I caught up with Tatyana Pavlovna at last! I explained everything to her – everything about the document and about what was going on in my rooms, down to the last detail. Although she herself understood what had happened only too well and could have grasped the situation in a couple of words, the explanation, however, took us about ten minutes, I believe. I was the only one doing the talking and I told the whole truth, holding nothing back. She sat bolt upright on her chair, silent and motionless, pressing her lips together and never taking her eyes off me while she listened to every word. But when I’d finished, she suddenly leapt off her chair so impetuously that I too jumped up.
“Oh, you young pup! So that letter has really been sewn into your garment, sewn into it by that fool Maria Ivanovna! Oh you, you shameless troublemakers! So you came here to win over hearts, to conquer high society. Did you want to take revenge on the devil knows who for being an illegitimate son?”
“Tatyana Pavlovna,” I cried, “don’t you dare have a go at me! Perhaps it was you, with your abusive language from the very beginning, who has been the reason for my present bitterness. Yes, I’m an illegitimate son, and perhaps I did want to get my revenge for being illegitimate, and perhaps even on the devil knows who, because the devil himself won’t find who’s to blame here. But remember that I’ve rejected the company of scoundrels and have overcome my passions! I’ll place the document in front of her without a word and I’ll leave without even waiting for what she has to say; you’ll be the witness to that!”
“Give me the letter, give it to me now, put the letter on the table right now! Or are you perhaps lying?”
“It’s sewn into my pocket; Maria Ivanovna sewed it in herself. When I had a new coat made, I took it from the old coat and sewed it into my new one myself. Here it is: feel it – I’m not lying, ma’am!”
“Give it, take it out!” Tatyana Pavlovna stormed.
“Not at any price, I tell you. I’ll place it in front of her with you there and I’ll leave without expecting a word in return. But I need her to know and see with her own eyes that it is I who am giving it to her, of my own free will, without being forced to or expecting a reward.”
“You’re showing off again? Are you in love, you puppy?”
“Use whatever bad language you want: maybe I deserve it, but I won’t take umbrage. Oh, let her see me as a mere brat who’s been watching her and plotting against her. But at least let her be aware that I conquered myself and put her happiness above all on earth! Never mind, Tatyana Pavlovna, never mind! I cry to myself: courage and hope! Even if this is the first step I take on this path, it has at least ended well, worthily! And so what if I love her?” I carried on, elated, my eyes flashing. “I’m not ashamed of it: Mama is a heavenly angel and she is an earthly tsarina! Versilov will return to Mama, and I have nothing to be ashamed of before her. After all, I heard what she and Versilov were saying, I stood behind the curtain… Oh, the three of us are ‘people sharing the same madness’! Do you know who said those words: ‘people sharing the same madness’? They’re the words of Andrei Petrovich! And do you know that we may be more than three sharing the same madness? I bet you’re the fourth person with the same madness! I’ll tell you if you want: I bet you’ve been in love with Andrei Petrovich all your life, and perhaps still are.”
I repeat: I was excited and, in a way, happy, but I didn’t get the time to finish what I was saying. She suddenly seized me by my hair with unnatural speed and pulled me down a couple of times with all her might… Then she let go and went to the corner and stood there facing it, covering her face with her handkerchief.
“You young pup! Don’t you dare ever say that to me again!” she said, weeping.
This was all so unexpected that I was naturally flabbergasted. I stood looking at her not knowing what to do.
“Ugh, you fool! Come here and kiss me, fool that I am!” she said abruptly, crying and laughing at once. “And don’t you dare, dare repeat that ever again… And I love you and have loved you all my life… you fool.”
I kissed her. I’ll tell you in parenthesis that from that moment on I became friends with Tatyana Pavlovna.
“Oh yes! What am I doing?” she suddenly cried out, striking herself on her forehead. “So what are you saying: the old prince is in your lodgings, is he? Is that so?”
“I assure you it’s so.”
