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白痴|The Idiot

Part 2 第8章|Part 2 Chapter 8

属类： 双语小说 【分类】世界名著 -[作者: 陀思妥耶夫斯基] 阅读：[21621]
《 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 字+字- 行+行- 页+页- 》
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“先生们，我没有料到你们中任何一位会来，”公爵开始说，“我本人直至今天一直有病，而您的事（他转向安季普·布尔多夫斯基）还在一个月前我就委托加夫里拉·阿尔达利翁诺维奇·伊沃尔京去办，这一点我当时就通知过您。不过，我现在也不回避亲自作出解释，只是，想必您也同意，在这种时刻……我建议跟我到另一个房间去，如果不用很长时间的话……这里现在有我的朋友在，请相信……”

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“朋友……有多少都无所谓，但是，请……”虽然列别杰夫的外甥还没有把嗓门提得很高，但却用十足教训人的腔调突然打断公爵说，“请让我们申明一下，您最好对我们有礼貌一点、别让我们在您仆人的屋子里等上两个小时……”

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“而且，当然……而且我……而且这是摆公爵派头！而且这……看来，您是将军！而我可不是您的仆人！而且我、我……”安季沓·布尔多夫斯基突然异常激动地嘟哝说。他双唇哆嗦，像受了大委屈似的声音发颤，口中吐沫飞溅，仿佛整个儿绷裂或爆发似的，但是突然又着忙起来，以至没说几句话就已经无法使人明白了。

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“这是摆公爵派头！”伊波利特用尖细和颤抖的声音叫嚷着。

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“假如我遇上这种事，”拳击手咕哝着说：“也就是说，如果用这种态度对待一个高尚的人，直接冲着我来，我要是处在布尔多夫斯基的地位……我就……”

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“先生们，我获悉你们在这里总共才１分钟，真的，”公爵又再次说明。

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“公爵，我们不怕您的朋友们，无论他们是什么人都不怕，因为我们是在维护自己的权利，”列别杰夫的外甥又申明说。

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“可是，请问您又有什么权利把布尔多夫斯基的事提交给您的朋友作评断？”伊波利特又尖声嚷着，他已经非常焦躁了，“而且，我们也许不愿意让您的朋友们来评断；您朋友们的评断会有什么结果？这是太清楚不过了？”

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“可是，布尔多夫斯基先生，如果您始终不愿意在这里谈话，”公爵终于能插进去说话了，对于这样的开端使他异常惊诧，“那么，我现在告诉您，我们马上就到另一个房间去，至于说你们诸位，我再重申一下，我只是一分钟前才听说……”

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“但是您没有权利，没有权利，没有权利！……叫您的朋友们……就是这么回事！……”布尔多夫基突然重新嘟哝起来，惊恐而又担心地打量着周围，越是急躁越是不相信人，越是怕见生人。“您没有权利！”说出这句话后，他突然停住，就像是猝然而止，默然地瞪出那双近视的布满了又粗又红血丝的暴突的眼睛，疑问地盯着公爵看，整个身体则向前倾着。公爵这一次吃惊得也闭口不语，也瞪眼望着他，一言不发。

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“列夫·尼古拉耶维奇！”突然叶莉扎维塔·普罗科菲耶夫娜叫唤他，“你马上把这个读一下，马上读，这事跟你直接有关。”

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她急忙递给他一份幽默周报，手指指了下一篇文章。在那儿个客人走进来时，列别杰夫就从旁边急急走近他所竭力奉承讨好的叶莉扎维塔·普罗利菲耶夫娜，一句话也不说，从自己的侧袋里掏出这份周报，指着用笔划出的地方，径直送到她的眼面前。叶莉扎维塔·普罗科菲耶夫娜已经看完了文章，她为所读到的内容感到万分惊诧和激动。

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“可是，不念出来不是更好吗，”公爵非常困窘，含混地说，“过后，……我一个人时再读……”

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“你最好就这么念吧，马上就念，念出声来！念出来。”叶莉扎维塔·普罗科菲耶夫娜迫不及待地把公爵刚来得及到手的报纸一把夺了过去，转向科利亚说，“念给大家听，让每个人都听到。”

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叶莉扎维塔·普罗科菲耶夫娜是个急躁和冲动的女人，因此往往不加深思熟虑，不顾天气好坏，一下子贸然决定起锚出海。伊万·费奥多罗维奇不安地移动着身子。但是在最初那一刻大家不由得愣住并困惑不解地等待的时候，科利亚打开了报纸，开始朗读起走近前来的列别杰夫指给他看的地方：

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“无产者和贵族后裔，每天发生的光天化日的抢劫事件之一例！进步！改革！公正！”

