“Pathetic man!” the banker thought. “He sleeps and probably sees millions in his dreams! All I need to do is take this half-corpse, throw him onto the bed, and gently smother him with a pillow, and the most conscientious expertise will find no signs of a violent death. But first let’s read what he’s written here…”
The banker took the paper from the table and read the following:
“Tomorrow at twelve noon I will be granted freedom and the right to associate with people. But before I leave this room and see the sun, I find it necessary to say a few words. With a clear conscience and before God who sees me, I declare to you that I scorn freedom, and life, and health, and all that is known in your books as worldly blessings.
“For fifteen years I have attentively studied earthly life. True, I have seen neither earth nor people, but in your books I have drunk fragrant wine, sung songs, chased deer and wild boar in the forests, loved women…Beauties, airy as clouds, created by the magic of poets of genius, have visited me by night and whispered wondrous tales that intoxicated me. In your books I climbed the peaks of Elbrus and Mont Blanc, and from there I saw the sun rise in the mornings and in the evenings flood the sky, the ocean, and the mountain peaks with crimson gold; from there I saw flashes of lightning cleave the clouds above me; I saw green forests, fields, rivers, lakes, cities; I heard sirens sing and shepherds’ pipes play; I touched the wings of beautiful devils, who flew to me to talk about God…In your books I threw myself into bottomless abysses, performed miracles, killed, burned cities, preached new religions, conquered whole kingdoms…
“Your books gave me wisdom. Everything that tireless human thought has created in the course of centuries is compressed in my skull into a small lump. I know that I am more intelligent than all of you.
“And I scorn your books, I scorn all the world’s blessings and its wisdom. It is all paltry, fleeting, illusory, and as deceptive as a mirage. You may be proud, wise, and beautiful, but death will wipe you from the face of the earth the same as cellar mice, and your descendants, history, the immortality of your geniuses will freeze or burn along with the terrestrial globe.
“You have lost your minds and are following the wrong path. You take falsehood for truth and ugliness for beauty. You would be amazed if, owing to certain circumstances, apple and orange trees suddenly produced frogs and lizards instead of fruit, or roses smelled of horse sweat; so am I amazed at you, who have exchanged the sky for the earth. I do not want to understand you.
“To show you in practice my scorn for what you live by, I renounce the two million that I once dreamed of as of paradise, and which I now scorn. To deprive myself of my right to it, I will leave here five hours before the agreed term, thereby breaking the contract…”
Having read that, the banker put the paper on the table, kissed the strange man on the head, wept, and left the cottage. Never before, even after losing heavily on the stock market, had he felt such scorn for himself as he did now. On coming home, he went to bed, but for a long time agitation and tears did not let him sleep…
The next morning the pale-faced watchmen came running and informed him that they had seen the man who lived in the cottage climb out the window into the garden, go to the gate, and then disappear somewhere. Together with the servants, the banker went at once to the cottage and verified his prisoner’s escape. To avoid unnecessary discussions, he took the paper with the renunciation from the table and, returning home, locked it in a safe.
1889
THE PRINCESS
THROUGH THE BIG, so-called “Red” gate of the N——sky Monastery drove a carriage and a foursome of fine, sleek horses. The hieromonks and novices who crowded near the gentry side of the guest house already recognized from afar, by the coachman and the horses, the lady who sat in the carriage as their good acquaintance, Princess Vera Gavrilovna.
An old man in livery jumped down from the box and helped the princess out of the carriage. She raised her dark veil, unhurriedly went up to each of the hieromonks to be blessed, then nodded affectionately to the novices and went into the house.
“What, have you been missing your princess?” she said to the monks who carried her things inside. “It’s a whole month since I was here. Well, so I’ve come, look at your princess. And where is the Father Archimandrite?1 My God, I’m burning with impatience! A wonderful, wonderful old man! You should be proud to have such an archimandrite.”
When the archimandrite came in, the princess cried out rapturously, crossed her arms on her breast, and went to receive his blessing.
“No, no! Allow me to kiss it!” she said, seizing his hand and greedily kissing it three times. “How glad I am, holy father, to see you finally! You have no doubt forgotten your princess, but mentally I have lived every moment in your dear monastery. How good it is here! In this life for God, far from the vain world, there is some special charm, holy father, that I feel with all my soul, though I cannot convey it in words!”
The princess’s cheeks flushed and tears welled up in her eyes. She talked without a pause, heatedly, while the archimandrite, an old man of about seventy, serious, homely, and shy, was silent, and only said from time to time, abruptly, in military fashion: “Just so, Your Excellency…yes, ma’am…I see, ma’am…”
“How long will you be staying with us?” he asked.
“I’ll spend the night tonight, and tomorrow I’ll go to see Klavdia Nikolaevna—we haven’t seen each other for a long time—and the day after tomorrow I’ll come back and stay for three or four days. I want my soul to rest here, holy father…”
The princess liked visiting the N——sky Monastery. Over the past two years it had been her favorite place, and during the summers she came there almost every month and spent two or three days, sometimes a week. The timid novices, the quiet, the low ceilings, the smell of cypress, the humble meals, the cheap curtains on the windows—it all touched her, moved her, and disposed her to contemplation and good thoughts. Spending half an hour there was enough for her to start feeling that she, too, was timid and humble, that she, too, smelled of cypress; the past became remote, lost its value, and the princess would begin to think that, despite her twenty-nine years, she very much resembled the old archimandrite and that, like him, she had been born not for riches, not for earthly greatness and love, but for a quiet life, hidden from the world, a life of twilight, like her rooms here…
It sometimes happens that a ray of sunlight suddenly peeks into the dark cell of an ascetic immersed in prayer, or a little bird alights in the window of the cell and sings its song; the severe ascetic smiles involuntarily, and in his breast, from under the heavy sorrow of his sins, as from under a stone, a stream of quiet, sinless joy suddenly begins to flow. It seemed to the princess that she had brought with her from outside just such a consolation as the ray of sunlight or the little bird. Her amiable, cheerful smile, meek eyes, voice, jokes, the whole of her in general, small, well-built, wearing simple black dresses, could not help arousing by her appearance a feeling of tenderness and joy in simple, stern people. Each of them, looking at her, could not help thinking: “God has sent us an angel…” And, sensing that each of them involuntarily thought that, she smiled still more amiably and tried to resemble a bird.
Having had her tea and rested, she went out for a stroll. The sun had already set. The princess smelled the fragrant moisture of the just-watered mignonettes coming from the monastery flower garden, and from the church came the quiet singing of male voices, which from a distance seemed very pleasant and sad. The vigil was in progress. In the dark windows where icon lamps meekly flickered, in the shadows, in the figure of the old monk who sat by an icon on the porch holding a cup for alms, there was inscribed so much serene peace that the princess somehow felt like weeping…