They sat now in a row facing the prince, and frowned, and played with
their caps. All appeared ready to speak, and yet all were silent; the defiant
expression on their faces seemed to say, “No, sir, you don’t take us in!” It
could be felt that the first word spoken by anyone present would bring a
torrent of speech from the whole deputation.
VIII.
“I did not expect you, gentlemen,” began the prince. “I have been ill until
to-day. A month ago,” he continued, addressing himself to Antip Burdovsky,
“I put your business into Gavrila Ardalionovitch Ivolgin’s hands, as I told
you then. I do not in the least object to having a personal interview… but
you will agree with me that this is hardly the time… I propose that we go
into another room, if you will not keep me long… As you see, I have friends
here, and believe me…”
“Friends as many as you please, but allow me,” interrupted the harsh
voice of Lebedeff’s nephew—“allow me to tell you that you might have
treated us rather more politely, and not have kept us waiting at least two
hours…
“No doubt… and I… is that acting like a prince? And you… you may be a
general! But I… I am not your valet! And I… I…” stammered Antip
Burdovsky.
He was extremely excited; his lips trembled, and the resentment of an
embittered soul was in his voice. But he spoke so indistinctly that hardly a
dozen words could be gathered.
“It was a princely action!” sneered Hippolyte.
“If anyone had treated me so,” grumbled the boxer.
“I mean to say that if I had been in Burdovsky’s place…I…”
“Gentlemen, I did not know you were there; I have only just been
informed, I assure you,” repeated Muishkin.
“We are not afraid of your friends, prince,” remarked Lebedeff’s nephew,
“for we are within our rights.”
The shrill tones of Hippolyte interrupted him. “What right have you… by
what right do you demand us to submit this matter, about Burdovsky… to
the judgment of your friends? We know only too well what the judgment of
your friends will be!…”
This beginning gave promise of a stormy discussion. The prince was
much discouraged, but at last he managed to make himself heard amid the
vociferations of his excited visitors.
“If you,” he said, addressing Burdovsky—“if you prefer not to speak
here, I offer again to go into another room with you… and as to your waiting
to see me, I repeat that I only this instant heard…”
“Well, you have no right, you have no right, no right at all!… Your friends
indeed!”… gabbled Burdovsky, defiantly examining the faces round him,
and becoming more and more excited. “You have no right!…” As he ended
thus abruptly, he leant forward, staring at the prince with his short-sighted,
bloodshot eyes. The latter was so astonished, that he did not reply, but
looked steadily at him in return.
“Lef Nicolaievitch!” interposed Madame Epanchin, suddenly, “read this
at once, this very moment! It is about this business.”
She held out a weekly comic paper, pointing to an article on one of its
pages. Just as the visitors were coming in, Lebedeff, wishing to ingratiate
himself with the great lady, had pulled this paper from his pocket, and
presented it to her, indicating a few columns marked in pencil. Lizabetha
Prokofievna had had time to read some of it, and was greatly upset.
“Would it not be better to peruse it alone… later,” asked the prince,
nervously.
“No, no, read it—read it at once directly, and aloud, aloud!” cried she,
calling Colia to her and giving him the journal.—“Read it aloud, so that
everyone may hear it!”
An impetuous woman, Lizabetha Prokofievna sometimes weighed her
anchors and put out to sea quite regardless of the possible storms she might
encounter. Ivan Fedorovitch felt a sudden pang of alarm, but the others
were merely curious, and somewhat surprised. Colia unfolded the paper,
and began to read, in his clear, high-pitched voice, the following article:
“Proletarians and scions of nobility! An episode of the brigandage of
today and every day! Progress! Reform! Justice!”
