I’ll now proceed to the final catastrophe, which brings my notes to a conclusion. But in order to continue onwards I need to run ahead to explain something I knew nothing about at the time it took place, but about which I found out and which became entirely clear to me much later; that is, when everything was over. Otherwise I can’t make things clear because I’d have to write in riddles. Therefore I’ll give a straightforward and simple explanation, at the cost of so-called artistic merit, and I’ll do it as if it’s not me writing, and my heart not in it, but more like an entrefilet, a brief notice, in the papers.
The fact is that my boyhood friend Lambert may very well have been associated, even directly, with those loathsome gangs of petty rogues who stick together for the sake of what is now called blackmail, and for which the legal code is seeking definitions and punishments these days. The gang Lambert belonged to had been set up back in Moscow and had already carried out quite a few dirty tricks – it was eventually partly exposed. I later heard that for some time they’d had, in Moscow, an extremely experienced and clever leader, an older man. They embarked on their exploits either with the entire gang or just a number of them. They carried out, alongside the most sordid and obscene schemes – about which, by the way, news had begun to appear in the papers – rather complex and cunning ventures led by their leader. I later found out about some of these, but I won’t go into detail. I’ll only point out that the main thrust of their technique consisted in discovering secrets, sometimes from the most honest and high-placed people. Then they’d appear to those individuals and would threaten to reveal some documents (which in some cases they didn’t possess) and demand ransom money in return for their silence. There are things that are not sinful and certainly not criminal, yet a respectable and steadfast person will be afraid of their disclosure. They mostly made use of family secrets. To show you how craftily their leader sometimes acted, I’ll tell you, without going into detail and in just three lines, about one of those exploits. In a certain thoroughly honourable home something sinful and criminal had indeed occurred. The wife of a well-known and respected man had entered into a secret love affair with a certain wealthy and rich young officer. The gang got wind of it and proceeded in the following way: they simply let the young officer know that they would inform the husband. They didn’t hold the slightest proof, and the young man knew this perfectly well, nor did they hide this from him. But the ingenuity of the trick and the cunning in their calculation consisted in this case simply in imagining that the husband, once informed, even without evidence, would act and take exactly the same steps he would have taken had he received the most accurate proofs. They made use of their knowledge of that man’s character and his family circumstances. The main thing was that a young man from a very respectable background was part of the gang and was able to get access to information beforehand. They stripped the lover of a tidy sum without running any risk to themselves, because all the victim longed for was secrecy.
Lambert, despite taking part, did not belong exclusively to the Moscow gang. Having acquired a taste for this, he gradually began to act independently, as an experiment. I’ll tell you now: he wasn’t that good at it. He was perfectly clever and calculating, but also hot-headed and simple-hearted or, more accurately, naive – that is, he did not understand people or society. For example, I believe that he had no understanding of the role of the Moscow leader and assumed that leading and organizing such exploits was an easy thing to do. Lastly, he imagined everyone else to be as much of a scoundrel as he was. For example, once he’d imagined that a given person was frightened or should be frightened for one reason or another, he took it as an accepted truth that he was indeed frightened. I’m not good at explaining this; I’ll clarify this later with the help of facts, but in my opinion he was quite coarsely developed and, rather than not believing in any kindly, sincere emotions, it was more a case of not having any concept of them.
He’d come to St Petersburg because for a long time he’d considered it as offering a wider scope than Moscow, and also because he’d put his foot in it over there and someone with the most evil intentions towards him was looking for him. After his arrival in St Petersburg, he immediately joined up with a former friend of his, but he found the field barren and dealings trifling. His circle of acquaintances grew, but nothing really came of it. “People here are rubbish, they’re just kids,” he later told me himself. And then one fine morning, at dawn, he suddenly found me freezing to death by a fence and he landed directly on the trail of what was according to him “a most lucrative affair”.
It was all the result of the nonsense I’d uttered as I lay thawing in his apartment. Oh, I was practically delirious back then! But from my words it soon became quite clear that out of all the insults I’d endured that fateful day I only remembered and harboured in my heart Bjoring’s insult and hers: otherwise that wouldn’t have been the only thing I raved about at Lambert’s, and I would have gone on about Zershchikov, for instance. At this point I only went on about that first insult, as I later learnt from Lambert. Added to this, I was ecstatic then, and looked upon both Lambert and Alphonsine as my liberators and saviours on that dreadful morning. Then later, as I lay recovering in bed, I tried to imagine what Lambert might have gleaned from my ravings, and to what extent I’d exposed myself to him. But not once could I have suspected that he could have found out so much from me! Oh, of course, judging by some pangs of conscience, I suspected even then that I must have said far too much, but, I repeat, I couldn’t imagine to what extent I’d done so! I’d also hoped and counted on not having had the strength to speak clearly then, something I had a firm memory of, but it turned out that in fact I spoke far more clearly then than I’d imagined or hoped later. But the main thing is that this was all revealed only much later, and that was the source of my trouble.
