Prestuplenie i nakazanie. English

by Fyodor Dostoyevsky

  CHAPTER III

  "He is well, quite well!" Zossimov cried cheerfully as they entered.

  He had come in ten minutes earlier and was sitting in the same placeas before, on the sofa. Raskolnikov was sitting in the opposite corner,fully dressed and carefully washed and combed, as he had not been forsome time past. The room was immediately crowded, yet Nastasya managedto follow the visitors in and stayed to listen.

  Raskolnikov really was almost well, as compared with his condition theday before, but he was still pale, listless, and sombre. He looked likea wounded man or one who has undergone some terrible physical suffering.His brows were knitted, his lips compressed, his eyes feverish. He spokelittle and reluctantly, as though performing a duty, and there was arestlessness in his movements.

  He only wanted a sling on his arm or a bandage on his finger to completethe impression of a man with a painful abscess or a broken arm. Thepale, sombre face lighted up for a moment when his mother and sisterentered, but this only gave it a look of more intense suffering, inplace of its listless dejection. The light soon died away, but the lookof suffering remained, and Zossimov, watching and studying his patientwith all the zest of a young doctor beginning to practise, noticedin him no joy at the arrival of his mother and sister, but a sort ofbitter, hidden determination to bear another hour or two of inevitabletorture. He saw later that almost every word of the followingconversation seemed to touch on some sore place and irritate it. Butat the same time he marvelled at the power of controlling himselfand hiding his feelings in a patient who the previous day had, like amonomaniac, fallen into a frenzy at the slightest word.

  "Yes, I see myself now that I am almost well," said Raskolnikov,giving his mother and sister a kiss of welcome which made PulcheriaAlexandrovna radiant at once. "And I don't say this _as I didyesterday_," he said, addressing Razumihin, with a friendly pressure ofhis hand.

  "Yes, indeed, I am quite surprised at him to-day," began Zossimov, muchdelighted at the ladies' entrance, for he had not succeeded in keepingup a conversation with his patient for ten minutes. "In another three orfour days, if he goes on like this, he will be just as before, that is,as he was a month ago, or two... or perhaps even three. This has beencoming on for a long while.... eh? Confess, now, that it has beenperhaps your own fault?" he added, with a tentative smile, as thoughstill afraid of irritating him.

  "It is very possible," answered Raskolnikov coldly.

  "I should say, too," continued Zossimov with zest, "that your completerecovery depends solely on yourself. Now that one can talk to you,I should like to impress upon you that it is essential to avoid theelementary, so to speak, fundamental causes tending to produce yourmorbid condition: in that case you will be cured, if not, it will gofrom bad to worse. These fundamental causes I don't know, but they mustbe known to you. You are an intelligent man, and must have observedyourself, of course. I fancy the first stage of your derangementcoincides with your leaving the university. You must not be left withoutoccupation, and so, work and a definite aim set before you might, Ifancy, be very beneficial."

  "Yes, yes; you are perfectly right.... I will make haste and return tothe university: and then everything will go smoothly...."

  Zossimov, who had begun his sage advice partly to make an effect beforethe ladies, was certainly somewhat mystified, when, glancing at hispatient, he observed unmistakable mockery on his face. This lastedan instant, however. Pulcheria Alexandrovna began at once thankingZossimov, especially for his visit to their lodging the previous night.

  "What! he saw you last night?" Raskolnikov asked, as though startled."Then you have not slept either after your journey."

  "Ach, Rodya, that was only till two o'clock. Dounia and I never go tobed before two at home."

  "I don't know how to thank him either," Raskolnikov went on,suddenly frowning and looking down. "Setting aside the question ofpayment--forgive me for referring to it (he turned to Zossimov)--Ireally don't know what I have done to deserve such special attentionfrom you! I simply don't understand it... and... and... it weighs uponme, indeed, because I don't understand it. I tell you so candidly."

  "Don't be irritated." Zossimov forced himself to laugh. "Assume that youare my first patient--well--we fellows just beginning to practise loveour first patients as if they were our children, and some almost fall inlove with them. And, of course, I am not rich in patients."

  "I say nothing about him," added Raskolnikov, pointing to Razumihin,"though he has had nothing from me either but insult and trouble."

  "What nonsense he is talking! Why, you are in a sentimental mood to-day,are you?" shouted Razumihin.

