Читать книгу Fyodor Dostoyevsky: Complete Novels & Stories (Wisehouse Classics) - Fyodor Dostoyevsky - Страница 85

My poor uncle! he never could resist taking part in an intellectual conversation. Foma gave a malicious smile, but he remained silent.

“They write very interestingly, though, even now,” Anfisa Petrovna intervened discreetly. “The Mysteries of Brussels, for instance.”

“I should not say so,” observed Foma, as it were regretfully. “I was lately reading one of the poems... not up to much! ’Forget-me-nots’. Of contemporary writers, if you will, the one I like best of all is ’Scribbler’, a light pen!”

“‘Scribbler’!” cried Anfisa Petrovna. “Is that the man who writes letters in the magazines? Ah, how enchanting it is, what playing with words!”

“Precisely, playing with words; he, so to speak, plays with his pen. An extraordinary lightness of style.”

“Yes, but he is a pedant!” Obnoskin observed carelessly.

“Yes, a pedant he is, I don’t dispute it; but a charming pedant, a graceful pedant! Of course, not one of his ideas would stand serious criticism, but one is carried away by his lightness! A babbler, I agree, but a charming babbler, a graceful babbler. Do you remember, for instance, in one of his articles he mentions that he has his own estates?”

“Estates!” my uncle caught up. “That’s good! In what province?”

Foma stopped, looking fixedly at my uncle, and went on in the same tone:

“Tell me in the name of common sense, of what interest is it to me, the reader, to know that he has his own estates? If he has—I congratulate him on it! But how charmingly, how jestingly, it is described! He sparkles with wit, he splashes with wit, he boils over? He is a Narzan of wit! Yes, that is the way to write! I fancy I should write just like that, if I were to consent to write for magazines....”

“Perhaps you would do even better,” Yezhevikin observed respectfully.

“There is positively something musical in the language,” my uncle put in.

Foma Fomitch lost patience at last.

“Colonel,” he said, “is it not possible to ask you—with all conceivable delicacy of course—not to interfere with us, but to allow us to finish our conversation in peace. You cannot offer an opinion in our conversation! You cannot. Don’t disturb our agreeable literary chat. Look after your land, drink your tea, but... leave literature alone. It will lose nothing by it, I assure you—I assure you!”

This was surpassing the utmost limit of impudence! I did not know what to think.

“Why, you yourself, Foma, said it was musical,” my uncle brought out in confusion and distress.

“Quite so, but I spoke with a knowledge of the subject, I spoke appropriately; while you...”

“To be sure, but we spoke with intellect,” put in Yezhevikin, wriggling round Foma Fomitch. “We have just a little intelligence, though we may have to borrow some; just enough to run a couple of government departments and we might manage a third, if need be—that’s all we can boast of!”

“So it seems I have been talking nonsense again,” said my uncle in conclusion, and he smiled his good-natured smile.

“You admit it, anyway,” observed Foma.

“It’s all right, it’s all right, Foma, I am not angry. I know that you pull me up like a friend, like a relation, like a brother. I have myself allowed you to do it, begged you to, indeed. It’s a good thing. It’s for my benefit. I thank you for it and will profit by it.”

My patience was exhausted. All that I had hitherto heard about Foma Fomitch had seemed to me somewhat exaggerated. Now when I saw it all for myself, my astonishment was beyond all bounds. I could not believe my senses; I could not understand such impudence, such insolent domineering on one side and such voluntary slavery, such credulous good nature on the other. Though, indeed, my uncle himself was confused by such impudence. That was evident... I was burning with desire to come to grips with Foma, to do battle with him, to be rude to him in some way, in as startling a fashion as possible —and then let come what may! This idea excited me. I looked for an opportunity, and completely ruined the brim of my hat while I waited for it. But the opportunity did not present itself. Foma absolutely refused to notice me.

“You are right, perfectly right, Foma,” my uncle went on, doing his utmost to recover himself, and to smoothe over the unpleasantness of what had been said before. “What you say is true, Foma. I thank you for it. One must know the subject before one discusses it. I am sorry! It is not the first time I have been in the same predicament. Only fancy, Sergey, on one occasion I was an examiner... you laugh! But there it is! I really was an examiner, and that was all about it. I was invited to an institution, to be present at an examination, and they set me down together with the examiners, as a sign of respect, there was an empty seat. So, I will own to you, I was frightened, I was positively alarmed, I do not know a single science. What was I to do? I thought that in another minute they would drag me myself to the black board! Well, what then? Nothing happened, it went off all right, I even asked questions myself; who was Noah? On the whole they answered splendidly; then we had lunch and toasted enlightenment in champagne. It was a fine school!”

Foma Fomitch and Obnoskin burst into roars of laughter.

“Indeed, I laughed myself afterwards,” cried my uncle, laughing in a most good-natured way and delighted that general cheerfulness was restored. “Yes, Foma, here goes! I will amuse you all by telling you how I put my foot in it once... Only fancy, Sergey, we were staying at Krasnogorsk...”

“Allow me to inquire, Colonel, will you be long in telling your story?” Foma interposed.

“Oh, Foma! Why, it is the most delightful story, enough to make one split with laughter; you only listen, it is good, it really is good. I’ll tell you how I put my foot in it.”

“I always listen with pleasure to your stories when they are of that sort,” Obnoskin pronounced, yawning.

“There is no help for it, we must listen,” Foma decided.

“But upon my word it is good, Foma, it really is. I want to tell you how I put my foot into it on one occasion, Anfisa Petrovna. You listen too, Sergey, it is an edifying story indeed. We were staying at Krasnogorsk,” my uncle began, beaming with pleasure, talking with nervous haste, and falling into innumerable parentheses as he always did when he was beginning to tell some story for the pleasure of his audience. “As soon as we arrived, the same evening we went to the theatre. There was a first-rate actress, Kuropatkina; she afterwards ran away with the cavalry captain Zvyerkov and did not finish the play she was acting: so they let down the curtain... This Zvyerkov was a beast, both for drinking and playing cards, and not that he was a drunkard, but simply ready to join his comrades at festive moments. But when he did get really drunk then he forgot everything, where he lived, in what country, and what his name was. Absolutely everything, in fact: but he was a very fine fellow really... Well, I was sitting in the theatre. In the interval I got up, and I ran across a comrade called Komouhov.... A unique fellow, I assure you. We had not see each other for six years, it is true. Well, he had stayed in the company and was covered with crosses. I have heard lately—he’s an actual civil councillor; he transferred to the civil service and worked his way up to a high grade... Well, of course, we were delighted. One thing and another. In the box next to us were three ladies; the one on the left was the ugliest woman in the world... Afterwards I found out that she was a splendid woman, the mother of a family, and the happiness of her husband.... Well, so I like a fool blurt out to Komouhov: ‘I say, old man, can you tell me who that scarecrow is?’ ‘Who do you mean?’ ‘Why, that one.’ ‘That’s my cousin.’ Tfoo, the devil! judge of my position! To put myself right: ‘Not that one,’ I said. ‘What eyes you’ve got! I mean the one who is sitting there, who is that?’ ‘That’s my sister.’ Tfoo, plague take it all! And his sister, as luck would have it, was a regular rosebud, a sweet little thing; dressed up like anything—brooches, gloves, bracelets, in fact a perfect cherub. Afterwards she married a very fine fellow called Pyhtin; she eloped with him, it was a runaway match; but now it is all right, and they are very well off; their parents are only too delighted! Well, so I cried out, ‘Oh, no!’ not knowing how to get out of it, ‘not that one, the one in the middle, who is she?’ ‘In the middle? Well, my boy, that’s my wife.’... And she, between ourselves, was a perfect sugarplum. I felt that I could have eaten her up at one mouthful, I was so delighted with her... ‘Well,’ I said, ‘have you ever seen a fool? Here is one facing you, and here’s his head; cut it off, don’t spare it!’ He laughed. Afterwards he introduced them to me and must have told them, the rascal. They were in fits of laughter over something! And I must say I never spent an evening more merrily. So you see, Foma, old man, how one can put one’s foot in itl Ha-ha-ha-ha!”

But it was no use my poor uncle laughing; in vain he looked round the company with his kind and good-humoured eyes; a dead silence was the response that greeted his light-hearted story. Foma Fomitch sat in gloomy dumbness and all the others followed his example; only Obnoskin gave a faint smile, foreseeing the baiting my uncle would get. My uncle was embarrassed and flushed crimson. This was what Foma desired.

“Have you finished?” he asked at last, turning with dignity to the embarrassed story-teller.

“Yes, Foma.”

“And are you satisfied?”

“How do you mean, satisfied?” asked my poor uncle miserably.

“Are you happier now? Are you pleased at having broken up the pleasant literary conversation of your friends by interrupting them and so satisfying your petty vanity?”

“Oh, come, Foma, I wanted to amuse you all, and you...”

“Amuse!” cried Foma, suddenly becoming extraordinarily heated; “but you are only able to depress us, not amuse us. Amuse! but do you know that your story was almost immoral! I say nothing of its impropriety, that is self-evident...You informed us just now with rare coarseness of feeling that you laughed at innocence, at an honourable lady, simply because she had not the honour to please you, and you wanted to make us, us laugh, that is applaud you, that is applaud a coarse and improper action, and all because you are the master of this house! You can do as you like, Colonel, you can seek out toadies, flatterers, sycophants, you can even send for them from distant parts and so increase your retinue to the detriment of straightforwardness and frank nobility of soul, but never will Foma Opiskin be your toady, your flatterer, your sycophant! I can assure you of that, if of anything....”

“Oh, Foma! You misunderstand me, Foma.”

“No, Colonel; I have seen through you for a long time, I know you through and through. You are devoured by boundless vanity. You have pretensions to an incomparable keenness of wit, and forget that wit is blunted by pretension. You...”

“Oh, stop, Foma, for God’s sake! Have some shame, if only before people!”

“It’s sad, you know, to see all this, Colonel, and it’s impossible to be silent when one sees it. I am poor, I am living at the expense of your mother. It may be expected, perhaps, that I should flatter you by my silence, and I don’t care for any milksop to take me for your toady! Possibly when I came into this room just now I intentionally accentuated my truthful candour, was forced to be intentionally rude, just because you yourself put me into such a position. You are too haughty with me, Colonel, I may be taken for your slave, your toady. Your pleasure is to humiliate me before strangers, while I am really your equal—your equal in every respect. Perhaps I am doing you a favour in living with you, and not you doing me one. I am insulted, so I am forced to sing my own praises—that’s natural! I cannot help speaking, I must speak, I am bound at once to protest, and that is why I tell you straight out that you are phenomenally envious. You see, for instance, someone in a simple friendly conversation unconsciously reveals his knowledge, his reading, his taste, and so you are annoyed, you can’t sit still. ‘Let me display my knowledge and my taste,’ you think! And what taste have you, if you will allow me to ask? You know as much about art—if you will excuse my saying so, Colonel—as a bull about beef! That’s harsh and rude, I admit; anyway it is straightforward and just. You won’t hear that from your flatterers, Colonel.”

“Oh, Foma!...”

“It is ‘Oh, Foma,’ to be sure. The truth is not a feather bed, it seems. Very well, then; we will speak later about this, but now let me entertain the company a little. You can’t be the only one to distinguish yourself all the time. Pavel Semyonitch, have you seen this sea monster in human form? I have been observing him for a long time. Look well at him; why, he would like to devour me whole, at one gulp.”

He was speaking of Gavrila. The old servant was standing at the door, and certainly was looking on with distress at the scolding of his master.

“I want to entertain you, too, with a performance, Pavel Semyonitch. Come here, you scarecrow, come here! Condescend to approach us a little nearer, Gavrila Ignatitch! Here you see, Pavel Semyonitch, is Gavrila; as a punishment for rudeness he is studying the French dialect. Like Orpheus, I soften the manners of these parts not only with songs but with the French dialect. Come, Mossoo Frenchy—he can’t bear to be called Mossoo—do you know your lesson?”

“I have learnt it,” said Gavrila, hanging his head.

“Well, Parlay—voo—fransay?”

“Vee, moossyu, zhe—le—pari—on—peu...”

I don’t know whether it was Gavrila’s mournful face as he uttered the French phrase, or whether they were all aware of Foma’s desire that they should laugh, but anyway they all burst into a roar of laughter as soon as Gavrila opened his lips. Even Madame la Générale deigned to be amused. Anfisa Petrovna, sinking back on the sofa, shrieked, hiding her face behind her fan. What seemed most ludicrous was that Gavrila, seeing what his examination was being turned into, could not restrain himself from spitting and commenting reproachfully: “To think of having lived to such disgrace in my old age!”

Foma Fomitch was startled.

“What? What did you say? So you think fit to be rude?”

“No, Foma Fomitch,” Gavrila replied with dignity. “My words were no rudeness, and it’s not for me, a serf, to be rude to you, a gentleman born. But every man bears the image of God upon him, His image and semblance. I am sixty-three years old. My father remembers Pugatchev, the monster, and my grandfather helped his master, Matvey Nikititch—God grant him the kingdom of heaven—to hang Pugatchev on an aspen tree, for which my father was honoured beyond all others by our late master, Afanasy Matveyitch: he was his valet, and ended his life as butler. As for me, Foma Fomitch, sir, though I am my master’s bondman, I have never known such a shame done me from my birth upward till now.”

And at the last word Gavrila spread out his hands and hung his head. My uncle was watching him uneasily.

“Come, that’s enough, Gavrila,” he cried. “No need to say more, that’s enough!”

“Never mind, never mind,” said Foma, turning a little pale and giving a forced smile. “Let him speak, these are the fruits of your...”