“Strange things are going on in our so-called Holy Russia in this age of
reform and great enterprises; this age of patriotism in which hundreds of
millions are yearly sent abroad; in which industry is encouraged, and the
hands of Labour paralyzed, etc.; there is no end to this, gentlemen, so let us
come to the point. A strange thing has happened to a scion of our defunct
aristocracy. (De profundis!) The grandfathers of these scions ruined
themselves at the gaming-tables; their fathers were forced to serve as
officers or subalterns; some have died just as they were about to be tried for
innocent thoughtlessness in the handling of public funds. Their children are
sometimes congenital idiots, like the hero of our story; sometimes they are
found in the dock at the Assizes, where they are generally acquitted by the
jury for edifying motives; sometimes they distinguish themselves by one of
those burning scandals that amaze the public and add another blot to the
stained record of our age. Six months ago—that is, last winter—this
particular scion returned to Russia, wearing gaiters like a foreigner, and
shivering with cold in an old scantily-lined cloak. He had come from
Switzerland, where he had just undergone a successful course of treatment
for idiocy (sic!). Certainly Fortune favoured him, for, apart from the
interesting malady of which he was cured in Switzerland (can there be a
cure for idiocy?) his story proves the truth of the Russian proverb that
‘happiness is the right of certain classes!’ Judge for yourselves. Our subject
was an infant in arms when he lost his father, an officer who died just as he
was about to be court-martialled for gambling away the funds of his
company, and perhaps also for flogging a subordinate to excess (remember
the good old days, gentlemen). The orphan was brought up by the charity of
a very rich Russian landowner. In the good old days, this man, whom we
will call P——, owned four thousand souls as serfs (souls as serfs!—can
you understand such an expression, gentlemen? I cannot; it must be looked
up in a dictionary before one can understand it; these things of a bygone
day are already unintelligible to us). He appears to have been one of those
Russian parasites who lead an idle existence abroad, spending the summer
at some spa, and the winter in Paris, to the greater profit of the organizers of
public balls. It may safely be said that the manager of the Chateau des
Fleurs (lucky man!) pocketed at least a third of the money paid by Russian
peasants to their lords in the days of serfdom. However this may be, the gay
P—— brought up the orphan like a prince, provided him with tutors and
governesses (pretty, of course!) whom he chose himself in Paris. But the
little aristocrat, the last of his noble race, was an idiot. The governesses,
recruited at the Chateau des Fleurs, laboured in vain; at twenty years of age
their pupil could not speak in any language, not even Russian. But
ignorance of the latter was still excusable. At last P—— was seized with a
strange notion; he imagined that in Switzerland they could change an idiot
into a man of sense. After all, the idea was quite logical; a parasite and
landowner naturally supposed that intelligence was a marketable
commodity like everything else, and that in Switzerland especially it could
be bought for money. The case was entrusted to a celebrated Swiss
professor, and cost thousands of roubles; the treatment lasted five years.
Needless to say, the idiot did not become intelligent, but it is alleged that he
grew into something more or less resembling a man. At this stage P——
died suddenly, and, as usual, he had made no will and left his affairs in
disorder. A crowd of eager claimants arose, who cared nothing about any
last scion of a noble race undergoing treatment in Switzerland, at the
expense of the deceased, as a congenital idiot. Idiot though he was, the
noble scion tried to cheat his professor, and they say he succeeded in getting
him to continue the treatment gratis for two years, by concealing the death
of his benefactor. But the professor himself was a charlatan. Getting
anxious at last when no money was forthcoming, and alarmed above all by
his patient’s appetite, he presented him with a pair of old gaiters and a
shabby cloak and packed him off to Russia, third class. It would seem that
Fortune had turned her back upon our hero. Not at all; Fortune, who lets
whole populations die of hunger, showered all her gifts at once upon the
little aristocrat, like Kryloff’s Cloud which passes over an arid plain and
empties itself into the sea. He had scarcely arrived in St. Petersburg, when a
relation of his mother’s (who was of bourgeois origin, of course), died at
Moscow. He was a merchant, an Old Believer, and he had no children. He
left a fortune of several millions in good current coin, and everything came
to our noble scion, our gaitered baron, formerly treated for idiocy in a Swiss
lunatic asylum. Instantly the scene changed, crowds of friends gathered
round our baron, who meanwhile had lost his head over a celebrated demi-
mondaine; he even discovered some relations; moreover a number of young
girls of high birth burned to be united to him in lawful matrimony. Could
anyone possibly imagine a better match? Aristocrat, millionaire, and idiot,
he has every advantage! One might hunt in vain for his equal, even with the
lantern of Diogenes; his like is not to be had even by getting it made to
order!”
“Oh, I don’t know what this means” cried Ivan Fedorovitch, transported
with indignation.
