 Part 2 Chapter 8 of The Idiot This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Recording by Martin Giesen. The Idiot by Fyodor Dostoevsky. Translated by Eva M. Martin. Part 2 Chapter 8 I did not expect you gentlemen, began the prince. I have been ill until today. A month ago he continued addressing himself to Antip Burdovsky. I put your business into Gabriela Ardelyonovich Volgin'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 Lebedev'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 is that acting like a prince? And you, you may be a general, but I am not your valet, and 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 Ipolit. If any one 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 Mushkin, we are not afraid of your friends, Prince, remarked Lebedev's nephew, for we are within our rights. The shrill tones of Ipolit interrupted him. What right of 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 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 lent 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. Lyov Nikolaevich, interposed Madame Yepanchin suddenly, read this at once, this very moment. It is about this business. She held out her weekly comic paper, pointing to an article on one of its pages. Just as the visitors were coming in, Lebedyev, 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. Lisaveta 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 Collia to her, and giving him the journal. Read it aloud, so that everyone may hear it. An impetuous woman, Lisaveta Prokofievna, sometimes weighed her anchors and put out to sea, quite regardless of the possible storms she might encounter. Ivan Fyodorovich felt a sudden pang of alarm, but the others were merely curious, and somewhat surprised. Collia unfolded the paper, and began to read, in his clear, high-pitched voice, the following article. Frolaterians 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, paralysed, 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, dey profundis. The grandfathers of these scions ruined themselves at the gaming-tables. Their fathers were forced to serve as officers or subletons. 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 ascises, 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, i.e., 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. Sick! Fortunately Fortune favoured him, for apart from the interesting melody 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-martialed 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. 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 organisers 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, which 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 rubles. The treatment lasted five years. Needless to say the idiot did not become more 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. But 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 Khrilov'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 gated 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. "'I don't know what this means,' cried Ivan Fyodorovich, transported with indignation. "'Leave off, Collier,' begged the Prince. Exclamations arose on all sides. "'Let him go on reading at all costs,' ordered Lisaveta Prokofievna, evidently preserving her composure by a desperate effort. "'Prince, if the reading is stopped, you and I will quarrel.'" Collier had no choice but to obey. With crimson cheeks he read on, unsteadily. But while our young millionaire, dwelt as it were in the Empirean, 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 Peay, though he bears another name. In his youth Peay, 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 in testate. His 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 copex 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 rubles 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. And 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 rubles spent in curing my idiocy. This is simply a case of conscience, and of stripped 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 sirens 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 gators of the professor, could not even understand that the 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 bestow themselves on his behalf. With the cool insolence of a bloated capitalist, secure in his millions, he majestically drew a bank note for fifty rubles 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 scandalised and disgusted. You cry out in indignation. But this 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 Collier 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. Isabieta 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. Ippolit and the son of Pavlychev also seemed slightly surprised, and Lebedev'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 Fyodorovich 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 Ippolit, trembling with rage. You will admit yourself, general, that for an honourable man, if the author is an honourable man, that is, 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 Fyodorovich vehemently, and he rose without another word, and went and stood on the first step of the flight that led from the veranda to the street, turning his back on the company. He was