Mr. Prohartchin Page #10

"Mr. Prohartchin" is a short story by Fyodor Dostoevsky, written in 1862. The narrative centers around the character of Mr. Prohartchin, a middle-class clerk who embodies the absurdities and struggles of ordinary life. Through the lens of Prohartchin's experiences, Dostoevsky explores themes of social alienation, the nature of identity, and the often poignant contrasts between societal expectations and personal aspirations. The story reflects Dostoevsky's characteristic psychological insight and social commentary, highlighting the complexities of human nature and the often bleak realities of existence in 19th-century Russia.

• Novel

								

adding that the same thing had happened a day or two ago to a gentleman
of consequence, highly respected, who had died suddenly in his sleep.
Then the personage of gentlemanly, but displeased-looking, appearance
walked away saying that they had troubled him for nothing, and took
himself off. His place was at once filled (while Remnev and Zimoveykin
were handed over to the custody of the proper functionaries), by
Yaroslav Ilyitch, who questioned some one, adroitly took possession of
the box, which the landlady was already trying to open, put the boots
back in their proper place, observing that they were all in holes and no
use, asked for the pillow to be put back, called up Okeanov, asked for
the key of the box which was found in the pocket of the drunken cadger,
and solemnly, in the presence of the proper officials, unlocked Semyon
Ivanovitch's property. Everything was displayed: two rags, a pair of
socks, half a handkerchief, an old hat, several buttons, some old soles,
and the uppers of a pair of boots, that is, all sorts of odds and ends,
scraps, rubbish, trash, which had a stale smell. The only thing of any
value was the German lock. They called up Okeanov and cross-questioned
him sternly; but Okeanov was ready to take his oath. They asked for the
pillow, they examined it; it was extremely dirty, but in other respects
it was like all other pillows. They attacked the mattress, they were
about to lift it up, but stopped for a moment's consideration, when
suddenly and quite unexpectedly something heavy fell with a clink on the
floor. They bent down and saw on the floor a screw of paper and in the
screw some dozen roubles. "A-hey!" said Yaroslav Ilyitch, pointing to a
slit in the mattress from which hair and stuffing were sticking out.
They examined the slit and found that it had only just been made with a
knife and was half a yard in length; they thrust hands into the gap and
pulled out a kitchen knife, probably hurriedly thrust in there after
slitting the mattress. Before Yaroslav Ilyitch had time to pull the
knife out of the slit and to say "A-hey!" again, another screw of money
fell out, and after it, one at a time, two half roubles, a quarter
rouble, then some small change, and an old-fashioned, solid five-kopeck
piece--all this was seized upon. At this point it was realized that it
would not be amiss to cut up the whole mattress with scissors. They
asked for scissors.

Meanwhile, the guttering candle lighted up a scene that would have been
extremely curious to a spectator. About a dozen lodgers were grouped
round the bed in the most picturesque costumes, all unbrushed, unshaven,
unwashed, sleepy-looking, just as they had gone to bed. Some were quite
pale, while others had drops of sweat upon their brows: some were
shuddering, while others looked feverish. The landlady, utterly
stupefied, was standing quietly with her hands folded waiting for
Yaroslav Ilyitch's good pleasure. From the stove above, the heads of
Avdotya, the servant, and the landlady's favourite cat looked down with
frightened curiosity. The torn and broken screen lay cast on the floor,
the open box displayed its uninviting contents, the quilt and pillow lay
tossed at random, covered with fluff from the mattress, and on the
three-legged wooden table gleamed the steadily growing heap of silver
and other coins. Only Semyon Ivanovitch preserved his composure, lying
calmly on the bed and seeming to have no foreboding of his ruin. When
the scissors had been brought and Yaroslav Ilyitch's assistant, wishing
to be of service, shook the mattress rather impatiently to ease it from
under the back of its owner, Semyon Ivanovitch with his habitual
civility made room a little, rolling on his side with his back to the
searchers; then at a second shake he turned on his face, finally gave
way still further, and as the last slat in the bedstead was missing, he
suddenly and quite unexpectedly plunged head downward, leaving in view
only two bony, thin, blue legs, which stuck upwards like two branches of
a charred tree. As this was the second time that morning that Mr.
Prohartchin had poked his head under his bed it at once aroused
suspicion, and some of the lodgers, headed by Zinovy Prokofyevitch,
crept under it, with the intention of seeing whether there were
something hidden there too. But they knocked their heads together for
nothing, and as Yaroslav Ilyitch shouted to them, bidding them release
Semyon Ivanovitch at once from his unpleasant position, two of the more
sensible seized each a leg, dragged the unsuspected capitalist into the
light of day and laid him across the bed. Meanwhile the hair and flock
were flying about, the heap of silver grew--and, my goodness, what a lot
there was!... Noble silver roubles, stout solid rouble and a half
pieces, pretty half rouble coins, plebeian quarter roubles, twenty
kopeck pieces, even the unpromising old crone's small fry of ten and
five kopeck silver pieces--all done up in separate bits of paper in the
most methodical and systematic way; there were curiosities also, two
counters of some sort, one napoléon d'or, one very rare coin of some
unknown kind.... Some of the roubles were of the greatest antiquity,
they were rubbed and hacked coins of Elizabeth, German kreutzers, coins
of Peter, of Catherine; there were, for instance, old fifteen-kopeck
pieces, now very rare, pierced for wearing as earrings, all much worn,
yet with the requisite number of dots ... there was even copper, but all
of that was green and tarnished.... They found one red note, but no
more. At last, when the dissection was quite over and the mattress case
had been shaken more than once without a clink, they piled all the money
on the table and set to work to count it. At the first glance one might
well have been deceived and have estimated it at a million, it was such
an immense heap. But it was not a million, though it did turn out to be
a very considerable sum--exactly 2497 roubles and a half--so that if
Zinovy Prokofyevitch's subscription had been raised the day before there
would perhaps have been just 2500 roubles. They took the money, they put
a seal on the dead man's box, they listened to the landlady's
complaints, and informed her when and where she ought to lodge
information in regard to the dead man's little debt to her. A receipt
was taken from the proper person. At that point hints were dropped in
regard to the sister-in-law; but being persuaded that in a certain sense
the sister-in-law was a myth, that is, a product of the defective
imagination with which they had more than once reproached Semyon
Ivanovitch--they abandoned the idea as useless, mischievous and
disadvantageous to the good name of Mr. Prohartchin, and so the matter
ended.

When the first shock was over, when the lodgers had recovered themselves
and realized the sort of person their late companion had been, they all
subsided, relapsed into silence and began looking distrustfully at one
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