Selected Stories

Marriage in Ten or Fifteen Years

EVERYTHING IN THIS WORLD IMPROVES: Swedish matches, operettas, locomotives, French wines, and human relations. And marriage improves. What it was and what it is you know; what it will be in ten or fifteen years, when our children have grown up, is not difficult to predict. So here is a sketch for the romance of the future.

A young lady of about twenty or twenty-five is sitting in her living room. She is dressed in the latest fashion and is seated on three chairs, only one of which she herself occupies; the other two accommodate her bustle. On her bosom is a brooch the size of a frying pan. Her coiffure, as becomes a well-bred young lady, is modest: twenty poods of hair brushed straight up, with a little ladder set in for the convenience of her maid. Her hat lies on the piano; it is trimmed with an artfully fabricated turkey, life-size, complete with eggs.

The doorbell rings. A young man enters. He is dressed in a red swallowtail, narrow trousers, and boots that resemble skis.

“I beg to introduce myself,” says the young man, bowing before her, “Balalaikin, counselor-at-law.”

“Pleased to meet you. What can I do for you?”

“I was directed to you by the Society for the Arrangement of Happy Marriages.”

“Delighted. Please sit down.”

Balalaikin sits down and says: “The Society brought to my attention several marriageable young ladies, but I found your conditions the most suitable for me. From this note of yours, which was given me by the secretary of the Society, it appears that you will bring to your husband a house in Plyshchikha, forty thousand rubles in cash, and about five thousand in personal property. Is that correct?”

“No. … Only twenty thousand comes with me,” she replies coquettishly.

“In that case, Madam, forgive me for having troubled you. I shall take my leave.”

“No, no! I was only joking,” laughs the girl. “Everything in the note is correct, the money, the house, and the personal property. … The Society spoke to you, of course, about the redecorating of the house being charged to the husband’s account—and—and … I’m frightfully embarrassed—and that the husband will not receive all the money at one time, but in installments over three years.”

“No, Madam,” sighs Balalaikin, “today nobody marries on the installment plan. However, if you insist on installments, as a special favor, I shall give you one year.”

Balalaikin and the young lady begin to bargain. In the end she gives in, satisfied with installments of a year.

“And now, allow me to know your terms,” she says. “How old are you, and where are you employed?”

“Frankly speaking, it is not I who am marrying; I am merely acting for my client. I am a broker.”

“Oh! But I particularly asked the Society not to send me any brokers.” The young lady is offended.

“Don’t be angry, Madam; my client is somewhat advanced in years. He suffers from rheumatism … the dampness, you know, and he hasn’t the strength to bustle about after a bride; so volens-nolens, he is obliged to act through a third party. But don’t be concerned, I don’t charge very much.”

“Your client’s conditions?”

“My client is a man of fifty-two, but despite his years, there are those who still are willing to lend him money. For instance, he has two tailors who dress him on credit. In the shops they put him on the books for as much as he likes. And no one knows better than he how to slip away from a cab driver at an entrance gate. And so forth. But let us not expatiate on his business abilities; let us just say, to round out the definition of his character, that he continues to get credit even from the chemist!”

“He lives only on credit?”

“Credit—that is his principal occupation. But inasmuch as he is a man of broad interests, he is not satisfied with this activity alone. Without exaggeration, one may say that no one knows how to dispose of a false stock coupon as cleverly as he does. Besides which, he is the guardian of his niece, which gives him about three thousand a year. And, he poses as a critic in the theater world, thus obtaining passes and free suppers from the actors. Twice he has been tried for embezzlement, and even now is on trial for forgery.”

“Oh, is it possible that courts of law still exist?”

“Yes, as a remnant of the medieval morality we have not entirely outlived. But, we may hope, Madam, that this too will pass in a year or two, and cultivated men will relinquish these obsolete customs. Now, what answer do you wish me to give my client?”

“Tell him I’ll think about it.”

“What is there to think about, Madam? I do not presume to advise you, but, wishing you well, I cannot help expressing my amazement! An honorable man, in every respect brilliant, and you fail to agree immediately, knowing how disastrous this delay may be for you! Why, even while you are thinking, he may come to an agreement with another bride.”

“That’s true. In that case, I agree.”

“You ought to have done so long since! May I please have your deposit?”

The young lady gives the agent ten or twenty rubles. He takes the money, bows obsequiously, and goes to the door.

“The receipt?” She stops him.

“Mille pardons, Madam. I completely forgot! Ha-ha!”

Balalaikin writes the receipt, bows again, and leaves. The young lady covers her face with her hands and falls onto the divan.

“How happy I am!” she exclaims, seized by an emotion she has never before experienced. “How happy I am! I love—and am loved!”

The end. Such is marriage in the near future. And, dear reader, was it so long ago that the bride wore crinolines and the groom flaunted striped trousers and a dazzling frock coat? Was it so long ago that a suitor, before falling in love with the girl, had to talk it over with her papa and mama?

Nightingales, roses, moonlight nights, perfumed notes, and love songs—all that is far, far away. To whisper together in a dark lane, to suffer, to long for the first kiss, and so on, is now as outmoded as dressing in armor or abducting the Sabines. Everything improves.

—1885