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“在我们所谓的神圣的俄罗斯，在我们改革和共同发挥主动性的时代，在发扬民族性和每年输出国外几亿卢布的时代，在鼓励工业和劳动力陷于瘫痪的时代！等等，等等，在这个不胜枚举其特征的时代，怪事层出不穷，因此，先生们，还是言归正传。这件奇闻轶事发生在过去我国的地主贵族（ｄｅｐｒｏｆｕｎｄｉｓ＊！）的一位后裔身上。他属于这样一类后裔：他们的祖父在轮盘赌中输了个精光，他们的父亲迫不得已去当士官、尉官，通常因无意弄错了公款受到审判而死去，他们的孩子犹如我们故事的主人公：或者长成白痴，或者甚至陷进刑事案件中，不过，陪审员们总以希望他们吸取教训和改正为之辩解开脱；或者，最后则做出一些使公众惊讶和使我们这个本来已够可耻的时代再添加耻辱的事来。我们的后裔在半年前像外国人那样套着鞋罩，穿着什么里衬都没有的外套冻得瑟瑟抖，冬天里从瑞士回到俄罗斯，他是在那里治白痴病的（ｓｉｃ＊＊！）应该承认，他是很走运的人，且不说他在瑞士治疗的那种有趣的疾病（请设想一下，自痴病能治好吗？！！），他自身的经历倒颇能证明俄罗斯一句谚语的正确性：‘福星只照有福人！’你们自己想想：这位爵爷的父亲是个中尉，据说，他玩牌时把全连的军饷的都‘突然弄丢’了，也可能是因为对下属滥用体罚，（诸位还记得旧时代吧！），于是受到了审判，随之便亡故了。当时我们的主人公还是个襁褓婴儿。一位十分富有的俄罗斯地主出于慈悲收养了他。这位俄罗斯地主……我们暂且称他帕某，在过去的黄金时代拥有“四千魂灵”（四个魂灵！诸位，你们明白这种表达的含义吗？我不明白。应该查查详解辞典，真是‘住事历历，却欲信还疑’）。他看来是属于俄罗斯游手好闲的寄生虫这一类人，一直在国外过着花天酒地的生活，夏天在矿泉疗养，冬天在巴黎的夏朵一德一弗勒尔＊＊＊寻欢作乐，一辈子不计其数的钱财花在那里。可以肯定地说，过去农奴的全部租赋至少有三分之气落到了夏朵一德一弗勒尔的老板手中（真是个有福之人呀！）。不论怎么说，无忧无虑的帕某照公爵的那一套培养着这个孤苦伶仃的小爷们，为他雇了家庭教师，无疑，还有漂亮的家庭女教师，那都是顺便从巴黎带回来的。可是这末代贵族后裔却是个白痴。夏朵一德一弗勒尔来的家庭女教师也无能为力，一直到２０岁我们的受教育者还没有学会任何语言，包括俄语在内。不过，后面这一点是情有可原的。后来，帕某那俄罗斯农奴主的头脑里忽发奇想，认为在瑞士可以把白痴教聪明，这种幻想其实也是合乎逻辑的，因为这位寄生虫和大财主自然会认为，只要有钱连聪明也可以在市场上买得到，何况是在瑞士。结果在瑞士一位著名的教授那里治疗了五年，钱花了成千上万，白痴当然并没有变聪明，但据说毕竟开始像个人样了，无疑，这是勉勉强强的。突然帕某粹然去世，当然，没有任何遗嘱；产业方面的事务照例是一团乱麻，贪婪的继承者有一大堆，对他们来说已经丝毫也顾不上靠接济在瑞士治痴呆病的末代贵族后裔。这后裔虽说是白痴，却也曾试着蒙骗自己的教授，据说，他对教授隐瞒了自己恩人的死讯，有两年在那里白白揩油接受治疗。但是教授本人就是个十足的大骗子，终于被自己这个２５岁的寄生虫身无分文、尤其是惊人的食欲吓坏了，于是便让他穿上自己的旧鞋罩，送给他自己的旧外套，出于慈悲打发他上了三等车厢，ｎａｃｈ　ＲｕｓｓｌａＩｌｄ＊，将他逐出瑞士，如释重负。我们的主人公似乎是要背运了。可事实却并非如此：命运女神弗尔图挪让整省整省的人饿死，却把自己全部的圣餐一下子都赐给了这位贵族后裔，就如克雷洛夫寓言中的乌云飞越干旱的日野，却化作倾盆大雨落进了大洋。几乎就在他从瑞士来到彼得堡的那一刻，他母亲（当然，是商人家庭出身）的一个亲戚在莫斯科死了，这是个没有子嗣的孤老头，商人，大胡子）分裂派教徒，他留下了好几百万的遗产，这是不容争议的，不折不扣的、现成提供的一笔遗产（要是给你我有多好，读者！），就这么全都留给了我们这位后裔，我们这位在瑞士治痴呆病的贵族！这一下就完全是另一回事了。在我们这位套着鞋罩、曾经追求一位有名的美人靠情妇的后裔周围，突然匹集起一大群亲朋好友，甚至也还有攀亲附戚的，尤其值得一提的是一群名门千金，她们渴望能与这位爵爷缔结合法婚姻，还有谁比他更好的呢：贵族，百万富翁、白痴、集所有的身份于一身，这样的丈夫点着灯也无处找吗，定做也做不出来呀！……”