“Leave off, Colia,” begged the prince. Exclamations arose on all sides.
“Let him go on reading at all costs!” ordered Lizabetha Prokofievna,
evidently preserving her composure by a desperate effort. “Prince, if the
reading is stopped, you and I will quarrel.”
Colia had no choice but to obey. With crimson cheeks he read on
unsteadily:
“But while our young millionaire dwelt as it were in the Empyrean,
something new occurred. One fine morning a man called upon him, calm
and severe of aspect, distinguished, but plainly dressed. Politely, but in
dignified terms, as befitted his errand, he briefly explained the motive for
his visit. He was a lawyer of enlightened views; his client was a young man
who had consulted him in confidence. This young man was no other than
the son of P——, though he bears another name. In his youth P——, the
sensualist, had seduced a young girl, poor but respectable. She was a serf,
but had received a European education. Finding that a child was expected,
he hastened her marriage with a man of noble character who had loved her
for a long time. He helped the young couple for a time, but he was soon
obliged to give up, for the high-minded husband refused to accept anything
from him. Soon the careless nobleman forgot all about his former mistress
and the child she had borne him; then, as we know, he died intestate. P
——’s son, born after his mother’s marriage, found a true father in the
generous man whose name he bore. But when he also died, the orphan was
left to provide for himself, his mother now being an invalid who had lost
the use of her limbs. Leaving her in a distant province, he came to the
capital in search of pupils. By dint of daily toil he earned enough to enable
him to follow the college courses, and at last to enter the university. But
what can one earn by teaching the children of Russian merchants at ten
copecks a lesson, especially with an invalid mother to keep? Even her death
did not much diminish the hardships of the young man’s struggle for
existence. Now this is the question: how, in the name of justice, should our
scion have argued the case? Our readers will think, no doubt, that he would
say to himself: ‘P—— showered benefits upon me all my life; he spent tens
of thousands of roubles to educate me, to provide me with governesses, and
to keep me under treatment in Switzerland. Now I am a millionaire, and P
——’s son, a noble young man who is not responsible for the faults of his
careless and forgetful father, is wearing himself out giving ill-paid lessons.
According to justice, all that was done for me ought to have been done for
him. The enormous sums spent upon me were not really mine; they came to
me by an error of blind Fortune, when they ought to have gone to P——’s
son. They should have gone to benefit him, not me, in whom P——
interested himself by a mere caprice, instead of doing his duty as a father. If
I wished to behave nobly, justly, and with delicacy, I ought to bestow half
my fortune upon the son of my benefactor; but as economy is my favourite
virtue, and I know this is not a case in which the law can intervene, I will
not give up half my millions. But it would be too openly vile, too flagrantly
infamous, if I did not at least restore to P——’s son the tens of thousands of
roubles spent in curing my idiocy. This is simply a case of conscience and
of strict justice. Whatever would have become of me if P—— had not
looked after my education, and had taken care of his own son instead of
me?’
“No, gentlemen, our scions of the nobility do not reason thus. The
lawyer, who had taken up the matter purely out of friendship to the young
man, and almost against his will, invoked every consideration of justice,
delicacy, honour, and even plain figures; in vain, the ex-patient of the Swiss
lunatic asylum was inflexible. All this might pass, but the sequel is
absolutely unpardonable, and not to be excused by any interesting malady.
This millionaire, having but just discarded the old gaiters of his professor,
could not even understand that the noble young man slaving away at his
lessons was not asking for charitable help, but for his rightful due, though
the debt was not a legal one; that, correctly speaking, he was not asking for
anything, but it was merely his friends who had thought fit to bestir
themselves on his behalf. With the cool insolence of a bloated capitalist,
secure in his millions, he majestically drew a banknote for fifty roubles
from his pocket-book and sent it to the noble young man as a humiliating
piece of charity. You can hardly believe it, gentlemen! You are scandalized
and disgusted; you cry out in indignation! But that is what he did! Needless
to say, the money was returned, or rather flung back in his face. The case is
not within the province of the law, it must be referred to the tribunal of
public opinion; this is what we now do, guaranteeing the truth of all the
details which we have related.”
