and, as usual,he had made no will and left his affairs in disorder. A crowd of eagerclaimants arose, who cared nothing about any last scion of a noble raceundergoing treatment in Switzerland, at the expense of the deceased, asa congenital idiot. Idiot though he was, the noble scion tried to cheathis professor, and they say he succeeded in getting him to continuethe treatment gratis for two years, by concealing the death of hisbenefactor. But the professor himself was a charlatan. Getting anxiousat last when no money was forthcoming, and alarmed above all by hispatient’s appetite, he presented him with a pair of old gaiters and ashabby cloak and packed him off to Russia, third class. It would seemthat Fortune had turned her back upon our hero. Not at all; Fortune,who lets whole populations die of hunger, showered all her gifts at onceupon the little aristocrat, like Kryloff’s Cloud which passes over anarid plain and empties itself into the sea. He had scarcely arrived inSt. Petersburg, when a relation of his mother’s (who was of bourgeoisorigin, 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 goodcurrent coin, and everything came to our noble scion, our gaiteredbaron, formerly treated for idiocy in a Swiss lunatic asylum. Instantlythe scene changed, crowds of friends gathered round our baron, whomeanwhile had lost his head over a celebrated demi-mondaine; he evendiscovered some relations; moreover a number of young girls of highbirth burned to be united to him in lawful matrimony. Could anyonepossibly imagine a better match? Aristocrat, millionaire, and idiot, hehas every advantage! One might hunt in vain for his equal, even with thelantern of Diogenes; his like is not to be had even by getting it madeto order!”
“Oh, I don’t know what this means” cried Ivan Fedorovitch, transportedwith indignation.
“Leave off, Colia,” begged the prince. Exclamations arose on all sides.
“Let him go on reading at all costs!” ordered Lizabetha Prokofievna,evidently preserving her composure by a desperate effort. “Prince, ifthe reading is stopped, you and I will quarrel.”
Colia had no choice but to obey. With crimson cheeks he read onunsteadily:
“But while our young millionaire dwelt as it were in the Empyrean,something new occurred. One fine morning a man called upon him, calm andsevere of aspect, distinguished, but plainly dressed. Politely, but indignified terms, as befitted his errand, he briefly explained the motivefor his visit. He was a lawyer of enlightened views; his client was ayoung man who had consulted him in confidence. This young man was noother than the son of P----, though he bears another name. In his youthP----, the sensualist, had seduced a young girl, poor but respectable. Shewas a serf, but had received a European education. Finding that a childwas expected, he hastened her marriage with a man of noble character whohad 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 refusedto accept anything from him. Soon the careless nobleman forgot all abouthis 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, founda true father in the generous man whose name he bore. But when he alsodied, the orphan was left to provide for himself, his mother now beingan invalid who had lost the use of her limbs. Leaving her in a distantprovince, he came to the capital in search of pupils. By dint of dailytoil he earned enough to enable him to follow the college courses, andat last to enter the university. But what can one earn by teaching thechildren of Russian merchants at ten copecks a lesson, especially withan invalid mother to keep? Even her death did not much diminish thehardships of the young man’s struggle for existence. Now this is thequestion: how, in the name of justice, should our scion have argued thecase? Our readers will think, no doubt, that he would say to himself:‘P---- showered benefits upon me all my life; he spent tens of thousandsof roubles to educate me, to provide me with governesses, and to keep meunder 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 carelessand forgetful father, is wearing himself out giving ill-paid lessons.According to justice, all that was done for me ought to have been donefor him. The enormous sums spent upon me were not really mine; theycame to me by an error of blind Fortune, when they ought to have gone toP----’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 afather. If I wished to behave nobly, justly, and with delicacy, I oughtto bestow half my fortune upon the son of my benefactor; but as economyis my favourite virtue, and I know this is not a case in which the lawcan intervene, I will not give up half my millions. But it would be tooopenly vile, too flagrantly infamous, if I did not at least restore toP----’s son the tens of thousands of roubles spent in curing my idiocy.This is simply a case of conscience and of strict justice. Whateverwould have become of me if P---- had not looked after my education, andhad taken care of his own son instead of me?’