“I will tell you everything,” said Gavrila with extraordinary fervour, “I will conceal nothing! You may bind the hands, but there is no binding the tongue. Though I may seem beside you, Foma Fomitch, a low man, in fact a slave, yet I can feel insulted! Service and obedience I am always bound to give you, because I am born a slave and must do my duty in fear and trembling. You sit writing a book, it’s my duty not to let you be interrupted—that is my real duty. Any service that is needed I am pleased to do. But in my old age to bleat in some outlandish way and be put to shame before folk! Why, I can’t go into the servants’ room now: ‘You are a Frenchy!’ they say, ‘a Frenchy!’ No, Foma Fomitch, sir, it’s not only a fool like me, but all good folks have begun to say the same: that you have become now a wicked man and that our master is nothing but a little child before you, that though you are a gentleman by birth and a general’s son, and yourself may be near being a general too, yet you are as wicked as a real fury must be.”

Gavrila had finished. I was beside myself with delight. Foma Fomitch sat pale with rage in the midst of the general discomfiture and seemed unable to recover from Gavrila’s sudden attack upon him; he seemed at that moment to be deliberating how far his wrath should carry him. At last the outburst followed.

“What, he dares to be rude to me—me! but this is mutiny!” shrieked Foma, and he leapt up from his chair.

Madame la Générale followed his example, clasping her hands. There was a general commotion, my uncle rushed to turn the culprit out.

“Put him in fetters, put him in fetters!” cried Madame la Générale. “Take him to the town at once and send him for a soldier, Yegorushka, or you shall not have my blessing. Fix the fetters on him at once, and send him for a soldier.”

“What!” cried Foma. “Slave! Lout! Hamlet! He dares to be rude to me! He, he, a rag to wipe my boots! He dares to call me a fury!”

I slipped forward with unusual determination.

“I must confess that in this affair I am completely of Gavrila’s opinion,” I said, looking Foma Fomitch straight in the face and trembling with excitement.

He was so taken aback by this onslaught that for the first minute he seemed unable to believe his ears.

“What’s this now?” he cried out at last, pouncing upon me in a frenzy, and fixing his little bloodshot eyes upon me. “Why, who are you?”

“Foma Fomitch...” my uncle, utterly distracted, began, “this is Seryozha, my nephew...”

“The learned gentleman!” yelled Foma. “So he’s the learned gentleman! Liberté—égalité—fraternité. Journal des Débats! No, my friend, you won’t take me in! I am not such a fool. This isn’t Petersburg, you won’t impose upon us. And I spit on your des Débats. You have your des Débats, but to us that’s all fiddlesticks, young man! Learned! You know as much as I have forgotten seven times over. So much for your learning!”

If they had not held him back I believe he would have fallen upon me with his fists.

“Why, he is drunk,” I said, looking about me in bewilderment.

“Who, I?” cried Foma, in a voice unlike his own.

“Yes, you!”

“Drunk?”

“Yes, drunk.”

This was more than Foma could endure. He uttered a screech as though he were being murdered and rushed out of the room. Madame la Générale seemed desirous of falling into a swoon, but reflected that it would be better to run after Foma Fomitch. She was followed by all the others, and last of all by my uncle. When I recovered myself and looked round I saw in the room no one but Yezhevikin. He was smiling and rubbing his hands.

“You promised just now to tell me about the Jesuits,” he said in an insinuating voice.

“What?” I asked, not understanding what he was talking about.

“About the Jesuits, you promised just now to tell me... some little anecdote....”

I ran out into the veranda and from there into the garden. My head was going round...

Chapter 8 — A Declaration of Love

I wandered about the garden for about a quarter of an hour, feeling irritated and extremely dissatisfied with myself, and deliberating what I should do now. The sun was setting. Suddenly at a turning into a dark avenue I met Nastenka face to face. She had tears in her eyes, in her hand a handkerchief with which she was wiping them.

“I was looking for you,” she said.

“And I for you,” I answered. “Tell me, am I in a madhouse?”

“Certainly not in a madhouse,” she answered resentfully, with an intent glance at me.

“Well, if that’s so, what’s the meaning of it all? For Christ’s sake give me some advice. Where has my uncle gone now? Can I go to him? I am very glad that I have met you; perhaps you will be able to suggest what I ought to do.”

“No, better not go to him. I have just come away from them.”

“Why, where are they?”

“Who knows? Perhaps by now they have run into the kitchen garden again,” she said irritably.

“Into the kitchen garden!”

“Why, last week, Foma Fomitch began shouting that he wouldn’t stay in the house, and all at once he ran into the kitchen garden, found a spade in the shed and began digging the beds. We were all amazed, and wondered whether he hadn’t gone out of his mind. ‘That I may not be reproached for doing nothing for my keep,’ said he, ‘here I will dig and pay for the bread I have eaten, and then I will go away. That’s what you have driven me to.’ And then they all began crying and almost falling on their knees before him; they took the spade away from him; but he would go on digging; he dug up all the turnips, that was all he did. They humoured him once, he may do it again. That would be just like him.”

“And you... you tell that with such coolness!” I cried out, with intense indignation.

She looked at me with flashing eyes.

“Forgive me, I really don’t know what I am saying! Listen! do you know what I’ve come here for?”

“N-no,” she answered, flushing crimson, and some painful feeling was reflected in her charming face.

“You must excuse me,” I went on. “I am upset, I feel that this is not how I ought to have begun speaking of this... especially with you... But never mind! To my thinking, openness in such matters is best. I confess... that is, I meant to say... you know my uncle’s design? He has told me to ask for your hand....”

“Oh, what nonsense! don’t speak of it, please,” she said, hurriedly interrupting me and flushing crimson.

I was disconcerted.

“How nonsense? But he wrote to me, you see.”

“So he wrote to you?” she asked eagerly. “Oh, what a man! How he promised that he would not write! What nonsense! Good heavens, what nonsense!”

“Forgive me,” I muttered, not knowing what to say. “Perhaps I have acted incautiously, crudely... but, you see, it’s such a moment! Only think, goodness knows what’s going on around us....”

“Oh, for God’s sake don’t apologise! Believe me that it is painful for me to hear this apart from that, and yet, do you know, I wanted to speak to you myself, to find out something.... Oh, how vexatious! So he really wrote to you? That’s what I was most afraid of! My God, what a man he is! And you believed him and galloped here full speed? Well, that’s the last straw!”

She did not conceal her annoyance. My position was not an attractive one.

“I must confess I did not expect...” I blurted out in the utmost confusion, “such a turn... I expected, on the contrary...”

“Ah, so that’s what you expected?...” she brought out with light irony, biting her lip. “And do you know, you must show me the letter he wrote.”

“Very good.”

“And please don’t be angry with me, don’t be offended; I have trouble enough without that!” she said in an imploring voice, though a mocking smile faintly gleamed on her pretty lips.

“Oh, please don’t take me for a fool,” I cried hotly. “But perhaps you are prejudiced against me, perhaps someone has spoken against me? Perhaps you say this because I put my foot in it just now? But that is nothing, I assure you. I know what a fool I must look to you now. Don’t laugh at me, please! I don’t know what I am saying, and it is all because I am twenty-two, damn it.”

“Oh, mercy on us, why?”

“You ask why? Anyone who is twenty-two, you know, has it written in his face; as I had, for instance, when I bounced out just now in the middle of the room, or as when I stand before you now... It’s a damnable age!”

“Oh, no, no!” answered Nastenka, hardly able to restrain her laughter. “I am sure that you are kind and nice and clever, and I say that sincerely, I do really! But... you are only very vain. You may get over that in time.”

“I fancy I am only as vain as I ought to be.”

“Oh, no. Think how embarrassed you were just now, and what for? Because you stumbled as you came in!... What right had you to turn into ridicule your good generous uncle who has done you so much kindness? Why did you try to turn the laugh against him when you were laughable yourself? That was horrid, shameful! It does not do you credit, and I must own I disliked you very much at that minute, so there!”

“That’s true! I was a blockhead! more than that—I did a mean thing! You noticed it, and that is my punishment. Abuse me, laugh at me, but listen; perhaps you will change your opinion of me in the end,” I added, carried away by a strange feeling. “You know so little of me as yet; afterwards when you know more of me, then... perhaps...”

“For God’s sake let us stop this conversation!” cried Nastenka, with visible impatience.

“Very well, very well, let us stop! But... where can I see you?”

“Where can you see me?”

“Why, you know, this cannot be the last word we have to say to each other, Nastasya Yevgrafovna! For God’s sake, let me meet you again to-day, for instance. But it’s already getting dark. So if it is anyhow possible let it be tomorrow early, I will ask to be called earlier on purpose. You know there’s an arbour over there by the pond. You see, I remember it, I know the way. I used to stay here when I was little.”

“Meet you! What for? Why, we are talking now.”

“But I know nothing yet, Nastasya Yevgrafovna, I will first find out everything from my uncle. Why, he is bound to tell me everything now. And then, perhaps, I shall have something very important to tell you....”

“No, no! You mustn’t, you mustn’t!” cried Nastenka. “Let us end it all at once now, so that we may never think of it again. And don’t go to that arbour for nothing; I assure you I shall not go. And please put all this nonsense out of your head—I beg you in earnest....”

“So then uncle has behaved like a madman to me!” I cried in an excess of insufferable vexation. “Why did he send for me? But listen, what is that noise?”

We were close to the house; from the open windows came the sounds of shrieking and extraordinary outcries.

“My God!” she said, turning pale, “again! I foresaw it would be so!”

“You foresaw it? Nastasya Yevgrafovna, one more question. Of course I have not the least right to do so, but I venture to put this last question to you for the good of us all. Tell me— and I will keep it secret to the grave—tell me frankly: is my uncle in love with you or not?”

“Oh! Please, please put that nonsense out of your head once for all,” she cried, flushing crimson with anger. “And you, too! If he were in love with me, he wouldn’t have wanted to have married me to you,” she added with a bitter smile. “And what put that idea into your head? Don’t you know what the trouble’s about? Do you hear those shouts?”

“But... It’s Foma Fomitch....”

“Yes, of course it is Foma Fomitch; but now the trouble is over me because they are saying the same thing as you, the same senseless thing; they, too, suspect that he is in love with me. And as I am poor and of no consequence, and as it costs nothing to throw dirt on me and they want to marry him to someone else, they are insisting that he should send me home to my father to make things sure. And when they talk to him of that he flies into a rage at once; he’s ready to tear Foma Fomitch to pieces even. They are quarrelling about that now; I feel that it is about that.”

“So that’s the truth! So he really is going to marry that Tatyana, then.”

“That Tatyana?”

“Yes, that silly fool!”

“Not a silly fool at all! She is good; you have no right to talk like that! She has a noble heart, nobler than many other people. It’s not her fault that she is unfortunate.”

“Forgive me. Supposing you are quite right about that, yet aren’t you mistaken about the chief point? Tell me, how is it, then, that they make your father welcome, as I noticed? Why, if they were so set against you as you say and were turning you out, they would be angry with him too, and would give him a cold welcome.”

“Why, don’t you see what my father is doing for my sake? He is playing the fool before them! He is received just because he has succeeded in ingratiating himself with Foma Fomitch; and as Foma Fomitch was a buffoon himself, you see it flatters him to have buffoons about him now. For whose sake do you suppose my father does it? He does it for me, only for me. He wants nothing; he wouldn’t bow down to anyone for himself. He may be very absurd in some people’s eyes, but he is a noble man, the noblest of men! He thinks—goodness knows why, and certainly not because I get a good salary here, I assure you—he thinks that it is best for me to stay here in this house; but now I have quite brought him round. I wrote to him firmly. He has come on purpose to take me; and if it comes to extremes, tomorrow. For things have got beyond everything; they are ready to tear me to pieces, and I am certain that they are quarrelling about me now. They are at him, on my account, they will be the death of him! And he is like a father to me—do you hear? more even than my own father. I won’t stay to see it. I know more than other people. Tomorrow, tomorrow I am going! Who knows: perhaps that will make them put off, if only for a time, his marriage to Tatyana Ivanovna... Here I have told you all about it now. Tell him this, because I can’t speak to him now; we are watched, especially by that Perepelitsyn woman. Tell him not to worry about me, tell him I would rather eat black bread and live in my father’s hut than be the cause of his sufferings here. I am a poor girl, and I ought to live like a poor girl. But, my God, what an uproar! What shouting! What is happening? Yes, come what may I shall go in! I will tell them all this straight to their faces myself, whatever happens! I ought to do it! Good-bye.”

She ran away. I remained standing on the same spot, fully conscious of the absurdity of the part it had just been my lot to play, and completely puzzled to think how it would all be settled. I was sorry for the poor girl, and I was afraid for my uncle. All at once I found Gavrila at my side; he was still holding the exercise book in his hand.

“Please come to your uncle,” he said in a dejected voice.

I pulled myself together.

“To my uncle? Where is he? What’s happening to him now?”

“In the tea-room. Where your honour had tea this afternoon.”

“Who is with him?”

“His honour’s alone. He is waiting.”

“For whom? For me?”

“He has sent for Foma Fomitch. Happy days have come for us,” he added, with a deep sigh.

“Foma Fomitch? H’m! Where are the others? Where’s your mistress?”

“In her own apartments. Her honour’s fallen into a swoon, and now she is lying unconscious and crying.”

Conversing in this way, we reached the veranda. It was almost completely dark outside. My uncle really was alone in the very room in which my encounter with Foma Fomitch had taken place, and he was striding up and down it. There were lighted candles on the tables. He was pale and breathing hard; his hands were trembling, and from time to time a nervous shudder ran over his whole frame.

Chapter 9 — Your Excellency

“My dear boy, it’s all over, it’s all settled,” he pronounced in a tragic half-whisper.

“Uncle,” I said, “I heard shouts and uproar.”

“Yes, my boy, shouts there were; shouts of all sorts! Mamma is in a swoon, and everything is upside down now. But I have made up my mind, and shall insist on my own way. I am afraid of no one now, Seryozha. I want to show them that I, too, have a will of my own, and I will show them! And so I have sent for you on purpose that you may help me show them... My heart is broken, Seryozha... but I ought, I am bound to act with severity. Justice is inexorable.”

“But whatever has happened, uncle?”

“I am parting with Foma,” my uncle pronounced in a resolute voice.

“Uncle,” I cried, delighted, “you could have thought of nothing better! And if I can assist in any way to carry out your decision... make use of me now and always.”