  If he had had more penetration he would have seen that there was notrace of sentimentality in him, but something indeed quite the opposite.But Avdotya Romanovna noticed it. She was intently and uneasily watchingher brother.

  "As for you, mother, I don't dare to speak," he went on, as thoughrepeating a lesson learned by heart. "It is only to-day that I havebeen able to realise a little how distressed you must have been hereyesterday, waiting for me to come back."

  When he had said this, he suddenly held out his hand to his sister,smiling without a word. But in this smile there was a flash of realunfeigned feeling. Dounia caught it at once, and warmly pressed hishand, overjoyed and thankful. It was the first time he had addressed hersince their dispute the previous day. The mother's face lighted upwith ecstatic happiness at the sight of this conclusive unspokenreconciliation. "Yes, that is what I love him for," Razumihin,exaggerating it all, muttered to himself, with a vigorous turn in hischair. "He has these movements."

  "And how well he does it all," the mother was thinking to herself. "Whatgenerous impulses he has, and how simply, how delicately he put an endto all the misunderstanding with his sister--simply by holding out hishand at the right minute and looking at her like that.... And whatfine eyes he has, and how fine his whole face is!... He is even betterlooking than Dounia.... But, good heavens, what a suit--how terriblyhe's dressed!... Vasya, the messenger boy in Afanasy Ivanitch's shop, isbetter dressed! I could rush at him and hug him... weep over him--butI am afraid.... Oh, dear, he's so strange! He's talking kindly, but I'mafraid! Why, what am I afraid of?..."

  "Oh, Rodya, you wouldn't believe," she began suddenly, in haste toanswer his words to her, "how unhappy Dounia and I were yesterday! Nowthat it's all over and done with and we are quite happy again--I cantell you. Fancy, we ran here almost straight from the train to embraceyou and that woman--ah, here she is! Good morning, Nastasya!... She toldus at once that you were lying in a high fever and had just run awayfrom the doctor in delirium, and they were looking for you in thestreets. You can't imagine how we felt! I couldn't help thinking of thetragic end of Lieutenant Potanchikov, a friend of your father's--youcan't remember him, Rodya--who ran out in the same way in a high feverand fell into the well in the court-yard and they couldn't pull him outtill next day. Of course, we exaggerated things. We were on the point ofrushing to find Pyotr Petrovitch to ask him to help.... Because we werealone, utterly alone," she said plaintively and stopped short,suddenly, recollecting it was still somewhat dangerous to speak of PyotrPetrovitch, although "we are quite happy again."

  "Yes, yes.... Of course it's very annoying...." Raskolnikov muttered inreply, but with such a preoccupied and inattentive air that Dounia gazedat him in perplexity.

  "What else was it I wanted to say?" He went on trying to recollect. "Oh,yes; mother, and you too, Dounia, please don't think that I didn't meanto come and see you to-day and was waiting for you to come first."

  "What are you saying, Rodya?" cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna. She, too,was surprised.

  "Is he answering us as a duty?" Dounia wondered. "Is he being reconciledand asking forgiveness as though he were performing a rite or repeatinga lesson?"

  "I've only just waked up, and wanted to go to you, but was delayed owingto my clothes; I forgot yesterday to ask her... Nastasya... to wash outthe blood... I've only just dressed."

  "Blood! What blo
od?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna asked in alarm.

  "Oh, nothing--don't be uneasy. It was when I was wandering aboutyesterday, rather delirious, I chanced upon a man who had been runover... a clerk..."

  "Delirious? But you remember everything!" Razumihin interrupted.

  "That's true," Raskolnikov answered with special carefulness. "Iremember everything even to the slightest detail, and yet--why I didthat and went there and said that, I can't clearly explain now."

  "A familiar phenomenon," interposed Zossimov, "actions are sometimesperformed in a masterly and most cunning way, while the direction of theactions is deranged and dependent on various morbid impressions--it'slike a dream."

  "Perhaps it's a good thing really that he should think me almost amadman," thought Raskolnikov.

  "Why, people in perfect health act in the same way too," observedDounia, looking uneasily at Zossimov.

  "There is some truth in your observation," the latter replied. "In thatsense we are certainly all not infrequently like madmen, but with theslight difference that the deranged are somewhat madder, for wemust draw a line. A normal man, it is true, hardly exists. Amongdozens--perhaps hundreds of thousands--hardly one is to be met with."

