Текст книги "The Adolescent"

Автор книги: Федор Достоевский

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Текущая страница: 41 (всего у книги 45 страниц)

“Oh, je disais qu’il a du coeur!” ¹⁰⁰he exclaimed, pointing at me to Anna Andreevna.

“But how you’ve improved, Prince, what a fine, fresh, healthy look you have!” I observed. Alas! it was all quite the opposite: this was a mummy, and I only said it to encourage him.

“N’est-cepas, n’est-cepas?” ¹⁰¹he repeated joyfully. “Oh, my health has improved astonishingly.”

“Anyhow, have your tea, and if you offer me a cup, I’ll drink with you.”

“Marvelous! ‘Let us drink and enjoy . . .’ or how does the poem go? Anna Andreevna, give him tea, il prend toujours par les sentiments ¹⁰². . . give us tea, my dear.”

Anna Andreevna served us tea, but suddenly turned to me and began with extreme solemnity:

“Arkady Makarovich, both of us, I and my benefactor, Prince Nikolai Ivanovich, have taken refuge with you. I consider that we have come to you, to you alone, and we are both asking you for shelter. Remember that almost the whole destiny of this saintly, this most noble and offended man is in your hands . . . We await the decision of your truthful heart!”

But she was unable to finish; the prince was horrified and almost trembled with fear:

“Après, après, n’est-ce pas? Chère amie! ” ¹⁰³; he repeated, holding his hands up to her.

I can’t express how unpleasantly her outburst also affected me. I said nothing in reply and contented myself only with a cold and grave bow; then I sat down at the table and even deliberately began talking about other things, about some foolishness, started laughing and cracking jokes . . . The old man was obviously grateful to me and became rapturously merry. But his merriment, though rapturous, was somehow fragile and might be supplanted at any moment by complete dispiritedness; that was clear from the first glance.

“Cher enfant, I hear you were ill . . . Ah, pardon! I hear you’ve been occupied all the while with spiritism?” ⁴¹

“Never dreamed of it,” I smiled.

“No? Then who was talking about spir-it-ism?”

“That clerk here, Pyotr Ippolitovich, spoke to you about it earlier,” Anna Andreevna explained. “He’s a very merry man and knows lots of anecdotes; would you like me to invite him here?”

“ Oui, oui, il est charmant ¹⁰⁴. . . he knows anecdotes, but we’d better invite him later. We’ll invite him, and he’ll tell us everything, mais après. Imagine, earlier they were setting the table, and he says, ‘Don’t worry, it won’t fly away, we’re not spiritists.’ Can spiritists make tables fly?”

“I really don’t know; they say they get all four legs off the ground.”

“Mais c’est terrible ce que tu dis,” ¹⁰⁵he looked at me in fright.

“Oh, don’t worry, it’s nonsense.”

“I say so myself. Nastasya Stepanovna Salomeeva . . . you do know her . . . ah, no, you don’t know her . . . imagine, she also believes in spiritism, and imagine, chère enfant,” he turned to Anna Andreevna, “I tell her there are tables in the ministry as well, with eight pairs of clerkly hands lying on them, all writing documents—why don’t the tables dance there? Imagine if they suddenly started dancing! A revolt of the tables in the Ministry of Finance or National Education—just what we need!”

“What nice things you say, Prince, as always,” I exclaimed, trying to laugh sincerely.

“N’est-ce pas? Je ne parle pas trop, mais je dis bien.” ¹⁰⁶

“I’ll bring Pyotr Ippolitovich,” Anna Andreevna got up. Her face shone with pleasure; she was glad to see how affectionate I was with the old man. But as soon as she went out, the old man’s face changed instantly. He glanced back hastily at the door, looked around, and, leaning towards me from the sofa, whispered in a frightened voice:

“ Cher ami!Oh, if only I could see the two of them here together! Oh, cher enfant!”

“Calm yourself, Prince . . .”

