"And I could stoop so low . . . break away from everything!" he began to reproach himself, but hastened to interrupt his thoughts. And it seemed so low to lament; it would have been much more pleasant to quickly get angry with someone.
"Mor-ron!" he whispered spitefully, glancing sideways at Pavel Pavlovich, who was silently sitting next to him in the carriage.
Pavel Pavlovich remained obstinately silent, perhaps concentrating and preparing himself. With an impatient gesture he occasionally took off his hat and wiped his forehead with his handkerchief.
"He's sweating!" Velchaninov kept up his spite.
Only once did Pavel Pavlovich advert to the coachman with a question: "Will there be a thunderstorm, or not?"
"Aye, and a good one! There's bound to be, it was such a sultry day." Indeed, the sky was darkening, and distant lightning flashed. They entered the city at half past ten.
"I'm going to your place, sir," Pavel Pavlovich obligingly addressed Velchaninov, not far from his house.
"I understand; but I must warn you that I feel seriously unwell...”
"I won't stay long, I won't stay long!"
As they came through the gateway, Pavel Pavlovich ran over for a moment to Mavra at the caretaker's.
"Why did you go there?" Velchaninov asked sternly when the man caught up with him and they went into his rooms.
"Never mind, sir, just so . . . the coachman, sir...”
"I won't let you drink!"
No answer came. Velchaninov lit the candles, and Pavel Pavlovich settled at once into an armchair. Velchaninov frown-ingly stopped before him.
"I also promised to tell you my 'last' word," he began with an inward, still suppressed, irritation. "Here it is, this word: I consider in good conscience that all matters between us have been mutually ended, so that we even have nothing to talk about; do you hear—nothing; and therefore it might be better if you left now and I locked the door behind you."
"Let's square accounts, Alexei Ivanovich!" Pavel Pavlovich said, but with a somehow especially meek look in his eyes.
"Square ac-counts?" Velchaninov was terribly surprised. "That's a strange phrase to utter! What 'accounts' have we got to 'square'? Hah! Is it that 'last word' of yours, which you promised earlier to . . . reveal to me?"
"The very same, sir."
"We have no more accounts to square, they were squared long ago!" Velchaninov said proudly.
"Do you really think so, sir?" Pavel Pavlovich said in a soulful voice, somehow strangely joining his hands in front of him, finger to finger, and holding them in front of his chest. Velchaninov did not answer him and started pacing the room. "Liza? Liza?" moaned in his heart.
"But, anyhow, what is it you wanted to square?" he addressed him frowningly, after a rather prolonged silence. The man had followed him around the room with his eyes all the while, holding his joined hands in front of him in the same way.
"Don't go there anymore, sir," he almost whispered in a pleading voice, and suddenly got up from the chair.
"What? So it's only about that?" Velchaninov laughed spitefully. "Though you've made me marvel all day today!" he began venomously, but suddenly his whole face changed: "Listen to me," he said sadly and with profoundly sincere feeling, "I consider that I've never stooped so low in anything as I did today—first by agreeing to go with you, and then—by what happened there ... It was so petty, so pathetic ... I befouled and demeaned myself by getting involved . . . and forgetting . . . Well, never mind!" he suddenly recollected himself. "Listen: you happened to fall on me today when I was irritated and sick . . . well, no point in justifying myself! I won't go there anymore, and I assure you that I have absolutely no interest there," he concluded resolutely.
"Really? Really?" Pavel Pavlovich cried out, not concealing his joyful excitement. Velchaninov glanced at him with scorn and again started pacing the room.
"It seems you've decided to be happy at all costs?" he finally could not refrain from observing.
"Yes, sir," Pavel Pavlovich softly and naively confirmed.
"What is it to me," thought Velchaninov, "that he's a buffoon and his malice comes only from stupidity? All the same I can't help hating him—though he may not deserve it!"
"I'm an 'eternal husband,' sir!" Pavel Pavlovich said with a humbly submissive smile at himself. "I've long known this little phrase of yours, Alexei Ivanovich, ever since you lived there with us, sir. I memorized many of your words from that year. When you said 'eternal husband' here the last time, I realized it, sir."
Mavra came in with a bottle of champagne and two glasses.
