Fyodor Dostoyevsky: Complete Novels & Stories (Wisehouse Classics). Fyodor Dostoyevsky

explain all that bewildered me, might explain how this boy could enthral her, could arouse in her love so frantic that it made her forget her very first duty and sacrifice all that had been till that moment most holy to her. The prince took both my hands and pressed them warmly, and the look in his eyes, gentle and candid, penetrated to my heart.

      I felt that I might be mistaken in my conclusions about him if only from the fact that he was my enemy. Yes, I was not fond of him; and I’m sorry to say I never could care for him — and was perhaps alone among his acquaintances in this. I could not get over my dislike of many things in him, even of his elegant appearance, perhaps, indeed, because it was too elegant. Afterwards I recognized that I had been prejudiced in my judgement. He was tall, slender and graceful; his face was rather long and always pale; he had fair hair, large, soft, dreamy, blue eyes, in which there were occasional flashes of the most spontaneous, childish gaiety. The full crimson lips of his small, exquisitely modelled mouth almost always had a grave expression, and this gave a peculiarly unexpected and fascinating charm to the smile which suddenly appeared on them, and was so naive and candid that, whatever mood one was in, one felt instantly tempted to respond to it with a similar smile. He dressed not over-fashionably, but always elegantly; it was evident that this elegance cost him no effort whatever, that it was innate in him.

      It is true that he had some unpleasant traits, some of the bad habits characteristic of aristocratic society: frivolity, self-complacency, and polite insolence. But he was so candid and simple at heart that he was the first to blame himself for these defects, to regret them and mock at them. I fancy that this boy could never tell a lie even in jest, or if he did tell one it would be with no suspicion of its being wrong. Even egoism in him was rather her attractive, just perhaps because it was open and not concealed. There was nothing reserved about him. He was weak, confiding, and fainthearted; he had no will whatever. To deceive or injure him would have been as sinful and cruel as deceiving and injuring a child. He was too simple for his age and had scarcely any notion of real life; though, indeed, I believe he would not have any at forty. Men like him are destined never to grow up. I fancy that hardly any man could have disliked him; he was as affectionate as a child. Natasha had spoken truly; he might have been guilty of an evil action if driven to it by some strong influence, but if he had recognized the result of the action afterwards, I believe he would have died of regret. Natasha instinctively felt that she would have mastery and dominion over him that he would even be her victim. She had had a foretaste of the joys of loving passionately and torturing the man that she loved simply because she loved him, and that was why, perhaps, she was in haste to be the first to sacrifice herself. But his eyes, too, were bright with love, and he looked at her rapturously. She looked at me triumphantly. At that instant she forgot everything — her parents, and her leave-taking and her suspicions. She was happy.

      “Vanya!” she cried. “I’ve been unfair to him and I’m not worthy of him. I thought you weren’t coming, Alyosha. Forget my evil thoughts, Vanya! I’ll atone for it!” she added, looking at him with infinite love.

      He smiled, kissed her hand, and still keeping his hold of her hand turned to me, and said:

      “Don’t blame me either. I’ve been wanting to embrace you as a brother for ever so long; she has told me so much about you! We’ve somehow not made friends or got on together till now. Let us be friends, and... forgive us,” he added, flushing slightly and speaking in an undertone, but with such a charming smile that I could not help responding to his greeting with my whole heart.

      “Yes, yes, Alyosha,” Natasha chimed in, “he’s on our side, he’s a brother to us, he has forgiven us already, and without him we shall not be happy. I’ve told you already... Ah, we’re cruel children, Alyosha! But we will live all three together... Vanya!” she went on, and her lips began to quiver. “You’ll go back home now to them. You have such a true heart that though they won’t forgive me, yet when they see that you’ve forgiven me it may soften them a little. Tell them everything, everything, in your own words, from your heart; find the right words... Stand up for me, save me. Explain to them all the reasons as you understand it. You know, Vanya, I might not have brought myself to it, if you hadn’t happened to be with me today! You are my salvation. I rested all my hopes on you at once, for I felt that you would know how to tell them, so that at least the first awfulness would be easier for them. Oh, my God, my God!... Tell them from me, Vanya, that I know I can never be forgiven now; if they forgive me, God won’t forgive; but that if they curse me I shall always bless them and pray for them to the end of my life. My whole heart is with them! Oh, why can’t we all be happy! Why, why!... My God, what have I done!” she cried out suddenly, as though realizing, and trembling all over with horror she hid her face in her hands.

      Alyosha put his arm round her and held her close to him without speaking. Several minutes of silence followed.

      “And you could demand such a sacrifice?” I cried, looking at him reproachfully.

      “Don’t blame me,” he repeated. “I assure you that all this misery, terrible as it is, is only for the moment. I’m perfectly certain of it. We only need to have the courage to bear this moment; she said the very same to me herself. You know that what’s at the bottom of it all is family pride, these quite foolish squabbles, some stupid lawsuits!... But (I’ve been thinking about it for a long while, I assure you)... all this must be put a stop to. We shall all come together again; and then we shall be perfectly happy, and the old people will be reconciled when they see us. Who knows, perhaps, our marriage will be the first step to their reconciliation. I think, in fact, it’s bound to be so. What do you think?”

      “You speak of your marriage. When is the wedding to be!” I asked, glancing at Natasha.

      “Tomorrow or the day after. The day after tomorrow at the latest — that’s settled. I don’t know much about it myself yet, you see; and in fact I’ve not made any arrangements. I thought that perhaps Natasha wouldn’t come today. Besides, my father insisted on taking me to see my betrothed today. (You know they’re making a match for me; has Natasha told you? But I won’t consent.) So you see I couldn’t make any definite arrangements. But anyway we shall be married the day after tomorrow. I think so, at least, for I don’t see how else it can be. Tomorrow we’ll set off on the road to Pskov. I’ve a school-friend, a very nice fellow, living in the country not far-off, in that direction; you must meet him. There’s a priest in the village there; though I don’t know whether there is or not. I ought to have made inquiries, but I’ve not had time... But all that’s of no consequence, really. What matters is to keep the chief thing in view. One might get a priest from a neighbouring village, what do you think? I suppose there are neighbouring villages! It’s a pity that I haven’t had time to write a line; I ought to have warned them we were corning. My friend may not be at home now perhaps... But that’s no matter. So long as there’s determination everything will be settled of itself, won’t it? And meanwhile, till tomorrow or the day after, she will be here with me. I have taken a flat on purpose, where we shall live when we come back. I can’t go on living with my father, can I? You’ll come and see us? I’ve made it so nice. My school-friends will come and see us. We’ll have evenings...”

      I looked at him in perplexity and distress. Natasha’s eyes besought me to be kind and not to judge him harshly. She listened to his talk with a sort of mournful smile, and at the same time she seemed to be admiring him as one admires a charming, merry child, listening to its sweet but senseless prattle, I looked at her reproachfully. I was unbearably miserable.

      “But your father?” I asked. “Are you so perfectly certain he’ll forgive you?”

      “He must,” he replied. “What else is there left for him to do? Of course he may curse me at first; in fact, I’m sure he will. He’s like that; and so strict with me. He may even take some proceedings against me; have recourse to his parental authority, in fact... But that’s not serious, you know. He loves me beyond anything. He’ll be angry and then forgive us. Then everyone will be reconciled, and we shall all be happy. Her father, too.”

      “And what if he doesn’t forgive you? Have you thought of that?”

      “He’s sure to forgive us, though perhaps not at once. But what then? I’ll show him that I have character. He’s