indignant with Liza Vieta 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 Ippolit. "'I do not approve of it. I knew it had been written, but I would not have advised its publication,' said Lebergeff's nephew, "'because it is premature. I knew it, but I have a right. I — I —' stammered the son of Pavlychev. "'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 Lebergeff'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 Lisavieta Prokofievna indignantly. Lebergeff 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 Ardalyonovich, 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 Evolgin in a loud voice. "'That will do, Lebergeff. That will do,' began the prince, when an indignant outcry drowned his words. "'Excuse me, Prince, excuse me, but that will not do,' shouted Lebergeff'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 ruble 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 anti-room. 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 Burdowski you have right on your side? Do you admit that Pavlychev 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 Burdowski? 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, 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 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, Lebedev's nephew was silent. We demand, we demand, we demand, we do not beseech, splattered Burdowski. Red as a lobster. The speech of Lebedev's nephew caused a certain stir among the company. Murmers arose. Though with the exception of Lebedev, who was still very much excited, everyone was careful not to interfere in the matter. Strangely enough, Lebedev, although on the prince's side, seemed quite proud of his nephew's eloquence. And vanity was visible in the glances he cast upon the assembled company. "'In my opinion, Mr. Dr. Enko,' 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 Ipolit, 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 Burdowski is not accepted. 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 recognise Burdowski'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 Lebedev's nephew in confirmation. If that is the case, why do 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 Burdowski, 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. Guilty 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 of 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. 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. Burdowski. 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. Burdowski'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 Lisa Vieta 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 Ceberov, your agent, Mr. Burdowski. 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 Ceberov was the moving spirit in the matter, and to speak frankly, I thought he might have induced you, Mr. Burdowski, to make this claim by taking advantage of your simplicity. You have no right. I am not simple, Stammered Burdowski much agitated. You have no sort of right to suppose such things, said Lebedev's nephew in a tone of authority. It is most offensive, shrieked Ipolit. 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 Ceberov 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. Burdowski. Gentlemen, I have no hesitation in telling you that it was the fact of Ceberov's intervention that made me suspect a fraud. Do not take offence at my words, gentlemen, for heaven's sake do not be so touchy," cried the prince, seeing that Burdowski 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 Ceberov. 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 Lebedev'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," Ipolit 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 Ceberov told me that Pavlychev had a son, and that he was in such a miserable position. Pavlychev 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 calamity. But your assertions concerning Pavlychev 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 chaste 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 Epolyte, 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 Pavlychev 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 Cheburov had already menaced me with publicity in our interview. What nonsense! Lebedev's nephew interrupted violently. You have no right! You have no right! cried Bordovsky. The son is not responsible for the misdeeds of his father, and the mother is not to blame. I did Epolyte 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 Lebedev's nephew with a sarcastic smile. But what right had you? said Epolyte 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. Bordovsky out of respect for the memory of Pavlychev, I ought to do so in any case, whether I esteemed Mr. Bordovsky or not. I only mentioned this gentleman, 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 Cheburov must be a rogue, and that he had induced Mr. Bordovsky 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. Bordovsky 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 Pavlychev's son, in the first place, by rescuing him from the influence of Cheburov, and secondly by making myself his friend. I have resolved to give him ten thousand rubles. That is about the sum which I calculate that Pavlychev must have spent on me. What! Only ten thousand! cried Ipollit. 