The Adolescent

by Fyodor Dostoevsky

  I awoke late, when it was already light. I was now the only one in the room. I sat up and began silently waiting, a long time, about an hour; it must have been about nine o’clock when I was suddenly summoned. I could go into greater detail, but it’s not worth it, for it’s all extraneous now; all I want to do is finish telling the main thing. I’ll only point out that, to my greatest amazement, I was treated with unexpected politeness: they asked me something, I answered something, and I was at once let go. I went out silently, and it was with pleasure that I read in their looks even a certain surprise at a man who, even in such a position, was capable of not losing his dignity. If I hadn’t noticed it, I wouldn’t have written it down. At the exit, Tatyana Pavlovna was waiting for me. I’ll explain in two words why I got off so easily then.

  Early in the morning, maybe at eight o’clock, Tatyana Pavlovna came flying to my apartment, that is, to Pyotr Ippolitovich’s, still hoping to find the prince there, and suddenly learned about all of yesterday’s horrors, and above all that I had been arrested. She instantly rushed to Katerina Nikolaevna (who, the evening before, on returning from the theater, had met with her father, who had been brought to her), woke her up, frightened her, and demanded that I be released immediately. With a note from her, she flew at once to Bjoring and immediately obtained another note from him, to “the proper person,” with an urgent request from Bjoring himself that I be released, “having been arrested through a misunderstanding.” With this note she arrived at the precinct, and his request was honored.

  III

  NOW I’LL GO on with the main thing.

  Tatyana Pavlovna, having picked me up, put me in a cab, brought me to her place, immediately ordered the samovar, and washed me and scrubbed me in the kitchen herself. Also in the kitchen, she loudly told me that at half-past eleven Katerina Nikolaevna herself would come—as the two had already arranged earlier—in order to meet me. And this Marya also heard. After a few minutes she brought the samovar, but after another two minutes, when Tatyana Pavlovna suddenly summoned her, she did not respond. It turned out that she had gone somewhere. I ask the reader to note that very well; it was then, I suppose, about a quarter to ten. Though Tatyana Pavlovna was angry at her disappearing without asking, she merely thought she had gone to the shop, and at once forgot about it for a while. And we couldn’t be bothered with that; we talked nonstop, because we had things to discuss, so that I, for instance, paid almost no attention to Marya’s disappearance; I ask the reader to remember that as well.

  Needless to say, I was as if in a daze; I was explaining my feelings, and above all—we were waiting for Katerina Nikolaevna, and the thought that in an hour I would finally meet with her, and at such a decisive moment of my life, made me tremble and quake. Finally, when I had drunk two cups, Tatyana Pavlovna suddenly got up, took a pair of scissors from the table, and said:

  “Give me your pocket, we must take out the letter—we can’t cut it with her here!”

  “Right!” I exclaimed, and unbuttoned my frock coat.

  “What’s all this tangle here? Who did the sewing?”

  “I did, I did, Tatyana Pavlovna.”

  “That’s obvious. Well, here it is . . .”

  The letter was taken out; it was the same old envelope, but with a blank piece of paper stuck into it.

  “What’s this? . . .” Tatyana Pavlovna exclaimed, turning it over. “What’s got into you?”

  But I stood there speechless, pale . . . and suddenly sank strengthlessly onto the chair; truly, I almost fainted away.

  “What on earth is this?” Tatyana Pavlovna yelled. “Where is your note?”

  “Lambert!” I jumped up suddenly, realizing and slapping myself on the forehead.

  Hurrying and breathless, I explained everything to her—the night at Lambert’s, and our conspiracy at the time; however, I had already confessed this conspiracy to her the day before.

  “They stole it! They stole it!” I cried, stamping the floor and seizing myself by the hair.

  “Trouble!” Tatyana Pavlovna suddenly decided, grasping what it meant. “What time is it?”

  It was about eleven.

  “Eh, Marya’s not here! . . . Marya, Marya!”