From my delirious words, my idle babble, prattle, outbursts, etc., he first of all found out almost all the surnames in detail and even some addresses. Secondly, he established a pretty close understanding about the significance of those people (the old prince, her, Bjoring, Anna Andreyevna, and even Versilov). Thirdly, he found out that I felt humiliated and threatened revenge; and finally, the most important thing: he found out that a document existed, a secret and hidden one, a letter that, if shown to the half-crazed old prince, would lead to the discovery that his very own daughter considered him insane and was already taking “legal advice” to have him put away, and meant he’d either really go insane or throw her out of his home and deprive her of her inheritance; or he’d marry a certain Mademoiselle Versilova, whom he was already intent on marrying, something which others wouldn’t allow him to do. In a word, Lambert understood a lot of it; undoubtedly much still remained in the dark, but the crafty blackmailer had nevertheless landed on a genuine trail. When I later ran away from Alphonsine, he searched for my address at once – by the simplest means, in the enquiry office – then he immediately made the appropriate enquiries, from which he found out that all the individuals I’d been babbling about really existed. Then he proceeded at once to take the first step.
The most important thing was that a document did exist, that it was in my possession and that it held great value; Lambert had no doubts about that. I’ll leave out one circumstance as it would be better to mention it later in its proper place but I’ll just point out that that circumstance above all confirmed for Lambert the real existence and more importantly the value of the document. I warn you that it was a momentous circumstance which I couldn’t have imagined, not just then, but not even at the very end of this whole affair, when everything suddenly fell apart and became clear of its own accord. And so, convinced of what was most important, Lambert took the first step and drove over to visit Anna Andreyevna.
In the meantime I still have this problem to solve: how could he, Lambert, insinuate himself and suck up to such an unapproachable and lofty creature as Anna Andreyevna? True, he made enquiries, but so what? True, he was very well turned out, spoke Parisian French and had a French surname, but surely Anna Andreyevna couldn’t have failed to spot the scoundrel in him straight away? Or else you have to assume that she needed such a scoundrel then. Could it be so?
I’ve never been able to discover the details of their meeting, but I’ve been imagining that scene many times since. What is most likely is that Lambert, from the very first word and gesture, took on the role of the childhood friend who was anxious about his dearly beloved schoolmate. He also, of course, managed, during the course of that first encounter, to imply in clear terms that I had a “document”, and to let her know that it was a secret, that he, Lambert, was the only one to know about this secret, and that I was planning to take my revenge on Mrs Akhmakova with that document and so on and so forth. And, above all, he could explain to her in the most precise terms the significance and value of that piece of paper. As for Anna Andreyevna, she was herself in such a situation that all she could do was grasp at any news of that kind; all she could do was listen with the greatest attention and swallow the bait “due to her own fight for survival”. As it happened, her fiancé had been removed at the time and confined to Tsarskoe Selo, and she herself was under surveillance. And suddenly there was this windfall: these were no old wives’ whispers in each other’s ears, no tearful complaints, no slanderous gossip, but here was a letter, a manuscript, in other words a mathematical proof of his daughter’s perfidious intentions, as well as the intentions of those who’d taken him away from her; and as a result he had to save himself, even by escaping, to her, to Anna Andreyevna herself, and marry her if need be within twenty-four hours, otherwise they’d relegate him to a lunatic asylum.
Or it may be that Lambert didn’t even for an instant resort to guile with that young woman; perhaps he’d started by blurting out: “Mademoiselle, either you’ll remain an old maid or you’ll become a princess and a millionairess: there’s a document which I’ll steal from the adolescent and pass on to you… in exchange for a promissory note for the sum of 30,000 roubles.” I actually think that this was how it went. Oh, he reckoned every person to be a scoundrel like himself. I’ll repeat: there was the naivety and innocence of the scoundrel in him. Whatever way it went, it’s entirely possible that Anna Andreyevna herself, even facing such an onslaught, wasn’t thrown in the least, and was able to control herself sublimely and listen to the blackmailer having his say – and all this because of “breadth”. Well, of course, she blushed a little at first, but she then took hold of herself and listened. And how I see before me that unapproachable, proud, truly deserving young woman, with such a mind, hand in hand with Lambert… yes, with such a mind! A Russian mind of such magnitude, a devotee of “breadth” and a woman’s mind at that, and in such circumstances!
I’ll summarize all this now: on the day and hour that I first went out after my illness, Lambert had two plans (I know this now for certain): the first one was to take from Anna Andreyevna a note of no less than 30,000 roubles in exchange for the document, and then help her scare the prince, abduct him and marry him to her – something like that anyway. The whole plan had been made and all they were waiting for was my help, the document in fact.
The second plan was to break faith with Anna Andreyevna, drop her and sell the paper to Mrs Akhmakova if this proved to be more advantageous. For that he also counted on Bjoring. But Lambert had not yet made his appearance at Mrs Akhmakova’s; he’d only followed her. He was also waiting for me.