“Thank you, my boy, thank you! But now it is all settled. I am waiting for Foma, I have already sent for him. Either he or I! We must part. Either Foma leaves this house tomorrow or I swear I’ll throw up everything and go into the Hussars again. They will take me and give me a division. Away with all this bobbery! A fresh start in every way now. What have you got that French exercise book for?” he cried furiously, addressing Gavrila. “Away with it! Bum it, stamp on it, tear it to pieces! I am your master, and I order you not to learn French. You can’t disobey me, you dare not, for I am your master, and not Foma Fomitch!”

“I thank Thee, O Lord!” Gavrila muttered to himself.

Evidently things had got beyond a joke.

“My dear,” my uncle went on, with deep feeling, “they are asking me the impossible. You shall decide; you stand between me and them now as an impartial judge. You don’t know what they have insisted on my doing, you don’t know, and at last they have formally demanded it, they have spoken out. But it’s repugnant to humanity, to decent feeling, to honour... I will tell you all about it, but first...”

“I know about it already, uncle!” I cried, interrupting him. “I can guess... I have just been talking to Nastasya Yevgrafovna.”

“My dear, not a word, not a word of that now!” he interrupted me hurriedly, as though he were frightened. “I will explain about it later on, but meanwhile... Well?” he cried to Vidoplyasov, who walked in. “Where is Foma Fomitch?”

Vidoplyasov entered with the information “that Foma Fomitch did not wish to come, and considered that the insistence on his doing so was rude to the point of impertinence, so that his honour, Foma Fomitch, was greatly offended by it.”

“Bring him! Drag him! Fetch him here! Drag him here by force!” cried my uncle, stamping.

Vidoplyasov, who had never seen his master in such a rage, retreated in alarm. I was surprised.

“Something very important must have happened,” I thought, “if a man of his character is capable of being moved to such wrath and such determination.”

For some moments my uncle walked up and down the room as though struggling with himself.

“Don’t tear up your exercise book though,” he said to Gavrila as last. “Wait a little and stay here. You may perhaps be wanted. My dear,” he went on, turning to me, “I think I was too noisy just now. Everything must be done with dignity and manliness, but without shouting and insulting people. Do you know what, Seryozha; wouldn’t it be better if you were to go out? It will be just the same to you. I will tell you all about it later on—eh? What do you think? Do that for my sake, please.”

“Are you frightened, uncle? Are you repenting?” I said, looking at him intently.

“No, no, my dear boy, I am not repenting,” cried my uncle, with redoubled earnestness. “I am afraid of nothing now. I have taken decisive steps, the most decisive! You don’t know, you can’t imagine what they have demanded of me! Ought I to consent? No, I will show them. I have made a stand against them and I will show them. I was bound to show them sooner or later! But you know, my dear boy, I am sorry I sent for you; it will be very hard, perhaps, for Foma if you are here, so to say, the witness of his humiliation. You see, I want to turn him out of the house in a gentlemanly way, without humiliating him at all. Though, indeed, it is only a form of words to say, without humiliation. The position is such, my boy, that however honied one’s speech is it will still be insulting. I am coarse, uneducated perhaps, I may do something in my foolishness that I may regret later. Anyway he has done a great deal for me.... Go away, my dear.”... Here, they are bringing him! Seryozha, I entreat you, go away; I will tell you all about it afterwards. For Christ’s sake go away!”

And uncle led me out on to the veranda at the very moment when Foma walked into the room. But I must confess I did not go away; I made up my mind to stay on the veranda, where it was very dark, and so it was difficult to see me from within. I made up my mind to play the eavesdropper! I do not justify my action, but I can boldly say that I consider I performed an heroic feat in standing that whole half-hour on the veranda without losing patience.

From my position I could not only hear well, but could even see well; the doors were of glass. I now beg the reader to imagine Foma Fomitch after he had been commanded to come, and threatened with force if he refused.

“Can my ears have heard that threat aright, Colonel?” cried Foma, entering the room. “Was that your message?” “Yes, Foma, yes; calm yourself,” my uncle answered valiantly. “Sit down; we must have a little serious friendly talk like brothers. Sit down, Foma.”

Foma Fomitch majestically sat down on a low chair. My uncle walked about the room with rapid and uneven steps, evidently puzzled how to begin.

“Like brothers, precisely,” he repeated. “You understand me, Foma; you are not a boy, I am not a boy either—in fact, we are both getting on... H’m! You see, Foma, we don’t get on together on certain points... yes, on certain points, precisely, and so, Foma, would it not be better to part? I am convinced that you are a generous man, that you wish me well, and so... But why prolong the discussion? Foma, I am your friend now and always, and I swear that by all the saints! Here are fifteen thousand roubles in silver; it’s all I have to bless myself with. I have scraped together every farthing, I have robbed my own children. Take it boldly! I ought—it is my duty—to secure your future. It’s almost all in bank-notes and very little in cash. Take it boldly; you owe me nothing, for I shall never be able to repay you for all you have done for me. Yes, yes, precisely, I feel that, though now we are in disagreement over the most important point. Tomorrow or the day after, or when you like, let us part. Drive to our little town, Foma, it is not eight miles away; there behind the church in the first side-street there is a little house with green shutters, a charming little house belonging to the widow of a priest, that looks as though it had been built for you. She is selling it, and I will buy it for you in addition to this money. Settle there near us. Work at literature, study science, you will win fame... The officials there are gentlemanly, agreeable, disinterested men; the head priest is learned. You shall come and stay with us for the holidays—and we shall all live as in paradise. Will you?”

“So these are the terms on which Foma is to be kicked out!” I thought. “Uncle did not say a word to me about money.”

For a long time a profound silence reigned. Foma sat in his easy-chair as though struck dumb, gazing fixedly at my uncle, who was evidently becoming uncomfortable from that silence and that stare.

“The money!” Foma articulated at last in an affectedly faint voice. “Where is it? Where is that money? Give it me, give it here at once!”

“Here it is, Foma, everything I have to the last farthing, just fifteen thousand. Here are notes and securities; you can see for yourself... here!”

“Gavrila, take that money,” Foma said mildly, “it may be of use to you, old man. But no!” he cried all at once, raising his voice to an extraordinary squeal and leaping up from his chair; “no, give me that money first, Gavrila! Give it me. Give it me. Give me those millions that I may trample them underfoot; give them to me that I may tear them to pieces, spit on them, fling them away, spurn them, scorn them!... They offer money to me—to me! They try to buy me to leave this house! Have I heard that? Have I lived to see this last ignominy? Here they are, here are your millions! Look! there, there, there, there. That is how Foma Opiskin behaves if you did not know it before, Colonel!”

And Foma threw the whole roll of notes about the room. It was noticeable that he did not tear or spit on one of the notes as he had boasted of doing; he only crumpled them a little, and even that rather carefully. Gavrila flew to pick up the notes from the floor, and later on, after Foma’s departure, he carefully restored them to his master.

Foma’s action produced an overwhelming impression upon my uncle. In his turn, he now stood facing him, immovably, senselessly, open-mouthed. Foma meanwhile had replaced himself in his arm-chair and was panting as though from unutterable agitation.

“You are a man of lofty feelings, Foma!” my uncle cried out at last, recovering himself. “You are the noblest of men!”

“I know it,” Foma answered in a faint voice, but with ineffable dignity.

“Foma, forgive me! I have been a mean wretch to you, Foma!”

“Yes, to me,” Foma assented.

“Foma, it is not your disinterestedness that I marvel at,” my uncle went on enthusiastically, “but that I could have been so coarse, blind and mean as to offer you money in such circumstances. But, Foma, you are mistaken about one thing; I was not bribing you, I was not paying you for leaving this house, but just simply I wanted you to have money that you might not be in straits when you leave me. I swear that! On my knees, on my knees I am ready to beg your forgiveness, Foma; and if you like, I am ready to go down on my knees before you this moment... if you wish me to...”

“I don’t want your kneeling, Colonel.”

“But, my God! Foma, consider: you know I was carried away, overwhelmed, I was not myself... But do tell me, do say in what way I can, in what way I may be able to efface this insult! Instruct me, admonish me...”

“In no way, in no way, Colonel! And rest assured that tomorrow morning I shall shake the dust from off my boots on the threshold of this house.”

And Foma began to get up from his chair. My uncle rushed in horror to make him sit down again.

“No, Foma, you will not go away, I assure you!” cried my uncle. “It is no use talking about dust and boots, Foma! You are not going away, or I will follow you to the utmost ends of the earth, and I will follow you till such time as you forgive me... I swear it, Foma, and I will do it!”

“Forgive you? You are to blame?” said Foma. “But do you yet understand the wrong you have done me? Do you understand that even the fact that you have given me a piece of bread here has become a wrong to me now? Do you understand that now in one minute you have poisoned every morsel I have tasted in your house? You reproached me just now with those morsels, with every mouthful of the bread I have eaten; you have shown me now that I have been living like a slave in your house, like a flunkey, like a rag to wipe your polished boots! And yet I, in the purity of my heart, imagined up to now that I was residing in your house as a friend and a brother! Did you not, did you not yourself in your snakelike speeches assure me a thousand times of that brotherly relation? Why did you mysteriously weave for me the snare in which I have been caught like a fool? Why have you dug in the darkness this wolf-pit into which you have yourself thrust me now? Why did you not strike me down with one blow before? Why did you not wring my neck at the very beginning like a cock, because he... well, for instance, simply because he doesn’t lay eggs? Yes, that’s just it! I stick to that comparison, Colonel, though it is taken from rustic life and recalls the trivial tone of modem literature; I stick to it, because one sees in it all the senselessness of your accusation; for I am as much in fault as this supposititious cock who displeases his frivolous owner by not laying eggs! Upon my word, Colonel! Does one pay a friend, a brother, with money—and what for? That’s the point, what for? ‘Here, my beloved brother, I am indebted to you; you have even saved my life; here are a few of Judas’s silver pieces for you, only get away out of my sight!’ How naive! How crudely you have behaved to me! You thought that I was thirsting for your gold, while I was cherishing only the heavenly feeling of securing your welfare. Oh, how you have broken my heart! You have played with my finest feelings like some wretched boy with a ninepin! Long, long ago, Colonel, I foresaw all this—that is why I have long choked over your bread, I have been suffocated by your bread! That is why your feather beds have stifled me, they have stifled me instead of lulling me to slumber! That is why your sugar, your sweetmeats have been cayenne pepper to me and not sweetmeats! No, Colonel! live alone, prosper alone, and let Foma go his sorrowful way with a wallet on his back. So it shall be, Colonel!”

“No, Foma, no! It shall not be so, it cannot be so!” moaned my uncle, utterly crashed.

“Yes, Colonel, yes! So it shall be, for so it must be. Tomorrow I shall depart from you. Scatter your millions, strew all my way, all the high road to Moscow with your banknotes—and I will walk proudly and scornfully over your notes; this very foot, Colonel, will trample your notes into the mud and crush them; for Foma Opiskin the nobility of his own soul will be enough! I have said it and I have shown it! Farewell, Colonel, fa-re-w^Te-ell!”

And Foma began again getting up from his chair.

“Forgive me, forgive me, Foma; forget it!...” repeated my uncle, in an imploring voice.

“Forgive you! Why, what use will my forgiveness be to you? Why, supposing I do forgive you: I am a Christian; I cannot refuse to forgive; I have almost forgiven you already. But consider yourself: is it in the least consistent with common sense and gentlemanly feeling for me to stay one minute longer in your house? Why, you have turned me out of it!”

“It is consistent, it is consistent, Foma! I assure you that it is consistent!”

“It is? But are we equals now? Don’t you understand that I have, so to speak, crushed you by my generosity, and you have crushed yourself by your degrading action? You are crushed and I am uplifted. Where is the equality? Is friendship possible without equality? I say this, uttering a cry of lamentation from my heart, and not triumphing, not exalting myself over you, as you perhaps imagine.”

“But I am uttering a cry of lamentation from my heart too, Foma, I assure you.”

“And this is the man,” Foma went on, changing his severe tone for a sanctimonious one, “this is the man for whom I so often kept vigil at night! How many times on my sleepless nights have I arisen from my bed, have lighted a candle and said to myself, ‘Now he is sleeping peacefully, trusting in you. Do not you, Foma, sleep, be valiant for him; maybe you will think of something more for the welfare of that man.’ That is what Foma thought on his sleepless nights, Colonel! And this is how that colonel has repaid him! But enough, enough...”

“But I will deserve your friendship again, Foma; I will deserve it, I swear to you.”

“You will deserve it? Where is the guarantee? As a Christian I will forgive you, and even love you; but as a man and a gentleman I shall not be able to help despising you. I must,’ I am bound to, in the name of morality, because—I repeat it—you have disgraced yourself, while my action has been most high-minded. Why, who out of your set would perform such an action? Would any one of them refuse an immense sum of money which poor destitute Foma, despised by all, has refused from devotion to true greatness? No, Colonel; to be on a level with me you must perform now a regular series of heroic deeds. And what are you capable of when you cannot even address me as your equal, but call me Foma like a servant....”

“Foma! but I call you so from affection!” wailed my uncle. “I did not know you disliked it. My God! if I had only known!...”

“You,” Foma pursued, “you who could not, or rather, would not, grant the most insignificant, the most trivial request when I asked you to address me like a general as ‘your Excellency’...”

“But, Foma, you know that is really, so to say, high treason, Foma!”

