But that morning there were far, far too many other insoluble matters, all coming at the same time, and all demanding an immediate solution, and the prince was very disheartened. He was somewhat diverted by Vera Lebedeva, who came to see him with Lyubochka, and, laughing, told him some long story or other. She was followed by her sister, who stood with her mouth open, and then by the gymnasium student, Lebedev’s son, who asserted that ‘the star Wormwood’, in Revelation, which fell to earth upon the sources of the waters was, according to his father’s interpretation, the network of railways that stretched across Europe. The prince did not be
lieve that this was how Lebedev interpreted it, and they decided they would ask him about it at the earliest available opportunity. From Vera Lebedeva the prince learned that Keller had moved in with them the previous day and that all the signs were that he would not be leaving them again for a long time, as he had found company and was now on friendly terms with General Ivolgin; he had, however, announced that he would stay with them solely in order to complete his education. On the whole, the prince was beginning to like Lebedev’s children more and more with each day that passed. Kolya had not been there all day: he had set off for St Petersburg very early in the morning. (Lebedev had also gone off at the crack of dawn on some small matters of his own.) But the prince was waiting with impatience for a visit from Gavrila Ardalionovich, who was due to call on him that very day without fail.
He arrived between six and seven in the evening, just after dinner. From a first glance at him it occurred to the prince that at least this gentleman must have a flawless knowledge of the whole truth - and how could he not have, when he had helpers such as Varvara Ardalionovna and her husband? But the prince’s relations with Ganya were still rather peculiar. The prince had, for example, entrusted him with managing the Burdovsky affair and had particularly asked him to do so; but, in spite of this trust, and of something that had happened previously, there still remained between the two of them certain points on which, as it were, they had mutually decided to stay silent. It sometimes seemed to the prince that Ganya really did perhaps wish them both to be on terms of the most complete and friendly sincerity; for example, as soon as he entered, the prince at once had the impression Ganya was convinced that the time had come for him to break the ice on all points. (Actually, Gavrila Ardalionovich was in a hurry; his sister was waiting for him at Lebedev’s; they were both in a hurry to deal with some matter or other.)
But if Ganya was really expecting a whole series of impatient questions, spontaneous confessions and friendly outpourings, then, of course, he was very mistaken. During the whole twenty minutes of his visit, the prince was pensive, almost preoccupied. As for the questions, or rather, the one principal question that Ganya was expecting, these could not possibly have arisen. Then Ganya also decided to speak with greater reserve. He spoke without cease for the whole twenty minutes, laughed, engaged in the lightest, most charming and rapid chit-chat, but did not touch upon the main question.
Ganya related, among other things, that Nastasya Filippovna had only been in Pavlovsk for some four days, but was already drawing general attention to herself. Though her carriage was almost the finest in Pavlovsk, she was staying in some Sailor Street or other, in a poky little house, with Darya Alexeyevna. Around her a whole crowd of suitors had gathered; the carriage was sometimes escorted by men on horseback. As before, Nastasya Filippovna was very selective, receiving only those whom she had ch
osen. Yet none the less a large company had formed around her, and she had plenty of people to turn to in case of need. One man, formally betrothed, a dacha dweller, had already quarrelled with his fiancée because of her; one old general had almost cursed his son. She often took out driving with her a certain delightful young girl, only sixteen years old, a distant relative of Darya Alexeyevna; this girl was a good singer - so that in the evenings their little house drew attention. Nastasya Filippovna behaved with exceeding decorum, however, and although she did not dress extravagantly, dressed with uncommon good taste, and all the ladies envied ‘her taste, her beauty and her carriage’.
‘Yesterday’s eccentric incident,’ Ganya said, ‘was of course premeditated and should not be taken too seriously. In order to find fault with her in anything, one would have to go out of one’s way to find some excuse, or slander her, things that will in any case not be long in happening,’ concluded Ganya, expecting the prince to ask at this point why he thought that yesterday’s incident was premeditated, and why those things would not be long in happening. But the prince asked no such questions.
