Now as to what I am looking for in a wife. She must be either a maiden or a widow, whichever she prefers, not older than thirty nor younger than fifteen. She must not be Catholic—in other words not one of those women who believe that there is such a thing as a man who is infallible—and definitely not a Jewess. A Jewess would never tire of badgering me: “Oy, is that all those magazines are paying you for a line? You should go to my papa and learn one or two things about making rubles!” I would not like that. I would like a blonde with blue eyes and, please, if at all possible, dark eyebrows. She must not be pale, flushed, thin, plump, tall, or squat, but pleasant, and not possessed by demons, or have her hair cut short, or be garrulous, or never want to go anywhere.
She must have good handwriting, because I need someone to copy out my pieces. Not that there’s much to copy out.
She must love the magazines I write for, and follow the mode of life they advocate.
She must not read The Playful Tattler, The New Daily, or that dreadful book Nana, and she should not be moved by the feature articles of The Moscow News, or swoon at the poetry that keeps appearing in Berega.
She must be able to sing, dance, read, write, boil, roast, fry, be sweet and tender, grill (but without raking me over the coals), be good at borrowing money for her husband, have a knack for dressing elegantly using her own financial resources (N.B.!), and be absolutely obedient.
She must not niggle, hiss, squawk, yell, bite, bare her teeth, throw plates, or bat her eyelashes at friends of the family.
It is important that she remember that horns do not adorn a man’s head, and that the shorter they are the safer is he who will be made to pay for them.
She must not be called Matryonna, Akulina, Avdoteya, or other such provincial names, but have a nobler name, such as Olya, Lenochka, Maruska, Katya, Lipa.
She must at all times keep her dear mama, my highly esteemed mother-in-law, well away from me, somewhere at the back of beyond, otherwise I cannot be held accountable for my actions, and—
She must have a minimum of two hundred thousand rubles in silver.
This stipulation, however, is negotiable at the discretion of my creditors.
THE TEMPERAMENTS
(According to the Latest Science)
The Sanguine Man. Impressions work on him easily and quickly. This, according to Hufeland, leads to his being frivolous. In his young years he is a prankster and a ne’er-do-well. He talks back to his teachers, will not cut his hair, does not shave, wears glasses, and scribbles on walls. He is not good in class, but graduates. He is disrespectful to his parents. If he is wealthy, he is a dandy; if poor, he lives in squalor. He sleeps until noon, and goes to bed at all hours. His spelling leaves much to be desired. Nature has made him for love alone; consequently he will only occupy himself with what he loves. He is not above drinking himself to kingdom come. Drinking late into the night until little green devils dance before his eyes, he rises the following day somewhat bedraggled, but with only a slight dullness in his head, and without the urge to similia similibus curantur.8 He marries by mistake, and is forever engaged in battle with his mother-in-law and at war with his wife. He lies to beat the band. He is drawn to brawling and sentimental plays. In an orchestra he is the first violin. Being flighty, he is a liberal. The sanguine man will either read nothing all his life or read himself into oblivion. When it comes to newspapers, he loves editorials and is not above editorializing. The readers’ page of humorous magazines was expressly invented for him. He is constant in his inconstancy. In the government, he is an official for special matters or the like. If he is an instructor, he instructs literature. He will rarely work his way up to the rank of state councilor, but if he should reach that highest of ranks in our civil service he turns into a phlegmatic man, sometimes even a choleric one. Freeloaders, crooks, and beer-swillers are sanguine individuals. Sleeping in the same room as the sanguine man is not to be recommended as he will tell jokes all night, and, when he has run out of jokes, will begin criticizing his friends or telling lies. He succumbs to illnesses of the digestive system and premature exhaustion.
The sanguine woman is quite bearable, so long as she is not a fool.
The Choleric Man. He is bilious and sports a sallow complexion. His nose is somewhat crooked, and his eyes circle in their sockets like hungry wolves in cramped cages. He is irritable. Bitten by a flea or pricked by a needle, he is ready to blow the world to kingdom come. Every time he speaks it is with a spray of spittle, and he bares teeth that are either brown or very white. He is convinced that it is always “cold as hell” in winter and “hot as hell” in summer. He hires and fires cooks every week. When he dines, he complains that everything is either overcooked or too salty. Most choleric men are bachelors, but if they do marry they keep their wives under lock and key. He is jealous as the devil. He has no sense of humor, and everything annoys him. He only reads newspapers so he can swear at journalists—when still in his mother’s womb, he was already convinced that all newspapers lie. As a husband or friend he is unbearable; as a subordinate, obsequious; as a boss, insufferable and in everyone’s way. More often than not, unfortunately, he is a pedagogue, teaching mathematics and ancient Greek. I do not advocate sleeping in the same room with him, as he will cough and spit all night and swear loudly at the fleas. If he hears a hen cackling or a cock crowing in the middle of the night he will clear his throat, and, in a rasping voice, call for his servant to climb onto the roof, seize the creature, and wring its damned neck. He dies of a lung or liver ailment.
The choleric woman is a devil in a dress, a crocodile.
The Phlegmatic Man. A most agreeable individual (needless to say I am not referring to British phlegmatics, but Russian ones). He is quite unremarkable in appearance, and somewhat ungainly. He is always serious, because he is too lazy to laugh. He will eat anything and at any time. He does not drink because he is afraid of fits, and sleeps twenty hours a day. He sits on every possible committee and is to be found at every meeting and emergency session but is at a loss about what is going on, and dozes off without a twinge of conscience, patiently waiting for the meeting to end. At the age of thirty, with the assistance of uncles and aunts, he marries. He is the most suitable person for marriage: he agrees with everything, never grumbles, and is completely complacent. He calls his wife “sweetheart.” He loves suckling pig with horseradish, all things sour, choral music, and the cool shade. The phrase vanitas vanitatum et omnia vanitas9 (nonsense of nonsenses, and all is nonsense) was coined with the phlegmatic man in mind. He only falls ill when he is called upon to serve as a juror. When he sees a portly woman he wheezes, begins fidgeting, and attempts to smile. He has a subscription to Niva, but is peeved that they do not color their pictures and have no funny articles. He considers writers extremely clever, but at the same time extremely dangerous. He laments that his children are not whipped at school, but is himself at times not averse to giving them a good hiding. He is happy in the civil service. In an orchestra he is the contrabass, bassoon, or trombone; in a theater the cashier, doorman, or prompter—and at times, pour manger, an actor. He ultimately falls victim to paralysis or dropsy.