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 Lebedev's nephew. I will not accept ten thousand rubles, said Bordovsky. Accept, Antip, whispered the boxer eagerly, leaning past the back of Ipollit'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. Mwishkin, shouted Ipollit, please understand that we are not fools, not idiots, as your guests seem to imagine. These ladies who look upon us with such scorn, and especially this fine gentleman, pointing to Yevgeny Pavlychev, 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 rubles. Schneider received six hundred rubles a year, and he was only paid for the first three years. As to the pretty governesses whom Pavlychev 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 rubles, but I decided on that sum, and you must admit that in paying a debt I could not offer Mr. Burdowski 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 have no intention of leaving the matter there. I meant to intervene amicably later on, and help to improve poor Mr. Burdowski'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. Burdowski. I see what he is for myself. He is an innocent man, deceived by everyone, a defenceless victim who deserves indulgence. Secondly, Gavrila Ardalyonovich, 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, but have been ill for three days since my return to St. Petersburg. He tells me that he has exposed the designs of Chebarov 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, Chebarov thought it would be a simple matter to fleece me, especially by trading on my gratitude to Pavlychev. But the main point is, listen, gentlemen, let me finish. The main point is that Mr. Burdowski is not Pavlychev's son at all. Gavrila Ardalyonovich 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 Ardalyonovich has not had time to go into details. But there can be no further doubt that Chebarov is a rogue. He has deceived poor Mr. Burdowski, 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 Pavlychev's son, impossible! These exclamations but feebly expressed the profound bewilderment into which the Prince's words had plunged Burdowski's companions. Certainly it is a fraud. Since Mr. Burdowski is not Pavlychev'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. Burdowski, 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 Pavlychev's son, and it is all nothing but a humbug, yet will I keep to my decision, and I am prepared to give up ten thousand rubles in memory of Pavlychev. While Mr. Burdowski 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 rubles to Mr. Burdowski, because though he was not Pavlychev'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 Pavlychev's son. Listen, gentlemen, this matter must be settled. Keep calm. Do not get angry, and sit down. Gavrila Ardalyonovich 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 Pskov to see your mother, Mr. Burdowski. He 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 Burdowski'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 express certain conjectures so openly. He had no sooner sat down than his heart was torn by sharp remorse. This insulting Burdowski with the supposition made in the presence of witnesses that he was suffering from the complaint for which he had himself been treated in Switzerland. He reproached himself with the grossest indelicacy, in having offered him the ten thousand rubles before everyone. I ought to have waited till to-morrow, and offered him the money when we were alone, thought Mushkin. Now it is too late, the mischief is done. Yes, I am an idiot, an absolute idiot," he said to himself, overcome with shame and regret. Till then Gavrila Ardalyonovich had sat apart in silence. When the prince called upon him, he came and stood by his side, and in a calm, clear voice began to render an account of the mission confided to him. All conversations ceased instantly. Everyone, especially the Burdowski Party, listened with the utmost curiosity. End of Part 2, Chapter 8. You will not deny, I am sure, said Gavrila Ardalyonovich, turning to Burdowski, who sat looking at him with wide open eyes, perplexed and astonished. You will not deny seriously that you were born just two years after your mother's legal marriage to Mr. Burdowski, your father. Everything would be easier than to prove the date of your birth from well-known facts. We can only look on Mr. Keller's version as a work of imagination, and one moreover extremely offensive both to you and your mother. Of course he distorted the truth in order to strengthen your claim and to serve your interests. Mr. Keller said that he previously consulted you about this article in the paper, but did not read it to you as a whole. Certainly he could not have read that passage. As a matter of fact I did not read it," interrupted the boxer, but its contents had been given me on unimpeachable authority, and I, excuse me, Mr. Keller," interposed Gavrila Ardalyonovich, allow me to speak. I assure you your article shall be mentioned in its proper place, and then you can explain everything, but for the moment I would rather not anticipate. Quite accidentally, with the help of my sister, Varvara Ardalyonovna Ptitsin, I obtained from one of her intimate