“Yes, yes, but . . . we’ll reconcile them, n’est-ce pas? It’s an empty little quarrel of two most worthy women, n’est-ce pas? I put my hopes in you alone . . . We’ll straighten it all out here; and what a strange apartment you have here,” he looked around almost fearfully, “and, you know, this landlord . . . he’s got such a face . . . Tell me, he’s not dangerous?”

“The landlord? Oh, no! how could he be dangerous?”

“C’est ça. ¹⁰⁷So much the better. Il semble qu’il est bête, ce gentilhomme. ¹⁰⁸Cher enfant, for Christ’s sake, don’t tell Anna Andreevna that I’m afraid of everything here; I praised everything here from the first, I praised the landlord, too. Listen, you know the story of von Sohn ⁴²—remember?”

“What about it?”

“Rien, rien du tout . . . Mais je suis libre ici, n’est-ce pas? ¹⁰⁹What do you think, can anything happen to me here . . . of the same sort?”

“But I assure you, dearest Prince . . . for pity’s sake!”

“ Mon ami! Mon enfant!” he exclaimed suddenly, clasping his hands before him and no longer hiding his fear. “If you do indeed have something . . . documents . . . in short, if you have anything to tell me, then don’t tell me; for God’s sake, don’t tell me anything; better not tell me at all . . . for as long as you can, don’t tell me . . .”

He was about to rush and embrace me; tears poured down his face; I can’t express how my heart was wrung: the poor old man was like a pathetic, weak, frightened child, stolen from his own nest by gypsies and taken to strangers. But we were kept from embracing: the door opened, and in came Anna Andreevna, not with the landlord, but with her brother, the kammerjunker. This novelty astounded me; I got up and made for the door.

“Arkady Makarovich, allow me to introduce you,” Anna Andreevna said loudly, so that I involuntarily had to stop.

“I’m only too wellacquainted with your dear brother already,” I said distinctly, especially emphasizing the words “only too well.”

“Ah, there’s a terrible mistake here! And I do apo-lo-gize, my dear And . . . Andrei Makarovich,” the young man began to maunder, approaching me with an extraordinarily casual air and taking hold of my hand, which I was unable to withdraw. “It’s all my Stepan’s fault. He announced you so stupidly then that I took you for someone else—this was in Moscow,” he clarified for his sister, “then I tried my best to find you and explain, but I fell ill, ask her . . . Cher prince, nous devons être amis même par droit de naissance . . .” ¹¹⁰

And the brazen young man even dared to put one arm around my shoulder, which was the height of familiarity. I drew back, but, in my embarrassment, preferred to leave quickly without saying a word. Going into my room, I sat down on the bed, thoughtful and agitated. The intrigue was suffocating me, yet I couldn’t just dumbfound Anna Andreevna and cut her down. I suddenly felt that she, too, was dear to me, and that her position was terrible.

III

AS I EXPECTED, she came into my room herself, having left the prince with her brother, who began telling him some society gossip, the most recent and fresh-baked, and instantly cheered up the impressionable old man. I got up from the bed silently and with a questioning look.

“I’ve told you everything, Arkady Makarovich,” she began directly. “Our fate is in your hands.”

“But I also warned you that I can’t . . . The most sacred duties prevent me from fulfilling your expectations . . .”

“Oh? So that’s your answer? Well, let me perish, but what of the old man? What are your expectations: will he lose his mind by evening?”

“No, he’ll lose his mind if I show him his daughter’s letter, in which she consults a lawyer about declaring her father insane!” I exclaimed vehemently. “That’s what he won’t be able to bear. You should know that he doesn’t believe this letter, he’s already told me!”

I lied about his telling me; but it was opportune.

“Already told you? Just as I thought! In that case, I’m lost. He was weeping just now and asking to be taken home.”

“Tell me, what does your plan in fact consist in?” I asked insistently.