“High treason! You have learnt some phrase out of a book and repeat it like a parrot! But, do you know, you put me to shame, covered me with ignominy by your refusal to call me ‘your Excellency’; you covered me with ignominy because without understanding my reasons you made me look a capricious fool worthy of a madhouse. Why, do you suppose I don’t understand that I should have been ridiculous if I had wanted to be styled ‘Excellency’—I who despise all these ranks and earthly grandeurs, insignificant in themselves if they are not lighted up by virtue? For a million I would not accept the rank of general, without virtue. And meanwhile you looked upon me as a madman! It was for your benefit I sacrificed my pride and allowed you, you to be able to look upon me as a madman, you and your learned gentlemen! It was solely in order to enlighten your mind, to develop your morals, and to shed upon you the light of new ideas that I made up my mind to demand from you a general’s title. I wanted you for the future not to regard generals as the highest luminaries on this earthly sphere; I wanted to show you that rank is nothing without greatness of soul, and that there is no need to rejoice at the arrival of your general when there are, perhaps, standing at your side, people made illustrious by virtue! But you have so constantly prided yourself before me on your rank of colonel that it was hard for you to say to me: ‘your Excellency.’ That was the root of it! That was where one must look for the reason, and not in any breach of the decrees of Providence! The whole reason is, that you are a colonel and I am simply Foma...

“No, Foma; no, I assure you that it is not so. You are a learned man... you are not simply Foma.... I respect you...

“You respect me! Good! Then tell me, since you respect me, what is your opinion, am I worthy of the rank of a general or am I not? Answer at once and straightforwardly, am I or not? I want to see your intelligence, your development.”

“For honesty, for disinterestedness, for intelligence, for lofty nobility of soul you are worthy of it,” my uncle brought out with pride.

“Well, if I am worthy of it, why will you not say ‘your Excellency’ to me?”

“Foma, I will, perhaps.”

“But, I insist! And I insist now, Colonel, I require it and insist. I see how hard it is for you, that is why I insist. That sacrifice on your side will be the first step in your moral victory, for—don’t forget it—you will have to gain a series of moral victories to be on a level with me; you must conquer yourself, and only then I shall feel certain of your sincerity...”

“Tomorrow, then, I will call you ’your Excellency’, Foma.”

“No, not tomorrow, Colonel, tomorrow can take care of itself. I insist that you now at once address me as ‘your Excellency’.”

“Certainly, Foma, I am ready; only what do you mean by ‘at once’, Foma?”

“Why not at once, or are you ashamed? That’s an insult to me if you are ashamed.”

“Oh, well, if you like, Foma. I am ready... I am proud to do so, indeed; only it’s queer, Foma, apropos of nothing, ‘Good-day, your Excellency.’ You see, one can’t.”

“No, not ‘Good-day, your Excellency.’ That’s an offensive tone, it is like a joke, a farce. I do not permit such jokes with me. You forget yourself, Colonel, you forget yourself. Change your tone!”

“And you are not joking, Foma?”

“In the first place, I am not Foma, Yegor Ilyitch, and don’t you forget it. I am Foma Fomitch.”

“Oh, Foma Fomitch, I am delighted, really, I am altogether delighted, only what am I to say?”

“You are puzzled what to add to the phrase, ‘your Excellency’. That I understand. You should have explained yourself long ago. It is excusable indeed, especially if a man is not a literary character, to put it politely. Well, I will help you, since you are not a literary character. Repeat after me, ‘Your Excellency!’…”

“Well, your Excellency…”

“No, not ‘Well, your Excellency,’ but simply ‘your Excellency!’ I tell you, Colonel, you must change your tone. I hope, too, that you will not be offended if I suggest that you should make a slight bow. And at the same time bend forward, expressing in that way respectfulness and readiness, so to say, to fly on his errands. I have been in the society of generals myself, and I know all that, so then ‘your Excellency.’”

“Your Excellency...”

“How inexpressibly delighted I am that I have at last an opportunity of asking your forgiveness for not having recognised from the first moment your Excellency’s soul. I make bold to assure you that I will not for the future spare my poor efforts for the public welfare... Well, that’s enough!”

Poor uncle! He had to repeat all this rigmarole phrase by phrase, word by word. I stood and blushed as though I were guilty. I was choking with rage.

“Well, don’t you feel now,” the torturer went on, “that your heart is suddenly lighter, as though an angel had flown into your soul?... Do you feel the presence of that angel? Answer.”

“Yes, Foma, I certainly feel more at ease,” answered my uncle.

“As though after you have conquered yourself your heart were, so to say, steeped in holy oil?”

“Yes, Foma; certainly it all seems as it were in butter.”

“As it were in butter? H’m. I wasn’t talking of butter, though... Well, never mind! You see, Colonel, the value of a duty performed! Conquer yourself. You are vain, immensely vain!”

“I see I am, Foma,” my uncle answered, with a sigh.

“You are an egoist, and indeed a gloomy egoist...”

“An egoist I am, it is true, Foma, and I see it; ever since I have come to know you, I have learned to know that too.”

“I am speaking to you now like a father, like a tender mother...You repel people and forget that a friendly calf sucks two mothers.”

“That is true too, Foma!”

“You are coarse. You jar so coarsely upon the human heart, you so egoistically insist upon attention, that a decent man is ready to run from you to the utmost ends of the earth.”

My uncle heaved another deep sigh.

“Be softer, more attentive, more loving to others; forget yourself for the sake of others, then they will think of you. Live and let others live—that is my rule! Suffer, labour, pray and hope—those are the truths which I would like to instil into all mankind at once! Model yourself on them and then I shall be the first to open my heart to you, I shall weep on your bosom... if need be... As it is, it is always ‘I’ and ‘I’ and ‘my gracious self’ with you. But, you know, one may get sick at last of your gracious self, if you will allow me to say so.”

“A sweet-tongued gentleman,” Gavrila brought out, awestruck.

“That’s true, Foma, I feel all that,” my uncle assented, deeply touched. “But I am not altogether to blame, Foma. I’ve been brought up like this, I have lived with soldiers; but I swear, Foma, I have not been without feeling. When I said good-bye to the regiment, all the hussars, all my division, simply shed tears and said they would never get another like me. I thought at the time that I too was not altogether a lost soul.”

“Again a piece of egoism! Again I catch you in vanity. You are boasting and at the same time reproaching me with the hussars’ tears. Why don’t I boast of anyone’s tears? And yet there may have been grounds, there may have been grounds for doing so.”

“I meant nothing, Foma, it was a slip of the tongue. I couldn’t help remembering those old happy times.”

“Happy times do not fall from heaven, we make them ourselves; it lies in our hearts, Yegor Ilyitch. That is why I am always happy and, in spite of my sufferings, contented, tranquil in spirit, and am not a burden to anyone unless it is to fools, upstarts and learned gentlemen, on whom I have no mercy and don’t care to have. I don’t like fools! And what are these learned gentlemen? ‘A man of learning’; and his learning turns out to be nothing but a hoaxing trick, and not learning. Why, what did he say just now? Let him come here! Let all these men of learning come here! I can refute them all; I can refute all their propositions! I say nothing of greatness of soul...”

“Of course, Foma. Who doubts it?”

“This afternoon, for instance, I showed intelligence, talent, colossal’ erudition, knowledge of the human heart, knowledge of contemporary literature; I showed and displayed in a brilliant fashion how some wretched Komarinsky may furnish a lofty topic of conversation for a man of talent. And did any one of them appreciate me as I deserved? No, they turned away! Why, I am certain he has told you already that I know nothing, and yet perhaps Machiavelli himself or some Mercadante was sitting before him and only to blame for being poor and in obscurity... That does not penetrate to them!... I hear of Korovkin too. What sort of queer fish is he?”

“He is a clever man, Foma, a man of learning.... I am expecting him. He will certainly be a nice man, Foma.”

“H’m, I doubt it. Most likely some modern ass laden with books; there is no soul in them, Colonel, no heart in them! And what is learning without virtue?”

“No, Foma, no. How he talked of family happiness! The heart feels it of itself, Foma.”

“H’m! We will have a look at him; we will examine Korovkin too. But enough,” Foma concluded, getting up from his easy-chair. “I cannot altogether forgive you yet, Colonel; the insult was too deadly; but I will pray, and perhaps God will shed peace on the wounded heart. We will speak further of this tomorrow, but now permit me to withdraw. I am tired and exhausted....”

“Oh, Foma!” cried my uncle in a fluster, “why, of course you are tired! I say, won’t you have something to support you, a snack of something? I will order something at once.”

“A snack! Ha-ha-ha!” answered Foma, with a contemptuous laugh. “First they offer you a drink of poison, and then they ask you if you won’t have a snack of something. They want to heal the wounds of the heart with stewed mushrooms or pickled apples! What a pitiful materialist you are, Colonel!”

“Oh, Foma, I spoke in all simplicity...”

“Oh, very well. Enough of that. I will withdraw, and you go at once to your mother; fall on your knees, sob, weep, but beg for her forgiveness, that is your duty, that is a moral obligation.”

“Oh, Foma, I have been thinking of nothing but that all the time; even now while I have been talking to you I have been thinking of it. I am ready to implore her on my knees till dawn. But only think, Foma, what they are expecting of me. Why, you know it’s unjust, Foma, it’s cruel. Be entirely magnanimous, make me completely happy, think a little, decide, and then... then... I swear!...”

“No, Yegor Ilyitch, no, it’s no business of mine,” answered Foma. “You know that I do not meddle in the slightest degree in all that; you may be persuaded that I am at the bottom of it all, but I assure you that from the very beginning I have held entirely aloof from this affair. It is solely the desire of your mother, and she, of course, wishes for nothing but your good.... Go to her, make haste, fly and rectify the position by your obedience... and let not the sun go down upon your wrath; while I... I shall be all night long praying for you. I have known no sleep for many a night, Yegor Ilyitch. Good night! I forgive you too, old man,” he said, turning to Gavrila. “I know you did not do it of yourself. You forgive me too if I have offended you... Good night, good night, all, and may the Lord bless you.”

Foma went out. I rushed at once into the room.

“You’ve been listening!” cried my uncle.

“Yes, uncle, I have been listening! And you, you could call him ‘your Excellency’?”

“What could I do, brother? Indeed, I am proud of it... That was no great act of sacrifice. But what a noble, what a disinterested, what a great man! Sergey, why, you heard yourself... and how I could, how I could thrust that money on him, I simply don’t understand! My dear, I was carried away, I was in a rage. I did not understand him; I suspected him, I accused him... But no, he could not be antagonistic to me—I see that now... and do you remember what a noble expression there was on his face when he was refusing the money?”

“Very well, uncle, you can be as proud as you like, but I am going; my patience is at an end. For the last time I say it, tell me what you want of me? Why did you send for me, and what do you expect? And if it is all over and I am of no use to you, then I am going. I can’t endure such exhibitions! I am going this very day.”

“My dear!” My uncle was in a fluster as usual. “Only wait two minutes; I am going now, dear boy, to mamma, to settle there... a grave, important, immense question!... And you meanwhile go to your room. Here, Gavrila will take you to the summer lodge. You know the summer lodge, it is in the garden. I have given orders, and your trunk has been taken there; and I am going in to beg forgiveness and settle one question—I know now what to do—and then I will be with you in a flash, and then I’ll tell you everything, I’ll open my whole soul to you and... and... happy days will come for us too, some time! Two minutes, only two minutes, Sergey!”

He pressed my hand and hurriedly went out. There was nothing to be done, I had to go off with Gavrila again.

Chapter 10 — Mizintchikov

The lodge to which Gavrila conducted me was called “the new lodge” only from old habit, because it was built long ago in the time of the former owners. It was a pretty little wooden house, standing in the garden a few paces from the old house. It was surrounded on three sides by tall old lime trees which touched the roof with their branches. All the four rooms of this little house were kept ready for visitors, and were not badly furnished. Going into the room assigned me, to which my portmanteau had been already taken, I saw on a little table before the bedstead a sheet of notepaper, covered with magnificent handwriting in various styles framed in garlands and flourishes. The capital letters and the garlands were illuminated in various colours. The whole made a very pretty specimen of calligraphy. From the first words I read I saw that it was a begging letter addressed to me, and that in it I was styled “Enlightened benefactor”. It was headed “The Plaints of Vidoplyasov”. Though I tried with strained attention to make out something of what was written, my efforts were all in vain, it was the most inflated nonsense, written in a high-flown flunkey lingo. I could only surmise that Vidoplyasov was in trouble of some sort, was begging for my assistance, was building great hopes upon me, “by reason of my enlightenment”, and in conclusion begged me to interest myself on his behalf with my uncle and to work upon him with “my machinery”, as he expressed it at the end of this epistle. I was still reading it when the door opened and Mizintchikov walked in.

“I hope you will allow me to make your acquaintance,” he said in a free and easy way, though with extreme courtesy, offering me his hand. “I could not say two words to you this afternoon, and yet from the first glance I felt a desire to know you better.”

I answered at once that I was delighted and so on, though I was, in fact, in an extremely bad temper. We sat down.

“What have you got here?” he said, glancing at the sheet of paper which I was still holding in my hand. “Not ‘the plaints of Vidoplyasov’? That’s what it is. I was certain that Vidoplyasov was attacking you too. He presented me with just such a document with the same complaints; and he has been expecting you a long time and most likely got ready beforehand. You need not be surprised: there’s a great deal that’s queer here, and really there is plenty to laugh at.”

“Only to laugh at?”

“Oh, well, surely not to cry over. If you like I will give you Vidoplyasov’s history, and I am certain that you will laugh.”

“I confess I am not interested in Vidoplyasov just now,” I answered with vexation.

It was evident to me that Mr. Mizintchikov’s friendliness and his polite conversation were all assumed by him with some object, and that he was simply trying to get something out of me. He had sat scowling and serious in the afternoon; now he was good-humoured, smiling, and ready to tell me long stories. It was evident from the first glance that the man was perfectly self-possessed, and he seemed to understand human nature.

“That cursed Foma!” I said, banging my fist on the table with fury. “I am positive that he is at the bottom of every sort of mischief here and mixed up in it all! Cursed brute!”

“I think your anger is excessive,” Mizintchikov observed.

“My anger excessive!” I cried, instantly firing up. “I let myself go too far this afternoon, of course, and so gave everyone a right to blame me. I know very well that I plunged in and put my foot in it on every point, and I think there is no need to tell me that!... I know, too, that that’s not the way to behave in decent society; but how could I help letting myself go? tell me that. Why, this is a madhouse, if you care to know! And... and... in fact... I am simply going away, so there.”

“Do you smoke?” Mizintchikov asked calmly.

