Men of letters, artists, and painters have neither rank nor title, so a simple “Dear Mr.” will do.
SAMPLE LETTERS
A letter to one’s superior
Most magnanimous and beneficent Excellency!
I am taking it upon myself to draw your exalted attention to the fact that yesterday, at the Chertobolotovs’ christening, our assistant bookkeeper Peresekin repeatedly delivered himself of, among other things, the opinion that the floors of our chambers need to be relacquered, and that it was high time our tables had new coverings. Though I cannot imagine that there was any malicious intent in his statements, one can only discern in them a certain discontent with the current state of affairs. It is to be lamented that among us there are still some whose frivolity leads them to be blind to the benefits of our association with Your Excellency. What ends are these people pursuing? I am puzzled and aggrieved! Exalted Excellency! You shower myriad benefactions upon us, but, Your Excellency, deliver us from those who are heading toward an evil end and dragging others with them.
Yours in abject sincerity and prayerful devotion,
Semyon Gnusnov
P.S. With all respectfulness, I draw Your Excellency’s attention to the fact that Your Excellency condescended to promise my nephew Kapiton the post of assistant bookkeeper. Though he might not yet have attained the highest standards of accomplishment, he is deferential and a teetotaler.
A letter to one’s inferior
The day before yesterday, when you brought my galoshes over to my wife, you stood waiting in a draft and, I am told, caught a chill, leading to your absence from the office. You are herewith severely reprimanded for this gross negligence of your health.
A love letter
Dearest Mariya Ermeyevna,
Being in dire need of funds, I herewith offer you my heart and hand. To avert any doubts you might have, I am enclosing an affidavit from the police testifying to my character.
With tender love,
M. Tprunov
A letter to a friend
My dearest friend Vasya,
Could you lend me five rubles until tomorrow?
Yours,
Hypochondriakov
(Such a letter is to be answered with: “No, I can’t.)
A business letter
Chère Princesse Milictrisse Kirbitevna,
May I, in abject respectfulness, draw Your Excellency’s attention to Your Excellency’s debt of one ruble and twelve kopecks that I had the honor of winning from Your Excellency in a game of cards the year before last at Beloyedov’s house, but have not yet had the honor of receiving.
In humble expectation, etc.
Zelenopupov
A risky letter
Excellency!
Yesterday I learned quite by chance that the New Year’s bonus I received was not owing to my personal merit, but to my wife’s. Needless to say, under these circumstances I can no longer continue my service in your office, and must request a transfer.
With assurances of my utmost contempt, etc.
Yours, So-and-so
A letter of invective
Dear Sir!
You critic, you!
A letter to a writer
Dear Sir,
Though I do not know you personally, charity and pity for you drive me to proffer you some good advice (since you seem to be a capable enough person): give up your pointless attempts!
A well-wisher
(It is best to refrain from signing such a letter, as one might find oneself compromised.)
MAN AND DOG CONVERSE
It was a frosty moonlit night. Alexei Ivanovich Romansov brushed what he took to be a little green devil off his sleeve, carefully opened the gate, and entered the courtyard.
“Man is nothing but a mirage,” he philosophized, “man is but ashes and dust. Pavel Nikolayevich might well be the governor, but he too is nothing but ashes and dust. His grandeur is just a hazy dream—one puff and he’s gone!”
“Grrrr!” the philosopher heard.
He turned in the direction of the growl and saw a large black wolf-like dog, of the kind bred by the shepherds of the steppes. The dog was by the gatekeeper’s hut, pulling at its chain. Romansov looked at the animal in astonishment, and thought awhile. He shrugged his shoulders, shook his head, and smiled dejectedly.
“Grrrr!” the dog repeated.
“No! I don’t understand any of it!” Romansov proclaimed, throwing his arms up in the air. “And you . . . you have the gall to growl at a man? That’s unheard of! Damnation upon you! Aren’t you aware that man is the crown of creation? Look at me! I will now walk up to you. See? Am I a man, yes or no? What do you think? Am I a man or am I not a man? Out with it!”
“Grrrr! Woof!”
“Your paw!” Romansov said, reaching out his hand. “Your paw! You refuse? You prefer to withhold your paw? Very well. I will make a note of that. In the meantime, allow me to pat you . . . just an affectionate little pat—”
“Woof! Woof! Grrrr! Woof!”
“Ah, so you want to bite me, do you? All right! I’ll remember that! So you don’t give a hoot that man is the crown of creation, the king of animals! And I take it you would even be prepared to bite the governor himself! Am I right? The whole world prostrates itself before him, but you don’t care who he is, or how important he is! Do I understand you? Aha! I see! So you are a Socialist! Stay where you are! I demand an answer!”
“Grrrr! Woof! Woof!”
“Stay where you are! Don’t bite me! Now where was I? Oh yes—ashes and dust. One puff and he’s gone! Puff! And why are we even alive, you ask. Our mothers give birth to us in agony, we eat, drink, learn the lessons of life, die . . . and what for? Dust! Man is worthless. You are just a dog and don’t understand a thing, but if you . . . if you could peer into man’s soul! If you could fathom man’s psychology!”
Romansov turned away and spat.
“Nothing but dirt! You think that I, Romansov, collegiate assessor, am the king of nature! Well, let me inform you that you are wrong! I am a parasite, a crook, a hypocrite! The lowest of the low!”
Romansov banged his fist against his chest and began to weep.
“A damn sneak, a damned informer! Are you under the impression that Yegor Kornyushkin wasn’t fired because of me? And if you don’t mind my asking, who pilfered the committee’s two hundred rubles and then blamed Surguchov? Are you going to tell me it wasn’t me? I’m the lowest of the low! A Pharisee! A Judas! A toady! A usurer! A swine!”
Romansov wiped away his tears with his sleeve and began to sob loudly.
“Bite me! Tear me to pieces! From the day I was born no one has ever said an honest word to me . . . Everyone thinks I’m a low-down scoundrel, but to my face they only smile and praise me! If only someone would beat me or curse me out! Go on, bite me! Go on! Tear me to pieces, scoundrel that I am, a damned traitor!”
Romansov tottered and fell down on top of the dog.
“That’s it, bite me! Chew my face to bits! Go ahead! Even if it hurts, show no mercy! There, my arms too! Yes, I see blood flowing! Serves you right, you scoundrel! Yes! Merci beaucoup, Zhuchka . . . that’s your name, isn’t it? Merci! And tear my coat to pieces, too! Who cares, the coat was a bribe too. I sold out another man and used the money to buy this coat! And the cap with the cockade! But what am I babbling on about? It’s high time I got going. Goodbye, you sweet little doggie, you . . . you naughty little girl!”
“Grrrr!”
Romansov patted the dog, let it bite his calf one last time, wrapped his coat tightly about him, swayed, and tottered toward his door.
When he woke up the following day at noon, he was quite taken aback. His head, arms, and legs were in bandages. Hovering by his bedside were his crying wife and a doctor with a worried look on his face.