  At the word "madman," carelessly dropped by Zossimov in his chatter onhis favourite subject, everyone frowned.

  Raskolnikov sat seeming not to pay attention, plunged in thought with astrange smile on his pale lips. He was still meditating on something.

  "Well, what about the man who was run over? I interrupted you!"Razumihin cried hastily.

  "What?" Raskolnikov seemed to wake up. "Oh... I got spattered withblood helping to carry him to his lodging. By the way, mamma, I did anunpardonable thing yesterday. I was literally out of my mind. I gaveaway all the money you sent me... to his wife for the funeral. She'sa widow now, in consumption, a poor creature... three little children,starving... nothing in the house... there's a daughter, too... perhapsyou'd have given it yourself if you'd seen them. But I had no right todo it I admit, especially as I knew how you needed the money yourself.To help others one must have the right to do it, or else _Crevez,chiens, si vous n'etes pas contents_." He laughed, "That's right, isn'tit, Dounia?"

  "No, it's not," answered Dounia firmly.

  "Bah! you, too, have ideals," he muttered, looking at her almost withhatred, and smiling sarcastically. "I ought to have considered that....Well, that's praiseworthy, and it's better for you... and if you reach aline you won't overstep, you will be unhappy... and if you overstep it,maybe you will be still unhappier.... But all that's nonsense," he addedirritably, vexed at being carried away. "I only meant to say that I begyour forgiveness, mother," he concluded, shortly and abruptly.

  "That's enough, Rodya, I am sure that everything you do is very good,"said his mother, delighted.

  "Don't be too sure," he answered, twisting his mouth into a smile.

  A silence followed. There was a certain constraint in all thisconversation, and in the silence, and in the reconciliation, and in theforgiveness, and all were feeling it.

  "It is as though they were afraid of me," Raskolnikov was thinkingto himself, looking askance at his mother and sister. PulcheriaAlexandrovna was indeed growing more timid the longer she kept silent.

  "Yet in their absence I seemed to love them so much," flashed throughhis mind.

  "Do you know, Rodya, Marfa Petrovna is dead," Pulcheria Alexandrovnasuddenly blurted out.

  "What Marfa Petrovna?"

  "Oh, mercy on us--Marfa Petrovna Svidrigailov. I wrote you so much abouther."

  "A-a-h! Yes, I remember.... So she's dead! Oh, really?" he rousedhimself suddenly, as if waking up. "What did she die of?"

  "Only imagine, quite suddenly," Pulcheria Alexandrovna answeredhurriedly, encouraged by his curiosity. "On the very day I was sendingyou that letter! Would you believe it, that awful man seems to have beenthe cause of her death. They say he beat her dreadfully."

  "Why, were they on such bad terms?" he asked, addressing his sister.

  "Not at all. Quite the contrary indeed. With her, he was always verypatient, considerate even. In fact, all those seven years of theirmarried life he gave way to her, too much so indeed, in many cases. Allof a sudden he seems to have lost patience."

  "Then he could not have been so awful if he controlled himself for sevenyears? You seem to be defending him, Dounia?"

  "No, no, he's an awful man! I can imagine nothing more awful!" Douniaanswered, almost with a shudder, knitting her brows, and sinking intothought.

  "That had happened in the morning," Pulcheria Alexandrovna went onhurriedly. "And directly afterwards she ordered the horses to beharnessed to drive to the town immediately after dinner. She always usedto drive to the town in such cases. She ate a very good dinner, I amtold...."

  "After the beating?"

  "That was always her... habit; and immediately after dinner, so as notto be late in starting, she went to the bath-house.... You see, she wasundergoing some treatment with baths. They have a cold spring there, andshe used to bathe in it regularly every day, and no sooner had she gotinto the water when she suddenly had a stroke!"

  "I should think so," said Zossimov.

  "And did he beat her badly?"

  "What does that matter!" put in Dounia.

  "H'm! But I don't know why you want to tell us such gossip, mother,"said Raskolnikov irritably, as it were in spite of himself.

  "Ah, my dear, I don't know what to talk about," broke from PulcheriaAlexandrovna.

  "Why, are you all afraid of me?" he asked, with a constrained smile.

