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“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 u
“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 naivete 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 u
“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…” 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.