About Yevgeny Pavlovich, Ganya again spoke at length of his own accord, in response to no particular questions, which was very strange, as he had brought him into the conversation without any special reason. In Gavrila Ardalionovich’s opinion, Yevgeny Pavlovich had not known Nastasya Filippovna, even now he only barely knew her, and then only because some four days earlier he had been introduced to her on a walk, and he was scarcely likely to have been at her house even once, together with the others. With regard to the promissory notes, there could well have been something in that (Ganya knew this for certain); Yevgeny Pavlych’s fortune was, of course, an enormous one, but ‘some matters connected with the estate really were in disorder’. Having reached this interesting subject, Ganya suddenly broke off. With regard to Nastasya Filippovna’s eccentric behaviour of the night before, he said not a single word, apart from the passing reference mentioned above.
At length Varya Ardalionovna arrived to fetch Ganya, stayed for a moment, announced (also without being asked) that Yevgeny Pavlovich would be in St Petersburg that day, and possibly the next day as well, that her husband (Ivan Petrovich Ptitsyn) was also in St Petersburg, and also very probably on Yevgeny Pavlovich’s business, and that something really did seem to be taking shape there. As she was leaving, she added that Lizaveta Prokofyevna was in a hellish temper that day, but strangest of all was that Aglaya had quarrelled with the whole family, not just with her father and mother but even with both her sisters, and that ‘it was quite disagreeable’. Having delivered this last piece of news (which was extremely important for the prince) as if in passing, brother and sister went away. About the matter of ‘Pavlishchev’s son’ Ganechka also said not a word, perhaps out of false modesty, or perhaps ‘to spare the prince’
s feelings’ - but the prince thanked him once more none the less for the conscientious way which he had brought the matter to a conclusion.
The prince was very glad to be left alone again at last; he descended the veranda, crossed the road and entered the park; he wanted to consider a certain step and make up his mind about it. This ‘step’, however, was not of a kind to be considered, but was rather the sort that one simply decides upon: he suddenly had an overpowering desire to leave everything here
1
and go away, back to where he had come from, somewhere far away, into the wilds, to leave right away, and without even saying goodbye to anyone. He had a premonition that if he remained here a few days more, he would be drawn into this world irrevocably, and this world would in future be his. He had not reflected on this for ten minutes, however, when he at once decided that to run away was ‘impossible’, that it would almost amount to cowardice, that he was faced with such tasks that he did not even have the right to avoid their resolution or, at any rate, must exert all his energies towards resolving them. Absorbed in such thoughts he returned home, having been out walking for only a quarter of an hour. At that moment he felt completely wretched.
Lebedev was not home yet, and towards evening Keller managed to burst in, not drunk, but with outpourings and confessions. He declared straight out that he had come to tell the prince the story of his life, and that this was why he had remained in Pavlovsk. There was not the slightest possibility of driving him away: he would not have gone on any account. Keller had been getting ready to speak for a very a long time and very incoherently, but suddenly, almost from his first words, skipped to the conclusion and announced that he had to such a degree lost ‘every phantom of morality’ (solely because of lack of belief in the Almighty) that he had even taken to thieving. ‘Can you imagine that?’
‘Listen, Keller, in your place I wouldn’t confess to that unless I particularly had to,’ the prince began, ‘however, I expect you’re slandering yourself on purpose, aren’t you?’
‘I’m telling you, you alone, and solely in order to assist my own development! I’ll tell no one else; I’ll die and carry my secret to the grave! But, Prince, if you knew, if you only knew how hard it is in our time to obtain money! Where is one to get it, I ask you? There is but one answer: “Bring us our gold and diamonds, and we’ll lend you money against those,” in other words the very things I don’t have! In the end, I got angry, waiting and waiting. “Will you lend me money against emeralds?” “Yes, I can lend you money against emeralds, too.” “Well, that’s splendid,” I said, put on my hat and went out; the devil take you, you villains! By God, they’re villains!’
‘And did you have any emeralds?’
‘What sort of emeralds could I ever have? Oh, Prince, what a bright and innocent, even, one might say, pastoral view of life you have!’