  “What is it, ma’am?” Marya suddenly responded from the kitchen.

  “You’re here? So what are we to do now? I’ll fly to her . . . Ah, you dodderer, you dodderer!”

  “And I’ll go to Lambert!” I yelled. “And I’ll strangle him, if need be!”

  “Ma’am!” Marya suddenly squeaked from the kitchen. “There’s some woman here asking for you very much . . .”

  But before she finished speaking, the “some woman” herself burst precipitously from the kitchen with cries and screams. It was Alphonsinka. I won’t describe the scene in full detail; the scene was a trick and a fake, but it should be noted that Alphonsinka played it splendidly. With tears of repentance and with violent gestures, she rattled out (in French, naturally) that she herself had cut out the letter then, that it was now with Lambert, and that Lambert, with “that brigand,” cet homme noir,116 wanted to lure madame la générale117 and shoot her, right now, in an hour . . . that she had learned it all from them and had suddenly become terribly frightened, because she saw they had a pistol, le pistolet, and had now rushed to us, so that we could go, save, prevent . . . Cet homme noir . . .

  In short, it was all extremely plausible; the very stupidity of some of Alphonsinka’s explanations even increased the plausibility.

  “What homme noir?” cried Tatyana Pavlovna.

  “ Tiens, j’ai oublié son nom . . . Un homme a freux . . . Tiens, Versilo f.”118

  “Versilov! It can’t be!” I yelled.

  “Oh, yes, it can!” shrieked Tatyana Pavlovna. “But speak, dearie, without jumping, without waving your arms. What is it they want? Talk sense, dearie. I refuse to believe they want to shoot her!”

  The “dearie” talked the following sense (NB: it was all a lie, I warn you again): Versilo f would sit behind the door, and Lambert, as soon as she came in, would show her cette lettre, here Versilo f would jump out, and they . . . Oh, ils feront leur vengeance!119; That she, Alphonsinka, was afraid of trouble, because she had taken part herself, and cette dame, la générale, was sure to come “right now, right now,” because they had sent her a copy of the letter, and she would see at once that they really had the letter and go to them, and that it was Lambert alone who had written to her, and she knew nothing about Versilov; but Lambert had introduced himself as a visitor from Moscow, from a certain Moscow lady, une dame de Moscou (NB: Marya Ivanovna!).

  “Ah, I’m sick! I’m sick!” Tatyana Pavlovna kept exclaiming.

  “Sauvez-la, sauvez-la!”120 cried Alphonsinka.

  Of course, there was something incongruous in this crazy news, even at first glance, but there was no time to think it over, because essentially it was all terribly plausible. It might still be supposed, and with great probability, that Katerina Nikolaevna, having received Lambert’s invitation, would first come to us, to Tatyana Pavlovna, to explain the matter; but, on the other hand, that might well not happen, and she might go directly to them, and then—she was lost! It was also hard to believe that she would just rush to the unknown Lambert at the first summons; but again, it might happen for whatever reason, for instance, seeing the copy and being convinced that they indeed had her letter, and then—the same trouble! Above all, we didn’t have a drop of time left, even in order to consider.

  “And Versilov will do her in! If he’s stooped to Lambert, he’ll do her in! It’s the double!” I cried.

  “Ah, this ‘double’!” Tatyana Pavlovna wrung her hands. “Well, no help for it,” she suddenly made up her mind, “take your hat and coat and off we go. Take us straight to them, dearie. Ah, it’s so far! Marya, Marya, if Katerina Nikolaevna comes, tell her that I’ll be back presently and that she should sit and wait for me, and if she refuses to wait, lock the door and force her to stay. Tell her I said so! A hundred roubles
for you, Marya, if you do me this service.”

  We ran out to the stairs. No doubt it would have been impossible to think up anything better, because in all events the main trouble was at Lambert’s apartment, and if Katerina Nikolaevna indeed came to Tatyana Pavlovna first, Marya could always keep her there. And yet, having already hailed a cab, Tatyana Pavlovna suddenly changed her mind.

