Complete Works of Fyodor Dostoyevsky (576 page)

What could I gather from that either?  There was nothing in it but anxiety for me, for my material prosperity; it betrayed the father with the father’s kindly but prosaic feelings.  Was this what I wanted by way of an idea for the sake of which any honest father would send his son to face death, as the ancient Roman Horatius sent his sons for the idea of Rome?

I often pressed him on the subject of religion, but there the fog was thicker than ever.  When I asked him what to do about that, he answered in the stupidest way, as though to a child:

“You must have faith in God, my dear.”

“But what if I don’t believe in all that?” I cried irritably once.

“A very good thing, my dear.”

“How a good thing?”

“It’s a most excellent symptom, dear boy; a most hopeful one, for our atheists in Russia, if only they are really atheists and have some little trace of intelligence, are the best fellows in the whole world, and always disposed to be kind to God, for they’re invariably good-humoured, and they’re good-humoured because they’re immensely pleased at being atheists.  Our atheists are respectable people and extremely conscientious, pillars of the fatherland, in fact. . . .”

This was something, of course, but it was not what I wanted.  On one occasion, however, he spoke out, but so strangely that he surprised me more than ever, especially after the stories of Catholicism and penitential chains that I had heard about him.

“Dear boy,” he said one day, not in my room, but in the street, when I was seeing him home after a long conversation, “to love people as they are is impossible.  And yet we must.  And therefore do them good, overcoming your feelings, holding your nose and shutting your eyes (the latter’s essential).  Endure evil from them as far as may be without anger, ‘mindful that you too are a man.’  Of course you’ll be disposed to be severe with them if it has been vouchsafed to you to be ever so little more intelligent than the average.  Men are naturally base and like to love from fear.  Don’t give in to such love, and never cease to despise it.  Somewhere in the Koran Allah bids the prophet look upon the ‘froward’ as upon mice, do them good, and pass them by — a little haughty, but right.  Know how to despise them even when they are good, for most often it is in that they are base.  Oh, my dear, it’s judging by myself I say that.  Anyone who’s not quite stupid can’t live without despising himself, whether he’s honest or dishonest — it makes no difference.  To love one’s neighbour and not despise him — is impossible.  I believe that man has been created physically incapable of loving his neighbour.  There has been some mistake in language here from the very first, and ‘love for humanity’ must be understood as love for that humanity which you have yourself created in your soul (in other words, you have created yourself and your love is for yourself) — and which, therefore, never will be in reality.”

“Never will be?”

“My dear boy, I agree that if this were true, it would be stupid, but that’s not my fault, and I was not consulted at the creation.  I reserve the right to have my own opinion about it.”

“How is it they call you a Christian, then?” I cried.  “A monk in chains, a preacher?  I don’t understand it!”

“Why, who calls me that?”

I told him; he listened very attentively, but cut short the conversation.

I can’t remember what led to this memorable conversation; but he was positively irritated, which scarcely ever happened to him.  He spoke passionately and without irony, as though he were not speaking to me.  But again I didn’t believe him.  He could not speak on such subjects seriously to anyone like me.

CHAPTER II

1

On that morning, the 15th of November, I found him at Prince Sergay’s.  I had brought the prince and him together, but they had ties apart from me (I mean the affair abroad, and all that).  Moreover, the prince had promised to divide the disputed fortune with him, giving him a third, which would mean twenty thousand at least.  I remember at the time I thought it awfully strange that he was giving him only a third and not the full half; but I said nothing.  Prince Sergay gave this promise of his own accord; Versilov had not said a syllable to suggest it, had not dropped a hint.  Prince Sergay came forward himself and Versilov only let it pass in silence, never once alluded to it, and showed no sign that he had the least recollection of a promise.  I may mention, by the way, that Prince Sergay was absolutely enchanted with him at first and still more with the things he said.  He fell into positive raptures about him, and several times expressed his feelings to me.  Sometimes when he was alone with me he exclaimed about himself, almost with despair, that he was “so ill-educated, that he was on the wrong track! . . .”  Oh, we were still so friendly then! . . .  I kept trying to impress Versilov with Prince Sergay’s good points only, and excused his defects though I saw them myself; but Versilov listened in silence, or smiled.