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＊法语，原为“深度，深奥”等意，此处可理解为“真奥妙”。

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＊＊英语，意为：“原来如此！”。

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＊＊＊俄语里一词可作“魂灵”、“农奴”等解。果戈理的小说《死魂灵》意即 “死农奴”。

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＊＊法语俄译音，意为“花之宫”。

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“这个……这个我可不明白！”伊万·费奥多罗维奇异常愤懑地高声嚷道。

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“别念了，科利亚！”公爵用恳求的声音喊着。四周响起一片惊叹声。

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“念！无论如何要念下去。”叶莉扎维塔·普罗科菲耶夫娜断钉截铁说。看得出，她是以极大的努力克制着自己。“公爵！如果不念下去，我们是会争吵的。”

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没有办法，科利亚焦躁不安，满脸诽红，用激动的声音继续念下去：

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“但正当我们的暴发户百万富翁过着所谓神仙般的日子的时候，发生了一件完全是不相于的事情。在一个美好的早晨，一位来访者去找他。此人一副安详、严峻的脸色，穿着朴素但很体面，说话彬彬有礼，得体而有理，思想显然带有进步色彩，他用两三句话就说明了造访的来意：他是个著名的律师，受一位年轻人委托办理一件事，现在是代表他来的。虽然这个年轻人用的是别的姓氏，可他不是别人，正是已故帕氏的儿子，淫欲的帕氏在年轻时代曾经诱骗了奴婢中一个清白贫穷，但却受过欧洲式教育的姑娘（当然，过去的农奴主男爵的权利起了作用）。当帕氏发现自己这种关系造成的后果不可回避又近在眼前的时候，就赶快把她嫁给了一个有手艺的甚至是有公职的人，此人性格高尚，早就爱上了这个姑娘。开始帕氏曾帮助过新婚夫妇，但不久这位性格高尚的丈夫便拒绝接受他的帮助。过了一些时候帕氏也渐渐地忘了这位姑娘以及与她所生的儿子。后来，众所周知，他没有做出安排就死去了。而他的儿子虽是在合法婚姻下出生的，却是在别人的姓氏下长大，他母亲的丈夫性格高尚，完全把他当作亲生儿子。但后来也去世了，这样他就只有自己的财产了，还有在遥远的外省病魔缠身、卧床不起、受着煎熬的母亲。他自己在首都给一商人的孩子上课，靠每天的高尚劳动挣钱，先是维持自己上中学，后来抱着进一步深造的目的，又去听对他有用的讲座。但是１０戈比教一课又能从俄罗斯商人那里挣得多少钱？加上他还有一个患病卧床的母亲，后来她在遥远的外省死去，却几乎没有减轻他的负担。现在的问题是：我们的贵族后裔应该如何公正地考虑这件事？你们读者当然会想，他会这样对自己说：‘我一生享用了帕氏的恩惠，为我的教育、请家庭女教师、在瑞士治痴呆病花去了许多万，现在我有百万家贯，而帕氏的儿子正把高尚的性格埋没在教课上，他对他那轻浮的忘了他的父亲的行为是丝毫没有责任的。所有花在我身上的钱，说句公道话，是应该花在他身上的。耗费在我身上的巨大款额，实际上并不是我的。这不过是弗尔图娜命运女神盲目造成的错误。那些钱是应该属于帕氏的儿子的。应该用在他身上，而不是用在我身上，这是轻浮和健忘的帕氏荒诞不经和古怪任性的产物。假若我真正是个高尚、知礼、公正的人，那么我就应该把我所得到的全部遗产的一半给他；但是因为我首先是个精明的人，我太清楚不过地明白，这件事法律是管不着的，所以我不会把几百万财产的一半给他。但是，如果现在不把帕氏花在我身上治痴呆病的好几万还给他的儿子，从我这方面来说至少也是大卑鄙无耻了（贵族后裔忘了，这样也是不精明的）。这件事只能凭已心和公道！假如帕氏不抚育我，假如他不关心我而关心自己的儿子，我又会怎样呢？”

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＊德语，意力“回俄罗斯去”。

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但是，不，诸位！我们的贵族后裔可不是这样考虑的。年轻人的律师接手为他奔走处理这件事纯粹是出于友谊，而且几乎是违背自己意愿的，几乎是被迫的。无论他怎么对贵族后裔说明理由，无论他怎么在贵族后裔面前提出应负的正直、高尚、公正的责任，甚至最起码是为自身考虑，这位瑞士来的受抚育者却毫不动摇，这又算什么呢？这还算不了什么。这位刚刚脱去自己教授送的鞋罩的百万富翁竟然不能领悟，把自己高尚的性格耗竭在教课上的年轻人并不是向了乞求施舍和帮助，而是要得到他自己的权利以及虽不是法律承认、但是他应得的一切，甚至这还不是他自己提出的要求，而只是他的朋友们为他说情。这就真正是不可原谅的，也不是用任何稀奇古怪的疾病为理由而可以宽恕的。我们的贵族后裔飘飘然于所得到的权力，可以仗着几百万家财无所顾忌地欺压别人，摆出一副傲慢的姿态，掏出一张５０卢布的钞票作为厚颜无耻的施舍寄给高尚的年轻人。诸位，你们不相信吧？你们会愤慨，你们会觉得受到了侮辱，你们会发出气愤的呐喊；可是他这么做了！当然，钱立刻就退回给了他，可以说是扔回到他脸上的。这件事将怎么解决呢？这事法律管不了，剩下的只有诉诸舆论！我们把这件奇闻交付给公众，我们担保此事确凿可靠：据说，我们一位著名的幽默家据此顺口就做了一首绝妙的讽刺诗，在描写我们世态人情的作品中，它不仅在外省而且在首都也不愧占有一席之地：