She blushed, from wounded arrogance, so to speak, though she controlled herself:

“With this letter of his daughter’s in our hands, we are justified in the eyes of the world. I’ll send word at once to Prince V–sky and Boris Mikhailovich Pelishchev, his childhood friends; they’re both respectable men with influence in the world, and I know that two years ago they were already indignant at certain actions of his merciless and greedy daughter. They will, of course, reconcile him with his daughter, at my request, and I myself will insist on it; but, on the other hand, the state of affairs will change completely. Besides, then my relations, the Fanariotovs, as I expect, will venture to support my rights. But for me his happiness comes before everything; let him understand, finally, and appreciate who is really devoted to him! Unquestionably, I’m counting most of all on your influence, Arkady Makarovich; you love him so much . . . And who else loves him except you and I? You’re all he talked about these last few days; he pined for you, you’re ‘his young friend’ . . . It goes without saying that, for the rest of my life, my gratitude will know no bounds . . .”

This meant she was now offering me a reward—money, maybe.

I interrupted her sharply.

“No matter what you say, I can’t,” I said with an air of unshakable resolution. “I can only repay you with the same frankness and explain to you my latest intentions: I will, in the nearest future, hand this fatal letter over to Katerina Nikolaevna, but with the understanding that no scandal will be made of all that has just happened, and that she gives her word beforehand that she will not interfere with your happiness. That is all I can do.”

“This is impossible!” she said, blushing all over. The mere thought that Katerina Nikolaevna would spareher, made her indignant.

“I will not alter my decision, Anna Andreevna.”

“Maybe you will.”

“Turn to Lambert!”

“Arkady Makarovich, you don’t know what misfortunes may come of your stubbornness,” she said sternly and bitterly.

“Misfortunes will come—that’s certain . . . my head is spinning. Enough talk; my mind is made up and that’s the end of it. Only for God’s sake, I beg you, don’t bring your brother to me.”

“But he precisely wishes to smooth over . . .”

“There’s nothing to smooth over! I don’t need it, I don’t want it, I don’t want it!” I exclaimed, clutching my head. (Oh, maybe I treated her too haughtily then!) “Tell me, however, where will the prince spend the night tonight? Surely not here?”

“He’ll spend the night here, in your place and with you.”

“By evening I’ll have moved to another apartment!”

And after these merciless words, I seized my hat and began putting on my coat. Anna Andreevna watched me silently and sternly. I felt sorry—oh, I felt sorry for this proud girl! But I ran out of the apartment, not leaving her a word of hope.

IV

I’LL TRY TO make it short. My decision was taken irrevocably, and I went straight to Tatyana Pavlovna. Alas! a great misfortune could have been prevented if I had found her at home then; but, as if by design, I was especially pursued by bad luck that day. Of course, I went by mama’s as well, first of all to see how poor mama was, and, second, counting almost certainly on meeting Tatyana Pavlovna there. But she wasn’t there either; she had just gone somewhere, mama was sick in bed, and Liza alone remained with her. Liza asked me not to come in and waken mama: “She didn’t sleep all night and was suffering; thank God, now at least she’s fallen asleep.” I embraced Liza and told her in only a word or two that I had taken an enormous and fateful decision, and that I would presently carry it out. She listened without any special surprise, as if to the most usual words. Oh, they were all accustomed then to my ceaseless “final decisions” and to their fainthearted cancellation afterwards. But now—now it was a different matter! I did stop by at the tavern on the canal, though, and sat there to while away the time, and then certainly catch Tatyana Pavlovna. However, I should explain why I suddenly needed this woman so much. The thing was that I wanted to send her at once to Katerina Nikolaevna, to invite her to her apartment and in Tatyana Pavlovna’s presence return the document to her, having explained everything once and for all . . . In short, I wanted what was only fitting: I wanted to justify myself once and for all. On finishing with that point, I had absolutely and now imperatively resolved to put in a few words right then in favor of Anna Andreevna, and, if possible, to take Katerina Nikolaevna and Tatyana Pavlovna (as a witness), bring them to my place, that is, to the prince, and there reconcile the hostile women, resurrect the prince, and . . . and . . . in short, make everyone happy this very day, at least here in this little bunch, so that only Versilov and mama would be left. I could have no doubt of success. Katerina Nikolaevna, grateful for the return of the letter, for which I would not ask her anything, could not refuse me such a request. Alas, I still imagined that I was in possession of the document! Oh, what a stupid and undignified position I was in, without knowing it myself !

