I entered. In the hall two lackeys, in sand-colored liveries and silver epaulettes and buttons, stood up from their chairs, arose as if by magic, as though they were stone lions such as one sees on the steps of lordly houses. I had again become master of myself and squeezed my beautiful cap in my left hand, which gave me a little more confidence. I said that I wished to see the Prince, he was expecting me, and it was private business. I was led into a little room, where hung a portrait of an old Krapotkin who, as I read on the little metal shield, was therefore my grandfather. I already felt quite at home, although my grandfather had a very unpleasant yellow haggard face. I am the blood of your blood! I thought. My grandfather! I’ll show you who I am! I am not a Golubchik. I am yours. Or rather, you are mine!
Meanwhile I heard a soft silver bell ring, and a few minutes later the door opened and a servant bowed in front of me. I stood up. I went through the door. I was standing in the Prince’s room.
The Prince could not have got up so very long before. He was sitting behind his great black writing desk, which really did look like a coffin in which Czars are buried, dressed in a soft, silver-gray, woollen dressing gown.
His face had only remained vaguely in my memory; now I had a chance to observe it. It was as though I saw the Prince for the first time in my life, and this realization gave me an unpleasant shock. It was, to a certain extent, as though this man were no longer my father, not the father for whom I had been prepared, but really a strange Prince, Prince Krapotkin indeed. He seemed to me grayer, thinner, drier, and taller than me, although he was sitting, while I stood before him. When he asked: “What do you want?” I lost my tongue completely. He repeated again: “What do you want of me?” Even today I can hear his voice. It was hoarse and a little threatening; it was, so it seemed to me then, a sort of bark, as though the Prince were performing the duty of one of his watchdogs. In very fact, there suddenly appeared in the room, without either of the two doors which I had already noticed having been opened, a gigantic wolfhound. I don’t know where he came from, perhaps he had been waiting behind the Prince’s enormous chair. The dog remained motionless, standing between myself and the desk, and I too stared at him fixedly and was unable to take my eyes off him, although I wanted to look at the Prince and only at the Prince. Suddenly the animal began to growl, and the Prince said: “Quiet, Slavka!” He himself growled very like the dog. “Well, what do you want, young man?” he asked for the third time.
I was still standing close beside the door. “Come closer,” said Krapotkin.
I took a tiny, a miserably tiny, step forward and recovered my breath.
“I have come to claim my rights!”
“What rights?” asked the Prince.
“My rights as your son,” I answered, quite softly.
For a short while there was silence. Then the Prince said: “Sit down, young man.” And he pointed to a wide chair in front of his desk.
I sat down. That is, I was entrapped by that accursed chair. Its soft upholstery lured me and held me fast, like one of those carnivorous plants which entice unsuspecting insects and destroy them utterly. I remained sitting, powerless, and as I sat there I felt more ignominious than during the whole time I had been standing. I did not even dare to rest my hands on the arms of the chair. They sank, as though paralyzed, and dangled foolishly over the sides, and suddenly I felt them beginning to swing, gently and ridiculously, and I had not the strength to stop them or even to lift them up again. The sun shone on my right cheek, powerful and dazzling, so that I could only see the Prince with my left eye. But I let both eyes sink and determined to wait for him to speak.
He now lifted a little silver bell, and a servant came in. “Paper and pencil!” demanded Krapotkin. I never moved, my heart began to thump wildly, and my arms swung harder than ever. The dog stretched himself comfortably on the floor and began to snore.
The writing materials were brought, and the Prince commenced:
“Well. Your name?”
“Golubchik!” I replied.
“Birthplace?”
“Woroniaki.”
“Your father?”
“Dead.”
“His profession, I mean,” said Krapotkin, “I was not enquiring after his health.”
“He was a forester.”
“Any other children?”
“No!”
“Where were you at school?”
“At D.”
“Were your reports good?”
“Yes.”
“Do you wish to continue studying?”
“Yes!”
“Have you considered any particular profession?”
“No.”
“I see,” said the Prince and pushed the paper and pencil away. He stood up. Now I could see under his dressing-gown a pair of brick-red trousers, made of Turkish silk, as it seemed to me, and on his feet a pair of Caucasian sandals embroidered with pearls. He looked exactly as I imagined a sultan would look. He walked towards me, gave the dog a kick, at which the animal moved growling out of his way. Then he stood immediately in front of me, and I could feel his hard intense glance strike my skull like a knife point.
“Stand up!” he said. I got up. He towered above me by a good two heads. He studied me for a long time. “Who told you that you were my son?” “No one, I have known it for a long time; I guessed it and then found out.” “I see,” said Prince Krapotkin. “And who told you that you had any claims on me?” “No one — I know that I have.” “And what claims or rights have you?” “The right to be called that.” “To be called what?” “To be called that,” I repeated, not daring to speak the actual name: “To be called the same as you.” “So you want to be called Krapotkin?” “Yes.” “Listen to me, Golubchik,” he said. “If you are really my son, I’ve made a very bad job of it. You are a fool, a complete fool.” In his voice I sensed a jeer, but also, for the first time, a little kindliness. “You must yourself admit, young Golubchik, that you are a fool. Do you admit it?” “No!” “Well, then I will explain to you. Throughout Russia I probably have many sons — who knows exactly how many? For many years I was young, for far too long. Even you may already have sons. I was at school once, too. My first son was by the wife of the school porter, my second by the daughter of that same porter. The first of those two sons is a legitimate Kolohin, the second an illegitimate Kolohin. The names of those two I can remember, because they were the first. But my forester Golubchik I had completely forgotten, like so many others… like so many others. And there obviously cannot be a hundred Krapotkins running about the world, eh? And by what right and what law do you all make these claims? Even if there were a law dealing with that point, what guarantee have I that they really are my sons. Eh? And yet I look after them all, as far as my private exchequer is aware of them. But since I am strict about being methodical, I have handed all these addresses over to my secretaries. And now? Have you anything else to say?”