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施奈德＊一件外套

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廖瓦＊＊一穿整五年

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无所事事平庸辈

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碌碌无为度年华。

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脚穿鞋罩回祖国，

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百万遗产猛到手，

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祈祷上帝用俄语，

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轻取豪夺穷学生。”

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科利亚念完后，便赶快把报纸交给了公爵。他一言不发奔往角落，双手捂着脸，钻在角落里。他羞愧得难以忍受，他那还未及习惯于世间卑鄙勾当的敏感童心气忿难平，甚至失去分寸。他觉得发生的是一件异乎寻常，一下子毁了一切的事情，而光凭他念出来这一点，他自己差不多就是这件事的原因了。

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而且大家好像都有类似的感觉。

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小姐们感到很尴尬和羞愧。叶莉扎维塔·普罗科菲耶夫娜克制着自己极大的愤怒，也许，也痛梅干预了这件事，现在她沉默不语。公爵此时的反应跟十分羞怯的人在类似场合下常有的反应是一样的：他为别人的行为感到羞耻无比，为自己的客人羞愧得无地自容，以至在最初一瞬间他甚至都怕望他们一眼。普季岑，瓦里娅，加尼亚，甚至列别杰夫－－大家都似乎有点尴尬的样子。最奇怪的是，伊波利特和“帕夫利谢夫的儿子”仿佛也有点吃惊：列别杰夫的外甥显然也很不满意。唯有拳击手坐在那里完全泰然处之，一边捻着小胡子，一边摆出一副傲慢的样子。他微微垂下眼睛，但并不是因为困窘，相反，仿佛是出于一种居高临下的谦逊大度和过分明显的洋洋得意。从一切迹象看来，他异常喜欢这篇文章。

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＊瑞士教授的名字。

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＊＊贵族后裔的小称。

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“鬼知道这是什么名堂，”伊万·费奥多罗维奇低声叽咕着说，“就像是五十名仆役聚在一起凑出来的。”

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“请问，阁下，您怎么可以用这样的假设来侮辱人？”伊波利特浑身战栗着问。

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“这，这，这对于一个高尚的人来说……将军，您自己也会同意，如果是一个高尚的人写的，那么这就是侮辱。”拳击手抱怨着说。他也不知怎么的突然颤栗了一下，一边捻着小胡子，一边抽动着肩膀和身体。

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“第一，我不是你们的‘阁下’，第二，我不想对你们做任何解释，”伊万·费奥多罗维奇火冒三丈，断然回答说。他一句话也不说，从座位上站起来，从露台朝出口走去，背对着众人，站在上面一个台阶上，对于甚至现在也还不想从原地离开的叶莉扎维塔·普罗科菲耶夫娜感到十分恼怒。

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“诸位，诸位，最后请允许我讲几句活，诸位，”公爵忧心忡仲、激动不安地喊了起来，“请费心，让我们能互相理解地来谈话，诸位，关于这篇文章我什么都不想说，随它去吧；只不过，诸位，文章里所讲的全不是事实。我之所以要说，是因为你们自己也知道这一点；这简直是可耻的。如果这是你们中间哪位写的，我真感到十分惊讶。”

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“直到此刻之前，我一点也不知道这篇文章，”伊波利特申明说，“我不赞同这篇文章。”

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“我虽然知道已经写了这篇文章，但是……我也不主张发表，因为为时过早，”列别杰夫的外甥补充说。

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“我知道，但是我有权利……我……”“帕夫利谢夫的儿子”喃喃着说。

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“什么！这一切全是您自己编造的？”公爵好奇地望着布尔多夫斯基问，“这不可能！”

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“可是，可以不承认您有权提了这样的问题，”列别杰夫的外甥插嘴说。

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“我只是觉得惊奇，布尔多夫斯基先生竟能……但是……我想说，既然您已经把这件事公诸于众，那么刚才我当着我朋友们的面谈起这件事的时候，您又为什么这么生气呢？”

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“终于开始了！”叶莉扎维塔·普罗科菲耶夫娜气忿地嘟哝着。

