Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky (565 page)

I explained to him en toutes lettres, that he was simply silly and impertinent, and that if his sarcastic grin was growing broader and broader, it only showed his conceit and commonplaceness, and that he was incapable of imagining that I had had the lawsuit in my mind from the very beginning, and that reflection on that subject was not confined to his sagacity.  Then I informed him that the case was already decided, and, moreover, it had not been brought by Prince Sokolsky but by the Princes Sokolsky, so that if a Prince Sokolsky were killed the others would be left, but that no doubt it would be necessary to put off the challenge till the end of the time within which an appeal was possible, not that the Solkoskys would as a fact appeal, but simply as a matter of good form.  When the latest possible date for an appeal had passed, the challenge would follow; that I had come about it now, not that the duel would take place immediately, but that I must be prepared at any rate in time to find a second, if he, Efim, refused, as I knew no one.  That was why, I said, I had come.

“Well, come and talk about it then, or else you’ll be leading us a wild-goose chase.”

He stood up and took his cap.

“So you’ll go then?”

“No, of course I won’t.”

“Why not?”

“Well, for one reason if I agreed now that I would go then, you would begin hanging about here every evening till the time for the appeal was over.  And besides, it’s simply nonsense, and that’s all about it.  And am I going to mess up my career for you?  Why, Prince Sokolsky will ask me at once:  ‘Who sent you?’—’Dolgoruky’—’And what’s Dolgoruky got to do with Versilov?’  And am I to explain your pedigree to him, pray?  Why, he’d burst out laughing!”

“Then you give him a punch in the face!”

“But it’s all gibberish.”

“You’re afraid!  You so tall and the strongest at the grammar school!”

“I’m afraid, of course, I am afraid.  Besides, the prince won’t fight, for they only fight their equals.”

“I am a gentleman, too, by education.  I have rights, I am his equal . . . on the contrary, he is not my equal.”

“You are a small boy.”

“How a small boy?”

“Just a small boy; we are both boys but he is grown up.”

“You fool!  But I might have been married a year ago by the law.”

“Well, get married then, but anyway you are a —— ! you will grow up one day!”

I saw, of course, that he thought fit to jeer at me.  I might not indeed have told all this foolish episode, and it would have been better in fact for it to have perished in obscurity; besides, it’s revolting in its pettiness and gratuitousness, though it had rather serious consequences.

But to punish myself still further I will describe it fully.  Realizing that Efim was jeering at me, I permitted myself to push him on the shoulder with my right hand, or rather my right fist.  Then he took me by the shoulder, turned me upside down and — proved to me conclusively that he was the strongest of us at the grammar school.

2

The reader will doubtless imagine that I was in a terrible state of mind when I came out from Efim’s; he will be mistaken, however.  I quite realized that what had happened was only schoolboyishness, but the gravity of my purpose remained unchanged.  I got some coffee at Vassilyevsky Island, purposely avoiding the restaurant I had been at the evening before on the Petersburg Side; the restaurant and its nightingale were doubly hateful to me.  It is a strange characteristic of mine that I am capable of hating places and things as though they were people.  On the other hand I have happy places in Petersburg, that is places where I have at some time or other been happy.  And I am careful of those places, and purposely avoid visiting them as far as possible, that later on when I am alone and unhappy I may go back to them to brood over my griefs and my memories.  Over my coffee I did full justice to Efim and his common sense.  Yes, he was more practical than I was, but I doubt whether he was in closer touch with reality.  A realism that refuses to look beyond the end of its nose is more dangerous than the maddest romanticism, because it is blind.  But while I did justice to Efim (who probably at that moment imagined that I was wandering about the streets swearing) — I did not give up one point in my convictions, and I have not to this day.  I have seen people who at the first bucket of cold water have abandoned their course of action, and even their idea, and begun laughing themselves at what an hour before they looked upon as sacred.  Oh, how easily that is done!  Even if Efim were more right than I in the main, and I were foolish beyond all foolishness and giving myself airs, yet at the very bottom of it all there was a point of view upon which I was right: there was something to be said on my side also, and what is more, too, it was something they could never understand.

