherently, Ivan Markovich produces a hundred-ruble note from his wallet and gives it to Sasha. The latter takes it and quickly walks away.

In the cab, Sasha calms down and feels happiness breaking into his chest again. The “rights of youth” referred to by kind Uncle Ivan Markovich at the family council have awakened and spoken for themselves. Sasha is imagining the forthcoming bash, and a small thought flashes through his mind in between the bottles, women, and friends:

“Now I see I’m a criminal. Yes, I am a criminal.”