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“公爵，您甚至忘了，”列别杰夫几乎焦急得像热锅上的蚂蚁，忍不住突然从椅子间钻出来说，“您忘了，只是凭您的善良的意志和无比的好心才接见他们并听取他们的意见，他们是没有权利要求这样做的，何况这件事您已经委托加夫里拉·阿尔达利翁诺维奇去办了，连这也是出于您那过分的善良才这么做的，而现在，尊敬的公爵阁下，您处在经过选择的您的朋友中间，您不能为了这些先生而牺牲这样的伙伴，这么说吧，您可以把这些先生立刻从台阶上送走，而我作为房东甚至是很乐意……”

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“完全有理！”伊沃尔京将军突然从房间角落里大声喊着。

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“算了，列别杰夫，算了，算了……”公爵本已开始说，但是一阵突发的愤慨声淹没了他的话。

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“不，对不起，公爵，对不起，现在这事可不能算了！”列别杰夫的外甥嚷着，几乎盖过了所有人的声音。“现在应该明确肯定地来决定这件事，因为事情显然未弄清楚。这里牵涉到法律的借口，根据这些借口有人威胁着要把我们从台阶上推出去！公爵，难道您认为我们傻到这种地步，连我们自己也不明白，我们这种事在多大程度上与法律无关，如果从法律上来分析，我们连要您拿出１个卢布的合法权利都没有？可是我们恰恰是明白的，如果这件事上我们没有法律权利，然而却有人的权利，合乎自然的权利；合情合理的权利和良心的声音。纵然我们这种权利没有写进任何一部腐朽的人类法典，但是一个高尚和正直的人，反正只要是理智幢全的人，即使有些条款没有写进法典，也应该在这些方面仍然做一个高尚正直的人。因此我们才到这里来，我们不怕要把我们从台阶上扔下去，刚才你们威吓着要轰我们走，就因为我们不是乞求，而是要求；就因为这么晚（虽然我们来的时候还不晚，是你们迫使我们在仆人的屋子里等晚了）还来做不合时宜的拜访，我再说一遍，我们之所以什么都不怕地到这里来，就因为我们认为您正是一个合情合理的人，也就是正直的有良心的人。确实，我们进来时不怎么谦恭，不像您那些奉承巴结、拍马逢迎的人，而是像自由人那样，高昂着头，绝不乞求，而是自由的高傲的要求（您听着，不是乞求，而是要求，好好牢记这一点！）。我们庄重和直截了当地向您提出这样的问题：在布尔多夫斯基的事上您承认自己是对的还是错的？您是否承认自己是帕夫利谢夫的受惠者，也许甚至还是他挽救了您的生命？如果您承认（这是明摆着的），那么在自己得到几百万后，您是否打算、或者；给帕夫利谢夫贫穷的儿子作补偿，凭良心您是否认为是公正的？是还是不？如果是是，换句话说，如果在您身上有您称之为正直和良心、而我们更确切地叫作合情合理的东西，那么您就会满足我们，事情也就可以了结。”不用我们请求，不用我们感谢就满足我们，也不要期待从我们这里得到它们、因为您这样做不是为了我们、而是为了公正）如果您不想满足我们，也就是回答不，那么我们马上就走，事情也到此为止；我们要当着您所有的见证人当面对您说，您是个头脑简单、智力低下的人）今后不许您、您也无权自诩为正直和有良心的人（您想购买这一权利也太原价了。我说完了。我把问题提出来了。只要您敢，现在就把我们从台阶上

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"I DID not expect you, gentlemen," began the prince. I have been ill until to-day. A month ago," he continued, addressing himself to Antip Burdovsky, "I put your business into Gavrila Ardalionovitch Ivolgin’s hands, as I told you then. I do not in the least object to having a personal interview ... but you will agree with me that this is hardly the time ... I propose that we go into another room, if you will not keep me long... As you see, I have friends here, and believe me ..."

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"Friends as many as you please, but allow me," interrupted the harsh voice of Lebedeff’s nephew--" allow me to tell you that you might have treated us rather more politely, and not have kept us waiting at least two hours ...

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"No doubt ... and I ... is that acting like a prince? And you ... you may be a general! But I ... I am not your valet! And I ... I..." stammered Antip Burdovsky.

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He was extremely excited; his lips trembled, and the resentment of an embittered soul was in his voice. But he spoke so indistinctly that hardly a dozen words could be gathered.

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"It was a princely action!" sneered Hippolyte.

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"If anyone had treated me so," grumbled the boxer.

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"I mean to say that if I had been in Burdovsky’s place...I..."

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"Gentlemen, I did not know you were there; I have only just been informed, I assure you," repeated Muishkin.

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"We are not afraid of your friends, prince," remarked Lebedeff’s nephew, "for we are within our rights."

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The shrill tones of Hippolyte interrupted him. "What right have you ... by what right do you demand us to submit this matter, about Burdovsky ... to the judgment of your friends? We know only too well what the judgment of your friends will be! ..."

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This beginning gave promise of a stormy discussion. The prince was much discouraged, but at last he managed to make himself heard amid the vociferations of his excited visitors.

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"If you," he said, addressing Burdovsky--"if you prefer not to speak here, I offer again to go into another room with you ... and as to your waiting to see me, I repeat that I only this instant heard ..."