“Yes.”

“Then you will probably allow me to smoke? They won’t let me in there, and I am wretched without it. I agree,” he went on, as he lighted a cigarette, “that all this is like a madhouse; but believe me, I do not venture to criticise you, just because in your place I should perhaps be three times as excited and violent as you.”

“And why were you not violent if you really were angry too? I remember you very cool, on the contrary, and, I confess, I even thought it strange that you did not stand up for my poor uncle, who is ready to befriend... all and everyone!”

“You are right: he has befriended many people; but I consider it perfectly useless to stand up for him: in the first place it would be useless and even derogatory for him in a way; and in the second I should be kicked out tomorrow. And I tell you frankly my circumstances are such that to be a guest here is a great advantage for me.”

“But I do not make the slightest claim on your frankness in regard to your circumstances... I should, however, have liked to ask, since you have been here a month...”

“Please, do, ask anything: I am at your service,” Mizintchikov answered, hurriedly moving up a chair.

“Well, explain this, for instance: Foma Fomitch has just refused fifteen thousand roubles which were in his hands—I saw it with my own eyes.”

“What? Impossible!” cried Mizintchikov. “Tell me, please.”

I told him, saying nothing about “your Excellency”. Mizintchikov listened with greedy curiosity. He positively changed countenance when the fifteen thousand were mentioned.

“That’s smart!” he said, when he heard my story. “I really did not expect it of Foma.”

“He did refuse the money, though! How do you explain that? Surely not by the nobility of his soul?”

“He refused fifteen thousand to take thirty later. Though, do you know,” he added after a moment’s thought, “I doubt whether Foma had any mercenary design in it. He is not a practical man; he is a sort of poet, too, in his own way. Fifteen thousand... h’m. He would have taken the money, do you see, but he couldn’t resist the temptation to strike an attitude and give himself airs. I tell you he’s a sentimental mush, and the sloppiest old sniveller and all that, with the most unbounded vanity!”

Mizintchikov was positively roused to anger. It was evident that he was very much annoyed and even envious. I looked at him with curiosity.

“H’m! We may expect great changes,” he added, musing. “Now Yegor Ilyitch is ready to worship Foma. I shouldn’t wonder if he does get married now that his heart is softened,” he muttered through his teeth.

“So you think that this abominable, unnatural marriage with that crazy fool really will come off?”

Mizintchikov looked at me searchingly.

“The scoundrels!” I cried emphatically.

“There is a fairly sound idea at the back of it, though. They maintain that he ought to do something for his family.”

“As though he hadn’t done enough for them,” I cried indignantly. “And you, you talk of there being a sound idea in marrying a vulgar fool!”

“Of course I agree with you that she is a fool... H’m! It’s a good thing that you are so fond of your uncle; I sympathise with him myself... though he could round off his estate finely with her fortune! They have other reasons, though; they are afraid that Yegor Ilyitch may marry that governess... do you remember, an attractive girl?”

“But is that likely to be true?...” I asked in agitation. “It seems to me that it’s spiteful gossip. Tell me, for goodness’ sake, it interests me extremely...”

“Oh, he is head over ears in love with her! Only, of course, he conceals it.”

“He conceals it? You think that he is concealing it? And she? Does she love him?”

“It is very likely she does. It is all to her advantage to marry him, though; she is very poor.”

“But what grounds have you for your supposition that they love each other?”

“Oh, you know, you can’t help seeing it; besides, I believe they meet in secret. They do say that she has illicit relations with him, in fact. Only, please, don’t repeat that. I tell you as a secret.”

“Is it possible to believe that?” I cried. “And you, you acknowledge that you believe it?”

“Of course I do not fully believe it, I wasn’t there. But it’s very possible, though.”

“Very possible? Think of my uncle’s sense of honour, his noble character.”

“I agree; but one may be carried away, with a conviction that one is going to make it right with matrimony afterwards. People often are. But, I repeat, I don’t insist on the absolute certainty of the facts, especially as they have blackened her character in all sorts of ways here; they even say that she had an intrigue with Vidoplyasov.”

“There, you see,” I cried, “with Vidoplyasov. Why, as though it were possible! Isn’t it revolting even to listen to such a thing? Surely you can’t believe it?”

“I tell you that I do not quite believe it,” answered Mizintchikov calmly, “but it might happen. Anything may happen in this world. I was not there, and besides, I consider it not my business. But as I see you take great interest in all this, I feel I ought to add that I really don’t put much faith in the story about Vidoplyasov. It’s all the invention of Anna Nilovna, that Miss Perepelitsyn; it’s she who has set those rumours going here out of envy because she dreamed in the past of marrying Yegor Ilyitch herself—yes, by Jove, on the ground that she is a major’s daughter. Now she is disappointed and awfully furious. But I believe I have told you all about that business now, and I confess I greatly dislike gossip, especially as we are losing precious time. I have come to ask you a trifling favour, you see.”

“A favour? Certainly; any way in which I can be of use to you.”

“I understand, and indeed I hope to interest you, for I see you love your uncle and take great interest in his fate in the matrimonial line; but before I ask you that favour I’ will ask you another, a preliminary one.”

“What is that?”

“I’ll tell you; perhaps you will consent to grant my chief request, and perhaps not; but in any case, before telling it you I will humbly ask you to grant one great favour, to give me your word of honour as a nobleman and a gentleman that all you hear from me shall remain a dead secret, and that you will not betray the secret in any case or for the sake of any person, and will not take advantage for your own benefit of the idea which I now find it necessary to communicate to you. Do you agree or not?”

It was a solemn introduction. I gave my assent.

“Well?”... I said.

“It is really a very simple matter,” Mizintchikov began. “I want to elope with Tatyana Ivanovna and to marry her; in short, there is to be something in the Gretna Green style, do you understand?”

I stared Mizintchikov straight in the face, and for some time I could not utter a word.

“I confess I don’t understand at all,” I brought out at last; “and what’s more,” I went on, “expecting that I had to do with a sensible man, I did not in the least expect...”

“Expecting you did not expect,” interrupted Mizintchikov; “which may be translated, that I and my project are stupid— that’s so, isn’t it?”

“Oh, not at all... but...”

“Oh, please, don’t mind speaking plainly! Don’t be uneasy; you will do me a great pleasure by plain speaking, in fact, for so we shall get nearer our object. I agree with you, though, that all this must seem somewhat strange at the first glance. But I venture to assure you that so far from being foolish, my project is extremely sensible; and if you will be so good as to listen to all the circumstances...”

“Oh, certainly! I am listening eagerly.”

“There is scarcely anything to tell, though. You see, I am in debt and haven’t a farthing. I have, besides, a sister, a girl of nineteen, fatherless and motherless, living in a family and entirely without means, you know. For that I am partly to blame. We inherited a property of forty serfs. Just at that time I was promoted to be a cornet. Well, at first, of course, I mortgaged, and then I squandered our money in other ways too. I lived like a fool, set the fashion, gave myself airs, gambled, drank—it was idiotic, in fact, and I am ashamed to remember it. Now I have come to my senses and want to change my manner of life completely. But to do so it is absolutely essential to have a hundred thousand roubles. As I shall never get anything in the service, since I am not qualified for anything and have scarcely any education, there are, of course, only two resources left to me: to steal or to marry a rich wife. I came here almost without boots to my feet, I walked, I could not drive. My sister gave me her last three roubles when I set off from Moscow. Here I saw Tatyana Ivanovna, and at once the idea dawned upon me. I immediately resolved to sacrifice myself and marry her. You will agree that all that is nothing but good sense. Besides, I am doing it more for my sister’s sake... though, of course, for my own too.”

“But allow me to ask, do you mean to make a formal proposal to Tatyana Ivanovna?...”

“God forbid, they would kick me out at once; but if I suggest an elopement, a runaway match, she will marry me at once. That’s the whole point, that there should be something romantic and sensational about it. Of course it would all immediately end in legal matrimony. If only I can allure her away from here!”

“But why are you so sure that she will elope with you?”

“Oh, don’t trouble about that! I am perfectly sure of that. The whole plan rests on the idea that Tatyana Ivanovna is ready to carry on an intrigue with anyone she meets, with anyone, in fact, to whom it occurs to respond to her. That is why I first asked you to give me your -word of honour that you would not take advantage of the idea. You will understand, of course, that it would be positively wicked of me not to take advantage of such an opportunity, especially in my circumstances.”

“So then she is quite mad... Oh, I beg your pardon,” I added, catching myself up. “Since you now have intentions...”

“Please don’t mind speaking out, as I have asked you already. You ask, is she quite mad? What shall I tell you? Of course she is not mad, since she is not yet in a madhouse; besides, I really don’t see anything particularly mad in this mania for love affairs. She is a respectable girl in spite of everything. You see, till a year ago she was horribly poor, and from her birth up has lived in bondage to the ladies who befriended her. Her heart is exceptionally susceptible; no one has asked her in marriage... Well, you understand: dreams, desires, hopes, the fervour of feelings which she has always had to conceal, perpetual agonies at the hands of the ladies who befriended her—all that of course might well drive a sensitive character to derangement. And all at once she comes in for a fortune; you’ll allow that is enough to upset anyone. Well, now of course people make up to her and hang about her, and all her hopes have risen up. She told us this afternoon about a dandy in a white waistcoat; that’s a fact which happened literally as she described. From that fact you can judge of the rest. With sighs, notes, verses you can inveigle her at once; and if with all that you hint at a silken rope ladder, a Spanish serenade and all that nonsense, you can do what you like with her. I have put it to the test, and at once obtained a secret interview. But meanwhile I have put it off till the right moment. But I must carry her off within four days. The evening before I shall begin to make tender speeches, to sigh: I can sing and play the guitar pretty well. At night there will be a meeting in the arbour, and at dawn the coach will be in readiness; I shall entice her away, we shall get into the coach and drive off. You understand that there is no risk about it whatever; she is of age, and what’s more, completely her own mistress. And if once she ran away with me she would, of course, be bound to me. I should take her to a poor but respectable family, thirty miles away, who would look after her, and not let anyone come near her till the wedding; and meanwhile I shan’t lose time, we’ll get married within three days—it can be done. Of course, first of all, money is needed; but I have reckoned that I shall not need more than five hundred roubles for the whole business, and for that I rely on Yegor Ilyitch. He will give it, of course, without knowing what is up. Do you understand now?”

“I do,” I answered, taking it all in fully. “But tell me, in what way can I be of use to you?”

“Oh, in a great deal, I assure you, or I would not have asked you. I told you that I had in view a poor but very respectable family. You can help me both here and there, and as a witness. I must own that without your help I should be at a loss.”

“Another question, why have you done me the honour to select me to receive your confidence, though you know nothing of me, since I have only been here a few hours?”

“Your question,” Mizintchikov answered with the most polite smile, “your question, I frankly confess, gives me great satisfaction, because it affords me an opportunity of expressing my special regard for you.”

“Oh, you do me too much honour!”

“No; you see, I have been studying you a little this afternoon. Admitting you are both hasty and... and... well, young, I tell you what I am thoroughly certain of: when you have given me your word that you will tell no one you will certainly keep it. You are not Obnoskin—that’s the first point. Secondly, you are honest and will not take advantage of my idea—for yourself, of course, I mean—unless you would like to enter into a friendly compact with me. In that case I will perhaps agree to yield to you my idea—that is, Tatyana Ivanovna—and be ready to help you zealously in the elopement, only on condition of receiving from you a month after your marriage fifty thousand roubles, for which you would of course give me security beforehand in the shape of an I O U.”

“What!” I cried out. “So now you are offering her to me?”

“Naturally, I can give it up to you if on reflection you wish it. I should of course be a loser, but... the idea belongs to me, and you know one is paid for one’s ideas. Thirdly and lastly I asked you because I had no choice. And taking into consideration the position here, it was impossible to delay long; besides which it will soon be the fast of the Assumption, and they won’t celebrate weddings. I hope you fully understand me now?”

“Perfectly. And once more, I feel bound to keep your secret quite sacred; but I cannot be your accomplice in the business, and I think it my duty to tell you so at once.”

“Why so?”

“You ask, why so?” I cried, giving the rein to my pent-up feelings at last. “Why, surely you must understand that such an act is positively dishonourable. Supposing you were quite correct in your calculations, reckoning on the lady’s weakness of mind and unhappy mania, why it’s that very thing which ought to restrain you as an honourable man! You say yourself that she is worthy of respect in spite of being ridiculous, and you are taking advantage of her misfortune to rob her of a hundred thousand. You will not, of course, be a real husband to her, carrying out your obligations: you will certainly leave her... it’s so dishonourable that, excuse me, I can’t even understand how you could bring yourself to ask me to assist you.”

“Ough! my goodness! how romantic!” cried Mizintchikov, looking at me with unfeigned surprise. “Though, indeed, it’s not that it’s romantic, but simply I believe that you don’t understand the position. You say that it’s dishonourable, and yet all the advantages are not on my side, but hers... only consider...”

“Of course, if one looks at it from your point of view I dare say it will appear that you will be doing something most magnanimous in marrying Tatyana Ivanovna,” I answered, with a sarcastic smile.