friends, Madame Zhubkov, a letter written to her twenty-five years ago by Nikolai Andreevich Pavlychev, then abroad. After getting into communication with this lady, I went, by her advice, to Timofey Fyodorovich Vyazovkin, a retired colonel, and one of Pavlychev's oldest friends. He gave me two more letters written by the latter when he was still in foreign parts. These three documents, their dates, and the fact mentioned in them, prove in the most undeniable manner that eighteen months before your birth Nikolai Andreevich went abroad, where he remained for three consecutive years. Your mother, as you are well aware, has never been out of Russia. It is too late to read the letters now, I am content to state the fact. But if you desire it, come to me tomorrow morning, bring witnesses and writing experts with you, and I will prove the absolute truth of my story. From that moment the question will be decided. These words caused a sensation among the listeners, and there was a general movement of relief. Burdovsky got up abruptly. If that is true, said he, I have been deceived, grossly deceived, but not by Chaborov, and for a long time, past a long time, I do not wish for experts, not I, nor to go to see you. I believe you, I give it up. But I refuse the ten thousand rubles. Good-bye! Wait five minutes more, Mr. Burdovsky, said Gavrila Ardalyonovich pleasantly. I have more to say. Some rather curious and important facts have come to light, and it is absolutely necessary, in my opinion, that you should hear them. You will not regret, I fancy, to have the whole matter thoroughly cleared up. Burdovsky silently resumed his seat, and bent his head as though in profound thought. His friend, Lebedev's nephew, who had risen to accompany him, also sat down again. He seemed much disappointed, though as self-confident as ever. Ypollit looked dejected and sulky, as well as surprised. He had just been attacked by a violent fit of coughing, so that his handkerchief was stained with blood. The boxer looked thoroughly frightened. Oh, and teep! cried he in a miserable voice. I did say to you the other day, the day before yesterday, that perhaps you were not really Pavlychev's son. There were sounds of half-smothered laughter at this. Now that is a valuable piece of information, Mr. Keller," replied Gania. However that may be, I have private information which convinces me that Mr. Burdovsky, though doubtless aware of the date of his birth, knew nothing at all about Pavlychev's sojourn abroad. Indeed, he passed the greater part of his life out of Russia, returning at intervals for short visits. The journey in question is in itself too unimportant for his friends to recollect it after more than twenty years. And of course Mr. Burdovsky could have known nothing about it, for he was not born. As the eventers proved, it was not impossible to find evidence of his absence, though I must confess that chance has helped me in a quest which might very well have come to nothing. It was really almost impossible for Burdovsky or Trevorov to discover these facts, even if it had entered the heads to try. Naturally they never tremped. Here the voice of Ipolit suddenly intervened. "'Allow me, Mr. Ivolgin,' he said irritably, "'what is the good of all this rigmarole? Pardon me. All is now clear, and we acknowledge the truth of your main point. Why go into these tedious details? You wish perhaps to boast of the cleverness of your investigation, to quiet up your talents as detective? Or perhaps your intention is to excuse Burdovsky by proving that he took up the matter in ignorance? Well, I consider that extremely impudent on your part. You ought to know that Burdovsky has no need of being excused or justified by you or anyone else. It is an insult. The affair is quite painful enough for him without that. Will nothing make you understand?' "'Enough, enough, Mr. Terenchev,' interrupted Gania. "'Don't excite yourself. You seem very ill, and I am sorry for that. I am almost done, but there are a few facts to which I must briefly refer, as I am convinced that they ought to be clearly explained once for all.' A movement of impatience was noticed in his audience as he resumed. I merely wished to state, for the information of all concerned, that the reason for Mr. Pavlychev's interest in your mother, Mr. Burdovsky, was simply that she was the sister of a surf-girl, with whom he was deeply in love in his youth, and whom most certainly he would have married but for her sudden death. I have proofs that this circumstance is almost, if not quite, forgotten. I may add that when your mother was about ten years old, Pavlychev talked her under his care, gave her a good education, and later a considerable dowry. His relations were alarmed, and feared he might go so far as to marry her, but she gave her hand to a young land surveyor named Burdovsky, when she reached the age of twenty. I can even say definitely that it was a marriage of affection. After his wedding, your father gave up his occupation as land surveyor, and with his wife's dowry of fifteen thousand rubles went in for commercial speculations. As he had had no experience, he was cheated on all sides, and took to drink in order to forget his troubles. He shortened his life by his excesses, and eight