"Perhaps he did not go out of his mind."
"You think he didn't because he began to bite?"
"But, excuse me, if you saw those verses abroad and then, it appears, at that officer's..."
"What, puzzling, is it?
You are putting me through an examination, Andrey Antonovitch, I see.
You see," he began suddenly with extraordinary dignity, "as to what I saw abroad I have already given explanations, and my explanations were found satisfactory, otherwise I should not have been gratifying this town with my presence.
I consider that the question as regards me has been settled, and I am not obliged to give any further account of myself, not because I am an informer, but because I could not help acting as I did.
The people who wrote to Yulia Mihailovna about me knew what they were talking about, and they said I was an honest man.... But that's neither here nor there; I've come to see you about a serious matter, and it's as well you've sent your chimney-sweep away.
It's a matter of importance to me, Andrey Antonovitch. I shall have a very great favour to ask of you."
"A favour?
H'm... by all means; I am waiting and, I confess, with curiosity.
And I must add, Pyotr Stepanovitch, that you surprise me not a little."
Von Lembke was in some agitation.
Pyotr Stepanovitch crossed his legs.
"In Petersburg," he began, "I talked freely of most things, but there were things—this, for instance" (he tapped the
"Noble Personality" with his finger) "about which I held my tongue—in the first place, because it wasn't worth talking about, and secondly, because I only answered questions.
I don't care to put myself forward in such matters; in that I see the distinction between a rogue and an honest man forced by circumstances. Well, in short, we'll dismiss that.
But now... now that these fools... now that this has come to the surface and is in your hands, and I see that you'll find out all about it—for you are a man with eyes and one can't tell beforehand what you'll do—and these fools are still going on, I... I... well, the fact is, I've come to ask you to save one man, a fool too, most likely mad, for the sake of his youth, his misfortunes, in the name of your humanity.... You can't be so humane only in the novels you manufacture!" he said, breaking off with coarse sarcasm and impatience.
In fact, he was seen to be a straightforward man, awkward and impolitic from excess of humane feeling and perhaps from excessive sensitiveness—above all, a man of limited intelligence, as Von Lembke saw at once with extraordinary subtlety. He had indeed long suspected it, especially when during the previous week he had, sitting alone in his study at night, secretly cursed him with all his heart for the inexplicable way in which he had gained Yulia Mihailovna's good graces.
"For whom are you interceding, and what does all this mean?" he inquired majestically, trying to conceal his curiosity.
"It... it's... damn it! It's not my fault that I trust you!
Is it my fault that I look upon you as a most honourable and, above all, a sensible man... capable, that is, of understanding... damn..."
The poor fellow evidently could not master his emotion.
"You must understand at last," he went on, "you must understand that in pronouncing his name I am betraying him to you—I am betraying him, am I not?
I am, am I not?"
"But how am I to guess if you don't make up your mind to speak out?"
"That's just it; you always cut the ground from under one's feet with your logic, damn it.... Well, here goes... this 'noble personality,' this 'student'... is Shatov... that's all."
"Shatov?
How do you mean it's Shatov?"
"Shatov is the 'student' who is mentioned in this.
He lives here, he was once a serf, the man who gave that slap...."
"I know, I know." Lembke screwed up his eyes.
"But excuse me, what is he accused of? Precisely and, above all, what is your petition?"
"I beg you to save him, do you understand?
I used to know him eight years ago, I might almost say I was his friend," cried Pyotr Stepanovitch, completely carried away.
"But I am not bound to give you an account of my past life," he added, with a gesture of dismissal. "All this is of no consequence; it's the case of three men and a half, and with those that are abroad you can't make up a dozen. But what I am building upon is your humanity and your intelligence.
You will understand and you will put the matter in its true light, as the foolish dream of a man driven crazy... by misfortunes, by continued misfortunes, and not as some impossible political plot or God knows what!"
He was almost gasping for breath.
"H'm. I see that he is responsible for the manifestoes with the axe," Lembke concluded almost majestically. "Excuse me, though, if he were the only person concerned, how could he have distributed it both here and in other districts and in the X province... and, above all, where did he get them?"
"But I tell you that at the utmost there are not more than five people in it—a dozen perhaps. How can I tell?"
"You don't know?"
"How should I know?—damn it all."
"Why, you knew that Shatov was one of the conspirators."
"Ech!" Pyotr Stepanovitch waved his hand as though to keep off the overwhelming penetration of the inquirer. "Well, listen. I'll tell you the whole truth: of the manifestoes I know nothing—that is, absolutely nothing. Damn it all, don't you know what nothing means?...
That sub-lieutenant, to be sure, and somebody else and someone else here... and Shatov perhaps and someone else too—well, that's the lot of them... a wretched lot.... But I've come to intercede for Shatov. He must be saved, for this poem is his, his own composition, and it was through him it was published abroad; that I know for a fact, but of the manifestoes I really know nothing."
"If the poem is his work, no doubt the manifestoes are too.
But what data have you for suspecting Mr. Shatov?"
Pyotr Stepanovitch, with the air of a man driven out of all patience, pulled a pocket-book out of his pocket and took a note out of it.
"Here are the facts," he cried, flinging it on the table.
Lembke unfolded it; it turned out to be a note written six months before from here to some address abroad. It was a brief note, only two lines: