There was not the slightest possibility of turning him out: he would not have gone for anything.
Keller was prepared to talk very long and very incoherently, but suddenly at almost the first word he jumped ahead to the conclusion and declared that he had lost "any ghost of morality" ("solely out of disbelief in the Almighty"), so much so that he even stole.
"If you can imagine that!" "Listen, Keller, in your place I'd rather not confess it without some special need," the prince began, "and anyhow, maybe you're slandering yourself on purpose?"
"To you, solely to you alone, and solely so as to help my own development!
Not to anybody else; I'll die and carry my secret off under the shroud!
But, Prince, if you only knew, if you only knew how difficult it is to get money in our age!
Where is a man to get it, allow me to ask after that?
One answer: bring gold and diamonds, and we'll give you money for them—that is, precisely what I haven't got, can you imagine that?
I finally got angry and just stood there.
'And for emeralds?' I say.
'For emeralds, too,' he says.
'Well, that's splendid,' I say, put on my hat, and walk out; devil take you, scoundrels!
By God!"
"But did you really have emeralds?"
"What kind of emeralds could I have!
Oh, Prince, your view of life is still so bright and innocent, and even, one might say, pastoral!"
The prince finally began to feel not so much sorry as a bit ashamed.
The thought even flashed in him:
"Wouldn't it be possible to make something of this man under someone's good influence?"
His own influence, for certain reasons, he considered quite unsuitable—not out of self-belittlement, but owing to a certain special view of things.
They gradually warmed to the conversation, so much so that they did not want to part.
Keller confessed with extraordinary readiness to having done such things that it was impossible to imagine how one could tell about them.
Starting out each time, he would positively insist that he was repentant and inwardly "filled with tears," and yet he would tell of his action as if he were proud of it, and at the same time occasionally in such a funny way that he and the prince would end up laughing like crazy.
"Above all, there is some childlike trustfulness and extraordinary honesty in you," the prince said at last. "You know, that by itself already redeems you greatly."
"I'm noble, noble, chivalrously noble!" Keller agreed with feeling. "But you know, Prince, it's all only in dreams and, so to speak, for bravado, and in reality nothing ever comes of it!
Why is that? I can't understand it."
"Don't despair.
Now it can be said affirmatively that you have told me all your inmost truths; at least it seems to me that it's now impossible to add anything more to what you've already said, isn't it?"
"Impossible?!" Keller exclaimed somehow ruefully. "Oh, Prince, you still have such a, so to speak, Swiss understanding of man."
"Could you possibly add to it?" the prince uttered in timid astonishment. "So what did you expect from me, Keller, tell me please, and why did you come with your confession?"
"From you?
What did I expect?
First, your simple-heartedness alone is pleasant to look at; it's pleasant to sit and talk with you; I know that I at least have a virtuous man before me, and second . . . second . . ."
He faltered.
"Perhaps you wanted to borrow some money?" the prince prompted him very seriously and simply, even as if somewhat timidly.
Keller jumped; he glanced quickly, with the same surprise, straight into the prince's eyes and banged his fist hard on the table.
"Well, see how you throw a man into a final flummox!
For pity's sake, Prince: first such simple-heartedness, such innocence as even the golden age never heard of, then suddenly at the same time you pierce a man through like an arrow with this deepest psychology of observation.
But excuse me, Prince, this calls for an explanation, because I . . . I'm simply confounded!
Naturally, in the final end my aim was to borrow money, but you asked me about money as if you don't find anything reprehensible in it, as if that's how it should be?"
"Yes . . . from you that's how it should be."
"And you're not indignant?"
"But ... at what?"
"Listen, Prince, I stayed here last night, first, out of particular respect for the French archbishop Bourdaloue45 (we kept the corks popping at Lebedev's till three in the morning), but second, and chiefly (I'll cross myself with all crosses that I'm telling the real truth!), I stayed because I wanted, so to speak, by imparting to you my full, heartfelt confession, to contribute thereby to my own development; with that thought I fell asleep past three, bathed in tears.
Now, if you'll believe the noblest of persons: at the very moment that I was falling asleep, sincerely filled with internal and, so to speak, external tears (because in the end I did weep, I remember that!), an infernal thought came to me:
'And finally, after the confession, why don't I borrow some money from him?'
Thus I prepared my confession, so to speak, as a sort of 'finesherbes with tears,' to soften my path with these tears, so that you'd get mellow and count me out a hundred and fifty roubles.
Isn't that mean, in your opinion?"
"It's probably also not true, and the one simply coincided with the other.
The two thoughts coincided, it happens very often.