"Forgive me, Alexei Ivanovich, you know I can't do without it, sir. Don't regard it as boldness; consider me a stranger and not worthy of you, sir."
"Yes...” Velchaninov allowed with disgust, "but I assure you that I'm feeling unwell...”
"Quickly, quickly, just one moment now!" Pavel Pavlovich hurried, "only one little glass, because my throat ..."
He greedily drank the glass in one gulp and sat down— casting an all but tender glance at Velchaninov. Mavra went out.
"How loathsome!" Velchaninov whispered.
"It's only the girlfriends, sir," Pavel Pavlovich suddenly said cheerfully, thoroughly revived.
"How? What? Ah, yes, you're still at it...”
"Only the girlfriends, sir! And still so young; we're showing off out of gracefulness, that's what, sir! It's even charming. And then—then, you know, I'll become her slave; she'll know esteem, society . . . she'll get completely reeducated, sir."
"By the way, I must give him the bracelet!" Velchaninov thought, frowning and feeling for the case in his coat pocket.
"Now you say, sir, that I've decided to be happy? I must get married, Alexei Ivanovich," Pavel Pavlovich went on confidentially and almost touchingly, "otherwise what will become of me? You can see for yourself, sir!" he pointed to the bottle.
"And this is only a hundredth part—of my qualities, sir. I'm quite unable to do without being married and—without new faith, sir. I'll believe and resurrect."
"But why are you telling all this to me?" Velchaninov almost snorted with laughter. Anyhow, it all seemed wild to him.
"But tell me, finally," he cried out, "why did you drag me there? What did you need me there for?"
"As a test, sir...” Pavel Pavlovich somehow suddenly became embarrassed.
"A test of what?"
"Of the effect, sir . . . You see, Alexei Ivanovich, it's only a week that I . . . that I've been seeking there, sir" (he was growing more and more abashed). "Yesterday I met you and thought: 'I've never seen her in, so to speak, a stranger's, that is, a man's company, sir, apart from my own . . .' A foolish thought, sir, I feel it myself now, an unnecessary one, sir. I just wanted it so much, sir, on account of my nasty character...” He suddenly raised his head and blushed.
"Can he be telling the whole truth?" Velchaninov thought, amazed to the point of stupefaction.
"Well, and what then?"
Pavel Pavlovich smiled sweetly and somehow slyly.
"Nothing but lovely childishness, sir! It's all the girlfriends, sir! Only forgive me for my stupid behavior toward you today, Alexei Ivanovich; I'll never do it again, sir; and this thing won't ever happen again."
"And I won't be there anyway," Velchaninov smirked.
"That's partly what I'm referring to, sir."
Velchaninov winced slightly.
"However, I'm not the only one in the world," he observed vexedly.
Pavel Pavlovich blushed again.
"It makes me sad to hear that, Alexei Ivanovich, and, believe me, I respect Nadezhda Fedoseevna so much...”
"Excuse me, excuse me, I didn't mean anything—it's only a bit strange to me that you overestimated my means so much . . . and . . . were relying on me so sincerely...”
"I relied on you, sir, precisely because it was after everything . . . that had already been, sir."
"Meaning that you still regard me, in that case, as a most noble man?
" Velchaninov suddenly stopped. At another moment he himself would have been horrified at the naivety of his sudden question.
"And I always did, sir," Pavel Pavlovich lowered his eyes.
"Well, yes, naturally ... I don't mean that—that is, not in that sense—I only wanted to say that despite any . . . prejudice...”
"Yes, sir, and despite any prejudice."
"And when you were coming to Petersburg?" Velchaninov could no longer restrain himself, feeling all the monstrousness of his curiosity.
"And when I was coming to Petersburg, I considered you the most noble of men, sir. I've always respected you, Alexei Ivanovich," Pavel Pavlovich raised his eyes and clearly, now without any embarrassment, looked at his adversary. Velchaninov suddenly turned coward: he decidedly did not want anything to happen or anything to go over the line, the more so as he himself had provoked it.
"I loved you, Alexei Ivanovich," Pavel Pavlovich said as if suddenly making up his mind, "And I loved you, sir, all that year in T—. You didn't notice it, sir," he went on in a slightly quavering voice, to Velchaninov's decided horror, "I stood too small compared with you in order for you to notice. And perhaps it wasn't necessary, sir. And for all these nine years I've remembered you, sir, because never in my life have I known such a year as that." (Pavel Pavlovich's eyes glistened somehow peculiarly.) "I remembered many of your words and utterances, sir, of your thoughts, sir. I always remembered you as an educated man, sir, ardent for good feelings, highly educated, and with thoughts. 'Great thoughts come not so much from great intelligence as from great feeling, sir'—you yourself said that, and perhaps forgot it, but I remembered it, sir. I always counted on you, that is, as on a man of great feeling . . . that is, I believed, sir—despite all, sir...” His chin suddenly trembled. Velchaninov was completely frightened; this unexpected tone had to be stopped at all costs.
"Enough, please, Pavel Pavlovich," he muttered, blushing and in irritated impatience. "And why, why," he suddenly cried out, "why do you fasten yourself on to a sick, irritated, all but delirious man, and drag him into this darkness . . . when—it's all a phantom and a mirage, and a lie, and shame, and unnaturalness, and—excessive—and that's the main, the most shameful thing, that it's excessive! And it's all rubbish: we're two depraved, underground, vile people . . . And if you like, if you like, I'll prove to you right now that you not only do not love me, but that you hate me with all your strength and are lying without knowing it yourself: you took me and drove me there not at all for the ridiculous purpose of testing your fiancee (what a thing to come up with!)—you simply saw me yesterday and got angry and took me there to show her to me and say: 'See her! She's going to be mine; go on and try something now!' You challenged me! Maybe you didn't know it yourself, but it was so, because you did feel all that . . . And without hatred one can't make such a challenge; and that means you hated me!" He was rushing up and down the room as he shouted this out, and most of all he was tormented and offended by the humiliating awareness that he was condescending so much to Pavel Pavlovich.
"I wished to make peace with you, Alexei Ivanovich!" the other suddenly pronounced resolutely, in a quick whisper, and his chin began to twitch again. Fierce rage took possession of Velchaninov, as if no one had ever given him such offense before!
"I tell you once again," he screamed, "that you are . . . clinging to a sick and irritated man in order to tear from him, in his delirium, some phantasmal word! We . . . but we're people from different worlds, understand that, and . . . and ... a grave lies between us!" he whispered frenziedly—and suddenly recovered himself.
"And how do you know," Pavel Pavlovich's face suddenly became distorted and pale, "how do you know what that little grave means here . . . inside me, sir!" he cried out, stepping up to Velchaninov and, with a ridiculous but terrible gesture, striking himself on the heart with his fist. "I know that little grave here, sir, and we two stand on the sides of that grave, only my side has more on it than yours, more, sir...” he was whispering as if in delirium, while continuing to hit himself on the heart, "more, sir, more, sir—more, sir...” Suddenly an extraordinary stroke of the doorbell brought them both to their senses. The ring was so strong that it seemed as if someone had vowed to tear the bell off with the first stroke.
"No one rings like that for me," Velchaninov said in bewilderment.
"But it's not for me either, sir," Pavel Pavlovich whispered timidly, having also come to his senses and instantly turned back into the former Pavel Pavlovich. Velchaninov frowned and went to open the door.
"Mr. Velchaninov, if I am not mistaken?" a young, ringing, remarkably self-confident voice was heard in the hall.
"What is it?"
"I have precise information," the ringing voice went on, "that a certain Trusotsky is presently with you. I absolutely must see him at once." It would, of course, have been very agreeable to Velchaninov to send this self-confident gentleman down the stairs at once with a good kick. But he reflected, stepped aside, and let him pass.
"Here is Mr. Trusotsky. Come in...”
XIV: Sashenka and Nadenka
Into the room came a very young man, of about nineteen, perhaps even somewhat less—so youthful seemed his handsome, confidently upturned face. He was not badly dressed, at least everything sat well on him; he was above medium height; thick black hair broken into locks, and big, bold dark eyes especially marked his physiognomy. Only his nose was a little too broad and upturned; had it not been for that, he would have been an altogether handsome fellow. He entered imposingly.
"I believe I have the—occasion—of speaking with Mr. Trusotsky?" he said measuredly, emphasizing the word "occasion" with particular pleasure, thereby letting it be known that there could be neither honor nor pleasure for him in talking with Mr. Trusotsky.
