growing more and more inwardly hostile to my friend."What a fool he is!" I reflected."He might be spending the evening agreeably with his charming family, yet he goes on sitting with this brute!--will go on doing so, too, until it is too late to go down to the drawing-room!" Here I glanced at him over the back of my chair, and thought the general look of his attitude and appearance so offensive and repellant that at the moment I could gladly have offered him some insult, even a most serious one.
At last Bezobiedoff rose, but Dimitri could not easily let such a delightful friend depart, and asked him to stay the night.
Fortunately, Bezobiedoff declined the invitation, and departed.
Having seen him off, Dimitri returned, and, smiling a faintly complacent smile as he did so, and rubbing his hands together (in all probability partly because he had sustained his character for eccentricity, and partly because he had got rid of a bore), started to pace the room, with an occasional glance at myself.I felt more offended with him than ever."How can he go on walking about the room and grinning like that?" was my inward reflection.
"What are you so angry about?" he asked me suddenly as he halted in front of my chair.
"I am not in the least angry," I replied (as people always do answer under such circumstances)."I am merely vexed that you should play-act to me, and to Bezobiedoff, and to yourself."
"What rubbish!" he retorted."I never play-act to any one."
"I have in mind our rule of frankness," I replied, "when I tell you that I am certain you cannot bear this Bezobiedoff any more than I can.He is an absolute cad, yet for some inexplicable reason or another it pleases you to masquerade before him."
"Not at all! To begin with, he is a splendid fellow, and--"
"But I tell you it IS so.I also tell you that your friendship for Lubov Sergievna is founded on the same basis, namely, that she thinks you a god."
"And I tell you once more that it is not so."
"Oh, I know it for myself," I retorted with the heat of suppressed anger, and designing to disarm him with my frankness.
"I have told you before, and I repeat it now, that you always seem to like people who say pleasant things to you, but that, as soon as ever I come to examine your friendship, I invariably find that there exists no real attachment between you."
"Oh, but you are wrong," said Dimitri with an angry straightening of the neck in his collar."When I like people, neither their praise nor their blame can make any difference to my opinion of them."
"Well, dreadful though it may seem to you, I confess that I myself often used to hate my father when he abused me, and to wish that he was dead.In the same way, you--"
"Speak for yourself.I am very sorry that you could ever have been so--"
"No, no!" I cried as I leapt from my chair and faced him with the courage of exasperation."It is for YOURSELF that you ought to feel sorry--sorry because you never told me a word about this fellow.You know that was not honourable of you.Nevertheless, I will tell YOU what I think of you," and, burning to wound him even more than he had wounded me, I set out to prove to him that he was incapable of feeling any real affection for anybody, and that I had the best of grounds (as in very truth I believed I had) for reproaching him.I took great pleasure in telling him all this, but at the same time forgot that the only conceivable purpose of my doing so--to force him to confess to the faults of which I had accused him--could not possibly be attained at the present moment, when he was in a rage.Had he, on the other hand, been in a condition to argue calmly, I should probably never have said what I did.
The dispute was verging upon an open quarrel when Dimitri suddenly became silent, and left the room.I pursued him, and continued what I was saying, but he did not answer.I knew that his failings included a hasty temper, and that he was now fighting it down; wherefore I cursed his good resolutions the more in my heart.
This, then, was what our rule of frankness had brought us to--the rule that we should "tell one another everything in our minds, and never discuss one another with a third person!" Many a time we had exaggerated frankness to the pitch of making mutual confession of the most shameless thoughts, and of shaming ourselves by voicing to one another proposals or schemes for attaining our desires; yet those confessions had not only failed to draw closer the tie which united us, but had dissipated sympathy and thrust us further apart, until now pride would not allow him to expose his feelings even in the smallest detail, and we employed in our quarrel the very weapons which we had formerly surrendered to one another--the weapons which could strike the shrewdest blows!