“Oh my God! Oh, I feel sick!” She began to rush around the room. “And they’ve taken charge of him there! There’s no hope with such fools! Since early this morning? Well done, Anna Andreyevna! Well done, little nun! As for the other one, that Militrisa,* she doesn’t know a thing either!”
“What Militrisa?”
“That earthly tsarina, that ideal! So what do we do now?”
“Tatyana Pavlovna!” I shouted, coming to my senses. “We’ve been talking nonsense and have forgotten the main thing: I actually ran over to fetch Katerina Nikolayevna, and they’re waiting for me there.”
And I explained that I would only give her the document if she gave her word to be reconciled with Anna Andreyevna as soon as possible and even to agree to her marriage.
“That’s excellent.” Tatyana Pavlovna interrupted me. “I’ve also told her the same a thousand times. He’ll die before the wedding anyway – he won’t get married, and if it’s about Anna Andreyevna being left money in his will, that’s been done anyway, even without—”
“Is Katerina Nikolayevna simply sorry about the money?”
“No, she was worried the document was in Anna’s hands, and so was I. We watched her. The daughter didn’t want the old man to be upset, and Bjoring, the little German, was indeed sorry about the money.”
“And can she marry Bjoring after all that?”
“What can you do with a fool? They say once a fool always a fool. You see, he’ll bring her some kind of peace: ‘I have to marry someone,’ she says, ‘and to marry him will suit me best.’ And we’ll see how it will suit her best. If she beats herself up afterwards, it will be too late.”
“Why are you letting it happen? You love her after all; you told her to her face that you’re in love with her?”
“I am and love her more than all of you put together, yet she’s a mindless fool!”
“Well, run off and get her now and we’ll sort everything out and take her to her father.”
“No, it’s impossible, you little fool! That’s the whole point! Ah, what can be done! Ah, I feel sick!” She rushed around in circles again, yet snatched up her shawl. “Oh, had you but come earlier, four hours earlier, but it’s nearly eight o’clock now and she went to dine with the Pelishchevs and is to go to the opera with them after that.”
“Lord, is it impossible to dash round to the opera?… No, it can’t be done! So what will happen to the old man now? You see, he’ll possibly die tonight!”
“Listen, don’t go there, go to your mother’s and spend the night there, and tomorrow morning early—”
“No, I won’t leave the old man, whatever happens.”
“Then don’t leave him; you’re right. And you know, I’ll drop in at her place and leave her a note… you know, I’ll put it in our words (she’ll understand!) that the document is here and that she must come at exactly ten o’clock in the morning to my place – on the dot! Don’t worry, she’ll come, she listens to me – then we’ll arrange everything in one go. And you run over there and use any ploy you can with the old man, put him to bed, and maybe he’ll last until morning! And don’t frighten Anna; I love her too, you know. You’re not fair to her, because you can’t understand her: she feels slighted, has felt slighted ever since childhood. Oh, you’ve all heaped your troubles on me! And don’t forget to tell her from me that I’ve taken up the matter myself, with all my heart, and that she can calm down and her pride won’t get hurt… You see, these last few days we’ve fallen out and have had such a go at each other! Go on, run… No, wait, show me your pocket again… Is it true, really true? Oh, is it true?! Oh give me that letter at least for tonight – why not? Leave it, I won’t eat it up. You might let it slip out of your hands during the night… You’ll change your mind?”
“Absolutely not!” I cried out. “Here you are – feel it, look – but I won’t leave it here!”
“I see it’s a piece of paper.” She felt it with her hands. “Oh well, fine, go; I’m off to her place and I may even drop by at the theatre – you’re right! Go on, run off!”
“Tatyana Pavlovna, wait – how’s Mama?”
“Alive.”
“And Andrei Petrovich?”
She waved her hand.
“He’ll come round!”
I ran off reassured and more hopeful, though things hadn’t worked out as I’d figured. But alas, fate had other plans, and something else was waiting for me – there is truly such a thing as fate in this world!