Oh, how he needed me – that is, not me but the document! He’d also drawn up two plans regarding me. The first one was that if it wasn’t going to be possible any other way he’d act together with me and share half the money with me, after gaining both moral and physical control of me first. But the second plan appealed to him much more; he’d dupe me like a kid and steal the document from me or simply snatch it from me by force. This was the favourite plan, the one he cherished in his dreams. I repeat: there was one circumstance that led him not to have any doubt of the success of the second plan, but, as I mentioned before, I’ll explain this later. In any case he was waiting for me with frantic impatience: it now all depended on me; every step would determine what he’d decide on.
I must give him his due: he restrained himself, despite his hot-headedness. He didn’t come and see me at home during my illness. He only came once and saw Versilov. He didn’t alarm or frighten me and maintained an air of total independence with regard to me until the day and hour I first went out. Insofar as I could pass on or reveal or destroy the document, he was not worried. He’d been able to conclude from my words that I myself treasured its secrecy and that I was afraid anyone else would find out about it. And that I’d go to see him before anyone else on that first day of my recovery, he’d had no doubt at all: Daria Onisimovna had come to see me partly at his bidding, and he knew that my curiosity and fear had been aroused and that I wouldn’t be able to hold back… Yes, he’d taken all necessary measures and even knew the day I’d be going out, so that I wouldn’t be able to turn my back on him had I wanted to.
But if Lambert was waiting for me, then Anna Andreyevna was possibly waiting for me even more. I’ll come straight to the point: Lambert may have been partly right to contemplate betraying her, and she was to blame for this. Despite their undoubted agreement – what form it took I don’t know, but of its existence I have no doubt – right up to the last moment Anna Andreyevna had not been quite straight with him. She didn’t reveal everything. She’d hinted at complete agreement on her part and at all kinds of promises – but only hinted at them; maybe she listened to his entire plan in detail, but merely gave it her silent approval. I have strong evidence leading me to this conclusion, and the reason for all this was that she was waiting for me. She preferred dealing with me than with that scoundrel Lambert – that’s as plain as daylight to me. I understand that, but her error lay in the fact that Lambert too finally understood this. And it would have been of no profit to him at all if she coaxed the document from me, bypassing him, and came to an agreement with me. Moreover, by that time he was already certain of the soundness of the “business”. Another one in his place might have got cold feet and still have doubts, but Lambert was young and bold with the most impatient longing for profit; he knew little about people and undoubtedly supposed them all to be scoundrels. Such a man as he could have no doubts, especially having elicited from Anna Andreyevna all he needed to know.
One last word, the most important one: had Versilov known something before that day and had he participated even in some remote way in the plans together with Lambert? No, no and no, not yet then, although, maybe, a few fateful hints had already been dropped… But enough, enough, I’m rushing ahead too much.
Well, and what about me? Did I know something, and what did I know as I approached the day I first went out? As I began this entrefilet I declared that I knew nothing before the day I first went out, that I found out about it all much later, after everything had already taken place. Is this the truth, the whole truth? No, it isn’t; I undoubtedly knew something then, even too much, but how? Let the reader remember my dream! If there was such a dream, if it could burst out of my heart and express itself that way, it means that I not so much knew as had a premonition of an awful lot of what I’ve just explained, though I actually only truly discovered it all “after it was all over”. There was no knowledge as such, but my heart was throbbing with premonitions and evil spirits had already taken over my dreams. And this was the man I was itching to go to, knowing full well what kind of a man he was, and even sensing in detail what was to come! And why was I itching to go to him? Imagine: as I write, this very minute, I believe that I knew in detail why I was itching to go to him, even though I knew nothing at the time. Perhaps the reader will understand. And now to business, fact by fact.
It began with Liza coming home very agitated two days before I first went out. She felt terribly offended, and indeed something insufferable had happened to her.
I’ve already mentioned her relationship with Vasin. She went to see him, not just to prove to us that she didn’t need us, but also because she truly valued him. They’d known each other since Luga, and I’d always had the impression that Vasin wasn’t indifferent to her. With the misfortune that had befallen her she naturally wished to seek advice from Vasin, whom she assumed to have a strong, calm and lofty mind. Also, women are not the best judges of the male intellect when the man appeals to them, and they’ll gladly accept inconsistencies as straightforward conclusions if these coincide with their own wishes. Liza liked Vasin’s sympathy for her position and, as she thought from those first visits, sympathy too for the prince. Also suspecting that he had feelings for her, she could appreciate his sympathy for his rival all the more. The prince, whom she told that she sometimes went to seek Vasin’s advice, took in this information, however, with a great deal of anxiety from the very beginning. He began to be jealous. Liza felt insulted by this and deliberately continued to see Vasin. The prince kept silent but became gloomy. Liza herself later told me (very much later) that Vasin soon ceased to appeal to her; he was calm, and that constant composure that had so pleased her at first soon began to pall. He seemed to be businesslike and did indeed give her what appeared to be sound advice, but all this advice turned out to be deliberately impractical. Sometimes he judged things too haughtily and showed no embarrassment at this – in fact he was less and less embarrassed as time went by – which she attributed to his growing, instinctive disregard for her position. She once thanked him for always being good-humoured with me and for speaking to me as to an equal, despite being intellectually so superior to me; in other words, she repeated what I’d said. He replied:
“That’s not so and not for that reason. It’s because I see him as being no different from anyone else. I don’t regard him as more stupid than the clever ones, nor worse than the good ones. I’m the same with everyone, because everyone is the same in my eyes.”