When Colia had finished reading, he handed the paper to the prince, and
retired silently to a corner of the room, hiding his face in his hands. He was
overcome by a feeling of inexpressible shame; his boyish sensitiveness was
wounded beyond endurance. It seemed to him that something extraordinary,
some sudden catastrophe had occurred, and that he was almost the cause of
it, because he had read the article aloud.
Yet all the others were similarly affected. The girls were uncomfortable
and ashamed. Lizabetha Prokofievna restrained her violent anger by a great
effort; perhaps she bitterly regretted her interference in the matter; for the
present she kept silence. The prince felt as very shy people often do in such
a case; he was so ashamed of the conduct of other people, so humiliated for
his guests, that he dared not look them in the face. Ptitsin, Varia, Gania, and
Lebedeff himself, all looked rather confused. Stranger still, Hippolyte and
the “son of Pavlicheff” also seemed slightly surprised, and Lebedeff’s
nephew was obviously far from pleased. The boxer alone was perfectly
calm; he twisted his moustaches with affected dignity, and if his eyes were
cast down it was certainly not in confusion, but rather in noble modesty, as
if he did not wish to be insolent in his triumph. It was evident that he was
delighted with the article.
“The devil knows what it means,” growled Ivan Fedorovitch, under his
breath; “it must have taken the united wits of fifty footmen to write it.”
“May I ask your reason for such an insulting supposition, sir?” said
Hippolyte, trembling with rage.
“You will admit yourself, general, that for an honourable man, if the
author is an honourable man, that is an—an insult,” growled the boxer
suddenly, with convulsive jerkings of his shoulders.
“In the first place, it is not for you to address me as ‘sir,’ and, in the
second place, I refuse to give you any explanation,” said Ivan Fedorovitch
vehemently; and he rose without another word, and went and stood on the
first step of the flight that led from the verandah to the street, turning his
back on the company. He was indignant with Lizabetha Prokofievna, who
did not think of moving even now.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, let me speak at last,” cried the prince, anxious
and agitated. “Please let us understand one another. I say nothing about the
article, gentlemen, except that every word is false; I say this because you
know it as well as I do. It is shameful. I should be surprised if any one of
you could have written it.”
“I did not know of its existence till this moment,” declared Hippolyte. “I
do not approve of it.”
“I knew it had been written, but I would not have advised its
publication,” said Lebedeff’s nephew, “because it is premature.”
“I knew it, but I have a right. I… I…” stammered the “son of Pavlicheff.”
“What! Did you write all that yourself? Is it possible?” asked the prince,
regarding Burdovsky with curiosity.
“One might dispute your right to ask such questions,” observed
Lebedeff’s nephew.
“I was only surprised that Mr. Burdovsky should have—however, this is
what I have to say. Since you had already given the matter publicity, why
did you object just now, when I began to speak of it to my friends?”
“At last!” murmured Lizabetha Prokofievna indignantly.
Lebedeff could restrain himself no longer; he made his way through the
row of chairs.
“Prince,” he cried, “you are forgetting that if you consented to receive
and hear them, it was only because of your kind heart which has no equal,
for they had not the least right to demand it, especially as you had placed
the matter in the hands of Gavrila Ardalionovitch, which was also
extremely kind of you. You are also forgetting, most excellent prince, that
you are with friends, a select company; you cannot sacrifice them to these
gentlemen, and it is only for you to have them turned out this instant. As the
master of the house I shall have great pleasure ….”
“Quite right!” agreed General Ivolgin in a loud voice.
“That will do, Lebedeff, that will do—” began the prince, when an
indignant outcry drowned his words.