I reached Vassin’s in Fontanka, near the Semyonovsky bridge, at twelve o’clock punctually, but I did not find him at home.  His work was in Vassilyevsky Island, and he was only at home at certain fixed hours, almost always at midday.  And as it was a holiday I made sure of finding him; not finding him I decided to wait, although it was my first visit.

I reasoned that the matter of the letter was a question of conscience, and in choosing Vassin to decide it I was showing him the deepest respect, which no doubt must be flattering to him.  Of course, I was really worried by this letter and was genuinely persuaded of the necessity of an outside opinion; but I suspect that I could have got out of my difficulty without any outside help.  And what is more I was aware of that myself; I had only to give the letter to Versilov, to put it into his hands and then let him do what he liked with it — that would have settled it.  To set myself up as judge, as arbitrator in a matter of this sort was indeed utterly irregular.  By confining myself to handing over the letter, especially in silence, I should have scored at once, putting myself into a position of superiority over Versilov.  For renouncing all the advantages of the inheritance as far as I was concerned (for some part of it would have been sure, sooner or later, to have fallen to me as Versilov’s son), I should have secured for ever a superior moral attitude in regard to Versilov’s future action.  Nobody, on the other hand, could reproach me for ruining the Sokolskys, since the document had no decisive legal value.  All this I thought over and made perfectly clear to myself, sitting in Vassin’s empty room, and it even occurred to me suddenly that I had come to Vassin’s, so thirsting for his advice how to act, simply to show him what a generous and irreproachable person I was, and so to avenge myself for my humiliation before him the previous evening.

As I recognized all this, I felt great vexation; nevertheless I did not go away, but sat on, though I knew for certain that my vexation would only grow greater every five minutes.

First of all, I began to feel an intense dislike for Vassin’s room.  “Show me your room and I will tell you your character,” one really may say that.  Vassin had a furnished room in a flat belonging to people evidently poor, who let lodgings for their living and had other lodgers besides Vassin.  I was familiar with poky apartments of this sort, scarcely furnished, yet with pretensions to comfort: there is invariably a soft sofa from the second-hand market, which is dangerous to move; a washing-stand and an iron bed shut off by a screen.  Vassin was evidently the best and the most to be depended on of the lodgers.  Lodging-house keepers always have one such best lodger, and particularly try to please him.  They sweep and tidy his room more carefully, and hang lithographs over his sofa; under the table they lay an emaciated-looking rug.  People who are fond of stuffy tidiness and, still more, of obsequious deference in their landladies are to be suspected.  I felt convinced that Vassin himself was flattered by his position as best lodger.  I don’t know why, but the sight of those two tables piled up with books gradually enraged me.  The books, the papers, the inkstand, all were arrayed with a revolting tidiness, the ideal of which would have coincided with the loftiest conceptions of a German landlady and her maidservant.  There were a good many books, not merely magazines and reviews, but real books, and he evidently read them, and he probably sat down to read or to write with an extremely important and precise expression.  I don’t know why, but I prefer to see books lying about in disorder.  Then, at any rate, work is not made into a sacred rite.  No doubt Vassin was extremely polite to his visitors, but probably every gesture he made told them plainly, “I will spend an hour and a half with you, and afterwards, when you go away, I’ll set to work.”  No doubt one might have a very interesting conversation with him and hear something new from him, but he would be thinking, “Here we are talking now, and I am interesting you very much, but when you go away, I shall proceed to something more interesting. . . .”  Yet I did not go away, but went on sitting there.  That I had absolutely no need of his advice I was by now thoroughly convinced.

