“Why are you telling me all this?” he asked, regarding me with an angry, arrogant gaze. “To demonstrate how principled you are?”
“To demonstrate that I know what you are about and that you should be under no illusions.”
“Quelle idée, mon cher,” he continued, suddenly reverting to his former tone of good-natured badinage. “You only made me change the subject. Buvons, mon ami,* let me fill your glass. And I was just about to tell you a marvellous and extraordinarily fascinating story. I’ll be brief. There was a lady friend I used to know once – no longer in her first flush of youth but about twenty-seven or twenty-eight. Stunningly beautiful, what a bust, what a figure, the way she walked! Her gaze was fierce, hawklike, always stern and severe – her manner haughty and aloof. She had a reputation for being frigid as an iceberg, and she overawed everybody by her unassailable, her daunting virtue. Daunting is the word. No one in her circle was more intolerant than she. She condemned not only vice, but every kind of weakness, however trivial, in other women, and she judged them outright, without mercy. Within her own circle she wielded enormous influence. Some of the most distinguished and officiously charitable old ladies deferred to her, and even fawned on her. She regarded everybody with the dispassionate austerity of an abbess in a medieval nunnery. The younger women trembled at the very sight of her, not to say her censure. Just one word, one hint of an adverse comment from her could ruin a reputation – such was her standing in society. Even men were afraid of her. Finally, she began to indulge in some kind of contemplative mysticism, to be sure, all so serene and exalted… And, guess what? There was no harlot who was more debauched than she, and I had the good fortune of fully earning her trust. In a word, I was her secret and mysterious paramour. Our meetings were organized so skilfully, so expertly arranged, that even no one in the house had the slightest inkling of what was going on. Only one of her younger chambermaids, a French girl and a delectable morsel herself, was privy to all her secrets, but she was the very soul of discretion – she herself participated in all the goings-on. How? That I shall omit for now. My lady was so lascivious that even the Marquis de Sade himself could have learnt a thing or two from her. But the strongest, the most exciting and thrilling aspect of this sport was its air of mystery and the sheer effrontery of the deception. This mockery of everything that the Countess preached in society as being elevated, sublime and inviolate, no less than her inner satanic laughter and premeditated flouting of everything that ought not to be flouted – all this without restraint, taken to its utmost limit, beyond the reaches of even the wildest imagination – was that which constituted the principal and most vivid feature of the gratification. Yes, she was the very she-devil incarnate, but an irresistibly enchanting one. Even now I cannot recall her without paroxysms of delight. In the midst of the most passionate pleasures she would suddenly burst out laughing as one possessed, and I understood, I well understood that laughter, and I would join in with her… Even now the very memory of it makes me catch my breath, though it was many moons ago. A year later she dropped me for someone else. Even if I wanted to, I couldn’t have harmed her. Who on earth would have believed me? Such a woman! Well, what do you say to that, my young friend?”
“How disgusting!” I replied, having heard out his admission with repugnance.
“You wouldn’t have been the young friend that you are had you replied differently! I knew you’d say that. Hahaha! Wait, mon ami, time will come and you’ll see what’s what; as for now you have need of less strong meat. No, you’re no poet after all – this woman knew what life was all about and she knew how to make the most of it.”
“But why go to such lengths of bestiality?”
“What bestiality?”
“Such as this woman reached, and you with her.”
“Ah, you call that bestiality – a sure sign you’re still a mere babe, a tiro. Of course, I admit, independence can assume radically different… but, let us keep things in perspective, mon ami… you must agree, this is all nonsense.”
“What is?”
