“I tell you what,” the prince said, getting into the calash with me, “why don’t we go and have supper, eh? What do you say?”
“I really don’t know, Prince,” I replied, hesitating, “I never have supper…”
“Well, we could have our talk over supper,” he added, looking straight at me with a sly glint in his eye.
It was obvious what he was after! “He’s dying to talk to me,” I thought, “and that suits me down to the ground.” I agreed.
“That’s settled then. To Borel’s on Bolshaya Morskaya.”
“To a restaurant?” I asked, somewhat perplexed.
“Yes. What’s wrong? I seldom have supper at home. Surely you’ll accept my invitation?”
“But I told you already, I never have supper.”
“Just this once won’t hurt. Besides, you are my guest…”
Meaning, I’ll pay for you. I was sure he added this deliberately. I allowed him to take me, but at the restaurant I decided to pay for myself. We arrived. The Prince took a private room, and with taste and discernment chose two or three dishes from the menu. They were expensive, as was the bottle of a fine table wine that he ordered. It was all more than I could afford. I looked at the menu and ordered half a hazel hen and a glass of Lafitte. The Prince protested.
“So you won’t have supper with me, but this is just ridiculous! Pardon, mon ami,* but you’re… this is fastidiousness of the worst possible kind. Shallow, overweening pride. This is inverted class snobbery, if you ask me. I don’t mind telling you – I’m offended.”
But I stuck to my guns.
“As you please,” he added. “I’m not forcing you… tell me, Ivan Petrovich, do you think we could have a perfectly friendly discussion?”
“I’d insist on nothing less.”
“Well then, stand-offishness like this will be your own undoing, as has already been the case with all those of your ilk. You’re a man of letters, you need to know the world, and yet you shy away from everything. I’m not talking of hazel hens now, but you seem bent on cutting all ties with our circle, which augurs nothing good. Quite apart from the fact that you stand to lose a great deal – well, in a word, damage your career prospects – you really ought to know at first hand what it is you’re writing about in your novels, which feature dukes and princes and boudoirs… it’s my world, damnit! But all you care to go on about is destitution, lost overcoats, government inspectors, hot-tempered army officers, clerks, tales of yesteryear and religious dissent – I know it all too well?”
“But you’re mistaken, Prince. If I don’t move in your so-called ‘high society’, it’s because firstly, it bores me, and secondly, because there’s nothing it can offer me! As a matter of fact, however, I do go to…”
“I know, to Prince R.’s, once in a blue moon. To be sure, that’s where I met you. But for the rest of the time you and your lot simply puff yourselves up with democratic pride as you languish in your garrets, though this doesn’t apply to all of your ilk of course. Still, one does come across the odd hothead who’d turn even my stomach…”
“I would beg you, Prince, to change the subject and not concern yourself with us and our garrets.”
“Dear me, how sensitive you are! But then you did give me leave to speak with you as a friend. I beg your pardon though, I’ve done nothing yet to deserve your friendship. The wine’s not bad. Try some.”
He poured me half a glass from his bottle.
“You see, my dear Ivan Petrovich, I’m fully aware that it’s not the done thing to foist one’s friendship upon anyone. After all, we’re not all as uncouth and arrogant towards you as you like to portray us. Besides, I understand perfectly well too it’s not out of predilection for me that you’re sitting here now, rather because I promised to have a talk with you. Is that not so?”
He burst out laughing.
“And since you’re looking after the interests of a certain person, you’re eager to hear what I have to say. Am I right?” he added with a sinister smile.
“You are quite right,” I interrupted brusquely. I could see he was one of those who, on seeing someone the least bit under his influence, would immediately take advantage of the fact. I certainly was under his influence; I could not leave without hearing all he intended to say, and he knew that very well. His tone of voice suddenly changed, inclining more and more towards the arrogantly familiar and taunting. “You’re quite right, Prince. That’s precisely why I came, otherwise, take my word for it, I wouldn’t have agreed to sit here… at this hour.”
I would have liked to say “otherwise I’d never have agreed to come with you in the first place”, but I did not, and said something else, not out of fear, but out of that confounded weakness and reserve of mine. Indeed, how could one be offensive to someone’s face, even though that person deserved it and I was bent on offending him! I fancied the Prince noticed this by the look in my eyes and he regarded me with derision, as though delighting in my faint-heartedness and challenging me with his gaze: “There now, you lost your nerve, you flinched – never mind, old chap!” This was surely the case, because after I finished, he roared with laughter and patted me on the knee with a kind of patronizing bonhomie.
“You do make me laugh, young fellow,” I read in his eyes. “Steady on!” I thought to myself.
“I’m in a very good mood today!” he exclaimed, “and I’m damned if I know why. Yes, yes, my friend, yes! That’s just the person I wanted to talk about. After all, we need to bring things out into the open, come to some kind of an understanding, and I hope that this time you’ll see my point entirely. Back then I started talking to you about the money and that old duffer of a father, that senile innocent… Well, who cares now! I wasn’t serious, really! Hahaha, let’s face it, you’re a writer, you should have guessed…”
I watched him with consternation. I didn’t think he was quite drunk yet.