“Well, what else? Just so, it is something most magnanimous,” cried Mizintchikov, growing hot in his turn. “Only consider: in the first place, I am sacrificing myself in consenting to be her husband. Is not that some sacrifice? In the second place, although she has certainly a hundred thousand in silver roubles I shall only take a hundred thousand in paper, and I have sworn that I won’t take another farthing from her all my life, though I could; that’s some sacrifice again. Lastly, look into it more deeply. Could she anyway lead a peaceful life? For her to live in peace one would have to take her money from her and put her in a madhouse, for one may expect any minute that some worthless fellow, some scheming rogue, some adventurer, will turn up with a moustache and an imperial, with a guitar and serenades, someone in the style of Obnoskin, who will inveigle her, marry her and strip her completely, and then turn her out into the gutter. This, for instance, is a most respectable household, and yet they are only keeping her here because they are speculating on her fortune. From such risks she must be saved, rescued. Well, you see, as soon as she marries me such risks are over, it will be my duty to see that no trouble comes near her. In the first place, I shall settle her at once in Moscow, in a poor but honourable family—not the one I have spoken of to you, but another; my sister will be constantly with her; they will look after her and pay her every attention. She will have two hundred and fifty thousand, possibly three hundred, in paper left, one can do well on that, you know! Every pleasure will be provided for her, all sorts of entertainment, balls, masquerades and concerts. She may even dream of love affairs, only of course I shall look after that. She may dream as much as she likes, but not so in reality! Now, for instance, anyone can ill-treat her, but no one will be able to then; she will be my wife, she will be a Mizintchikov, and I won’t allow my name to be insulted! That alone is worth something, isn’t it? Naturally I am not going to live with her. She will live in Moscow, and I shall live somewhere in Petersburg. I admit that, because I am doing things straightforwardly with you. But what if we do live apart? Look at her character and just consider, is she fit to be a wife and live with a husband? Is it possible to go on living with her continually? Why, she is the most light-headed creature in the world. She must have incessant change; she is capable next day of forgetting that she was married yesterday and made a lawful wife. Why, I should make her wretched in the end if I were to live with her and insist on her strictly performing her wifely duties. Naturally I shall go and see her once a year or oftener, and not to get money, I assure you. I have told you that I am not going to take more than a hundred thousand in paper from her, and I shan’t either! On the money side I shall treat her in the most honourable way. If I come to see her for two or three days, my visit will actually be a pleasure to her and not a bore; I shall laugh with her, tell her stories, take her to a ball, make love to her, give her little souvenirs, sing songs to her, make her a present of a lapdog, have a romantic parting from her, and keep up an exchange of love letters. Why, she will be in ecstasies over such a romantic, devoted, and amusing husband. To my thinking, that is the rational way to proceed; that’s how all husbands ought to behave. Husbands are only precious to their wives when they are absent, and following my system, I shall engage Tatyana Ivanovna’s heart in the most honied way for the whole of her life. What more can she want? tell me that. Why, it is paradise, not life!”

I listened in silence and with wonder; I realised that it was impossible to turn Mr. Mizintchikov from his plan. He was fanatically persuaded of the rectitude and even the greatness of his project, and spoke of it with the enthusiasm of an inventor. But there was still one rather delicate question which it was essential to clear up.

“Have you reflected,” I said, “that she is almost betrothed to my uncle? It will be a great insult to him if you elope with her; you will be carrying her off almost on the eve of her wedding, and what’s more, will borrow from him to carry out your exploit.”

“That is just where I have you!” Mizintchikov cried out with heat. “You needn’t trouble, I foresaw your objection. But first and foremost, your uncle has not yet made her an offer, consequently there is no need for me to know that they are intending her for a match for him; moreover, I beg you to note that I thought of this enterprise three weeks ago, when I knew nothing of their intentions, so I am perfectly justified from the moral point of view as regards them. And in fact, strictly speaking, it is rather he who is carrying off my betrothed than I his, whom, take note, I have already met in secret at night in the arbour. And lastly, allow me to ask, were not you yourself in a perfect frenzy at your uncle’s being forced to marry Tatyana Ivanovna? And now you are all at once standing up for the marriage, and talking of honour, of some insult to the family! Why, on the contrary, I am doing your uncle the greatest service, I am saving him—you ought to understand that. He looks on the match with aversion, and what’s more, is in love with another young lady! Why, what sort of wife would Tatyana Ivanovna be to him? And she would be wretched with him too, because, say what you like, she would then have to be restrained from throwing roses at young men. And you know if I elope with her in the night, then no Madame la Générale, no Foma Fomitch, will be able to do anything. To bring back a bride who has run away from the wedding would be too discreditable. Isn’t that a service, isn’t it a benefit to Yegor Ilyitch?”

I must own this last argument had a great effect on me.

“But what if he makes her an offer tomorrow?” I said. “You see, it would be rather too late then; she will be formally betrothed to him.”

“To be sure it will be, but that is just why we must work to prevent it. What am I asking you to help me for? It’s hard for me alone, but the two of us together can arrange things and prevent Yegor Ilyitch from making a proposal. We must do everything we can to prevent it, even if it comes to thrashing Foma Fomitch and so distracting the general attention from all thoughts of the match. Of course that is only in the last extremity, I only give that for the sake of example. This is what I am relying on you for.”

“One more last question: have you told no one but me of your scheme?”

Mizintchikov scratched the back of his head and made a very wry face.

“I must confess that question is worse than the bitterest pill for me. That’s just the trouble, that I have given away the idea... in fact, I have been the most awful fool! And to whom, do you suppose? To Obnoskin! I can scarcely believe it myself. I don’t know how it happened! He is always about the place, I did not know him so well, and when this inspiration dawned upon me I was, of course, greatly excited; and as I realised even then that I should need someone to help me, I appealed to Obnoskin... it was unpardonable, unpardonable!”

“Well, and what did Obnoskin say?”

“He agreed with enthusiasm, but next day early in the morning he disappeared. Three days later he turned up again with his mamma. He doesn’t say a word to me, and in fact avoids me as though he were afraid of me. I saw at once what was up. And his mother is a regular shark, she’s been in tight places before now. I used to know her in the past. Of course he has told her all about it. I am waiting and keeping quiet; they are spying on me, and things are in rather a strained position... that’s why I am in a hurry.”

“What is it exactly you fear from them?”

“They can’t do a great deal, of course, but that they will do something nasty—that is certain. They will insist on having money for keeping quiet and helping, that I expect. , . . Only I can’t give them a great deal, and I am not going to. I have made up my mind about that. I can’t give more than three thousand paper roubles. Judge for yourself: three thousand to them, five hundred in silver for the wedding, for I must pay your uncle back in full; then my old debts; then at least something for my sister, something at least. There won’t be much left out of a hundred thousand, will there? Why, it will be ruin!... The Obnoskins have gone away, though.”

“Gone away?” I asked with curiosity.

“Just after tea, damn them! but they will turn up again tomorrow, you will see. Well, how is it to be, then? Do you agree?”

“I must own,” I answered, shrugging, “I really don’t know what to say. It’s a delicate matter.... Of course I will keep it all secret, I am not Obnoskin; but... I think it’s no use your building hopes on me.”

“I see,” said Mizintchikov, getting up from his chair, “that you are not yet sick of Foma Fomitch and your grandmother; and though you do care for your kind and generous uncle, you have not yet sufficiently realised how he is being tormented. You are new to the place... But patience! You will be here tomorrow, look about you, and by evening you’ll consent. Your uncle is lost if you don’t, do you understand? They will certainly force him to marry her. Don’t forget that tomorrow he may perhaps make her an offer. It will be too late, we must settle things to-day.”

“Really, I wish you every success, but as for helping you... I don’t know in what way.”

“We know! But let us wait till tomorrow,” said Mizintchikov, smiling ironically. “La nuit porte conseil. Good-bye for the present. I will come to you early in the morning, and you think things over....”

He turned and went out whistling.

I almost followed him out, to get a breath of fresh air. The moon had not yet risen; it was a dark night, warm and stifling. The leaves on the trees did not stir. In spite of being terribly tired I wanted to walk to distract my mind, collect my thoughts; but I had not gone above ten paces when I suddenly heard my uncle’s voice. He was mounting the steps of the lodge in company with someone, and speaking with great animation. I turned back and called to him. My uncle was with Vidoplyasov.

Chapter 11 — The Extreme of Perplexity

“Uncle,” I said, “at last I have got you.”

“My dear boy, I was rushing to you myself. Here, I will just finish with Vidoplyasov, and then we can talk to our hearts’ content. I have a great deal to tell you.”

“What, Vidoplyasov now! Oh, get rid of him, uncle.”

“Only another five or ten minutes, Sergey, and I shall be entirely at your disposal. You see, it’s important.”

“Oh, no doubt, it is his foolishness,” I said, with vexation.

“What can I say to you, my dear? The man has certainly found a time to worry me with his nonsense! Yes, my good Grigory, couldn’t you find some other time for your complaints? Why, what can I do for you? You might have compassion even on me, my good boy. Why, I am, so to say, worn out by you all, devoured alive, body and soul! They are too much for me, Sergey!” And my uncle made a gesture of the profoundest misery with both hands.

“But what business can be so important that you can’t leave it? And, uncle, I do so want...”

“Oh, my dear boy, as it is they keep crying out that I take no trouble over my servants’ morals! Very likely he will complain of me tomorrow that I wouldn’t listen to him, and then...” and my uncle waved his hand in despair again.

“Well, then, make haste and finish with him! Perhaps I can help you; let us go up the steps. What is it? What does he want?” I said as we went into the room.

“Well, you see, my dear, he doesn’t like his own surname, and asks leave to change it. What do you think of that?”

“His surname! What do you mean?... Well, uncle, before I hear what he has to say himself, allow me to remark that it is only in your household such queer things can happen,” I said, flinging up my hands in amazement.

“Oh, my dear boy, I might fling up my hands like you, but that’s no good,” my uncle said with vexation. “Come, talk to him yourself, you have a try. He has been worrying me for two months past....”

“It’s not a respectable surname,” Vidoplyasov observed.

“But why is it not respectable?” I asked him in surprise.

“Oh, because it suggests all sorts of abomination.”

“But why abomination? And how can you change it? Does anyone change his surname?”

“Well, really, sir, do other people have such surnames?”

“I agree that your surname is a somewhat strange one,” I went on, in complete bewilderment; “but there is no help for it now, you know. Your father had the same surname, I suppose, didn’t he?”

“That is precisely so that through my parent I have in that way had to suffer all my life, inasmuch as I am destined by my name to accept many jeers and to endure many sorrows,” answered Vidoplyasov.

“I bet, uncle, that Foma Fomitch has a hand in this!” I cried with vexation.

“Oh, no, my boy; oh, no, you are mistaken. Foma certainly has befriended him. He has taken him to be his secretary, that’s the whole of his duty. Well, of course he has developed him, has filled him with noble sentiments, so that he is even in some ways cultivated... You see, I will tell you all about it....”

“That is true,” Vidoplyasov interrupted, “that Foma Fomitch is my true benefactor, and being a true benefactor to me, he has brought me to understand my insignificance, what a worm I am upon the earth, so that through his honour I have for the first time learned to comprehend my destiny.”

“There you see, Seryozha, there you see what it all means,” my uncle went on, growing flustered as he always did. “He lived at first in Moscow, almost from childhood, in the service of a teacher of calligraphy. You should see how he has learned to write from him, and he illuminates in colours and gold with cupids round, you know—in fact he is an artist, you know Ilyusha has lessons from him; I pay him a rouble and a half a lesson. Foma himself fixed on a rouble and a half. He goes to three gentlemen’s houses in the neighbourhood; they pay him too. You see how he is dressed! What’s more, he writes poetry.”

“Poetry! That’s the last straw!”

“Poetry, my dear boy, poetry. And don’t imagine I am joking; real poetry, so to say, versifications, and so well composed, you know, on all sorts of subjects. He’ll describe any subject you like in a poem. It’s a real talent! On mamma’s nameday he concocted such a harangue that we listened with our mouths open; there was something from mythology in it, and the Muses flying about, so that indeed, you know, one could see the... what do you call it?... polish of form— in fact it was perfectly in rhyme. Foma corrected it. Well, I have nothing against that, and indeed I am quite pleased. Let him compose, as long as he doesn’t get into mischief. You see, Grigory, my boy, I speak to you like a father. Foma heard of it, looked at his poetry, encouraged him, and chose him as his reader and copyist—in fact he has educated him. It is true, as he says, that Foma has been a benefactor to him. Well, and so, you know, he has begun to have gentlemanly and romantic sentiments, and a feeling of independence—Foma explained it all to me, but I have really forgotten; only I must own that I wanted, apart from Foma, to give him his freedom. I feel somehow ashamed, you know!... but Foma opposes that and says that he finds him useful, that he likes him; and what’s more he says: ‘It’s a great honour to me, as his master, to have poets among my own servants; that that’s how some barons somewhere used to live, and that it is living en grand.’ Well, en grand so be it, then! I have begun to respect him, my boy—you understand... Only goodness knows how he is behaving! The worst of it is that since he has taken to poetry he has become so stuck-up with the rest of the servants that he won’t speak to them. Don’t you take offence, Grigory, I am speaking to you like a father. Last winter, he promised to marry a serf girl here, Matryona, and a very nice girl she is, honest, hard-working and merry. But now it is ‘No, I won’t’. That’s all about it, he has given her up. Whether it is that he has grown conceited, or has planned first to make a name and then to seek a match in some other place.”

“More through the advice of Foma Fomitch,” observed Vidoplyasov, “seeing that his honour is my true well-wisher.”

“Oh, of course Foma Fomitch has a hand in everything,” I could not help exclaiming.

“Ough, my dear boy, that’s not it!” my uncle interrupted me hurriedly. “Only, you see, now he has no peace. She’s a bold, quarrelsome girl, she has set them all against him, they mimic him, bait him, even the serf boys look upon him as a buffoon....”

“It’s chiefly owing to Matryona,” observed Vidoplyasov; “for Matryona’s a real fool, and being a real fool, she’s a woman of unbridled character. Through her I have come in this manner to endure such prolonged sufferings.”

“Ough, Grigory, my boy, I have talked to you already,” my uncle went on, looking reproachfully at Vidoplyasov. “You see, Sergey, they have made up some horrid rhyme on his surname. He comes to me and complains, asks whether he cannot somehow change his surname, says that he has long been upset at its ugly sound....”

“It’s an undignified name,” Vidoplyasov put in.

“Come, you be quiet, Grigory! Foma approved of it too... that is, he did not approve exactly, but, you see, this was his idea: that in case he were to publish his poems—and Foma has a project of his doing so—such a surname perhaps might be a drawback, mightn’t it?”

“So he wants to publish his verses, uncle?”