  "That's certainly true," said Dounia, looking directly and sternly ather brother. "Mother was crossing herself with terror as she came up thestairs."

  His face worked, as though in convulsion.

  "Ach, what are you saying, Dounia! Don't be angry, please, Rodya....Why did you say that, Dounia?" Pulcheria Alexandrovna began,overwhelmed--"You see, coming here, I was dreaming all the way, in thetrain, how we should meet, how we should talk over everythingtogether.... And I was so happy, I did not notice the journey! But whatam I saying? I am happy now.... You should not, Dounia.... I am happynow--simply in seeing you, Rodya...."

  "Hush, mother," he muttered in confusion, not looking at her, butpressing her hand. "We shall have time to speak freely of everything!"

  As he said this, he was suddenly overwhelmed with confusion and turnedpale. Again that awful sensation he had known of late passed with deadlychill over his soul. Again it became suddenly plain and perceptible tohim that he had just told a fearful lie--that he would never now beable to speak freely of everything--that he would never again be able to_speak_ of anything to anyone. The anguish of this thought was such thatfor a moment he almost forgot himself. He got up from his seat, and notlooking at anyone walked towards the door.

  "What are you about?" cried Razumihin, clutching him by the arm.

  He sat down again, and began looking about him, in silence. They wereall looking at him in perplexity.

  "But what are you all so dull for?" he shouted, suddenly and quiteunexpectedly. "Do say something! What's the use of sitting like this?Come, do speak. Let us talk.... We meet together and sit in silence....Come, anything!"

  "Thank God; I was afraid the same thing as yesterday was beginningagain," said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, crossing herself.

  "What is the matter, Rodya?" asked Avdotya Romanovna, distrustfully.

  "Oh, nothing! I remembered something," he answered, and suddenlylaughed.

  "Well, if you remembered something; that's all right!... I was beginningto think..." muttered Zossimov, getting up from the sofa. "It is timefor me to be off. I will look in again perhaps... if I can..." He madehis bows, and went out.

  "What an excellent man!" observed Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

  "Yes, excellent, splendid, well-educated, intelligent," Raskolnikovbegan, suddenly speaking with surprising rapidity, and a liveliness hehad not shown till then. "I can't remember where I met him before myillness.... I beli
eve I have met him somewhere----... And this is a goodman, too," he nodded at Razumihin. "Do you like him, Dounia?" he askedher; and suddenly, for some unknown reason, laughed.

  "Very much," answered Dounia.

  "Foo!--what a pig you are!" Razumihin protested, blushing in terribleconfusion, and he got up from his chair. Pulcheria Alexandrovna smiledfaintly, but Raskolnikov laughed aloud.

  "Where are you off to?"

  "I must go."

  "You need not at all. Stay. Zossimov has gone, so you must. Don't go.What's the time? Is it twelve o'clock? What a pretty watch you have got,Dounia. But why are you all silent again? I do all the talking."

  "It was a present from Marfa Petrovna," answered Dounia.

  "And a very expensive one!" added Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

  "A-ah! What a big one! Hardly like a lady's."

  "I like that sort," said Dounia.

  "So it is not a present from her _fiance_," thought Razumihin, and wasunreasonably delighted.

  "I thought it was Luzhin's present," observed Raskolnikov.

  "No, he has not made Dounia any presents yet."

  "A-ah! And do you remember, mother, I was in love and wanted to getmarried?" he said suddenly, looking at his mother, who was disconcertedby the sudden change of subject and the way he spoke of it.

  "Oh, yes, my dear."

  Pulcheria Alexandrovna exchanged glances with Dounia and Razumihin.

  "H'm, yes. What shall I tell you? I don't remember much indeed. She wassuch a sickly girl," he went on, growing dreamy and looking down again."Quite an invalid. She was fond of giving alms to the poor, and wasalways dreaming of a nunnery, and once she burst into tears when shebegan talking to me about it. Yes, yes, I remember. I remember verywell. She was an ugly little thing. I really don't know what drew meto her then--I think it was because she was always ill. If she had beenlame or hunchback, I believe I should have liked her better still," hesmiled dreamily. "Yes, it was a sort of spring delirium."

  "No, it was not only spring delirium," said Dounia, with warm feeling.