“How’s that? Don’t you see any distinction?”
“Of course everyone is different from each other in some way, but there are no distinctions in my eyes because I’m not concerned with the differences between people. For me they’re all the same and everything’s the same, so I’m equally nice to everyone.”
“And don’t you find that dull?”
“No, I’m always perfectly contented.”
“And there’s nothing you wish for?”
“How could I not? Not much, however. I hardly need a thing, not a rouble more than I have. Whether I wear golden garments or stay as I am, it’s all the same to me. Golden garments won’t add a thing to Vasin’s value. Titbits don’t tempt me: can positions or honours be worthy of the position I deserve?”
Liza assured me on her honour that he’d once literally said this. However, you shouldn’t judge; you need to know the circumstances in which it was said.
Liza gradually came to the conclusion that he indulged the prince not at all out of sympathy for her, but maybe purely because he considered everyone the same and there were no “distinctions”. But by the end he showed clear signs of losing his indifference and taking up an attitude not only of condemnation but even of scornful irony towards the prince. This upset Liza, but it didn’t stop Vasin. The main thing was that he always expressed himself so gently, and was critical without indignation, but he simply and quite logically exposed her hero’s total insignificance; yet the irony lay in that logic. And in the end, he exposed, practically to her face, the full “unreasonableness” of her love and the obdurate violence of that love. “You’ve been mistaken in your feelings, and those errors, once recognized, must be put right without fail.”
That was what had happened that day: Liza angrily got up to leave, but what did this rational man do then and how did it end? He proposed to her with the noblest expression on his face and even with feeling. Liza called him a fool to his face and walked out.
To suggest betraying an unfortunate fellow because that unfortunate fellow wasn’t “worthy” of her and, above all, to suggest such a thing to a woman pregnant by that unfortunate fellow – that’s how these people’s minds work! I call it being dreadfully unreal and completely ignorant of life due to infinite vanity. And to top it all Liza saw quite clearly that he even took pride in his action, knowing, for example, about her pregnancy. With tears of outrage she’d hurried over to the prince, and he, he even outdid Vasin. It would seem that after this story he’d be convinced that there was no longer any reason to be jealous; instead, he went out of his mind. But then jealous people are all the same! He made a dreadful scene and so insulted her that she was ready at once to break off any relations with him.
However, she was still keeping herself in check as she came home, but couldn’t help confessing all to Mama. Oh, that evening they became as close again as they were before: the ice was broken. It goes without saying that they both wept as usual, hugging each other, and Liza apparently calmed down, although she was still very depressed. In the evening she sat in silence in Makar Ivanovich’s room, but she didn’t leave the room. She listened attentively to what he was saying. She’d become extremely and somewhat bashfully deferential towards him since the episode with the little bench, although she still didn’t say anything.
But this time Makar Ivanovich somehow unexpectedly and surprisingly changed the course of the conversation. I’ll point out that Versilov and the doctor had spoken very gloomily about his health that morning. I’ll also say that we’d been preparing for several days to celebrate Mama’s birthday, which was in five days’ time, and we often talked about it. Makar Ivanovich, on account of that day, for some reason suddenly launched into reminiscences and recalled Mama’s childhood and the time when she couldn’t yet “stand on her little legs”. “She never left my arms,” the old man remembered. “I would teach her to walk, would place her in a corner about three steps away and would call her, and she’d toddle towards me across the room, without fear; she’d laugh and then run to me, throw herself in my arms and hug me. Then I’d tell you fairy tales, Sofia Andreyevna: you were a great lover of fairy tales; you’d sit for an hour or two on my lap, listening. They were astonished in the hut: ‘She’s become so attached to Makar Ivanovich.’ Then I’d take you into the woods, I’d look for raspberry bushes, I’d sit you by them and cut a penny whistle from a piece of wood for you. We’d have a long walk and I’d carry you home – the little one would fall asleep. And once you got scared by a wolf and you ran to me trembling all over, but there hadn’t been a wolf at all.”
“I remember that,” Mama said.
“Do you really remember?”
“I remember a lot. As far back as I can remember I saw your love and kindness towards me,” she said with a voice full of emotion, and she suddenly blushed.
Makar Ivanovich paused for a little:
“Forgive me, children, I’m leaving you. Today my life’s term is approaching its end. In old age I’ve found comfort from all sorrows; thank you, my dear ones.”
“That’s enough, Makar Ivanovich, my dearest,” Versilov exclaimed rather alarmed. “The doctor just told me that you were incomparably better…”
Mama was listening in alarm.