“Yes, my boy. It’s settled already—at my expense, and on the title-page will be put, ‘the serf of so-and-so’, and in the preface, the author’s thanks to Foma for his education. It’s dedicated to Foma. Foma is writing the preface himself. Well, so just fancy if on the title-page there stands, ‘The Poems of Vidoplyasov’.”

“The Plaints of Vidoplyasov,” Vidoplyasov corrected.

“There, you see, plaints too! Well, Vidoplyasov is no use for a surname, it positively revolts the delicacy of one’s feelings, so Foma says. And all these critics, they say, are such fellows for picking holes and jeering; Brambeus, for instance... They don’t stick at anything, you know! They will make a laughing-stock of him for his surname alone; they’ll tickle your sides for you till you can do nothing but scratch them, won’t they? What I say is, put any surname you like on your poems—a pseudonym it’s called, isn’t it? I don’t remember; some word ending in nym. ’But no,’ he says; ‘give the order to the whole servants’ hall to call me by a new name hereafter, for ever, so that I may have a genteel surname to suit my talent.’”

“I bet that you consented, uncle...”

“I did, Seryozha, my boy, to avoid quarrelling with them; let them do as they like. You see, at that time there was a misunderstanding between Foma and me. So since then it has come to a new surname every week, and he keeps choosing such dainty ones as Oleandrov, Tulipov... Only think, Grigory, at first you asked to be called ‘Vyerny’ (i.e. true, faithful)—’Grigory Vyerny’; afterwards you didn’t like the name yourself because some simpleton found a rhyme to it, ’skverny’ (i.e. nasty, horrid). You complained, and the fellow was punished. You were a fortnight thinking of a new name— what a selection you had!—at last you made up your mind and came to be asked to be called ‘Ulanov’. Come, tell me, my boy, could anything be sillier than ‘Ulanov’? I agreed to that too, and gave instructions a second time about changing your surname to Ulanov. It was simply to get rid of him,” added my uncle, turning to me. “You spoilt all the walls, all the window-sills in the arbour scribbling ‘Ulanov’ in pencil, they have had to paint it since. You wasted a whole quire of good paper on signing your name ‘Ulanov’. At last that was a failure too, they found a rhyme for you: ‘Bolvanov’ (i.e. fool, blockhead). He didn’t want to be a blockhead, so the name must be changed again! What did you choose next? I have forgotten.”

“Tantsev,” answered Vidoplyasov. “If I am destined through my surname to be connected with dancing, it would be more dignified in the foreign form: ‘Tantsev’.”

“Oh, yes, ’Tantsev’. I agreed to that too, Sergey. Only they found a rhyme to that which I don’t like to repeat. To-day he comes forward again, he has thought of something new. I bet he has got some new surname. Have you, Grigory? Confess!”

“I have truly been meaning for a long time to lay at your feet a new name, a genteel one.”

“What is it?”

“Essbouquetov.”

“Aren’t you ashamed, really ashamed, Grigory? A surname off a pomatum pot! And you call yourself a clever man. How many days he must have been thinking about it! Why, that’s what is written on scent-bottles.”

“Upon my word, uncle,” I said in a half-whisper, “why, he is simply a fool, a perfect fool.”

“It can’t be helped,” my uncle answered, also in a whisper. “They declare all round that he is clever, and that all this is due to the working of noble qualities....”

“But for goodness’ sake, get rid of him!”

“Listen, Grigory! I have really no time, my boy,” my uncle began in something of an imploring tone, as though he were afraid even of Vidoplyasov. “Come, judge for yourself, how can I attend to your complaints now? You say that they have insulted you in some way again. Come, I give you my word that tomorrow I will go into it all; and now go, and God be with you... Stay! What is Foma Fomitch doing?”

“He has lain down to rest. He told me that if I was asked about him, I was to say that he is at prayer, that he intends to be praying a long time to-night.”

“H’m! Well, you can go, you can go, my boy! You see. Seryozha, he is always with Foma, so that I am actually afraid of him. And that’s why the servants don’t like him, because he is always telling tales to Foma. Now he has gone away, and very likely tomorrow he will have spun some fine yarn about something! I’ve made it all right, my boy, and feel at peace now.... I was in haste to get to you. Now at last I am with you again,” he brought out with feeling, pressing my hand. “And you know I thought, my dear, that you were desperately angry with me, and would be sure to slip off. I sent them to keep an eye on you. But now, thank God! And this afternoon, Gavrila, what a to-do! and Falaley, and you, and one thing after another! Well, thank God! thank God! At last we can talk to our hearts’ content. I will open my heart to you. You mustn’t go away, Seryozha; you are all I have, you and Korovkin....”

“But excuse me, uncle, how have you put things right, and what have I to expect here after what has happened? I must own my head’s going round.”

“And do you suppose that mine isn’t? It has been waltzing round for the last six months, my head has, my boy! But, thank God, everything is settled now. In the first place, they have forgiven me, completely forgiven me, on certain conditions of course; but now I am scarcely afraid of anything. Sashenka has been forgiven too. Ah, Sasha, Sasha, this afternoon... a passionate little heart! She went a little too far, but she has a heart of gold! I am proud of that girl, Seryozha. May the blessing of God be with her for ever. You too have been forgiven, and even—do you know—you can do just what you like; you can go all over the house and into the garden, and even among the guests. In fact, you can do just as you like; but only on one condition, that you will say nothing tomorrow in the presence of mamma or Foma—that’s an absolute condition, that is literally not half a word, I have promised for you already—but will only listen to what your elders... that is, I mean, what others may say. They say that you are young. Don’t you be offended, Seryozha; you know you really are young... That’s what Anna Nilovna says....”

Of course I was very young, and showed it at once by boiling over with indignation at such insulting conditions.

“Listen, uncle,” I cried, almost breathless. “Tell me one thing and set my mind at rest: am I really in a madhouse or not?”

“There you are, my boy, criticising at once! You can’t be patient,” my uncle answered, in distress. “It’s not a madhouse at all, it’s nothing but over-hastiness on both sides. But you must consider, my boy, how you have behaved yourself. You remember what a sousing you gave him—a man, so to say, of venerable years?”

“Such men have no venerable years, uncle.”

“Oh, there, my boy, you go too far! That’s really free- thinking. I have nothing against rational free-thinking myself, my boy, but really that is beyond the mark; you really surprise me, Sergey.”

“Don’t be angry, uncle. I beg pardon, but I only beg your pardon. As for your Foma Fomitch...”

“There, now, it is your! Oh, Sergey, my boy, don’t judge him too harshly; he is a misanthropical man and nothing more, morbid! You mustn’t judge him too severely. But he is a high- minded man; in fact, he is simply the most high-minded of men! Why, you saw it yourself just now; he was simply glorious. And as for the tricks he plays sometimes, it is no use noticing it. Why, it happens to everyone.”

“On the contrary, uncle, it happens to nobody.”

“Ough, he keeps on at the same thing! There is not much good nature in you, Seryozha; you don’t know how to forgive...”

“Oh, all right, uncle, all right! Let us leave that. Tell me, have you seen Nastasya Yevgrafovna?”

“Oh, my dear, the whole bother has been about her. I tell you what, Seryozha, and first, what is most important: we’ve all decided to congratulate him tomorrow on his birthday— Foma, I mean—for tomorrow really is his birthday. Sashenka is a good girl, but she is mistaken; so we will go, the whole tribe of us, rather early, before mass. Ilyusha will recite some verses to him which will be like oil on his heart—in fact, it will flatter him. Oh, if only you, Seryozha, would congratulate him with us! He would perhaps forgive you altogether. How splendid it would be if you were reconciled! Forget your wrongs, Seryozha; you insulted him too, you know... he is a most worthy man...”

“Uncle! uncle!” I cried, losing all patience, “I want to talk of what is important, and you... Do you know, I say again, what is happening to Nastasya Yevgrafovna?”

“Why, what is the matter, my boy? Why are you shouting? All the trouble has arisen over her, though indeed it arose some time ago. I did not want to tell you about it before, so as not to frighten you, for they wanted simply to turn her out, and they insisted on my sending her away too. You can imagine my position... Oh, well, thank God, all that is set right now. They thought, you see—I will confess it all to you—that I was in love with her myself, and wanted to marry her; that I was, in short, rushing to ruin, and that really would be rushing to my ruin, they have explained it so to me. And so, to save me, they meant to turn her out. It was mamma’s doing, and most of all Anna Nilovna’s. Foma says nothing so far. But now I have convinced them all that they are wrong; and I must confess I have told them already that you are making Nastenka a formal proposal and that is what you have come for. Well, that has pacified them to some extent, and now she will remain, though not altogether; that is, so far only on probation. Still, she will remain. And indeed you have risen in general esteem since I told her you were courting her. Anyway, mamma seems pacified. Only Anna Nilovna goes on grumbling! I really don’t know what to think of to satisfy her. And what is it she really wants, Anna Nilovna?”

“Uncle, you are greatly in error! Why, do you know that Nastasya Yevgrafovna is going away tomorrow if she has not gone away already? Do you know that her father came to-day on purpose to take her away? That it’s all a settled thing, that she told me of it to-day herself, and in conclusion asked me to give you her greetings? Do you know that or not?”

My uncle stood blankly facing me with his mouth open. I fancied that he shuddered, and a moan broke from his lips.

Without loss of time I hastened to describe to him all my conversation with Nastenka; my attempt to pay her my addresses, her resolute refusal, her anger with my uncle for having summoned me. I explained that she was hoping by her departure to save him from marrying Tatyana Ivanovna. In fact I concealed nothing from him; indeed I purposely exaggerated everything that was unpleasant in my story. I wanted to impress my uncle so as to wring some resolute step out of him, and I really did impress him. He cried out and clutched at his head.

“Where is she, don’t you know? Where is she now?” he brought out at last, turning pale with alarm. “And I, like a fool came here quite easy in my mind, I thought everything had been set right,” he added in despair.

“I don’t know where she is now; only when the uproar was beginning she went to you: she meant to proclaim all this aloud, before them all. Most likely they would not let her go in.”

“No, indeed! What might she not have done! Ah, the hot-headed proud little thing! And what is she going to? What is she going to? And you, you are a pretty fellow. Why, what did she refuse you for? It’s nonsense! You ought to have made her like you. Why doesn’t she like you? For God’s sake, answer, why are you standing there?”

“Have mercy on me, uncle! How can you ask such questions?”

“But you know this is impossible! You must marry her, you must. What did I bring you from Petersburg for? You must make her happy! Now they will drive her away, but when she is your wife, my own niece, they won’t drive her away. If not, what has she to go to? What will become of her? To be a governess. Why, that is simply senseless nonsense, being a governess. While she is looking for a place, what is she going to live upon at home? Her old father has got nine to keep; they go hungry themselves. She won’t take a farthing from me, you know, if she goes away through this disgusting gossip; she won’t, nor will her father. And to go away like this—it is awful! It will cause a scandal—I know. And her salary has been paid for a long time in advance for necessities at home; you know she is their breadwinner. Why, supposing I do recommend her as a governess, and find an honest and honourable family... But where the devil is one to find them, honourable, really honourable people? Well, granting that there are many—indeed it’s a blasphemy to doubt it, but, my dear boy, you see it’s risky—can one rely on people? Besides, anyone poor is suspicious, and apt to fancy he is being forced to pay for food and kindness with humiliation! They will insult her; she is proud, and then... and what then? And what if some scoundrelly seducer turns up? She would spurn him, I know she would, but yet he would insult her, the scoundrel! And some discredit, some slur, some suspicion may be cast upon her all the same, and then... My head is going round! Ah, my God!”

“Uncle, forgive me for one question,” I said solemnly. “Don’t be angry with me; understand that your answer to this question may decide much. Indeed, I have a right in a way to demand an answer from you, uncle!”

“What, what it is? What question?”

“Tell me as in God’s presence, openly and directly; don’t you feel that you are a little in love with Nastasya Yevgrafovna yourself and would like to marry her? Just think; that is why she is being turned away from here.”

My uncle made a vigorous gesture of the most violent impatience.

“I? In love? With her? Why, they have all gone off their heads, or are in a conspiracy against me. And why did I. write to you to come if not to prove to them that they were all off their heads? Why am I making a match for her with you? I? In love? With her? They are all crazy, that’s all about it!”

“But if it is so, uncle, do allow me to speak freely. I declare to you solemnly that I see absolutely nothing against the suggestion. On the contrary, you would make her happy, if only you love her and—and—God grant it may be so. And God give you love and good counsel!”

“But upon my word, what are you talking about?” cried my uncle, almost with horror. “I wonder how you can say such a thing coolly... and... you are altogether, my boy, in too great a hurry, I notice that characteristic in you! Why, aren’t you talking nonsense? How, pray, am I to marry her when I look upon her as a daughter and nothing else? It would be shameful for me, indeed, to look upon her in any other light; it would be a sin in fact! I am an old man, while she is a flower! Indeed, Foma made that clear to me in those very words. My heart glows with a father’s love for her, and here you talk of marriage! Maybe out of gratitude she would not refuse me, but you know she would despise me afterwards for taking advantage of her gratitude. I should spoil her life, I should lose her affection! And I would give my soul for her, she is my beloved child! I love her just as I do Sasha, even more, I must own. Sasha is my daughter by right, by law’, but this one I have made my daughter by love. I took her out of poverty, I have brought her up. Katya, my lost angel, loved her; she left her to me as a daughter. I have given her a good education: she speaks French and plays the piano, she has read books and everything... Such a sweet smile she has! Have you noticed it, Seryozha? As though she were laughing at one, but yet she is not laughing, but on the contrary, loving one...You see I thought that you would come and make her an offer; they would be convinced that I had no intentions in regard to her, and would give over spreading these disgusting stories. She would remain with us then in peace, in comfort, and how happy we should be! You are both my children, both, almost orphans, you have both grown up under my guardianship... I should have loved you so! I would have devoted my life to you; I would not part from you; I would follow you anywhere! Oh, how happy we might have been! And why are these people always so cross, always so angry, why do they hate each other? If only I could explain it all to them! If only I could make them see the whole truth! Ah, my God!”