When still on the stairs I heard noise in my room, and the door to it appeared to be open. In the hall stood an unfamiliar footman in livery. Pyotr Ippolitovich and his wife, both looking rather scared, were also in the corridor, waiting for something. The door to the prince’s room was open, and from it resounded a thunderous voice, which I instantly recognized as belonging to Bjoring. I’d scarcely taken two steps before I saw a tearful, trembling prince being led into the corridor by Bjoring and his companion, Baron R., the same one who’d turned up at Versilov’s to negotiate with him. The prince was sobbing loudly and hugging and kissing Bjoring. Bjoring was shouting at Anna Andreyevna, who had also come out into the corridor behind the prince; he was threatening her and, it seemed, stamping his feet – in short, the coarse German soldier in him came to the fore, despite belonging to “his kind of high society”. It was later discovered that it had somehow entered his head that Anna Andreyevna had committed some criminal act and would have to account for her deed before a court of law. In his ignorance he’d exaggerated, as is often the case, and he therefore considered he had the right to be extremely offhand. The main thing was that he hadn’t managed to get to the heart of the matter: he’d been given information anonymously, as it turned out afterwards (I’ll come back to this later), and he’d swooped down in the state of an enraged gentleman, a state in which even the most sharp-witted men of that nationality are at times prepared to brawl like a bunch of cobblers. Anna Andreyevna had faced the sudden onslaught with the utmost dignity, but I didn’t see that. All I saw was that, after leading the old man into the corridor, Bjoring suddenly left him in the hands of Baron R. and, turning like a shot towards Anna Andreyevna, he yelled at her, presumably in reply to something she’d said.
“You’re an intriguer! You want his money! From this moment on you’ve disgraced yourself within society and will have to answer before a court of law!…”
“You’re the one exploiting an unfortunate ailing man and are driving him towards madness… and you’re yelling at me because I’m a woman and have no one to defend me…”
“Ah yes, you’re his fiancée, his fiancée!” Bjoring laughed out loud, viciously.
“Baron, baron… Chère enfant, je vous aime,” whined the prince, stretching his arms out towards Anna Andreyevna.
“Go, Prince, go: there’s been a plot against you, and maybe even against your life!” Bjoring shouted.
“Oui, oui, je comprends, j’ai compris au commencement…”*
“Prince” – Anna Andreyevna raised her voice – “you’re insulting me and allowing others to insult me!”
“Off with you!” Bjoring suddenly screamed at her.
I couldn’t let that go.
“Scoundrel!” I yelled at him. “Anna Andreyevna, I’m your defender!”
I will not and cannot describe in any detail what went on at this point. The scene turned out to be horrible and sordid, and I seemed to have lost all reason all of a sudden. I think I leapt up and hit him, or at least pushed him hard. He also struck me with all his might across the head, so that I fell on the floor. I came to and went after them down the stairs; I recall blood streaming from my nose. A carriage was waiting for them by the porch, and while they settled the prince in it I rushed up and, despite being held back by a footman, again hurled myself at Bjoring. I don’t remember how the police got there. Bjoring seized me by the scruff of the neck and in a threatening voice ordered the policeman to take me into custody. I screamed that he too should join me to draw up a statement, and that they shouldn’t dare take me from my own apartment. But as this went on outside and not in the apartment and I was yelling, swearing and wrestling like a drunk, and as Bjoring was wearing his uniform, the policeman took me away. But at this stage I went into complete hysterics and, resisting with all my strength, I believe I also struck the policeman. After that, I remember there being suddenly two of them and I was led away. I barely recall them taking me to some hazy, smoky room with various people in it, standing or sitting, waiting and writing; I carried on yelling even there and demanded a statement. But by then it was no longer a matter of a statement and had become complicated by my riotous conduct and resistance to the police. I also looked in an unfit state. Someone suddenly shouted at me menacingly. Meanwhile the policeman accused me of brawling, and spoke of the colonel…
“What’s your surname?” someone shouted at me.