  “You go with her!” she told me, leaving me with Alphonsinka,

  “and die there if need be, understand? And I’ll follow you at once, but I’ll swing by her place beforehand, on the chance that I’ll find her, because, say what you will, but I find it suspicious!”

  And she flew to Katerina Nikolaevna. Alphonsinka and I set off for Lambert’s. I kept urging the cabbie on, and as we flew, I went on questioning Alphonsinka, but Alphonsinka mostly got off with exclamations, and finally with tears. But God kept and preserved us all, when everything was hanging by a thread. Before we’d gone a quarter of the way, I suddenly heard a shout behind me: someone called my name. I turned to look—Trishatov was overtaking us in a cab.

  “Where to?” he shouted in alarm. “And with her, with Alphonsinka!”

  “Trishatov!” I cried to him. “What you said is true—bad trouble! I’m going to that scoundrel Lambert! Let’s go together, there’ll be more of us!”

  “Turn back, turn back right now!” shouted Trishatov. “Lambert’s deceiving you, and so is Alphonsinka. The pockmarked one sent me. They’re not at home; I’ve just met Versilov and Lambert; they were driving to Tatyana Pavlovna’s . . . they’re there now . . .”

  I stopped the cab and jumped over to Trishatov. To this day I don’t understand how I could have decided so suddenly, but I suddenly believed and suddenly decided. Alphonsinka screamed terribly, but we abandoned her, and I don’t know whether she turned to follow us or went home, but anyhow I never saw her again.

  In the cab, Trishatov haphazardly and breathlessly told me that there was some machination, that Lambert had come to an agreement with the pockmarked one, but that the pockmarked one had betrayed him at the last minute, and had just sent Trishatov to Tatyana Pavlovna to inform her that she should not believe Lambert and Alphonsinka. Trishatov added that he knew nothing more, because the pockmarked one hadn’t told him any more, because he’d had no time, that he himself had hurried off somewhere, and that it had all been done hastily. “I saw you driving,” Trishatov went on, “and chased after you.” Of course, it was clear that this pockmarked one also knew everything, because he had sent Trishatov straight to Tatyana Pavlovna; but this was a new riddle.

  But to avoid confusion, before describing the catastrophe, I’ll explain the whole real truth and run ahead of myself for the last time.

  IV

  HAVING STOLEN THE letter then, Lambert at once joined with Versilov. Of how Versilov could have coupled himself with Lambert, I will not speak now; that’s for later; above all, it was the “double” here! But having coupled himself with Versilov, Lambert was faced with luring Katerina Nikolaevna as cleverly as possible. Versilov told him outright that she wouldn’t come. But Lambert, ever since I had met him in the street that evening two days before and, to show off, had told him I would return the letter to her in Tatyana Pavlovna’s apartment and in Tatyana Pavlovna’s presence—Lambert from that moment on had set up some sort of espionage on Tatyana Pavlovna’s apartment—namely, he had bribed Marya. He had given Marya twenty roubles, and then, a day later, when the theft of the document had been accomplished, he had visited Marya for a second time and come to a radical agreement with her, promising her two hundred roubles for her services.

  That was why, when she heard earlier that Katerina Nikolaevna would be at Tatyana Pavlovna’s at half-past eleven and that I would be there as well, Marya immediately rushed out of the house and went galloping in a cab to Lambert with the news. This was precisely what she was to inform Lambert of—it was in this that her service consisted. Just at that moment, Versilov, too, was at Lambert’s. In one second Versilov came up with this infernal combination. They say that madmen can be terribly clever at certain moments.

