‘So, the only thing is for me to run and beg her pardon. Is that what you want?’ cried Pyotr Alexandrovitch. ‘I no longer have the patience to listen to you! Think what you’re saying. Do you know what you’re saying? Do you know what and whom you are defending? Why, I can see through all of it – ‘You fail to see the first thing; your pride and your anger prevent it. You can see neither what I’m defending nor what I’m trying to say. I’m not defending vice. But have you considered – and you’ll see clearly if you do consider – have you considered that perhaps she’s as innocent as a child? No, I’m not defending vice! I shall explain myself at once, if it gives you satisfaction. Yes, if she had been a wife and a mother and had forgotten her duties – oh, then I would have agreed with you… You see, I make a reservation. Take note of that and don’t reproach me. But supposing she’s received this letter without knowing it’s wrong? What if she’s been carried away by her inexperience and has had no one to guide her? Perhaps I’m the most guilty because I didn’t watch over her heart. Was this the first letter? Perhaps it was, and you have insulted her fragrant, maidenly feelings with your coarse suspicions. What if you have sullied her imagination with your cruel talk about the letter? Could you not see that chaste, maidenly shame glowing in her face, pure as the innocence which I can see now and which I saw before, when you mortified and tortured her so that, not knowing what to say and torn with anguish, she answered by admitting to your cruel, inhuman accusations? Yes, yes! Yes, it’s inhuman; it’s cruel. I don’t know you any more. I shall never forgive you for this, never!’
‘Have mercy on me, have mercy!’ I cried, clinging to her. ‘Have mercy, trust me, don’t reject me!…’ I fell on my knees at her feet.
‘What if, in fact,’ she continued in a choked voice, ‘I had not been at her side, and you had terrified her with your words and made the poor child believe she was guilty – confusing her conscience and soul, and shattering the peace of her heart? My God! You mean to turn her out of the house? Do you know who is treated like that? You know that if you turn her out of the house, you turn us out together, the two of us! Do you hear me, sir?’ Her eyes flashed, her breast heaved; her feverish excitement reached a climax.
‘Yes, I’ve heard enough, madam!’ Pyotr Alexandrovitch finally shouted. ‘Enough of this! I know that there are such things as platonic passions, and it’s to my sorrow that I know it, madam, do you hear? To my sorrow. But I can’t put up with gilded sin. I don’t understand it. Put an end to trumpery! And if you feel that you are guilty, if you are aware of some wrongdoing on your part (it’s not for me to remind you of it, madam) – if, in fact, you like the idea of leaving my house… there’s nothing left for me to say, but that you made a mistake in neglecting to carry out your intention at the proper time. If you have forgotten how many years ago it was; I will help you…’
I glanced at Alexandra Mikhailovna. She was leaning over me and clutching at me convulsively, helpless with an inner agony, half closing her eyes in intense misery. Another minute and she would have collapsed.
‘Oh, for God’s sake, if only this once, spare her! Don’t utter the final words!’ I cried, falling at Pyotr Alexandrovitch’s feet, and forgetting that I was betraying myself. But it was too late. A faint scream greeted my words, and the poor woman fell senseless to the floor.
‘It’s all over! You’ve killed her,’ I said. ‘Call the servants, save her! I’ll wait for you in your study. I must speak to you; I’ll tell you everything…’
‘But what? But what?’
‘Later.’
The fainting and hysterics lasted two hours. The whole household was alarmed. The doctor shook his head doubtfully. After another two hours I went to Pyotr Alexandrovitch’s study. He had only just come back from seeing his wife and was pacing the room, pale and distracted, biting his nails until they bled. I had never seen him in such a state.
‘What do you want to say to me?’ he said in a harsh, abrupt voice. ‘Do you want to say something?’
‘Here is the letter you snatched from my hands. Do you recognize it?’
‘Yes.’
‘Take it.’
He took the letter and raised it to the light. I watched him carefully. A few minutes later he reached the signature on the last page. I saw the blood rushing to his head.
‘Well, what is it?’ he asked, petrified with amazement.
‘Three years ago I found this letter in a book. I presumed it had been forgotten; I read it and learnt everything. Since then it has been in my possession because I had no one to whom I could give it. I could not give it to her. Could I have given it to you? But you must have known the contents of this letter, the whole sorrowful story inside… I don’t know why you’re pretending. It’s a mystery to me. I still can’t understand your dark soul. You wanted to keep up your superiority over her and you have done so. But for what purpose? In order to triumph over a ghost, over the distraught imagination of a sick woman? To prove to her that she has erred and that you are more sinless than she? And you’ve achieved your aim, for this is the fixed idea of a failing mind, perhaps the last lament of a broken heart over the injustice of people’s condemnation, with which you were in agreement. “What does it matter if you have fallen in love with her?” That is what she was saying and what she wanted to show you. Your vanity and your jealous egocentricity have been merciless. Farewell! There’s no need to explain! But mind, I know you, I can see through you, don’t forget that!’
I went to my room, hardly knowing what was happening to me. At the door I was stopped by Ovrov, Pyotr Alexandrovitch’s secretary.
‘I should like to have a word with you,’ he said with a polite bow.
I looked at him, scarcely understanding what he had said to me.
‘Later – excuse me, I’m not well,’ I answered at last, walking past him.
‘All right, tomorrow,’ he said with a knowing smile. But perhaps I only imagined it. All this seemed to flit before my eyes.
Netochka Nezvanova (Penguin ed.) Page 20