“If he has faults he has at least as many virtues as defects!” I once exclaimed to Versilov when I was alone with him.

“Goodness, how you flatter him!” he said laughing.

“How do I flatter him?” I said, not understanding.

“As many virtues!  Why he must be a saint if he has as many virtues as defects!”

But, of course, that was not his opinion.  In general he avoided speaking of Prince Sergay at that time, as he did indeed of everything real, but of the prince particularly.  I suspected, even then, that he went to see Prince Sergay without me, and that they were on rather peculiar terms, but I did not go into that.  I was not jealous either at his talking to him more seriously than to me, more positively, so to speak, with less mockery; I was so happy at the time that I was actually pleased at it.  I explained it too by Prince Sergay’s being of rather limited intelligence, and so being fond of verbal exactitude; some jests he absolutely failed to see.

But of late he had, as it were, begun to emancipate himself.  His feelings for Versilov seemed beginning to change.  Versilov with his delicate perception noticed it.  I may mention at this point that Prince Sergay’s attitude to me, too, became different at the same time, rather too obviously, in fact.  Only the lifeless forms of our warm earlier relations were maintained.  Yet I went on going to see him; I could not indeed help it, having once been drawn into it.  Oh, how clumsy and inexperienced I was then; it is almost beyond belief that mere foolishness of heart can have brought anyone to such humiliation and lack of perception.  I took money from him and thought that it didn’t matter, that it was quite right.  Yet that is not true: even then I knew that it was not right, but it was simply that I thought very little about it.  I did not go to the prince to get money, though I needed the money so much.  I knew I did not go for the sake of the money, but I realized that I went every day to borrow money.  But I was in a whirl then, and besides all that I had something very different in my soul — it was singing with joy!

When I went in at eleven o’clock in the morning I found Versilov just finishing a long tirade.  Prince Sergay was walking about the room listening, and Versilov was sitting down.  Prince Sergay seemed in some excitement.  Versilov was almost always able to work him into a state of excitement.  He was exceedingly impressionable, to a degree of simplicity, indeed, which had often made me look down on him.  But, I repeat, of late I had detected in him something like a resentful sneer.  He stopped short, seeing me, and a quiver seemed to pass over his face.  I knew in my heart to what to attribute the shadow over him that morning, but I had not expected that his face would be so distorted by it.  I knew that he had an accumulation of anxieties, but it was revolting that I didn’t know more than a tenth part of them — the rest had been kept so far a dead secret from me.  What made it stupid and revolting was that I often obtruded my sympathy on him, gave advice and often laughed condescendingly at his weakness at being so upset “about such trifles.”  He used to be silent; but he must have detested me at those moments; I was in an utterly false position and had no suspicion of it.  Oh, I call God to witness that of the chief trouble I had no suspicion!

He courteously held out his hand to me, however; Versilov nodded, without interrupting himself.  I stretched myself on the sofa — my tone and manners were horrible at that time!  My swagger went even further: I used to treat his acquaintances as though they were my own.  Oh, if it could only be done all over again, I should know how to behave very differently!

Two words, that I may not forget.  Prince Sergay was still living in the same flat, but now occupied almost the whole of it.  Mme. Stolbyeev, whose flat it was, after staying only a month, had gone away again.

2

They were talking of the aristocracy.  I may mention that Prince Sergay grew sometimes much excited over this subject in spite of his progressive notions.  I suspect indeed that many of his misdoings had their source and origin in this idea.  Attaching great significance to his princely rank, he threw money away in all directions although he was a beggar, and became involved in debt.  Versilov had more than once hinted that this extravagance was not the essence of princeliness, and tried to instil into him a higher conception of it; but Prince Sergay had begun to show signs of resentment at being instructed.  Evidently there had been something of the same sort that morning, but I hadn’t arrived in time for the beginning of it.  Versilov’s words struck me at first as reactionary, but he made up for that later on.