In the end, the prince felt not so much sorry for him as guilty about him. The thought even occurred to him: ‘Couldn’t one make something out of this man through someone’s good influence?’ For several reasons he considered his own influence most unsuitable - not out of self-depreciation, but because of a certain peculiar view of things. Gradually they got into conversation, and to a point where they did not want to part. Keller was confessing with such extraordinary readiness to such things that it was impossible to imagine how anyone could talk about such things. As he began each story, he assured the prince that he felt positive remorse and was inwardly ‘full of tears’, all the while telling the story as though he were proud of what he had done, and so amusingly that he and the prince ended up laughing like madmen.
‘The main thing about you is that you have in you a kind of childish trust, and an extraordinary truthfulness,’ the prince said, at last. ‘Do you realize that by this alone you greatly redeem yourself?’
‘Noble, noble, chivalrously noble!’ Keller confirmed with tender emotion. ‘But you know, Prince, it’s all just dreams and Dutch courage, so to speak, nothing ever comes of it in reality! Why is that? I really don’t know.’
‘Don’t despair. Now it can be definitely said that you’ve presented all the details of your life to me; at least it seems to me that there isn’t any more to add to what you’ve told me, I mean, is there?’
‘Nothing more to add?’ Keller exclaimed with a kind of compassion. ‘Oh, Prince, what a Swiss view of man you have, so to speak.’
‘Is there really more?’ the prince said in timid surprise. ‘Then what did you expect from me, Keller, tell me, please, and why did you come here with your confession?’
‘From you? What did I expect? In the first place, it’s pleasant just to observe your simple-heartedness; to sit and talk with you is pleasant; at least I know that I’m in the presence of a most virtuous person, and in the second place ... in the second place ...’
He stopped short in embarrassment.
‘Perhaps you wanted to borrow money?’ the prince prompted very gravely and simply, even rather timidly, almost.
Keller gave a violent start; quickly, with his earlier surprise, he looked the prince straight in the eye, and banged his fist hard on the table.
‘Well, that’s how to flabbergast a man completely! For pity’s sake, Prince: such simple-heartedness, such innocence as were unheard of even in the golden age, and then suddenly you pierce a man through like an arrow, with such profound psychology of observation. No, I’m sorry, Prince, that demands explanation, because I ... I’m simply flabbergasted! Of course my ultimate aim was to borrow money, but you asked me about money as though you didn’t find anything blameworthy in it, as though it were the most natural thing in the world.’
‘Yes ... with you that’s just what it is.’
‘And you’re not angry?’
‘But ... what about?’
‘Listen, Prince, I stayed on here after yesterday evening, in the first place, out of special respect for the French Archbishop Bourdaloue
2
(we were cracking bottles open at Lebedev’s until three in the morning), and in the second place, and mainly (and I swear by all the saints in heaven that I speak the honest truth!), I stayed on because I wanted to give you my full and sincere confession, so to speak, and by that means to further my own development; with that thought I cried myself to sleep at four o’clock in the morning. Please believe an honourable man: at the very moment I was falling asleep, full of inward and, so to speak, outward tears (because, at last, I was crying, I remember that!), a devilish thought came to me: “Well, why don’t I borrow money from him, after I make my confession?” So I prepared the confession, so to speak, as it were, like some “
fines herbes
with tears”, in order to smooth the way with those tears and to soften you up so you’d fork out a hundred and fifty roubles to me. That was vile, don’t you think?’
‘But that’s surely not true? One thing just got mixed up with another. Two thoughts coincided, that very often happens. To me, constantly. As a matter of fact, I think it’s a bad thing, and, you know, Keller, I reproach myself most of all for it. What you told me just now could have been about me. I’ve even sometimes thought,’ the prince continued with real gravity, genuinely and deeply interested, ‘that all human beings are like that, so that I even began to approve of myself, because it’s terribly difficult to fight those
double
thoughts; God knows how they come into being. But you will call this downright vileness! Now I’ll start being afraid of those thoughts again. At any rate, I am not your judge. But all the same, in my opinion, it’s impossible to call it downright vileness: what do you think? You used cunning in order to coax money out of me by means of tears, but after all, you yourself swear that your confession had a different aim, a noble, not merely a financial one; as for the money, you need it in order to go on a drinking spree, don’t you? And after such a confession that’s weakness, of course. But how can one give up drinking sprees in a single moment? I mean, it’s impossible. So what is to be done? Is it best to leave it to your own conscience, what do you think?’