It was already quite dark and around four o’clock when I again dropped in at Tatyana Pavlovna’s. Marya answered rudely that she “hasn’t come back.” I well recall Marya’s strange, furtive glance now; but then, naturally, nothing could have entered my head. On the contrary, another thought suddenly pricked me: as I was going down Tatyana Pavlovna’s back stairs, vexed and somewhat dejected, I remembered the poor prince, who had reached out his hands to me today—and I suddenly reproached myself painfully for having abandoned him, maybe even out of personal vexation. I worriedly began imagining that something even very bad might have happened to them in my absence, and I hastily headed for home. At home, however, only the following circumstances occurred.

Anna Andreevna, having left me in wrath earlier, had not yet lost heart. It must be said that she had already sent to Lambert in the morning, then sent to him once again, and since Lambert had still not turned up at home, she finally sent her brother to look for him. The poor girl, seeing my resistance, placed her last hopes in Lambert and his influence on me. She was waiting impatiently for Lambert, and only marveled that he, who wouldn’t leave her side and had fawned on her till today, had suddenly abandoned her entirely and vanished. Alas! it couldn’t even enter her head that Lambert, now in possession of the document, had taken quite different decisions, and therefore, of course, was avoiding her and even purposely hiding from her.

Thus, worried and with increasing anxiety in her soul, Anna Andreevna was almost unable to divert the old man; and meanwhile his worry had grown to threatening proportions. He asked strange and fearful questions, started casting suspicious glances even at her, and several times began to weep. Young Versilov hadn’t stayed long then. After he left, Anna Andreevna finally brought Pyotr Ippolitovich, in whom she placed such hopes, but the man was not found pleasing at all, and even provoked disgust. In general, the prince for some reason looked at Pyotr Ippolitovich with ever-growing mistrust and suspicion. And the landlord, as if on purpose, again started his talk about spiritism and some tricks he himself had supposedly seen performed, namely, how some itinerant charlatan had supposedly cut people’s heads off before the whole public, so that the blood flowed and everyone could see it, and then put them back onto the necks, and they supposedly grew on again, also before the whole public, and all this had supposedly taken place in the year fifty-nine. The prince was so frightened, and at the same time became so indignant for some reason, that Anna Andreevna was forced to remove the narrator immediately. Fortunately, dinner arrived, ordered specially the day before somewhere in the neighborhood (through Lambert and Alphonsinka) from a remarkable French chef, who was without a post and was seeking to place himself in an aristocratic house or club. Dinner with champagne diverted the old man extremely; he ate a great deal and was very jocular. After dinner, of course, he felt heavy and wanted to sleep, and as he always slept after dinner, Anna Andreevna prepared a bed for him. As he was falling asleep, he kept kissing her hands, said that she was his paradise, his hope, his houri, his “golden flower”—in short, he went off into the most Oriental expressions. At last he fell asleep, and it was just then that I returned.

Anna Andreevna hurriedly came into my room, pressed her hands together before me, and said, “no longer for her own sake, but for the prince’s,” that she “begs me not to leave, and to go to him when he wakes up. Without you, he’ll perish, he’ll have a nervous breakdown; I’m afraid he won’t last till nighttime . . .” She added that she herself absolutely had to be absent, “maybe even for two hours,” which meant that she was “leaving the prince to me alone.” I warmly gave her my word that I’d stay till evening, and that when he woke up, I’d do all I could to divert him.

“And I will do my duty!” she concluded energetically.

She left. I’ll add, running ahead, that she herself went looking for Lambert; this was her last hope. On top of that, she visited her brother and her Fanariotov family; it’s clear what state of mind she must have come back in.