“Dolgoruky,” I bellowed.
“Prince Dolgoruky?”
Beside myself, I swore at them and then… then I recall being dragged into some dark box room “to sober up”. Oh, I won’t protest. Everyone has read quite recently, in the papers, about some gentleman complaining that he’d spent all night under arrest, tied up, also in the “sobering-up” room, but that one, I believe, wasn’t guilty, and I was, after all. I dropped down on my bunk bed in the company of two men who were sound asleep. My head was aching and my temples were throbbing; my heart was thumping. I must have lost consciousness and I think I was delirious. I just remember waking up in the dead of night and sitting up on the bed. I immediately recollected everything and made sense of it all and, with my elbows on my lap, leaning my head on my arms, I fell into deep thought.
Oh, I won’t describe my feelings – I don’t have the time – but I will point out just one thing: I have perhaps never lived through more joyous moments within my soul than during those minutes of reflection in the dead of night on my bunk, under arrest. This may seem strange to the reader, just a bit of scribbling, a desire to shine with originality – yet it was as I said. It was one of those moments that perhaps happen to everybody, but only once in a lifetime. People decide their fate, determine their outlook and tell themselves once in their life: “This is the truth and this is the way to achieve it.” Yes, those moments lit up my soul. Insulted by the arrogant Bjoring and expecting to be insulted the next day by that high-society woman, I knew very well that I could take a terrible revenge on them, yet I resolved not to seek revenge. I resolved, despite great temptation, that I wouldn’t reveal the document, I wouldn’t let the whole world know about it (as I’d toyed with doing in my head). I repeated to myself that the next day I’d place that letter before her and, if need be, even suffer her mocking smile instead of her gratitude; I wouldn’t say a word and I would leave her for ever… However, there’s no point going into this any further. What would happen to me the next day, how I’d be facing the authorities and what would be done with me, I almost forgot to think about. I lovingly crossed myself, lay down on my bunk bed and fell into an untroubled, childlike sleep.
I woke up late, when it was already light. I was alone in the room by then. I sat up and began to wait in silence, a long time, about an hour. It must already have been around nine o’clock when I was suddenly summoned. I could go into greater detail, but it’s not worth it as it’s irrelevant now. I only need to recount the main part. I’ll just point out that to my extreme surprise I was treated with unexpected courtesy. I was asked something and I gave some reply, and I was allowed to leave at once. I left without a word, and it was with pleasure that I read in their eyes a kind of surprise at a man who was able to keep his dignity in such a situation. Had I not noticed this, I wouldn’t have written it down. Tatyana Pavlovna was waiting for me at the exit. I’ll explain in a couple of words why I got away with it so lightly.
Early in the morning, maybe at eight o’clock, Tatyana Pavlovna had flown over to my lodgings – that is, to Pyotr Ippolitovich’s place – still hoping to find the prince there, and she instantly heard about the previous day’s horrors and, chiefly, that I’d been arrested. She’d at once rushed over to Katerina Nikolayevna’s, who had, upon her return from the theatre the previous evening, met up with her father, who’d been brought over to her. She’d woken her up, frightened her and demanded that I be immediately released. With a note from her, she’d flown over to Bjoring at once and, without delay, had demanded another note from him, addressed “to whom it may concern”, with a most convincing request by Bjoring himself to release me forthwith, as I’d “been arrested due to a misunderstanding”. She’d arrived with this note at the police station and her request had been met.
I’ll now go back to the main story.