“Excuse me, prince, excuse me, but now that will not do,” shouted
Lebedeff’s nephew, his voice dominating all the others. “The matter must
be clearly stated, for it is obviously not properly understood. They are
calling in some legal chicanery, and upon that ground they are threatening
to turn us out of the house! Really, prince, do you think we are such fools as
not to be aware that this matter does not come within the law, and that
legally we cannot claim a rouble from you? But we are also aware that if
actual law is not on our side, human law is for us, natural law, the law of
common-sense and conscience, which is no less binding upon every noble
and honest man—that is, every man of sane judgment—because it is not to
be found in miserable legal codes. If we come here without fear of being
turned out (as was threatened just now) because of the imperative tone of
our demand, and the unseemliness of such a visit at this late hour (though it
was not late when we arrived, we were kept waiting in your anteroom), if, I
say, we came in without fear, it is just because we expected to find you a
man of sense; I mean, a man of honour and conscience. It is quite true that
we did not present ourselves humbly, like your flatterers and parasites, but
holding up our heads as befits independent men. We present no petition, but
a proud and free demand (note it well, we do not beseech, we demand!). We
ask you fairly and squarely in a dignified manner. Do you believe that in
this affair of Burdovsky you have right on your side? Do you admit that
Pavlicheff overwhelmed you with benefits, and perhaps saved your life? If
you admit it (which we take for granted), do you intend, now that you are a
millionaire, and do you not think it in conformity with justice, to indemnify
Burdovsky? Yes or no? If it is yes, or, in other words, if you possess what
you call honour and conscience, and we more justly call common-sense,
then accede to our demand, and the matter is at an end. Give us satisfaction,
without entreaties or thanks from us; do not expect thanks from us, for what
you do will be done not for our sake, but for the sake of justice. If you
refuse to satisfy us, that is, if your answer is no, we will go away at once,
and there will be an end of the matter. But we will tell you to your face
before the present company that you are a man of vulgar and undeveloped
mind; we will openly deny you the right to speak in future of your honour
and conscience, for you have not paid the fair price of such a right. I have
no more to say—I have put the question before you. Now turn us out if you
dare. You can do it; force is on your side. But remember that we do not
beseech, we demand! We do not beseech, we demand!”
With these last excited words, Lebedeff’s nephew was silent.
“We demand, we demand, we demand, we do not beseech,” spluttered
Burdovsky, red as a lobster.
The speech of Lebedeff’s nephew caused a certain stir among the
company; murmurs arose, though with the exception of Lebedeff, who was
still very much excited, everyone was careful not to interfere in the matter.
Strangely enough, Lebedeff, although on the prince’s side, seemed quite
proud of his nephew’s eloquence. Gratified vanity was visible in the glances
he cast upon the assembled company.
“In my opinion, Mr. Doktorenko,” said the prince, in rather a low voice,
“you are quite right in at least half of what you say. I would go further and
say that you are altogether right, and that I quite agree with you, if there
were not something lacking in your speech. I cannot undertake to say
precisely what it is, but you have certainly omitted something, and you
cannot be quite just while there is something lacking. But let us put that
aside and return to the point. Tell me what induced you to publish this
article. Every word of it is a calumny, and I think, gentlemen, that you have
been guilty of a mean action.”
“Allow me—”
“Sir—”
“What? What? What?” cried all the visitors at once, in violent agitation.
“As to the article,” said Hippolyte in his croaking voice, “I have told you
already that we none of us approve of it! There is the writer,” he added,
pointing to the boxer, who sat beside him. “I quite admit that he has written
it in his old regimental manner, with an equal disregard for style and
decency. I know he is a cross between a fool and an adventurer; I make no
bones about telling him so to his face every day. But after all he is half
justified; publicity is the lawful right of every man; consequently,
Burdovsky is not excepted. Let him answer for his own blunders. As to the
objection which I made just now in the name of all, to the presence of your
friends, I think I ought to explain, gentlemen, that I only did so to assert our
rights, though we really wished to have witnesses; we had agreed
unanimously upon the point before we came in. We do not care who your
witnesses may be, or whether they are your friends or not. As they cannot
fail to recognize Burdovsky’s right (seeing that it is mathematically
demonstrable), it is just as well that the witnesses should be your friends.
The truth will only be more plainly evident.”
“It is quite true; we had agreed upon that point,” said Lebedeff’s nephew,
in confirmation.
“If that is the case, why did you begin by making such a fuss about it?”
asked the astonished prince.
The boxer was dying to get in a few words; owing, no doubt, to the
presence of the ladies, he was becoming quite jovial.
“As to the article, prince,” he said, “I admit that I wrote it, in spite of the
severe criticism of my poor friend, in whom I always overlook many things
because of his unfortunate state of health. But I wrote and published it in
the form of a letter, in the paper of a friend. I showed it to no one but
Burdovsky, and I did not read it all through, even to him. He immediately
gave me permission to publish it, but you will admit that I might have done
so without his consent. Publicity is a noble, beneficent, and universal right.