“Well, as for that girl, frankly, I respect her, I even like her, I assure you. She’s a bit capricious but ‘what rose is without thorns?’ as they used to say in the olden days, and they were right – thorns are prickly, but that’s the attraction, and though my Alexei is a fool, I’ve already forgiven him in part – for his good taste. To cut a long story, I find these girls attractive, and I even have,” he pursed his lips with deliberation, “certain plans up my sleeve… But of that later—”
“Prince! Please listen to me!” I exclaimed. “I don’t understand this sudden transformation in you, but… let’s change the subject, if you don’t mind!”
“You’re getting excited again! Well… fine, fine! I just want to ask you this, my good friend – do you respect her a lot?”
“That goes without saying,” I replied with unconcealed impatience.
“And, well, you love her too, don’t you?” he continued, baring his teeth loathsomely and screwing up his eyes.
“You’re forgetting yourself!” I exclaimed.
“There, there! Calm down! I’m in a most amazing humour tonight. I’ve never felt so cheerful for ages. Let’s have some champagne! What say you, my poet?”
“I shan’t drink any, I don’t feel like it!”
“I won’t have it! You must definitely be my guest tonight. I feel on top of the world, and since I’m good-natured to the point of sentimentality, I can’t be happy on my own. Who knows, we may yet end up drinking to eternal friendship, hahaha! Yes, my young friend, you still don’t know me! I’m certain you’ll grow to like me. I want you to share my sorrow and happiness with me tonight, my joy and my tears, though I hope I won’t shed any. Well, how about it, Ivan Petrovich? You must realize above all that if things don’t turn out the way I want them to, all my goodwill shall pass, vanish, dissipate, and you’ll not learn anything, whereas you came here solely in order to find out something. Tell me if I’m not right!” he added, winking at me brazenly again. “Well, the choice is yours.”
The threat was real. I agreed. “He’s not trying to get me drunk by any chance, is he?” I thought to myself. Incidentally, it might be appropriate at this stage to mention a certain rumour about the Prince that had reached me some time ago. It was said that – correct and well got up though he always was in public – in private, of a night-time, he was wont to get blind drunk and secretly indulge in obscene debauchery, in clandestine, unspeakable debauchery… I had heard terrible rumours about him… People said Alyosha was aware that his father used to drink heavily at times, and that he tried to conceal it from everyone, especially Natasha. Once he nearly let the cat out of the bag in my presence, but dropped the subject immediately and would not respond to any of my questions. In fairness, it was not from him that I originally learnt about it, and I confess I refused to believe it at first; now I just waited to see what would happen next.
Wine was served; the Prince filled two glasses, one for himself and one for me.
“Sweet, precious girl, never mind the ticking off she gave me!” he continued, savouring the wine with relish. “But it’s precisely at moments like that that these sweet things come into their own… And she probably thought she’d shown me up that night, you remember, that she’d made mincemeat of me! Hahaha! And how that blush becomes her! Are you a connoisseur of women? Sometimes a sudden blush goes well on a pale cheek, have you noticed? Good Heavens! You’re not getting angry with me again, are you?”
“Yes, I am!” I exclaimed, no longer restraining myself. “And I don’t want you to talk about Natalya Nikolayevna now… not in that kind of tone anyway. I… I shan’t let you!”
“Tut-tut! Well, as you wish, anything to please you, I’ll change the subject. I’m compliant and soft as putty, you know. Let’s talk about you. I like you, Ivan Petrovich, if only you knew how dearly, how sincerely concerned I am for you—”
“Prince, wouldn’t it be better to talk business?” I interrupted him.
“You mean, about our business. I can read you like a book, mon ami, and you won’t even suspect how close we’ll come to talking business once we start talking about you, provided of course you don’t interrupt me. And so, to continue – what I wanted to say to you, my priceless Ivan Petrovich, is that to live like you do is simply to bury yourself alive. I hope you will allow me to touch upon this rather delicate matter – in all friendship. You are poor, you borrow money from your publishers, you settle your miserable little debts, and for the next six months you survive on nothing but tea as you shiver in your garret, hoping to get that novel of yours published in instalments. Tell me if I’m wrong.”
“What of it, but still it’s—”
“More honourable than stealing, bowing and scraping, taking bribes, stabbing people in the back and so on and so forth. I know, I know exactly what you want to say. All this is as old as the hills.”
“And consequently there is no need to talk about my affairs. Do I really have to teach you manners, Prince?”
“No, not you, of course. But what are we to do if it’s precisely this delicate matter we’re touching upon, and there’s no avoiding it? Still, let’s not go on about garrets. I’ve no particular interest in them myself, except in certain cases,” and with that he chuckled coarsely. “But the thing that puzzles me is, what attraction is there for you in playing second fiddle? True enough, one of your writers,* I seem to remember, said somewhere that perhaps man’s greatest accomplishment is when he can find it in him to settle for the second-best in life… or something to that effect anyway. I heard it mentioned somewhere… but the fact remains, however, Alyosha has stolen your bride-to-be, that much I do know, and like some kind of a Schiller you now torment yourself on the lovers’ behalf, and offer them your assistance almost to the point of being their errand boy… I’m very sorry, my dear chap, but this really is a rather nauseating travesty of magnanimity… It’s a wonder you don’t get tired of the whole thing, honestly! The indignity of it. If I were in your shoes, I think I’d have died of misery, but it’s the humiliation, the sheer ignominy of it all!”
“Prince! I think you brought me here deliberately to insult me!” I exclaimed beside myself with rage.
“Not at all, my friend, no, at this point in time I’m simply being practical and am only concerned with your happiness. In a word I want to see the whole matter settled. But let’s put the whole business aside for a moment and – if you’d only hear me out to the end and try not to get excited – a couple of minutes is all I ask. Look here, what if you were to get married? You notice, this is a complete digression on my part – so why are you staring at me with such surprise?”
“I’m waiting for you to finish,” I replied, indeed staring at him in astonishment.
“There’s really nothing more to be said. What I’d really like to know is what would you say if one of your friends, who wished you lasting, genuine happiness, as opposed to the ephemeral kind, were to offer you a girl – young, pretty but… who’d already been there before. I’m speaking figuratively, but you know what I mean, well, someone after the likeness of Natalya Fyodorovna, with a generous reward thrown in of course… (You will notice, I’m digressing again rather than talking about our business.) So, what would you say?”
“I’d say you were… mad.”
“Hahaha! Goodness! I can see you’re on the point of striking me!”
I really was ready to attack him. I was at the end of my tether. He seemed to me like some kind of a snake or a huge spider that I’d have liked to crush. He enjoyed ridiculing me; he played cat and mouse with me, believing me to be completely in his power. It seemed to me (and I was sure of this) that he derived some kind of enjoyment, even some kind of wanton pleasure, in his self-abasement and in the insolence, the cynicism with which he tore off his mask in front of me. He wanted to relish my surprise and my horror. He genuinely detested me and was mocking me to my face.
I had a feeling from the start that all this was stage-managed and that he had an ulterior motive, but my position was such that, come what may, I had to hear him out. It was in Natasha’s interests, and I had to endure and brave everything, because at that instant perhaps everything hung in the balance. But how could one listen to those cynical, outrageous references to her, how could one keep one’s temper? To make matters worse, he understood only too well that I had to listen to him, and this merely exacerbated the indignity. “Come to think of it, he needs me just as much,” I thought and began to reply gruffly and defiantly. He caught on immediately.
“Look here, my young friend,” he began, looking at me gravely, “we two cannot continue like this, therefore let’s come to an agreement. You see, I intend to communicate something to you, and you ought to be kind enough to agree to listen to whatever I have to say. I wish to speak as I want and as I please, which is only proper under the circumstances. So, how shall it be then, my young friend, will you be obliging enough?”
I bit my lip and said nothing, and this despite the fact that he regarded me with such caustic scorn as though he himself were challenging me to the most vigorous protest. But he sensed that I had already decided to stay, and went on, “Don’t be angry with me, my friend. What is it, in fact, you object to? You’ve mistaken the manner for the substance, isn’t that right? Let’s be quite frank, you expected nothing different of me, no matter what tone I’d have adopted with you – consequently the end effect would have been the same whether I’d been unctuously polite or like now. You detest me, don’t you? You see how guileless, sincere and full of bonhomie I am? I conceal nothing from you, not even my facetious mannerisms. Yes, mon cher,* yes, would that there were more bonhomie from your side, the two of us would get on famously, come to terms completely and in the end understand each other perfectly. And don’t be surprised at me – in truth I’m so fed up with all this naivety, this mock sentimentality that Alyosha affects, all this Schillerian romanticism, this rhetoric in this damned relationship with this Natasha (sweet little girl that she is when all’s said and done), that I, so to speak, can’t but welcome an opportunity to cock a snook at it all. Well, here’s my opportunity. Besides, I always wanted to pour my heart out to you. Hahaha!”
“You surprise me, Prince, and I can hardly recognize you. A veritable Pulcinella* judging by your tone of voice – all these unexpected revelations…”
“Hahaha, that’s quite true in a way! What a cute comparison! Hahaha! Such fun, my friend, such excellent fun I’m having, I’m on top of the world, well, and as for you, my poet, you ought to show me every kind of consideration. But better still, let’s just drink and be merry,” he concluded, well pleased with himself and topping up his glass. “Look here, my friend, just that silly evening, you remember, at Natasha’s, was really the end. True, she herself was very nice about it, but I left the place in a foul mood and won’t forget it in a hurry. Neither forget nor brush it under the carpet. Of course, our time will come too, and in fact it’s fast approaching, but let’s leave that be for now. Incidentally, I wanted to explain to you there’s a trait in my character which you’ve not spotted as yet – a hatred of all this banal, utterly pointless show of innocence and sentimentality, one of my most sporting amusements being to pretend I am that way inclined myself and, as I enter into the spirit of it, to befriend and string along some everlastingly juvenile Schiller, only suddenly and unexpectedly to give him the shock of his life – lift up my mask, pull a face, poke my tongue out at him just at the moment when he’s least expecting it. What was that? You can’t see the point of it, you think it’s disgusting, outrageous, uncouth perhaps, is that so?”
“Pretty much.”
“You’re honest. But I can’t help it if these people get on my nerves! It’s silly, but I too am being honest – such is my nature. Still, I’d like to tell you one or two details of my life. It’ll help you to get to know me all the better, which will only add to the fun. Yes, come to think of it, I really am a bit of a Pulcinella tonight. Pulcinella’s an honest sort, isn’t he?”
“Listen, Prince, it’s getting late, and, really—”
“What? Goodness, you’re so impatient! And what’s the hurry? I say, no need to rush, let’s have a friendly open chat, you know, over a glass of wine, like the best of pals. You think I’m drunk? Never mind, it’s better that way. Hahaha! To be sure, these friendly get-togethers are always so unforgettable, they bring back such fond memories. You’re not a good person, Ivan Petrovich. There’s no sentimentality in you, no warmth. Why should you begrudge the odd hour with such a pal as me? Besides, all this is also germane to our business… I’d have thought that was obvious! And you call yourself a writer! You ought to be grateful for the opportunity. You could model one of your characters on me, you know, hahaha! Goodness, how disarmingly sincere I am tonight!”
He was getting noticeably drunk. His face changed and took on an angry cast. He was obviously raring to wound, hurt, snap, ridicule. “In a way it’s better he’s drunk,” I thought to myself, “that way he’s bound to blurt out more.” But he was on his guard.
“My friend,” he began, evidently full of himself, “I just made an admission to you, perhaps not an altogether appropriate one, that I’m sometimes possessed by an indomitable urge to poke my tongue out at someone in certain circumstances. As a result of this naive and simple-hearted disclosure you compared me to Pulcinella, which amused me mightily. But if you disapprove of me or are astonished that I’m uncivil towards you now, or even gross like a peasant – in a word, that I’ve suddenly changed my attitude towards you – you are in that case completely unfair. First, that’s how I want to play it, and secondly I’m not at home, I’m with you… what I want to say is that we’re now having a party like good pals, and thirdly that I’m full of quirks. You know, I once was even quirky enough to fancy myself a metaphysician and philanthropist, and dabbled in ideas that were nearly as way out as yours! To be sure, that was in the dim and distant past, in the golden days of my youth. I recall the time when, full of the milk of human kindness, I visited my estate in the country and, it goes without saying, was bored to death, and you’ll hardly believe what happened to me then! Out of sheer boredom I started keeping an eye out for some pretty girls… Look, no need to pull faces! Oh my young friend! Can’t you see what a friendly setting we’re now in? What better time to have fun, let one’s hair down! I’m a Russian through and through, you know, a genuine Russian, a patriot, I like to let my hair down, and besides one must seize the opportunity and enjoy life. Death will come and that’ll be that! And so, I sowed my wild oats. I remember this shepherd girl and her husband, a handsome peasant lad he was. I was pretty hard on him. Had a good mind to send him into the army (past misdemeanours, my poet!), but he never made it into the army. He died in my hospital… You know I used to run a hospital in the village, twelve beds – every convenience, all spick and span, parquet floors. But I pulled it down ages ago, whereas at the time I was well and truly proud of it – the philanthropist in me. As for the peasant lad, I well nigh beat the life out of him because of his wife… Look, why are you pulling those faces again? Have I said something disgusting? Your finer feelings have been offended? There, there, calm yourself! It’s all in the past now. That was my romantic phase, when I was full of good causes, wanted to found a philanthropic society… it was all the rage of the time! That’s when I let the whip do the talking. But not anymore. Now I’m reduced to pulling faces – now we’ve all been reduced to just pulling faces – the world has moved on… But it’s that fool Ikhmenev who really makes me laugh more than anything now. I’m sure he knew only too well that episode with the peasant lad… ay, and here’s the rub! Weak as dishwater, overflowing with kindness, he fell in love with the image of me that he had created himself and decided to turn a blind eye to the lot, which he duly did. In other words, he refused to believe facts staring him in the face, and for the next twelve years supported me to the hilt against all odds until he found himself on the receiving end. Hahaha! But it’s all a load of nonsense anyway! Let’s drink, my young friend. Listen – do you like women?”
I did not answer. I only listened. He had already started on his second bottle.
“But I like talking about them over supper. Why don’t I introduce you after supper to one Mlle Phileberte – eh? What do you think? Goodness, what’s wrong with you? You don’t even want to look at me… hm!”
He paused to think. But suddenly he raised his head, looked at me with some kind of a meaningful intensity and continued.
“You know, my poet, I want to let you in on one of nature’s secrets, which has probably escaped you altogether so far. I’m convinced that at this moment you look upon me as a sinner, perhaps even a scoundrel, a monster of depravity and vice. But this is what I’ll tell you! If only it could come about (which, following the laws of human nature it never can, of course), if it could come about that each one of us were to describe his innermost secrets – secrets which one would hesitate and fear to tell not only to people at large, but even to one’s closest friends, nay, fear to admit even to one’s own self – the world would be filled with such a stench that each one of us would choke to death. That’s why, speaking in parenthesis, all our social conventions and niceties are so beneficial. There is much profound wisdom in them, I won’t say moral, but simply cautionary, comforting, which of course is all for the better, because in essence morality is comfort – that is, it has been devised solely for comfort. But of niceties later, I’m getting confused now, remind me of them later. I shall conclude as follows, however: you accuse me of vice, debauchery, immorality, whereas my only fault now perhaps is that I’m more honest than others, and nothing else; that I don’t cover up what others conceal even from themselves, as I already said previously… It’s wrong of me, but that’s my choice. To be sure though, don’t worry,” he added with a derisive smile, “I said ‘wrong’, but it’s not as if I were asking for pardon. One other thing you must note: I’m not out to embarrass you, I’m not enquiring if you have similar secrets of your own, that I may use them in order to justify myself… I’m behaving properly and like a gentleman. As a matter of fact I always behave like a gentleman…”
“You simply talk too much,” I said, looking at him with contempt.
“Talk too much, hahaha! And shall I tell you what you’re thinking about now? You’re thinking – why has he brought me here and suddenly, without any rhyme or reason, started to unbutton himself? Am I right?”
“Yes.”
“Well, you’ll find that out later.”
“More likely you’ve had nearly two bottles and… it’s gone to your head.”
“You mean simply drunk. And it may well be so. ‘Gone to your head!’ – not quite as crude as drunk. My word, the very soul of discretion! But… we’re in danger of falling out again after touching upon such an interesting topic. Yes, my poet, if there’s anything sweet and charming left in this world, it has to be women.”
“You know, Prince, I still can’t understand why you’ve decided to choose me in particular as the confidant of your secrets and… sexual propensities.”
“Hm… as I told you, all in good time. Don’t worry. But even if for no reason except sport. You’re a poet, you’re bound to understand me, something I already pointed out to you anyway. There’s a peculiar gratification to be derived from the sudden tearing-down of a mask, from the cynicism of not even deigning to betray any sense of shame in suddenly exposing oneself to another indecently. I’ll tell you a story. There used to be a mentally sick clerk in Paris – he was confined to an asylum after he was finally pronounced unbalanced. Well then, during his bouts of madness this is how he used to amuse himself: he’d undress at home, stark-naked as the day he was born, down to his shoes, throw a large, ankle-length cloak over his shoulders, wrap himself in it and, affecting a grand and self-important air, step out into the street. To look at he was just like anyone else, a man in a large cloak strolling for his pleasure. But no sooner would he see some lone passer-by ahead with no one else about than he’d walk straight towards him, with the most serious and profound expression on his face, stop in front of him suddenly, fling his cloak open and expose himself in all his… glory. He’d stand for about a minute in silence, then cover himself up again and, keeping a straight face and with perfect composure, glide past the thunderstruck observer regally, like the ghost in Hamlet. He’d do that to everybody – men, women, children – and that’s all he needed to keep him happy. It’s precisely some of this thrill that one can experience in suddenly knocking some kind of a jumped-up Schiller into the middle of next week by poking one’s tongue out at him when he’s least expecting it. ‘Knocking someone into the middle of next week’ – a fine expression, I like it. I’m not sure if I didn’t come across it in a recent something one of you lot wrote.”
“Well, he was mad, whereas…”
“I’m sane?”
“Yes.”
The Prince roared with laughter.
“You are perfectly right, my dear chap,” he added with the most overbearing expression on his face.
“Prince,” I said, ruffled by his impudence, “you hate me, as you hate the lot of us, and now you’re using me to avenge yourself on all and sundry. And all this because of your paltry self-esteem. You’re evil and petty with it. We put your nose out of joint, and you just cannot live down what happened that night. Of course nothing could be calculated to get your own back better than the utter contempt you’re holding me in. You’ve even absolved yourself from the normal and universally binding respect that we all owe one another. You’re clearly out to demonstrate that you don’t even wish to show me the courtesy of being embarrassed in appearing before me in your true colours, as you pull down your mask with such indecent haste and expose yourself with such blatant moral cynicism—”
“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked, regarding me with an angry, arrogant gaze. “To demonstrate how principled you are?”
“To demonstrate that I know what you are about and that you should be under no illusions.”
“Quelle idée, mon cher,” he continued, suddenly reverting to his former tone of good-natured badinage. “You only made me change the subject. Buvons, mon ami,* let me fill your glass. And I was just about to tell you a marvellous and extraordinarily fascinating story. I’ll be brief. There was a lady friend I used to know once – no longer in her first flush of youth but about twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Stunningly beautiful, what a bust, what a figure, the way she walked! Her gaze was fierce, hawklike, always stern and severe – her manner haughty and aloof. She had a reputation for being frigid as an iceberg, and she overawed everybody by her unassailable, her daunting virtue. Daunting is the word. No one in her circle was more intolerant than she. She condemned not only vice, but every kind of weakness, however trivial, in other women, and she judged them outright, without mercy. Within her own circle she wielded enormous influence. Some of the most distinguished and officiously charitable old ladies deferred to her, and even fawned on her. She regarded everybody with the dispassionate austerity of an abbess in a medieval nunnery. The younger women trembled at the very sight of her, not to say her censure. Just one word, one hint of an adverse comment from her could ruin a reputation – such was her standing in society. Even men were afraid of her. Finally, she began to indulge in some kind of contemplative mysticism, to be sure, all so serene and exalted… And, guess what? There was no harlot who was more debauched than she, and I had the good fortune of fully earning her trust. In a word, I was her secret and mysterious paramour. Our meetings were organized so skilfully, so expertly arranged, that even no one in the house had the slightest inkling of what was going on. Only one of her younger chambermaids, a French girl and a delectable morsel herself, was privy to all her secrets, but she was the very soul of discretion – she herself participated in all the goings-on. How? That I shall omit for now. My lady was so lascivious that even the Marquis de Sade himself could have learnt a thing or two from her. But the strongest, the most exciting and thrilling aspect of this sport was its air of mystery and the sheer effrontery of the deception. This mockery of everything that the Countess preached in society as being elevated, sublime and inviolate, no less than her inner satanic laughter and premeditated flouting of everything that ought not to be flouted – all this without restraint, taken to its utmost limit, beyond the reaches of even the wildest imagination – was that which constituted the principal and most vivid feature of the gratification. Yes, she was the very she-devil incarnate, but an irresistibly enchanting one. Even now I cannot recall her without paroxysms of delight. In the midst of the most passionate pleasures she would suddenly burst out laughing as one possessed, and I understood, I well understood that laughter, and I would join in with her… Even now the very memory of it makes me catch my breath, though it was many moons ago. A year later she dropped me for someone else. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t have harmed her. Who on earth would have believed me? Such a woman! Well, what do you say to that, my young friend?”
“How disgusting!” I replied, having heard out his admission with repugnance.
“You wouldn’t have been the young friend that you are had you replied differently! I knew you’d say that. Hahaha! Wait, mon ami, time will come and you’ll see what’s what; as for now you have need of less strong meat. No, you’re no poet after all – this woman knew what life was all about and she knew how to make the most of it.”
“But why go to such lengths of bestiality?”
“What bestiality?”
“Such as this woman reached, and you with her.”
“Ah, you call that bestiality – a sure sign you’re still a mere babe, a tiro. Of course, I admit, independence can assume radically different… but, let us keep things in perspective, mon ami… you must agree, this is all nonsense.”
“What is?”
“Everything except one’s personality, one’s own self. All’s for the taking, and the world’s my oyster. Listen, my friend, I still believe one can have a good time in this world. And that’s the best thing to believe in, because otherwise one couldn’t even have a bad time – there’d be nothing left but to poison oneself. They say one fool did precisely that. He got so carried away in his philosophizing that he renounced everything, the lot, even the legitimacy of all normal and natural human obligations, with the end result that he was left with nothing, an absolute zero, which is why he declared that the best thing in life was a dose of prussic acid. You will tell me this reeks of Hamlet, of noble despair, in short – of something sublime that’s way beyond us. But you’re a poet, whereas I’m a simple man and will therefore say that things must be looked at from the simplest, the most practical vantage point. For instance I’ve already long ago liberated myself from all ties and even obligations. I’d entertain obligations only if I should stand to benefit from them in some way. Naturally, you cannot regard things quite like that – your feet are shackled and your taste is impaired. You yearn for lofty ideals and virtue. But, my friend, I’m ready to go along with anything you wish, but what can I do if I know for certain that behind every human virtue lurks profound selfishness? And the more virtuous the undertaking, the more selfishness there is in it. Love thy own self – that’s one rule I recognize. Life’s just a business transaction. Don’t throw your money about needlessly, but pay your way if you wish, and you’ll fulfil all your obligations towards your fellow man. So much for my morality, if that’s what you’re after, though frankly, it’d be better not to pay your fellow man, but see if you couldn’t induce him to do you favours for free. Ideals I have none and have no wish to have any, never having missed them anyway. One can survive in this world so comfortably, so nicely without them… and en somme,* I’m very glad I can manage without prussic acid. You see, had I been just a little more virtuous, I very likely wouldn’t have managed, like that fool of a philosopher (a German, no doubt). Yes, indeed, life’s still got lots to offer! I love influence, honours, good hotels, a huge stake at cards (I adore cards). But the main, the most important thing is women… women in all their shapes and forms. I even go for debauchery that’s covert, secretive, and the more eccentric and depraved the better, even with a whiff of sordidness for extra delectation… Hahaha! You should see your face! If looks could kill!”
“If—” I replied.
“Well, let’s assume you’re right too, but deviant sex is still better than prussic acid. Wouldn’t you say?”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“I deliberately asked you, ‘Wouldn’t you say?’ to savour your reply. I knew what it would be in advance. No, my friend, if you’re a real philanthropist, you’d recommend to any sensible person exactly the same kind of delectation I enjoy, even down to the filthy bits, otherwise anyone who’s got his head screwed on would soon find there’s nothing for him in this paradise for fools. Your fools would be over the moon though! As the saying goes – life’s a thing that none but fools would keep. And if you want to know, nothing’s better than to live amongst fools and curry their favour. It makes eminent sense! Don’t be surprised that I value prejudice, observe certain conventions, seek power – it’s because I know I live in an empty society. But it offers me creature comforts and I’m only too happy to support it, to make out I’m championing its cause, whereas if it came to it I’d be the first to turn my back on it. Rest assured I’m familiar with all your newfangled ideas, even though I’ve never suffered from them or had much regard for them. Never had any pangs of conscience either. I’m ready to go along with anything provided it suits my book – our name is legion and life really treats us well. Everything in the world may go to pot, but you can be sure we shall survive. We have been around since the beginning of time. The whole world may go under, but we are sure to surface. Incidentally, you only need to look around to see how resilient people like us are. Let’s face it, we are singularly, phenomenally tough. Has that ever occurred to you? Ergo, nature itself has been kind to us, hahaha! I definitely want to live till ninety. I don’t like death and it frightens me. Hell knows how one may come to die! But why talk about it! It’s that suicidal philosopher who’s got me going. To hell with philosophy! Buvons, mon cher! I say, we were going to talk about pretty girls, weren’t we?… Where are you off to?”
“I’m going, and it’s time you too—”
“Come, come, I bared my soul to you, and you’re unwilling to acknowledge what a splendid act of friendship that was. Hahaha! You haven’t got the milk of human kindness in you, my poet. But wait, I want another bottle.”
“A third one?”
“Yes, a third one. Apropos virtue, my young nursling – you don’t mind if I call you by this sweet name? Who knows, my words of wisdom may yet bear fruit – and so, my nursling, I’ve already talked of virtue, well – the more the virtue, the more the selfishness. I want to tell you a pretty little story on the subject. I once loved a girl with what amounted to almost genuine love. She even went to some lengths to sacrifice herself for me…”
“Is that the one you fleeced?” I asked bluntly, casting aside all restraint.
The Prince started, his face dropped as he stared back at me, his inflamed eyes glinting in consternation and fury.
“Just a minute,” he said as though talking to himself, “just a minute, don’t rush me. The drink’s really gone to my head, let me get my thoughts together…”
He paused and stared at me with the same malevolent gaze, resting one hand on mine as though for fear of my leaving. I am certain that at that instant he was trying to work out how could I possibly have known about the matter, which was a closely guarded secret, and whether he mightn’t be compromised by it. This lasted about a minute, but suddenly his face changed – the previous, merrily inebriated, derisive expression returned to his eyes, and he burst out laughing.
“Hahaha! My word, Talleyrand* would have been proud of you! I must confess, I really felt egg on my face when she blurted out that I stole from her! How she screeched, how she swore! A demented woman if ever there was one, and… with no self-restraint either. But judge for yourself – first, I never fleeced her, as you suggested just now. She personally gave me her money as a gift, and so it was by rights mine. Let’s put it this way, supposing you gave me your best tailcoat as a present,” saying this he shot a glance at my ill-fitting one that the tailor Ivan Skornyagin had run up for me some three years previously, but which was the only one I had. “I’m duly grateful to you, I carry on wearing it, suddenly a year later you have a quarrel with me and want it back, but I’ve already worn it out. This is unfair – why give it in the first place? Secondly, in spite of the fact that the money was mine, I would have returned it without fail but, have a heart, where was I to rustle up such a sum in a hurry? However, the main thing is, I can’t abide all this sentimentality and the Schiller-type nonsense, you already heard me mention – that’s what started it all off in fact. You won’t believe me when I tell you what an act she put on for my benefit, shouting that I could keep the money (my money, mind). That’s when I really went mad, and suddenly I was able to see things in their true colours, because my presence of mind is something that never deserts me. I thought to myself, if I gave her the money, I might even make her unhappy. I’d have deprived her of the pleasure of being totally miserable on my account and of cursing me for it for the rest of her life. Believe you me, my friend, there is supreme pleasure to be derived from the kind of misery where one knows oneself to be quite blameless and generous and totally justified in calling the wrongdoer a scoundrel. One comes across this ecstasy of hatred precisely in your Schillerian types, that goes without saying. She probably went hungry later, but I’m sure she was happy. I didn’t want to deprive her of this happiness and that’s exactly why I didn’t send her the money. Hence the complete justification of my rule of thumb, namely the more pronounced and vociferous one’s magnanimity, the more riddled it is with the worst kind of selfishness… Do you really not see it? But… you wanted to pick a bone with me, hahaha!… Well, let’s have the truth, you did, didn’t you?… You Talleyrand, you!”
“Goodbye!” I said, getting up.
“Not just yet! Two more words before you go,” he exclaimed, changing his tone from mocking to serious. “Listen to my final say on the matter. Of all that I said it follows as day follows night – you couldn’t have failed to notice it yourself – that I never, but never, miss a favourable chance. I love money, and I’m in need of it. Katerina Fyodorovna has lots. Her father was ten years in the wine trade. She has now three million roubles, and this three million will come in very handy to me. Alyosha and Katya are a perfect match – both are as stupid as they come, which is all I need. Hence I’m determined that their marriage take place, and the sooner the better. In two or three weeks Katya and the Countess will be going to the country. Alyosha must accompany them. Be sure to warn Natalya Nikolayevna that there’s to be no sentimentality or any Schiller-inspired nonsense, no opposition to me. I’m vindictive and dangerous, and shall stand up for my interests. I’m not afraid of her. Everything will unquestionably be done my way, and therefore, even if it’s you I’m warning now, it’s with her in mind really. So see to it that she doesn’t do anything foolish and behaves sensibly. Otherwise she’ll be very sorry, very sorry indeed. Come to that, she ought to be grateful to me I haven’t dealt with her according to her deserts and the full rigours of the law. You will be aware, my poet, that the law protects family values, it guarantees a son’s obedience to his father and that those who entice children away from their sacred obligations to their parents fall foul of the law. Remember, finally, I have connections and she has none, and… do you really not understand what I could have done with her?… But I haven’t, because so far she has behaved sensibly. Don’t worry, every minute their every movement these past six months has been under close surveillance, and I’ve been kept informed of everything down to the last detail. That’s why I chose to bide my time until Alyosha would reject her himself, which is already happening. In the meantime the lad might as well have his fling. Be that as it may, in his eyes I’ve remained a caring father, and it’s important for me he should think of me that way. Hahaha! When I recall that I nearly complimented her that night for being so generous and unselfish in not marrying him! I really would have liked to see her try! As regards my visit to her then, it was simply time that an end was put to their relationship. But I needed to be reassured with my own eyes, to experience it all at first hand… Well, I think you’ve had enough! Or perhaps you’d like to hear some more reasons why I brought you here, why I’ve been playacting in front of you and been so impossibly frank, whereas it could all have been stated without any avowals of frankness – yes?”
“Yes.” I gritted my teeth and listened avidly. I had nothing more to say to him.
“It was for one reason only, my friend – because I detected in you a little more common sense and clarity of vision to see things in their true colours than in either of our two little fools. You’d have known sooner or later who I am, you’d have guessed, formed an opinion of me, but I wanted to save you all the effort and decided to demonstrate clearly who exactly it was you were dealing with. First-hand impressions count for everything. Try to understand me, mon ami. You know whom you’re dealing with, you love her, and therefore I now hope you will exercise all your influence – let’s face it, you do have influence over her – to save her from certain kinds of trouble. Else there will be trouble and, I assure you in all sincerity, by no means inconsiderable trouble. Well, finally, the third reason for my frankness with you (I can see you’ve already guessed it, my dear friend), yes, I really wanted to spit on the whole of this sorry business and, spit… especially before your very eyes…”
“And you have succeeded,” I said, shaking with agitation. “I fully agree, nothing could have better conveyed your hatred and contempt for me and all I stand for as this so-called frankness of yours. You not only didn’t care if it compromised you in my eyes, but you didn’t even betray any sense of shame before me… You really gave a good impression of the madman in his cloak. You treated me as something less than human.”
“You’ve hit the nail on the head, my young friend,” he said, getting up, “right on the head – you’re not an author for nothing. I hope we’ll part amicably though. I don’t suppose we’ll be drinking to eternal friendship, however, will we?”
“You’re drunk, and that’s the only thing that stops me giving you the response you deserve…”
“Another figure of speechlessness – you stopped short, so I’ll never know how you would have responded, hahaha! I don’t suppose you’d let me pay for you either?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll pay my own share.”
“I’m sure you will. Nor would we be going the same way?”
“I’m not going your way.”
“Farewell, my poet. I hope you have understood me…”
He left without looking at me, his gait slightly unsteady. A footman helped him into his calash. I went my own way. It was gone two o’clock in the morning and raining. The night was dark…