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"Well, you have no right, you have no right, no right at all!... Your friends indeed!"... gabbled Burdovsky, defiantly examining the faces round him, and becoming more and more excited. "You have no right!..." As he ended thus abruptly, he leant forward, staring at the prince with his short-sighted, bloodshot eyes. The latter was so astonished, that he did not reply, but looked steadily at him in return.

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"Lef Nicolaievitch!" interposed Madame Epanchin, suddenly, "read this at once, this very moment! It is about this business."

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She held out a weekly comic paper, pointing to an article on one of its pages. Just as the visitors were coming in, Lebedeff, wishing to ingratiate himself with the great lady, had pulled this paper from his pocket, and presented it to her, indicating a few columns marked in pencil. Lizabetha Prokofievna had had time to read some of it, and was greatly upset.

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"Would it not be better to peruse it alone ..." later asked the prince, nervously.

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"No, no, read it--read it at once directly, and aloud, aloud!" cried she, calling Colia to her and giving him the journal.--" Read it aloud, so that everyone may hear it!"

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An impetuous woman, Lizabetha Prokofievna sometimes weighed her anchors and put out to sea quite regardless of the possible storms she might encounter. Ivan Fedorovitch felt a sudden pang of alarm, but the others were merely curious, and somewhat surprised. Colia unfolded the paper, and began to read, in his clear, high-pitched voice, the following article:

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"Proletarians and scions of nobility! An episode of the brigandage of today and every day! Progress! Reform! Justice!"

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"Strange things are going on in our so-called Holy Russia in this age of reform and great enterprises; this age of patriotism in which hundreds of millions are yearly sent abroad; in which industry is encouraged, and the hands of Labour paralyzed, etc.; there is no end to this, gentlemen, so let us come to the point. A strange thing has happened to a scion of our defunct aristocracy. (DE PROFUNDIS!) The grandfathers of these scions ruined themselves at the gaming-tables; their fathers were forced to serve as officers or subalterns; some have died just as they were about to be tried for innocent thoughtlessness in the handling of public funds. Their children are sometimes congenital idiots, like the hero of our story; sometimes they are found in the dock at the Assizes, where they are generally acquitted by the jury for edifying motives; sometimes they distinguish themselves by one of those burning scandals that amaze the public and add another blot to the stained record of our age. Six months ago--that is, last winter--this particular scion returned to Russia, wearing gaiters like a foreigner, and shivering with cold in an old scantily-lined cloak. He had come from Switzerland, where he had just undergone a successful course of treatment for idiocy (SIC!). Certainly Fortune favoured him, for, apart from the interesting malady of which he was cured in Switzerland (can there be a cure for idiocy?) his story proves the truth of the Russian proverb that ’happiness is the right of certain classes!’ Judge for yourselves. Our subject was an infant in arms when he lost his father, an officer who died just as he was about to be court-martialled for gambling away the funds of his company, and perhaps also for flogging a subordinate to excess (remember the good old days, gentlemen). The orphan was brought up by the charity of a very rich Russian landowner. In the good old days, this man, whom we will call P--, owned four thousand souls as serfs (souls as serfs!--can you understand such an expression, gentlemen? I cannot; it must be looked up in a dictionary before one can understand it; these things of a bygone day are already unintelligible to us). He appears to have been one of those Russian parasites who lead an idle existence abroad, spending the summer at some spa, and the winter in Paris, to the greater profit of the organizers of public balls. It may safely be said that the manager of the Chateau des Fleurs (lucky man!) pocketed at least a third of the money paid by Russian peasants to their lords in the days of serfdom. However this may be, the gay P-- brought up the orphan like a prince, provided him with tutors and governesses (pretty, of course!) whom he chose himself in Paris. But the little Aristocrat, the last of his noble race, was an Idiot. The governesses, recruited at the Chateau des Fleurs, laboured in vain; at twenty years of age their pupil could not speak in any language, not even Russian. But ignorance of the latter was still excusable. At last P-- was seized with a strange notion; he imagined that in Switzerland they could change an idiot into a mail of sense. After all, the idea was quite logical; a parasite and landowner naturally supposed that intelligence was a marketable commodity like everything else, and that in Switzerland especially it could be bought for money. The case was entrusted to a celebrated Swiss professor, and cost thousands of roubles; the treatment lasted five years. Needless to say, the idiot did not become intelligent, but it is alleged that he grew into something more or less resembling a man. At this stage P-- died suddenly, and, as usual, he had made no will and left his affairs in disorder. A crowd of eager claimants arose, who cared nothing about any last scion of a noble race undergoing treatment in Switzerland, at the expense of the deceased, as a congenital idiot. Idiot though he was, the noble scion tried to cheat his professor, and they say he succeeded in getting him to continue the treatment gratis for two years, by concealing the death of his benefactor. But the professor himself was a charlatan. Getting anxious at last when no money was forthcoming, and alarmed above all by his patient’s appetite, he presented him with a pair of old gaiters and a shabby cloak and packed him off to Russia, third class. It would seem that Fortune had turned her back upon our hero. Not at all; Fortune, who lets whole populations die of hunger, showered all her gifts at once upon the little aristocrat, like Kryloff’s Cloud which passes over an arid plain and empties itself into the sea. He had scarcely arrived in St. Petersburg, when a relation of his mother’s (who was of bourgeois origin, of course), died at Moscow. He was a merchant, an Old Believer, and he had no children. He left a fortune of several millions in good current coin, and everything came to our noble scion, our gaitered baron, formerly treated for idiocy in a Swiss lunatic asylum. Instantly the scene changed, crowds of friends gathered round our baron, who meanwhile had lost his head over a celebrated demi-mondaine; he even discovered some relations; moreover a number of young girls of high birth burned to be united to him in lawful matrimony. Could anyone possibly imagine a better match? Aristocrat, millionaire, and idiot, he has every advantage! One might hunt in vain for his equal, even with the lantern of Diogenes; his like is not to be had even by getting it made to order!"