years after his marriage he died. Your mother says herself that she was left in the direst poverty, and would have died of starvation had it not been for Pavlychev, who generously allowed her a yearly pension of six hundred rubles. Many people recall his extreme fondness for you as a little boy. Your mother confirms this, and agrees with others in thinking that he loved you the more because you were a sickly child, stammering in your speech, and almost deformed. For it is known that all his life Nikolai Andreevich had a partiality for unfortunates of every kind, especially children. In my opinion this is most important. I may add that I discovered yet another fact, the last on which I employed my detective powers. Seeing how fond Pavlychev was of you, it was thanks to him you went to school, but also had the advantage of special teachers. His relations and servants grew to believe that you were his son, and that your father had been betrayed by his wife. I may point out that this idea was only accredited generally during the last years of Pavlychev's life, when his next of kin were trembling about the succession, when the earlier story was quite forgotten, and when all opportunity for discovering the truth had seemingly passed away. No doubt you, Mr. Burdovsky, heard this conjecture, and did not hesitate to accept it as true. I have had the honour of making your mother's acquaintance, and I find that she knows all about these reports. What she does not know is that you, her son, should have listened to them so complacently. I found your respected mother at Pskov, ill and in deep poverty, as she has been ever since the death of your benefactor. She told me with tears of gratitude how you had supported her. She expects much of you, and believes fervently in your future success. Oh, this is unbearable, said Lebedev's nephew impatiently. What is the good of all this remancing? It is revolting and unsamely, cried Ipolit, jumping up in a fury. Burdovsky alone sat silent and motionless. What is the good of it? Well, firstly, because now perhaps Mr. Burdovsky is quite convinced that Mr. Pavlychev's love for him came simply from generosity of soul, and not from paternal duty. It was most necessary to impress this fact upon his mind, considering that he approved of the article written by Mr. Keller. I speak thus, because I look on you, Mr. Burdovsky, as an honourable man. Secondly, it appears that there was no intention of cheating in this case, even on the part of Chebarov. I wish to say this quite plainly, because the prince hinted a while ago that I too thought it as an attempt at robbery and extortion. On the contrary, everyone has been quite sincere in the matter. And although Chebarov may be somewhat of a rogue, in this business he has acted simply as any sharp lawyer would do under the circumstances. He looked at it as a case that might bring him in a lot of money, and he did not calculate badly, because on the one hand he speculated on the generosity of the prince, and his gratitude to the late Mr. Pavlychev, and on the other to his chivalrous ideas as to the obligations of honour and conscience. As to Mr. Burdovsky, allowing for his principles, we may acknowledge that he engaged in the business with very little personal aim in view. At the instigation of Chebarov and his other friends, he decided to make the attempt in the service of truth, progress and humanity. In short, the conclusion may be drawn that, in spite of all appearances, Mr. Burdovsky is a man of irreproachable character, and thus the prince can all the more readily offer him his friendship, and the assistance of which he spoke just now. Hush! Hush, Gavrila Ardalyonovich!" cried Mwishkin in dismay, but it was too late. I said, and I repeated it over and over again, shouted Burdovsky furiously, but I did not want the money. I will not take it. I will not. I am going away." He was rushing hurriedly from the terrace when Lebedev's nephew seized his arms and said something to him in a low voice. Burdovsky turned quickly, and drawing an addressed but unsealed envelope from his pocket, he threw it down on a little table beside the prince. There's the money. I'll tell you. There's the money. Those are the two hundred and fifty roubles you dared to send him as a charity by the hands of Cheburov, explained Dr. Enko. The article in the newspaper put it at fifty, cried Collier. I beg your pardon, said the prince, going up to Burdovsky. I have done you a great wrong, but I did not send you that money as a charity, believe me. And now I am again to blame. I offended you just now. The prince was much distressed. He seemed worn out with fatigue, and spoke almost incoherently. I spoke of swindling, but I did not apply that to you. I was deceived. I said you were afflicted, like me. But you are not like me. You give lessons. Do you support your mother? I said you had dishonoured your mother, but you love her. She says so herself. I did not know. Gabriela Ardalyonovich did not tell me that—forgive me. I dared to offer you ten thousand rubles, but I was wrong. I ought to have done it differently. And now there is no way of doing it, for you despise me. I declare this is a lunatic asylum, cried Liza Vieta Prokovyevna. Of course it is a lunatic asylum, repeated