“Everything except one’s personality, one’s own self. All’s for the taking, and the world’s my oyster. Listen, my friend, I still believe one can have a good time in this world. And that’s the best thing to believe in, because otherwise one couldn’t even have a bad time – there’d be nothing left but to poison oneself. They say one fool did precisely that. He got so carried away in his philosophizing that he renounced everything, the lot, even the legitimacy of all normal and natural human obligations, with the end result that he was left with nothing, an absolute zero, which is why he declared that the best thing in life was a dose of prussic acid. You will tell me this reeks of Hamlet, of noble despair, in short – of something sublime that’s way beyond us. But you’re a poet, whereas I’m a simple man and will therefore say that things must be looked at from the simplest, the most practical vantage point. For instance I’ve already long ago liberated myself from all ties and even obligations. I’d entertain obligations only if I should stand to benefit from them in some way. Naturally, you cannot regard things quite like that – your feet are shackled and your taste is impaired. You yearn for lofty ideals and virtue. But, my friend, I’m ready to go along with anything you wish, but what can I do if I know for certain that behind every human virtue lurks profound selfishness? And the more virtuous the undertaking, the more selfishness there is in it. Love thy own self – that’s one rule I recognize. Life’s just a business transaction. Don’t throw your money about needlessly, but pay your way if you wish, and you’ll fulfil all your obligations towards your fellow man. So much for my morality, if that’s what you’re after, though frankly, it’d be better not to pay your fellow man, but see if you couldn’t induce him to do you favours for free. Ideals I have none and have no wish to have any, never having missed them anyway. One can survive in this world so comfortably, so nicely without them… and en somme,* I’m very glad I can manage without prussic acid. You see, had I been just a little more virtuous, I very likely wouldn’t have managed, like that fool of a philosopher (a German, no doubt). Yes, indeed, life’s still got lots to offer! I love influence, honours, good hotels, a huge stake at cards (I adore cards). But the main, the most important thing is women… women in all their shapes and forms. I even go for debauchery that’s covert, secretive, and the more eccentric and depraved the better, even with a whiff of sordidness for extra delectation… Hahaha! You should see your face! If looks could kill!”
“If—” I replied.
“Well, let’s assume you’re right too, but deviant sex is still better than prussic acid. Wouldn’t you say?”
“No, I wouldn’t.”
“I deliberately asked you, ‘Wouldn’t you say?’ to savour your reply. I knew what it would be in advance. No, my friend, if you’re a real philanthropist, you’d recommend to any sensible person exactly the same kind of delectation I enjoy, even down to the filthy bits, otherwise anyone who’s got his head screwed on would soon find there’s nothing for him in this paradise for fools. Your fools would be over the moon though! As the saying goes – life’s a thing that none but fools would keep. And if you want to know, nothing’s better than to live amongst fools and curry their favour. It makes eminent sense! Don’t be surprised that I value prejudice, observe certain conventions, seek power – it’s because I know I live in an empty society. But it offers me creature comforts and I’m only too happy to support it, to make out I’m championing its cause, whereas if it came to it I’d be the first to turn my back on it. Rest assured I’m familiar with all your newfangled ideas, even though I’ve never suffered from them or had much regard for them. Never had any pangs of conscience either. I’m ready to go along with anything provided it suits my book – our name is legion and life really treats us well. Everything in the world may go to pot, but you can be sure we shall survive. We have been around since the beginning of time. The whole world may go under, but we are sure to surf
ace. Incidentally, you only need to look around to see how resilient people like us are. Let’s face it, we are singularly, phenomenally tough. Has that ever occurred to you? Ergo, nature itself has been kind to us, hahaha! I definitely want to live till ninety. I don’t like death and it frightens me. Hell knows how one may come to die! But why talk about it! It’s that suicidal philosopher who’s got me going. To hell with philosophy! Buvons, mon cher! I say, we were going to talk about pretty girls, weren’t we?… Where are you off to?”
“I’m going, and it’s time you too—”
“Come, come, I bared my soul to you, and you’re unwilling to acknowledge what a splendid act of friendship that was. Hahaha! You haven’t got the milk of human kindness in you, my poet. But wait, I want another bottle.”
“A third one?”