“But what does he know, your Alexander Semyonovich?” Makar Ivanovich smiled. “He’s a kind man, but that’s all. That’s enough, my friends, or do you think I’m afraid of dying? Today, after morning prayers, I had a feeling in my heart that I’d never leave here; that’s what I was told. So what of it? May the Lord’s name be blessed. Only I still want to feast my eyes on you all. The long-suffering Job, as he looked upon his new little children, found comfort, but did he forget the other ones?* Could he forget them? It was impossible! Only, with the years, sadness somehow gets mixed with happiness and is transformed into joyous sighs. So it is in the world: each soul is tested and comforted. I thought, my children, to say a word or two, not much,” he continued with a serene, beautiful smile that I’ll never forget, and he suddenly turned to me:
“You, dear one, be a zealous supporter of the Holy Church, and if time summons you then die for her. Wait, don’t be scared, it’s not for now,” he smiled. “Now you may not think about it, but later perhaps you will. Another thing: if you intend to do good, then do it for the sake of God, not because of envy. Hold firmly to what you undertake and don’t give in to faint-heartedness: do things gradually, don’t rush or fling yourself at it. Well, that’s all you need. Except that you should learn to say your prayers every day without fail. I’m just saying this and perhaps you’ll remember. I also wanted to say something to you sir, Andrei Petrovich, but God will find your heart without my intervention. And you and I have long ceased to talk about it all, since the time that arrow pierced my heart. Today, as I leave, I’ll only remind you… of the promises you made back then…”
He almost whispered these last words, dropping his glance.
“Makar Ivanovich!” Versilov said, embarrassed, and he stood up.
“Don’t be embarrassed, sir, I only reminded you… And I’m the most to blame before God. Though you were my master, I shouldn’t have given way to such weakness. And you, Sofia, don’t trouble your soul too much, as your sin is mine: as I see it, there wasn’t much awareness in you at the time, nor in you, sir, forgive me, either” – he smiled, his lips quivering with some pain – “and although I could have taught you, my wife, even with a rod, and I should have done so, but I felt sorry as you fell before me in tears and hid nothing from me… and kissed my feet. I’m not reminding you of this reproachfully, my beloved, but only as a reminder to Andrei Petrovich… as you, sir, remember your gentleman’s promise and everything will be put right by marriage… I’m saying this in front of the children, sir, dear one…”
He was extremely agitated and looked at Versilov, as though waiting for him to say something in confirmation. I repeat: it was all so unexpected that I sat motionless. Versilov was no less agitated than him: he silently walked up to Mama and folded her closely in his arms. Then, also silently, Mama came up to Makar Ivanovich and bowed down to his feet.
In short, it was a stunning scene: in the room there was just the close family, even Tatyana Pavlovna wasn’t there. Liza had straightened up in her chair and was listening silently; she suddenly got up and said firmly to Makar Ivanovich:
“Do give your blessing to me too, Makar Ivanovich, for my great torment. Tomorrow my fate will be sealed… so do pray for me today.”
She left the room. I know that Makar Ivanovich knew all about her from Mama. But that evening I saw Versilov and Mama together for the first time; before that I’d only seen a slave by his side. There was an awful lot that I still didn’t know and hadn’t noticed about this man, whom I’d already condemned, and that’s why I went back to my room rather troubled. And I must admit that by then all my confusion about him had deepened; he’d never appeared as mysterious and as unfathomable as at that time. But this is what the whole story I’m writing is about. All in good time.
“However,” I thought to myself as I lay down, “it turns out that he gave Makar Ivanovich his ‘gentleman’s word’ to marry Mama in the event of her widowhood. He kept quiet about that when he told me about Makar Ivanovich before.”
The following day Liza was out all day and, after returning quite late, she went straight to Makar Ivanovich’s room. I hadn’t wanted to go in, so as not to disturb them, but seeing that Mama and Versilov were in there already, I went in. Liza was sitting by the old man and was weeping on his shoulder, and he was stroking her head with a sad expression on his face.
Versilov explained to me (later in my room) that the prince was insisting on marrying Liza at the first opportunity, even before the verdict. Liza found it hard to take the decision although she hardly had the right not to do so. And Makar Ivanovich “had ordered” her to get married. Everything would naturally have happened of its own accord and she would undoubtedly have got married without having doubts or being ordered to do so, but at that very moment she felt so insulted by the one she loved, and also so humiliated by that love in her own eyes, that she found it hard to make up her mind. But, besides the insult, there was another circumstance mixed up in this, one I couldn’t have suspected at all.
“Have you heard that all those young people from the Petersburg Side were arrested yesterday?”
“What? Dergachev?” I cried out.
“Yes, and Vasin too.”
I was dumbfounded, especially at the news about Vasin.
“But is he mixed up in some of it? My God, what’s going to happen to them now? And just when Liza was being so hard on Vasin!… What do you think will happen to them? Stebelkov has something to do with it! I swear it’s Stebelkov!”