  The combination consisted in luring the two of us, Tatyana and me, out of the apartment, at all costs, for at least a quarter of an hour, but before Katerina Nikolaevna’s arrival. Then—to wait outside, and as soon as Tatyana Pavlovna and I left, to run into the apartment, which Marya would open for them, and wait for Katerina Nikolaevna. Meanwhile, Alphonsinka was to do her best to keep us wherever she liked and however she liked. Katerina Nikolaevna was to arrive, as she had promised, at half-past eleven, meaning at least twice sooner than we could return. (Needless to say, Katerina Nikolaevna had not received any invitation from Lambert, and Alphonsinka had told a pack of lies, and it was this trick that Versilov had thought up in all its details, while Alphonsinka had only played the role of the frightened traitress.) Of course, there was a risk, but their reasoning was correct: “If it works—good; if not—nothing’s lost, because the document is still in our hands.” But it did work, and it couldn’t help working, because we couldn’t help running after Alphonsinka, if only on the supposition, “And what if it’s all true!” Again I repeat, there was no time to consider.

  V

  TRISHATOV AND I CAME running into the kitchen and found Marya in a fright. She had been struck because, as she let Lambert and Versilov in, she suddenly somehow noticed a revolver in Lambert’s hand. Though she had taken the money, the revolver had not entered into her calculations. She was bewildered and, as soon as she saw me, rushed to me:

  “Mme. Akhmakov has come, and they’ve got a pistol!”

  “Trishatov, wait here in the kitchen,” I ordered, “and the moment I shout, come running as fast as you can to help me.”

  Marya opened the door to the little corridor for me, and I slipped into Tatyana Pavlovna’s bedroom—that same tiny room in which there was only space enough for Tatyana Pavlovna’s bed and in which I had once eavesdropped inadvertently. I sat on the bed and at once found myself an opening in the portière.

  But there was already noise and loud talk in the room. I’ll note that Katerina Nikolaevna had entered the apartment exactly one minute after them. I had already heard noise and talk from the kitchen; it was Lambert shouting. She was sitting on the sofa, and he was standing in front of her and shouting like a fool. Now I know why he so stupidly lost his wits: he was in a hurry and was afraid they would be caught; later I’ll explain precisely whom he was afraid of. The letter was in his hand. But Versilov was not in the room. I prepared myself to rush in at the first sign of danger. I give only the meaning of what was said, maybe there’s much that I don’t remember correctly, but I was too agitated then to memorize it with final precision.

  “This letter is worth thirty thousand roubles, and you’re surprised! It’s worth a hundred thousand, and I’m asking only thirty!” Lambert said loudly and in awful excitement.

  Katerina Nikolaevna, though obviously frightened, looked at him with a sort of scornful surprise.

  “I see some trap has been set here, and I don’t understand anything,” she said, “but if you really have that letter . . .”

  “Here it is, you can see for yourself! Isn’t this it? A promissory note for thirty thousand and not a kopeck less!” Lambert interrupted her.

  “I have no money.”

  “Write a promissory note—here’s some paper. Then go and get the money, and I’ll wait, but a week—no longer. You bring the money, I’ll give you back the promissory note, and then I’ll give you the letter.”

  “You speak to me in such a strange tone. You’re mistaken. If I go and complain, this document will be taken from you today.”

  “To whom? Ha, ha, ha! And the scandal? And if we show the letter to the prince? Taken from me how? I don’t keep documents in my apartment. I’ll show it to the prince through a third person. Don’t be stubborn, lady, say thank you that I’m not asking much, somebody else would ask for certain favors besides . . . you know what kind . . . s
omething no pretty woman refuses in embarrassing circumstances, that’s what kind . . . Heh, heh, heh! Vous êtes belle, vous! ”121

  Katerina Nikolaevna impetuously got up from her place, blushed all over, and—spat in his face. Then she quickly made for the door. It was here that the fool Lambert snatched out the revolver. He had blindly believed, like a limited fool, in the effect of the document, that is—above all—he hadn’t perceived whom he was dealing with, precisely because, as I’ve already said, he considered that everyone had the same mean feelings as himself. From the very first word, he had irritated her with his rudeness, whereas she might not have declined to enter into a monetary deal.