  He fixed a strained intent look on his sister, but did not hear or didnot understand her words. Then, completely lost in thought, he got up,went up to his mother, kissed her, went back to his place and sat down.

  "You love her even now?" said Pulcheria Alexandrovna, touched.

  "Her? Now? Oh, yes.... You ask about her? No... that's all now, asit were, in another world... and so long ago. And indeed everythinghappening here seems somehow far away." He looked attentively at them."You, now... I seem to be looking at you from a thousand miles away...but, goodness knows why we are talking of that! And what's the use ofasking about it?" he added with annoyance, and biting his nails, fellinto dreamy silence again.

  "What a wretched lodging you have, Rodya! It's like a tomb," saidPulcheria Alexandrovna, suddenly breaking the oppressive silence. "Iam sure it's quite half through your lodging you have become somelancholy."

  "My lodging," he answered, listlessly. "Yes, the lodging had a greatdeal to do with it.... I thought that, too.... If only you knew, though,what a strange thing you said just now, mother," he said, laughingstrangely.

  A little more, and their companionship, this mother and this sister,with him after three years' absence, this intimate tone of conversation,in face of the utter impossibility of really speaking about anything,would have been beyond his power of endurance. But there was one urgentmatter which must be settled one way or the other that day--so he haddecided when he woke. Now he was glad to remember it, as a means ofescape.

  "Listen, Dounia," he began, gravely and drily, "of course I beg yourpardon for yesterday, but I consider it my duty to tell you again thatI do not withdraw from my chief point. It is me or Luzhin. If I am ascoundrel, you must not be. One is enough. If you marry Luzhin, I ceaseat once to look on you as a sister."

  "Rodya, Rodya! It is the same as yesterday again," PulcheriaAlexandrovna cried, mournfully. "And why do you call yourself ascoundrel? I can't bear it. You said the same yesterday."

  "Brother," Dounia answered firmly and with the same dryness. "In allthis there is a mistake on your part. I thought it over at night,and found out the mistake. It is all because you seem to fancy I amsacrificing myself to someone and for someone. That is not the case atall. I am simply marrying for my own sake, because things are hard forme. Though, of course, I shall be glad if I succeed in being useful tomy family. But that is not the chief motive for my decision...."

  "She is lying," he thought to himself, biting his nails vindictively."Proud creature! She won't admit she wants to do it out of charity! Toohaughty! Oh, base characters! They even love as though they hate.... Oh,how I... hate them all!"

  "In fact," continued Dounia, "I am marrying Pyotr Petrovitch because oftwo evils I choose the less. I intend to do honestly all he expects ofme, so I am not deceiving him.... Why did you smile just now?" She, too,flushed, and there was a gleam of anger in her eyes.

  "All?" he asked, with a malignant grin.

  "Within certain limits. Both the manner and form of Pyotr Petrovitch'scourtship showed me at once what he wanted. He may, of course, think toowell of himself, but I hope he esteems me, too.... Why are you laughingagain?"

  "And why are you blushing again? You are lying, sister. You areintentionally lying, simply from feminine obstinacy, simply to hold yourown against me.... You cannot respect Luzhin. I have seen him and talkedwith him. So you are selling yourself for money, and so in any case youare acting basely, and I am glad at least that you can blush for it."

  "It is not true. I am not lying," cried Dounia, losing her composure."I would not marry him if I were not convinced that he esteems meand thinks highly of me. I would not marry him if I were not firmlyconvinced that I can respect him. Fortunately, I can have convincingproof of it this very day... and such a marriage is not a vileness, asyou say! And even if you were right, if I really had determined on avile action, is it not merciless on your part to speak to me like that?Why do you demand of me a heroism that perhaps you have not either? Itis despotism; it is tyranny. If I ruin anyone, it is only myself.... Iam not committing a murder. Why do you look at me like that? Why are youso pale? Rodya, darling, what's the matter?"

  "Good heavens! You have made him faint," cried Pulcheria Alexandrovna.

  "No, no, nonsense! It's nothing. A little giddiness--not fainting. Youhave fainting on the brain. H'm, yes, what was I saying? Oh, yes. Inwhat way will you get convincing proof to-day that you can respect him,and that he... esteems you, as you said. I think you said to-day?"

  "Mother, show Rodya Pyotr Petrovitch's letter," said Dounia.