“Let’s drop it,” Versilov said, looking at me strangely, the way you look at a man who understands and suspects nothing. “Who knows what it’s like for them there and who can know what will happen to them? That’s not what I’m here for: I heard you wanted to go out tomorrow. Will you go and visit Prince Sergei Petrovich?”
“First thing – although I confess that I find it very painful. But is there something you want me to pass on to him?”
“No, nothing. I’ll go and see him myself. I feel sorry for Liza. And what can Makar Ivanovich advise her? He knows nothing about people and life himself. Another thing, dear one” – it had been a long time since he’d called me “dear one” – “there are also… some young people… and your former friend Lambert is one of them…They seem to me to be a pack of scoundrels… I just wanted to warn you… But of course it’s up to you and I understand that I’ve no right…”
“Andrei Petrovich” – I seized his hand without thinking and almost by inspiration, as I often tend to do (it was almost dark around us). “Andrei Petrovich, I’ve kept quiet – you must have seen that – I’ve kept quiet right up till now, and do you know why? In order to avoid your secrets. I simply decided never to know them. I’m a coward; I’m afraid that your secrets may tear you out of my heart for good and I don’t want that. And if that’s so, why should you know my secrets? Let it be of no consequence to you where I go! Is that right?”
“You’re right, but not another word, I beg you!” he said, and left my room. This way we’d inadvertently cleared up a few things, even if in a very limited way. But he’d managed to add to my agitation about the new step in life I was going to take the next day, so that I continually woke up during the night; yet I felt good in myself.
The next day I left the house; although it was ten o’clock, I did my very best to go out very quietly, without saying goodbye or telling anyone. I sneaked off, so to speak. Why I did that I don’t know, but had Mama even caught sight of me leaving and had she said something to me, I would have said something spiteful. When I found myself outside and breathing in the cold street air, I was startled by an extremely strong sensation – almost animal-like and what I would call carnivorous. Why was I there and where was I going? It was totally undetermined and at the same time with carnivorous intent. I felt at once terrified and elated.
“Will I get dirty today or not?” I thought to myself breezily, although I knew only too well that, once taken, that day’s step would be decisive and irretrievable for the rest of my life. But I shouldn’t speak in riddles.
I went straight to the prince’s prison. For three days I’d had on me a note from Tatyana Pavlovna for the prison warden, and he received me very well. I don’t know whether he was a good man, but I think that’s beside the point; he let me see the prince and arranged it to be in his room, kindly giving it up for us. The room was just a room – an ordinary room in a government apartment of an official with certain credentials – but that too doesn’t have to be described, I think. So that’s how the prince and I were left on our own together.
He came out to see me in some kind of semi-military indoor outfit, but with a spotless shirt and a silk necktie; he looked spruced up, but at the same time much thinner, and sallow-skinned. I noticed this yellowish colour even in his eyes. In short, his appearance had changed so much that I stopped, rather bewildered:
“How you’ve changed!” I cried out.
“That’s nothing! Sit down, dear man.” And he pointed at the armchair somewhat foppishly, while he sat down opposite me. “Let’s move to the main business: you see, my dear Alexei Makarovich—”
“Arkady,” I corrected him.
“What? Ah, yes; well, it doesn’t matter. Ah yes!” He suddenly realized. “Forgive me, dear one, let’s move on to the main thing…”
In short, he was in a terrible hurry to move on to something. He was totally consumed, from head to toe, by some very important idea, which he wanted to put into words and lay out for me. He said an awful lot, very fast, and explained and gesticulated with some effort and distress, but in the first few minutes I didn’t understand a thing.
“To put it briefly” – he’d used the words “to put it briefly” at least ten times already – “to put it briefly,” he concluded, “if I disturbed you, Arkady Makarovich, and asked for you so insistently via Liza, as if it were an emergency, as if the essence of the decision had to be out of the ordinary and conclusive, then we—”
“Allow me, Prince” – I interrupted him. “You called for me yesterday? Liza didn’t pass on anything to me at all.”
“What?” he shouted, suddenly stopping, completely at a loss, almost in fear.
“She didn’t pass anything at all on to me. She came home last night so terribly upset that she didn’t get round to exchanging a single word with me.”
The prince leapt up.
“Are you telling me the truth, Arkady Makarovich? In that case it’s… it’s…”
“But what does it matter anyway? Why are you so worked up? She simply forgot or something…”
He sat down, but appeared to be stunned. It seemed that the news that Liza hadn’t passed on anything to me had simply crushed him. He suddenly began to talk fast, waving his arms about, but it was again terribly hard to understand.
“Wait!” he said all of a sudden, lapsing into silence and pointing his finger upwards. “Wait, it’s… it’s… if I’m not mistaken… these are… tricks, sir!” he muttered, with a maniac’s smile. “It means that—”
“It doesn’t mean anything at all!” I cut in. “And I simply don’t understand why such a trifling circumstance bothers you so much… Oh, Prince, since that time, since that night, you remember?”
“What night and what of it?” he screeched capriciously, patently annoyed that I’d cut in.