“The word honour means duty,” he said (I only give the sense as far as I remember it); “when the upper class rules in a state the country is strong.  The upper class always has its sense of honour, and its code of honour, which may be imperfect but almost always serves as a bond and strengthens the country; an advantage morally and still more politically.  But the slaves, that is all those not belonging to the ruling class, suffer.  They are given equal rights to prevent their suffering.  That’s what has been done with us, and it’s an excellent thing.  But in all experience so far (in Europe that is to say) a weakening of the sense of honour and duty has followed the establishment of equal rights.  Egoism has replaced the old consolidating principle and the whole system has been shattered on the rock of personal freedom.  The emancipated masses, left with no sustaining principle, have ended by losing all sense of cohesion, till they have given up defending the liberties they have gained.  But the Russian type of aristocrat has never been like the European nobility.  Our nobility, even now that it has lost its privileges, might remain the leading class as the upholders of honour, enlightenment, science, and higher culture, and, what is of the greatest importance, without cutting themselves off into a separate caste, which would be the death of the idea.  On the contrary, the entrance to this class has been thrown open long ago among us, and now the time has come to open it completely.  Let every honourable and valiant action, every great achievement in science enable a man to gain the ranks of the highest class.  In that way the class is automatically transformed into an assembly of the best people in a true and literal sense, not in the sense in which it was said of the privileged caste in the past.  In this new, or rather renewed form, the class might be retained.”

The prince smiled sarcastically.

“What sort of an aristocracy would that be?  It’s some sort of masonic lodge you’re sketching; not an aristocracy.”

Prince Sergay had been, I repeat, extremely ill-educated.  I turned over with vexation on the sofa, though I was far from agreeing with Versilov.  Versilov quite understood that the prince was sneering.

“I don’t know in what sense you talk of a masonic lodge,” he answered.  “Well, if even a Russian prince recoils from such an idea, no doubt the time for it has not arrived.  The idea of honour and enlightenment as the sacred keys that unlock for any man the portals of a class thus continually renewed is, of course, a Utopia.  But why is it an impossible one?  If the thought is living though only in a few brains it is not yet lost, but shines like a tiny flame in the depths of darkness.”

“You are fond of using such words as ‘higher culture,”great idea,”sustaining principle’ and such; I should like to know what you mean exactly by a ‘great idea’?”

“I really don’t know how to answer that question, dear prince,” Versilov responded with a subtle smile.  “If I confess to you that I myself am not able to answer, it would be more accurate.  A great idea is most often a feeling which sometimes remains too long undefined.  I only know that it’s that which has been the source of living life, gay joyous life, I mean, not theoretical and artificial; so that the great idea, from which it flows, is absolutely indispensable, to the general vexation, of course.”

“Why vexation?”

“Because, to live with ideas is dreary, and it’s always gay without them.”

The prince swallowed the rebuke.

“And what do you mean by this living life as you call it?”  (He was evidently cross.)

“I don’t know that either, prince; I only know that it must be something very simple, the most everyday thing, staring us in the face, a thing of every day, every minute, and so simple that we can never believe it to be so simple, and we’ve naturally been passing it by for thousands of years without noticing it or recognizing it.”

“I only meant to say that your idea of the aristocracy is equivalent to denying the aristocracy,” observed Prince Sergay.

“Well, if you will have it so, perhaps there never has been an aristocracy in Russia.”

“All this is very obscure and vague.  If one says something, one ought, to my mind, to explain it. . . .”

Prince Sergay contracted his brows and stole a glance at the clock on the wall.  Versilov got up and took his hat.

“Explain?” he said, “no, it’s better not to, besides, I’ve a passion for talking without explanations.  That’s really it.  And there’s another strange thing: if it happens that I try to explain an idea I believe in, it almost always happens that I cease to believe what I have explained.  I’m afraid of that fate now.  Good- bye, dear prince; I always chatter unpardonably with you.”