Velchaninov was beginning to understand; it seemed that Pavel Pavlovich, too, was already seeing some light. His face expressed uneasiness; however, he stood up for himself.
"Not having the honor of knowing you," he answered with a dignified air, "I suppose that I cannot have any business with you, sir."
"First you will hear me out, and then express your opinion," the young man said confidently and didactically, and, taking out a tortoiseshell lorgnette which he had hanging on a string, he began scrutinizing through it the bottle of champagne standing on the table. Having calmly finished his examination of the bottle, he folded the lorgnette and, again addressing Pavel Pavlovich, said:
"Alexander Lobov."
"And what is this Alexander Lobov, sir?"
"I am he. Haven't you heard?"
"No, sir."
"Anyway, how could you know. I've come with an important matter, which in fact concerns you; allow me to sit down, however, I'm tired...”
"Sit down," Velchaninov invited—but the young man had managed to sit down before he was invited. Despite a growing pain in his chest, Velchaninov was intrigued by this impudent boy. In his pretty, childish, and ruddy face he glimpsed some distant resemblance to Nadya.
"You sit down, too," the youth offered to Pavel Pavlovich, indicating the place opposite him with a casual nod.
"Never mind, sir, I'll stand."
"You'll get tired. I suppose, Mr. Velchaninov, that you may not have to go."
"I have nowhere to go. I live here."
"As you will. I confess, I even wish you to be present at my talk with this gentleman. Nadezhda Fedoseevna has recommended you to me quite flatteringly."
"Hah! When did she have time?"
"Just after you left. I'm coming from there, too. The thing is this, Mr. Trusotsky," he turned to the standing Pavel Pavlovich, "we, that is, Nadezhda Fedoseevna and I," he spoke through his teeth, sprawling casually in the armchair, "have long been in love and have pledged ourselves to each other. You are now a hindrance between us; I've come to suggest that you vacate that place. Will you be pleased to accept my suggestion?"
Pavel Pavlovich even swayed; he turned pale, but a sarcastic smile at once forced itself
to his lips.
"No, sir, not at all pleased," he snapped laconically.
"Well, now!" the youth turned in the armchair and crossed one leg over the other.
"I don't even know with whom I am speaking, sir," Pavel Pavlovich added, "I even think there is no reason for us to continue."
Having spoken that out, he, too, found it necessary to sit down.
"I told you you'd get tired," the youth observed casually. "I just had occasion to inform you that my name is Lobov and that Nadezhda Fedoseevna and I have pledged ourselves to each other—consequently, you can't say, as you just did, that you don't know whom you are dealing with; nor can you think that we have nothing to continue talking about; not to mention me—the matter concerns Nadezhda Fedoseevna, whom you are so insolently pestering. And that alone already constitutes a sufficient reason for explanations."
All this he said through his teeth, like a fop, even barely deigning to articulate the words; he even took out the lorgnette again and, while speaking, directed it at something for a moment.
"Excuse me, young man...” Pavel Pavlovich exclaimed vexedly, but the "young man" at once checked him.
"At any other time I would, of course, forbid you to call me 'young man,' but now, you must agree, my youth is my chief advantage over you, and you might have wished very much— today, for instance, as you were presenting the bracelet—that you were at least a little bit younger."
"Ah, you sprat!" Velchaninov whispered.
"In any case, my dear sir," Pavel Pavlovich corrected himself with dignity, "I still do not find the reasons you have presented—improper and quite dubious reasons—sufficient for the dispute over them to be continued, sir. I see this is all a childish and empty matter; tomorrow I will make inquiries of the most esteemed Fedosei Semyonovich, but now I beg you to spare me, sir."
"See how the man is!" the youth cried out at once, unable to sustain the tone, hotly addressing Velchaninov. "It's not enough that he's chased away from there and they stick their tongues out at him—he also wants to denounce us tomorrow to the old man! Don't you prove by that, you obstinate man, that you want to take the girl by force, buying her from people who have lost their minds, but, owing to social barbarism, have kept their power over her? She has shown well enough, it seems, that she despises you; wasn't today's indecent gift— your bracelet—returned to you? What more do you want?"
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