Tatyana Pavlovna got hold of me, put me in a cab and took me to her apartment, ordered the samovar to be lit at once and washed me and cleaned me up in her kitchen. There she told me, in a loud voice, that at half-past eleven Katerina Nikolayevna would come over herself – they’d agreed on this earlier – in order to see me. Maria heard this too. She brought in the samovar a few moments later, and two minutes after that, when Tatyana Pavlovna suddenly called her, she didn’t respond. It turned out that she’d gone out for something. I ask the reader to take good note of this. It was, I assume, a quarter to ten by then. Although Tatyana Pavlovna was cross with her for her disappearance without permission, she just thought she’d gone out to a shop, and immediately forgot about it. It wasn’t our main concern after all; we never stopped talking, because there was a lot to discuss, so that I, for example, gave Maria hardly any thought: I ask the reader to remember this.
It goes without saying that I was in a daze. I was describing my feelings, but we were primarily waiting for Katerina Nikolayevna; the thought that I’d finally be facing her in an hour, and also at such a decisive moment in my life, filled me with fear and trepidation. Finally, when I’d drunk two cups of tea, Tatyana Pavlovna stood up abruptly, took a pair of scissors from the table and said:
“Let me have your pocket; we need to get the letter out – we can’t just cut it out in front of her.”
“Yes!” I cried, and unbuttoned my coat.
“Why is it such a mess? Who did the sewing?”
“I did, Tatyana Pavlovna, I did it myself.”
“Well, that’s clear enough. Well, here it is…”
We took out the letter: the old packet was the same, but inside was stuck a blank sheet of paper.
“What’s this?” Tatyana Pavlovna exclaimed, turning it over. “What’s with you?”
I stood there speechless and pale… and I suddenly sank down weakly on the chair; indeed, I almost fainted.
“So what’s all this?” Tatyana Pavlovna shrieked. “Where is your letter?”
“Lambert!” I leapt up, suddenly guessing and striking my forehead.
I hurriedly and breathlessly explained it all to her – the night at Lambert’s and our plan then. I’d actually confessed the plot to her the day before.
“They stole it! They stole it!” I screamed, stamping my feet and clutching my hair.
“Disaster!” Tatyana Pavlovna pronounced, having taken in what had happened. “What’s the time?”
It was around eleven.
“Oh, there’s no Maria!… Maria, Maria!”
“What do you want, ma’am?” Maria suddenly responded from the kitchen.
“You’re here? But what’s to be done now? I’ll fly over to her… Go on, you slowcoach, slowcoach!”
“And I’m off to Lambert’s!” I yelled. “I’ll strangle him if need be!”
“Ma’am!” Maria suddenly piped up from the kitchen. “There’s a woman urgently asking for you…”
But before she had time to finish her sentence, the “woman” burst in from the kitchen, shrieking and wailing. It was Alphonsinka. I won’t describe the scene in full detail. The scene was a sham and a mockery, but I have to admit that Alphonsinka played her part in great style. Weeping with remorse and gesturing frantically she jabbered on – in French of course – that she’d cut out the letter herself, that Lambert was now in possession of it and that he, together with “that rogue”, cet homme noir,* meant to induce Madame la générale to come over and then to shoot her, right then, in an hour’s time… that she’d found it all out from them and had suddenly become terribly scared, because she’d seen the pistol, le pistolet, and she’d now rushed over to us so that we’d go there and save her, to warn us… Cet homme noir…
In short, it was all extremely plausible; even the very stupidity of some of Alphonsinka’s explanations reinforced her credibility.
“What homme noir?” Tatyana Pavlovna shouted.
“Tiens, j’ai oublié son nom… un homme affreux… Tiens… Versiloff.”*
“It can’t be Versilov!” I yelled.
“Oh yes, it could be!” Tatyana Pavlovna shrieked. “So tell me, my good woman, without jumping around and waving your arms: what are they after over there? Talk some sense, dear: I can’t believe they want to shoot her?”
The “good woman”, explained it this way (NB: It was all a lie, I warn you again): Versiloff was to sit behind the door and Lambert, as soon as she came in, would show her cette lettre, then Versiloff would leap out and they’d… Oh, ils feront leur vengeance!* She, Alphonsinka, was scared of trouble, because she’d taken part herself, and cette dame, la générale, would definitely come, “right away, right away”, because they’d sent her a copy of the letter, and she’d see at once that they did indeed have the letter and she’d go to them, but Lambert alone had written to her and she didn’t know about Versilov, and Lambert had introduced himself as newly arrived from Moscow, from a certain Moscow lady, une dame de Moscou (NB: Maria Ivanovna!).