Aglaya sharply, but her words were overpowered by other voices. Everybody was talking loudly, making remarks and comments. Some discussed the affair gravely, others laughed. Ivan Fyodorovich Yapanchin was extremely indignant. He stood waiting for his wife with an air of offended dignity. Lebedyev's nephew took up the word again. Well, Prince, to do you justice, you certainly know how to make the most of your—letters call it—infermity, for the sake of politeness. You have set about offering your money and friendship in such a way that no self-respecting man could possibly accept them. This is an excess of ingenuousness, or of malice. You ought to know better than anyone which word best fits the case. Allow me, gentlemen," said Gavrila Ardalyonovich, who had just examined the contents of the envelope. There are only a hundred rubles here, not two hundred and fifty. I point this out, Prince, to prevent misunderstanding. Never mind, never mind," said the Prince, signing to him to keep quiet. But we too mind," said Lebedyev's nephew vehemently. Prince, you'll never mind, as an insult to us. We have nothing to hide. Our actions can bear daylight. It is true that there are only a hundred rubles instead of two hundred and fifty, but it is all the same. Why, no, it is hardly the same," remarked Gavrila Ardalyonovich with an air of ingenuous surprise. Don't interrupt. We are not such fools as you think, Mr. Lawyer," cried Lebedyev's nephew angrily. Of course there is a difference between a hundred rubles and two hundred and fifty, but in this case the principle is the main point, and that a hundred and fifty rubles are missing is only a side issue. The point to be emphasised is that Burdowski will not accept your highness's charity. He flings it back in your face, and it scarcely matters if there are a hundred rubles or two hundred and fifty. Burdowski has refused ten thousand rubles. You heard him. He would not have returned even a hundred rubles if he was dishonest. The hundred and fifty rubles were paid to Chiborov for his travelling expenses. You may cheer at our stupidity and at our inexperience in business matters. You have done all you could already to make us look ridiculous, but do not dare to call us dishonest. The four of us will club together every day to repay the hundred and fifty rubles to the prince if we have to pay it in instalments of a ruble at a time, but we will repay it with interest. Burdowski is poor. He has no millions. After his journey to see the prince, Chiborov sent in his bill. We counted on winning. Who would not have done the same in such a case? Who indeed exclaimed Prince S? I shall certainly go mad if I stay here," cried Lisa Vieta Prokofievna. It reminds me, said Yevgeny Pavlovich, laughing, of the famous plea of a certain lawyer who lately defended a man for murdering six people in order to rob them. He excused his client on the score of poverty. It is quite natural, he said in conclusion, considering the state of misery he was in, but he should have thought of murdering these six people. Which of you, gentlemen, would not have done the same in his place? Enough! cried Lisa Vieta Prokofievna, abruptly trembling with anger. We have had enough of this balder-dash! In a state of terrible excitement she threw back her head with flaming eyes, casting looks of contempt and defiance upon the whole company. In which she could no longer distinguish friend from foe. She had restrained herself so long that she felt forced to vent her rage on somebody. Those who knew Lisa Vieta Prokofievna saw at once how it was with her. She flies into these rages sometimes, said Ivan Fyodorovich to Prince S. the next day, but she is not often so violent as she was yesterday. It does not happen more than once in pre-years. Be quiet, Ivan Fyodorovich, leave me alone! cried Mrs. Yepanchin. Why do you offer me your arm now? You had not sense enough to take me away before. You are my husband. You are a father. It was your duty to drag me away by force. Both in my folly I refused to obey you and go quietly. You might at least have thought of your daughters. We can find our way out now without your help. Here is shame enough for a year. Wait a moment till I thank the Prince. Thank you, Prince, for the entertainment you have given us. It was most amusing to hear these younger men. It is vile, vile. A chaos, a scandal, worse than a nightmare. Is it possible that there can be many such people on earth? Be quiet, Aglaya, be quiet, Alexandra. It is none of your business. Don't fuss round me like that, you again, Yepanchin Yepanchin, you exasperate me. So my dear, she cried addressing the Prince, you go so far as to beg their pardon. He says, forgive me for offering you a fortune. And you, you mountain-bank, what are you laughing at? She cried, turning suddenly on Lebedev's nephew. We refuse ten thousand rubles. We do not beseech, we demand, as if he did not know that this idiot will call on them to-morrow to renew his offers of money and friendship. You will, won't you? You will. Come, will you, or won't you? I shall, said the Prince, with gentle humility. You hear him. You count upon it, too, she continued, turning upon Dr. Enko. You are as sure of him now as if you had the money in your pocket. And