gave it to me to read. It was a note, two uneven lines scrawled with a pencil and maybe in the dark.
“Mama dear, forgive me for having stopped my life’s debut. Your distressing Olya.”
“It was found only in the morning,” Vasin explained.
“What a strange note!” I exclaimed in astonishment.
“Strange in what way?” asked Vasin.
“How can one write in humorous expressions at such a moment?”
Vasin looked at me questioningly.
“And the humor’s strange,” I went on, “the conventional high-school language among schoolmates . . . Well, at such a moment and in such a note to an unfortunate mother—and it turns out she did love her mother—who could write ‘stopped my life’s debut’!”
“Why can’t one write it?” Vasin still didn’t understand.
“There’s no humor here at all,” Versilov finally observed. “The expression is, of course, inappropriate, totally in the wrong tone, and indeed might have come from high-school talk or some sort of conventional language among schoolmates, as you said, or from some sort of feuilletons, but the deceased girl used it in this terrible note quite simpleheartedly and seriously.”
“That can’t be, she completed her studies and graduated with a silver medal.”
“A silver medal means nothing here. Nowadays there are many who complete their studies.”
“Down on the youth again,” Vasin smiled.
“Not in the least,” Versilov replied, getting up from his place and taking his hat. “If the present generation is not so literary, then it undoubtedly possesses . . . other virtues,” he added with extraordinary seriousness. “Besides, ‘many’ is not ‘all,’ and I don’t accuse you, for instance, of poor literary development, and you’re also still a young man.”
“Yes, and Vasin didn’t find anything wrong in ‘debut ’!” I couldn’t help observing.
Versilov silently gave Vasin his hand; the latter also seized his cap to go out with him, and shouted good-bye to me. Versilov left without noticing me. I also had no time to lose: I had at all costs to run and look for an apartment—now I needed it more than ever! Mama was no longer with the landlady, she had left and taken the neighbor with her. I went outside feeling somehow especially cheerful . . . Some new and big feeling was being born in my soul. Besides, as if on purpose, everything seemed to contribute: I ran into an opportunity remarkably quickly and found a quite suitable apartment; of this apartment later, but now I’ll finish about the main thing.
It was just getting past one o’clock when I went back to Vasin’s again for my suitcase and happened to find him at home again. Seeing me, he exclaimed with a merry and sincere air:
“How glad I am that you found me, I was just about to leave! I can tell you a fact that I believe will interest you very much.”
“I’m convinced beforehand!” I cried.
“Hah, how cheerful you look! Tell me, did you know anything about a certain letter that had been kept by Kraft and that Versilov got hold of yesterday, precisely something to do with the inheritance he won? In this letter the testator clarifies his will in a sense opposite to yesterday’s court decision. The letter was written long ago. In short, I don’t know precisely what exactly, but don’t you know something?”
“How could I not? Two days ago Kraft took me to his place just for that . . . from those gentlemen, in order to give me that letter, and yesterday I gave it to Versilov.”
“Did you? That’s what I thought. Then imagine, the business Versilov mentioned here today—which kept him from coming last evening and persuading that girl—this business came about precisely because of that letter. Last evening Versilov went straight to Prince Sokolsky’s lawyer, gave him the letter, and renounced the entire inheritance he had won. At the present moment this renunciation has already been put in legal form. Versilov isn’t giving it to them, but in this act he recognizes the full right of the princes.”
I was dumbstruck, but delighted. In reality I had been completely convinced that Versilov would destroy the letter. Moreover, though I did talk with Kraft about how it would not be noble, and though I had repeated it to myself in the tavern, and that “I had come to a pure man, not to this one”—still deeper within myself, that is, in my innermost soul, I considered that it was even impossible to act otherwise than to cross out the document completely. That is, I considered it a most ordinary matter. If I were to blame Versilov later, I’d do it only on purpose, for appearances, that is, to retain my superior position over him. But, hearing about Versilov’s great deed now, I was sincerely delighted, fully so, condemning with repentance and shame my cynicism and my indifference to virtue, and that instant, having exalted Versilov infinitely above me, I nearly embraced Vasin.
“What a man! What a man! Who else would have done that?” I exclaimed in ecstasy.
“I agree with you that a great many would not have done it . . . and that, indisputably, the act is highly disinterested . . .”
“‘But ’? . . . finish what you’re saying, Vasin, you have a ‘but’?”
“Yes, of course there’s a ‘but.’ Versilov’s act, in my opinion, is a little bit hasty and a little bit not so straightforward,” Vasin smiled.
“Not straightforward?”
“Yes. There’s something like a ‘pedestal’ here. Because in any case he could have done the same thing without hurting himself. If not half, then still, undoubtedly, a certain portion of the inheritance could go to Versilov now, too, even taking the most ticklish view of the matter, the more so as the document did not have decisive significance, and he had already won the case. That is the opinion held by the lawyer of the opposite side; I’ve just spoken with him. The act would remain no less handsome, but owing solely to a whim of pride it has happened otherwise. Above all, Mr. Versilov became overexcited and—needlessly over-hasty. He said himself today that he could have put it off for a whole week . . .”
“You know what, Vasin? I can’t help agreeing with you, but . . . I like it better this way! It pleases me better this way!”