I hope, prince, that you are too progressive to deny this?”
“I deny nothing, but you must confess that your article—”
“Is a bit thick, you mean? Well, in a way that is in the public interest; you
will admit that yourself, and after all one cannot overlook a blatant fact. So
much the worse for the guilty parties, but the public welfare must come
before everything. As to certain inaccuracies and figures of speech, so to
speak, you will also admit that the motive, aim, and intention, are the chief
thing. It is a question, above all, of making a wholesome example; the
individual case can be examined afterwards; and as to the style—well, the
thing was meant to be humorous, so to speak, and, after all, everybody
writes like that; you must admit it yourself! Ha, ha!”
“But, gentlemen, I assure you that you are quite astray,” exclaimed the
prince. “You have published this article upon the supposition that I would
never consent to satisfy Mr. Burdovsky. Acting on that conviction, you have
tried to intimidate me by this publication and to be revenged for my
supposed refusal. But what did you know of my intentions? It may be that I
have resolved to satisfy Mr. Burdovsky’s claim. I now declare openly, in the
presence of these witnesses, that I will do so.”
“The noble and intelligent word of an intelligent and most noble man, at
last!” exclaimed the boxer.
“Good God!” exclaimed Lizabetha Prokofievna involuntarily.
“This is intolerable,” growled the general.
“Allow me, gentlemen, allow me,” urged the prince.
“I will explain matters to you. Five weeks ago I received a visit from
Tchebaroff, your agent, Mr. Burdovsky. You have given a very flattering
description of him in your article, Mr. Keller,” he continued, turning to the
boxer with a smile, “but he did not please me at all. I saw at once that
Tchebaroff was the moving spirit in the matter, and, to speak frankly, I
thought he might have induced you, Mr. Burdovsky, to make this claim, by
taking advantage of your simplicity.”
“You have no right…. I am not simple,” stammered Burdovsky, much
agitated.
“You have no sort of right to suppose such things,” said Lebedeff’s
nephew in a tone of authority.
“It is most offensive!” shrieked Hippolyte; “it is an insulting suggestion,
false, and most ill-timed.”
“I beg your pardon, gentlemen; please excuse me,” said the prince. “I
thought absolute frankness on both sides would be best, but have it your
own way. I told Tchebaroff that, as I was not in Petersburg, I would
commission a friend to look into the matter without delay, and that I would
let you know, Mr. Burdovsky. Gentlemen, I have no hesitation in telling you
that it was the fact of Tchebaroff’s intervention that made me suspect a
fraud. Oh! do not take offence at my words, gentlemen, for Heaven’s sake
do not be so touchy!” cried the prince, seeing that Burdovsky was getting
excited again, and that the rest were preparing to protest. “If I say I
suspected a fraud, there is nothing personal in that. I had never seen any of
you then; I did not even know your names; I only judged by Tchebaroff; I
am speaking quite generally—if you only knew how I have been ‘done’
since I came into my fortune!”
“You are shockingly naive, prince,” said Lebedeff’s nephew in mocking
tones.
“Besides, though you are a prince and a millionaire, and even though you
may really be simple and good-hearted, you can hardly be outside the
general law,” Hippolyte declared loudly.
“Perhaps not; it is very possible,” the prince agreed hastily, “though I do
not know what general law you allude to. I will go on—only please do not
take offence without good cause. I assure you I do not mean to offend you
in the least. Really, it is impossible to speak three words sincerely without
your flying into a rage! At first I was amazed when Tchebaroff told me that
Pavlicheff had a son, and that he was in such a miserable position.
Pavlicheff was my benefactor, and my father’s friend. Oh, Mr. Keller, why
does your article impute things to my father without the slightest
foundation? He never squandered the funds of his company nor ill-treated
his subordinates, I am absolutely certain of it; I cannot imagine how you
could bring yourself to write such a calumny! But your assertions
concerning Pavlicheff are absolutely intolerable! You do not scruple to
make a libertine of that noble man; you call him a sensualist as coolly as if
you were speaking the truth, and yet it would not be possible to find a
chaster man. He was even a scholar of note, and in correspondence with
several celebrated scientists, and spent large sums in the interests of
science. As to his kind heart and his good actions, you were right indeed
when you said that I was almost an idiot at that time, and could hardly
understand anything—(I could speak and understand Russian, though),—
but now I can appreciate what I remember—”
“Excuse me,” interrupted Hippolyte, “is not this rather sentimental? You
said you wished to come to the point; please remember that it is after nine
o’clock.”
