The Confession
IT WAS A COLD CLEAR DAY. I felt as elated as a cab driver who has been given a gold coin by mistake. I wanted to laugh, to cry, to pray. I was in seventh heaven: I had just been made a cashier! But I was rejoicing not because I now could get my hands on something—I was not a thief, and would have destroyed anyone who had told me that in time I should be one—I was rejoicing over the promotion and the slight increase in salary, nothing more.
And I was happy for another reason: on becoming a cashier I suddenly felt as if I were wearing rose-colored glasses. All at once people appeared to have changed. My word of honor! Everyone seemed to have improved! The ugly became beautiful, the wicked, good; the proud became humble, the miserly, generous. It was as if my eyes had been opened, and I beheld all man’s wonderful, until now unsuspected qualities. “Strange,” I said to myself, “either something has happened to them, or I have been stupid not to have perceived these qualities before. How charming everyone is!”
On the day of my appointment, even Z. N. Kazusov changed. He was a member of the board of directors, a haughty, arrogant man who always ignored the small fry. He approached me and—what had happened to him?—smiling affectionately, he clapped me on the back.
“You’re too young to be so proud, my boy. It’s unforgivable!” he said. “Why don’t you ever drop in on us? It’s shameful of you; the young people generally gather at our house, and it’s always gay there. My daughters are forever asking me: ‘Why don’t you invite Gregory Kuzmich, Papa? He’s so nice!’—But is it possible to get him to come? Well, in any case, I’ll try, I told them. I’ll ask him. Now, don’t give yourself airs, my boy, do come.”
Amazing! What had happened to him? Had he gone out of his mind? He had always been a regular ogre, and now look at him!
On returning home that same day I was astounded: Mama served not the usual two courses at dinner, but four! For tea in the evening there was jam and white bread. The following day, again four courses, again jam; and when guests dropped in we drank chocolate. The third day it was the same.
“Mama,” I said, “what’s the matter with you? Why this burst of generosity, darling? You know, my salary wasn’t doubled. The increase was trifling.”
Mama looked at me in surprise. “Humph! What do you expect to do with money—save it?”
God only knows what got into them. Papa ordered a fur coat, bought a new cap, took a mineral-water cure, and began to eat grapes—in winter!
Within a few days I received a letter from my brother. This brother could not endure me. We had parted over a difference of opinion: he considered me a selfish parasite, incapable of self-sacrifice, and for this he despised me. In his letter he now wrote: “Dear brother, I love you, and you cannot imagine what hellish torture our quarrel has caused me. Let us make it up. Let us each extend a hand to the other, and may peace triumph! I implore you! In expectation of your reply, I embrace you and remain your most loving and affectionate brother, Yevlampy.” Oh, my dear brother! I answered him saying that I embraced him and rejoiced. Within a week I received a telegram: “Thanks. Happy. Send hundred rubles. Most urgent. Embrace you. Yevlampy.” I sent the hundred rubles.
Even she changed. She did not love me. Once when I had made so bold as to hint that my heart was troubled, she accused me of being presumptuous and laughed in my face. On meeting me a week after my promotion, however, she dimpled, smiled, and looked flustered. “What’s happened to you?” she asked, gazing at me. “You’ve grown so handsome. When did you manage to do that?” And then, “Let’s dance. …”
Sweetheart! Within a month she had given me a mother-in-law. I had become that handsome! When money was needed for the wedding I took three hundred rubles out of the cash box. Why not take it, when you know you are going to put it back as soon as you receive your salary? At the same time I took out a hundred rubles for Kazusov. He had asked for a loan and it was impossible to refuse him; he was a big wheel in the office and could have anyone fired at a moment’s notice.
A week before the arrest it was suggested that I give a party. What the devil, let them guzzle and gorge, if that’s what they want! I did not count the guests that evening, but I recall that all eight of my rooms were swarming with people, young and old. There were those before whom even Kazusov had to bend the knee. His daughters—the oldest being my treasure—were in dazzling attire; the flowers alone with which they covered themselves cost me over a thousand rubles. It was very gay, with glittering chandeliers, deafening music, and plenty of champagne. There were long speeches and short toasts; one journalist presented me with an ode, another with a ballad. “We in Russia do not know how to appreciate such men as Gregory Kuzmich,” cried Kazusov, after supper. “It’s a shame! Russia is to be pitied!”
All those who were shouting, lauding and kissing me, were whispering behind my back, thumbing their noses at me. I saw their smiles and heard their sighs. “He stole it, the crook!” they whispered, grinning maliciously. But their sighing and smirking did not prevent them from eating, drinking, and enjoying themselves. Neither wolves nor diabetics ever ate as they did. My wife, flashing gold and diamonds, came up to me and whispered: “They are saying that you stole the money. If it’s true, I warn you, I cannot go on living with a thief. I’ll leave!” And she smoothed down her five-thousand-ruble gown. The devil take them all! That very evening Kazusov had five thousand from me. Yevlampy took an equal amount. “If what they are whispering about you is true,” said my ethical brother, as he pocketed the money, “watch out! I will not be brother to a thief!”
After the ball I drove them all to the country in a troika. We finished up at six in the morning. Exhausted by wine and women, they lay back in the sleigh, and, as they started off for home, cried out in farewell: “Inspection tomorrow! Merci!”
My dear ladies and gentlemen, I got caught; or, to state it more fully: yesterday I was respected and honored on all sides; today I am a scoundrel and a thief. … Cry out, now, inveigh against me, spread the news, judge and wonder; banish me, write editorials and throw stones, only, please—not everyone, not everyone!
—1883