“At Zershchikov’s, where we saw each other for the last time, well, before your letter? You were in a terrible state then too, but there’s such a difference between then and now that I’m really horrified by you… Or don’t you remember?”
“Ah, yes,” he said, with the voice of the society man, as though suddenly remembering. “Ah, yes! That evening… I heard… But how’s your health and how are you feeling, Arkady Makarovich, after all that?… Still, let’s move on to the main business. You see, I’m pursuing three goals; I have three tasks facing me… and I…”
He rapidly began again to mention the “main thing”. I realized at last that I had before me a man who right then needed to have at least a towel dipped in vinegar placed on his head, if not to have some blood let. His entire incoherent conversation centred of course around the trial and its possible outcome; also around the fact that his regimental commander had visited him and had tried at length to dissuade him from something, but that he hadn’t followed that up; around some note of his he’d just sent somewhere; around the procurator; around the fact that they’d probably send him, after stripping him of his rights, to the northernmost part of Russia somewhere; around the possibility of settling as a colonist in Tashkent and regaining his rights that way; around how he’d teach his son (Liza’s future son) this and would pass on that in “the back-of-beyond, in Arkhangelsk, in Kholmogory”.* “If I wanted your opinion, Arkady Makarovich, then believe me, I so treasure the feeling… If you only knew, Arkady Makarovich, if you only knew, my dear one, my brother, what Liza means to me, what she has meant to me all this time, here!” he suddenly cried out, clutching his head with both hands.
“Sergei Petrovich, are you thinking of destroying her and taking her with you? To Kholmogory?” I suddenly couldn’t stop myself. Liza’s fate for ever linked with that maniac’s – I was all of a sudden and for the first time clearly aware of the situation. He looked at me, stood up again, took a few steps, turned round and sat down once more, still holding his head in his hands.
“I keep on dreaming of spiders!” he blurted out.
“You’re in a terrible state; I’d advise you, Prince, to lie down and ask for the doctor straight away.”
“No, if you please, that’s for later. The main reason I asked you here is to explain to you about the wedding. The wedding, you know, is to take place here, in church, as I said. It’s all been agreed and even been encouraged… As regards Liza—”
“Prince, take pity on Liza, dear friend,” I shouted. “Don’t torment her right now, don’t be jealous!”
“What!” he shouted, looking at me point-blank with eyes almost bulging, his whole face contorted into some protracted, vacant, querying smile. It was clear that the words “don’t be jealous” affected him terribly.
“Forgive me, Prince, it was said inadvertently. Oh, Prince, I have lately got to know a certain old man, my nominal father. Oh, if you could but see him, you’d grow calmer… Liza, too, values him highly.”
“Ah yes, Liza… ah yes, he’s your father? Or, pardon, mon cher, something like that… I remember… she told me… an old man… I’m sure, I’m sure. I also knew an old man… mais passons. The main thing is that, to clear up what’s essential, we should…”
I rose to leave. It hurt me to look at him.
“I don’t understand!” he said sternly and importantly, seeing that I was about to leave.
“It hurts me to look at you,” I said.
“Arkady Makarovich, just one word, one more word!” He grabbed me by the shoulders with a very different look and movement and sat me in the armchair. “You’ve heard about those… you understand?” He leant towards me.
“Ah yes, Dergachev. It’s probably Stebelkov’s doing!” I couldn’t stop myself crying out.
“Yes, Stebelkov and… you don’t know?”
He stopped short and again fixed those bulging eyes on me, with the same protracted, convulsive, vacantly querying smile spreading ever more broadly. His face gradually grew paler. Something suddenly alerted me: I recalled Versilov’s look the day before when he told me about Vasin’s arrest.
“Oh, is it possible?” I shouted, alarmed.
“You see, Arkady Makarovich, that’s why I called for you, in order to explain… I wanted…” he quickly began to whisper.
“You were the one to inform against Vasin!” I cried out.
“No – you see, there was a manuscript which Vasin had passed on at the very last moment to Liza to keep hold of. And she left it here for me to have a look at, and then the next day they happened to argue.”
“And you presented the authorities with the manuscript!”
“Arkady Makarovich, Arkady Makarovich!”
“And so you,” I shouted, leaping up and stressing every word, “you, with no other motive, no goal whatsoever, other than the fact that the unfortunate Vasin was your rival, solely out of jealousy, passed the manuscript entrusted to Liza… you passed it on to who? Who? The procurator?”
But he didn’t get the chance to reply – and was unlikely to – because he stood before me like a statue with that same sickly smile and vacant look. Suddenly the door opened and Liza came in. She nearly fainted seeing us both together.
“You here? So you’re here?” she exclaimed, her face suddenly distorted and seizing my hand. “So you know?”
But she’d already read on my face that “I knew”. I impulsively put my arms around her and held her very, very close! And only for the first time then did I fully grasp what a hopeless, endless, relentless sorrow lay on the destiny of that… willing seeker of suffering!
“Is it possible to even speak to him now?” She pulled away from me abruptly. “Is it even possible to be with him? Why are you here? Look at him, look at him! And is it even possible to judge him?”