“No, gentlemen, our scions of the nobility do not reason thus. Thelawyer, who had taken up the matter purely out of friendship to theyoung man, and almost against his will, invoked every considerationof justice, delicacy, honour, and even plain figures; in vain, theex-patient of the Swiss lunatic asylum was inflexible. All this mightpass, but the sequel is absolutely unpardonable, and not to be excusedby any interesting malady. This millionaire, having but just discardedthe old gaiters of his professor, could not even understand thatthe noble young man slaving away at his lessons was not asking forcharitable help, but for his rightful due, though the debt was not alegal one; that, correctly speaking, he was not asking for anything, butit was merely his friends who had thought fit to bestir themselves onhis behalf. With the cool insolence of a bloated capitalist, secure inhis millions, he majestically drew a banknote for fifty roubles from hispocket-book and sent it to the noble young man as a humiliating piece ofcharity. You can hardly believe it, gentlemen! You are scandalized anddisgusted; you cry out in indignation! But that is what he did! Needlessto say, the money was returned, or rather flung back in his face. Thecase is not within the province of the law, it must be referred to thetribunal of public opinion; this is what we now do, guaranteeing thetruth of all the details which we have related.”
When Colia had finished reading, he handed the paper to the prince, andretired silently to a corner of the room, hiding his face in hishands. He was overcome by a feeling of inexpressible shame; his boyishsensitiveness was wounded beyond endurance. It seemed to him thatsomething extraordinary, some sudden catastrophe had occurred, and thathe was almost the cause of it, because he had read the article aloud.
Yet all the others were similarly affected. The girls were uncomfortableand ashamed. Lizabetha Prokofievna restrained her violent anger by agreat effort; perhaps she bitterly regretted her interference in thematter; for the present she kept silence. The prince felt as very shypeople often do in such a case; he was so ashamed of the conduct ofother people, so humiliated for his guests, that he dared not look themin the face. Ptitsin, Varia, Gania, and Lebedeff himself, all lookedrather confused. Stranger still, Hippolyte and the “son of Pavlicheff” also seemed slightly surprised, and Lebedeff’s nephew was obviouslyfar from pleased. The boxer alone was perfectly calm; he twisted hismoustaches with affected dignity, and if his eyes were cast down it wascertainly not in confusion, but rather in noble modesty, as if he didnot wish to be insolent in his triumph. It was evident that he wasdelighted with the article.
“The devil knows what it means,” growled Ivan Fedorovitch, under hisbreath; “it must have taken the united wits of fifty footmen to writeit.”
“May I ask your reason for such an insulting supposition, sir?” saidHippolyte, trembling with rage.
“You will admit yourself, general, that for an honourable man, if theauthor is an honourable man, that is an--an insult,” growled the boxersuddenly, with convulsive jerkings of his shoulders.
“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 IvanFedorovitch vehemently; and he rose without another word, and went andstood on the first step of the flight that led from the verandah to thestreet, turning his back on the company. He was indignant with LizabethaProkofievna, who did not think of moving even now.
“Gentlemen, gentlemen, let me speak at last,” cried the prince, anxiousand agitated. “Please let us understand one another. I say nothing aboutthe article, gentlemen, except that every word is false; I say thisbecause you know it as well as I do. It is shameful. I should besurprised if any one of you could have written it.”
“I did not know of its existence till this moment,” declared Hippolyte.“I do not approve of it.”
“I knew it had been written, but I would not have advised itspublication,” said Lebedeff’s nephew, “because it is premature.”
“I knew it, but I have a right. I... I...” stammered the “son ofPavlicheff.”
“What! Did you write all that yourself? Is it possible?” asked