“Very well, gentlemen—very well,” replied the prince. “At first I
received the news with mistrust, then I said to myself that I might be
mistaken, and that Pavlicheff might possibly have had a son. But I was
absolutely amazed at the readiness with which the son had revealed the
secret of his birth at the expense of his mother’s honour. For Tchebaroff had
already menaced me with publicity in our interview….”
“What nonsense!” Lebedeff’s nephew interrupted violently.
“You have no right—you have no right!” cried Burdovsky.
“The son is not responsible for the misdeeds of his father; and the mother
is not to blame,” added Hippolyte, with warmth.
“That seems to me all the more reason for sparing her,” said the prince
timidly.
“Prince, you are not only simple, but your simplicity is almost past the
limit,” said Lebedeff’s nephew, with a sarcastic smile.
“But what right had you?” said Hippolyte in a very strange tone.
“None—none whatever,” agreed the prince hastily. “I admit you are right
there, but it was involuntary, and I immediately said to myself that my
personal feelings had nothing to do with it,—that if I thought it right to
satisfy the demands of Mr. Burdovsky, out of respect for the memory of
Pavlicheff, I ought to do so in any case, whether I esteemed Mr. Burdovsky
or not. I only mentioned this, gentlemen, because it seemed so unnatural to
me for a son to betray his mother’s secret in such a way. In short, that is
what convinced me that Tchebaroff must be a rogue, and that he had
induced Mr. Burdovsky to attempt this fraud.”
“But this is intolerable!” cried the visitors, some of them starting to their
feet.
“Gentlemen, I supposed from this that poor Mr. Burdovsky must be a
simple-minded man, quite defenceless, and an easy tool in the hands of
rogues. That is why I thought it my duty to try and help him as ‘Pavlicheff’s
son’; in the first place by rescuing him from the influence of Tchebaroff,
and secondly by making myself his friend. I have resolved to give him ten
thousand roubles; that is about the sum which I calculate that Pavlicheff
must have spent on me.”
“What, only ten thousand!” cried Hippolyte.
“Well, prince, your arithmetic is not up to much, or else you are mighty
clever at it, though you affect the air of a simpleton,” said Lebedeff’s
nephew.
“I will not accept ten thousand roubles,” said Burdovsky.
“Accept, Antip,” whispered the boxer eagerly, leaning past the back of
Hippolyte’s chair to give his friend this piece of advice. “Take it for the
present; we can see about more later on.”
“Look here, Mr. Muishkin,” shouted Hippolyte, “please understand that
we are not fools, nor idiots, as your guests seem to imagine; these ladies
who look upon us with such scorn, and especially this fine gentleman”
(pointing to Evgenie Pavlovitch) “whom I have not the honour of knowing,
though I think I have heard some talk about him—”
“Really, really, gentlemen,” cried the prince in great agitation, “you are
misunderstanding me again. In the first place, Mr. Keller, you have greatly
overestimated my fortune in your article. I am far from being a millionaire.
I have barely a tenth of what you suppose. Secondly, my treatment in
Switzerland was very far from costing tens of thousands of roubles.
Schneider received six hundred roubles a year, and he was only paid for the
first three years. As to the pretty governesses whom Pavlicheff is supposed
to have brought from Paris, they only exist in Mr. Keller’s imagination; it is
another calumny. According to my calculations, the sum spent on me was
very considerably under ten thousand roubles, but I decided on that sum,
and you must admit that in paying a debt I could not offer Mr. Burdovsky
more, however kindly disposed I might be towards him; delicacy forbids it;
I should seem to be offering him charity instead of rightful payment. I don’t
know how you cannot see that, gentlemen! Besides, I had no intention of
leaving the matter there. I meant to intervene amicably later on and help to
improve poor Mr. Burdovsky’s position. It is clear that he has been
deceived, or he would never have agreed to anything so vile as the
scandalous revelations about his mother in Mr. Keller’s article. But,
gentlemen, why are you getting angry again? Are we never to come to an
understanding? Well, the event has proved me right! I have just seen with
my own eyes the proof that my conjecture was correct!” he added, with
increasing eagerness.
He meant to calm his hearers, and did not perceive that his words had
only increased their irritation.
“What do you mean? What are you convinced of?” they demanded
angrily.
“In the first place, I have had the opportunity of getting a correct idea of
Mr. Burdovsky. I see what he is for myself. He is an innocent man,
deceived by everyone! A defenceless victim, who deserves indulgence!
Secondly, Gavrila Ardalionovitch, in whose hands I had placed the matter,
had his first interview with me barely an hour ago. I had not heard from him
for some time, as I was away, and have been ill for three days since my
return to St. Petersburg. He tells me that he has exposed the designs of
Tchebaroff and has proof that justifies my opinion of him. I know,
gentlemen, that many people think me an idiot. Counting upon my
reputation as a man whose purse-strings are easily loosened, Tchebaroff
thought it would be a simple matter to fleece me, especially by trading on
my gratitude to Pavlicheff. But the main point is—listen, gentlemen, let me
finish!—the main point is that Mr. Burdovsky is not Pavlicheff’s son at all.
Gavrila Ardalionovitch has just told me of his discovery, and assures me
that he has positive proofs. Well, what do you think of that? It is scarcely
credible, even after all the tricks that have been played upon me. Please
note that we have positive proofs! I can hardly believe it myself, I assure
you; I do not yet believe it; I am still doubtful, because Gavrila
Ardalionovitch has not had time to go into details; but there can be no
further doubt that Tchebaroff is a rogue! He has deceived poor Mr.
Burdovsky, and all of you, gentlemen, who have come forward so nobly to
support your friend—(he evidently needs support, I quite see that!). He has
abused your credulity and involved you all in an attempted fraud, for when
all is said and done this claim is nothing else!”
“What! a fraud? What, he is not Pavlicheff’s son? Impossible!”
These exclamations but feebly expressed the profound bewilderment into
which the prince’s words had plunged Burdovsky’s companions.
“Certainly it is a fraud! Since Mr. Burdovsky is not Pavlicheff’s son, his
claim is neither more nor less than attempted fraud (supposing, of course,
that he had known the truth), but the fact is that he has been deceived. I
insist on this point in order to justify him; I repeat that his simple-
mindedness makes him worthy of pity, and that he cannot stand alone;
otherwise he would have behaved like a scoundrel in this matter. But I feel
certain that he does not understand it! I was just the same myself before I
went to Switzerland; I stammered incoherently; one tries to express oneself
and cannot. I understand that. I am all the better able to pity Mr. Burdovsky,
because I know from experience what it is to be like that, and so I have a
right to speak. Well, though there is no such person as ‘Pavlicheff’s son,’
and it is all nothing but a humbug, yet I will keep to my decision, and I am
prepared to give up ten thousand roubles in memory of Pavlicheff. Before
Mr. Burdovsky made this claim, I proposed to found a school with this
money, in memory of my benefactor, but I shall honour his memory quite as
well by giving the ten thousand roubles to Mr. Burdovsky, because, though
he was not Pavlicheff’s son, he was treated almost as though he were. That
is what gave a rogue the opportunity of deceiving him; he really did think
himself Pavlicheff’s son. Listen, gentlemen; this matter must be settled;
keep calm; do not get angry; and sit down! Gavrila Ardalionovitch will
explain everything to you at once, and I confess that I am very anxious to
hear all the details myself. He says that he has even been to Pskoff to see
your mother, Mr. Burdovsky; she is not dead, as the article which was just
read to us makes out. Sit down, gentlemen, sit down!”
The prince sat down, and at length prevailed upon Burdovsky’s company
to do likewise. During the last ten or twenty minutes, exasperated by
continual interruptions, he had raised his voice, and spoken with great
vehemence. Now, no doubt, he bitterly regretted several words and
expressions which had escaped him in his excitement. If he had not been
driven beyond the limits of endurance, he would not have ventured to