The prince woke up about an hour after she left. I heard him groan through the wall and ran to him at once. I found him sitting on his bed in a dressing gown, but so frightened by the solitude, by the light of the single lamp, and by the strange room, that when I came in he gave a start, jumped up, and cried out. I rushed to him, and when he made out that it was I, he began to embrace me with tears of joy.

“And they told me you had moved somewhere, to another apartment, that you got frightened and ran away.”

“Who could have told you that?”

“Who could? You see, I may have thought it up myself, or maybe someone told me. Imagine, I just had a dream: in comes an old man with a beard and with an icon, an icon that’s split in two, and he suddenly says, ‘That’s how your life will be split!’”

“Ah, my God, you must have heard from someone that Versilov broke an icon yesterday?”

“N’est-ce pas? I heard, I heard! I heard it this morning from Nastasya Egorovna. She moved my trunk and my little dog over here.”

“Well, and so you dreamed of it.”

“Well, it makes no difference. And imagine, this old man kept shaking his finger at me. Where is Anna Andreevna?”

“She’ll be back presently.”

“From where? Has she also gone?” he exclaimed with pain.

“No, no, she’ll be back presently, and she asked me to sit with you.”

“Oui, to come here. And so our Andrei Petrovich has gone off his head—‘so inadvertently and so swiftly!’ ⁴³I always predicted to him that he’d end up that way. My friend, wait . . .”

He suddenly seized me by the frock coat with his hand and pulled me towards him.

“Today,” he began to whisper, “the landlord suddenly brought me photographs, vile photographs of women, all naked women in various Oriental guises, and began showing them to me through a glass . . . You see, I praised them reluctantly, but that’s just how they brought vile women to that unfortunate man, to make it easier to get him drunk . . .”

“You keep on about von Sohn, but enough, Prince! The landlord is a fool and nothing more!”

“A fool and nothing more! C’est mon opinion! ¹¹¹My friend, save me from this place if you can!” he suddenly pressed his hands together before me.

“Prince, I’ll do everything I can! I’m all yours . . . Dear Prince, wait, and maybe I’ll settle everything!”

“N’est-cepas? We’ll up and run away, and we’ll leave the trunk for appearances, so that he’ll think we’re coming back.”

“Run away where? And Anna Andreevna?”

“No, no, together with Anna Andreevna . . . Oh, mon cher, I’ve got some sort of jumble in my head . . . Wait—there, in my bag, to the right, is Katya’s portrait; I put it there on the sly, so that Anna Andreevna and especially this Nastasya Egorovna wouldn’t notice. Take it out, for God’s sake, quickly, carefully, watch out that they don’t find us . . . Can’t we put the hook on the door?”

Indeed, I found in the bag a photographic portrait of Katerina Nikolaevna in an oval frame. He took it in his hands, brought it to the light, and tears suddenly poured down his gaunt yellow cheeks.

“C’est un ange, c’est un ange du ciel!” ¹¹²he exclaimed. “All my life I’ve been guilty before her . . . and now, too! Chère enfant, I don’t believe anything, anything! My friend, tell me: well, is it possible to imagine that they want to put me in a madhouse? Je dis des choses charmantes et tout le monde rit ¹¹³. . .and suddenly this man is taken to the madhouse?”

“That was never so!” I cried. “That is a mistake! I know her feelings!”

“And you also know her feelings? Why, that’s wonderful! My friend, you’ve resurrected me. What was all that they were telling me about you? My friend, invite Katya here, and let the two of them kiss each other before me, and I’ll take them home, and we’ll chase the landlord away!”

He stood up, pressed his hands together before me, and suddenly knelt before me.

“ Cher,” he whispered, now in some sort of insane fear, all shaking like a leaf, “my friend, tell me the whole truth: where are they going to put me now?”

“God!” I cried, raising him up and sitting him on the bed, “you finally don’t believe me either; you think I’m also in the conspiracy? But I won’t let anyone here even lay a finger on you!”