  With trembling hands, Pulcheria Alexandrovna gave him the letter. Hetook it with great interest, but, before opening it, he suddenly lookedwith a sort of wonder at Dounia.

  "It is strange," he said, slowly, as though struck by a new idea. "Whatam I making such a fuss for? What is it all about? Marry whom you like!"

  He said this as though to himself, but said it aloud, and looked forsome time at his sister, as though puzzled. He opened the letter atlast, still with the same look of strange wonder on his face. Then,slowly and attentively, he began reading, and read it through twice.Pulcheria Alexandrovna showed marked anxiety, and all indeed expectedsomething particular.

  "What surprises me," he began, after a short pause, handing the letterto his mother, but not addressing anyone in particular, "is that he is abusiness man, a lawyer, and his conversation is pretentious indeed, andyet he writes such an uneducated letter."

  They all started. They had expected something quite different.

  "But they all write like that, you know," Razumihin observed, abruptly.

  "Have you read it?"

  "Yes."

  "We showed him, Rodya. We... consulted him just now," PulcheriaAlexandrovna began, embarrassed.

  "That's just the jargon of the courts," Razumihin put in. "Legaldocuments are written like that to this day."

  "Legal? Yes, it's just legal--business language
--not so very uneducated,and not quite educated--business language!"

  "Pyotr Petrovitch makes no secret of the fact that he had a cheapeducation, he is proud indeed of having made his own way," AvdotyaRomanovna observed, somewhat offended by her brother's tone.

  "Well, if he's proud of it, he has reason, I don't deny it. You seem tobe offended, sister, at my making only such a frivolous criticism on theletter, and to think that I speak of such trifling matters on purpose toannoy you. It is quite the contrary, an observation apropos of the styleoccurred to me that is by no means irrelevant as things stand. Thereis one expression, 'blame yourselves' put in very significantly andplainly, and there is besides a threat that he will go away at once if Iam present. That threat to go away is equivalent to a threat to abandonyou both if you are disobedient, and to abandon you now after summoningyou to Petersburg. Well, what do you think? Can one resent such anexpression from Luzhin, as we should if he (he pointed to Razumihin) hadwritten it, or Zossimov, or one of us?"

  "N-no," answered Dounia, with more animation. "I saw clearly that itwas too naively expressed, and that perhaps he simply has no skillin writing... that is a true criticism, brother. I did not expect,indeed..."

  "It is expressed in legal style, and sounds coarser than perhaps heintended. But I must disillusion you a little. There is one expressionin the letter, one slander about me, and rather a contemptible one. Igave the money last night to the widow, a woman in consumption, crushedwith trouble, and not 'on the pretext of the funeral,' but simply to payfor the funeral, and not to the daughter--a young woman, as he writes,of notorious behaviour (whom I saw last night for the first time in mylife)--but to the widow. In all this I see a too hasty desire to slanderme and to raise dissension between us. It is expressed again in legaljargon, that is to say, with a too obvious display of the aim, andwith a very naive eagerness. He is a man of intelligence, but to actsensibly, intelligence is not enough. It all shows the man and... Idon't think he has a great esteem for you. I tell you this simply towarn you, because I sincerely wish for your good..."

  Dounia did not reply. Her resolution had been taken. She was onlyawaiting the evening.

  "Then what is your decision, Rodya?" asked Pulcheria Alexandrovna, whowas more uneasy than ever at the sudden, new businesslike tone of histalk.

  "What decision?"

  "You see Pyotr Petrovitch writes that you are not to be with us thisevening, and that he will go away if you come. So will you... come?"

  "That, of course, is not for me to decide, but for you first, if you arenot offended by such a request; and secondly, by Dounia, if she, too, isnot offended. I will do what you think best," he added, drily.

  "Dounia has already decided, and I fully agree with her," PulcheriaAlexandrovna hastened to declare.

  "I decided to ask you, Rodya, to urge you not to fail to be with us atthis interview," said Dounia. "Will you come?"

  "Yes."

  "I will ask you, too, to be with us at eight o'clock," she said,addressing Razumihin. "Mother, I am inviting him, too."

  "Quite right, Dounia. Well, since you have decided," added PulcheriaAlexandrovna, "so be it. I shall feel easier myself. I do not likeconcealment and deception. Better let us have the whole truth.... PyotrPetrovitch may be angry or not, now!"