there you are, playing the swaggerer, to throw dust in our eyes. No, my dear sir, you may take other people in. I can see through all your heirs and graces. I see your game." Lisavieta Prokofievna exclaimed the Prince. Can, Lisavieta Prokofievna, it is time for us to be going. We will take the Prince with us, said Prince S, with a smile, in the coolest possible way. The girls stood apart, almost frightened. The father was positively horrified. This is Yepanchin's language, astonished everybody. Some who stood a little way off, smiled furtively, and talked in whispers. Lebedyev wore an expression of utmost ecstasy. "'Chaos and scandal are to be found everywhere, madame,' remarked Dr. Enko, who was considerably put out of countenance. "'Not like this. Nothing like the spectacle you have just given us, sir,' answered Lisavieta Prokofievna, with a sort of hysterical rage. "'Leave me alone, will you!' she cried violently to those around her, who were trying to keep her quiet. "'No, Yevgeny Pavlovich, if you said yourself just now, a lawyer said in open court, but he found it quite natural that a man should murder six people because he was in misery. The world must be coming to an end. I had not heard of it before. Now I understand everything. And this stutterer, won't he turn out a murderer?' She cried, pointing to Bordovsky, who was staring at her with stupid faction. I bet he will. He will have none of your money possibly. He will refuse it, because his conscience will not allow him to accept it. But he will go murdering you by night, and walking off with your cash-box, with a clear conscience. He does not call it a dishonest action, but the impulse of a noble despair, a negation, or the devil knows what. Everything is upside down. Everyone walks, head downwards. A young girl, brought up at home, suddenly jumps into a cab in the middle of the street, saying, good-bye, mother, I married Karlic, or Ivanish, the other day. And you think it quite right, you call such conduct estimable and natural. The woman-question. Look here, she continued pointing to Collier. The other day that whipper-snapper told me that this was the whole meaning of the woman-question. And even supposing that your mother is a fool, you are nonetheless bound to treat her with humanity. Why did you come here to-night so insolently? Give us our rights, but don't dare to speak in our presence. Show us every mark of deepest respect, while we treat you like the scum of the earth. The miscreants have written a tissue of colony in their article, and these are the men who seek for truth and do battle for the right. We do not beseech we demand. You will get no thanks from us, because you will be acting to satisfy your own conscience. What morality! But good heavens, if you declare that the Prince's generosity will excite no gratitude in you, he might answer that he is not bound to be grateful to Pavlychev, who was only satisfying his own conscience. But you counted on the Prince's gratitude towards Pavlychev. You never lent him any money, he owes you nothing, then what were you counting upon if not on his gratitude? And if you appealed to that sentiment in others, why should you expect to be exempted from it? They are mad. They say society is savage and inhuman, because it despises a young girl who has been seduced. But if you call society inhuman, you imply that the young girl is made to suffer by its censure. How then can you hold her up to the scorn of society, in the newspapers, without realising that you are making her suffering still greater? Madmen! They infuse! They don't believe in gods, they don't believe in Christ! But you are so eaten up by pride and vanity, that you will end by devouring each other. That is my prophecy! It's not this absurd! Is it not monstrous chaos? And after all this, that shameless creature will go and beg their pardon! Are there many people like you? What are you smiling at? Because I am not ashamed to disgrace myself before you! Yes, I have disgraced! It can't be helped now! But don't you jirret me! You scum! This was aimed at Ypollit. He is almost at his last gasp, yet he corrupts others. You have got hold of this lad, she pointed to Collier. You have turned his head. You have taught him to be an atheist. You don't believe in God, and you are not too old to be whipped, sir, but plague upon you! And so, Prince Lyov Nikolaevich, you will call on them to-morrow, will you? She asked the prince breathlessly for the second time. Yes! And I will never speak to you again! She made a sudden movement to go, and then turned quickly back. And you will call on that atheist! She continued pointing to Ypollit. How dare you grin at me like that! She shouted furiously, rushing at the invalid, whose mocking smile drove her to distraction. Exclamations arose on all sides. Liza vieta prokofievna, liza vieta prokofievna, liza vieta prokofievna! Mother, this is disgraceful! cried Aglaya. Mrs. Ypanchin had approached Ypollit and seized him firmly by the arm, while her eyes, blazing with fury, were fixed upon his face. Do not distress yourself, Aglaya Ivanovich! he answered calmly. Your mother knows that one cannot strike a dying man. I am ready to explain why I was laughing. I shall be delighted, if you will let me. A violent fit