“C’est ça, don’t let them,” he babbled, seizing me firmly by the elbows with both hands, and continuing to tremble. “Don’t let anybody! And don’t tell me any lies . . . because can it be that they’ll take me away from here? Listen, this landlord, Ippolit, or whoever he is, he’s not . . . a doctor?”

“What sort of doctor?”

“This . . . this isn’t a madhouse, I mean here, in this room?”

But at that moment the door suddenly opened and Anna Andreevna came in. She must have been eavesdropping by the door and, unable to help herself, opened it too abruptly—and the prince, who jumped at every creak, cried out and threw himself facedown on the pillow. He finally had some sort of fit, which resolved itself in sobbing.

“Here are the fruits of yourwork,” I said to her, pointing to the old man.

“No, these are the fruits of yourwork!” she raised her voice sharply. “I turn to you for the last time, Arkady Makarovich: do you want to reveal the infernal intrigue against the defenseless old man and sacrifice your ‘insane and childish amorous dreams’ in order to save your ownsister?”

“I’ll save you all, but only in the way I told you before! I’m running off again; maybe in an hour Katerina Nikolaevna herself will be here! I’ll reconcile everybody, and everybody will be happy!” I exclaimed almost with inspiration.

“Bring her, bring her here,” the prince roused himself. “Take me to her! I want Katya, I want to see Katya and bless her!” he exclaimed, raising his arms and trying to get out of bed.

“You see,” I pointed at him to Anna Andreevna, “you hear what he says: now in any case no ‘document’ will help you.”

“I see, but it could still help to justify my action in the opinion of the world, while now—I’m disgraced! Enough; my conscience is clear. I’ve been abandoned by everyone, even my own brother, who is afraid of failure . . . But I will do my duty and stay by this unfortunate man as his nurse, his attendant!”

But there was no time to be lost, and I ran out of the room.

“I’ll come back in an hour, and I won’t come back alone!” I called out from the threshold.

Chapter Twelve

I

I FINALLY CAUGHT Tatyana Pavlovna! I explained everything to her at once—everything about the document, and everything, to the last shred, about what was happening in our apartment. Though she understood these events only too well herself and could have grasped the matter after two words, the explanation nevertheless took us, I think, about ten minutes. I alone spoke, I spoke the whole truth, and I wasn’t ashamed. She sat silent and motionless on her chair, drawn up straight as a poker, her lips pressed together, not taking her eyes off me, and listening with all her might. But when I finished, she suddenly jumped up from her chair, and so precipitously that I jumped up, too.

“Ah, you little cur! So you’ve really got that letter sewn in, and it was that fool Marya Ivanovna who did the sewing! Ah, you outrageous scoundrels! So you came here to conquer hearts, to win over high society, to take revenge on Devil Ivanovich because you’re an illegitimate son, is that what you wanted?”

“Tatyana Pavlovna,” I cried, “don’t you dare abuse me! It may be you, with your abuse, who from the very beginning were the cause of my bitterness here. Yes, I’m an illegitimate son, and maybe I did indeed want to take revenge for being an illegitimate son, and maybe indeed on some Devil Ivanovich, because the devil himself won’t find who’s to blame here; but remember that I rejected an alliance with the scoundrels and overcame my passions! I will silently place the document before her and leave without even waiting for a word from her; you yourself will be the witness!”

“Give me the letter, give it to me right now, put it here on the table! Or maybe you’re lying?”

“It’s sewn into my pocket; Marya Ivanovna herself did the sewing. And here, when I had a new frock coat made, I took it from the old one and sewed it into this new frock coat myself; it’s here, feel it, I’m not lying, ma’am!”

“Give it to me, take it out!” Tatyana Pavlovna stormed.

“Not for anything, ma’am, I repeat it to you. I’ll place it before her in your presence and leave, without waiting for a single word; but it’s necessary that she know and see with her own eyes that it is I, I myself, who am giving it to her, voluntarily, without compulsion and without reward.”