I stayed for over an hour sitting on one of the two rush-bottom chairs which had been placed by the window.  It enraged me, too, that time was passing and that before evening I had to find a lodging.  I was so bored that I felt inclined to take up a book, but I did not.  At the very thought of distracting my mind I felt more disgusted than ever.  For more than an hour there had been an extraordinary silence, when I began gradually and unconsciously to distinguish the sound of whispering, which kept growing louder, and came from somewhere close by, the other side of a door that was blocked up by the sofa.  There were two voices, evidently women’s, so much I could hear, but I could not distinguish the words.  And yet I was so bored that I began to listen.  It was obvious that they were talking earnestly and passionately, and that they were not talking about patterns.  They were discussing or disputing about something, or one voice was persuading, or entreating, while the other was refusing or protesting.  They must have been other lodgers.  I soon got tired, and my ear became accustomed to the sound, so that though I went on listening, it was only mechanically, and sometimes quite without remembering that I was listening, when suddenly something extraordinary happened, as though some one had jumped down off a chair on to both feet, or had suddenly leapt up and stamped; then I heard a moan, then suddenly a shriek, or rather not a shriek but an infuriated animal squeal, reckless whether it could be overheard or not.

I rushed to the door and opened it; another door at the end of the corridor was opened simultaneously, the door of the landlady’s room as I learned later, and from it two inquisitive faces peeped out.  The shriek, however, ceased at once, and suddenly the door next to mine opened, and a young woman — so at least she seemed to me — dashed out, and rushed downstairs.  The other woman, who was elderly, tried to stop her, but did not succeed, and could only moan after her:

“Olya, Olya, where are you going?  Och!”  But noticing our two open doors, she promptly closed hers, leaving a crack through which she listened till Olya’s footsteps had died away completely on the stairs.  I turned to my window.  All was silence.  It was a trivial and perhaps ridiculous incident, and I left off thinking of it.

About a quarter of an hour later I heard in the corridor at Vassin’s door a loud and free-and-easy masculine voice.  Some one took hold of the door-handle, and opened the door far enough for me to see in the passage a tall man who had already obviously seen and indeed had carefully scrutinized me, although he had not yet entered the room, but still holding the door-handle went on talking to the landlady at the other end of the passage.  The landlady called back to him in a thin, piping little voice which betrayed that he was an old acquaintance, respected and valued by her as a visitor of consequence, and a gentleman of a merry disposition.  The merry gentleman shouted witticisms, but his theme was only the impossibility of finding Vassin at home.  He declared that this was his destiny from his birth up, that he would wait again as before.  And all this, no doubt, seemed the height of wit to the landlady.  Finally the visitor flung the door wide open and came in.

He was a well-dressed gentleman, evidently turned out by a good tailor, as they say, “like a real gentleman,” though there was nothing of “the real gentleman” about him, in spite, I fancy, of his desire to appear one.  He was not exactly free and easy, but somehow naturally insolent, which is anyway less offensive than an insolence practised before the looking-glass.  His brown, slightly grizzled hair, his black eyebrows, big beard and large eyes instead of helping to define his character, actually gave him something universal, like every one else.  This sort of man laughs and is ready to laugh, but for some reason one is never cheerful in his company.  He quickly passes from a jocular to a dignified air, from dignity to playfulness or winking, but all this seems somehow put on and causeless. . . .  However, there is no need to describe him further.  I came later on to know this gentleman more intimately, and therefore I have a more definite impression of him now than when he opened the door and came into the room.  However, even now I should find it difficult to say anything exact or definite about him, because the chief characteristic of such people is just their incompleteness, their artificiality and their indefiniteness.

He had scarcely sat down when it dawned upon me that he must be Vassin’s stepfather, one M. Stebelkov, of whom I had already heard something, but so casually that I couldn’t tell what it was: I could only remember that it was not to his advantage.  I knew that Yassin had long ago been left an orphan under this gentleman’s control, but that for some years past he had not been under his influence, that their aims and interests were different, and that they lived entirely separated in all respects.  It came back to my mind, too, that this Stebelkov had some money, that he was, indeed, something of a speculator and spendthrift; in fact I had probably heard something more definite about him, but I have forgotten.  He looked me up and down, without bowing to me, however, put his top hat down on a table in front of the sofa, kicked away the table with an air of authority, and instead of quietly sitting down, flung himself full length on the sofa (on which I had not ventured to sit) so that it positively creaked, and dangling his legs held his right foot up in the air and began admiring the tip of his patent-leather boot.  Of course he turned at once to me and stared at me with his big and rather fixed-looking eyes.