“Yes, uncle, yes, that is all so; but, you see, she has refused me.”

“Refused you! Hm.... Do you know, I had a sort of presentiment that she would refuse you,” he said, musing. “But no!” he cried. “I don’t believe it. It’s impossible. In that case, all our plans are upset! But you must have begun injudiciously somehow, even offended her perhaps. Perhaps you tried your hand at paying compliments... Tell me how it was again, Sergey.”

I repeated the whole story in full detail again. When I came to Nastenka’s hoping by her departure to save my uncle from Tatyana Ivanovna, he gave a bitter smile.

“Save me!” he said. “Save me till tomorrow morning....”

“But you don’t mean to say that you are going to marry Tatyana Ivanovna!” I cried in alarm.

“How else could I have paid for Nastasya’s not being sent away tomorrow? Tomorrow I make the offer—the formal proposal.”

“And you have made up your mind to it, uncle?”

“What could I do, my boy, what could I do? It rends my heart, but I have made up my mind to it. The proposal will be tomorrow; they suggest that the wedding should be a quiet one, at home; it would certainly be better at home. You will perhaps be best man. I have already dropped a hint about you, so they won’t drive you away before then. There is no help for it, my boy. They say, ‘It’s a fortune for your children!’ Of course one would do anything for one’s children. One would turn head over heels, especially as really, perhaps, what they say is right. You know, I really ought to do something for my family. One can’t sit an idle drone for ever!”

“But, uncle, she is mad, you know!” I cried, forgetting myself, and there was a sickly pang at my heart.

“Oh, mad, is she now? She is not mad at all; it’s only, you know, that she has had trouble... There is no help for it, my boy. Of course I should have been glad of one with sense... Though, after all, some who have sense are no better! If only you knew what a kind-hearted creature she is, noble- hearted!”

“But, my God! he is resigning himself to the thought of it already,” I said in despair.

“And what else is there to do? You know they are doing their utmost for my benefit, and, indeed, I felt beforehand that sooner or later they would force me to marry, that there is no getting out of it. So better now than make more quarrelling about it. I am telling you everything quite openly, Seryozha. In a way I am actually glad. I have made up my mind, somehow. Why, I came here with my mind almost at ease. It seems, it’s my fate. And the great thing to make up for it was that Nastenka would stay on. You know I agreed on that condition. And now she wants to run away of herself! But that shall not be!” my uncle cried, stamping. “Listen, Sergey,” he added with a determined air; “wait for me here, don’t go away. I will come back to you in an instant.”

“Where are you off to, uncle?”

“Perhaps I shall see her, Sergey; it will all be cleared up, believe me that it will all be cleared up, and... and... you shall marry her, I give you my word of honour!”

My uncle went quickly out of the room, and turned not towards the house, but into the garden. I watched him from the window.

Chapter 12 — The Catastrophe

I was left alone. My position was insufferable; I had been rejected, and my uncle meant to marry me almost by force. I was perplexed and lost in a tangle of ideas. Mizintchikov and his proposition was not absent from my mind for an instant. At all costs uncle must be saved! I even thought of going to look for Mizintchikov and telling him all about it. But where had my uncle gone, though? He had said himself that he was going to look for Nastenka, but had turned in the direction of the garden. The thought of secret meetings flashed through my mind, and a very unpleasant feeling clutched at my heart. I remembered what Mizintchikov had said of a secret liaison. After a moment’s thought I rejected my suspicions with indignation. My uncle was incapable of deceit: that was obvious. My uneasiness grew greater every moment. Unconsciously I went out on to the steps, and walked into the garden down the very avenue into which my uncle had disappeared. The moon was beginning to rise. I knew that garden through and through, and was not afraid of losing myself. As I drew near the old arbour which stood in solitude on the bank of the neglected scum-covered pond, I suddenly stood rooted to the spot; I heard voices in the arbour. I cannot describe the strange feeling of annoyance that took possession of me. I felt convinced that my uncle and Nastenka were there, and went on going nearer, appeasing my conscience by thinking that I was walking at the same pace as before and not trying to approach stealthily. Suddenly there was the distinct sound of a kiss, then stifled exclamations, and immediately afterwards a shrill feminine shriek. At that instant a woman in a white dress ran out of the arbour and flashed by me like a swallow. It even seemed to me that she hid her face in her hands that she might not be recognised: probably I had been noticed from the arbour. But what was my amazement when in the swain who emerged after the flying lady I recognised— Obnoskin, Obnoskin, who, according to Mizintchikov’s words, had gone away some hours before. Obnoskin on his side was greatly confused when he saw me; all his impudence vanished instantly.

“Excuse me, but... I did not in the least expect to meet you,” he brought out, smiling and hesitating.

“Nor I you,” I answered ironically, “especially as I heard you had already gone away.”

“No.... It was just... I went a little on the way with my mother. But may I appeal to you as an absolutely honourable man?”

“What about?”

“There are cases—and you will agree yourself that it is so—when a truly honourable man is forced to appeal to the highest sense of honour of another truly honourable man.... I hope you understand me....”

“Do not hope, I understand absolutely nothing...

“You saw the lady who was here with me in the arbour?”

“I saw her, but I did not recognise her.”

“Ah, you did not recognise her... That lady I shall shortly call my wife.”

“I congratulate you. But in what way can I be of use to you?”

“Only in one way, by keeping it a dead secret that you have seen me with that lady.”

“Who can she be?” I wondered. “Surely not...”

“I really don’t know,” I answered Obnoskin. “I hope that you will excuse me for not being able to promise.”

“Yes, please, for God’s sake,” Obnoskin besought me. “Understand my position, it’s a secret. You may be betrothed too: then I...”

“Sh! someone is coming!”

“Where?”

We did indeed catch a glimpse thirty paces away of the shadow of someone passing.

“It... it must be Foma Fomitch!” Obnoskin whispered, trembling all over. “I know him from his walk. My God! And steps again from the other direction! Do you hear?... Good-bye! I thank you... and I entreat you...”

Obnoskin vanished. A minute later, as though he had sprung out of the earth, my uncle was before me.

“Is it you?” he greeted me. “It is all over, Seryozha, it is all over!”

I noticed, too, that he was trembling from head to foot.

“What is all over, uncle?”

“Come along!” he said, gasping for breath, and clutching my hand tightly he drew me after him. He did not utter a word all the way to the lodge, nor did he let me speak. I was expecting something monstrous, and my expectations were almost realised.

When we went indoors he was overcome with giddiness, he was deathly pale. I promptly sprinkled him with water. “Something very awful must have happened,” I thought, “for a man like this to faint.”

“Uncle, what is the matter with you?” I asked him at last.

“All is over, Seryozha! Foma found me in the garden with Nastenka, at the very moment when I was kissing her.”

“Kissing her! In the garden!” I cried, looking at my uncle in amazement.

“In the garden, my boy. The Lord confounded me! I went there to be sure of seeing her. I wanted to speak openly to her, to make her see reason—about you, I mean. And she had been waiting for me a whole hour, on the broken seat, beyond the pond... She often goes there when she wants to speak to me.”

“Often, uncle?”

“Yes, often, my boy! Of late we have been meeting almost every night. Only they must have watched us—in fact, I know that they watched us and that it was Anna Nilovna’s doing. We gave it up for a time. The last four days we have not met; but to-day it was necessary again. You saw yourself how necessary it was; how else could I have said anything to her? I went in the hope of finding her, and she had been sitting there a whole hour, waiting for me: she, too, wanted to tell me something...”

“Good heavens, how incautious! Why, you knew that you were being watched!”

“But, you see, it was a critical matter, Seryozha; there was a great deal we had to discuss together. I don’t dare to look at her in the daytime. She looks in one comer and I look in another, as though she did not exist. But towards night we meet and have a talk...”

“Well, what happened, uncle?”

“Before I could utter a couple of words, you know, my heart began throbbing and the tears gushed from my eyes. I began trying to persuade her to marry you, and she answered me: ‘You certainly don’t love me—you must be blind.’ And all of a sudden she flings herself on my neck, throws her arms round me, and begins crying and sobbing! ‘I love no one but you,’ she said, ‘and won’t marry anyone. I have loved you for ever so long, but I will never marry you. And tomorrow I am going away and going into a nunnery.’”

“My goodness! Did she really say that? Well, what then, uncle, what then?”

“I looked up and there was Foma facing us! And where had he sprung from? Could he have been sitting behind a bush, and waiting for some such lapse?”

“The scoundrel!”

“I was petrified, Nastenka ran away, while Foma Fomitch passed by without a word and held up his finger at me. Sergey, do you understand what a hubbub there will be tomorrow?”

“I should think I do!”

“Do you understand?” he cried in despair, leaping up from his seat. “Do you understand that they will try to ruin her, to disgrace her, to dishonour her; they are looking for a pretext to accuse her of something disgraceful, and now the pretext is found. You know they will say that she is carrying on an abominable intrigue with me! You know, the scoundrels made out that she had an intrigue with Vidoplyasov! It’s all Anna Nilovna’s tales. What will happen now? What will happen tomorrow? Will Foma really tell them?”

“He’ll certainly tell them, uncle.”

“If he does, if he really does tell...” he brought out, biting his lips and clenching his fists. “But no, I don’t believe it! He won’t tell, he will understand... he is a man of the loftiest character! He will spare her....”

“Whether he spares her or whether he doesn’t,” I answered resolutely, “it is your duty in any case to make Nastasya Yevgrafovna an offer tomorrow.”

My uncle looked fixedly at me.

“Do you understand, uncle, that you have ruined the girl’s reputation if this story gets about? Do you understand that you ought to prevent that calamity as quickly as possible; that you ought to look them all in the face boldly and proudly, ought to offer her your hand publicly, to spurn their arguments and pound Foma to a jelly if he hints a word against her?”

“My dear boy,” cried my uncle, “I thought of that as I came along here!”

“And did you make up your mind?”

“Yes, and finally! I had made up my mind before I began speaking to you.”

“Bravo, uncle!”

And I rushed to embrace him.

We talked for a long time. I put before him all the arguments, all the absolute necessity for marrying Nastenka, which, indeed, he understood far better than I did. But my eloquence was aroused. I was delighted on my uncle’s account. He was impelled by a sense of duty or he would never have taken a stand. He had the deepest reverence for duty, for obligation. But in spite of that I was quite unable to imagine how things would be settled. I knew and blindly believed that nothing would induce my uncle to fall short of what he had once recognised as his duty; but yet I could not believe that he would have the strength to stand out against his household. And so I did my utmost to incite him and urge him on, and set to work with all the fervour of youth.

“The more so,” I said, “as now everything is settled and your last doubts have vanished! What you did not expect, though in reality everyone else saw it, and everyone noticed it before you did, has happened; Nastasya Yevgrafovna loves you! Surely,” I cried, “you will not let that pure love be turned into shame and disgrace for her?”

“Never! But, my dear boy, can I really be going to be so happy?” cried my uncle, throwing himself on my neck. “And how is it she loves me, and what for? What for? It seems to me there is nothing in me likely to... I am an old man compared to her; I certainly did not expect it! My angel, my angel!... Listen, Seryozha! you asked me this evening whether I were not in love with her; had you any idea?”

“All I saw, uncle, was that you love her as much as anyone can love: you love her and at the same time you don’t know it yourself. Upon my word! You invite me, you want to marry me to her solely in order that she may become your niece, and so you may have her always with you...”

“But you... you do forgive me, Sergey?”

“Oh, uncle....”

And he embraced me again.

“Mind, uncle, they will all be against you: you must stand up for yourself and resist them, and no later than tomorrow!”

“Yes... yes, tomorrow...” he repeated somewhat pensively. “And you know we must attack the business with manliness, with true nobility of soul, with strength of will... Yes, with strength of will!”

“Don’t be frightened, uncle.”

“I am not frightened, Seryozha! There’s one thing I don’t know how to begin, how to proceed.”

“Don’t think about it, uncle. Tomorrow will settle everything. Set your mind at rest for to-day. The more you think the worse it will be. And if Foma begins—kick him out of the house at once and pound him to a jelly.”

“And can’t we avoid kicking him out? What I have decided, my boy, is this. Tomorrow I shall go to him early, at dawn, I shall tell him all about it, just as I have told you here. Surely he cannot but understand me, he is a high-minded man, the most high-minded of men. But I tell you what does worry me: what if mamma speaks to Tatyana Ivanovna to-day of the offer to be made to her tomorrow? That would be unlucky, wouldn’t it?”

“Don’t worry yourself about Tatyana Ivanovna, uncle.”

And I told him about the scene in the arbour with Obnoskin. My uncle was extremely surprised. I did not say a word about Mizintchikov.

“A fantastical person. A really fantastical person!” he cried. “Poor thing! They ingratiate themselves with her and try to take advantage of her simplicity. Was it really Obnoskin? But, you know, he has gone away... Strange, awfully strange! I am astonished, Seryozha... We must look into it tomorrow and take steps... But are you perfectly certain that it was Tatyana Ivanovna?”

I answered that I had not seen her face, but for certain reasons I was positive that it was Tatyana Ivanovna.

“H’m. Wasn’t it a little intrigue with one of the servant girls and you fancied it was Tatyana Ivanovna? Wasn’t it Dasha, the gardener’s daughter? A sly hussy! She has been remarked upon, that’s why I say so. Anna Nilovna caught her!... But it wasn’t she, though! He said he meant to marry her. Strange, strange!”

At last we parted. I embraced my uncle and gave him my blessing.

“Tomorrow, tomorrow,” he repeated, “it will all be settled; before you are up it will be settled. I shall go to Foma and take a chivalrous line, I will speak frankly as I would to my own brother, I will lay bare the inmost recesses of my heart. Good-bye, Seryozha. You go to bed, you are tired; but I am sure I shan’t shut my eyes all night.”

He went away. I went to bed at once, tired out and utterly exhausted. It had been a hard day. My nerves were overwrought, and before I fell really asleep I kept starting and waking up again. But strange as my impressions were on going off to sleep, the strangeness of them was as nothing beside the queerness of my awakening next morning.