“Showing off again? Are you in love, you little cur?”

“Say as many nasty things as you like. Go on, I deserve it, but I’m not offended. Oh, let me look like a paltry little brat to her, who spied on her and plotted a conspiracy, but let her recognize that I conquered myself and placed herhappiness higher than anything in the world! Never mind, Tatyana Pavlovna, never mind! I cry out to myself: courage and hope! Let this be my first step on life’s path, but then it has ended well, ended nobly! And what if I do love her,” I went on inspiredly and flashing my eyes, “I’m not ashamed of it: mama is a heavenly angel, but sheis an earthly queen! Versilov will go back to mama, and I’m not going to be ashamed before her; I did hear what she and Versilov said then, I was standing behind the curtain . . . Oh, all three of us are ‘people of the same madness’! Do you know whose phrase that is—‘people of the same madness’? It’s his phrase, Andrei Petrovich’s! Do you know, maybe there are more than three of us here who are of the same madness? I’ll bet you’re a fourth one of the same madness! Want me to say it? I’ll bet you yourself have been in love with Andrei Petrovich all your life and maybe still are . . .”

I repeat, I was inspired and in some sort of happiness, but I had no time to finish. She suddenly seized me by the hair with some unnatural swiftness and tugged me downwards twice with all her might . . . then suddenly left me, went into the corner, stood facing the corner, and covered her face with a handkerchief.

“Little cur! Don’t you ever dare say that to me again!” she said, weeping.

This was all so unexpected that I was naturally dumbfounded. I stood and gazed at her, not yet knowing what I should do.

“Pah, you fool! Come here, kiss me, foolish woman that I am!” she said suddenly, weeping and laughing. “And don’t you dare, don’t you ever dare repeat that to me . . . But I love you and have loved you all your life . . . fool that you are.”

I kissed her. I will add in parenthesis: from then on Tatyana Pavlovna and I became friends.

“Ah, yes! But what’s the matter with me!” she suddenly exclaimed, slapping herself on the forehead. “What were you saying? The old prince is there in your apartment? Is it true?”

“I assure you.”

“Ah, my God! Oh, I’m sick!” she whirled and rushed about the room. “And they order him around! Eh, there’s no lightning to strike the fools! Ever since morning? That’s Anna Andreevna! That’s the nun! And the other one, Militrisa, ⁴⁴doesn’t know anything!”

“What Militrisa?”

“The earthly queen, the ideal! Eh, but what are we to do now?”

“Tatyana Pavlovna!” I cried, coming to my senses. “We’ve been saying foolish things, and we’ve forgotten the main thing: I ran here precisely to fetch Katerina Nikolaevna, and they’re all waiting for me to come back.”

And I explained that I would hand the document over only if she gave her word to make peace with Anna Andreevna immediately and even agree to her marriage . . .

“And that’s splendid,” Tatyana Pavlovna interrupted, “and I, too, have repeated it to her a hundred times. He’ll die before the wedding—anyway he won’t marry her, and if it’s about him leaving her money in his will—Anna, I mean—it’s been written in and left to her even without that . . .”

“Can it be that Katerina Nikolaevna is only sorry about the money?”

“No, she was afraid all along that she had the document—Anna, I mean—and I was, too. So we kept watch on her. The daughter didn’t want to shock the old man, but, true, the little German, Bjoring, was also sorry about the money.”

“And she can marry Bjoring after that?”

“What can you do with a foolish woman? As they say, once a fool, always a fool. You see, he’s going to give her some sort of calm. ‘I must marry somebody,’ she says, ‘so I suppose he’d be the most suitable one.’ We’ll see just how suitable it will be. She’ll slap her sides afterwards, but it will be too late.”

“Then why do you allow it? Don’t you love her; didn’t you tell her to her face that you’re in love with her?”

“And I am in love with her, I love her more than all of you taken together, but still she’s a senseless fool!”

“Then run and fetch her now, and we’ll resolve everything and take her in person to her father.”