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"Oh, I don’t know what this means" cried Ivan Fedorovitch, transported with indignation.

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"Leave off, Colia," begged the prince. Exclamations arose on all sides.

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"Let him go on reading at all costs!" ordered Lizabetha Prokofievna, evidently preserving her composure by a desperate effort. "Prince, if the reading is stopped, you and I will quarrel."

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Colia had no choice but to obey. With crimson cheeks he read on unsteadily:

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"But while our young millionaire dwelt as it were in the Empyrean, something new occurred. One fine morning a man called upon him, calm and severe of aspect, distinguished, but plainly dressed. Politely, but in dignified terms, as befitted his errand, he briefly explained the motive for his visit. He was a lawyer of enlightened views; his client was a young man who had consulted him in confidence. This young man was no other than the son of P--, though he bears another name. In his youth P--, the sensualist, had seduced a young girl, poor but respectable. She was a serf, but had received a European education. Finding that a child was expected, he hastened her marriage with a man of noble character who had loved her for a long time. He helped the young couple for a time, but he was soon obliged to give up, for the high-minded husband refused to accept anything from him. Soon the careless nobleman forgot all about his former mistress and the child she had borne him; then, as we know, he died intestate. P-- ’s son, born after his mother’s marriage, found a true father in the generous man whose name he bore. But when he also died, the orphan was left to provide for himself, his mother now being an invalid who had lost the use of her limbs. Leaving her in a distant province, he came to the capital in search of pupils. By dint of daily toil he earned enough to enable him to follow the college courses, and at last to enter the university. But what can one earn by teaching the children of Russian merchants at ten copecks a lesson, especially with an invalid mother to keep? Even her death did not much diminish the hardships of the young man’s struggle for existence. Now this is the question: how, in the name of justice, should our scion have argued the case? Our readers will think, no doubt, that he would say to himself: ’P-- showered benefits upon me all my life; he spent tens of thousands of roubles to educate me, to provide me with governesses, and to keep me under treatment in Switzerland. Now I am a millionaire, and P--’s son, a noble young man who is not responsible for the faults of his careless and forgetful father, is wearing himself out giving ill-paid lessons. According to justice, all that was done for me ought to have been done for him. The enormous sums spent upon me were not really mine; they came to me by an error of blind Fortune, when they ought to have gone to P--’s son. They should have gone to benefit him, not me, in whom P-- interested himself by a mere caprice, instead of doing his duty as a father. If I wished to behave nobly, justly, and with delicacy, I ought to bestow half my fortune upon the son of my benefactor; but as economy is my favourite virtue, and I know this is not a case in which the law can intervene, I will not give up half my millions. But it would be too openly vile, too flagrantly infamous, if I did not at least restore to P--’s son the tens of thousands of roubles spent in curing my idiocy. This is simply a case of conscience and of strict justice. Whatever would have become of me if P-- had not looked after my education, and had taken care of his own son instead of me?’

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"No, gentlemen, our scions of the nobility do not reason thus. The lawyer, who had taken up the matter purely out of friendship to the young man, and almost against his will, invoked every consideration of justice, delicacy, honour, and even plain figures; in vain, the ex-patient of the Swiss lunatic asylum was inflexible. All this might pass, but the sequel is absolutely unpardonable, and not to be excused by any interesting malady. This millionaire, having but just discarded the old gaiters of his professor, could not even understand that the noble young man slaving away at his lessons was not asking for charitable help, but for his rightful due, though the debt was not a legal one; that, correctly speaking, he was not asking for anything, but it was merely his friends who had thought fit to bestir themselves on his behalf. With the cool insolence of a bloated capitalist, secure in his millions, he majestically drew a banknote for fifty roubles from his pocket-book and sent it to the noble young man as a humiliating piece of charity. You can hardly believe it, gentlemen! You are scandalized and disgusted; you cry out in indignation! But that is what he did! Needless to say, the money was returned, or rather flung back in his face. The case is not within the province of the law, it must be referred to the tribunal of public opinion; this is what we now do, guaranteeing the truth of all the details which we have related."

