Joseph Roth - Confession of a Murderer

It was only an ordinary police arrest, began Golubchik again, nothing terrible. I was put into a fairly comfortable room, with wide grills across the high windows, grills as little menacing as the bars across the windows of many houses. In the room there was a table, a chair, and two camp beds. But the terrible thing was that, as I entered the room, my friend Lakatos got up from one of the beds and greeted me. Yes, he offered me his hand just as gaily and nonchalantly as if we had met, for example, in a restaurant. But I ignored his outstretched hand. He sighed, with a sorrowful and injured air. and lay down again. I sat on the chair. I wanted to cry, to lay my head on the table and cry, but I was ashamed of doing so in front of Lakatos, and still stronger than my shame was my fear that he might try to comfort me. So I sat there, with a sort of stony sobbing in my breast, silent upon the chair, and counted the bars outside the window.

“Don’t be downcast, young man!” said Lakatos after a while.

He stood up and walked over to the table. “I have found out all about this.” Against my will, I raised my head, but regretted the move immediately. “I have my connections, even here already. In two hours at the very latest you will be free, And do you know whom we have to thank for this misfortune? Do you know? Go on — guess!”

“Tell me!” I shouted. “Don’t torture me!”

“Well, your fine brother — or rather, the son of Count P. Now do you understand?”

Oh, I understood, and yet I did not understand. But that hatred, my friends, the hatred for that young man, the bastard, the false son of my natural, my princely father, usurped the role of common sense — as so often happens; and because I hated, I thought I understood also. In a flash, so it seemed to me, I saw through a fearful plot that had been woven about me. And for the first time the desire for vengeance, that twin sister of hate, awoke within me; and even quicker than the thunder follows the lightning, I swore to myself that one day I would revenge myself on that boy. How — I knew not; but I already felt that Lakatos was the man to show me the way, and therefore in that instant I felt even attracted to him.

Of course, he knew everything that was passing in my mind. He smiled, and I recognized in his smile that he knew everything. He bent over the table, so near to me that I could see nothing but his gleaming teeth and, behind, the reddish glistening of his gums and from time to time the pink tip of his tongue, which reminded me of the tongue of our cat at home. In very fact, he knew everything. The situation was as follows: To give away boxes, all of the same extremely expensive sort, was one of the many caprices of the old Prince. He had them specially made for him by a jeweller in Venice, after the design of an old snuffbox which he, the Prince, had bought at an auction. These snuffboxes, which were made of solid gold inlaid with ivory and encircled with emerald chips, were presented by the Prince to his guests, and he always had dozens of them in the house. Well, the whole thing was simple. The young boy, whom he regarded as his son, needed money, stole the boxes, and sold them from time to time; and in the course of years the police, as the result of periodical visits paid to the shops round the harbor, had collected an enormous number of these boxes. All the world knew where these precious objects came from. Even the Prince’s steward, even his lackeys, knew it. But who would have dared tell him? — How easy it was then to accuse an unimportant youth like myself of theft, of burglary even; for what was a person of our class in old Russia, my friends? An insect, one of those flies which the official had drowned in his ink pot, a nothing, a grain of dust under the heels of the great nobility. But, my friends, let me digress for a moment, and forgive me for keeping you here: I wish today that we were still the old grains of dust! Our lives were ordered not by laws but by whims. And yet even laws are dependent upon whims. For laws have to be interpreted. Laws, my friends, can never protect a man from arbitrary usage, for laws are dispensed by arbitrary men. What do I know of the whims of a little judge? They are worse than the whims of ordinary people. They are nothing but petty animosities. But the whims of a great nobleman I know. They are more constant even than laws. A real nobleman, who can both punish and pardon, is often incensed by a single word, but he can also be conciliated by a single word. And think how many great noblemen there have already been who were never harsh! Their whims were always kindly ones. But laws, my friends, are nearly always harsh. There can hardly be a single law of which one can say: it is a kindly one. Nowhere on earth is there absolute justice, for justice, my friends, is only to be found in Hell…!

But to return to my story. At that time I wished there were Hell on earth, for I thirsted after justice. And whoever desires absolute justice, has already fallen a victim to the lust for revenge. Such was I at that time. I was grateful to Lakatos for having opened my eyes. And I forced myself to trust him and asked him: “What must I do then?”

“Tell me first, between ourselves,” he began, “had you really no other intention than to inform the Prince that you were his son? — You can tell me everything, no one can hear us. We are comrades in distress now, confidence for confidence. Who sent you to the Prince? Is there in your school class a member of the — well, you know what I mean — the so-called Revolutionary?”

“I don’t understand you,” I said. “I’m not a revolutionary. I simply want my rights! My rights!” I shouted.

Only much later was I to realize what sort of a part this Lakatos was playing. Only much later, when I myself had almost become a Lakatos. But at that time I realized nothing. He, however, had understood very well that I had spoken the truth. He only said: “Well, that’s all right then.” And he probably thought at the same time: Now I’ve made a mistake again; I’ve missed a nice sum of money there.

Some time later the door opened, and the official who had drowned the flies came in; following him was a man in civilian dress. I got up. The official said: “I’ll leave you alone now,” and went out. After him went Lakatos, without looking at me. The man said I was to sit down, he had a suggestion to make. He knew everything — so he began. The Prince held a high and important position in the country. On him depended the welfare of Russia, of the Czar, of the whole world, one might say. Nothing, therefore, must be allowed to truble him. I had gone to him with ridiculous demands. Only the gracious clemency of the Prince had saved me from a heavy punishment. I was young. Much could be excused me. But the Prince, who till now had been pleased to maintain the son of his forester and pay for his education, no longer wished to squander his kindnesses on an unworthy or unscrupulous or inconsiderate fool — on me, in fact, however I liked to describe myself. Consequently, it had been decided that I should be put into a job which would determine my future for me, now and forever. I could either become a forester like my father, with the prospect of some day being promoted to agent on one of the Prince’s estates; or else I could enter the service of the State — the Post, Railways, as a clerk somewhere, in any Government office I liked. Well paid positions and well suited to me.

I answered nothing.

“Here, sign!” said the man and spread out in front of me a piece of paper on which was written that I had no claims of any sort on the Prince and that I undertook never to attempt to see him again.

Well, my friends, I cannot describe to you exactly my feelings at that moment. As I read that paper, I felt ashamed, humiliated, but also proud, simultaneously afraid and vengeful, hungry for freedom and at the same time ready to suffer torments, to carry a cross; filled with a craving for power and also with a sweet, seductive feeling that impotence was a matchless blessing. But above all I wanted to have power so that one day I might be able to avenge myself for all the insults which had been heaped upon me, and at the same time I wanted to have the strength to enable me to suffer these insults. In short, I wanted to be not only an avenger but also a martyr. As yet I was neither, I realized that well enough, and the man assuredly knew it also. He said to me, this time harshly: “Well, quick, make up your mind!” And I signed.