Her face reflected boundless suffering and compassion, as she exclaimed and pointed at the unfortunate man. He sat in the armchair covering his face with his hands. And she was right: this was a delirious man, not in his right mind, and he had perhaps been this way three days before. They put him into hospital that same morning and by evening he had brain fever.
Leaving the prince with Liza, I went over to my old lodgings at around one o’clock. I forgot to say that the day was damp and dull, with a thaw setting in and a warm wind, strong enough to unsettle even an elephant. The landlord seemed delighted to see me and began to fuss and rush around, something I absolutely hate at such times. I treated him stiffly and went straight to my room, but he followed me, and though he didn’t dare ask me anything, his eyes were alight with curiosity and he also looked as though he was entitled to be curious. I had to treat him politely for my own benefit, but although it was essential for me to find out something – and I knew I would – I was loath to begin asking questions. I enquired after his wife’s health and we went to see her. She greeted me with consideration, but also with an extremely businesslike and uncommunicative look. That somewhat reconciled me. In a nutshell, I discovered many odd things on that occasion.
Lambert had been, of course, and he came twice more and “examined all the rooms”, saying that he might rent one. Daria Onisimovna came several times, God only knows why. “She seemed very interested indeed,” the landlord added, but I didn’t pander to him and didn’t ask what she was curious about. I didn’t ask any questions on the whole and he did the talking, and I pretended to rummage in my trunk – where there was very little left. But the most irksome thing was that he too decided to play the secrecy card, and when he noticed my holding back he considered it his duty to give me less than the full story and remain almost mysterious.
“The young lady came too,” he added, watching me.
“What young lady?”
“Anna Andreyevna; she came twice. She met my wife. A very sweet person, very nice. One can’t overestimate such an acquaintance, Arkady Makarovich…” – and he took a step towards me as he said this: he very much wanted me to understand something.
“Twice, really?” I was surprised.
“She came the second time with her brother.”
“That must be Lambert” was the thought that suddenly came to me.
“No, sir, not with Mr Lambert” – he guessed at once, as though he’d leapt into my soul with his eyes, “but with her brother, her real brother. Young Mr Versilov. He’s a Kammerjunker,* I believe?”
I was very put out. He looked at me with a terribly affectionate smile.
“Oh, and somebody else came too and asked for you – a mam’selle, a Frenchwoman, Mam’selle Alphonsine de Verdègne. Oh how well she sings, and she also recites verses beautifully. Then she travelled on the sly to Tsarskoe to see Prince Nikolai Ivanovich; to sell him, she says, a little dog, a rare breed, black, that fits in your fist…”
I asked him to leave me alone, pleading a headache. He instantly complied, not even ending his sentence, and not only without the slightest touchiness but almost with satisfaction, waving his hand mysteriously and almost saying: “I understand, sir, I understand”, and although he didn’t say anything he left the room on tiptoe, allowing himself that pleasure. There are some very annoying people in this world.
I sat on my own thinking things over for about an hour and a half; not actually thinking things over but just reflecting. Although I was put out, I wasn’t surprised in the least. I’d expected even more, even greater wonders. “Perhaps they’ve got up to something even now,” I thought. I’d been firmly convinced, even when still at home, that they’d got the ball rolling at full speed. “All they’re lacking is me, that’s all,” I pondered with a kind of petulant and also pleasurable smugness. That they were desperately waiting for me and intended to organize something in my lodgings was as clear as daylight. “Could it be the old prince’s marriage? They’re all after him. Only, will I allow it, ladies and gentlemen? There’s the question,” I concluded with arrogant gratification.
“Once I start I’ll be sucked into the whirlpool again, like a woodchip. Am I free right now or is it already too late? Can I still, as I return to Mama this evening, say to myself as I’ve done these past days: ‘I’m my own boss’?”
That was the essence of my questioning, or rather, of my heartbeat during that hour and a half, as I sat in the corner on my bed with my elbows on my lap and my head resting on my palms. But you see, I knew, I knew even then, that all those questions were just complete nonsense and that she was the only one drawing me – she alone! At last I’ve expressed it directly and recorded it on paper, as even now, a year on, as I write, I still don’t know how to give a name to the feeling I had then.
Oh, I was sorry for Liza and I felt the most genuine distress in my heart. If only that feeling of pain could even for a time subdue or even erase in me that carnivorousness (I mention that word again). But I was enticed by a boundless curiosity and a sense of awe and some other feeling – I don’t know what it was; but I do know now and knew then that it was a bad one. Maybe I sought to fall at her feet, or maybe I wanted to subject her to untold torment and prove something to her “as quickly as possible”. No feeling of pain or sympathy for Liza could stop me. Could I get up and go home now… to Makar Ivanovich?
“Or would it be impossible to go to them, find out about everything and suddenly withdraw from them for ever, harmlessly walking past the wonders and monsters?”
At three o’clock, having come to grips with myself and imagining that I was already running late, I quickly went out, grabbed a cab and flew off to Anna Andreyevna.