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When Colia had finished reading, he handed the paper to the prince, and retired silently to a corner of the room, hiding his face in his hands. He was overcome by a feeling of inexpressible shame; his boyish sensitiveness was wounded beyond endurance. It seemed to him that something extraordinary, some sudden catastrophe had occurred, and that he was almost the cause of it, because he had read the article aloud.

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Yet all the others were similarly affected. The girls were uncomfortable and ashamed. Lizabetha Prokofievna restrained her violent anger by a great effort; perhaps she bitterly regretted her interference in the matter; for the present she kept silence. The prince felt as very shy people often do in such a case; he was so ashamed of the conduct of other people, so humiliated for his guests, that he dared not look them in the face. Ptitsin, Varia, Gania, and Lebedeff himself, all looked rather confused. Stranger still, Hippolyte and the "son of Pavlicheff" also seemed slightly surprised, and Lebedeff’s nephew was obviously far from pleased. The boxer alone was perfectly calm; he twisted his moustaches with affected dignity, and if his eyes were cast down it was certainly not in confusion, but rather in noble modesty, as if he did not wish to be insolent in his triumph. It was evident that he was delighted with the article.

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"The devil knows what it means," growled Ivan Fedorovitch, under his breath; "it must have taken the united wits of fifty footmen to write it."

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"May I ask your reason for such an insulting supposition, sir?" said Hippolyte, trembling with rage.

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You will admit yourself, general, that for an honourable man, if the author is an honourable man, that is an--an insult," growled the boxer suddenly, with convulsive jerkings of his shoulders.

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"In the first place, it is not for you to address me as ’sir,’ and, in the second place, I refuse to give you any explanation," said Ivan Fedorovitch vehemently; and he rose without another word, and went and stood on the first step of the flight that led from the verandah to the street, turning his back on the company. He was indignant with Lizabetha Prokofievna, who did not think of moving even now.

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"Gentlemen, gentlemen, let me speak at last," cried the prince, anxious and agitated. "Please let us understand one another. I say nothing about the article, gentlemen, except that every word is false; I say this because you know it as well as I do. It is shameful. I should be surprised if any one of you could have written it."

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"I did not know of its existence till this moment," declared Hippolyte. "I do not approve of it."

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"I knew it had been written, but I would not have advised its publication," said Lebedeff’s nephew, "because it is premature."

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"I knew it, but I have a right. I... I ... "stammered the "son of Pavlicheff."

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"What! Did you write all that yourself? Is it possible?" asked the prince, regarding Burdovsky with curiosity.

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"One might dispute your right to ask such questions," observed Lebedeff’s nephew.

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"I was only surprised that Mr. Burdovsky should have--however, this is what I have to say. Since you had already given the matter publicity, why did you object just now, when I began to speak of it to my friends?"

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"At last!" murmured Lizabetha Prokofievna indignantly.

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"That will do, Lebedeff, that will do--" began the prince, when an indignant outcry drowned his words.

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"Excuse me, prince, excuse me, but now that will not do," shouted Lebedeff’s nephew, his voice dominating all the others. "The matter must be clearly stated, for it is obviously not properly understood. They are calling in some legal chicanery, and upon that ground they are threatening to turn us out of the house! Really, prince, do you think we are such fools as not to be aware that this matter does not come within the law, and that legally we cannot claim a rouble from you? But we are also aware that if actual law is not on our side, human law is for us, natural law, the law of common-sense and conscience, which is no less binding upon every noble and honest man--that is, every man of sane judgment--because it is not to be found in miserable legal codes. If we come here without fear of being turned out (as was threatened just now) because of the imperative tone of our demand, and the unseemliness of such a visit at this late hour (though it was not late when we arrived, we were kept waiting in your anteroom), if, I say, we came in without fear, it is just because we expected to find you a man of sense; I mean, a man of honour and conscience. It is quite true that we did not present ourselves humbly, like your flatterers and parasites, but holding up our heads as befits independent men. We present no petition, but a proud and free demand (note it well, we do not beseech, we demand!). We ask you fairly and squarely in a dignified manner. Do you believe that in this affair of Burdovsky you have right on your side? Do you admit that Pavlicheff overwhelmed you with benefits, and perhaps saved your life? If you admit it (which we take for granted), do you intend, now that you are a millionaire, and do you not think it in conformity with justice, to indemnify Burdovsky? Yes or no? If it is yes, or, in other words, if you possess what you call honour and conscience, and we more justly call common-sense, then accede to our demand, and the matter is at an end. Give us satisfaction, without entreaties or thanks from us; do not expect thanks from us, for what you do will be done not for our sake, but for the sake of justice. If you refuse to satisfy us, that is, if your answer is no, we will go away at once, and there will be an end of the matter. But we will tell you to your face before the present company that you are a man of vulgar and undeveloped mind; we will openly deny you the right to speak in future of your honour and conscience, for you have not paid the fair price of such a right. I have no more to say--I have put the question before you. Now turn us out if you dare. You can do it; force is on your side. But remember that we do not beseech, we demand! We do not beseech, we demand!"

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