“Oh, I feel sick, I feel sick!” Tatyana Pavlovna kept exclaiming.
“Sauvez-la, sauvez-la!”* shrieked Alphonsinka.
Naturally, there was some inconsistency in this crazy account from the start, but there was no time to reflect, because it was essentially all horribly plausible. You could suppose it highly probable that Katerina Nikolayevna, having received Lambert’s invitation, would first go over to see Tatyana Pavlovna to clarify the matter. But then that might not happen and she might go straight to them and then – she’d be lost! It was also hard to believe she’d dash over to Lambert’s, who was a stranger to her, when he first invited her. But then again, it could happen this way; for example, having seen the copy of the letter and ascertained that they did indeed have her letter, and then – the same disastrous outcome! We actually had no time whatsoever left to reflect.
“Versilov will kill her! If he’s stooped as low as Lambert, then he’ll murder her! It’s the ‘double’!” I cried.
“Oh, that ‘double’!” Tatyana Pavlovna wrung her hands. “Well, there’s nothing to be done here,” she decided there and then. “Grab your hat and coat and let’s go, march. Take us, my good woman, straight to them. Oh, it’s a long way! Maria, Maria, if Katerina Nikolayevna arrives, tell her I’ll be right back and tell her to sit and wait for me, and if she won’t wait, then lock the door and force her to stay in. Tell her I ordered you to do that. You’ll get one hundred roubles, Maria, if you do this for us.”
We ran down the stairs. Without a doubt, there wasn’t anything better we could come up with, because the main trouble was in Lambert’s apartment, and if Katerina Nikolayevna was indeed to come to Tatyana Pavlovna’s before that, Maria could always detain her. Yet, Tatyana Pavlovna, having already summoned a cab, suddenly changed her mind.
“You go with her!” she told me, leaving me with Alphonsinka. “And die there if you must, you understand? And I’ll be right behind you, but I’ll first dash over to hers in case I find her there, because, whatever you say, I have my suspicions.”
And she flew over to Katerina Nikolayevna’s. Alphonsinka and I made our way to Lambert’s. I urged the cabbie on and continued to question Alphonsinka on the way, but she shook me off with exclamations and finally with tears. But God preserved us and protected us, when everything was already hanging on a thread. We’d not gone a quarter of the way before I suddenly heard a scream behind me: my name was called out. I looked round – Trishatov was catching up with us in a cab.
“Where are you off to?” he cried out in alarm. “And with her, with Alphonsinka?”
“Trishatov!” I shouted back. “You were right – it’s a disaster! I’m on my way to that scoundrel Lambert. Let’s go together – there will be more of us!”
“Turn back, turn back at once!” yelled Trishatov. “Lambert is deceiving you and so is Alphonsinka. The pockmarked one sent me: they’re not at home; I just bumped into Versilov and Lambert; they were driving over to Tatyana Pavlovna’s… they’re there now…”
I stopped the cab and leapt over to Trishatov. To this day I don’t know how I suddenly took the decision, but I believed him and instantly made up my mind. Alphonsinka was shrieking horribly, but we abandoned her, and I don’t know whether she turned back to follow us or went home, but I didn’t see her again.
In the cab, Trishatov, gasping for breath, somehow told me that there was some scheme at hand, with Lambert coming to an agreement with the pockmarked one, but that the latter betrayed him at the last minute and sent off Trishatov himself to Tatyana Pavlovna’s to advise her not to believe either Lambert or Alphonsinka. Trishatov added that he knew nothing more, since the pockmarked one hadn’t given him any other information, because he didn’t have the time as he was rushing off somewhere himself, and that it had all been done in haste. “I saw you,” Trishatov went on, “driving along and I chased you.” It was of course clear that the pockmarked one also knew everything, because he sent Trishatov straight to Tatyana Pavlovna’s; but that was a new mystery.