“Yes, a third one. Apropos virtue, my young nursling – you don’t mind if I call you by this sweet name? Who knows, my words of wisdom may yet bear fruit – and so, my nursling, I’ve already talked of virtue, well – the more the virtue, the more the selfishness. I want to tell you a pretty little story on the subject. I once loved a girl with what amounted to almost genuine love. She even went to some lengths to sacrifice herself for me…”
“Is that the one you fleeced?” I asked bluntly, casting aside all restraint.
The Prince started, his face dropped as he stared back at me, his inflamed eyes glinting in consternation and fury.
“Just a minute,” he said as though talking to himself, “just a minute, don’t rush me. The drink’s really gone to my head, let me get my thoughts together…”
He paused and stared at me with the same malevolent gaze, resting one hand on mine as though for fear of my leaving. I am certain that at that instant he was trying to work out how could I possibly have known about the matter, which was a closely guarded secret, and whether he mightn’t be compromised by it. This lasted about a minute, but suddenly his face changed – the previous, merrily inebriated, derisive expression returned to his eyes, and he burst out laughing.
“Hahaha! My word, Talleyrand* would have been proud of you! I must confess, I really felt egg on my face when she blurted out that I stole from her! How she screeched, how she swore! A demented woman if ever there was one, and… with no self-restraint either. But judge for yourself – first, I never fleeced her, as you suggested just now. She personally gave me her money as a gift, and so it was by rights mine. Let’s put it this way, supposing you gave me your best tailcoat as a present,” saying this he shot a glance at my ill-fitting one that the tailor Ivan Skornyagin had run up for me some three years previously, but which was the only one I had. “I’m duly grateful to you, I carry on wearing it, suddenly a year later you have a quarrel with me and want it back, but I’ve already worn it out. This is unfair – why give it in the first place? Secondly, in spite of the fact that the money was mine, I would have returned it without fail but, have a heart, where was I to rustle up such a sum in a hurry? However, the main thing is, I can’t abide all this sentimentality and the Schiller-type nonsense, you already heard me mention – that’s what started it all off in fact. You won’t believe me when I tell you what an act she put on for my benefit, shouting that I could keep the money (my money, mind). That’s when I really went mad, and suddenly I was able to see things in their true colours, because my presence of mind is something that never deserts me. I thought to myself, if I gave her the money, I might even make her unhappy. I’d have deprived her of the pleasure of being totally miserable on my account and of cursing me for it for the rest of her life. Believe you me, my friend, there is supreme pleasure to be derived from the kind of misery where one knows oneself to be quite blameless and generous and totally justified in calling the wrongdoer a scoundrel. One comes across this ecstasy of hatred precisely in your Schillerian types, that goes without saying. She probably went hungry later, but I’m sure she was happy. I didn’t want to deprive her of this happiness and that’s exactly why I didn’t send her the money. Hence the complete justification of my rule of thumb, namely the more pronounced and vociferous one’s magnanimity, the more riddled it is with the worst kind of selfishness… Do you really not see it? But… you wanted to pick a bone with me, hahaha!… Well, let’s have the truth, you did, didn’t you?… You Talleyrand, you!”
“Goodbye!” I said, getting up.
