"Is it, then, necessary that you should still so torment yourself?" remarks Nikolai gently, quite pleadingly.
And Nikolai, who, in spite of his early knowledge of life, is still an inexperienced idealist, thinks he has persuaded his father, hopes to win him entirely to the plan laid out for him. "You could certainly settle down now," says he. "I have planned that so finely. You could have an old relative, Marie Dimitrievna, for instance, mamma's cousin, who is sympathetic to you, to keep house for you; and under the united influence of your fame and Mascha's charm, your home in St. Petersburg or Moscow would become a true paradise. You could be so gay and happy, so petted and honored in your old age, if you only would not grudge yourself rest!"
"Not grudge myself rest?" groaned Lensky. "Yes, if I could [en.. ...] rest." And with a gesture peculiar to him, [...] this back his thick hair with both hands from h[...] and [...], he adds: "Ask what you will of me, [only ...rer dev...] I should sit still; that I can do no more [..." ...bli...] is silent for awhile, then, with hoarse, hollow voice, as if in a dream, he begins anew: "Yes, if they had left me your mother, perhaps it would have been different; just at that time, before our separation, I began to be weary of the dancing-bear life: with her, I perhaps could have led a respectable old age. But you knew better what was suited to her than she herself. You pointed out to her what would never have occurred to her of herself, poor angel!--that it was a shame to have patience with me. Please yourself with the result! You have killed her and me. But of what use to bring up again the old grief, what use to reproach others? It is all my fault. Now nothing can be changed. I am what I am; I can no longer subdue myself. I cannot be without women and applause," says he, brutally. "Be as horrified as you will, I cannot, I cannot. I will some time die with my bow in my hand, and can be happy if I am not hissed before that!"
His breath fails him. He is silent. They stand opposite each other, father and son, gazing into each other's eyes. Never before has Nikolai seen a face which expresses a more incurable sadness. Why does he understand now, just now, in spite of the inconsolable confession which his father has just made to him, the unescapable charm which he exercises on all men not fish-blooded?