But to avoid a tangle, I’ll explain the real truth before describing the catastrophe, and so, for the last time, I’ll run ahead.
Having stolen the letter, Lambert immediately linked up with Versilov. As to how Versilov could have joined forces with Lambert, I won’t speak of yet – that’s for later – the main thing is that the “double” was at work. But, having joined forces with Versilov, Lambert had to lure Katerina Nikolayevna over as cunningly as possible. Versilov had insisted outright that she wouldn’t come. But Lambert, ever since I had met him two days previously, in the evening, on the street, and had boastfully informed him that I’d return the letter to her in Tatyana Pavlovna’s apartment and in Tatyana Pavlovna’s presence – ever since that moment Lambert had organized some kind of watch over Tatyana Pavlovna’s apartment and, in fact, Maria had been bribed. He gave her twenty roubles, and then, a day later, when the document had been stolen, he visited Maria for a second time and came to a firm agreement with her then, promising her two hundred roubles for her services.
That was why Maria, as soon as she’d heard that Katerina Nikolayevna was to come over to Tatyana Pavlovna’s at half-past eleven, and that I’d be there, had rushed off and torn across in a cab to Lambert’s. That was what she had to convey to Lambert and that was what her services consisted of. As it happened, Versilov was at Lambert’s at the time. And in a flash Versilov came up with a hellish scheme.
They say that insane people are terribly cunning.
The scheme consisted of luring both myself and Tatyana Pavlovna away from the apartment come what may, even if for only fifteen minutes, but before the arrival of Katerina Nikolayevna. Then waiting outside and, as soon as I and Tatyana Pavlovna left, rushing into the apartment, which would be opened by Maria, and waiting for Katerina Nikolayevna. Alphonsinka would do all she could to detain us by whatever means. Katerina Nikolayevna would arrive as promised at half-past eleven, long before we could possibly make it back. It goes without saying that Katerina Nikolayevna had not received any invitation from Lambert, and that Alphonsinka had been lying and that was the trick Versilov had come up with in detail and Alphonsinka merely played the role of the terrified traitoress. They were of course taking a risk, but they had judged correctly: “If it works that’s good; if it doesn’t, nothing will be lost, because we still hold the document in our hands.” But it did work out, and it couldn’t have been otherwise, given that there was no way we wouldn’t have run after Alphonsinka, on the simple assumption that it all might be true. I’ll repeat: there had been no time to think it through.
With Trishatov we ran into the kitchen and found Maria greatly alarmed. She had been shocked by the fact that when she’d let Lambert and Versilov in she’d suddenly noticed a revolver in Lambert’s hands. Although she’d taken the money, she’d not at all reckoned there’d be a revolver involved. She was bewildered and threw herself at me no sooner than she’d seen us:
“The general’s wife has come and they have a pistol!”
“Trishatov, you stay here in the kitchen,” I directed, “and the moment I scream, run in as fast as you can to help me.”
Maria opened the door to the small corridor for me, and I slipped into Tatyana Pavlovna’s bedroom – that same box room that could only hold Tatyana Pavlovna’s bed, and where I’d once accidentally eavesdropped. I sat down on the bed and immediately found a chink in the curtain.
The room was already full of noise and there was loud talking going on. I’ll point out that Katerina Nikolayevna had entered the room precisely a minute after them. I had heard the noise and the talking when still in the kitchen: Lambert was doing the shouting. She was sitting on the sofa and he stood in front of her, shouting like a fool. Now I know why he’d been so stupidly thrown into confusion: he was in a hurry, afraid of being found out. I’ll explain later whom exactly he was frightened of. He held the letter in his hands. But Versilov wasn’t in the room, and I was ready to rush in at the first sign of danger. I’ll just convey the gist of what was said; perhaps I’ve not remembered much of it, as I was in too much of a state to recall every precise detail.