of coughing, which lasted a full minute, prevented him from finishing his sentence. He is dying, yet he will not stop holding forth! cried Liza vieta prokofievna. She loosed her hold on his arm, almost terrified, as she saw him wiping the blood from his lips. Why do you talk? You ought to go home to bed. So I will, he whispered hoarsely, as soon as I get home I will go to bed at once, and I know I shall be dead in a fortnight, Bodkin told me himself last week. That is why I should like to say a few farewell words, if you will let me. But you must be mad, it is ridiculous. You should take care of yourself. What is the use of holding a conversation now? Go home to bed, do!" cried Mrs. Yepanchin in horror. When I do go to bed I shall never get up again, said Ypollit with a smile. I meant to take to my bed yesterday, and stay there till I died, but as my legs can still carry me, I put it off for two days, so as to come here with them to-day. But I am very tired. Oh, sit down, sit down! Why are you standing? Lisa Vieta Prokofievna placed a chair for him with her own hands. Thank you, he said gently. Sit opposite to me and let us talk. We must have a talk now, Lisa Vieta Prokofievna, I am very anxious for it." He smiled at her once more. Remember that today, for the last time, I am out in the air, and in the company of my fellow men, and that in a fortnight I shall certainly be no longer in this world. So in a way, this is my farewell to nature and to men. I am not very sentimental, but do you know I am quite glad that all this has happened at Pavlovsk, where at least one can see a green tree. "'But why talk now?' replied Lisa Vieta Prokofievna, more and more alarmed. You are quite feverish. Just now you would not stop shouting, and now you can hardly breathe. You are gasping. I shall have time to rest. Why will you not grant my last wish? Do you know, Lisa Vieta Prokofievna, that I have dreamed of meeting you for a long while? I had often heard of you from Goliya. He is almost the only person who still comes to see me. You are an original and eccentric woman. I have seen that for myself. Do you know I have even been rather fond of you?' "'Good heavens! And I very nearly struck him. You were prevented by Aglaya Ivanovna. I think I am not mistaken. That is your daughter, Aglaya Ivanovna. She is so beautiful that I recognised her directly, although I had never seen her before. Let me at least look on beauty for the last time in my life,' he said with a wry smile. You are here with the prince and your husband, and a large company. Why should you refuse to gratify my last wish? Give me a chair,' cried Lisa Vieta Prokofievna, but she seized one for herself and sat down opposite to Ipolit. "'Goliya, you must go home with him,' she commanded, and to-morrow I will come myself. Will you let me ask the prince for a cup of tea? I am exhausted. Do you know what you might do, Lisa Vieta Prokofievna? I think you wanted to take the prince home with you for tea. Stay here, and let us spend the evening together. I am sure the prince will give us all some tea. Forgive me for being so free and easy, but I know you are kind, and the prince is kind too. In fact, we are all good-natured people. It is really quite comical.' The prince bestowed himself to give orders. Lebergev hurried out, followed by Vera. "'It is quite true,' said Mrs. Yopanchin decisively. Talk, but not too loud, and don't excite yourself. You have made me very sorry for you. Prince, you don't deserve that I should stay and have tea with you. Yet I will, all the same. But I won't apologize. I apologize to nobody. Nobody. It is absurd. However, forgive me, prince, if I blew you up—that is, if you like, of course. But please don't let me keep any one,' she said suddenly to her husband and daughters in a tone of resentment, as though they had grievously offended her. I can come home alone quite well. But they did not let her finish, and gathered round her eagerly. The prince immediately invited everyone to stay for tea, and apologized for not having thought of it before. The general murmured a few polite words, and asked Liza Vieta Prokofievna if she did not feel cold on the terrace. He very nearly asked Ipolit how long he had been at the university, but stopped himself in time. Yevgeny Pavlovich and Prince S suddenly grew extremely gay and amiable. Adelaida and Alexandra had not recovered from their surprise, but it was now mingled with satisfaction. In short, everyone seemed very much relieved that Liza Vieta Prokofievna had got over her paroxysm. Aglaya alone still frowned and sat apart in silence. All the other guests stayed on as well. No one wanted to go, not even General Evolgin. But Lebedyev said something to him in passing, which did not seem to please him, for he immediately went and sulked in a corner. The prince took care to offer tea to Burdovsky and his friends, as well as the rest. The invitation made them rather uncomfortable. They muttered that they would wait for Ipolit and went and sat by themselves in a distant corner of the veranda. Tea was served at once. Lebedyev had no doubt ordered it for himself and his family before the others arrived. It was striking eleven. End of part two, chapter nine. Being by Martin Giesen in Hazelmere, Surrey.