“Not just yet! Two more words before you go,” he exclaimed, changing his tone from mocking to serious. “Listen to my final say on the matter. Of all that I said it follows as day follows night – you couldn’t have failed to notice it yourself – that I never, but never, miss a favourable chance. I love money, and I’m in need of it. Katerina Fyodorovna has lots. Her father was ten years in the wine trade. She has now three million roubles, and this three million will come in very handy to me. Alyosha and Katya are a perfect match – both are as stupid as they come, which is all I need. Hence I’m determined that their marriage take place, and the sooner the better. In two or three weeks Katya and the Countess will be going to the country. Alyosha must accompany them. Be sure to warn Natalya Nikolayevna that there’s to be no sentimentality or any Schiller-inspired nonsense, no opposition to me. I’m vindictive and dangerous, and shall stand up for my interests. I’m not afraid of her. Everything will unquestionably be done my way, and therefore, even if it’s you I’m warning now, it’s with her in mind really. So see to it that she doesn’t do anything foolish and behaves sensibly. Otherwise she’ll be very sorry, very sorry indeed. Come to that, she ought to be grateful to me I haven’t dealt with her according to her deserts and the full rigours of the law. You will be aware, my poet, that the law protects family values, it guarantees a son’s obedience to his father and that those who entice children away from their sacred obligations to their parents fall foul of the law. Remember, finally, I have connections and she has none, and… do you really not understand what I could have done with her?… But I haven’t, because so far she has behaved sensibly. Don’t worry, every minute their every movement these past six months has been under close surveillance, and I’ve been kept informed of everything down to the last detail. That’s why I chose to bide my time until Alyosha would reject her himself, which is already happening. In the meantime the lad might as well have his fling. Be that as it may, in his eyes I’ve remained a caring father, and it’s important for me he should think of me that way. Hahaha! When I recall that I nearly complimented her that night for being so generous and unselfish in not marrying him! I really would have liked to see her try! As regards my visit to her then, it was simply time that an end was put to their relationship. But I needed to be reassured with my own eyes, to experience it all at first hand… Well, I think you’ve had enough! Or perhaps you’d like to hear some more reasons why I brought you here, why I’ve been playacting in front of you and been so impossibly frank, whereas it could all have been stated without any avowals of frankness – yes?”
“Yes.” I gritted my teeth and listened avidly. I had nothing more to say to him.
“It was for one reason only, my friend – because I detected in you a little more common sense and clarity of vision to see things in their true colours than in either of our two little fools. You’d have known sooner or later who I am, you’d have guessed, formed an opinion of me, but I wanted to save you all the effort and decided to demonstrate clearly who exactly it was you were dealing with. First-hand impressions count for everything. Try to understand me, mon ami. You know whom you’re dealing with, you love her, and therefore I now hope you will exercise all your influence – let’s face it, you do have influence over her – to save her from certain kinds of trouble. Else there will be trouble and, I assure you in all sincerity, by no means inconsiderable trouble. Well, finally, the third reason for my frankness with you (I can see you’ve already guessed it, my dear friend), yes, I really wanted to spit on the whole of this sorry business and, spit… especially before your very eyes…”
“And you have succeeded,” I said, shaking with agitation. “I fully agree, nothing could have better conveyed your hatred and contempt for me and all I stand for as this so-called frankness of yours. You not only didn’t care if it compromised you in my eyes, but you didn’t even betray any sense of shame before me… You really gave a good impression of the madman in his cloak. You treated me as something less than human.”
“You’ve hit the nail on the head, my young friend,” he said, getting up, “right on the head – you’re not an author for nothing. I hope we’ll part amicably though. I don’t suppose we’ll be drinking to eternal friendship, however, will we?”
“You’re drunk, and that’s the only thing that stops me giving you the response you deserve…”
“Another figure of speechlessness – you stopped short, so I’ll never know how you would have responded, hahaha! I don’t suppose you’d let me pay for you either?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll pay my own share.”
“I’m sure you will. Nor would we be going the same way?”
“I’m not going your way.”
“Farewell, my poet. I hope you have understood me…”
He left without looking at me, his gait slightly unsteady. A footman helped him into his calash. I went my own way. It was gone two o’clock in the morning and raining. The night was dark…
Part Four
1
I shall not describe my anger. In spite of the fact that I ought to have been prepared for everything, I was astonished, as though he had appeared before me quite unexpectedly in all his vileness. As I remember, my feelings were disordered, as though something were weighing down upon me to the point of depression; I felt smitten, and sullen anxiety gnawed more and more at my heart; I was afraid for Natasha. I foresaw much suffering ahead for her and I vaguely tried to think how to avoid it, how best to lighten the last remaining days before the final dénouement. It was approaching fast, and how could one fail to predict its nature!
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