“This letter is worth thirty thousand roubles, and you seem surprised! It’s actually worth a hundred thousand, and all I’m asking is thirty thousand!” Lambert spoke loudly and was getting terribly worked up.
Although Katerina Nikolayevna was obviously scared, she still looked at him with scornful wonder.
“I see some trap has been set and I don’t understand any of it,” she said, “but if you do indeed have that letter—”
“Here it is, you can see for yourself! Is this not the one? In return for a promissory note for thirty thousand, not a copeck less!” Lambert interrupted her.
“I don’t have any money.”
“Write a promissory note – here’s a piece of paper. Then go and get hold of the money; I’ll wait, for a week, no more. You’ll bring me the money – I’ll return the note and the letter.”
“You’re speaking to me with such a strange tone. You’re making a mistake. That document will be taken from you today if I go and lodge a complaint.”
“Who to? Ha-ha-ha! What about the scandal? And we’ll show the letter to the prince! Where will they take it off me? I don’t keep documents in my apartment. I’ll show it to the prince through an intermediary. Don’t be obstinate, ma’am, be grateful that I’m not asking much; another would have asked for other favours… you know which ones… favours no pretty woman would refuse under such constraining circumstances, that’s what… He-he-he! Vous êtes belle, vous!”*
Katerina Nikolayevna shot up, blushing all over, and spat in his face. Then she quickly made for the door. At this point that fool Lambert pulled out the revolver. Blindly, like a small-minded fool, he’d believed in the impact of the document – that is, he had not recognized whom he was dealing with, particularly because, as I’ve said before, he considered that everyone had the same base feelings as he himself. He’d irritated her from his first words with his rude behaviour, when she might, perhaps, not have refused to enter into some financial deal.
“Don’t move!” he yelled, enraged at being spat at, and, clutching her shoulder, he showed her the revolver – just to frighten her, of course. She screamed and sank onto the sofa. I charged into the room, but at the same moment Versilov also ran in from the corridor. He’d been standing there waiting. I hardly had time to blink before he seized the revolver off Lambert and hit him with it on the head with all his might. Lambert reeled and fell unconscious; blood gushed from his head onto the carpet.
When she saw Versilov she went as white as a sheet; she looked at him without stirring for a few moments, indescribably terrified, and then suddenly fainted. He rushed towards her. It’s all flashing before me now. I recall being terrified at the sight of his red, almost purple face and bloodshot eyes. I think that he didn’t seem to recognize me, though he did notice me in the room. He took hold of her, unconscious as she was, and with unbelievable strength lifted her in his arms, like a feather, and began to carry her, like a child, mindlessly round the room. The room was tiny, but he drifted from corner to corner, clearly not aware why he was doing this. He’d lost his mind in an instant. He kept on looking at her face. I ran after him and was mostly afraid of the revolver that he’d forgotten he was holding in his right hand, very close to her head. But he pushed me away once with his elbow, another time with his foot. I wanted to shout for Trishatov, but was afraid of provoking the madman. In the end I suddenly moved the curtain aside and begged him to put her down on the bed. He walked up and put her down, but remained standing over her, fixed her with his eyes for a brief moment and, suddenly leaning down, kissed her twice on her pale lips. Oh, I understood at last that this was a man who was completely out of his mind. He suddenly began to wave the revolver over her but, as though suspecting something, he turned the revolver round and pointed it at her face. I instantly snatched his hand as hard as I could and yelled for Trishatov. I remember both of us struggling with him, but he managed to snatch his hand back and shoot himself. He’d wanted to shoot her, then himself. When we didn’t let him shoot her, he pointed the revolver straight at his heart, but I managed to push his arm upwards and the bullet struck him in the shoulder. This was the moment when Tatyana Pavlovna rushed in screaming, but he was already lying unconscious on the carpet, next to Lambert.