"You see, you hear, how he disgraces me, Prince!" Lebedev cried out, turning red and really getting furious. "And he doesn't know that I, drunkard and profligate, robber and evil-doer, may only be standing on this one thing, that when this scoffer was still an infant, my destitute, widowed sister Anisya's son, I, as destitute as
she was, swaddled him, washed him in a tub, sat up with them for whole nights without sleeping, when both of them were sick, stole firewood from the caretaker downstairs, sang him songs, snapped my fingers, hungry belly that I was, and so I nursed him, and see how he laughs at me now! What business is it of yours if I did cross my forehead once for the repose of the soul of the countess Du Barry? Because three days ago, Prince, I read her biography for the first time in an encyclopedia. And do you know what she was, this Du Barry? Tell me, do you know or not?"
"So, what, are you the only one who knows?" the young man muttered mockingly but reluctantly.
"She was a countess who, having risen from a life of shame, ran things in the queen's place, and a great empress wrote her a letter with her own hand, addressing her as ma cousine.A cardinal, a papal nuncio, at the levay dew rwah (do you know what the levay dew rwah was?), 10volunteered personally to put silk stockings on her bare legs, and considered it an honor—such an exalted and holy person! Do you know that? I can see by your face that you don't! Well, how did she die? Answer, if you know!"
"Get out! What a pest."
"The way she died was that, after such honors, this former ruling lady was dragged guiltless to the guillotine by the executioner Samson, for the amusement of the Parisian fishwives, and she was so frightened that she didn't understand what was happening to her. She saw that he was bending her neck down under the knife and kicking her from behind—with the rest all laughing—and she began to cry out: 'Encore un moment, monsieur le bourreau, encore un moment!'Which means: 'Wait one more little minute, mister boorow, just one!' And maybe the Lord will forgive her for that little minute, because it's impossible to imagine a human soul in worse mizair than that. Do you know what the word mizair means? Well, this is that same mizair. When I read about this countess's cry of one little moment, it was as if my heart was in pincers. And what do you care, worm, if I decided on going to bed at night to remember her, a great sinner, in my prayers? Maybe I remembered her precisely because, as long as this world has stood, probably nobody has ever crossed his forehead for her, or even thought of it. And so, she'll feel good in the other world that another sinner like her has been found, who has prayed for her at least once on earth. What are you laughing at? You don't believe, you atheist. But how do you know? And you also lied, if you did eavesdrop on
me; I didn't pray only for the countess Du Barry; what I prayed was: 'Give rest, O Lord, to the soul of the great sinner, the countess Du Barry, and all those like her'—and that's a very different thing; for there are many such great women sinners and examples of the change of fortune, who suffered, and who now find no peace there, and groan, and wait; and I also prayed then for you and those like you, of your kind, impudent offenders, since you decided to eavesdrop on my prayers . . ."
"Well, all right, enough, pray for whoever you like, devil take you, quit shouting!" the nephew interrupted vexedly. "He's very well read, Prince, didn't you know?" he added with a sort of awkward grin. "He's reading all sorts of books and memoirs these days."
"All the same your uncle ... is not a heartless man," the prince observed reluctantly. He was beginning to find this young man quite repulsive.
"You'll spoil him on us, praising him like that! See, he puts his hand to his heart and purses his lips, relishing it no end. Maybe he's not heartless, but he's a rogue, that's the trouble; what's more, he's drunk, he's all unhinged, like anybody who's been drinking for several years, and everything in him creaks. Granted he loves the children, he respected my deceased aunt. . . He even loves me, by God, and has left me something in his will . . ."
"N-nothing is what you'll get!" Lebedev cried out bitterly.
"Listen, Lebedev," the prince said firmly, turning away from the young man, "I know from experience that you can be businesslike when you want to be ... I have very little time now, and if you . . . Excuse me, I've forgotten your name."
"Ti-Ti-Timofei."
"And?"
"Lukyanovich."
Everybody in the room burst out laughing.
"A lie!" cried the nephew. "That, too, is a lie! His name isn't Timofei Lukyanovich at all, Prince, it's Lukyan Timofeevich! Tell us, now, why did you lie? Isn't it all the same, Lukyan or Timofei, and what does the prince care? He only lies out of habit, I assure you!"
"Can it be true?" the prince asked impatiently.
"Actually, I'm Lukyan Timofeevich," Lebedev confirmed abashedly, humbly looking down and again putting his hand to his heart.
"Ah, my God, but why did you do it?"
"For self-belittlement," whispered Lebedev, hanging his head more and more humbly.
"Eh, who needs your self-belittlement! If only I knew where to find Kolya now!" said the prince, and he turned to leave.
"I can tell you where Kolya is," the young man volunteered again.
"No, no, no!" Lebedev roused himself, all in a flutter.
"Kolya spent the night here, but in the morning he went to look for his general, whom you, Prince, redeemed from prison, God knows why. The general had promised yesterday to come here and spend the night, but he didn't. Most likely he spent the night in the Scales Hotel, very near here. Which means that Kolya is either there or in Pavlovsk with the Epanchins. He had some money, he wanted to go yesterday. So he's either in the Scales or in Pavlovsk."
"In Pavlovsk, in Pavlovsk! . . . And we'll go this way, this way, to the garden, and . . . have a little coffee ..."
And Lebedev pulled the prince by the arm. They left the room, walked across the courtyard, and went through the gate. Here there actually was a very small and very sweet little garden, in which, thanks to the fine weather, the trees were already covered with leaves. Lebedev sat the prince down on a green wooden bench, at a green table fixed in the ground, and placed himself opposite him. A minute later coffee actually arrived. The prince did not refuse. Lebedev went on glancing obsequiously and greedily into his eyes.
"I didn't know you had such a homestead," said the prince, with the look of a man who is thinking of something else.
"Or-orphans," Lebedev began, cringing, but stopped: the prince looked ahead of him distractedly and had quite certainly forgotten his question. Another minute passed; Lebedev kept glancing and waiting.
"Well, so?" said the prince, as if coming to his senses. "Ah, yes! You yourself know what our business is, Lebedev: I've come in response to your letter. Speak."
Lebedev became embarrassed, tried to say something, but only stammered: nothing came out. The prince waited and smiled sadly.
"I think I understand you very well, Lukyan Timofeevich: you probably weren't expecting me. You thought I wouldn't emerge from my backwoods at your first indication, and you wrote to clear your own conscience. But I up and came. Well, leave off, don't deceive me. Leave off serving two masters. Rogozhin has been here for three weeks now, I know everything. Did you manage to sell her to him like the other time, or not? Tell me the truth."